Walla walla who…
How much did we enjoy our 10-year reunion at Camp Firewood? So much so that we set aside our blueprints (“they’re literally kicking our ass”), hired a nanny (“she’s top-notch … we know, we know”), and got Faison to cover for us. All so we could revisit the winners, losers, and things we just couldn’t decide on from the latest installment of David Wain and Michael Showalter’s Wet Hot American Summer. So, if you’ve already read Michael Roffman’s (“he’s the greatest, one of a kind, they broke the mold, etc., etc.”) spoiler-free review and felt the Spirit of Camp Firewood burning brighter than ever within, make it your beeswax to read our spoilerific final camp takeaways and share your own below.
Walla walla hey…
Editorial Director and Junior Counselor
Good, Old Camp Firewood
Camp Firewood, we hardly knew ye. One of the funner aspects of Wet Hot’s two Netflix installments is the wiggle room they allow to flesh out the camp and its characters from the original film. For instance, in the past, we learned the origin story behind a sentient can of mixed vegetables, and this time around we discovered everything from McKinley’s full name to Mike and Claire’s just-off-camera existence to the fact that everyone at camp actually knows Victor still has his V-card. But perhaps funniest of all are all the Camp Firewood traditions and bits of lore that we’re pretty sure we would’ve picked up on during our two previous days at camp. There’s the ubiquitous camp call (“Walla walla who…”), the time-honored camp motto (“You can leave Camp Firewood, but the Spirit of Camp Firewood [insert literally anything here].”), the earworm camp song (“Chums, chums/ On this we all agree”), the highly flammable King of Camp challenge, and the indelible Spirit of Camp Firewood (“It’s like…”). Now, stop being a “Little Willie Shits His Pants.” Andy’s about to do donuts! Ah, just like old times. Get ‘em, boy! –Matt Melis
The Doinks from Camp Tiger Claw
Despite the alliance formed by the 1978 Accord of Lake Winnisuki and the power of protopunk to bring campers from disparate walks of life together, we still believe that nature produces rivals. And frankly, we like our Camp Tiger Claw prep-school turkeys like it’s 1981: collars popped, croquet mallets cocked, and always in the market for a good coxswain. We also like ‘em where we can see ‘em (or at least they can see us) – perched behind a pair of binoculars and pounding their fists – not acting as lackeys and errand boys for Ronald Reagan. While it’s true that their part in the ex-president’s ploy does stand to gain them revenge on Camp Firewood, we long for an age when the rich and the poor settled things, as a matter of principle, on the camp green, armed with tennis rackets and trashcan lids. To those who fight and die honorably, we say: “Tiger Claw/ True salute/ Sun to moon/ Lips are mute/ Tiger Growl!”* –Matt Melis
*Due to the nature of the series’ ending, nothing above makes any sense at all.