His name, he reminds you at the start of every show, is Johnny Cash. He's been around since 1955, and he's recognized as one of the biggest names in American country music, the successor to JImmie Rodgers and Hank Williams. But, as Neil Hickey writes in this week's cover story, it's only been in the last year that he's become a major figure in non-country America; first, with his epic live album from Folsom Prison in California, and now with his ABC summer series, The Johnny Cash Show. He is, in fact, well on the way to becoming not just a music superstar, but an American legend.
Hickey calls him "television's roughest diamond," and it's no surprise, considering that he sings about lost loves and jail time, poverty and homecoming and Bible stories offering redemption. A child of the depression, he began writing and recording songs after a sting in the Air Force; in 1955, Sun Records finally took a chance on him with "Hey, Porter" and "Cry! Cry! Cry!" He'd become a major star by the next year ("with deceptive ease"), performing with the Grand Ole Opry and doing one-night-stands throughout the South; his hit "I Walk the Line" was high on the charts.
His success hid a darker side, though. His first marriage was crumbling, and combined with the stress and strain of his constant touring, he soon was on "a psysiological roller-coaster ride," taking as many as 100 pep pills a day to get him through his work, followed by fistfulls of tranquilizers to calm him down. Even as recently as two years ago, he was known as the "biggest no-show" in the business, either missing concerts completely or showing up missing his voice. He was arrested for drug possession in 1965 (and given a suspended sentence), he'd lost 100 pounds, and his family had decided to commit him at one point to save him from himself.
That he has come back from all this, unlike Rodgers and Williams, both of whom succumbed to their darker demons, is a testament to the love of family and friends, and particularly his second wife, June Carter, herself from a legendary country music family. He got off the pills and settled down to a life of hard work, crowned by a successful 1967 concert to a sold-out audience at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles. Says actor Dale Robertson, "He's to country music what John Wayne is to Westerns." Whereas he once picked cotton and hauled water for work ganges, he's now a millionaire from his recordings and concerts, Says Cash, "I’m happy to be alive—lucky to be alive. I know damn well I'm a good man."
The Johnny Cash Show runs from 1969 to 1971, hosting some of the biggest names in the country music world, not to mention stars such as Louis Armstrong, Jose Feliciano, Liza Minnelli, and Joni Mitchell; surely, on a per-show basis it has to be considered one of the most star-studded variety series ever seen on television, hosted by one of the biggest stars to ever host a series while still in his prime. It fell victim to the double-barrelled challenge of the Prime-Time Access rule, eliminating a half-hour per night of network programming, and the Rural Purge. For Johnny Cash, though, the star continued to shine, adding some acclaimed acting roles to his portfolio, working with U2, and covering songs by Nine Inch Nails and Depeche Mode. His troubles did not end; he went through additional stints of drug addiction and rehab. He remained, in many ways, a rough diamond, as I suspect he'd have been the first to admit, and I don't think he'd have been embarrased to admit it.
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This week, the Doan Report updates us on what is now a three-way battle for late-night supremacy, what with Merv Griffin's August 18 debut on CBS. Insiders agree that it's "much too early to tell" how this race is going to end (it is, after all, a marathon, not a sprint), but the early returns auger well for Johnny holding on to his crown. CBS boasted that the Griffin show won opening night, with a 31 percent share compared to Carson's 25 and Bishop's 8; NBC, however, was equally quick to throw cold water on that boast, pointing out that "while Griffin opened with a big lead, by the end fo the 90-minute heat Carson had the larger audience." Said one NBC vice president, "I guess a lot of people sampled Griffin, then when back to their old favorite."
One factor that might have contributed to the early ratings: the quality of guest lineups. Griffin was plagued by no-shows, including New York Major John Lindsay and New York Jets star quarterback Joe Namath; meanwhile, Carson, broadcasting that week from Hollywood, countered with "TV's biggest draw," Bob Hope. (Interestingly enough, Bishop's lineup that night included the Smothers Brothers, to no ratings avail; fame is fleeting, isn't it?)
Which leads us to this week's feature. Back in the day, I used to enjoy going through TV Guide, looking at the lineups for the talk shows and seeing who had the best guests, even though I couldn't stay up and watch them. What with this being Merv's third week on the job, it and having seen the importance of booking big-name guests when it comes to ratings, it seemed like it might be kind of interesting to resume the practice, at least for one week. Let's see who's got the strongest lineup, and whether Johnny really has become the King of Late Night, or if he's just a comfortable habit.
Now, the guest list in TV Guide has always been full of caveats, with clauses like "tentatively scheduled guests," and the like. And we know how Merv was victimized by no-shows on his opening night. So, in the interests of providing you, the loyal reader, with the most accurate information possible, I've augmented the guest list found in this week's issue with info from sources ranging from the IMDb to the TV listings of various newspapers. In addition, since a lot of you may not recognize the names here, I've linked to their bios on Wikipedia and other places. (Rather than running the risk of insulting your intelligence, I've just gone ahead and linked all of them, even though you probably know who Tony Randall and William Holden are.) So have a go at it, and see what you think.
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In the meantime, Dick Cavett has yet to become part of the late-night troika; having started out with a five-day-a-week daytime show on ABC, he's now been moved to prime time for the summer, where he airs each Monday, Tuesday, and Friday at 10:00 p.m. (He'll be in the Joey Bishop timeslot before the end of the year, though.) Nonetheless, he might have the best guest lineup of the week: Monday, it's actor Sal Mineo, B.B. King, and journalist I.F. Stone; Tuesday features William Holden, Eartha Kitt, and Nero Wolfe author Rex Stout; and Friday he spends the entire hour with Groucho Marx. Yes, I'd call that lineup a winner.
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But as we all know, television does not live by late-night alone. Amid the reruns that populate the waning weeks of summer, Saturday's Get Smart repeat bears watching (8:00 p.m. PT, NBC). It's a spoof of Rear Window, with Max taking on the Jimmy Stewart role (and who had that phrase on their TV Guide bingo card?), watching through binoculars as 99 takes on KAOS. I suspect she'll be able to handle herself, don't you? If you're looking for the real Jimmy Stewart though, you'll find him in brilliant form in Anatomy of a Murder (midnight, KPIX in San Francisco), with George C. Scott, Ben Gazzara, Lee Remick, Eve Arden, and Arthur O'Connell all in equally top form. It's an adult movie in the classic sense of the word, in that it deals with mature themes in a serious manner, but it was also controversial in its time for the sexual frankness of the dialog; it's said to be the first movie in which the words ""contraceptive," "climax," and "spermatogenesis" were used. I wonder if they made it on TV in 1969?
Culture, both highbrow and middlebrow, is on display Sunday; with no Hollywood Palace to go up against, Ed Sullivan has the field to himself (8:00 p.m., CBS), and he comes through in style, with Metropolitan Opera soprano Anna Moffo, singers Sandler and Young, Sam and Dave, and Roslyn Kind; the Ballet America; comics Jackie Mason and Pat Cooper; and clown Charlie Cairoli. At the same time, NET's Sounds of Summer presents the farewell concert of legendary conductor Erich Leinsdorf, retiring from the Boston Symphony. A star-studded lineup, including Beverly Sills and Justino Diaz, is on hand for the finale from Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. At the intermission, Leinsdorf is interviewed by host Steve Allen.
Vivian Vance returns to The Lucy Show on Monday (8:30 p.m., CBS), in a flashback-filled show that has the two recalling past adventures while Lucy recovers from a broken leg. Meanwhile, Jimmie Rodgers finishes up his stint as summer replacement for Carol Burnett with a show featuring pianist Roger Williams and comic Scoey Mitchell, along with two of Carol's regulars, Vicki Lawrence and Lyle Waggoner.
You remember a few paragraphs ago, when we learned that Ryan O'Neal and his wife, Leigh Taylor-Young, were guests on The Joey Bishop Show? There's probably a good reason for that; on Tuesday, the couple stars in an unsold pilot, Under the Yum Yum Tree (Tuesday, 9:00 p.m., ABC), based on the 1963 movie of the same name, which starred Jack Lemmon and Carol Lynley. It's no criticism of O'Neal to note that he's no Jack Lemmon.
Helen Hayes makes a rare television appearance on Wednesday's episode of Tarzan (7:30 p.m., CBS), along with her son, James MacArthur, whom we all know and love as Danno on Hawaii Five-O. For those of you who thought Tarzan was an NBC series, you're right; its original run was from 1966-68, and CBS aired reruns during the 1969 summer. And Darren McGavin's unjustly-forgotten private detective series The Outsider comes to an end with an episode involvung a millionaire "who has never been photographed." (10:00 p.m., NBC) The reclusive Howard Hughes, anyone?
The Ghost and Mrs. Muir was cancelled after a single season on NBC, but it's been picked up by ABC for the coming season, and to celebrate, the show's stars, Hope Lange and Edward Mulhare, host an hour-long special previewing the network's Super Saturday morning cartoon lineup. (Thursday, 7:30 p.m.) Not everyone will agree with me on this—it depends a lot on your childhood memories—but the new Saturday schedule is far from the glory days of cartoons, with a scheule that includes "Smokey the Bear, a cartoon with a conservation message; The Cattanooga Cats, an hour hosted by five soft-rock felines; Hot Wheels, the adventures of a car club; The Hardy Boys, based on the mystery-book series; and Sky Hawks, the saga of a flying family." Jonathan Frid is along for the ride, along with the regulars from Ghost.
The John Davidson Show ends its summer run on Friday, and his final show features a fine cast, including the Moody Blues, Rich Little (impersonating W.C. Fields), the Committee, and Mireille Mathieu. (8:00 p.m., ABC) To be perfectly frank, the weakest link in the show is the host himself. Opposite this is a Bell Telephone Hour special on the life and art of the legendary pianist Arthur Rubinstein (8:30 p.m. NBC). And Dick Powell gives the definitive interpretation of Raymond Chandler's fabled private detective Philip Marlowe in Murder, My Sweet (9:00 p.m., KTXL in Sacramento). A good way to close out the week.
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Judith Crist, TV Guide's movie critic, has a thing or two to say about TV-movies. Movies on television, as we know, have been big business for some time, and ever since the studios loosened their grip and began to allow newer films to grace the small screen, the "sad truth" has been that "the worst of the Hollywood product would pull in more viewers than the best of creative television could." Lesson learned, network executives determined that "anything that Hollywood could do badly for itself, it could do worse for television, and in color yet."
It's long been accepted that Hollywood's backlog of movies has been drying up, and that there aren't enough movies being made to fill the insatiable demand from television. It's now been three years, and 31 telemovies, since the first "world premiere" movie made its appearance. And, says Crist, the "cold fact" is that "for the most part, and emphasize the 'most' part, the public’s been offered a series of pilot and pseudo-pilot films, the vast majority of which wouldn’t have earned a B rating on any theatrical movie meter bill." They stand out from their theatrical bretheren in that they generally feature cheap production values, stars "who have not quite retained their place at the top or not quite found it," and plots that are clearly shaped around the needs for commercials at set times. But people watch them—their ratings have been very close to those of theatrical premieres—and so we can count on more of them.
A major selling point to TV-movies, one that makes the positive ratings even more attractive, is that they're relatively cheap to make. The costs run anywhere between $800,000 and $1.3 million, for which the network gets to show the movie twice during the season, sell it off in a syndicated package with other movies, and then sell it again for foreign theatrical release. At that rate, she says, the expenditures have not only been recouped, but doubled. And that doesn't even begin to include the benefits if the movie is made into a successful series. It is, therefore, profitable junk
Not all of it is junk; stars of the calibur of Henry Fonda and Anne Baxter can give telemovies a veneer of quality. Still, Crist can point to "perhaps three our four" of the past season's movies had a claim to special interest: Something for a Lonely Man, a Western starring Dan Blocker, and two courtroom dramas that would become the basis for "The Lawyers" segment of The Bold Ones, "The Sound of Anger" and "The Whole World is Watching." Interestingly enough, Crist is unimpressed by Prescription: Murder, the first movie to feature Peter Falk's Lieutenant Columbo, calling it "one of those how-to-kill-your-wife" bores." (She notes that NBC speculates that "The Falk character could return annually"; in truth, it was the second Columbo movie, Ransom for a Dead Man, that sold the concept as part of the Mystery Movie wheel.
One observation is that many TV-movies have the feel of a regular series episode that's been padded out to fill a larger timeslot; the answer to that lies in shorter movies (ABC's Movie of the Week famously runs for 75 minutes plus commercials) or movies with multiple, distinct stories (such as NBC's Night Gallery pilot). In the long run, Crist feels, TV-movies will improve with experience, but much depends on the industry's ability to attract good writers, which itself will depend on whether television goes the route of "factory productions" (think of the Warner Bros. assembly line method) or the "workshop" way of thinking, in which writers are invited to write about whatever interests them.
Today, despite Crist's criticisms, many people have fond memories from this era of TV-movies, particularly the ABC Movie of the Week, which wasn't afraid to tackle controversial issues as well as making frequent foray into horror movies. I don't think it's the case that these movies have improve in retrospect, either; many of them were highly-rated and critically reviewed at the time. It's likely that Crist's standards were high, as they were for theatrical movies, and that she was inherently inclined to look down at these movies. What she's right about, though, is that eventually the quality of the TV-movie would improve in time; by the time of prestige television, many of them surpass theatrical movies in quality.
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MST3K alert: 12 to the Moon (1960) Moon beings fear that earthmen are bringing greed and destruction to their world. Ken Clark, Michi Kobi. (Wednesday, 6:30 p.m., KTXL) This is one of those MST3K occasions where the short is actually more disturbing than the feature. In the musical short "Design for Living," "a woman dreams of a mysterious masked man who takes her to see the future." It's actuallySa an ad for the 1956 General Motors Motorama, but to borrrow a phrase from Tom Servo, "This has all the markings of a Clay Shaw party!" TV