The 1980s brought us a heap of pop culture, some may argue more lasting pop
culture than any other decade. And one of the most unexpected icons of the
decade came in the form of a boy... named Pee-wee. How does a two-dimensional comedy character become one of the most famous people in
Hollywood within just a few years? And launch the career of a world-famous director? Today on Retro Ruckus, we attempt to find out. Growing up in the '50s, Paul Ruebens often
found himself in front of a new invention called... television, religiously
tuning into shows like I Love Lucy, The Mickey Mouse Club, Captain
Kangaroo and Howdy Doody. (Look at all the boys and
girls there at home. Hi kids!) (And kids in the gallery, what time is it?
Howdy doody time! Okay, let's sing it.) When his family moved to Sarasota, Florida,
many of his neighbours were performers for the Ringling Bros. Circus, where Paul
quickly became a frequent visitor. There's no doubt that these influences led
him to become the oddball we know and love. Despite his parents' initial resistance,
he pursued a career in entertainment, performing in plays in his backyard
and eventually at a local theatre. He moved to California, as all actors
do, and worked restaurant and salesman jobs while studying acting at the
California Institute of the Arts. After graduating in the '70s, he quickly found
his footing in the Los Angeles comedy scene, performing on The Gong Show, a brief
appearance in The Blues Brothers, and joining the legendary troupe The Groundlings. It was during these weekly performances
that Paul found his comedic voice, and began harnessing this one. (Why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer!) In one Groundlings show, the cast was performing
as characters you might see at a comedy club. Paul, however, was not a fan
of performing stand-up comedy, his bits and characters were
often on the absurd side. So he made his character a failing comedian, terrible at delivering jokes and
responding to hecklers with the phrase... (I know you are, but what am I?) (You're a nerd! I know you are, but what am I?) (You're an idiot! I know you are, but what am I?) (I know you are, but what am I?) He dawned a grey suit borrowed from
Groundlings director Gary Austin, a red bow-tie from a friend, and the
name of a harmonica Paul had as a child, and Pee-wee Herman was born. Fast forward a few years later. When Paul was rejected from Saturday Night
Live, he figured his comedy career was over. On the brink of moving back home to Sarasota, he remembered that weird little comedian man he
portrayed that was so popular a few years back. Maybe something was there? He borrowed some money from his parents
and worked with fellow Groundlings Phil Hartman and John Paragon to revive the
Pee-wee character into his own stage show. They drew inspiration from 50's
children shows like Howdy Doody, and tooled the character's angsty
rebellion into that of an ageless child, mixing in elements of joy,
wonder and of course, absurdity. (singing: Well, good morning. How do you do?) (singing: Lots of surprises
are just waiting for you.) (singing: On your mark, get
ready, get set, now go go go go!) (singing: Because it's time now
for the Pee-wee Herman Show!) The Pee-wee Herman Show follows a boy named
Pee-wee living in a Playhouse in Puppetland. He talks to the audience like they're
children who've tuned into his show, while interacting with friendly neighbours like Pterri the Pterodactyl,
Captain Carl and Miss Yvonne. While parodying a kiddie show,
the play was written for the Groundlings crowd and included a slew
of adult jokes and sexual innuendos. After an hour of "educational"
segments and some audience interaction, the show ends with Jambi the Genie
granting Pee-wee's wish to fly, ending in a musical number in which he proclaims: (I'm the luckiest- the luckiest boy in the world!) Can you imagine going to a random comedy show
and then seeing this? I would be mind-blown. The play premiered in 1981 with midnight
performances at the Groundlings Theater, to a confused but mostly adoring audience. Critics praised its avant-garde
style, unique set design, and described Paul Reubens as
"the weirdest comedian around." Like all bizarre things, it picked
up a devoted cult following, moving to the Roxy Theatre in Los Angeles
where it sold out for five months straight, and where HBO filmed the show as a comedy
special, pushing Pee-wee into the mainstream. It was at this point that Paul
decided to abandon his real name, and absorb the Pee-wee Herman
persona as a full-time gig, making appearances in TV shows, movies, and regularly being featured on
Late Night with David Letterman, who once remarked "What makes me laugh... is that it has the external structure of
a bratty little precocious kid, but you know it's being controlled by the
incubus – the manifestation of evil itself." Constantly in character and popping
up everywhere in the comedy world, Pee-Wee Herman had unpredictably
become the absurdist icon of the era. So much of an icon that Warner Brothers
commissioned a full-length feature film. Films based on a single comedy character
were a common thing at this time. Films that were successful at bringing comedy
characters to the screen... were way less common. How do you take this flamboyant and tempered man-child and write an
entertaining 90-minute movie? That is the question Paul attempted to answer
in an office on the Warner Bros. Studio lot. Did I mention that he had
never written a screenplay before? The odds were not in this movie's favor. Halfway through penning his first draft, Paul became distracted by
something outside of his office: Bicycles. Something you'll see regularly
on studio backlots is employees biking around to whatever set
or office they're headed to. Paul jokingly asked Warner Brothers when he would get his, and as a gift, they gave him one - a refurbished 1940 Schwimm.
He instantly fell in love. Paul then threw out his first draft
and worked with collaborators Phil Hartman and Michael Varhol
to start a new script... all about the bike. (laughing) With this new script, the search
was on to find a director who could match the twisted sensibilities
of Pee-wee's humor and heart. In 1984, Paul attended his friend
Shelley Duvall's screening, a short film made by Disney called Frankenweenie. He immediately knew that whoever its director was would be perfect at
bringing Pee-wee to the screen. Warner Brothers agreed and on a whim, they hired
a young newcomer by the name of Tim Burton. Burton amplified the kitsch style and
absurd humor of the Pee-wee stage show, by adding nightmare sequences, stop-motion
animation and unique set design to the film - elements that fit perfectly
in the world of Mr. Herman. When it came to who would compose the music of a
story this grand, Paul had an unconventional idea: the frontman of his favourite band, Oingo Boingo. After attending a few concerts, Burton agreed, and rockstar Danny Elfman reluctantly took on
the task of writing his first ever film score. This is what you call the stars aligning, folks. Each of these artists' sensibilities collided to make the big screen debut of
the world's unlikeliest hero. (I meant to do that.) Pee-wee's Big Adventure is a
simple movie on the surface. When Pee-wee's beloved bike goes missing, he embarks on a journey through
America and his imagination to find it, leading to a wild chase
through Warner Brothers itself, before becoming a hero and big Hollywood star. Throw in a romantic pursuer, (Hi, Pee-wee.) an antagonist, (You'll be sorry, Pee-wee Herman!) hilarious stops at every turn, (Hey man, we don't
take kindly to strangers coming round here!) (vicious noise) (Woah!) wacky side characters, (inaudible singing) (yells) an iconic dance sequence, slapstick humor, endless quotable scenes, (singing: The
stars at night are big and bright!) (claps) (singing: Deep in the heart of Texas!) Danny Elfman's offbeat score, (inaudible singing) and Tim Burton's unique style
- (It looked like this.) (screams) and you've got a movie like no one
has ever seen before, or since. Just like Pee-wee Herman himself, the film almost
immediately took on a loyal cult following, receiving positive reviews from critics and maintaining a #3 spot at the box
office for six weeks in a row. While it never outshined its competition,
a movie about a time-travelling DeLorean, it eventually grossed $40 million
on a humble $7 million budget and has retained its cult classic status ever since. Its success led Warner Brothers
to offer Tim Burton another film: a little movie called Beetlejuice, launching his career as one
of Hollywood's top directors, a position he still holds to this very day. Danny Elfman has continued to
score almost all of Burton's films, composing music for over 100 Hollywood projects. As for Pee-wee, he used the movie's
success to revive his original stage play as a genuine morning kids show
for all ages: Pee-wee's Playhouse, which won 15 Emmys during his run and cemented
the character as a pop culture sensation. And perhaps best of all, in 1985, Pee-wee Herman
hosted his own episode of Saturday Night Live, only a few years after Paul
Reubens was rejected from the cast. That's showbiz, baby! On paper, a Pee-wee Herman
movie never should have worked. It was a low-budget comedy
by a first-time director, scored by a first-time movie composer, with a script written by first-time screenwriters, about a character who had never even had a leading
role on television, let alone a big screen movie. But ironically, those exact aspects
are the very reason that it thrived. Rather than making a movie
for fans of the stage show, Paul Reubens wrote a story that
introduced Pee-wee to the world, with jokes that were funny whether
you knew the character or not. Instead of choosing a director and composer
already known for their work in Hollywood, Paul picked promising young
weirdos who would use their unique styles to help the story
flourish as a true work of art. Not only is Pee-wee's Big
Adventure timelessly funny, it's a time capsule of a few young artists
sharing their absurdity with the world. And that is how a boy named Pee-Wee...
evolved from the stage to the big screen. (Come on, Dottie. Let's go.) (Let's go? Don't you wanna
see the rest of the movie?) (I don't have to see it, Dottie. I lived it.)
