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One of the greatest decades for sitcoms was the 1980s. From unconventional family comedies like Who’s the Boss, workplace classics like Cheers, and newfound stories about individuals who tend not to receive the spotlight like The Golden Girls, the ’80s set the blueprint for the type of comedies that audiences crave. Not every show aged well, like Bosom Buddies. But there are some shows that have aged like fine wine, which history seems to have forgotten.
While we fondly remember the hits of the decade, there are a handful of shows that deserve to be remembered for holding up well today. From sitcoms celebrating LGBTQ+ storylines to comedies that inspired a film franchise that we adore, these titles made their mark on the decade. Perhaps we forgot them because they aren’t accessible, or similar shows overshadowed them; this list is our chance to honor them once again.
‘Brothers’ (1984–1989)
The title is timeless in the sense that it’s been used multiple times since the 1984 sitcom, but the show is timeless because the story was well ahead of its time. Created by David Lloyd, the Showtime series Brothers followed three working-class brothers in Philadelphia, dealing with family life. Lou Waters (Brandon Margaret) is a gruff, comically clueless construction foreman. Joe Waters (Robert Walden) is a retired professional football player who runs a bar called The Point After. Cliff Waters (Paul Regina), the youngest brother, leaves his fiancée at the altar in the first episode to come out as gay. With Lloyd at the helm, Brothers was in capable hands for important storytelling. Having experience with The Mary Tyler Moore Show, Taxi, and Cheers, he knew how to craft a family-centric story. It thrived on the relatable, often comedic clash of traditional, working-class Philadelphia mentalities across three perspectives.
Brothers was quite the progressive series as it tackled taboo subjects of the 1980s, namely gay rights, homophobia, and HIV/AIDS. It balanced its comedic sitcom format with meaningful social commentary as Joe and Lou alternately struggled to accept Cliff’s sexuality, attempted to understand his lifestyle, and ultimately supported him. Cliff was not presented as a niche gimmick; he was treated with nuance as a fully realized character beyond mere punchlines. Cliff wasn’t the only gay character; he was joined by out-and-proud new friend Donald Maltby (Phillip Charles MacKenzie), a successful writer/magazine editor whom Cliff sought out for advice and support in the time leading up to his coming out. An ’80s show with multiple queer characters? Groundbreaking! And yes, they would venture to a gay bar, The Velvet Spike, throughout its run.
Brothers was a trailblazer, putting social issues at the forefront. It was the first original series produced entirely for premium cable. Seeing how premium cable has dominated the airwaves and helped usher in the streamer era, Brothers was ahead of the curve in that respect as well. At the end of the day, the show’s five seasons thrived because of its unprecedented, honest, and often hilarious examination of narratives that network television avoided. With its uncensored freedom to play, Brothers was a sitcom blueprint that no longer receives the praise it deserves due to limited accessibility.
‘Domestic Life’ (1984)
Not every sitcom is going to have a long-lasting, prosperous life. But sometimes, with every flop, it is an invaluable lesson that you can take with you to your next project. So, in that respect, a single-season run of Domestic Life helped co-creator Steve Martin learn to develop a multi-season legacy with Only Murders in the Building. Co-created by Martin, Martin Mull, Howard Gerwirtz, and Ian Praiser, the CBS series followed Martin Crane (Mull), a Seattle television commentator whose professional life offering advice on a TV segment often clashed with the hilarious chaos of his own family at home. Domestic Life centers on Martin as he navigates the ups and downs alongside his wife, Candy (Judith-Marie Bergan), teenage daughter, Didi (Megan Follows), and young son, Harold (Christian Brackett-Zika). If the name, career, and plot feel oddly similar to Frasier, well, call it deliberate, as one of the show’s writers, David Angell, co-created the hit NBC series.
The comedy stemmed from Martin’s smooth, confident on-air persona and his struggles as a real-life dad and husband. In turn, it gently poked fun at the traditional family tropes of the time. The parents were imperfect, and the children were brilliantly subverted, including a deadpan-delivering son working a small business out of his bedroom as he perused The Wall Street Journal. With a TV commentator at the helm, it proved to be a unique meta-humor that spoke directly to the camera, opening the door to the conceit of future sitcoms. The style brought a highly dry, self-aware brand of observational humor to a format that usually relied on cheesy punchlines. Perhaps ahead of its time, Domestic Life earned cult classic status for its gentle approach to parody, Mull as the lead, and its role as a prototype for live-action The Simpsons-esque antics. It wasn’t an anti-sitcom, but it was unlike anything else.
‘Jennifer Slept Here’ (1983–1984)
A sitcom about a benevolent ghost? Yes, there was one before the darling hit CBS comedy Ghosts. It was called Jennifer Slept Here. The one-season wonder was a fantasy concept created by Larry Rosen and Larry Tucker. The supernatural fantasy sitcom followed the ghost of glamorous Hollywood actress Jennifer Farrell (Ann Jillian), who haunts her former Beverly Hills mansion. She makes herself visible and acts as a mentor to Joey (John P. Navin Jr.), the teenage son of the wealthy Elliot family who recently moved into her home. An odd-couple, ghostly comedy, Jennifer Slept Here follows Jennifer as she attempts to help Joey navigate teenage life, high school, and growing up while simultaneously adjusting to her own afterlife. It may have been a high-concept sitcom, but such comedies in the 21st century, like The Good Place, have become what audiences seek.
A more adult take on Casper the Friendly Ghost, Jennifer Slept Here was truly a reexamination of the traditional guardian angel trope. The series was all about Jillian’s magnetic and charismatic take on the newly dead. The series even saw some stars drop by, including Debbie Reynolds as Jennifer’s equally ghostly, overbearing mother, Alice, and Zelda Rubinstein as Madame Wanda, an eccentric exorcistwho was a parody of her Poltergeist character, Tangina Barrons. Jennifer Slept Here relied on the full-on funny, as it was all about supernatural hijinks, leaning into classic ghost tropes like walking through walls and randomly appearing in front of Joey, causing him to look crazy in front of his family. With that, the series pushed back against traditional authority figures and leaned into the absurdity of the situation, even as his parents assumed he needed psychiatric help. If this entry has intrigued you to seek out the show, be ready for an earworm of a theme song.
‘Just the Ten of Us’ (1988–1990)
The ’80s were the pinnacle of family sitcoms that evolved the image of the typical American family. One of the most beloved shows of the time was Growing Pains. The show was such a success that it spawned its own spin-off based on a peripheral character, Coach Graham Lubbock, played by Bill Kirchenbauer. The character, who often interacted with Mike and Carol Seaver (Kirk Cameron and Tracey Gold), was such a fan-favorite that he earned his own show. And let’s just say, his big Catholic family of eight children was at the center. Just the Ten of Us tells the story of Graham and his wife, Elizabeth (Deborah Harmon), as they move from New York to Eureka, California. As time went by, the focus shifted heavily to the couple’s four eldest teenage daughters—Marie (Heather Langenkamp), Cindy (Jamie Luner), Wendy (Brooke Theiss), and Connie (JoAnn Willette)— who, by special arrangement, were allowed to attend St. Augustine’s, the boys’ school their father coached basketball. The girls often drove the story by sneaking around with boys, rebelling against their father’s strict rules, and navigating high school drama.
Just the Ten of Us relied on traditional family values, including subtle religious elements, representing a special cross-section of the American nuclear family. And yet, the show was notorious for subverting the teenage trope with the daughters in the spotlight. Graham was not necessarily the all-knowing, perfect TV dad. Instead, through his comedic timing, he was presented as the well-meaning, bumbling old-school disciplinarian. He was on a desperate crusade to protect his girls from boys and themselves, as they fought for teenage independence and freedom. They were portrayed as bright, funny, and incredibly loyal to one another. They worked so well as a quartet that they even formed a singing group, The Lubbock Babes. The show was an example of how a large-ensemble series could work without wearing itself thin. Even his 11-year-old son, J.R. (Matt Shakman), was given ample time to shine. The self-aware, slapstick comedy was at the heart of the show. Though traditional values were inherent in the family, Just the Ten of Us fought against being overtly sanitized, something audiences loathe today.
‘Kate & Allie’ (1984–1989)
Single women as central characters on sitcoms weren’t rare, but two divorced mothers? That was a novel idea. Luckily, it resulted in a beloved show, Kate and Allie. The six-season series created by Sherry Coben followed Kate McArdle (Susan Saint James) and Allie Lowell (Jane Curtin), two divorced childhood best friends who decide to live together in a New York City brownstone to pool their resources and raise their children as a supportive, modern family. Kate is a free-spirited, career-oriented woman who works as a travel agent. Allie is more traditional, conservative, and neurotic, and returns to college while balancing her life. Kate and Allie was celebrated for its smart, realistic portrayal of female friendship, independence, and the everyday, humorous chaos of raising a family in Greenwich Village, a nearly impossible feat today. The series was a risky yet profound take on the nuclear family that resonated well with audiences.
The dynamic between Curtin and Saint James was nothing but sublime comedy. They found the funny within the slice-of-life storytelling. What made the series triumph was how the women were portrayed. They were not struggling or desperate, instead resilient and capable. Kate and Allie celebrated the concept of a chosen family, proving that the setup is a powerful tool for survival and growth. Kate and Allie was a relaxed sitcom, especially known for its unique cold opens, featuring the women taking quiet walks and having amusing conversations around Greenwich Village. The concept has been borrowed from, including the Disney Channel sitcom Raven’s Home. What may have seemed progressive in the ’80s is anything but today. Oh, and if you want to know where future stars stopped by before their big break? It was Kate and Allie. The guest stars included Ben Stiller, William H. Macy, Ricki Lake, and many more.
‘Love, Sidney’ (1981–1983)
Perhaps one of the most endearing sitcoms of the decade was none other than Love, Sidney. Developed by Oliver Hailey as a series, Love, Sidney was based on a short story by Marilyn Cantor Baker, which was adapted as the TV movie Sidney Shorr: A Girl’s Best Friend. The series follows Sidney Shorr (Tony Randall), a middle-aged, closeted gay artist who shares his Manhattan apartment with a struggling single mother, Laurie Morgan (Swoosie Kurtz), and her young daughter, Patti (Kaleena Kiff), forming a unique, unconventional family of choice. Instead of focusing on romance or dating, the show heavily centered on the everyday humor of raising a child in the city, Sidney’s career as a commercial illustrator, and his interactions with quirky neighbors. A genuinely tender comedy, Love, Sidney was wholesome and historic.
Love, Sidney made television history by becoming the first American network prime-time series to feature a gay character in the lead role. Though the network downplayed this aspect of the character due to fears of sponsor backlash, the sheer act of having a gay man lead a prime-time sitcom in 1981 was pioneering. The dynamic of the trio was the heart and soul of Love, Sidney. Randall’s fussy, lovable comedic timing paired seamlessly with Kurtz’s charm and warmth, but it was Kiff who stole hearts. It may seem shocking by today’s standards, but for a show to focus on a non-traditional household centered around a gay man was necessary for sitcoms like Will & Grace and The New Normal to arise. A genuine celebration of found family, Love, Sidney broke ground thanks to Randall’s commitment to the part, one that was not a caricature but a complex, multifaceted individual.
‘Police Squad!’ (1982)
In 1982, David Zucker, Jim Abrahams, and Jerry Zucker created a show for ABC that was a spoof and send-up of police procedurals. It only lasted six episodes. And yet, its legacy carries through today because Police Squad led to the beloved comedy film series The Naked Gun. Police Squad may be that rare example of a cancellation actually benefiting from staying power. The original series follows Leslie Nielsen as Detective Frank Drebin, a seemingly competent but entirely clueless cop who solves absurd cases with a completely deadpan delivery and is surrounded by equally oblivious characters. Mocking 1950s and 60s hard-boiled police and detective dramas, Police Squad relied on rapid-fire visual gags, bizarre non-sequiturs, and literal-minded wordplay. And after two Airplane films, it’s what audiences adored.
Police Squad brilliantly subverted the sitcom style for a unique, rapid-fire, deadpan spoof that worked on screen. With the Airplane creative team tapping Nielsen, who had already established his brilliance in the style, Police Squad had the goods for greatness. Add in recurring gags like major celebrities, like William Shatner or Florence Henderson, billed as a guest star, only to be humorously killed off in the opening credits before the actual episode plot began, changing the episode title within the episode, and visual humor that brought laughs and groans, and Police Squad was perfect. The show was ahead of its time. Network executives felt the show was too demanding, as the sheer volume of jokes meant viewers had to pay constant attention rather than watch casually. And yet, that was Police Squad’s greatest asset. The series spawned a trilogy and a legacy film starring Liam Neeson. It inspired 21st-century comedies like Angie Tribeca. It may have been a flop by TV standards, but the truth is, it was anything but.
‘Small Wonder’ (1985–1991)
Back in the ‘80s, the synopsis of Small Wonder was so sci-fi that it seemed implausible. Today, Small Wonder seems like a story of the future that could soon be our reality. Created by Howard Leeds, the campy first-run syndicated series followed Ted Lawson (Dick Christie), a robotics engineer who secretly creates a highly advanced android, designed to look like a 10-year-old girl (Tiffany Brissette). The Lawson family— Ted’s wife, Joan (Marla Pennington), and mischievous son, Jamie (Jerry Supiran)—passes her off as their adopted daughter, V.I.C.I. (Voice Input Child Identicant), and tries to hide her robotic nature from their nosy neighbors, the Brindle family— Ted’s obnoxious boss, Brandon Brindle (William Bogert), and Brandon’s nosy daughter, Harriet (Emily Schulman), who has an obsessive crush on Jamie. The premise was ripe for comedy, and for four seasons, it prevailed.
Much of the humor came from the obvious— preventing Vicki from displaying superhuman feats, eating food, or malfunctioning in front of the neighbors and society at large. The heart of the story was watching how a family adopted a child as one of their own. The off-the-wall sci-fi premise was the hook, but its ability to play it as a genuine domestic comedy sustained its charm. The gimmicks catered to a younger demographic by using easy-to-follow stories and physical comedy. It had shades of Nickelodeon and Disney Channel shows of the early aughts. While Vicki provided the strange and unusual as well as the source of the secret, the supporting characters grounded the series in classic sitcom tropes. Small Wonder, though a low-stakes, laugh-heavy comfort viewing, has clearly allowed our imaginations to accept more grounded stories today at the intersection of AI, robotics, and domestic life. If Small Wonder were made today, it would be far from a comedy.
‘The Hogan Family’ (1986–1991)
The Hogan Family is a tale of two series. First, under the title Valerie, it was a classic family comedy starring Valerie Harper. Then, upon her departure, Sandy Duncan arrived, and it played under its official name. Originally, the story followed Valerie Hogan (Harper), a mother trying to raise her three sons, David (Jason Bateman), Willie (Danny Ponce), and Mark (Jeremy Licht), while her airline pilot husband, Michael (Josh Taylor), was constantly away. However, after a contract dispute with the producers following the second season, Harper was fired, and her character was written out and killed off. Enter Duncan as Aunt Sandy Hogan, who moved in to serve as the boys’ surrogate mother. Beyond lighthearted family comedy, the show also became well-known for tackling serious “very special episode” topics, including the death of a parent, drunken driving, teen sex, and AIDS.
No matter your age, The Hogan Family was relatable television. A shocking result in the second iteration of the show, The Hogan Family allowed a realistic storyline to present an authentic narrative that reflected the experiences of its viewers. With sharp writing and the ability to handle serious, real-world teenage issues with humor and heart, The Hogan Family was triumphant. There were many stars in the making during the ’80s. On The Hogan Family, it was Bateman. The show showcased distinct, dry delivery and sarcastic wit that eventually became his signature style. The Hogan Family had a solid ensemble, but let us not forget the iconic theme song by Roberta Flack, “Together Through the Years.” A comforting, nostalgic treat, it was the perfect song for a delightful, authentic series.
‘Too Close For Comfort’ (1980–1987)
If one thing is clear, the adoration and legacy of The Mary Tyler Moore Show carried on well after its end. Whether through spin-offs or the main cast continuing into new shows, the ensemble did quite well for themselves on sitcoms post-Mary Tyler Moore. Like Valerie Harper, Ted Knight had his own star vehicle in Too Close For Comfort. In the Knight-led series, Henry Rush (Knight) is an overprotective, conservative cartoonist, who lives upstairs from his two independent adult daughters, Jackie (Deborah Van Valkenburgh), the ambitious, street-smart older sister, and Sara (Lydia Cornell), the bubbly, naive younger sister, in San Francisco. Hoping to keep a watchful eye on them, he and his devoted wife, Muriel (Nancy Dussault), rent them the downstairs apartment, leading to constant comedic boundary-crossing and family drama. Through hilarious, multigenerational clashes, the series showcased Knight’s comedic prowess like no other show before.
Based on the British sitcom Keep It in the Family, the American iteration proved fruitful—a strategy that continues to work today. Too Close For Comfort tapped into the universal push-and-pull of the generation gap. Though the family was the central focus, one supporting character stole the show: the daughters’ incredibly naive and eccentric friend, Monroe Ficus (Jim J. Bullock). He was so beloved for his awkward but endearing dynamic with the grumpy Henry that he earned an upgrade to series regular. The series was anchored by a brilliant lineup on Tuesday nights, airing behind Happy Days, Laverne & Shirley, and Three’s Company, allowing it to become a comedy staple for six seasons. So why doesn’t it fall into that same conversation? The show faded into comedy obscurity following Knight’s death from cancer during its final season. It also suffered from constant cast changes and a name change to The Ted Knight in its final season. If you fell in love with Knight on The Mary Tyler Moore Show, Too Close For Comfort is something to seek out.
Too Close for Comfort
- Release Date
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1980 – 1987-00-00
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Nancy Dussault
Muriel Rush
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Jim J. Bullock
Monroe Ficus
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Deborah Van Valkenburgh
Jackie Rush
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https://collider.com/forgotten-80s-sitcoms-aged-like-fine-wine/
Michael Block
Almontather Rassoul
