Celebrities

It's Christmas and the only thing shining brighter than the tree at 30 Rock is SNL alum Jimmy Fallon. He didn't waste any time, appearing with Justin Timberlake in the cold open. It's like the show knew that the audience couldn't wait to see these two together. Before the monologue, Timberlake appears alongside Fallon as rapping and dancing presents alongside Aidy Bryant in Timberlake's signature "Bring it on down to _________-ville!" sketch. This high-energy opener set up expectations for Fallon and Timberlake to collaborate and SNL more than delivered. Unbelievably Fallon sang more than his musical guest, meriting consistent squeals of delight from the audience he got his start in front of.

This music-heavy episode, though centered around giving the crowd what they want (Fallon and Timberlake) also allowed the women of the cast to show off. The catchy and hilarious song "(Do It On My) Twin Bed" features the female cast killing it as they attempt to get laid in their childhood rooms, an all too familiar scenario during the holiday season. The sketch features expert rapping from Fallon, who "can't fully undress in case your parents come through. Just shirt, no pants like Winnie the Pooh."

I have been head over heels for this season of How I Met Your Mother, defending the stuck-in-the-wedding-weekend conceit against detractors and championing the overall refreshed feel of the humor and performances. But "Bass Player Wanted," the episode that would bring us the long anticipated union of the Mother and Ted's best pal Marshall, is far and away the worst half-hour Season 9 has given us.

Marshall meets the future Mrs. Mosby — whose name might well be hinted at by the title of the series finale — while he's struggling to walk five miles from his broken down bus to the wedding venue. (Now, this is hardly a relevant issue, but the show makes out a five-mile walk to be some sort of cross-country trek. Yes, Marshall is carrying his son and a few bags, but five miles really isn't that dreadful a hike for a healthy man of his physical prowess.) Driving away from Farhampton, The Mother recognizes Marshall from the pictures Lily showed her back on the Long Island Railroad and offers to give him and baby Marvin a ride.

Here, she reveals her present conflict: her lead singer, played demonically by Andrew Rannells, is some kind of sadistic sociopath who gets off on ruining people's friendships. As T.M. divulges Rannells' penchant for interrelationship sabotage, we see him starting fights between Lily and Robin (revealing that Robin is secretly taking Marshall's side in the judgeship/Italy debate) and Ted and Barney (telling Barney of Ted's plans to move to Chicago after the wedding).

But we never quite understand what the deal is with this nutjob. Why is Rannells' character such a psychotic dick? And how does he know enough info about Robin/Lily/Ted/Barney to infuse himself so effectively into their trust? And is T.M. the only one who knows of his evil follies, or are the other band members also aware of the monster that Rannells is? As T.M. continues to refer to Rannells as "the Devil," we learn that he also has optioned to replace her as bass player, after usurping her position as lead singer. It's all a bunch of wackadoo nonsense that unwinds into a convoluted conclusion to win Ted the good graces of his future wife. How? By an act of idiotic violence.

See, after Ted and Barney make up (I'll come back to that, since it is my favorite part of the episode), we see Ted punch Rannells' character right in the face. Is it because he broke his $600 bottle of Scotch, or because he instigated a spat between the two friends? A little of both, maybe. Either way, 35-year-old men shouldn't be punching people. That's not really admirable, and certainly not in character for Ted. Is this bizarre one-off moment of moronic machismo really supposed to be the thing that wins him the heart of The Mother? And do we really want Ted to end up with someone who can sign off on something like that?

T.M. hears that someone has punched out Rannells, which, along with encouragement from Marshall, gives her the guts to stand up to him once and for all and kick him out of the band. Bravo, golf claps, whatever. This is fair, permissable punishment for this weird non-character. A telling off and a deflating of ego is far more effective than a sock in the jaw.

But back to Ted and Barney. The sensitive Barney takes it personally that Ted hadn't told him about his Chicago move, insisting that Ted sees him as just "some guy he used to know in New York." The words land, and hard — Barney has always felt as though Ted didn't care nearly as much for him as he does for Ted, and probably with good reason. But Ted pulls off a half-cocked plan (stealing a $600 bottle of Scotch) and admitting, tacitly, that he is only leaving because he needs to start over with a Robin-free life.

This Barney understands. The two make up. It all works. Unfortunately, it's surrounded by a lot of stuff that's significantly less clever.

Any fan of a too short-lived television series knows that we can't always have nice things. There's nothing more bittersweet than discovering a new show with boundless potential while helplessly watching its ratings circle the drain. One such heartbreaking tale is that of Ben and Kate, which premiered on Fox in Sept. 2012 and left us after a mere 16 episodes.

The sitcom stars Dakota Johnson and Nat Faxon as closely-knit siblings sharing a house and the raising of Kate's daughter Maddie (Maggie Elizabeth Jones). Ben is a recovering slacker, still chasing get-rich-quick schemes but never ignoring his responsibilities to his baby sis and cutie-pie niece. Kate is a single mom whose future was interrupted by Maddie and who now aspires to leave her waitressing career behind. The gang is rounded out with Tommy (Echo Kellum) and BJ (Lucy Punch) as Ben and Kate's respective BFFs.

Slightly formulaic set-up? Sure. But the chemistry of the Ben and Kate cast gelled in record time, enabling those few of us who watched it to become attached to these characters right out of the gate. Like Parks and Recreation and New Girl, the series excels in the comedy of niceness. The laughs come from well-crafted scripts and endearing performances, not from cynicism or snark. There are few series on TV that explore the sibling relationship where Ben and Kate finds its heart. And while many comedies struggle to integrate kids without falling into sugary sweetness, Ben and Kate expertly navigated around that trap.

Hot mess BJ was a killer role for Lucy Punch, who's been making huge comic impact in small roles from Hot Fuzz to Dinner for Schmucks. Relative newcomer Kellum was a find (“I was going to, Ben, but then I realized that me climbing in through a window at night, that’s like a one-way ticket to a candle light vigil that turns into a riot”), and was instantly snatched up by the inferior Sean Saves the World.

For every toxic, unstable, will-they-won't-they sitcom relationship, there is a simpler, sweeter, invariably less interesting counterpart. Ross/Rachel had the comfortably tepid Monica/Chandler. The Officebalanced the chaos of Dwight/Angela, Michael/Holly, and Andy/Erin with the post-Season 4 doldrums of Jim/Pam. And through all the difficulty of fixing together Leslie and Ben, Ann and Chris, and Tom and anyone, we've had the unlikely rock-solid staple of April and Andy. On How I Met Your Mother, this pinnacle of psycho-romantic health is the Marshall/Lily combination — having endured only one trifle early on in the series run prior to this new arc's revelation that Marshall accepted a judgeship in New York that directly conflicted with Lily's plans to movie to Italy. And on the other side of the fence on the long-running CBS sitcom, we've seen Barney and Robin flounder through various mental problems to hold fast to the love that blooms (and often rots) between them. Those two are loons, not capable of a mature, healthy, giving relationship. But, like many people who fit that bill, they're getting married now.

Many viewers have surmised that the Stinson-Scherbatsky union might never come to be, and that How I Met Your Mother will conclude with the revelation that Barney and Robin realize that they aren't quite right for one another (or maybe for marriage at all) and opt to part ways amicably. If this were real life, we might root for this twist of fate. As much as we might enjoy their harebrained antics, we see evidence far too often that Barney and Robin are not part of what one might call a "good" relationship.

Sometimes, the pair champions this, using it to bolster their definition of passionate, non-traditional love. This week's episode, "The Rehearsal Dinner," is a primarily fun and sweet example of this kind of antic — Barney tricks Robin into believing one of his many long, elaborate, diagnostically insane lies in order to lead her to a surprise rehearsal dinner themed after her native home of Canada. It doesn't quite make up for the fact that she, despite her professed wishes, does not actually get to be married in Canada... but Robin Thicke shows up, so everybody wins.

But although "The Rehearsal Dinner" is a particularly enjoyable episode, there is one element of it that rubs me the wrong way: the Robin of it all. Throughout, she strains to contain Barney as he lies, manipulates, ignores, and mocks her, all in the name of giving her a great surprise. The relationship doesn't seem to be about two emotionally frayed people finding a common ground, but about one reasonably stable woman dealing relentlessly with her emotionally frayed fiancé.

We can argue, in favor of the pair, that Robin too is a nut. And she is, historically. But her time with Barney seems to have made her out to be the sane one. Lord knows that "Rehearsal Dinner" exhibits more angst on Robin's part than voluntary lunacy. She commits to the ideas of rehearsal dinners and regimens, worrying about things we've never seen the abjectly offbeat Robin worry about... all in contrast to her maniacal beau. Being around Barney's crazy has actually made Robin seem lesscrazy (and more boring, we might add), and we're not too fond of this shift.

What makes the Michael/Hollys and April/Andys of the TV world ultimately work? Their compatibility. Barney and Robin advertise this, and occasionally show us a good time and some heartwarming (and funny) moments. But are they compatible? "The Rehearsal Dinner" makes us skeptical.