Bringing discussion groups to television

More and more frequently, books are coming with guides for reading groups included as an appendix. Could the same be done with television programs?

As we've seen in the first two parts of this series, television has the ability to offer stories that contain stimulating, provocative questions, either within the storyline itself or as a subtext to the program. Even a sitcom like Hogan's Heroes generates questions about the nature of undercover and sabotage actions in relation to the concept of just war. The question is this: are viewers being encouraged to look for these discussion points when they watch television. 

Some series, such as The Defenders, thrived on the provocative. A first-season episode, "The Benefactor," addressed the issue of abortion, and was controversial enough that all three sponsors cancelled their participation in the episode, and several network affiliates refused to air it. A similar controversy would arise a decade later in the sitcom Maude, when the title character chose to have an abortion. Now, abortion is one of those issues that's going to create a firestorm no matter which side the show takes, and if it tries to remain neutral it's likely to be pillored by both sides. If you're a viewer looking for a little relaxation, perhaps a few laughs, this is probably something you'd just as soon not deal with.

But what about issues that are less electrifying? The average episode of a war drama like Combat! can cause one to ponder the significance of war without doing anything more than showing combat footage. Police dramas (think Adam-12 as opposed to, say, Law & Order) often put their heroes in uncomfortable situations. And when our protagonists, in the heat of combat, are confronted with difficult decisions from among a host of unappealing alternatives, don't you find yourself wondering what you'd do in the same situation? Perhaps, in fact, you have faced this kind of choice in real life, and you find yourself contrasting your own actions with those in the show.

Part of this—asking the viewer to share the risks, as it were, of the characters they're watching—is, of course, is in the very nature of creating drama. I've often complained about shows that put their main characters in a "false jeopardy" from which you know they'll emerge. But if there is any justification in creating such a situation, it's that it challenges you to put yourself in that character's shoes. What would you do?

See, I think this kind of television is tremendously stimulating, as well as being productive. It can help offset the many tropes about TV as a time-waster and provider of mindless entertainment. I'm not suggesting that all shows should be this way all the time, nor do I think this would offset the many real faults that television has had from the very beginning. But if there's a way that the experience of watching television can be improved, I think it's worth looking at. Perhaps it could even create a demand for more thoughtful television. 

Many of you have probably taken part in online "watch parties," where everyone watches the same episode of a program at the same time and offers live commentary as the show progresses. Those can be great fun, and they're one way that TV can still help build community. This isn't exactly what I'm talking about, but it does contain some of the elements necessary to make it happen. 

So what would a television discussion group look like? How would it work?

I think the best model to follow is that of the typical book club. Rather than asking participants to binge an entire series or a number of episodes, choose one or two episodes a month—from the same series or two different ones, from complimentary or contrasting genres; it doesn't matter—and give people an entire month to view them, whenever it's convenient for them to do so.

Then, at the same time and day of the week each month, the group gets together. It can be an online chat, or it can utilize something like Skype, Zoom, Teams, FaceTime—anything like that. In fact, I'd encourage the use of something that allows members to interact face-to-face; it makes the discussion more real.

This isn't going to be a free-for-all, though; it has to be a structured discussion to make the idea work. That's why book clubs have discussion guides, and that's why a television discussion group would have to have the same. The moderator in charge of choosing the month's viewing, whether that always the same person or it rotates among the group members each month, compiles a list of topics for discussion, and provides the other members with the list prior to their viewing the episode. Then, when the group gets together, the moderator uses those questions as a guide to leading the discussion. From there, it's up to everyone to make the discussion work.

What kind of shows would make up an average season for the discussion group? Well, I'm obviously partial to classic television, programs that are available either through free streaming services, DVDs, or from sites like YouTube. If you want to use the gray market as your source, that's up to you. If it's feasible, some members might be able to share discs. No matter what, though, these shows have to be accessible to all members of the group. I'd think that anyone joining a classic television group, for instance, would already be interested enough that they'd have many of the shows, and they'd probably enjoy being introduced to the ones they didn't have. 

I could list a number of series that I can think of, those that have a proclivity for provocative questions, but often it's going to be one or two episodes of a particular series, rather than every single episode, that spark particular questions worthy of discussion. A question of medical ethics could come from Marcus Welby, or Medical Center, or The Eleventh Hour. Combat! often provides situational fodder, but so does M*A*S*H, and Hogan's Heroes gives you questions about lying and political assassination. The detectives in Naked City often voice their own concerns about ethics and investigations, and legal dramas like The Defenders and Judd for the Defense raise important questions in almost every episode. Mission: Impossible puts the ethical questions on an international stage, and The Bold Ones, between its legal, medical, and political wheels, frequently makes for interesting discussion. Route 66 can take an almost Rousseauian approach to questions about how much someone should become involved in the affairs of others. The Twilight Zone and Star Trek often contained interesting and or provocative storylines. The Law & Order franchise, which I don't like, nonetheless poses ethical issues about both the police and the DA's office, questions they might not have intended for people to discuss. And then there are the made-for-TV movies, especially ABC's Movie of the Week, that are always dealing with one issue or another. Any of the episodes or movies in my "Descent into Hell" series would qualify as well. What I'm saying is that there is no shortage of programs out there—in fact, you've probably already seen many episodes that set you to thinking about it, and talking about it afterward.

What kind of topics is the group discussing?

I think most thoughtful programs will suggest their own topics: legal dramas involve questions of ethics regarding tactics used by police and attorneys, the rights of the individual vs. the interests of society, the very concept of presumed innocence, and whether or not a court martial is more or less just than a civilian trial. War dramas raise issues related to political assassination, the role of civilians during warfare, and the morality of deception and outright lying. A series such as Mission: Impossible invites questions about the right of the United States to interfere in the domestic affairs of other countrys in orderto further American interests. Police dramas deal not only with the actions of police officers, but their rights as well: should a police officer be required to forfeit certain constitutional rights that are guaranteed to the average citizen? Were the people who helped Richard Kimble escape on The Fugitive justified in doing so, given that he had been legally convicted and that helping Kimble technically means obstructing justice? Medical programs often present uncomfortable choices for both doctors and patients, from whether or not there is a "right to die" to issues regarding minors, organ transplant, and the like. Shows of varied genres will often bring up confidentiality rights between doctor and patient, attorney and client, minister and penitent, with conflicting interests. None of these issues need involve divisive political discussions, but all of them require participants to put themselves in positions where they often have to make difficult choices between various interests, or question the ideals vs. the reality of the society in which we live.

One of the reasons I wrote about Ethics in America last week is that it gives us a demonstration of the directions in which such a discussion can go, which are often completely unexpected given the starting point. And I think something like that is thrilling, not only to watch but to participate in. One of the things I particularly like about Ethics in America and the other Fred Friendly seminars is the high level of respect that participants have for each other, as well as for the premise of the program itself. They take these scenarios seriously, as well as their obligations to share their candid, thoughtful opinions on the questions before them. 

Here is a link to a movie watchers' discussion group that functions more or less like what I'm proposing for television. Speaking of which, here's a link to a television viewing discussion group that meets in person! I think these provide models for anyone who wants to start a similiar group for television. 

Now, for all I know, there may be dozens of groups like this all over the place, and I just lead such a sheltered life that I'm not aware of any of them. (Don't blame me in that case; I was probably too busy watching television to notice.) But I think we owe it to ourselves to at least consider challenging ourselves in the way in which we watch television, and how we think about it afterward. And we owe it to ourselves to challenge programmers to provide us with this kind of programming as well. So what do you all think? TV  

What's on TV? Saturday, July 30, 1966

It's nice to look back at Saturday mornings when cartoons ruled the day. That classic era is actually a fairly small window, you know; up until the early 1960s, Saturday mornings consisted mostly of movies (mostly Westerns) and live-action shows like Rin Tin Tin, and by the end o the 1960s the scene was dominated by superhero cartoons and some made-for-TV animation that was truly horrible. But there was a period in-between, as you see this week, when there was a combination of classic toons that started out as movie shorts—Bugs, Daffy, and the like—Hanna-Barbera and Total Television characters, and shows that had started out in primetime before finding a home on Saturdays. For me, that's the Golden Age of Saturday mornings, and even though it could be preempted by sports broadcast via satellite from Europe, it was still a dependable way to grow up. These memories, along with everything else, come from the Northern California edition.

This week in TV Guide: July 30, 1966

One of my favorite sections of the old TV Guide was the two-part TV Teletype, which appeared on yellow pages at the front and back of each issue. One page was devoted to industry news from New York, the other to Hollywood; as the television industry moved more and more to the West Coast, the New York sections became smaller and smaller, often running no more than a couple of paragraphs. With its short, succinct sentences separated by ellipses, it was a dandy way to pack a lot of news into a page or two, and it was often the first thing I turned to in each issue—after the sports section, of course.

When it comes to this week's issue, well, it's full of articles but not a whole lot of information, if you know what I mean, especially when it comes to the lede. I can't really ignore an article about Johnny Carson, but I don't want to spend a lot of time on it either. So, I thought: why not write about these articles as if they were part of the Teletype? I can't promise that this little experiment will work, but what's life like without taking some chances? So. . . 

Here's Johnny! MAURICE CONDON reports that the people of Norfolk, Nebraska remember their favorite son, currently hosting NBC's Tonight Show. . . "John Carson was a good student," says Jennie Walker, Carson's math teacher at Norfolk High. "John always had a fast and funny answer" to whatever you might ask him, according to Chuck Howser, high school buddy. . . The Caauwe family now lives in the house Carson grew up in. "I sleep in Johnny Carson's bedroom!" says nine-year-old Theresa. She won't be the only woman to make that claim over the years. . . Carson got his broadcasting start at radio and TV station WOW in Omaha. He once paid for a 20-cent long-distance call by check, delivered to the station's auditor by armed guards. Cost him $25 to rent, recalls general manager Bill Wiseman Sr. . . . For next year's celebration commemorating 100 years of Nebraska statehood, Marie Laubsch, former owner of Carson's favorite hamburger haunt, says, "You tell John to come home and I'll come out of retirement and fatten him up with some of those good Norfolk hamburgers!"

MURIAL DAVIDSON reports from backstage at Virginia Graham's show Girl Talk that it's all fangs and claws when the girls let down their hair and let loose their tongues. . . Show's producer-director, Monty Morgan, says if Clare Boothe Luce wants to write a sequel to "The Women," she should start here: "She would come up with all the feminine cattiness she could ever need.". . . Example: famed gossip columnist Cindy Adams, discussing her various trips and exploits, starts a story about beingin a fabulous restaurant. Interrupts columnist Earl Wilson's wife, "As a waitress?" . . . Columnist Sheila Graham said that Zsa Zsa Gabor's most recent marriage "would last only as long as it took you to walk from Tiffany to Cartier." Zsa Zsa takes offense says Sheila's "too old" to sympathize with those in love. Sheila didn't reply, but friend and fellow columnist Suzy Knickerbocker did: "Zsa Zsa has an age complex and she has a right to one." . . . An actress and an author came to blows before a show; turns out they were both ex-wives of the same husband. . .  Virginia says you can always tell who the biggest stars are: "the bigger the woman, the less mean or catty she is about other women."

Singer John Davidson admits to ROBERT HIGGINS that "I'm terrified that people won't like me," feels that he's trapped in "all-American boy" image. The son of a Baptist minister, Davidson is tired of living up to a certain image, perhaps one reason why he becomes a virulent athiest and humanist. . . Davidson is so dedicated to his career he has no time for anything else. "I'm scared that people will find out that I'm only interested in things that affect me," says that until a year ago, he'd never read a newspaper. . . With no social life, he finds himself at home with monkeys. "They ask nothing in return. It's guaranteed acceptance." When his last monkey died, Davidson cried for a half-hour. . . Davidson knows that until he stops running scared and faces himself, people "will never know how much I have to offer."

Why aren't their more Negroes in the television industry? What it all boils down to, says EDITH EFRON, is that "most Negroes—even, in many cases, graduates of Negro colleges—are still unqualified for work in a complex industry." . . . Broadcast Skills Bank created by National Urban League to increase numbers, provide training lacking elsewhere. Problem: Negroes aren't applying. Westinghouse's George Norford says they haven't been particularly welcome in the past, remain skeptical about the "honesty and sincerity of the programs.". . . Says Otis Finley Jr. of the Urban League, "Our job now is to help our students leapfrog over generations of neglect and frustration into the age of astronauts, automation, cyberneties and mass-communication." It hasn't happened yet, but Negro composer George Broderick says those in the industry today are trail blazers: "They’re opening up the paths that the others will eventually follow." 

So there you have it, highlights from this week's issue. Of course, that's not all there; for the rest, just read on.

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During the 60s, the Ed Sullivan Show and The Hollywood Palace were the premiere variety shows on television. Whenever they appear in TV Guide together, we'll match them up and see who has the best lineup..

Sullivan: Ed's guests are Brigitte Bardot; comics Alan King, and Wayne and Shuster; singers Leslie Uggams, Jimmy Roselli, the King Family and the Four Seasons; and the Bel Caron Trio, adagio dancers. Ed interviews Brigitte about her impressions of the United States, and Wayne and Shuster appear in a sketch about two bank robbers who are being watched on closed-circuit TV. 

Palace: Host Arthur Godfrey presents comedian Sid Caesar; singer Abbe Lane; the Mamas and the Papas, rock ‘n’ roll group; comic Corbett Monica; the Berosinis, Czecholslovakian acrobats; and Les Apollos, balancing act. Sketch: Sid portrays a Viennese filmmaker who tries to save a failing Hollywood studio.

We can be reasonably certain of this week's lineups, since both shows are in the midst of summer reruns. I suppose your affection (or lack thereof) for Arthur Godfrey goes a long way toward determining how you feel about Palace, but he does have a good supporting cast, particularly Sid Caesar and Abbe Lane. (I was never a big fan of the Mamas and the Papas, so we'll give them a pass.) On the flip side, Ed has Alan King, his favorites Wayne and Shuster, and, of course, Bardot. I'm afraid I can't really decide, so I'm calling this week a Push.

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The weekend begins with the world's biggest single-day sporting event, the World Cup soccer final, shown for the first time ever on American television in a same-day broadcast from Wembley Stadium in London, via Early Bird satellite. (Saturday, 9:00 a.m. PT, NBC) The TV Guide Close-Up says it's live, but other sources say it's on a two-hour film delay; my own research indicates that NBC broadcast the match simultaneously in all time zones, and a 9:00 a.m. PT start translates to 5:00 p.m. in London. Since the kickoff actually occurred at 3:00 p.m. over there, this tends to confirm the film-delay theory. I like the idea that it was live, though.

Regardless, it's quite a debut for the sport. The match, played before a crowd of nearly 100,000 (including Queen Elizabeth) pits home favorites England against West Germany. "I After regulation time ends with the match level at 2-2, England scores twice during the 30-minute extra time to win 4-2.* With England's recent loss to Spain in the European Championships, this remains the country's only major international tournament victory. And despite the growth of soccer in the United States, the World Cup final wouldn't be shown live on broadcast television (or even same-day) until 1982.

*A good thing if it's true that the match wasn't shown live here; the two-hour delay would have enabled NBC to edit it to fit its two-hour timeslot.

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It's another week in which summer reruns are dominant, but that isn't going to stop us from finding the odd, the worthwhile, and the otherwise amusing. For example, I'm amused by Saturday's episode of Gunsmoke (10:00 p.m., CBS), in which "Festus is working a sa reporter for Dodge Citys new paper—despite the fact that he can't read or write." Sounds to me like he'd fit right in at most of today's newspapers, such is the state of journalism today.

On Sunday, The third anniversary of New York's Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts is celebrated with a tryptic of one-act presentations—a play, a ballet, and an opera—all based on the same source material, Frank Gilroy's one-act play "Far Rockaway," which tells the story of "a man who seeks punishment for an unpunishable crime." Gilroy's play is accompanied by "The Act," a ballet adapted from the story, and the one-act opera "The Hero," which sets the play to music. (7:30 p.m., NET)* If Frank Gilroy's name sounds familiar to you, it should: in addition to winning a Tony and a Pulitzer Prize for his play, The Subject Was Roses, he wrote, produced, and directed movies, and wrote extensively for television, including "Who Killed Julie Greer?", an episode of The Dick Powell Show that served as the pilot for one of my favorite programs, Burke's Law. (Powell played Amos Burke in that pilot.) Quite the Renaissance man, wouldn't you say?

*By the way, virtually all of the above background information comes not from the TV Guide listing, but from online sources which curiosity impelled me to look up. What I won't do for you, the readers.

You remember how I mentioned last week that Burr Tillstrom and the Kuklapolitan Players were servng as guest hosts for Hugh Downs on Today? That was in 1965; this week, Downs is again on vacation, and this Monday (7:00 a.m., NBC), actor James Daly begins his third week of a month-long stint as Downs's substitute. (When you work as hard as Hugh Downs did, you deserve a month-long vacation.) It's not as much of a stretch for Daly as it might seem; he was also one of the hosts on NBC's weekend radio program Monitor for a couple of years, so he knew the lay of the land, so to speak. Among the guests this morning is writer Harold Feisher, discussing the murders of eight student nurses in Chicago on July 13 by Richard Speck. I point this out because of an event that happens less than an hour after the conclusion of The Today Show, something that you don't read about in today's TV Guide: the murder of 15 people in Austin, Texas by sniper Charles Whitman, firing from the observation deck of the Main Building tower at the University of Texas. Remarkably, you can see live TV coverage of the event as it unfolded, broadcast on Austin station KLRN. (Parts one, two, and three.) The Chicago killings were considered America's first mass murder, and therefore, the worst; it only took 18 days for that record to be broken.

On Tuesday, Walter Cronkite hosts a CBS Reports look at "UFO: Friend, Foe or Fantasy" (10:00 p.m., CBS), investigating a controversy that was unresolved in 1966 and remains unresolved today. Cronkite's report looks at several recent high-profile sightings along with possible eplanations, and includes possible explanations for the phenomena. I remember being fascinated by the topic back then, buying UFO magazines and reading about them; I probably watched this show as well. Of course, I was also six years old at the time.

Wednesday gives us a chance to appreciate one of the most talented men on television: Frank Gorshin. He appears first as The Riddler in part one of a two-part Batman in which he pretends to be filming a movie as a cover for his nefarious plan. (7:30 p.m., ABC) Later, he's one of the guests on singer John Gary's summer replacement series for The Danny Kaye Show. (10:00 p.m., CBS) Gorshin does impressions of famous men in history, as if they were played by Richard Burton, John Wayne, Peter Falk, and others. That's pretty good.

Hopefully you've seen my recent podcast on television courtroom dramas, a genre I've alway enjoyed; it's not surprising, therefore, that I notice CBS's Thursday Night Movie, the 1960 courtroom/political potboiler A Fever in the Blood (9:00 p.m.), starring Efrem Zimbalist Jr. as a politically ambitious judge presiding over a high-profile murder trial, and Jack Kelly as his rival for the party's gubenatorial nomination, who also happens to be the procutor in the case. It's produced by Roy Huggins, and includes Angie Dickinson, Don Ameche, Ray Danton, and, in his film debut, Carroll O'Connor. 

Since we started the week with sports, we'll end it the same way, with the College All-Star Game (Friday, 7:00 p.m., ABC), with the best of this year's college seniors taking on the NFL champion Green Bay Packers from Soldier Field in Chicago. I've written about the College All-Star Game before, so I'll just let you know that the game turned out about as one-sided as you'd expect: Green Bay 38, All-Stars 0.

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In "For the Record," Henry Harding reports that both ABC and CBS are considering launching late-night talk shows to compete with Johnny Carson's Tonight Show. The networks are winning support from their affiliates, with more than 80 percent of CBS stations supporting such a move. The challenge being faced by local stations: it's more and more difficult for them to purchase movies. The inventory is shrinking and as the networks add more movie nights (five in the upcoming season), they're buying up all the best ones. No word on who CBS is considering, but the favorite at ABC is Joey Bishop, who's had plenty of experience filling in for Carson. And if you have him in your local late-night host pool, you'll be the winner.

Elsewhere, Frank Sinatra and Mia Farrow tied the not on July 19; he's 50, while she's 21. The marriage only lasts two years, but the couple remain friends until Sinatra's death; after the news broke about Woody Allen's infidelity, Sinatra reportedly offered to have him "taken care of." Frank's also reported to be the real father of Mia's son Ronan, but we have a one-rumor-per-story limit in these things.

Politically, Ron Nessen, NBC's Vietnam correspondent and future press secretary for President Gerald Ford, is in good condition after undergoing surgery for a shrapnel wound suffered while covering the war. Meanwhile, now that Ronald Reagan has thrown his hat in the ring for the California gubernatorial race, he's bowing out as host of Death Valley Days. His replacement is veteran actor Robert Taylor.

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On The Red Skelton Hour

This week's starlet is Christopher West, "100 percent girl and 200 percent expert on how not to get a TV role." She doesn't have to try to succeed at the first part; as you can see, she's got everything it takes. And as for the part about not getting roles—well, it hasn't been for lack of trying. She goes on "four or five" interviews a week, her agent providing "sure-fire" tips such as "Be perky, cute and sexy" or "Look witty" or "Think sinister." 

She also applies what could be called a creative approach to looking for work. Once, she interviewed at Universal, where she was told to "look all-American, wholesome and uncomplicated." The producer barely gave her a minute or two between rushing from the stage to the cutting room to the projection room. The next day, she sent him a skateboard, attaching a note which read, "Knowing how busy you are, I thought you might want something to ride to the set." She didn't get the part. Another time, she was at MGM for a part described as a "grieving sexy type." Between bites of a sandwich, the casting director told her that "we're going to decide from pictures," whereupon the next day she brought him a box lunch with a photo wrapped around each sandwich. "I believe this is what you wanted," she told him. She didn't get that part, either. And then there was the time her reading was continuously interrupted by secretaries and assistants telling the producer that "So-and-so won't be able to pick up Meredith at the airport." After every interruption, he asked her to start all over again and tell about herself. Finally, she said, "Listen, I don’t have anything better to do. Why don’t I pick up Meredith?" Nope, no part.

The parts she has landed have included more than a dozen spots on shows from Dr. Kildare to The Red Skelton Hour. In the meantime, she keeps trying; she comes equipped with résumés with three different heights, depending on what the director's looking for: 5-feet-5, 5-feet-5¼ and 5-feet-5½. Her IMDb credits run through the 1990s, which shows that you can't keep a good actress down. Especially if she's willing to send you a sandwich or a skateboard.

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MST3K alert: Daddy-O (1959) A rock ‘n’ roll singer who doubles as a race driver is charged with manslaughter. Dick Contino, Sandra Giles, Bruno Ve Soto, Gloria Victor, Ron McNeil, Jack McClure, Sonia Torgeson. (Friday, 5:00 p.m., KRON in Oakland) Actually, the thrust of this story is that the singer/race driver infiltrates a criminal organization in order to avenge the death of his best friend (the manslaughter mentioned in the description). It features hot cars, hot blondes, and hot goods. You'd think that would be a winning combination, wouldn't you? Well, wouldn't you?   TV  

Around the dial

Let's start this week's review at Comfort TV, where David offers a tribute to Bob Newhart that's both a personal reflection and a historical appraisal of why Newhart is one of television's greatest actors, and how his brand of humor will always be timeless. 

Inner Toob has his own tribute to Newhart, and as a bonus we get his celebration of the 100th birthday of Don Knotts by looking at his many appearances outside of The Andy Griffith Show. At A Shroud of Thoughts, Terence has his own memories of Don Knotts and Bob Newhart, and I recommend checking these out as well. When we have the opportunity to celebrate our classic TV icons, we should take every chance we get.

At bare•bones e-zine, Jack's Hitchcock Project continues with the grimly humorous "Six People, No Music," the only Hitchcock episode written by Richard Berg, featuring a masterful performance by John McGiver as an undertaker seeking to bury the truth along with a body.

Jack continues his review of the nasty dystopian political thriller The Guardians at Cult TV Blog. "Head of State" is a lesson in politics, power, and political power, creating all kinds of interesting conversation points that would fit in well with my recent series on thoughtful television.

At The View from the Junkyard, Roger realizes something I've been saying for years: it's impossible to watch classic television with the mindset of a contemporary viewer, and those who do are doomed to failure. It's a truth discovered while watching this week's Avengers, "Take Me to Your Leader." TV  

Ethics in America

Fred Friendly with Newt Gingrich and Rudy Giuliani on the set of Ethics in America

During the 1988-89 television season, PBS presented a ten-part series of seminars that proved to be one of the most thought-provoking, provocative programs ever shown on television. In doing so, the network provided a blueprint for how to engage viewers with stimulating ideas that, in turn, forced them to deal with tough, real-life questions that had no easy answers. 

Ethics in America was the brainchild of Fred Friendly, former president of CBS News and a leading critic of what he saw as the superficiality of news coverage on network and local television. After leaving network television for the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism, Friendly continued to concentrate on ways in which broadcast journalism could both serve the public interest and engage the public in the vital issues of the day. Beginning in 1974, Friendly inaugurated a series of seminars on media, law and public policy, involving professionals from disparate fields. Eventually, these evolved into the Fred Friendly Seminars, which debuted on PBS in 1981. Prior to Ethics in America, various series looked at questions ranging from the Constitution to medical care and personal choice.

The format for Ethics in America, like the other series, begain with a panel of professionals being presented with a hypothetical scenario, in this case revolving around the ethical implications raised during the course of the discussion. The scenarios themselves covered such issues as politics, the media, medicine, and the law. (Thanks, Wikipedia!) The scenario would appear quite simple at first, but as a number of factors and variables were introduced, the ethics involved became more and more complex, the questions more and more difficult to answer. That there wasn't always an obvious "right" or "wrong" answer, or that sometimes it was a case of the lesser of evils, made the situations doubly challenging. Frequently a panelist, challenged by the moderator to tell what he or she would do in a given situation, would sit silently for several seconds, visibly engaged in an internal struggle to answer the question. 

Lest you think the panels were comprised of obscure academics, most of the panelists were either well-known or soon-to-be so, including Peter Jennings, Mike Wallace, Warren Buffet, Antonin Scalia, Newt Gingrich (before he became Speaker of the House), Rudy Giulaini (before he became mayor of New York), former Vietnam commander William Westmoreland, columnist Ellen Goodman, and others. The thoughtfulness of their answers (and sometimes questions of other panelists) and the depth with which they immersed themselves in these hypothetical scenarios indicated how seriously they took the questions, and their own responsibilities as panelists.

What I want to do here is focus on two episodes in particular that I found—and I'm not exaggerating here, either—thrilling. Yes, you may be thinking, but you would be interested in something like this, being a nerd and a news junkie. And you'd be right about that, at least in part. But, watching this series again over the past few weeks, I can honestly say that it would never occur to me that a viewer wouldn't be interested in these questions. If they aren't, then they either have no curiosity, no desire to think, or no willingness to confront issues that might make them feel the teensiest bit uncomfortable. 

The two episodes are actually parts one and two of an extended discussion on ethics in the military, subtitled "Under Orders, Under Fire." The two hours present a vast array of uncomfortable questions covering a variety of situations, including whether the use of torture to extract information from prisoners is ever justified, how and when an unjust order from a superior must be disobeyed, whether journalists owe their first allegiance to their country or their profession, the morality of killing enemy soldiers who've surrendered when circumstances make it impossible to take them prisoner, the confidentiality of a soldier's confession to a chaplain, and more. 

If you think any of these questions are easily answered, you won't think so after the struggles of the participants. There are sharp disagreements among members of the panel, and probing questions pass between them. Peter Jennings changes his mind twice in trying to answer a question about whether or not he'd warn allied troops if he was imbedded in an enemy unit, and Mike Wallace admits he doesn't know what he'd do.

In one of the most powerful exchanges, a former army lieutenant says frankly that he'd torture a prisoner to get information that could save the lives of some of his men, and that he'd even kill the prisoner if he thought it would "send a message" to other prisoners; his statement is met with revulsion from clergymen and generals alike, who not only condemn the lieutenant, but stress that any such order to kill a prisoner must be disobeyed on moral and ethical grounds. 

General Westmoreland himself goes on to remind the panel that the United States is a signatore to the Geneva Convention, and that such violations make us no better than the enemy we fight. But, the moderator asks another officer, are you saying that you'd sacrifice some of your own men rather than torture an enemy prisoner. After an uncomfortable pause, he replies that he hopes he'd have the courage to do it, to make the right decision, but in the heat of the moment, who can be sure?

All this reminds me of a quote from Joyce Carol Oates in her novel The Assassins (a provocative book in its own right):

Does a demon beckon?

Do you follow?

Do you turn aside, mashing your fists into your eyes?

You won't know until it beckons. To you. So long as it temps others you can judge—can sneer—can express shock, disgust, outrage, and prim disdain—the usual emotions of punitive people. But you won't know. I didn't.

And that's it in a nutshell, not only regarding this particular question, but the questions posed by every scenario in the series. You may know what you'd like to do, but until you're faced with it, in the heat of the moment, you don't know.

That's what makes Ethics in America such a stimulating series: the confrontation that invariably goes on within each individual—both participants and viewers—not only about what should be done in a given situation, but whether or not they would be able to do it. What does "ethics" involve? Are ethics constant or situational? If it's hard for these panelists, all distinguished within their own professions, to answer these questions, imagine how difficult it is for the viewer. And yet life doesn't give you a free pass on these kinds of things; you might not be confronted with these issues, but, believe me, there will be others. As Leon Trotsky said, "You may not be interested in war, but war is interested in you." You may not care about the affairs of the world, but the world doesn't much care whether you're interested or not.

If you read last week's article "To Think or Not to Think," you must have figured out by now why I'm focusing on this series. Ethics in America doesn't give the viewer a choice; it forces you to think. And while the intensity of this ten-hour series might be too much for some people, it doesn't have to take ten hours for viewers to be presented with a variety of Hobson's choices: the best one-hour dramas have been doing that for years. Such programs could be used to form the basis of ongoing discussion groups, much like book clubs have been doing for years. More on that next week. TV  

What's on TV? Wednesday, July 28, 1965

I don't know if The Today Show uses guest hosts anymore; if they do, they're probably one of the last shows to do so. But back in 1965, when Hugh Downs was the host, they did, and this week's guest hosts are most unusual: puppeteer Burr Tillstrom and the Kuklapolitan Players, featuring Kukla and Ollie. It's an inspired choice, given the popularity of the characters with adults as well as children. This isn't the first time we've seen puppets on one of the morning programs, either; remember Bil and Cora Baird's marionettes with Walter Cronkite on CBS's The Morning Show back in the 1950s. So the next time you think your newscasters are all puppets, you just might be right. This week's listings are from the Minneapolis-St. Paul edition.

This week in TV Guide: July 24, 1965

It's one thing to know you're old, to be aware of the chronological truth. I freely admit it in my own case; longtime readers know I make no bones about it. It's another thing, though, to be reminded, by your own actions, that you're old. Take this week's issue of TV Guide. I've had this issue for at least three years, given that I purchased it back when I lived in Minnesota. I recognize its cover, I've read its articles, I'm familiar with its programs. It's highlighted on the very complicated spreadsheet that I use to track the issues I own. All this would suggest to me that I wrote it up at some time in the past 

And yet, I don't see it anywhere on the blog. I don't remember having made any pithy comment about it. I've searched the blog using various terms from articles I would have written, had I written them. In other words, I've owned this issue for at least three years, and whenever July would roll around, I skipped over it because I thought I'd already done it. I feel as if Perry Mason is convicting me with his stare. 

At this point, if I were really losing it, I'd probably figure I was done and end things right here. (Either that, or I'd run for office.) But, perhaps fortunately for you, I've retained enough of my wits to forge ahead, and there's no better place to begin than with the aforementioned Raymond Burr, about to embark on what will be the ninth and final season of Perry Mason. He speaks candidly about it with Dwight Whitney, admitting that he didn't expect to still be doing the series. "I wanted to do a show called The Power," he explains. "In it I played the governor of a state, and it had some of the same things going for it that Perry did. It was the best damn thing I ever read, the best new show presentation anybody in this business had ever seen." So what happened? Well, "the heads of CBS decided that with another year of Perry in the offing they didn't want to convert [to another series] at that point. I went along. I'm a paid actor. Once having signed a contract, I had a certain obligation. Last year I still felt it. So we made an eighth season of Perry Mason." And in the meantime another political drama, Slattery's People (starring Richard Crenna) came along. And there went The Power. As a consolation, however, Burr is paid "what may be the highest straight salary ever offered any TV actor."

Not that he didn't have concerns about Perry Mason, particularly the just-completed eighth season. "This year was a bad year," he tells Whitney. "Sometimes the plots got so involved even I couldn't understand them. But next year can be a great one." (Spoiler: it isn't.) That isn't the only reason he came back, though; "My actors were hurting," he says. "I couldn't let go. I was concerned." He had suddenly become, Whitney says, "God's gift to intransigent actors, tender to men's troubles, father of the world." 

Thanks to Mason, Burr has been one busy man: making regular trips abroad to entertain the troops (four to Vietnam alone), speaking to various bar associations (58 since the show started), and serving on the boards of various foundations and organizations. Next year, he says, he'll be visiting a dozen countries around the world, making speeches to universities. "I speak for world peace through law," he says. "I'm a kind of one-man lobby for the legal profession. I believe that the world will either destroy itself or learn how to settle things by law. So it becomes the world's most important profession." He's grateful for the non-monetary things the show has given him; "It's not very often that a person is given the opportunity to use his personal image to do so much good in the world. That's tough to give up regardless."

I've written about Raymond Burr many times in the past; he's appeared on the cover of TV Guide many times in the past. His secret life with its created backstory is always intriguing, but his public life as a mensch has always been impressive, and genuine. As he and Whitney part, the weary Burr—he leaves on another trip to Vietnam early the next morning—says that he does what he has to do. "What is right for me. What I have done may not have brought absolute happiness. But for me it has brought some measure of satisfaction. IF that makes me a fool, my friend, then that is what I am."

Rather than ending on that somewhat somber note, I prefer to think that I've saved the best for last. It comes from a paragraph earlier in the article, after Burr tells Whitney he wants Perry Mason to go out with a great year. "I could visualize Burr waiting for that 'great year' to go out on until Perry Mason was defending cases from a wheel chair." It sounds like a great role for Robert Ironside, doesn't it?

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During the 60s, the Ed Sullivan Show and The Hollywood Palace were the premiere variety shows on television. Whenever they appear in TV Guide together, we'll match them up and see who has the best lineup..

Sullivan: Ed welcomes Maurice Chevalier, the San Francisco Ballet, comic Soupy Sales, singer Felicia Sanders, rock ‘n’ rollers Gerry and the Pacemakers, middleweight boxing champion José Torres, comedian London Lee, Stephenson’s Dogs, and Jorgen and Conny, a perch act.

Palace: Host Tony Martin and his wife, actress-dancer Cyd Charisse, introduce comedian Jack E, Leonard; veteran song-and-dance man Ted Lewis; Johnny Puleo and his Harmonica Gang; a vocal-instrumental trio composed of Dean Martin Jr., Desi Arnaz IV and Billy Hinsche; ventriloquist Fred Roby; and the Half Brothers, jugglers.

There's no question that Cyd Charisse is always worth watching, whether she's with Fred Astaire or not. Now, having said that, I'm forced to add that Gerry and the Pacemakers have the edge over Deano, Desi, and Billy, and while Ted Lewis certainly had a legendary career, I have to give the nod to Maurice Chevalier. Meanwhile, there's no comparison for the San Francisco Ballet. Based on all this, I give the win to Sullivan by a José Torres knockout

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Throughout the 60s and early 70s, TV Guide's weekly reviews were written by the witty and acerbic Cleveland Amory. Whenever we get the chance, we'll look at Cleve's latest take on the shows of the era. 

It seems as if it was only two or three weeks ago that we were last talking about Jimmy Dean, and here he is again, this time as the subject of Cleveland Amory's review. We learned back then that the network suits were doing their very best to make Jimmy into something he wasn't, something that Cleve rightly judged to be "unwise," because the truth is that "if there’s one thing certain in this changing world, it is that you can’t make Jimmy Dean into anything but Jimmy Dean."

Is that a backhanded compliment? Maybe; it depends on what you think of Dean's style, his schtick, his brand of contemporary country music. But as Amory points out, credit where credit is due: "taken for what he is, and what the show is, Jimmy is good." Take, for instance, his interaction with his Muppet sidekick Rowlf, manned by the team of Jim Henson and Frank Oz, and voiced by Henson. Their bits, such as a recent one which involved a trained flea, "may not sound funny, but with Rowlf and Jimmy looking at an imaginary trained flea, it was a funny scene." Considering that many of their interactions are ad-libbed, it speaks to Dean's quickness with the comeback lines. His interactions with his guests are equally believable; whether it's Rex Allen, Molly Bee, Jack Jones, Eddy Arnold, or Roy Clark, he's fulsome with his praise, and deservedly so. "For country singing or folk singing—and even for city folks who like the country—this show has many virtues."

In fact, if the show has any flaws at all, it's from the constant plugs for his guests' latest albums. It's one thing, says Amory, for it to happen on a talk show, but on a variety show where the guests get paid— well, "Ah want you to know, Jimmy, whan you air a-doin' thet, we dang near burn up." But if that's the biggest complaint that Cleveland Amory has to offer about your show, you're doing all right, son.

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Raymond Burr isn't the only star getting the in-depth profile treatment this week, as Arnold Hano takes a look at the up-and-down life of Jackie Coogan, currently undergoing a career renaissance as Uncle Fester on ABC's The Addams Family. 

Once upon a time, Jackie Coogan was one of the biggest stars in Hollywood. At the age of six, he appeared as The Kid in the Charlie Chaplin film of the same name. As a ten-year-old, he met the Pope, received an ovation from the delegates at the League of Nations, received the highest honor from the Greek government, and was mobbed by a crowd of 50,000 in Paris. He made $4 million in the movies, and another $4 million in outside earnings. And when he reached the age of 23, he found out that his mother and stepfather had squandered it all. He filed suit against them but was told he had no claim. He joined such distinguished company as Lou Gehrig in having a dubious namesake, in this case the Jackie Coogan Act, which required at least half of a child actor's earnings to be kept in a trust for him until he came of age. He married and divorced Betty Grable; "My success did not match hers," he comments. Two more marriages and divorces would follow, before the fourth one took.

He joined the Army (long before Pearl Harbor) and piloted a glider in Europe during World War II. "Nothing you've ever done before in life really counts," his commanding officer told the pilots the night before their mission. "Tonight you'll find out if you have a soul." Returning from the war, he discovered the acting roles were nowhere to be found. He took odd bits in nightclubs, parodying The Kid on his knees. 

The role that changed his life, he says, came on October 4, 1956. It was "Forbidden Area," the premiere episode of CBS's Playhouse 90, a tense Cold War drama written by Rod Serling, directed by John Frankenheimer, and starring Charlton Heston and Vincent Price. There was one comic role in the play, that of the Cook. Coogan was cast in the part, won critical acclaim, and was nominated for an Emmy. The offers came rolling in after that.

He was asked to audition for The Addams Family; ABC's Harve Bennett took one look at him in Fester's black robes and said, "He's perfect!" He enjoys his work on the show, but can't help looking at the child actors playing the two Addams children, Lisa Loring and Ken Weatherwax. "Kids can't get proper experience today," he says. "No vaudeville." He works on his autobiography (a book that seems not to have been published), and tells Hano, "I've never enjoyed life more than today." After The Addams Family ends, he continues to do guest appearances on television until his death in 1984. Maybe Hollywood can still produce happy endings, after all.

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Not much on the menu this week other than reruns, but in these pre-DVR days, there are certainly some of them you'll want to catch if you missed them the first time. 

One piece of original programming, however, leads off the week. It's the Miss Universe Beauty Pageant (Saturday, 9:00 p.m., CBS), live from Miami Beach. Jack Linkletter, Art's son, is the emcee, while John Daly and Sally Ann Howes are the commentators for the television audience. Meanwhile, Pat Boone presides over the crowning of the new Miss Universe, who happens to be Thailand's Apasra Hongsakula, the first Southeast Asian to win the crown.

The hour-long version of The Twilight Zone has always been considered something of a hit-or-miss season, as the format didn't really fit the tight stories that had become the hallmark of the show's first three seasons. (One of the few instances where the network executives knew best: Rod Serling had originally conceived TZ as an hour-long program, but was convinced by the suits to change it to 30 minutes. They were right.) Sunday's episode, however, is an exception: "The Incredible World of Horace Ford" (8:00 p.m, CBS), a touching story of a man trying to recapture his lost youth, with Pat Hingle outstanding in the title role. The story, written by Reginald Rose, originally appeared on Studio One ten years previously, with Art Carney; the story's downbeat ending was modified for TZ, and that was fine with Rose—as he pointed out, he'd already had it done his way the first time.

One of the week's most watchable repeats is Monday's The Winging World of Jonathan Winters (8:00 p.m, NBC), first shown in May. Winters is at his best in this "freewheeling" hour, which features Steve Allen, Leo Durocher, Stiller and Meara, and a taped tribute from Jack Paar (who featured Winters on his show many times). Alexander Scourby narrates the hour, produced and directed by Greg Garrison, who will go on to helm The Dean Martin Show.

On Tuesday, George Hamilton hosts Hullabaloo (9:00 p.m., NBC), with his musical guests Brenda Lee, Noel Harrision, Linda Bennett, the Hollies, the Impression, the Womenfolk, the Ronettes, and the Wayne—I mean, Wayne Fontana and the Mind Benders. (Sorry, got carried away there for a moment.) Hamilton, who'd starred in the Hank Williams biopic Your Cheatin Heart the previous year (probably when this episode was first shown), sings the song of the same name with Brenda; Harrison, who'd yet to record the Oscar-winning "The Windmills of Your Mind," sings the ballad "Barbara Allen." Perhaps the show's ratings would have been better had the host been George Harrison. 

You'll recall that last week I highlighted a couple of programs that were representations of a socio-culture that's long-since disappeared, and this week offers something of the same: Key to the City (Wednesday, 8:00 p.m., NBC), a 1950 comedy set at a mayors' convention in San Francisco, starring Loretta Young as "a prim and serious lady mayor" who's mistaken for a night-club dancer; Clark Gable co-stars as the man who makes the initial misidentification; romance follows! Would we see something like that on network TV today? Somehow, I doubt it. (By the way, Raymond Burr appears as the heavy!)

Thursday night is highlighted by one of the best, and best-known, episodes of Kraft Suspense Theatre, "The Jack is High" (9:00 p.m., NBC), a heist caper with a very, very gruesome twist at the end. Edd Byrnes, Henry Jones, William Bramley, and Larry Storch are the gang trying to pull off their getaway hidden inside a gasoline tank truck, while Pat O'Brien plays the dogged detective on their trail. Ralph Senensky directed; you can read his thoughts about it here. (For good measure, you can see the complete episode here.)

We started our look at the week with an original program, and we'll end it the same way, as Sally Ann Howes returns from Miami Beach to participate in a mini-Rat Pack reunion on The Tonight Show. (Friday, 10:30 p.m., NBC) Joey Bishop is the guest host (completing his second week subbing for Johnny!), and in addition to Sally, his guests are Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis, Jr. I'd stay up late for that.

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Another Raymond Burr note, of sorts; Ray Collins, who played Lieutenant Arthur Tragg for so many seasons on Perry Mason, died of emphysema on July 11 at age 75. As "For the Record" reports, his career spanned 60 years on stage, in the movies, and on television; "If they've written it," he used to say, "I've played it." He'd been in failing health for some years, with his last appearance on Mason coming on January 16, 1964 (filmed in October of 1963). Raymond Burr, ever the mensch, insisted that Collins be kept in the show's credits until he died, not only to help keep his spirits up (he watched the show every week), but to allow him to continue to receive health coverage from the Screen Actors Guild.

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MST3K alert: Robot Monster (1953) Deadly robots descent upon the earth. Their mission: to destroy civilization with supersonic death rays. George Nader, Claudia Barrett. (Thursday, 10:30 a.m. as part of a double feature, WTCN) This description actually flatters a movie that is widely considered to be one of the worst ever made. The "robots" are dressed in gorilla suits, the premier special effect is a bubble machine, and the best thing about it, by a long shot, is the score, composed by the before-he-was-famous Elmer Bernstein. Fortunately, we have not one, but two episodes of Radar Men from the Moon to soften the blow. TV  

Around the dial

The picture above is of Sinatra Sr. watching Sinatra Jr. on television. Whether it's staged or not, it's still a pretty candid shot. Interesting, isn't it?

My latest appearance on Dan Schneider's Video Interview is up; this month, Dan and I discuss some of the notable (as well as some of the lesser-known) legal dramas on television, and their place within the larger cultural zeitgeist. I also tried to touch on some of the larger socio-political issues raised through these programs, such as the correlation between the law-and-order movement of the late 1960s and the decline of popularity in shows featuring defense attorneys; that alone is worth a show from someone. Anyway, take a listen if you've got a couple of hours.

It's been an appalling week or so for deaths in the world of classic television and movies, and the most recent—such as Bob Newhart—will probably be covered in-depth next week. However, Terence at A Shroud of Thoughts keeps up with this remembrance of Hill Street Blues veteran James B. Sikking, who passed last week at the age of 90, and Beverly Hills 90210 and Charmed actress Shannen Doherty, who died at the far-too-young age of 53. Travalanche remembers the deaths of Dr. Ruth Westheimer and Richard Simmons, who also died this week. 

At Comfort TV, David has one of those think pieces I'm so fond of: how dead shopping malls serve as an allegory the state of television today. Both malls and TV rose in the 1950s, offered something for everyone, and now have audiences that are a fraction of what they once were. There's much more to his essay; I urge you all to take a moment to read it.  

Jordan returns at The Twilight Zone Vortex with an in-depth look at volume 3, number 5 of The Twilight Zone Magazine, from November/December 1983. There's coverage of the premiere of The Twilight Zone: The Movie, filming Stephen King's Dead Zone, an interview with David Cronenberg, a retrospective on The Outer Limits, and more. 

At Cult TV Blog, John reviews "The State of England," an episode of teh 1971 series The Guardians, which presents an alternative history of England in which the country is ruled by a fascist dictatorship. As you know, I'm partial to these kinds of stories, which—as John points out—almost always rely on a heavy dose of fear. A nasty piece of work.

At Garroway at Large, Jodie celebrates the birthday of the blog, as well as that of the master communicator himself, Dave Garroway. It's an update along with a couple of pictures that continue to give us insight into the early years of Today, and the progression of time on Garroway.

An additional post from Travalanche reminds us that looks can be deceiving, asT he offers a retrospective on the voiceover career of Dallas McKennon, veteran character actor (and Denver Pyle-lookalike) from Westerns like Daniel Boone, Wagon Train, and Bonanza, and voice artist of, among others, Gumby!

And one more from A Shroud of Thoughts that I wanted to touch on: a reminder of the three books that Terence has written, along with information on where to get them. Remember to support your bloggers in all their efforts! TV  

To think or not to think

One of the (many) phrases that rubs me the wrong way is someone saying, most likely in an accuseatory manner, "You're overthinking things." It doesn't even have to be aimed at me; it raises my hackles whenever I hear it said or see it written. It carries imbedded within it, in some subtle yet insidious way, the idea that the process of thinking is, in and of itself, something that is to be discouraged.

Now, I know what you're thinking, and it's true that people can sometimes overanalyze things, that they can research something to the point that they enter into a kind of decision paralysis, unable to make up their minds because they're they're drowning in information. But when one is accused of "overthinking," it most often implies that you're devoting your mental energies to something that has been adjudged not worthy of expending your little grey cells. That, in and of itself, displays a kind of arrogance, suggesting that you're a better judge of what's important than they are.

The other day, at one of the Hogan's Heroes message boards I frequent, someone (not me) was speculating about one of the many implausibilities implicit in the show's concept. He was, of course, promptly accused of overthinking things. And while there are times when one has to suspend their own disbelief, not only with Hogan but with many other programs, the thought occurred to me: what, exactly, is wrong with thinking about various aspects of a television show? As long as you're not allowing it to intrude on the pleasure you derive from watching the show, why should you be scolded for "overthinking" it? Isn't it just part of the creative process wired into some people's minds?

Think of it this way: would you ever accuse someone of overthinking War and Peace or The Brothers Karamazov? Would you suggest to a film student that she's overthinking Citizen Kane or 2001? Would you stride into the Louvre and tell someone studying the Mona Lisa that they're overthinking the smile, or try to convince worshippers in the Sistine Chapel that they're overthinking Michelangelo's Last Judgment? They'd probably look at you like you ought to be locked up for such thoughts, and they'd be right. I'm not even sure you can overthink Jackson Pollock. (On the other hand, I might grant you Mark Rothko.)

What I'm trying to say here is that it's absurd to suggest that one can overthink art, whether it's in the form of literature, cinema, painting, sculpture, dance, and the like. Why should we exclude television from that list? Granted, I'm not trying to suggest that a show like Hogan's Heroes belongs in the same classification as, say, East of Eden (there is such a thing as perspective, after all), but it's also foolish to deny that there is an element of art present in the creation of any television program. What that show says, what it signifies, what (if any) messege it intends for the viewer: these are all topics worthy of thought—and, possibly, overthought.

You might recall that a few years ago I wrote about a conversation I had with a Catholic ethicist regarding the treatment of the Just War doctrine in Hogan's Heroes. Now, some of you might consider this a classic example of overthought; it's only a sitcom, after all, a form of entertainment (and a low one, at that). But how many of us accept the things we see on television—not just on Hogan's Heroes, but on any program—without even giving them a second thought? Assassination, lying, physical intimidation, robbery, blackmail: it's all good if it's done in a good cause, right? We don't think about it at all, and over time we can become lazy about it, inured to it, just like the video game players who become so used to their killing games that the sacredness of life itself begins to lose its meaning. I'm not suggesting that television, whether drama or sitcom, should be relied upon to give you a moral education—far from it! But what do we accomplish with our leisure time if we spend it doing things that produce absolutely no thought on our part? Even the most "mindless" entertainment should spur at least a little activity up there, whether it's on the left or right side of your brain. To do otherwise—well, that's just a foreign concept to me. 

Over the years, my thoughts, my philosophies, my beliefs: all of them have been influenced, to one degree or another, by programs I've seen on television. Sometimes the impact is minor, no more significant than learning the importance of laughing at yourself; other times, I find myself being challenged to defend long-held opinions after seeing them in a quasi-real world environment, rather than the vacuum of the intellectural laboratory, with the result that I'm either strengthened in that opinion, or open to other ways of thinking about it. Seeing the plight of an innocent man being persecuted on a police procedural or the agonies of soldiers in a war drama should cause you to at least give some thought about these things, even if it's just to ask "what would I do?" in a similar situation. 

Again, I'm not advocating that you form your opinions on important issues around what you see on TV, where the dice are often loaded and the issues slanted, but having an awareness of these things, an awareness that perhaps you didn't have before, should at least enter into the equation when you consider them more deeply. Remember the old public service messages on CBS that would run after some dramas or movies, where they provided a list of books in case you wanted to "Read More About It?" That's what I'm talking about.

Of course, some of this is dependant on the willingness of programmers to provide programs containing even the barest of thought-provoking content, and, quite frankly, we should be demanding more from them in terms of how we spend our leisure time. But if that's the case, we should also be demanding more from ourselves. "There’s grace in wrestling with thoughts," a Catholic priest once wrote, and the ancient Greeks believed that leisure was "an active state of mind," a time that included not only sports and physical activities, but "learning music theory, debating qualified peers and doing philosophy. Leisure was not easy, but it was supposed to be gratifying." And as we've seen, even a sitcom like Hogan's Heroes can be the source of a thought-provoking gratification.

Speaking of thoughts, next week I'm going to continue on this train of thought, by looking at one of the most challenging and thought-provoking programs that television has produced, and how it can serve as a model for the way in which we use the programs we watch to stimulate our own thinking, both individually and in a group. TV