How It Works
Splitsider Presents is a digital comedy store selling great comedy directly to you. There are no hoops to jump through, and you don't need to hand over your identity. Buying is simple and straightforward; you don't need a credit card or an existing account. You can complete payment and be watching a show in seconds, choosing to pay via either Amazon or Paypal.
Splitsider keeps only 20% of the cost of the purchase after transaction, bandwidth and legal costs, with about 70% going directly to the artist.
You can stream your purchases on whatever device you like, or download them to your computer to keep forever in DRM-free file formats.
Purchase/Playback Info
For $5 you get 5 HD or SD DRM-free downloads and 3 streams, allowing you to watch on your computer or any other device. You can choose to pay via either Amazon or PayPal, and you'll be able to log into the site whenever you want to re-download or stream your purchases.
Need Help?
Buying and watching shows on Splitsider Presents should be simple, quick and undemanding, but if you run into trouble, we have an excellent <A href="http://splitsider.com/store/docs/help">help section and customer service</a> to assist you.
It’s a lazy, trite comedy trope to make fun of Canada, at worst presenting it as an icy, bland, over-polite backwater, and at best, presenting it as a slightly dulled-down America Lite. Yes, they have Mounties and socialism and we share English and team sports and gravy-based foodstuffs, but Canada’s best offering, as far as the greater Splitsider community is concerned, is its plentiful offerings of sketch comedy and sketch comedians. They’ve given us so much: SCTV, The Kids in the Hall, and most everyone from Saturday Night Live ever. (And Will Arnett.) We could project this and assume, then, that if we dig a little deeper into Canadian comedy, we'd find even more excellent sketch comedy, like that really, good, weird obscure stuff only the comedy nerds would enjoy and appreciate it, just waiting for us to salivate over it and desperate scour for on YouTube.
Maria Bamford has a great bit about how she wants to have a TV sitcom someday called Me, My Mom, and a Monster, in which she, her mother, and a friendly but disgusting monster all live in the same house, where one can presume wackiness would ensue. Had Bamford been an up-and-coming comic in the late ‘80s or early ‘90s (which she wouldn’t have been, because she would not have gotten any club dates in that culture of jokes about airplanes and the myriad difference between New York and Los Angeles), she might have actually gotten the greenlight, and Me, My Mom, and a Monster would have wound up as a Saturday morning cartoon.
The Monkees was one of the greatest, hippest, most forward-thinking sitcoms ever, if not the first modern-day, non-cheesy sitcom. Which is remarkable, considering that it existed as an Americanized, TV rip-off of the Beatles’ A Hard Day’s Night starring a completely prefabricated band that didn’t write its songs and only later learned how to play their instruments. The cynical, corporate, the-lil’-bastards-oughta-like-this should have bled through every frame and every note. But it didn’t. Because producer Columbia Pictures and its TV wing Screen Gems didn’t care too much about micro-managing this thing, they let the cast, producers, and writers, all of them inexperienced, do whatever they wanted. The result was a gleefully zany show. Things The Monkees did before pretty much any other comedy did: quick cuts. Irony. Breaking the fourth wall. Not appealing to the squares. Actually being funny, or at least funnier than Petticoat Junction and My Three Sons. It captured a moment in time: the freewheeling, youthful, optimistic, pre-Manson ‘60s. (It even says so, right there in the theme song lyrics, that they’re the young generation, and that they’ve got something to say.)
At the beginning of the 2011 fall TV season, there were 22 live-action sitcoms on the broadcast networks. Twenty-five years ago: there were 37. Among them were progressive, inventive classics of the form, like Cheers, Newhart, and The Cosby Show. But for the most part, those three dozen sitcoms were horrible, cynically churned out dreck, meant to provide escape from the rapidly declining American family, rising cocaine costs, and 15 percent housing interest rates. The Night Courts were far outnumbered by formulaic, rube-baiting junk like Mr. Belvedere, Who’s the Boss?, My Two Dads, and Easy Street. That one was about Loni Anderson moving in with her uncle at an old folks’ home, because those places are hilarious, and not at all crucibles of death, dementia, and depression. 















Why NBC Will Regret Not Picking Up 'Mulaney'
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