Bob Newhart: Set up and Delivery

The most typical description of the humor of Bob Newhart is likely to center around the word “deadpan,” which is entirely appropriate when evaluating Newhart’s particular brand of comedy. But I think there’s another aspect that is overlooked: the fact that Bob Newhart was equally adept at playing straight man, or comedian. In fact, you could often see him playing both sides of that coin simultaneously for his own punchline. 

How many people in the history of comedy could do that with such ease? Most of the time you are either the set up or the joke, Bob Newhart was very frequently both. It’s practically unheard of to be that skilled in both directions. Sure the characters around him certainly gave Newhart plenty of opportunities to deliver his trademark understated, dry as an old bone responses, but he could also do it himself. Newhart had a way of looking slightly puzzled by his own internal thoughts before delivering the punchlines he was known for. That moment of slight confusion before the joke was verbalized was absolutely priceless. I cannot think of anyone who did it better.

Newhart, a former accountant (maybe that’s where all that dry humor manifested from) started out in standup, and became a huge success after recording two albums of comedy–both of which topped the Billboard charts. With that initial success, Newhart pivoted to television, hosting his own variety show (The Bob Newhart Show, which lasted just one season), along with appearances on numerous other variety shows. He also dabbled in film on occasion in the ‘60s and into the early ‘70s, with movies such as Hell is for Heroes, Hot Millions, On a Clear Day You Can See Forever, Cold Turkey, and most notably, Mike Nichols’ adaptation of Joseph Heller’s Catch-22.

But it would be his first foray into situation comedy where Newhart’s legend would start to cement itself. The Bob Newhart Show, with Newhart playing a Chicago psychologist, married to the lovely Suzanne Pleshette wasn’t just successful, it went on to become a touchstone of ‘70s TV sitcoms. The series was a mixture of relationship comedy between the two leads and a workplace office comedy. Despite being a decidedly low-key show that faced a lot of stiff competition for eyeballs during its run, the show lasted six seasons before ending in 1978. Even though the Bob Newhart Show was well-reviewed and a top 20 show in the Nielsen ratings for much of its run, the series only received four Emmy nominations during its run–two for Suzanne Pleshette, but not a single one for Bob Newhart himself.

Another four years would pass before Bob Newhart would return with another sitcom, this time with a series simply titled Newhart, which told the story of two Manhattanites who leave the big city to run the Stratford Inn in rural, bucolic Vermont. While the show was seemingly out of step during the go-go eighties, Newhart found an even stronger footing in the “me-decade.” One could argue that the series was effective counter-programming during the close of the Cold War. It also helped that Newhart was really funny. While every bit as much built around its star’s persona as The Bob Newhart Show, the supporting cast (including Mary Frann as his wife, Tom Poston as the inn’s handyman, and later additions Julia Duffy, Peter Scolari, and William Sanderson) all added greatly to the show. The ensemble was top-notch and perfectly in sync. While the show seldom made the top ten on the weekly ratings, it was firmly ensconced in the top 20 (reaching as high as number 12 in the yearly rankings) during the preponderance of its run. The Emmys paid more attention to Newhart’s second sitcom as well. Over the life of the series, Newhart was nominated for 25 Emmys over the length of the series. Newhart, Duffy, Scolari, and Poston all received multiple nominations (it’s a real shame Frann was never recognized). But remarkably, just like The Bob Newhart Show, Newhart never won a single Emmy.

What I find most remarkable about both series is that location aside, there’s a very familiar and comfortable feeling that both shows had. I suspect most of that is due to Bob Newhart’s persona, and light touch with a bon mot. The final episode of Newhart is regarded as one of the finest closes to any series in the history of television. When the entire town is bought by a foreign entity, only Dick and Mary (Newhart and Frann) refuse to sell even in the face of a  million dollar offer. The show then jumps ahead five years later to Dick and Mary still running the hotel in what has become a resort town surrounded by a massive golf course. Later that evening, we find Bob and his wife in bed. The scene is darkly lit for reasons that soon become clear. Bob wakes in the middle of the night, stirs his wife to tell her that he had the strangest dream. That he had been an innkeeper in Vermont with a beautiful blond woman. As his wife turns to face him, we see the face of Suzanne Pleshette. 

What could have played as an annoying nullification of a beloved show that ran for eight seasons, instead turned into a tying of the two series together. The scene didn’t need to be taken literally. It was a sweet and simple victory lap for two shows that defied gravity in finding an audience through light comedy that was never mean or caustic. They were both just damn funny. And that was enough.

Bob Newhart twice more entered the sitcom fray with Bob in 1992, and George and Leo in 1997. Neither show was able to repeat the success of his two previous series and both were canceled without completing a second season. 

Over the final quarter of a century of his career, Newhart largely guested on shows like Murphy Brown, ER, Desperate Housewives, and The Big Bang Theory–never failing to class things up. In fact, after all those years of quality work, it was The Big Bang Theory that finally scored Newhart that elusive Emmy in the category of Outstanding Guest Actor in a Comedy. He also found a handful of quality character roles on film with In & Out, Legally Blonde 2, and my personal favorite, Elf, which found Newhart playing “Papa Elf,” who had to train Will Ferrell’s oversized elf in how to be a good, well, elf. 

Bob Newhart is a true anomaly in the history of TV and the art of comedy itself. He never pandered, he never tried to be anyone else, and he never resorted to cheap laughs or going “over the top.” It’s a bit miraculous to survive entirely on wit, humility, and good nature. But when you are as funny as Bob Newhart, the universe will bend in your direction.

Bob Newhart died on July 18, 2024. He was 94 years old.