‘Raymond,’ he whose laughs lasted

And so we bid goodbye to Ray Romano, or to his sitcom self and fictional family -- the Barones, “America’s First Family of Comedy” according to the many CBS promos that led the way to Monday night’s final episode of “Everybody Loves Raymond.” Capping nine years of reliable performance, episode 210 began inauspiciously -- Raymond has his adenoids out -- but delivered splendidly in the second half, working a farewell-appropriate theme (apprehension of the mortality of loved ones, or knowing what you’ve got before it’s gone) without going all goopy or forcing anyone out of character. MVP award to Patricia Heaton, as wife Debra -- funny and moving in a simple speech about her next day’s plans, collapsing slowly into tears in a kind of heightened awareness of the preciousness of next days -- but the show was always a team effort, brilliantly cast and written to disguise and enhance the more limited expressive range of its stand-up comic star.

As the latest of the self-canceled comedy war horses of the last decade -- “Frasier,” “Friends,” “Seinfeld” -- and with the upper reaches of the Nielsens now practically cordoned off with crime-scene tape, it raises again the question, “Wither the sitcom?” Let a thousand think pieces bloom, but in the end the only answer is “Who knows?” Romano’s show was itself thought to be reinvigorating a moribund form, but its success was certainly not predictable. It was not clear that it would become the torch bearer for the family comedy, and it’s no more clear now who might carry the torch.

What makes a series last? There is perhaps some as-yet-unexpressed equation that might describe it: Initial popularity times audience inertia, divided by time slot -- something like that. But whatever other factors contributed to its longevity, “Everybody Loves Raymond” was, above all, a product that worked, a well-made show whose writers managed to play a lot of variations within the narrow confines of its premise and its predictability. If for no other reason than that it gave steady work to Peter Boyle and, especially, to Doris Roberts -- the flint against which every other character struck, and in some ways the secret star of the show -- you should buy this show a drink.

I spent a few seasons as a regular viewer of “Raymond,” and many more watching mainly by accident. But whenever I looked in, nothing had changed substantially, or superficially for that matter, not even the furniture. Excepting the wife (Monica Horan) the producers found in season three for brother Robert (the great Brad Garrett), and not counting the children (generally neither seen nor heard), the five actors who began the series were the five who ended it, older but no wiser, and arrayed in the same relationships as ever, constantly talking but unable to communicate, fated to grow old but unable to grow up, or apart.

And now they have gone, and barring any reunion shows -- and generally speaking, that’s not a bad idea, barring reunion shows -- you will have to imagine for yourself the rest of their lives. Me, I think they’ll be all right.