It comes to me like a disturbing nightmare, images of a man admitting that he was married to a Shetland pony, which is sitting next to him. But after shaking off sleep and becoming fully awake, I realize that it was no dream but rather a memory, of a bygone TV show that was among the most outrageous and dangerously influential TV shows in history, hosted by a relatively affable man named Jerry Springer. Remember what TV Guide once called “the worst show in the history of television”? Can you hear that “Jer-rey! Jer-rey! Jer-rey!” that the audience enthusiastically shouted, over and over? No? Of course you don’t, since I know that few of you will admit to ever watching it — even though as many as eight million did so daily during its peak broadcast years. But you should watch the new two-part episode of the Netflix documentary about it, titled “Jerry Springer: Fights, Camera, Action.” It takes us back to 1991 when Springer, the former mayor of Cincinnati and a local news anchorman there in the 1980s, began a conventional talk show, with tame topics and thoughtful discussions and zzzzzzzzzz. Ratings were low and the show was in imminent danger of cancellation until a “savior” of sorts arrived in the form of the new executive producer Richard Dominick, a former tabloid newspaper writer. Shortly after arriving in Chicago where the show was then taped, he and Springer walked down Michigan Avenue and talked about one of Dominick’s first shows, “Klanfrontation!,” an episode in which a nasty fight broke out among Klansmen, a Jewish activist and audience members. “If you’re producing a show that you want to be insane and unlike anything that’s ever been on TV before,” Dominick said, “there’s your goal.” And so began a decades-long parade of lunacy, sex, homophobia, weirdness, perversions, incest, fistfights and other elements brought to light from the world’s dark side. To walk past the line of audience members waiting to get into the daily tapings at NBC Tower on a given day was to think you were seeing the invitees to a motorcycle gang party. Springer declined to participate in the documentary before his 2023 death at age 79 of pancreatic cancer. We hear from him in a few excerpts from precious interviews, saying, among other things, “In a free society, the media should reflect all elements of that society, not just the mainstream.” We do hear a lot from some of the show’s producers, inducing a very frank (and actually kind of likable) Dominick, mostly along the lines of, “You gotta grab your audience, and you gotta hold them,” as he says at the start of the two-part docuseries. “And that’s what we tried to do.” Other producers offer anecdotes, opinions and philosophies. A couple cry or display what look like signs of PTSD. The most compelling voice is that of Robert Feder, the longtime media critic and sharp-eyed observer. Among his many frank observations was, “This was the most vile and grotesque freak show that’s ever been on television.” Springer was fiercely guarded about his personal life, but he did have a daughter, Katie, and Feder reads a letter that she once wrote in her father’s defense against press critics, saying, “My dad has more education than many of the so-called journalists in this town.” Jerry Springer talks in his office in Chicago after a taping of “The Jerry Springer Show” in Chicago on Sept. 22, 2008. (Antonio Perez/Chicago Tribune) Staff get the audience up and shouting during a taping of “The Jerry Springer Show” in Chicago on Sept. 22, 2008. (Antonio Perez/Chicago Tribune) Audience members crack up during a taping of “The Jerry Springer Show” in Chicago on Sept. 22, 2008. (Antonio Perez/Chicago Tribune) Jerry Springer puts on his suit before heading out for a taping of “The Jerry Springer Show” in Chicago on Sept. 22, 2008. (Antonio Perez/Chicago Tribune) Show Caption1 of 4Jerry Springer talks in his office in Chicago after a taping of “The Jerry Springer Show” in Chicago on Sept. 22, 2008. (Antonio Perez/Chicago Tribune) Expand The show did draw intense criticism from critics, editorial pages and protest marchers but also eyeballs, and eyeballs meant money and money is what makes the TV world go around. The documentary does not address the April 1997 to-do when Springer was hired to deliver commentaries on the WMAQ-Ch. 5 news, prompting news anchors Carol Marin to quickly quit and Ron Magers later to quit in protest. Springer’s commentaries ended after only four days. But his show carried successfully on. Directed by Luke Sewell, the documentary touches on some less-than-admirable subjects. Did the show cause the murder of a woman by her husband? Did it refuse to provide return bus tickets if a guest left the set mid-taping?  How badly did the show mistreat transgender people? This is a worthwhile documentary. Portions of it will give you the creeps but it will also help explain the debasing of television, maybe of society. When Springer reigned (he even topped Oprah in the ratings for a short while), he was competing against such hosts as Ricki Lake, Sally Jessy Raphael, Regis and Kathie Lee, Gordon Elliott, Geraldo Rivera, Marilu Henner and Dennis Prager. Remember them? Anything about their shows? Springer, who always came off to me as a wide-eyed nice guy (as he was off-camera too), and Dominick profoundly changed the TV landscape. The man and his Shetland pony bride? I’d rather not think (or dream) about them. [email protected]