Depression, the Roommate from Hell, and Fran Drescher

I’ve always thought Fran Drescher was the bee’s knees.

That voice. Love it. Love her.

She’s a true survivor—of Hollywood, rape, cancer, and more. She’s been memorably great in so many movies that left an impression on me growing up, like Cadillac Man, or Saturday Night Fever, or The Hollywood Knights. Plus, there’s The Nanny.

Winter, 1995 was close to the nadir of late-teen angst for me. That would all change for the better, that spring, but those dark, gloomy Northeastern winter days were a struggle. Roommate from hell had succeeded in forcing my escape down the hall and into a single room, and for that I actually owe the SOB a small amount of gratitude. But not much. Dude had a Brett Kavanaugh-esque entitled white man’s rage about him, barely concealed under a similarly arrogant scowl.

Even after I wriggled out from under that stress, I was still miserable. It's obvious to me now that I was, at the very least, mildly depressed. I didn’t talk to many people about much of anything already, so living alone was mostly unhealthy. There was a half hour every week, though, where I sat on the bed in my new, single room and just flat-out, unabashedly laughed—at Drescher, at The Nanny. Her comic timing was impeccable, and the witty interplay between her and costar Daniel Davis (Niles) was brilliant. Drescher reminded me that it was okay to laugh. That laughter was crucial to retaining any semblance of joy or optimism.

Drescher is the bee’s knees, man, the bee’s knees. I explained why, in detail, recently. Long story short: back in the day, she made me smile. Laugh. Feel something, besides inertia.

Cut to this past October. Stressed at work. Self-medicating with the office bowl-o-candy-corn. 'Tis the season. Figure it's only fair I replenish the stash with another bag of the Yellow #5, #6, and Red #3 foodstuffs (it has honey in it so I think that qualifies it as a food). Walk over to the store, in a pouring rainstorm, to snag a bag. Pass the discount DVDs on the way to the register. Eyes pop out of my head when I see the flashy girl from Flushing. The Nanny: The Complete Series sits there, amidst the detritus (I swear I saw a Kate Hudson film in the mix) for the absolute rock bottom, it'd be a crime to leave this on the shelf price of $9.99. You read that right. It had to be priced that low by mistake. Faster than you can shout, "Mr. Sheffield!" I grab it. But do I need it? Well, do we really need anything? Why even ask me that??

The weird part is it's as if some unseen, all-knowing higher power (if one even exists—but if it does I'm putting my money on it being Oprah) has been reading my social media feeds over the years and said, eh, let's push his nostalgic buttons, drop this one down to 10 smackers, and see if he answers the call.

Oh, I answered, all right. And I'd do it again, dammit. Drescher was there for me in the '90s, it's the least I could do, right?

Nanny marathon, at my house, baby. In fact, I've spent the past few months slowly working through the series. I'm into season two and happy to report it's as delightful as it was back in the '90s. Thanks, Fran.

Comments

J-DubFebruary 4, 2019 at 8:49 AM
I'm so glad you mentioned "The Hollywood Knights." A very underrated, albeit sophomoric comedy, it's what turned me on to Fran Drescher and Robert Wuhl.
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