The latest comedian extraordinaire to earn the Netflix six-and-out binge exercise treatment has been sorely missed. But the last laugh will be his. Oh yes, it will be his.
Once upon a time, back before Kardashians, TikTok and whatever “NFTs” are, Saturday Night Live’s Mike Myers was all that, and then some. He quickly became Wayne Campbell of Wayne’s World acclaim, before losing his identity in exchange for several more in the form of Austin Powers and Dr. Evil, among other hilarious screen foes – namely one with an obscene affinity for gold.
A Canadian raised by British World War II Veterans, Myers’ transformation as a humorist’s ever-accented baseline lends itself well to his propensity for such aforementioned impressive impressionism. During a period of his career not as prolific as his sexy-beast peak, he even hosted a Gong Show reboot (2017- 2018) as a character – Tommy Maitland, to be exact. Isn’t that weird?
Far from it.
Following lukewarm-performing ‘aughts live-action (The Cat in the Hat, The Love Guru) between otherworldly animated returns (Shrek 1-4), Myers largely disappeared from movie poster and marquee top billing. Moreover, there is no shortage of stories about the airborne creative tensions between he and everyone signed onto helm a Myers vehicle not named Jay Roach. This left the pessimistic sector of his fandom fearful his original creation days were officially behind him.
Enter “The Pentaverate.”
Back to silly basics, The Pentaverate reinvigorates prestige-saturated audiences with an important notion: a comedy can hit lung-failingly strong without needing to be considered anything other than a laugh-fest. No disrespect to the premier quality entertainment currently producing new episodes, but who needs to see Myers in a whimsy-as-a-crutch, grief-dissecting character study when they can heal themselves of their own woes quicker by experiencing the true master of disguise – move over, Dana Carvey and Sacha Baron Cohen – as Alice Cooper’s real-life former manager, Shep Gordon? Or, better yet, as an interpretation of Gordon supposing he’d be one of the top five highest minds tabbed to secret society supervise the “free” world? A-baking powder?
Alongside Gordon, Myers also pours out more Peter Sellers-esque, nay, “Myersian” at this point multi-role madness through: Ken Scarborough, a fired Canadian TV news reporter looking for the killer story that will save his job; Anthony Lansdowne, a Bostonian truther; Rex Smith, a far-right radio host Lansdowne adores; and the rest of the titular Pentaverate: Lord Lordington, Bruce Baldwin, Mishu Ivanov, and Jason Eccleston – a British “Centralis” dais leader, an Australia media magnate, an ex-Russian oligarch, and a tech guru A.I. supercomputer builder, respectively.
Together, Gordon and the latter four make up the collective behind the moving and shaking of contemporary society, in fulfillment of a hierarchy first established in the 1300s as Jeremy Irons sardonically narrates during the opening theme of each installment. Their concisely serialized misadventures kickoff with a slain Eccleson’s murder investigation. His successor, a global warming antidote-pursuing Dr. Hobart Clark (Keegan Michael-Key) struggles to persist while his Myers-faced, materially “Meadows”- obsessed counterparts resist plowing ahead en route to enacting the palpable change they claim to arbitrate.
When he needs to, Myers can stick the landing of a climactic emotional cue with complete sincerity amongst the best of them. After all, we fell in love with his characters through laughter, didn’t we? That means escaping life’s horrors by being so bold enough as to belittle them. It means, rather than surrendering to what we cannot control, we rebel with cause. We turn down paydays in favor of our cable access, literal basement roots. We time travel so far out of our comfort zones that we let the moon hit our eye like a lair hidden inside the Hollywood sign—that’s not aMOLE. And we defeat ill-spoken “mentors” by willing ourselves into supplanting them, whether through kismet forces or by sheer happenstance.
This one’s for those who’d cafeteria chatter about the redemption of the Evil Medical School graduate formerly known as, then known once more as “Dougie Powers” with more frequency than the holy trilogy that helped lay the foundation for its irreverently spoof-tastic, guacaMOLE-fearing offspring. Indubitably, The Pentaverate is what they need; especially if they didn’t know they did.
Alternatively ultra-consumable as a 3-hour mega-light nightcap, the miniseries is Myers’ definitive proclamation that he’s come back to play… indefinitely. By funny Gods, The Pentaverate may just be the blessedly outrageous, but calm-by-comparison opening act before the superstorm floodgates consisting of additional chameleonic offerings and legacy sequels alike commence.
Also back – not by demand, but rather by tongue-in-cheek “death, taxes, and..” necessity, is a Myers stalwart collaborator, Rob Lowe, whose sex tapescandalized image was saved twice over by Myers. Firstly, when Myers cast the ex “Brat Pack”-er trapped in a career twilight zone as the villain in Wayne’s World (1992). Then, Myers utilized Lowe once more in Austin Powers’ first sequel, The Spy Who Shagged Me (1999), as “Young Number 2.”
“I’m almost starstruck when Mike is Dr. Evil,” Lowe told Insider when promoting this, the season of multiple reunions between old friends turned screen friends and enemies. “I just love being around him.”
And we love when he’s around, certainly more than when he’s not. Lowe’s uncanny Robert Wagner impression and self-deprecation as a key member of a world event-shaping brass immediately and uncoincidentally predated his meteoric immersion back unto the zeitgeist. By the same year’s end, he joined the perennial Emmy Award campaign circuit as part of the ensemble for Aaron Sorkin’s White House cabinet-canvassing political powerhouse, The West Wing (1999-2006). But we digress.
The Pentaverate charged Myers and Co. to willingly go where no man unreluctantly wants to go: home. For Myers, this demands twofold: fourth wall breaks, and balancing potty humor with globally gargantuan Hijinx-for-stakes. When modern reality rests solely in the hands of five “nice” individuals who are actually anything but, we as an audience have no uneasiness going all the way with it, because it’s not executed as hammered-over-your-head commentary. It’s an “everyman for himself, heroes and villains as equal punchlines” ethos that’s sadly been done away with in most non-South Park mainstream comedy-making two years deep into the 2020s. Until now.
To this, Myers sees your concerns and raises you oodles of chances at scene playback where attempts at tidy-up censor upon revision only make things dirtier. And if Goldmember taught us anything, it’s that that is the way he loves it.
Beyond Myers, Lydia West is the breakout star as Riley, Ken Scarborough’s accomplice on the joint mission of a lifetime: penetrating The Pentaverate.
Oh, behave.
