In fact, Van Der Beek was so good at playing Dawson — honestly, at being Dawson to the legion of fans who tuned in each week — that it took him several years following the show’s conclusion to break out of the box the Creek had basically trapped him in. Yet, despite his lifelong association with the role of Dawson and with teen drama in general, Van Der Beek never punched down at the genre that gave him his start. In fact, his most impressive performances often stemmed from his willingness to not only embrace his own past but to gleefully wink and nod at the audience who knew him way back when, bringing them along for the ride as he pokes fun at his own fame. Van Der Beek’s greatest role, it ultimately turned out, was playing himself.
This happened several times over the course of his career, from a Scary Movie cameo in which he climbed through a window, Dawson Leery-style, to an appearance as a slightly goofier version of himself in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back. But it is the wildly underrated (and tragically named) ABC comedy Don’t Trust the B— in Apartment 23 that showed us the best of what Van Der Beek was capable of — and how far he was willing to go to let everyone in on the joke. From future Fresh Off the Boat creator Nahnatchka Khan, the series ran for two seasons from 2012 to 2014 and was so much more fun than its name implied. It followed the story of a stereotypical Indiana girl (Dreama Walker) who moves to the big city and becomes roommates with Chloe (Krysten Ritter), the infamous “B” of the series title.
Van Der Beek played Chloe’s best friend James, an exaggerated take on himself that pretty much riffed on every known Hollywood stereotype and joyfully deconstructed his public persona in hilariously fun ways. From his love-hate relationship with his Dawson’s history — he deploys his character’s signature flannel shirt to seduce a woman in the series’ pilot — to his idiosyncratic personal ticks, this James is self-centered, out of touch, insecure, and painfully candid by turns. Desperate to reclaim his lost relevance, he tries out multiple secondary career paths, from a line of personally branded Beek Jeans (“Put your cheeks in a Beek!”) to a stint on Dancing with the Stars (a move that Van Der Beek himself would mirror in real life a few years later). He’s chaotic and unhinged, taking a role that should have been a one-note joke and turning it into a real, complex character who was a perfect match for Ritter’s manic energy.
Playing yourself onscreen once is challenging enough, but Van Der Beek managed to turn it into something of a second career. Sure, he acted in many other projects over the years — the beloved quarterback of Varsity Blues, a serial killer on Criminal Minds, a scumbag Trump employee on Pose — but the part he inevitably seemed to circle back to was himself. And there’s some glorious honesty in that. Van Der Beek was willing to laugh at himself before the ability to be glib and self-referential was a required aspect of celebrity, and his transition from Tiger Beat-style heartthrob to relatable dude willing to embrace his most cringe traits (the crying GIF, again!) took no small amount of bravery. It’s also deeply humanizing and strangely honest in a way we are rarely allowed to see from anyone in this industry. Van Der Beek was so special precisely because he was so willing to acknowledge his own privilege and flaws.
Many performers have love-hate relationships with the roles that made them famous. Van Der Beek always understood what he owed to Dawson Leery — and what made his most famous role so beloved. His mockery was always tinged with affection, with respect, and with a deep certainty that we were all in on the joke together. He was a man ahead of his time, and it’s a real loss that we won’t get to see where his career would have taken him next.
