Our Ten Favorite Podcasts of 2014

I've hedged with the descriptor of "favorite" rather than "best" because there are just way too many podcasts out there that I couldn't hope to get to by the year's end.  Podcasting is bigger than it's ever been: so huge that there are now even podcasts about podcasts: Slate's Serial Spoiler Special and The AV Club's Serial Serial both offered analysis and opinions on NPR's podcasting bombshell Serial (which, while an interesting listen, didn't crack the top 10).

So here are the ten that I most enjoyed this year.  They range from the enlightening to the uncomfortable to the just plain silly, but all are worth your time.

Note: I'm not including the podcasts to which I was personally connected this year, but they may also be worth a listen.  I was featured on The Blockbuster Brunch and chimed in on an honest and frank discussion of one of the greatest modern films ever made, Face/Off.  There's also Ken Reid's TV Guidance Counselor podcast, which features a couple of episodes from two very funny comedian friends of mine, "Dead Kevin" co-creator Ahmed Bharoocha and "Goatman" creator Tim Vargulish.

10. "Smell the Episode," Jonah Raydio

Jonah Raydio is one of the most casual podcasts I've ever heard.  There appears to be very little editing, the episodes can run upwards of 2 hours, and it pretty much consists of Nerdist and "Meltdown" co-host Jonah Ray sitting around with his friends and listening to new music.  Some of the music is pretty good, and Jonah and crew are fun to listen to.

But while the general atmosphere of the show is fairly loose, "Smell the Episode" is an absolute mess.  It was recorded at LA Podfest, and Jonah and crew make it bitterly clear that there are very few people in the crowd.  They power on through the episode almost grudgingly.  There's an air of desperation in the room: at the halfway mark, Ray is aghast that he has 45 minutes left to fill.  As is usually the case, sound man Neil Mahoney (co-director of Freak Dance) punctuates the podcast with purposefully irritating and poorly timed sound cues.  A guest band, Upset, performs songs that are borderline unlistenable (though that is really the fault of the recording rather than the band).

And yet it's one of the most entertaining podcasts of the year.  It has a raw chaotic intensity.  Few professional podcasts are less produced than this one.  It seems they really did make it up as they went along.  It succeeds based solely on the personality of Ray and his co-hosts, who are charismatic and likable.

9. "The Eight Crazy Guests of Chanukah," Doug Loves Movies

Doug Benson usually caps each year of his movie quiz show with a "12 Guests of Christmas" episode featuring appearances from such regulars as Kevin Pollak and Jon Hamm.  This year he tried something different, featuring 8 "guests" such as "Mark Wahlberg," "Werner Herzog," and "Jesse Ventura."

The 8 "guests" are performed by Paul F. Tompkins, James Adomian, and Dan Van Kirk, who've made regular appearances as these real-life celebrities on Benson's podcast and others.  Particularly hilarious is Van Kirk's embodiment of Wahlberg as an egomaniac fitness nut who insists there are two types of movies: those he was in and those he should've been in.

8. "Mr. Nanny," How Did This Get Made?


Mr. Nanny, a stupid but pleasant vehicle for Hulk Hogan that was meant to cash in on the Home Alone trend of clever kids doing bodily harm to doofus adults, was a massive critical and box office failure. Among this episode's many joys is the utter bafflement of hosts Paul Scheer, June Diane Raphael, and Jason Mantzoukas (along with guest Rob Corddry) as to what the movie's intended appeal exactly was, particularly concerning the considerably psychopathic children who repeatedly try to kill Hogan for no real reason ("He is nothing but nice to them"). Also of note is the incident of animal abuse that the team finds in the background of a shot early in the film.

7. "Experts," The Worst Idea of All Time

Tim Batt and Guy Montgomery, the two New Zealanders who nobly vowed earlier this year to watch Grown Ups 2 once a week for 52 weeks, have been going steadily mad since they started. This episode, heralding their 31st viewing, represents the peak of their insanity: after this episode, they seem to find their footing and the show takes a more conventional shape.  But "Experts" portrays Tim and Guy at the height of their Sandler-driven madness.  Though the guys seem to have enjoyed the movie more than usual this time around, that may not be a good sign: much of their discussion is borderline incomprehensible amid fits of cackling.  It honestly shows what a truly bad film like Grown Ups 2 can do to a person.  Tim and Guy have since regained their sanity; you may not.

6. "The Exorcism of Cake Boss," Comedy Bang Bang

"The Exorcism of Cake Boss" gives us the best improv-centered podcast of the year. Host Scott Aukerman welcomes Cake Boss (Paul F. Tompkins) to the show, who is promptly possessed by the soul of deceased designer H.R. Giger (Matt Gourley). Scott swiftly calls Cake Boss's exorcist friend, Rev. Robert Parsimony (also Tompkins), to dispense with the demon. 

Tompkins and Gourley, who collaborate on the very funny sketch podcast Superego, are great together, and the show culminates in a profoundly silly game of "Riddle Me This," plus a retelling of a Bazooka Joe comic strip that is side-splitting.

5. "Easy Rider: The Ride Back," The Flop House

It was in the spring that Dissolve critic Nathan Rabin blasted a recommendation to every bad movie enthusiast he knew: Easy Rider: The Ride Back, the sequel that everyone was no doubt crying out for.  Hosts Dan McCoy, Stuart Wellington, and Elliott Kalan are quick to find the greatness in it.  Unlike their counterparts at How Did This Get Made? (who also delivered an entertaining episode on the same film this year), McCoy and crew are less baffled and more appreciative of the kind of egomaniacal awfulness that produces movies like this.  Much like The Room, it's not obligatory or cynical; this is something somebody really wanted to make.

The brainchild of a wealthy Hollywood lawyer named Phil Pitzer, The Ride Back tells of Morgan Williams, brother of Wyatt Williams, the Peter Fonda character from the original film.  His sister Shane (Sheree J. Wilson) begs him to come home to see their father (Newell Alexander) on his birthday.  The movie switches back and forth between Morgan's modern storyline and flashbacks of his childhood.  Jeff Fahey, who's truly entertaining in the film, appears as notorious motorcyclist "Wes Coast."

The film is an absolute treasure trove for McCoy and crew, whose delight in its awfulness drives the podcast.  Even a particularly cruel and exploitative sexual assault scene late in the film is delivered so ineptly that it provokes laughter:  The movie is comparable to The Room in the realm of pet projects that are as incompetent as they are sincere.  It's bread and butter for the folks at The Flop House.

4. "Eddie Izzard, Trevor Noah, Tig Notaro, Big Jay Oakerson, Seth Meyers," WTF with Marc Maron

Now this was a surprise.  Recorded live at Just For Laughs in Montreal, as Maron does every year, this episode starts as a typical comic interview show, then transforms into something more.  Maron's interviews are usually unapologetically frank, taking a dive deep into the psyche of the stand-up comedian, and this one is right along those lines, but even more intensely than usual.  Trevor Noah, notable for a recent knockout "Daily Show" appearance, tells a heartbreaking but very funny story of his upbringing as a mixed-race child in apartheid South Africa.  Tig Notaro, now in remission, gives further insight into the personal tragedies that inspired her bombastic "cancer set" last year.

If there's a downside to the episode, it's that the more socially important stories overshadow the benign entries from the other comics in the lineup.  Seth Meyers's interview is fairly short and sweet.  Poor Big Jay Oakerson's story about being hit on by a transvestite in a New York porn store is funny, but it pales in comparison to the rest, and he gets a subtle shaming from Eddie Izzard about his casual use of the word "tranny."

3. "Hollywood Bowl," Analyze Phish


The ninth entry in the series, in which "Parks & Recreation" writer and dedicated Phish fan Harris Wittels tries with all his might to indoctrinate Comedy Bang Bang host Scott Aukerman into the band's fan club, was over a year in the making, and upon listening to the episode, it's very clear why.  It's centered around audio recorded at Phish's Hollywood Bowl show in August 2013, at which Scott was intended to have his first full Phish experience, with the help of a cocktail of drugs.

The reason for the yearlong delay in the episode's release is revealed quite bluntly early on: after the concert, Harris checked himself into rehab, and has been drug free ever since.  The audio from the concert then becomes a harrowing portrayal of a man coming to terms with his addiction.  While previous episodes have been centered around Scott's mocking of Phish while Harris makes effort after sincere effort to convince him to like the band, this one is far less ironically distant and digs deeper into what began as recreation and devolved into addiction for Harris.  Harris is jarringly honest in the episode--jarring because he's usually so ironically distant--and the audio from the concert, while often uncomfortable, is brutally funny.  Highlights include Harris's and Scott's failed attempt at a Jaws-related comedy bit while high, which Harris insists was his precise moment of hitting rock bottom.

2. "Shed Busting," Comedy Bang Bang


Another moment of truth within the Earwolf universe, this is a rare up-front conversation between Scott Aukerman, comedian Todd Glass, and a rare out-of-character James Adomian.  The openly gay Adomian and the recently out-of-the-closet Glass discuss the hard truth about being gay in the comedy industry, when homosexuality carried a heavy burden (and in many ways still does).  Their conversation is so interesting that it's actually a letdown when they get to the show proper, and Adomian retreats into his Jesse Ventura character.

1. "Staind Glass," U Talkin' U2 to Me?


By far the weirdest idea for a podcast of the year, born out of a stupid pun created by co-hosts Scott Aukerman and Adam Scott.  The two Scotts' U2-themed show took a brief foray into early-2000s nu-metal, and they invite Todd Glass onto the show to discuss Staind's bestselling album "Break the Cycle," only because his name completes the pun.  Glass knows nothing about Staind, and next to nothing about U2, which leads to the episode's high point in which Scott and Scott play a series of random songs to see if Glass can guess which one is U2.  The songs progress from reasonable (Peter Gabriel's "Sledgehammer") to ridiculous (Ross Bagdasarian's "Witch Doctor").

The series in general has been the year's biggest surprise in the podcast department.  It seems to have an unsustainable premise--Scott and Scott review each U2 album until the band's new one is released--but the two Scotts spin that flimsy idea into a series of audaciously silly gags and "sub-podcasts" like Talkin' 'bout Money and I Love Films.  Though they do discuss U2 at length, it's the two Scotts' personalities and banter that keep the podcast alive and make it one of the best overall listens of the year.

Niagara Falls, Frankie Angel: Why SCROOGED (1988) is the Best Christmas Movie of All Time, and Bill Murray's Best Performance

I first saw Scrooged (and loved it) when I was six years old.  I was surprised, then, once I reached the age of reason, that the movie actually wasn't very well received.  Roger Ebert, who is the critic of record as far as I'm concerned, called it "disquieting" and "unsettling," and even its star, Bill Murray, was semi-apologetic about it in an interview, hedging that it "could have been a really, really great movie." Well, it is.

Few movies nowadays are completely dependent on the persona of the lead actor to succeed.  Scrooged is an iconic Bill Murray performance, the best of his career, and probably the only time the actor has truly been permitted to own a movie.  Murray is a powerhouse in the film, and it is entirely centered around his performance.  If his progression from miserly millionaire to humble humanitarian were not believable, the film would fall apart.  The movie is co-written by Michael O'Donoghue, the brilliant "Saturday Night Live" co-creator who helped to shape Murray's persona.  I assume it was O'Donoghue who took Ebenezer Scrooge and made him into a character only Murray could have played.

Murray is Frank Cross, the youngest TV network president in history.  His network, IBC, has its reputation riding on a multimillion-dollar live presentation of Scrooge (the more things change...) with Buddy Hackett as Ebenezer.  Cross, who shed much of his humanity while climbing the corporate ladder, lambastes his executives, tortures his harried assistant (Alfre Woodard), ignores his only brother (real-life brother John Murray), and reluctantly sucks up to the chair of the board of directors (Robert Mitchum) to keep a stronghold on his job. (A sniveling kiss-ass played with relentless grinning positivity by John Glover represents a plausible threat.)


When his deceased old boss (John Forsythe) appears to him and warns him of the three ghosts, he's appropriately skeptical.  Scrooged takes place in a world where Charles Dickens's story has been eaten, devoured, and regurgitated by every Very Special TV Hour known to man.  The TV show Frank is producing, while well-mounted, is as cynical an exploitation of Christmas as has ever been presented.  Scrooge's first appearance is preceded by a kickline of street urchins played by the Rockettes, and Tiny Tim (Mary Lou Retton) accentuates his "God bless us" line with a somersault and several backflips.  Mitchum, whose performance is a deadpan masterpiece, presses onto Frank that cats and dogs are becoming a key market, and urges him to feature mice more prominently in the show (the more things change...).

Murray, playing a truly deplorable character in early scenes, lends a unique vulnerability to Frank.  His frequent ironic quips are hysterically funny and delivered with inimitable timing, but also portray an unfortunately distant character who cautiously avoids relating to people or feeling feelings.  Frank is less a Dickensian miser than a 1980s yuppie who's desperate to hang on to the fortune for which he's stepped on so many people.  One of those people is his ex-girlfriend Claire (Karen Allen, whose smile lights a thousand Christmas trees), a charity organizer whose plain niceness is confounding to him.

Frank's character arc is always believable, and more complex than the fairly simple journey of the typical Scrooge.  His dealings with the first two ghosts are riddled with false epiphanies and rationalizations: when the Ghost of Christmas Past (played as a reckless, unshaven cab driver by David Johansen) takes him to see his childhood home, he scoffs, "I get it. You're here to show me my past, and I'm supposed to get all dully-eyed and mushy." The Ghost's response to this is one of the funniest lines in the film, and right on the money.

Murray reportedly disagreed with director Richard Donner's vision for the film: maybe Murray saw it as more of a straight comedy while Donner, who shortly thereafter co-created the terrific "Tales from the Crypt" TV series, wanted to accentuate the horror aspects of the film.  Donner was correct; the performances provide the comedy, and the movie only works if played straight against it.  Danny Elfman's haunting score sounds like the Nutcracker Suite appropriated by Philip Glass.  Above all, the movie isn't afraid to take the ghosts seriously.  Forsythe's first appearance, in ghastly Tom Burman makeup, is admittedly pretty scary, and Frank's walk through his future is a stripped-down nightmare (though Donner allows himself one indulgent shot that's a cheeky Hitchcock parody).

It all culminates in a third-act explosion in which a newly reformed Frank ambles onto the set of his Scrooge special, interrupts the broadcast and delivers a speech that in the mouth of any other actor would seem maudlin and unnatural.  It could not have been easy, but Murray finds the absolute right note, and his utter joy and earnestness in proclaiming, "I get it now!" is a truly moving transformation.  It's a gargantuan outpouring of emotion that's comparable to Hickey's last-act monologue in The Iceman Cometh: it's that honest and that good, and Murray is more alive than he's ever been in anything, as a man who's completely taken aback to learn that he's still capable of feeling joy.

**** out of ****