“Hello, Newman”: The enduring genius of TV’s greatest sitcom antagonist
Here's to the funniest character to ever exist almost entirely within the realm of villainy
TV Features Newman
It’s difficult, painful even, to ponder everything lost in the repeated failure to bring A Confederacy Of Dunces to the big screen. At various points, John Belushi, John Candy, Chris Farley, Will Ferrell, John Goodman, and Zach Galifianakis were slated to star as Ignatius J. Reilly, the sour spoiled boy tilting at windmills in John Kennedy Toole’s picaresque romp through 1960s New Orleans. The likes of Harold Ramis, John Waters, and Steven Soderbergh were each attached as potential directors. Scott Rudin was once set to produce. Richard Pryor and Lily Tomlin were possible co-stars. Consider what we all lost by not getting to see any of the aforementioned mutter, in a Nawlins drawl, the likes of “when my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, I make an occasional cheese dip.” Or to see the offensive spectacle brought to life, a character whose lip corners are “filled with disapproval and potato chip crumbs.”
Nick Offerman played the part in a 2015 theater production, but aside from that, the Pulitzer-winning book has largely been considered a cursed project. Almost as if Ignatius’ pummeling laziness and knack for self-sabotage continue to haunt, to hang in complaint like so many of the character’s yellow-stained sheets that were repurposed as protest banners in the book. But perhaps we haven’t been left entirely without visual traces of the spirit of Ignatius. Maybe another portly master of over-the-top self-derision already pulled off just such a role on the small screen: Wayne Knight as Newman.
Continuing the Jurassic Park and Basic Instinct actor’s penchant to exist as both the most lovable and most repulsive person in anything he sidles or climbs like a “ring-tailed lemur” into, in Seinfeld he also may be the funniest character to ever exist almost entirely within the realm of antagonism. Like Ignatius, Newman is part pedantic philosopher-poet, part half-assed Holden Caulfield Reddit-rabble-rouser. A sweaty, piddling outsider, he is quite capable of hitting all of Ignatius’ multitudinous beats between pitiful (slinking behind bookshelves, getting ditched on a rural road by his “buddy”) and disdainful (plotting to baste and eat said “buddy”). Crying-on-the-inside self-serious clowns, both are depressive, maybe suicidal, but armored by an acerbic tongue and Epicurean bent. To fully encompass the very idea of either being, you’d need, as Newman looks for while the Soup Nazi is giving away last vestiges, a “big pot.”
Shaggy and ambling, sometimes pointless, the thrust of Seinfeld was much like the largely plotless Dunces, perfect for tangential arrows, for misanthropic screeds against modernity, for a near ceaseless airing of grievances, for forays into the absurd ennui of day-job trappings, of getting lunch from said day jobs, of arguing $75 speeding tickets with fictional suicide attempt defenses, of plotting a Michigan bottle refund scheme, of exploiting the unhoused for rickshaw conveyance, or for tapping the mythic rivalry of postal workers and dogs in a wondrously over-cooked scheme of revenge porn. This is all well beyond mere misanthropy. Years past any Bond-y boilerplate baddie (although, when he’s shrouded in shadow and smoke, going on about the “vile and useless,” there is something more than familiar). At heart is the skewed inspiration of some type of spited artist. A mewling, cackling, pontificating “unknown twentieth-century poet.” For Ignatius, all such cunning and self-victimizing might be about finding more time for self-flagellation. For Newman, it may be about scoring a calzone. And a slice of pepperoni pizza. And a large soda. And three times a week, a cannoli. Or it might just be about not going to work when it rains. “I was never that big on creeds.”
This itself is a bit of a creed, a code, one of unrepentant slackerdom. There is a definite thread of anti-establishment in everything he does, or doesn’t do. Holed up in his apartment, ripping cigs, pulling wedged forks from chair cushions, planning a used-record sale on Bleecker Street, it actually isn’t that hard to see Newman as maybe a few bong rips or Creedence jams from becoming a sort of slothy, insouciant antihero. A Lebowski. Purposeful or not, there is a motivation of revolt against, a refutation of, society, capitalism, the man. Of course he asserts “as a federal employee, I believe the law is all we have; it’s all that separates us from the savages who don’t deserve even the privilege of the daily mail. Stuffing parcels into mailboxes …” Either way, there’s an acknowledgment that the world is mad, and an appropriate response is one of retreat, of active remonstration. Much of his stance aligns with Ignatius’ “indictment against our century.” And it is all perfectly in the literary lineage of Cervantes, of Joseph Heller. Or, more directly, with the id of Larry David: Society is absurd.
But there is also a villainous, toddler-ish self-interest. For all the bluster and buffoonery, Newman is a manchild, a devotee only of his appetites—Drake’s Cakes, jambalaya, any food but fruit, Elaine, the Mets. Caught in an epic struggle for board game world domination, the chase for Super Bowl tickets, a wish to control information, all of his own flavor notes are applied to the bad-guy playbook. “I still have armies in the Ukraine!” he says presciently, cosplaying the ultimate strongman; “moving on her like the stormtroopers into Poland,” is how he describes a voyeuristic Jerry makeout session; “an evil wind will blow through your little playworld,” he threatens in the apotheosis of turpitude. One notch further, there are even tangible ties to David Berkowitz, the New York serial killer whose mail route Newman took over, whom he quotes when finally arrested for dog-napping: “What took you so long?” Online conspiracy theory has taken this connection to the extreme. Is Newman himself a serial murderer? It is all a bridge too far. Or is it?
Either way, why is it common and joyous to root for the type? Why is it that we find ourselves siding with John Candy’s messily obnoxious Del Griffith in Planes, Trains, And Automobiles? Why is Cliff Clavin still so welcome next to Norm—and on our screens? Why do we return to Toole’s 40-year-old masterpiece, as close to the great American novel as we might have, with as odious and defiled a character as has been committed to page? Is it simple humanity? The fact that they are so often kind of right? Is it the simple tenderness of vulnerability? (How did poor Newmie get fleas!?)
Moreover, what is it about Newman that inspires such glee? The tucked plaid accentuated girth, head-cocked maniacal mouth open grin, the hyper verbosity, the rising-voice soliloquies necessitating an outside shutoff, the madcap pitter-patter high knee steps. In a story with almost no redeeming characters, Newman still transcends, goes full heel, chooses transgressing as a way of life, stands anti-Jerry as an ethical standard. But maybe he too represents something universal, recognizable. After all, he is the one already in your apartment building. This is your friend’s friend, your recurring local public servant, the one who warrants either an awkward head nod or an equally awkward stop-n-chat, frequent enough for both familiarity and annoyance. A peer, nemesis, neighbor, all of it rolled together, the one who, when things are going well, or going poorly, no matter—when things are just going—darkens your door. The one embodying all the exasperation of the world’s injustices, standing with a Schadenfreude smirk or a snarl, a scowling meatball of all the inanity of toiling in a society. A society of “other drivers.” And yet, still, he is a man, almost “merry,” enough to necessitate a greeting, a shrugged acceptance of humanity and her shortcomings. He is owed an acknowledgment, that here is somebody else, with a worldview a smidge skewed, approaching life from behind a different door—on the east side of the building, no less—one who deserves, at least, a “Hello, Newman.”
61 Comments
For all Newman’s bluster, his boss was *way* scarier!
He was a general.
Ya like golf, Mr. Kramer?
So was I…
And let’s not forget that time he let loose all those dinosaurs on that island just because he was trying to scam a scammer.
He also had that stint as a police officer under an assumed name with mixed results. Got caught out trying to look up Sharon Stone’s dress during an interrogation.
That may be why he took a police officer job in Ohio with this weird family who claimed to be from another planet.
And given how many years it’s been since Seinfeld went off the air, I wonder how many adults have no idea what “Hello, Newman,” refers to. (My guess: a whole bunch.)
I know what it means when someone says “Aaaaaay” or “Up your nose with a rubber hose.” Sometimes these things stick around anyway.
Kiss my grits!
No!
c’mon, kiss ‘em.
I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction!
Fair enough.
Yeah, but Happy Days and Welcome Back, Kotter stayed in the public eye for decades through syndication (when most people watched over-the-air TV rather than cable or streaming). Yes, you can watch Seinfeld today, but you have to go looking for it. Which means that younger people aren’t going to randomly find it the way people used to find shows that aired before their time.
It’s still rerun all over the place, and it’s on Netflix. It hasn’t exactly disappeared. But you’re assuming people have to actually watch it to be aware if the catchphrases.I’ve only seen two episodes of Happy Days, and they were motivated by the Weezer Buddy Holly video and jumping the shark. I’ve never seen Welcome Back Kotter.
I guess I don’t get how you know the phrase then. Did you read a book of popular TV catchphrases or something?
Someone said it to me once and I asked them about it.
My wife’s cousin was a phd candidate around 2009-2010 and taught an intro history class, lecture hall size (~100 students). He dropped a Seinfeld reference and the entire room just stared back at him blankly. “Come people! Seinfeld??” First time in his life he felt old, and still in his 20s.Long way of saying a WHOLE lot of current adults (those students would now be in their early 30s) would have no idea of the reference or how it’s used (i.e. to greet someone you really don’t want to see).
and yet, they all watch Friends
Probably far fewer who know where “Bye, Felicia” originates from.
Think of how many adults have no idea that the little square icon for File Save represents a small plastic object that was once used to store data?
I have 2 kids in their early 20s. They’ve watched all of The Office, Parks and Rec and Community (probably a few more from before their time also). They’ve never had any interest in Seinfeld.
4 touchdowns in one game.
To be fair, the reason I knew about “Hello Newman” was because one of best friends in HS had a chemistry teacher whose name was Newman, and my friend said that Every. Damn. Class. Also, the only time he wore shoes instead of flip flops at all was for labs. Literally he kept his one pair of shoes in that classroom for him to put on. Not sure how much those two are related
My students are all Seinfeld fans. It takes me aback whenever one says “that reminds me of the marble loaf/the soup nazi/the combevack”
I am gratified at how many still understand the concept of the “big salad”.
I never even considered the comparison to Ignatius J. Reilly, but it makes sense.That book is so close to being a masterpiece. If it had been published when the author was alive, and he had worked with an editor to trim the fat, it would probably be my all-time favorite. It’s top 10 currently, but there are some sections that really drag.
The story of its publication remains just amazing.
Agreed. I seem to recall that the forward was written by a writer who was a professor at Loyola in NO. He wrote that people gave him manuscripts all the time and he could usually tell in a page or sometimes in a paragraph that it was no good. I believe he said that Toole’s mother gave it to him and that he read the whole thing straight through and changed nothing.
It was Walker Percy, right?
I was thinking Tulane but yeah, that’s the story. His mother found the manuscript after he died.
I read Dunces for the first time last year and remarked to my wife that it’s pretty clear a lot of Seinfeld was inspired by it.
Newman didn’t hate fruit, he hated vegetables (vile weed). I mean, c’mon, he loved the Mackinaw peaches.
Quick, honey mustard!
The crossed-eyes, old-timey saloon slam with his open hand on the counter is just perfect.
Fake News. He loved Broccoli. It is good for you.
I came here just to say this. Makes me wonder if the writer really understands the character.
You mean the AI bot that thinks broccoli is a fruit?
What about tomatoes? That’s a food that is culturally considered a vegetable but which is botanically a fruit.
I’m not sure the show ever tackled Newman’s feelings towards tomatoes. He is show to love Mackinaw peaches and detest broccoli as far as a recall.
What the fuck are you talking about Jesse
Another good, more forgotten tv villain was David Schraam, aka Roy from Wings.
Good call. I think my all-time favorite bit of Roy villainy was when he faked being under hypnosis and “confessed” to having buried a huge stash of ill-gotten loot in his back yard. When the rest of the gang went to dig it up, they learned they had been scammed into excavating for Roy’s in-ground hot tub.
Knight as a sleazy drug lawyer in Narcos was a lovely surprise, and he absolutely kills it, bringing back some of the Newman energy in a more dramatic tone.
I was gonna share this in my fun little Seinfeld facebook group but my god the writing was so terrible I didn’t even make it though 2 paragraphs.
They phone these articles out to AI.
If this wasn’t AI, then the writer really should turn his gig over to AI.
only AI would think Newman didn’t like fruit
The AI farms it back to humans, and makes 5 cents per word on the arbitrage.
“Shaggy and ambling, sometimes pointless, the thrust of Seinfeld was much like the largely plotless Dunces, perfect for tangential arrows, for misanthropic screeds against modernity, for a near ceaseless airing of grievances, for forays into the absurd ennui of day-job trappings, of getting lunch from said day jobs, of arguing $75 speeding tickets with fictional suicide attempt defenses, of plotting a Michigan bottle refund scheme, of exploiting the unhoused for rickshaw conveyance, or for tapping the mythic rivalry of postal workers and dogs in a wondrously over-cooked scheme of revenge porn”This is where I tapped out. WHAT THE FUCK EVEN IS THIS WRITING.
Tribute to James Joyce?
I’m sure todd lazarski fucking wishes that was true
indeed. Aames Ioyce, if you will
Just when I think this site has completely gone to the dogs of ugly celebrity reporting and a complete abandonment of its roots you come out with something like this.Great article.
Well written, Todd. [applause]
So this is the first and only draft of this article, right? No one could have edited down to a final form like this.
What are these “drafts” and “editing” of which you speak??This…thing is the text-based equivalent of one of those YouTubes where they lance an abcess bigger than a basketball on a cow’s neck.And I’m locked in the greys for like a year and a half??
“Shaggy and ambling, sometimes pointless,“Is he describing Seinfeld, or this article?
I’m glad that this article has exposed me to a book that I had never heard of, but I’m annoyed that I had to read this AI fever dream to do so
Everybody complains about the slideshows. Here’s a real article, but you still complain.Are you not entertained?