Parks And Recreation at 15: Top moments that make us miss Pawnee

Even before its creators had nailed the premise, Parks And Rec was intended to be a show about female friendship. Leslie and Ann’s bestie relationship was as lopsided as any other, but it was enviably honest. When workaholic Leslie turns paranoid at the idea of actually going for dinner out with someone, Ann (Rashida Jones) takes her out for drinks and immerses her “in a tank of bad date.” The show would have been a lesser thing without Jones’ warm wingwoman, and Poehler’s microexpressions and stammery non-sequiturs in this scene show how well-developed Leslie was as a character, even at this point. Plus, Poehler’s impeccable timing should have earned her at least one Emmy out of those perennial nominations.

The series’ big viral moment still slaps. (Meanwhile, the runner-up, is now a literally observed holiday.) Donna (Retta) and Tom (Aziz Ansari), the department’s two devotees of finer living, observe their annual ritual of gifting themselves spa treatments, mimosas, fine leather goods, etc. (“The one day a year I allow myself to be selfish,” Tom deadpans.) The scenes in the mall give Retta and Ansari—always solid support—time to shine and allow Ben (Adam Scott) his own rare moment of pure hedonism, as much as can be obtained in an Indiana mall.

An early high point, “Harvest Festival” closes a story arc in which the city’s last-ditch revenue prospect is prefaced by one massive fuckup after another. There are so many good moments in the episode, including brutal digs at the historical treatment of Native Americans (“the atrocities are in blue”). But the best is a local news report detailing the indigenous curse allegedly placed on Leslie and the festival. For some reason, it’s accompanied by an “exclusive animation” of the type often used in Asian countries but not so common to midwestern NBC affiliates.

In the series’ best episode, female friendship returns to the fore as Ann and Leslie square off about what Leslie perceives as Ann’s lack of ambition. This occurs at the kickoff for Tom’s big “kahlua-style liqueur” at the Snakehole Lounge, wherein almost everybody gets obliterated. The episode has everything—, solid character moments for everyone (including Ben Schwartz’s recurring Jean-Ralphio and Aubrey Plaza’s “Janet Snakehole”), and ultimately sweet resonance as Ben and Leslie’s relationship inches forward and Ann and Leslie reunite. But it’s the montage at 3:19 above, showing everyone at their own unique rock bottom, that makes us miss these Midwestern messes the most. It was clear Jones and Plaza would lead their own projects ASAP.

Leslie’s first big proposal as city councilor is a soda tax to combat obesity. In Pawnee, home to Col. Plump’s Slop Trough and Fat Sack, that goes over as well as you might expect, especially in this scene in which Ann and Leslie debate a blithely sociopathic restaurant lobbyist with the aid of some giant props that inspire a vivid metaphor. Then topical, thanks to Michael Bloomberg’s proposal in New York City, the absurdity of portion sizes and fast-food marketing still has serious bite today.

“Great news—lots of old people have chlamydia.” So kicks off a series-peak episode in which city councilor Leslie attempts to stem an STD epidemic among Pawnee’s elderly. One problem: The town only allows abstinence-only education. From the opening staff meeting to the public forums, the script is sharp, as good as anything that came out of the Norman Lear or MTM stables in the ’70s. And it contains perhaps the series’ best line, just a throwaway between Donna and Ann about her choice of garment. (Seasons six and seven would have benefited from more of this episode’s comic density.) It’s a bookend to season three’s equally good in which Leslie also battles town morality watchdog Marsha Langman, this time over a nude painting that contains Leslie’s likeness.

A spotlight for the recurring Mo Collins as newswoman Joan Calamezzo, who rules Pawnee media with an iron fist and complete lack of taste. When Tom and Ben treat her to lunch, Joan gets plastered and comes on to them. Collins’ physicality and delivery are pure comic A-game, as is the script. (This season’s in which Ansari and Scott struggle to get past one line at the drunken lunch, is especially worth a watch.) The show could have done more with denizens of the town, but the ones they featured really delivered.

Another one of Parks And Rec’s viral creations (inasmuch as there are T-shirts) was Li’l Sebastian, the local mini-horse who astounds the townsfolk, mystifies Ben, and dies suddenly in season three. Naturally, this requires an epic tribute concert, in which Andy writes a song, and everyone at the Parks Dept. unites for the usual amount of fuckup-ery. But they care and they’re trying, dammit, and that’s why we keep coming back.

Ron and Leslie’s arm’s-length mentor/mentee relationship has uncommon depth for a workplace comedy, and Leslie’s emotional intelligence when it comes to her friends makes her an uncommonly complex comic character. Both qualities were showcased when Leslie surprised Ron with the b-day bash he’d been trying to avoid for the entire episode.

Local radio has rarely been as well sent-up as when Leslie, Ben, and Tom embark on a media tour to promote the upcoming Harvest Festival. On Pawnee’s drive-time show Crazy Ira And The Douche, Ben—like so many seemingly perfect sitcom characters—reveals himself to be a bit of a mess. (Maybe meditating to would have calmed him down.)

There are plenty of sweet moments in Ben and Leslie’s relationship: the “Indianapolis” conclusion, the surprise proposal, their wedding at the office, the triplets—you name it. But this scene in which Ben throws himself behind Leslie’s upcoming political campaign is about the sweetest breakup scene imaginable. And it was clear from the ending that it wouldn’t last.

In 30 seconds as Ron’s first ex-wife named Tammy, guest star Patricia Clarkson cucks Ron, cows Leslie, and gives April the cold, distant mother she never had. A precise comic performance, aided by devastating one-liners like “I don’t think it will be necessary for you to speak again while I’m here,” it further deepens the subversive character of Ron Swanson. And that’s to say nothing of the that closes the episode.

Yin to Clarkson’s icy yang, Offerman’s real-life wife, Megan Mullally, showed up several times to wreak sexual havoc as Ron’s second ex-wife Tammy, a carnally demonic librarian he’s unable to resist. In their second reunion, Ron becomes so addicted to “sipping on joy juice and tripping on Tammy” that the parks staff are forced to hold an intervention, a scene that’s classic thanks to Donna’s line comparing Ron to her real-life brother.

This is the series’ finest moment of physical comedy. Everyone comes together to help Leslie host a rally to boost her struggling city-council campaign. But April books a hockey arena, Ron loses half the wood necessary for the stage, and Tom doesn’t order enough red carpet to cover the ice. The result: Everyone has to slide and crawl their way to the podium to the sounds of Gloria Estefan’s “Get On Your Feet.”

In one of those moments of true sitcom alchemy, gruff mustachioed Ron (Nick Offerman) meets his upper-class counterpart—gruff mustachioed Ron (Sam Elliott). Offerman’s reactions to the clone who turns out to become his inverse mirror image reminded us how criminal it was that Offerman was never Emmy-nominated for the role. He should have won at least once. In reality, a survivalist evened the score for Offerman. And we think that’s a plot twist Ron Swanson would appreciate.