Wedged between the multitude of action movies scattered on the table, my copy of Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure stood out like a sofa with eyeballs. It was Spring Break 2007, and my friends and I needed to select a film to watch that night. I lobbied for Pee-Wee, but everyone else laughed, brushing off my suggestion with “no way” and “I’m not watching that.” They opted for the hyper-masculine Die Hard, while I watched a man-child dance to “Tequila” in the basement.
This weekend, Northwestern’s Block Cinema will screen Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure alongside The Bicycle Thief, as part of a “Bicycle Double Feature.” The fact Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure is being shown with a film some critics consider the greatest ever made indicates that this “weird” character left some sort of impact. Pee-Wee Herman transcends typical nostalgia, and serves not as a hip talking point, but as a symbol of innocence in the face of adulthood.
Pee-Wee Herman, played by Paul Reubens, is one of the most identifiable characters from the 1980s. Reubens created the character in the late ‘70s and, after being rejected from Saturday Night Live, decided to create a stage show centered on Pee-Wee. The Pee-Wee Herman Show was born, becoming popular enough to warrant an HBO special and guest spots on David Letterman. Warner Brothers signed Reubens and commissioned him to make a Pee-Wee movie, leading to the greatest Herman-centered creation ever, the 1985 Tim Burton-directed Big Adventure. The next year, Pee-Wee’s Playhouse began airing on Saturday mornings, a kids’ show that captured 22 Emmys during its four-year run. A second film, Big Top Pee-Wee, came out in 1988. And then, in 1991, Reubens was arrested for whacking off in an adult movie theater, and Pee-Wee got brushed off into the cobweb-lined attic of pop culture.
University of Toronto professor Linda Hutcheon, in a 1998 essay, defined nostalgia as “the past as imagined, as idealized through memory and desire.” She expands on it, connecting the idea of nostalgia to the contemporary: “the ideal that is not being lived now is projected onto the past.” Apply this definition of nostalgia to Northwestern, and you’ll hit on why conversations about Doug and Double Dare are so prevalent. College, contrary to popular media representations, is a terrifying place. For many kids, it’s the transition from childhood to adulthood, the first time someone has to survive on their own. And for some, college introduces brushes with love, heartbreak, failure, pressure, sexuality and even maturity, all concepts more terrifying than a giant salesman.
Childhood, by contrast, was simple and carefree, the only fears present in silly encounters with bullies, crushes and Little League baseball games. We enjoyed watching TV shows where big turtles fight robot ninjas. But the shows of our youth, when viewed from adult eyes, become a lot less wonderful. Kids watch TV and don’t question anything. They just enjoy. Adults dissect, and once-simple pieces of entertainment don’t feel the same. I tried watching episodes of Salute Your Shorts, one of my favorite childhood shows, but Donkeylip’s capture-the-flag run through the forest no longer struck me as a triumphant victory for the underdog, but as a fat kid running awkwardly through a wooded area.
Pee-Wee Herman represents a different nostalgia. People flee to discussions about Hey, Dude and boy bands for sanctuary, a way to escape the present, but never re-engage them, as they yield no new wealth. As a kid, you watched Pee-Wee’s Playhouse and screamed real loud when the secret word comes up. You watch Big Adventure to laugh at Pee-Wee beating up a plump rich kid. Flip either on as an adult and you’ll find a goofy character constantly trying to hold onto his innocence in the face of maturity.
Lots of people get creeped out by Pee-Wee, besides the masturbation, because he’s an adult acting like a hyperactive six-year-old. He wears a slightly too-tight grey suit and walks around oddly. He screams and mocks others (“I know you are but what am I?”), and always seems in motion. He married fruit salad. No normal adult does that. When you are a kid, you see Pee-Wee as a friend who owns a lot of stuff. Revisit the Playhouse as an adult, and he becomes a role model on how to not fall victim to adulthood.
North Carolina State professor Melynda Huskey, in a 1992 essay about Pee-Wee, argues the Playhouse “offers us escape into the safe space of regression.” A fair point, but one that lumps Pee-Wee in Hutcheon’s definition of idealized nostalgia, which the show avoids. Characters bring all of their baggage, from self-esteem to relationship problems, into Pee-Wee’s pad, and even sex appears. Miss Yvonne, the busty head female of the show, flirts with everyone (even the talking furniture), while Pee-Wee tries to look up her dress and even fantasizes about scoring with her in one episode (Globey ruins his fantasy). The adult world lingers in the Playhouse; Pee-Wee just deals with it differently. He shouts and runs around and puts giant underwear on his head. Adults wear suits, take everything too seriously and plan out every detail. The Playhouse embraces childhood whimsy in the face of this, teaching us to have fun and just freak out sometimes.
I first saw Big Adventure when my family installed HBO, when I was about eight, and I just laughed and cheered for Pee-Wee to get his bike back. Today, it means a lot more. I slide the DVD in when I’m feeling immensely happy and want to keep the joy going with a plethora of “big butt” jokes. I’ve turned to this movie when I’m down and out, too. When my heart has been shattered by academic failure, future anxiety and, most painfully, girls, I turn to Big Adventure. Part of it is that I just love seeing Pee-Wee act ridiculous while putting tape on his face. But, unlike other nostalgia, this movie and character impact me today. Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure teaches patient viewers of any age to not give up on what they believe in and urges them to chase after it, regardless of how many setbacks and failures are faced.
It’s a simple message but an essential one, especially when so many sources of nostalgia exist to be talked about. Pee-Wee Herman wants us to have fun, but also not be afraid to foolishly go after what we love regardless of how scary it appears to be. Because when you get it, you’ll come home to the Playhouse and be stronger than ever.