Early Monday morning, Jerry Stiller died of natural causes at the age of 92. The father of Ben Stiller, Jerry had a long, generations-spanning career—from variety show fame with his wife, Anne Meara, to Hollywood to the small screen. But among all of that, he’ll forever be known as Frank Costanza, the loud, hilariously embittered father of George on Seinfeld. In his memory, the Ringer staff remembers Stiller’s greatest moments as Frank.
Frank vs. George Steinbrenner
When the news of Jerry Stiller’s death broke this morning, the word Festivus trended on Twitter, for obvious reasons. But so did the name Jay Buhner. Seinfeld (and the rest of the Davidverse) has always reflected the neuroses of everyday sports fans with precision, and in the show’s seventh season, it delivered a lasting image about a lopsided trade.
When George Steinbrenner pays Frank and Estelle Costanza a visit to tell them that he fears their son is dead, Frank is distracted by a bigger, well, grievance. “What the hell did you trade Jay Buhner for?!” he yells at the Yankees owner (in a tone that every living human has for sure heard their father use while watching a game on TV that he doesn’t realize is tape-delayed). “He had 30 home runs, over 100 RBIs last year, he’s got a rocket for an arm … you don’t know what the hell you’re doing!” Next to Stiller, Estelle Harris seems to be stifling a giggle with her tissue.
In the years since that scene aired, both Buhner and even the maligned Ken Phelps (Ken Phelps! Ken Phelps!) have bonded over the reference. To me, the funniest part about it might be Frank’s follow-up voicemail, and Jerry’s reaction to it. “Jerry, it’s Frank Costanza, Mr. Steinbrenner is here, George is dead, call me back.” Of course he still calls him Mister, after all of that. —Katie Baker
Festivus for the Rest of Us
The pole. The cassette tapes. The feats of strength. The airing of grievances. There’s a reason Frank Costanza’s celebration of Festivus struck such a lasting chord. It’s because we too have batshit crazy parents. Not in the sense that they all created fictional holidays, but in that they too did cringeworthy things to embarrass us that still haunt us to this day. Festivus is an agnostic holiday, but watching Jerry Stiller as Frank describe it is its own religious experience. He gazes into the distance as he retells the origin story to Kramer, when he fought a man over a doll (“As I rained blows upon him, I realized there had to be another way”). When he addresses the table, he cuts through the bullshit (“I got a lot of problems with you people!”). And when his son protests its observance, he shows zero empathy (“Stop crying and fight your father!”). It’s brilliant. It’s mortifying. It’s New York. It’s Frank Costanza. It might have scarred George for life, but it will always be a Festivus for the rest of us.
—Matt Dollinger
The Food Poisoning
There’s no TV marriage as relatably dysfunctional as the Costanzas’; the small nits that immediately swell, the abrasive squabbling that somehow feels like home. Everyone knows an older couple, forever tethered to each other, like Frank and Estelle. So while Frank’s retelling of the time he poisoned his entire regiment is a flawless, dramatic monologue from Stiller (“All that kid wanted to do was go home! Well, he went home all right, with a crater in his colon the size of a cutlet”) and the subsequent triggering of his PTSD are highlights, it’s the moment in between those two that captures Frank’s—and Stiller’s—genius on Seinfeld.
“It’s dry,” Frank tells his wife about her cooking.
“That’s the way I always make it,” she responds.
“Well, it sucks!” he shoots back, in that yelp Stiller was known for, the one where it sounds like his esophagus is ripping open.
On a show about people giving in to their ids, Frank was all id. And Stiller was an expert at keeping Frank’s rage eternally just below the surface, ready to blow for whatever reason. —Andrew Gruttadaro
Serenity Now
One of Seinfeld’s most reliable formulas was always Frank Costanza plus anger. Stiller’s comedic rage never failed. It always equaled laughs. In an attempt to control his temper in this Season 9 episode, he’s instructed to say “Serenity now” when he feels rage bubbling up. The phrase, written by Steve Koren, is one of many Seinfeldisms that’s still quoted ad nauseam today. Of course, “Serenity now” doesn’t lead to less anger. Instead of using the mantra to calm down when he’s mad—which is often—Frank dramatically bellows it out.
—Alan Siegel
Frank vs. the Seinfelds
Seinfeld was always at its best when it delved into the sheer pettiness of the human condition. That’s why I loved the rivalry between Frank Costanza and Morty Seinfeld. The two families would seem to have everything in common, but the Seinfelds always thought they were a little better than the Costanzas, a little more refined and dignified. They refuse a dinner invitation at one point, causing Frank to nurture a grudge for the rest of the show. (Estelle, bless her, had made paella.)
Which brings us to Del Boca Vista. Frank has little interest in moving down to Florida and living in a retirement community until Morty, who had just bought a house there, tells him there isn’t a single opening available. Bitterness and spite is all it takes for Frank to completely change course and uproot his life. Watch Stiller tell Morty that the Costanzas are moving in lock, stock, and barrel and try not to laugh. It’s impossible.
—Jonathan Tjarks
Bonus: The Blooper
I can’t really tell you anything about my all-time favorite Seinfeld clip—the episode, the year, the plot, the context in any sense—other than that Jerry Stiller is amazing in it, and Julia Louis-Dreyfus can’t stop cracking up in response to Jerry Stiller being amazing, which is why it’s a blooper. His line: “What the hell does that mean?” His delivery: “What the hell does that mean?” The response: Louis-Dreyfus explodes with laughter, and Jason Alexander, sitting between them, somersaults off his chair and out of the frame. Stiller does it again, and she does it again; after a protracted struggle, we get to his next line, which is, “You’re sayin’, you want a piece of me?” and nobody can much handle that either. Stiller never breaks, though, or much acknowledges all the chaos he’s causing. He just keeps doing the line, perfectly—”You’re sayin’, you want a piece of me?”—until the rest of the world catches up. —Rob Harvilla