Read the fine print

The other night, we were watching one of my favorite police shows of the 60s, The F.B.I. (Call me nostalgic; I enjoy remembering the days when federal officers were the good guys.) Now, when I'm watching a DVD, I generally don't like to use the rewind button if I can help it; even though most of the shows don't include the original commercials, I still like to see them in some approximation of how they were originally broadcast.* But in this particular episode, I saw something so intriguing that I had to pause and rewind, just to make sure I'd seen what I thought I saw.

*That, and if I pause it for too long, I have trouble remembering what was happening when I start it up again.

The episode in question, "Hostage," was originally broadcast on February 19, 1967. As we join the story, the FBI has just put out a wanted poster on Dr. Marie-Luise Karn (Diana Hyland), part of a Communist team sent to kidnap an anti-Communist leader to try and force an exchange for a leading Red general being held in an American prison. Fortunately for the FBI, a man working in the harbor, where the Commies are planning to rent a boat to facilitate their escape, sees the poster:

Looking at the data, a few things become immediately apparent. First of all, the Eastern-bloc doctor is not six feet tall (earlier in the episode, a photo supposedly from the magazine Der Spiegel suggests she's probably about 5'8"), is not an American (she's likely supposed to be East German), and therefore was not born in Stafford, Indiana. But you know who was born in Stafford?

That's right—Dr. Richard Kimble. Interestingly enough, he and Dr. Karn not only share the same birthplace, they were also born on the same date*, and are the same height and weight! And they both became doctors!

*David Janssen was also born on March 27, albeit in 1931.  Coincidence?

Obviously what happened is that someone in the prop department pulled out one of the old Kimble posters, pasted Karn's picture over it, and used it in the episode. Both The Fugitive and The F.B.I. were Quinn Martin productions, so it makes sense. We've seen how shows recycle the same sets, the same stock footage, and so forth, so why not? And in the days before high-def, big screen televisions with pause buttons on the DVD player, it's unlikely that anyone anticipated troublemaking viewers like yours truly would be able to even see the fine print, let alone notice the discrepancy.

It's all good fun, of course.  One of the treats of watching old television shows on large-screen HD televisions is seeing things that were invisible when the show was originally aired; a Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea fan noted that the remastered discs now allowed him to see the wires that pulled models along the floor. As the Wizard said, pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.  Little details like this just add to my enjoyment of the shows, and affection for the simplicity of the era. TV  

What's on TV? Thursday, May 11, 1967

As you can see from the image above, Milton Berle is the guest star on tonight's F Troop. It's part of what I think of as Berle's nostalgia tour on ABC (after being freed from his 20-year contract on NBC), which included a stop on Batman (as Louie the Lilac) and The Big Valley, as well as the short-lived revival of The Milton Berle Show as a weekly series in 1966. That show was the last time Berle would host his own series; from then on, it was guest appearances all the way (and, in truth, he was a fine dramatic actor). It might seem a comedown for the man once known as "Mr. Television," but it's better than hosting Jackpot Bowling, right? This week's shows come from the Northern California edition.

This week in TV Guide: May 6, 1967

The "minority" mentioned in the headline for Edith Efron's cover story is not a racial minority, or even a sexual minority. And, as Efron points out, it's not all that small, either. The "minority" refers to the audience for "the neglected stepchild of television," the documentary. And, surprise, the worn-out chestnuts about documentaries—that nobody watches them, that they only watch them when they're about movie stars, that only intellectuals watch them—well, they all turn out to be "lies, all lies."

According to the ratings books themselves, "documentaries ‘get ratings that are fully comparable to those of many entertainment shows." And there's no great difference in the demographic information between those who watch documentaries and those who watch entertainment programs. It seems worthwhile, therefore, to talk to some experts on the form and find out what kind of documentaries prove successful with the viewer, and why. 

In talking with news executives, documentary producers and directors, and investigative reporters, one thing is clear: storytelling is all-important. Reuven Frank, executive vice president of NBC News, says, "You cannot interest people unless you tell stories. Usually, in a good story there’s a protagonist, a conflict, and a resolution." That's a sentiment echoed by Thomas Wolf, VP and director of documentaries at ABC, who says, "The most successful documentaries have dramatic qualities—heroic protagonists, conflicts, a triumph of good over evil." Bob Drew, independent documentarian, says that "Nothing can compete with dramatic logic. Reality films must have similar ingredients to those in fiction—a protagonist, a dramatic conflict." 

Don Hyatt, producer of documentaries such as "The Tall American" and "The Road West" (which I've probably mentioned here in the past), says that "The successful documentary must, above all, have hero figures, figures that represent human ideals; it must have an empathetic projection of a certain idealism, a certain poetic, romantic view of this country, of life and of man." Ted Yates, who has produced or directed almost 90 documentaries for NBC, adds that "There is in fact, in reality, a dramatic composition to life. Good and bad, happiness and disaster—this is what makes the world go round. If you flatten it out, demolish the dramatic content of life, turn it into an illustrated lecture on statistics, you get dull life—and a dull documentary."

There's much more to this very long story, including a breakdown of the correlation between the subject matter of documentaries and the ratings they produce (no surprise; Americans are more interested in their own history than that of other countries), and whether or not networks have an obligation to look at subjects that are of relatively little interest, or if that's a judgment that goes beyond the scope of their duties. But the key takeaway I'm looking at comes from this quote by Efron: "The American public responds strongly to reality films to the degree that they resemble the dramatic art."

This points out both the greatest asset of the successful documentary, and the biggest flaw. A well-done documentary, and I've seen more than a few of them, can be gripping, spellbinding, captivating in such a way that it encourages the viewer to read more, to watch more, to learn more about the topic. The music, the narration, the writing and editing—all of it can combine to make a memorable, and, more important, a convincing, case in support of its thesis.

Don't get me wrong; I greatly enjoy well-made documentaries. Drew, Bud Greenspan, David L. Wolper, Errol Morris—I'll watch almost anything that comes from them. However, those same qualities that can make a documentary so compelling can also be used to craft a story that crosses the line between documentary and advocate piece, that seeks to promote an agenda or create a particular interpretation of a historical event. What's that old line about never letting the facts get in the way of a good story? And who says that historical events always have a dramatic story arc in the first place? 

How many times have we heard people complain that sports announces stick to a predetermined storyline and push it, over and over, regardless of what's playing out on the field? It happens a lot, and that's part of the danger I'm talking about—that, in service of creating the drama essential to a successful documentary, too many facts can be manipulated or compromised, too many complex ideas truncated, and decisions can be made based on how well they fit the narrative, rather than how they fit the truth. Once that happens, a program has ceased to be a documentary, and instead has become a docudrama. Just look online at the amount of space devoted to supposedly factual movies—The King's Speech is one egregious example that comes to mind—where changes are made to the historical record in the name of "dramatic license." 

I'm not pointing fingers here—the reason I bring it up, aside from the fact that it's the subject of a substantial piece in TV Guide—is that it demonstrates the power of television, and the danger. In an era when truth has never been more relative and when media is under a closer microscope than ever, it's undeniable that an article like this provides some food for thought. Yes, as Ted Yates points out, history should never be dull or stuffy, because it isn't. At the same time, though, remember the warning from John Ford's The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance: "When the legend becomes fact, print the legend." It's something that anyone who promotes drama über alles must keep in mind, especially with a medium like television.

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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 scheduled guests: the Supremes; Xavier Cugat and his singing wife Charo; soprano Roberta Peters of the Metropolitan Opera; comedians Richard Pryor, and Claire and McMahon; singer Frank Ifield; and taped highlights from Holiday on Ice.

Palace: Host Gene Barry offers a dramatic reading about a man’s farewell to his soldier son. Guests are folk singer Theodore Bikel; comedians Jack E. Leonard, and Avery Schreiber and Jack Burns; singer Lana Cantrell; political satirist Mort Sahl; and Damorra and her doves.  

Interesting week. Ed leads with music, with the Supremes (always faves of his), plus Roberta Peters (who appeared on the show more than any other singer), and follows up with Richard Pryor. On the other hand, I've always liked Palace host Gene Barry, Mort Sahl certainly has a lot of material to work with right now, and Theo Bikel is always an interesting performer. Barry's reading of "So Long Son" is unexpected and movie, and on that basis, I'll give the nod to Palace this week.

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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. 

We don't get over to National Educational Television very often in this space, which means, as Cleveland Amory points out, "you have been missing many happy happenings." Chief among them is the network's anthology series NET Playhouse, "a truly extraordinary series" which seeks to present, on a weekly basis, major plays and films, including offerings from new writers. 

NET Playhouse is, in Cleve's estimation, responsible for "the two best-produced classics yet seen anywhere on TV," Chekhov’s "Uncle Vanya" and Ibsen’s "An Enemy of the People." Both boasted stellar casts—"Vanya" stars Sir Michael Redgrave, Sir Laurence Olivier, Rosemary Harris, Joan Plowright, and Dame Sybil Thorndike, while "An Enemy of the People" hasJames Daly, Kate Reid, Philip Bosco, Barbara Dana, William Prince and George Voskovee—and present dark, intense, and provocative ideas. There hasn't been anything like them seen on American television since the Golden Age presentations of Playhouse 90, Hallmark Hall of Fame, and Dupont Show of the Month, and they justify the potential that so many had always seen in educational television. That's not to say that every presentation on NET Playhouse is a home run; Shaw’s "Misalliance" and Wilde’s "The Importance of Being Earnest" were both talky and over the top. That's offset, though, by a "superb" documentary on the Battle of Culloden by Peter Watkins, in Amory's opinion, "the world's leading documentarian."

 

Tempting as it might be for us to assume that NET Playhouse simply morphed into Masterpiece Theatre, it would be a mistake to do so. True, many of the productions do come from the BBC, but others are strictly American in both content and performance, while still others come from Canada and France, among other countries. Additionally, the series offered not just plays and historical documentaries, but operas, concerts, and profiles as well as well; a look at the six-year history of NET Playhouse includes programs as varied as "The Trail of Tears" with Joseph Cotten, Johnny Cash, and Jack Palance; Duke Ellington's "Concert of Sacred Music," and "America, Inc." with Abbie Hoffman. I've mentioned before that one of the early controversies involving NET/PBS was the network's dependence on British imports at the expense of American productions; nowhere is this more apparent than in contrasting Masterpiece Theatre with the variety seen here. It is, I think, another example of public broadcasting's abdication of one of their prime obligations, and by now it's too late to turn around; not only has public broadcasting changed, so has the public.

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We've talked about the United Network in the past, the fourth network wannabe that started life as the Overmyer Network and ended life after one month of programming. The first and only program to be carried on United was The Las Vegas Show, a two-hour talk-variety show hosted by Bill Dana, which premiered on May 1. On Monday, KLOC, the independent station in Modesto, signs on to The Las Vegas Show, carrying it at 8:30 p.m. PT. It was envisioned as a challenger in the late-night sweepstakes, but, as we can see here, scheduling was all over the map, with some stations (such as KLOC) carrying it in primetime, and others even showing it in daytime. (As you can see from the ad at the left, the show was a goodfit for CBS affiliates lacking a late-night show of their own.) The show, and the network, ended abruptly on June 1; Dana would memorably quip later that "I'm the first man in history to sink an entire network." Robert has an excellent overview of the program at Television Obscurities, including a comment by our own Mike Doran. It's another interesting case of what might have been.

Speaking of the late-night wars, The Doan Report notes early troubles for ABC's Joey Bishop Show, which premiered on April 17, with some critics predicting the show "was not long for this TV world." Initial reviews were "kind but mostly unenthusiastic"; the early ratings were not kind, with the only available figures showing that Bishop was outdrawn in New York by the late movie. ABC boss Leonard Goldenson defends the show, saying that the network had "no expectation that Joey was going to come on like gang busters," and noting that Bishop has a 39-week contract and committed sponsors. Ratings do improve over time, though never challenging Johnny Carson except on rare occasions, and when the show leaves the air in December 1969, it's due to a contract dispute between Bishop and the network.

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The sports highlight of the week is the 93rd running of the Kentucky Derby, live from Churchill Downs in Louisville (Saturday, 2:00 p.m., CBS). Proud Clarion is the upset winner, with Derby favorite Damascus finishing third; Damascus, however, will storm back to win the Preakness and Belmont Stakes, and is named three-year-old horse of the year. Later, Wide World of Sports expands to two hours to cover the 37th annual Notre Dame Old-Timers' Football Game, pitting recent alumni against the varsity team (5:00 p.m., ABC). It's the last year for the Old Timers' Game; next season, two squads of varsity players will face each other, a popular format that's now used by virtually every major college as part of their spring practice. No wonder; can you imagine NFL teams allowing their young players to take part in an exhibition game like this today?

On Sunday, Robert Goulet and Mary Grover star in a television adaptation of Rogers and Hammerstein's "Carousel" (9:00 p.m.), part of ABC's revival of Armstrong Circle Theatre as a series of occasional specials. Pernell Roberts and Charlie Ruggles are part of the supporting cast. You can see it at YouTube; don't be intimidated by the running time on the video; the actual program is less than two hours. This was one of three Broadway musical adaptations shown by ABC under the Circle Theatre imprimatur, the other two being "Brigadoon" in 1966 (also starring Goulet, with Sally Ann Howes and Peter Falk), and "Kismet," later in 1967, with Jose Ferrer, Barbara Eden, Anna Maria Alberghetti, and George Chakiris. 

I think we'd all agree that, despite the occasional documentary or educational special, most television programming has at least something to do with the pursuit of pleasure. Coincidentally, that's the title of an NBC News Special on Monday (10:00 p.m.), hosted by Sander Vanocur. In this case, the pleasure that the young generation is pursuing is mostly related to sex and drugs, as evidenced by some of those interviewed: Timothy Leary, advocating LSD; Ralph Ginzburg, convicted of publishing pornography; and Ray Anthony, author of The Housewife's Handbook on Selective Promiscuity. Also included is a debate on the amount of freedom a society can permit without destroying itself, featuring Hugh Hefner, William F. Buckley Jr., and Harvard Divinity School's Dr. Harvey Cox. That last question is something we're finding the answer to which right now, methinks.

An otherwise-lackluster Tuesday is perked-up considerably with an appearance by the comedy team of Bob and Ray on Today (7:00 a.m., NBC). Granted, they're pretty low-key, sly satirists; still, you have to wonder if the early-morning audience is ready for their humor. But then, Ernie Kovacs started out with a morning show in Philadelphia, so perhaps they're just what the doctor ordered for a good start to the day. I know that would have been the case for me.

There is no MST3K alert this week, which is a pity, but there's at lease one movie that should have been on the show: College Confidential (1960), with columnists Walter Winchell, Sheilah Graham, Earl Wilson and Louis Sobol portraying themselves in a story of a college sociology professor studying student sex habits (Wednesday, 6:00 p.m., KGO in San Francisco). It stars Steve Allen, Jayne Meadows, and Mamie Van Doren; among the supporting cast are Rocky Marciano, Conway Twitty, Pamela Mason, Elisha Cook Jr., and Mickey Shaughnessy. Howard Thompson, in The New York Times, wrote of Steve and Jayne that "it is truly painful to find them co-starring in a piece of movie claptrap like College Confidential."

Armstrong Circle Theatre isn't the only Golden Age show being dusted off this week; on Thursday, the Colgate Comedy Hour makes a return, with a contemporary twist courtesy of producer George Schlatter (10:00 p.m., NBC). Among the acts are Rowan and Martin (a preview of next year's Laugh-In?), Shelley Berman, Bob Newhart, Carl Reiner and Mel Brooks (doing the 2000-year-old man bit), Dick Shawn, Phyllis Diller, and more. It's up against ABC Stage 6 and the musical revue "Rodgers and Hart Today" (10:00 p.m.), with Petula Clark, Bobby Darin, the Supremes, the Mamas and the Papas, the Doodletown Pipers, and Count Basie and his orchestra. And don't dismiss F Troop earlier in the evening, with guest star Milton Berle as Wise Owl (8:00 p.m.).

If you've learned anything about me over the years we've been doing this site together, it's that I have a fine eye for irony, and that's in evidence on Friday night with a couple of competing programs. At 9:00 p.m. on the aforementioned NET Playhouse, it's "Acquit or Hang!" a courtroom drama based on the court-martial of ten mutineers from the HMS Bounty. The title comes from a section of the 1792 naval regulations that states "sailors who do not try to prevent a mutiny share equal guilt with active mutineers." The ten defendants in the court-martial claim they took no part in the mutiny, but did they try to prevent it? Only two verdicts are available to the panel: acquit, or hang. Now here's the good part: the movie on opposite it, at the same time, is—you guessed it—Mutiny on the Bounty, the 1935 version with Charles Laughton, Clark Gable, and Franchot Tone. (KXTV, Sacramento)

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Finally, a couple of celebrity profiles. John Banner, who as Sergeant Schultz owns the title of "the most huggable Nazi on TV," has some strong words for those who criticize his character. Banner’s reply: “There is no such thing as a cuddly Nazi. Maybe Goering was cuddly to his wife; he wasn’t cuddly to the city of Rotterdam. I would refuse to play a sympathetic Nazi. Schultz is not a Nazi. I see Schultz as the representative of some kind of goodness in any generation." 

He's enjoyed a long career as a character actor in Hollywood, and he's had the occasion to play numerous Nazis in war stories. "Who can play Nazis better than us Jews?" He rejects the idea that he's "an instrument of Hitlerism," and the fan mail he receives would seem to back up the assertion that critics of the show are overthinking the whole thing. "It amazes me, the response from kids. Beautiful blondes don’t write me. It’s always kids. I go over big with them. I’m not a father figure. I’m more the good uncle. It’s so touching." It's evidence that, contrary to his character, John Banner knows far more than nothing.

On the cover is Harry Morgan, Jack Webb's new partner on the revival of Dragnet. Harry is playing essentially the same character as that played for so many years by Ben Alexander on the radio and TV versions of the show. (In fact, Webb tried to get Alexander for the revival, but he was under contract for the ABC drama Felony Squad.) 

He's a man who's seen a lot in his long years in Hollywood, and not much bothers him anymore. He understands how some actors could be troubled, or at least distracted, by Webb's constant presence on the Dragnet set, how he could micromanage every gesture seen on the screen. Not at this stage in his career, he replies; "Matter of fact, I don't think it ever really did." 

Speaking of his time on Pete and Gladys, in which he co-starred with the temperamental Cara Williams, he admits that "I wasn't sorry to see it end." It probably took "a lot of deep breathing" during the two seasons of the show, says writer Mike Fessier Jr. And he's philosophical about his career; he knows that "maybe he could have done better if he were a different kind of guy," one with "more push." But then, there are plenty of his friends, good actors, who are now "selling shoes at the department store or pumping gas." And the fact is he's done well enough with his real-estate investments that he really doesn't have to work at all if he doesn't want to. 

Like Banner, Harry Morgan is popular with his colleagues and those who've worked with him in the past. Says one, "He’s a very well-rounded citizen. He’s droll, pleasant, philosophical. A fine example of a man." And just think: he hasn't even played his most famous role yet. TV  

Around the dial

Xt bare-bones e-zine, Jack's Hitchcock Project continues with the second te,leplay from the team of Albert E. Lewin and Burt Styler, "Craig's Will," a rare Hitchcock comedy, with a fitting cast including Dick Van Dyke and Stella Stevens. 

If you've been reading along, you know that David's been going through prime-timebib television of the 1970s at Comfort TV, to see "if it's possible to watch at least one episode" from every series. Well, you can cross off another series, with the discovery of an episode from The Chicago Teddy Bears. Remember that series?

At Realweegiemidget, Gill looks at that rare breed of TV-movie that acts as an anthology, with separate segments (think Trilogy of Terror for example). Rex Harrison Presents Stories of Love was a pilot for an unsold TV series, with a cast including Agnes Moorehead, Bill Bixby, Leonard Nimoy, and Juliet Mills.

John returns to the British anthology series Armchair Theatre (I always enjoy typing that name), and the offbeat "A Bit of a Lift," deeply flawed but still worth watching (isn't that the way with most TV, though?), and including casual sex, rape, thoughts of suicide, and more. What else do you need?

Combine the words "retro" and "TV," and you're likely to get my attention. That's what happens at Silver Scenes, where the Metzingers report on the new FAST channel PBS Retro, featuring 1970s, 80s, and 90s shows, mostly from the network's inventory of children's programming.

I've long-ago given up on the new version of Doctor Who, but I'm still a fan of the original. (Why else would I have shelled out big bucks recently for personally autographed pictures of Tom Baker and Sylvester McCoy?), So you'll want to read Mike's review at A View from the Junkyard, aof the new colorized version of "The Daleks."

As good as Alex Trebek was, Art Fleming has always been my host of Jeopardy!, and if that makes me old, bite me! On this 100th anniversary of Fleming's birth, Travanche looks back on Fleming's career, and how it lead to the Jeopardy! podium.

One of these days I'll get back to watching Maverick (I've only made it through season one so far), but at Television's New Frontier: The 1960s, we're up to 1962, the fifth and final season of the show, with Jack Kelly carrying on as the sole Maverick brother.

Martin Grams has an interesting little article on the "lost" Batman episode featuring the villain Two-Face, which was written by Harlan Ellison and would have been part of the show's third season until it was cancelled; reportedly, Two-Face would have been played by Clint Eastwood. 

I've written about Lawrence Welk several times, including just a couple of years ago, and that's also Paul's subject at Drunk TV. Paul calls himself "a born-again Welk-oholic," and looks at how the show offers a glimpse into a long-gone past.

I've had some really interesting comments the last week or two, and if you've left one of them and you're hoping I'm not ignoring you, I'm not—it's just that between a busy schedule and a bout of lethargy, I've fallen behind again. Hang on, I'll get to you! TV  

The changing face (and pictures) of baseball

Didn't feel like doing much heavy lifting today; that'll come next week. In the meantime, one of the running themes we've seen here is that of how much things have changed over the years. (Another theme is how much things have stayed the same, but we'll reserve that for another day.)  

Sports is one of those things that falls into both categories; the basics are still there—two sides compete, one side wins, the other loses—but sometimes it seems as if that's about the only thing that's stayed the same. And not only have the games changes, so has the way in which they're shown on television. Today's example is this rare color excerpt from a 1965 game between the Cincinnati Reds and Chicago Cubs, telecast on WGN from Wrigley Field in Chicago. About an hour of this game still exists, including, fortunately, the finish, and it shouldn't take you too long to figure out the significance of the game. 

I'm not going to ruin the suspense for you, though, so as you watch the broadcast, notice how different things are: not only the uniforms and the style of play, but the number of cameras used and the angles, the graphics (or lack of same), and the style of announcing, courtesy of two of the best around, Cubs legend Jack Brickhouse (pictured above) and famed voice of the Chicago Black Hawks, Lloyd Pettit. Contrast it with what you're apt to see on a given broadcast today, and see what you think.

If you could combine elements of broadcasts from then and now, what would you choose? Other than success for your favorite teams, that is. TV  

What's on TV? Tuesday, April 30, 1974

I don't know much about the Burt Bacharach special airing on WCCO at 8:30 p.m., but it has all the earmarks of being a non-network (i.e., syndicated) special: the lack of any ad, not being labeled as a special, and its very presence on WCCO, which was known for pre-empting network shows in favor of programming like this. In fact, a little interweb research tells us that it's Another Evening with Burt Bacharach, first shown in 1970 as an episode of The Kraft Music Hall, and originally made for British TV. The NBC special Love from A to Z, with Liza Minnelli and Charles Aznavour, on opposite Burt, is very much new, however, and as you can see, it's very good. 

This week in TV Guide: April 27, 1974

I'm not quite sure why QBVII isn't better-remembered. Perhaps it's because it was so quickly overshadowed by the epic miniseries craze, Rich Man, Poor Man, Roots, Holocaust and the others that came afterward. It has the right pedigree, for sure: based on the best-selling novel by Leon Uris, featuring an all-star cast led by Ben Gazzara, Lee Remick, Anthony Hopkins, Leslie Caron and Anthony Quayle*, with a huge budget ($2.5 million), an international flavor (filmed in four countries) an epic story (spanning 25 years, taking three years to produce), a script from a big-name author (two-time Oscar winner Edward Anhalt), and the largest cast (167 speaking roles) ever assembled for a television production. And it all comes to TV this week (Monday, 8:00 p.m. CT, Tuesday, 7:30 p.m., ABC)

*Ben Gazarra, fresh off Run For Your Life, was actually a bigger star in America at that point than Anthony Hopkins, who was primarily known for the movie The Lion in Winter and the Masterpiece Theatre series War and Peace—which, coincidentally, is airing in repeats Saturday nights on KTCA, the PBS affiliate.

QBVII—QB for "Queen's Bench," and VII for "seven," the number of the courtroom in which the climactic trial occurs—is, to this point, the longest TV movie ever made, an "unprecedented" event, over six hours long. In fact, Peter Greenberg's background article sheds an interesting light on the entire process surrounding the making of QBVII. Uris' agent initially turned down the proposal from John Mitchell and Art Frankel, the Screen Gems executives who pushed for the project. "We looked for a book that was interesting, generic, popular and that couldn't possibly be made into a movie," says Mitchell. They pointed out to Uris' agent that nobody would be able to make the movie in less than six hours, and that no company would ever try doing a two-part movie in the local theater. The only answer, Frankel argued, was TV. Still, the agent was skeptical about having QBVII "relegated" to television, until Frankel finally asked for the bottom line: how much will it cost to buy the rights? The agent said $250,000; three hours later Mitchell and Frankel had gotten a commitment from ABC, and the deal was done.

Unlike its miniseries offspring, QBVII is broadcast over only two nights (three hours on Monday, three-and-a-quarter on Tuesday) rather than a week or more. I find that interesting, because it suggests that television hasn't quite yet formulated the unique art form that the miniseries would become, instead, perhaps illustrating the attitude that Uris' agent had had, ABC chooses to imitate the "event" feel of major motion pictures finally being shown on television—movies so big* that they have to be spread out over consecutive nights. Nowadays television is comfortable enough in its own skin that it doesn't have to do that, but clearly ABC's going for a vibe that could be summed up as "an event so big, you'll think it was made for the movie theater—but TV can produce that kind of quality, too!" In the event, the movie is a hit, nominated for 13 Emmys and winning six. It makes a big impression at the time, and you could truthfully argue that it makes the future miniseries possible. 

*Gone with the Wind or Ben-Hur, for example, or another of Uris' huge best-sellers, Exodus.

I didn't see QBVII when it was on; I was, at the time, living in the World's Worst Town™, which of course didn't carry such exotic fare on its one commercial broadcast station. (Our fare consisted of Limbo, a Monday night movie "about three women adjusting to the uncertain fates of their husbands" in the Vietnam War, and a Liza Minelli special on Tuesday, which, to be fair, looks pretty good, with co-star Charles Aznavour). I did, however, finally catch it on DVD a few years ago. What did I think? To be honest, I didn't like it; I found it melodramatic, manipulative, and unconvincing, particularly when it came to the final disposition of Anthony Hopkins' character. If Ben Gazzara's character was, in fact, supposed to be the protagonist, he made for a very unappealing one. (And that doesn't even consider the unlikelihood that Gazzara, at his smarmy worst, would be tomcatting around while he was married to Juliet Mills. Seriously? That requires a suspension of disbelief.)

Your mileage may vary, I know; after all, are you going to believe me or all those Emmy voters? But personally, well, it made for VI hours of my life I'll never got back. 

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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. 

"If you're wondering where most of the Westerns went," Cleveland Amory begins, "they went thataway. Unfortunately," he continues, "this one didn't." "This one" is The Cowboys, ABC's new half-hour series, based on the 1972 John Wayne movie of the same name, although it doesn't have John Wayne. It does have four of the original cast members, but only two of them play the same characters as they did in the movie, and if you're able to keep track of all this without a scorecard, you're doing well. 

According to the network, The Cowboys is the story of "Seven boys [facing] the trials of —coming to manhood as they help a widow run a ranch." The widdow (or "widder," as the show would put it) is played by Diana Douglas, the ranch foreman by Moses Gunn, and the marshal by Jim Davis. "To say they all deserve better," Cleve says, "is an understatement." The typical plot consists of a bad guy or two threatening the ranch and/or the widder—er, widow—and Gunn, as the foreman, showing up to help; "In almost every episode," Amory notes, "he's either shot or, like the rest of us, hit over the head." There's also the recurring theme that these kids are, in fact, kids; one plot concerns their need for continuing education; in another, one of them witnesses a murder but is doubted because, after all, he's just a kid. There's even a kidnapping in one episode, whereupon the rest of the boys get together and, drawing their inspiration from the Biblical story of David, attack the baddies with slingshots. Well, what did you expect; after all, you're not going to give a group of six-year-olds guns, are you? As the episode ends, "the kids go out and do a lot of running around. You know—to prove they're just kids."  

One of the problems with The Cowboys, aside from the lack of John Wayne, is that the show was originally conceived as an hour-long drama, but was cut back to 30 minutes by the network. I don't mean to suggest that the episodes were chopped up to fit the time, but conceptually, the show seems like it ought to occupy a larger timeslot; maybe they should have just had three boys instead of seven. Whatever the case, if you're inspired by Amory to check it out, either because you want to watch a Western and Gunsmoke is your only other choice, or because you want to see if the show's really that bad, you'd better hurry, because next week's episode will be the last. At least this review made it in time.

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While I may have been denied QBVII at the time—was it a blessing in disguise?— I did receive my introduction to one of the great political thrillers of all time, The Manchurian Candidate, appearing on television for the first time since 1966 (Saturday, 8:00 p.m. ET, NBC). I cannot overstate the impression this movie had on me; it was, perhaps, the most powerful thing I'd ever seen on TV to that point. When I found out it was based on a novel, I had to read that as well. I was already interested in politics back then, but this just added fuel to the fire; it was the first of a quintet of movies/books that have stayed with me to this day, the other four being Seven Days in May, Fail-Safe, The Best Man, and Advise and Consent*, all grim, cynical stories dealing with the weaknesses of powerful men and the fragility of order, a far cry from the conspiracy-laden mush and soap opera stylings that pass for political fiction nowadays. Judith Crist calls it "one of the best political-suspensers of recent years," and praises the "sparkling" cast that includes Frank Sinatra, Laurence Harvey, Angela Lansbury, and Janet Leigh.

*Airing Thursday night at 10:50 p.m. on WCCO in Minneapolis.

Enough reminiscing about my past, though. Let's get down to brass tacks, as they say in the carpentry industry, and look at the rest of the week.*

*Fun fact: according to the always-reliable Wikipedia, the phrase "get down to brass tacks" originated in Texas, likely coming "from the brass tacks in the counter of a hardware store or draper’s shop used to measure cloth in precise units (rather than holding one end to the nose and stretching out the arm to approximately one yard." Doesn't have much to do with television, but aren't you glad you know this now?

I've mentioned the WCCO public affairs program Moore on Sunday, hosted by Dave Moore, in the past; this week's edition is "Mary Tyler Moore's Minneapolis Adventure" (Sunday, 9:30 p.m.), in which a film crew "battles enthusiastic crowds, rain-drenched streets and a stubborn Minneapolis homeowner to produce the opening for their Emmy award-winning series." Thanks to the magic of video and the wonderful conservation efforts of TC Media, you can see that episode here.

You know how I mentioned Ben Gazzara's foolishness in cheating on Juliet Mills in QBVII? Dick Van Dyke shows similar bad taste in Monday's episode of The New Dick Van Dyke Show (8:30 p.m., CBS) when he complains that his new leading lady kisses like a dead mackerel. That leading lady? Barbara Rush. I think there are a lot of guys out there who'd be glad to switch places with you, Dick. By the way, the reporter who breaks the story is played by James Mason's former wife, Pamela; good supporting cast. And speaking of supporting roles, tonight's Medical Center (9:00 p.m., CBS), features Kay Medford, Audrey Totter, and Bruce Kirby, but we'll remember the actress who plays Medford's daughter: series regular James Daly's daughter Tyne. 

On Tuesday, PBS poses the question "Should the Lady Take a Chance?" (7:30 p.m., KTCA) Now, this could mean any of a number of things, some of them inappropriate for family reading, but in this case the producers are talking about the possibility of legalized casino gambling in Atlantic City, New Jersey. Gambling did in fact come to pass along the Boardwalk but, as is so often the case, the results have been decidedly mixed; with the city flirting in recent years with bankruptcy, partly because of the property tax on casinos; that doesn't even begin to get into the drugs, prostitution and crime that have come along for the ride. Way to rejuvenate the area, guys.

Back in the day, Geraldo Rivera hosted a late-night show on ABC called Good Night, America, which was part of the network's Wide World of Entertainment. (It was on this show, by the way, that the famous Zapruder film was shown on television for the very first time.) On Wednesday (10:30 p.m.), Geraldo's topic is one that sounds right up his alley: the careers and deaths of rock superstars, including Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, and Brian Jones.

Thursday, on a special two-hour Ironside (7:00 p.m., NBC), the chief resigns from the force after a murder witness, a 10-year-old boy, dies while in his custody, and becomes a derelict on skid row. Will he pull himself back together? What do you think? That's followed by an hour of country music on Music Country U.S.A. (9:00 p.m., NBC), hosted by Charlie Rich and featuring performances by Dionne Warwicke, Tammy Wynette, Mac Davis, Mel Tillis, the Statler Brothers, Hank Williams Jr., Tanya Tucker, and more. I don't know about you, but I never miss a Dionne Warwicke country album.

It's a double-dose of Charlie Rich this week; he also hosts The Midnight Special (Friday, midnight, NBC), with Anne Murray, Dobie Gray, the Staple Singers, and the Treasures. Kirshner's Rock Concert ended its first-run season last week, so nothing to compare here. Earlier in the evening, Senator Barry Goldwater is the honoree on the celebrity roast segment of The Dean Martin Show (9:00 p.m., NBC), with William Holden, Dan Rowan, Nipsey Russell, Zsa Zsa Gabor, and Steve Landesberg among those on the panel; this was before the celebrity roast became a stand-alone show of its own. What a difference; nowadays, if a Republican's being roasted on television, they're doing it literally.

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In sports, the playoff season is in full swing, at least on the weekends, when CBS has coverage of the NBA finals and NBC counters with the NHL semifinals. During the week, the independent WTCN will pick up the rest of the NBA and NHL games, as well as anything involving the WHA's Minnesota Fighting Saints. Boy, those were the days, weren't they? Not a pay-streaming service in sight.

Meanwhile, a couple of weeks ago, sportswriter Melvin Durslag penned his annual predictions for the upcoming baseball season, which appears to have provoked a number of protests from readers. I don't have Durslag's predictions in front of me, but based on this week's Letters to the Editor, which is dominated by opinions about those predictions, I think we can get a good idea of what they were. Peter Cole, of Scarsdale, New York takes Durslag to task for picking the St. Louis Cardinals to win the National League East Division: "Durslag must not have watched any games last year, or he would know that the Reds, Dodgers, Giants, Pirates and Mets are the greatest teams," a sentiment echoed by Alan Fogel of Brooklyn, who says "it's more likely Durslag's first-rated St. Louis Cardinals will be in fifth, and the Mets in first." Russel Baker of Towaco, New Jersey also puts the Mets at the top of the division, followed by the Pirates, Cardinals and Expos. In the meantime, "the San Diego Padres will be able to ship Melvin Durslag a bushel of lemons," according to Betty Smick of (not surprisingly) San Diego, in response to Durslag's apparent diss of the Pads. And Kevin Young, of Mamaroneck, New York, says simply that "Mel Durslag is a writer of science fiction."

In the event, let's take a look at the final standings, and how well Durslag's—and the fans'—predictions turned out. There must have been great disappointment in store for Mets fans (as usual); with a record of 71-91, the team bested only the hapless Chicago Cubs in the East, and Betty Smick's Padres in the West. The much-derided Cardinals did not win the division but they came close, finishing a mere 1½ games behind the eventual division champs, the Pittsburgh Pirates, whom nobody appears to have picked. Peter Cole's placing of the Giants as among the greatest teams was something of a pipe dream; they finished only one game better than the Mets at 71-90. He was, however, rather perceptive in his inclusion of the Dodgers in that group; with a record of 102-60, they bested the Reds by four games, then went on to defeat the Pirates in the NLCS 3-1 before succumbing in five games to the Oakland A's in the World Series, the third consecutive Series win for Oakland. As far as I know, Durslag's science fiction output remains unpublished.

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   John Chancellor announcing McGee's death

The News Watch feature at the beginning of the programming section, where we usually get tidbits about what's going on in the industry, is instead devoted this week to Gene Farinet's moving tribute to NBC newsman Frank McGee, who had died earlier in April from bone cancer. Farinet had been a longtime colleague of McGee at NBC, and shares many of the details on what made McGee such a good journalist and anchorman, as well as consummate professional.

It's hard to imagine today, given the celebrity gabfest that the Today show has become, but McGee hosted Today at the time of his death, and brought to it a hard news sensibility that is sorely lacking today. His best-remembered work, I think, was probably his coverage of the space program. Unlike the situation at CBS, where Walter Cronkite was genuinely interested in it, neither Chet Huntley nor David Brinkley were particularly invested in the topic beyond anchoring the coverage, leaving NBC's heavy lifting to those who had a passion for it, McGee and Bill Ryan. McGee, as Farinet notes, had the ability to make "the complex . . . simple. He translated space jargon into understandable terms" and presented it with a steely calm that sought to inform without sensationalizing. From McGee, the viewer received both the information and the excitement, no mean feat.

Farinet describes McGee as "a calm voice when it was not popular or fashionable," and nowhere is this more apparent than in his work on November 22, 1963, when he was one of NBC's main anchors during the breaking news of JFK's assassination. His was very much a "just the facts" presentation, with the viewer's needs foremost in mind; like most people watching at home, he'd come in to the story after it had already started, and he figured that both he and them would like to be brought up to speed on exactly what had happened. Inside he, like his colleagues, was in tumult, but his calm exterior wavered only once, after midnight, as NBC's coverage drew to a close on that most tumultuous day.


One of Farinet's comments particularly stands out in today's times. "McGee was a man whose deep inner convictions could never be shaken," he said. "He could never be intimidated, cajoled or misled." That seems to be a quality in short supply in today's television journalism, or anywhere, for that matter. There's a final anecdote that Farinet tells that, I think, is emblematic of Frank McGee's class and ability, particularly when one thinks of how so many on-screen newscasters today are simply readers with little knowledge of what they report on.

"On one occasion McGee was hustled into a studio and told that NBC News was about to take to the air. But McGee was not told why. The red light was on—and McGee started talking. Fortunately, he says, they put up a picture of the United Nations on the monitor—so he figured that that's what it was all about. He ad-libbed 90 seconds on the UN, assuming that this was to be a promo for coverage later in the day. As he was most of the time, McGee was right."

I like that story—just as I liked Frank McGee. He was a professional in a time of professionals, and we could use a little more of that nowadays.

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MST3K alert: The Mole People (1956) Scientists are held captive in a lost mountain city in Asia. John Agar, Cynthia Patrick, Hugh Beaumont. (Saturday/Sunday, 2:00 a.m., KSTP) This is the fourth and final appearance on MST3K by Hugh Beaumont, but without question his most memorable "appearance" is on Lost Continent, when, during one of the host segments, Mike Nelson portrays him as one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. ("I come bearing a message of unholy death. I'm really going to give you the business, destroy you, your world, and all that you know. But first, a stern talking-to.") In all the long history of MST3K, it's perhaps the most absurd moment ever, which is why it's so great. But a last word on The Mole People: although he's not listed in the TV Guide, the cast also includes Alan Napier. So we've got Ward Cleaver, Alfred the butler, and the former Mr. Shirley Temple. How cool is that? TV  

Around the dial

At Realweegiemidget, Gill looks at the 1956 Robert Montgomery Presents version of Sunset Boulevard. Most of us are probably familiar with the classic movie, starring Gloria Swanson and William Holden, but how does this version hold up, with Mary Astor and Darren McGavin? Let's find out!

There's always been controversy about the effect scary television shows have on children. I've never heard of a scary TV lamp, though—at least not until this bit at the Broadcast Archives. TV lamps are, themselves, an interesting subject, so be sure to check out the link within the piece for more.

At Cult TV Blog, John turns his attention to the long-running British series Comedy Playhouse, and the episode, "Elementary, My Dear Watson." If you like Monty Python, John assures us, you'll probably like this Holmes takeoff, with John Cleese as the master detective. Well, I do, so I'll have to watch this!

We've lived in Indiana for 2½ years now, and after having moved so many times, I'd be happy to never see the interior of a moving van again. There are several classic TV families who felt the same way, contemplating moving but deciding to stay put: read about them in David's latest at Comfort TV.

We all know that the growth of television had a major effect on radio, meaning it was up to local DJs to find a formula that would keep them (and their stations) in business. Martin Grams reviews one such example with Janice and Mike Olszewski's book Mad Daddy, a look at the career of Cleveland's legendary Pete Myers.

Terry Carter, whose TV career ranged from military camps to the streets of New York to the stars and beyond, died this week, aged 95. At A Shroud of Thoughts, Terence remembers the actor, whose work included The Phil Silvers Show, McCloud, Battlestar Galactica, and much more.

At Travalanche, it's a look at Edward R. Murrow and his legendary series Person to Person. There's always been something of a dichotomy between Murrow, the hard journalist, and the celebrity interviews he did in Person; learn more about the man, his career, and the show.

"Noon Doomsday" is the latest Avengers episode to get the treatment from Roger and Mike at The View from the Junkyard. It's a Western-themed episode written by Terry Nation, creator of the Daleks, and like most Nation scripts, it has its good points and bad. Does this one have more good than bad?

Finally, A Vintage Nerd looks at the impressive list of classic Hollywood actors who appeared in Rod Serling's Night Gallery. Daffny lists over one hundred of them, and that's quite a list for any series, let alone one with a relatively short run. Makes you want to watch an episode right now. TV  

If I ran the network

A while back, I had a note from James McGrail, a loyal reader and regular commentator, who had an interesting suggestion for a new series of articles:

Have you ever thought about a blog post on TV series ideas from your imagination? Shows you'd love to propose to Hollywood producers, but you don't because you know they'd screw it up.

Brother, you're speaking my language here. Over the years, I've had several ideas that I thought would make for good, or at least interesting, television series. However, having read Cleveland Amory's experience seeing his own series concept, O.K. Crackerby, turned into, well, something other than what he'd conceived, I have no doubt my own ideas would meet a similarly horrific fate.

Nevertheless, I persist. Also, it makes for good writing ideas.

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The premise of The Killer was simple: The Equalizer with a license to kill. It would have starred Lee Marvin*, who was alive at the time (I suppose now it would be Liam Neeson) as a man who wore only the finest suits, dined at the most elegant restaurants, drank the finest wines, and was a connoisseur in art and literature. He was also a professional assassin, an independent contractor with no ties to the mob or any other organization, who accepted assignments only through referrals from previous clients, and only if he was interested in the job.

*Of course, Marvin would never have returned to series television; he'd already done that gig with M Squad. But if you want to know why I always thought of him in the role, just watch two of his movies: Point Blank and The Killers. You'll get the idea.

His clientele, we would learn in the pilot, were desperate people who found themselves in hopeless situations, often through no fault of their own. They were victims themselves: trapped in abusive marriages or manipulative business deals, at the mercy of corrupt union officials or small-town elected politicians, survivors of ruthless crimes that had gone unpunished, living with constant threats hanging over their heads. There was no hope of them finding a conventional solution through law enforcement agencies or legal remedies, and anyone attempting to intervene on their behalf might find themselves badly beaten in a dark alley, or even dead. In other words, chances for a peaceful resolution to their situation were pretty remote, and they were now at their wits' end. 

He'd put you through a test before he'd agree to take your job, though. If you were lying to him or deceiving him, if your reasons for hiring him weren't compelling enough or justifiable, or if he found out you were using him for personal gain (a philandering husband making up a story in order to hit his wife or mistress, for example), he might well come back and kill you. He was up front about that.

It was a bit of a reaction to The Equalizer, which was popular at the time. I found that McCall, the Edward Woodward character, wasn't nearly tough enough for my taste. (Unlike, for example, Denzel Washington's version.) Oftentimes, the episode would end with a scene that was the equivalent of those  Westers where Hopalong Cassidy shoots the gun out of the villain's hand, leaving him otherwise unhurt. 

Not that every episode of The Killer would necessarily end with a killing; one of the great things about Lee Marvin as an actor is the world-weariness he was able to project, the sense that there had to be an easier way for something to be handled. In this series, he would often give his prey a way out, exhibiting that same weariness—"Look, you and I both know there's no way out of this for you. Why don't you just do the right thing [pay him off, leave the woman alone, whatever]? It's a lot less messy, and it makes my job a lot easier." Of course, the bad guys (or femme fatales; I believe in equal opportunities) would generally be arrogant enough to react contemptuously to his suggestion, which would leave him no alternative. . .

Sure, it was derivative and manipulative, contrived and somewhat implausible—all qualities that were in the best tradition of successful TV series. There was a point to it all, though, something that I hoped would elevate it to the status of what is today called "prestige television." Remember, this was in an era when the television antihero was limited to characters like J.R. Ewing, whose worst crimes might have been sleeping with someone else's wife or swindling an associate on a business deal. Even J.R., however, wasn't likely to actually murder someone in cold blood; that was something you were more apt to see happen to him, rather than by him. It would have been episodic, with a new case each week, rather than featuring continuing storylines; in that sense, it was pretty conventional. 

However, there was a point to all this that I wanted to build up to, something that would challenge viewers and make them think about what it was they were watching. To challenge them—and, in that sense, to challenge their own ideals, their sense of right and wrong, their concept of justice. For here we had a protagonist with whom viewers were clearly meant to identify. The people he hunted down were child abusers, rapists, corrupt public officials, and the like, cruel and manipulative and worthy of our scorn and hatred. You sympathized with their victims, and understood that Marvin was a last resort when all legal options had failed. You rooted for him, wanted him to succeed. But you had to ask yourself this question: am I really comfortable rooting for a man who, in essence, is a well-paid murderer? Does the end justify the means?  

Remember, I first thought of this in the days before shows like The Sopranos, Breaking Bad, Dexter, Better Call Saul—shows featuring anti-heroes crossing the line between right and wrong, moral and immoral, legal and illegal. Marvin's character (who never was identified by name) was charming and likeable, and there was never any doubt that he was to be considered the righteous dude, the good guy in any confrontation; this would be made clear in the writers' bible that accompanied the series. He wasn't a psychopath, in the sense that, say, Dexter, was; and like most respectable hitmen, he didn't kill for pleasure, or on a whim, or because you'd taken his parking space. He was just a man who was doing his job, a job which he did exceptionally well, which it just so happened was putting the squeeze on people who deserved it, even killing them if necessary (which, more often than not, would be the case). 

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So, would a series like The Killer work today? I still think this show would be extremely successful, particularly since anti-heroes have become more fashionable. People might or might not like having their own beliefs challenged; I don't know about that. 

What I do know without doubt is that, back in the 1980s when the idea first came to me, there would have been no possibility that my vision of The Killer would have made it intact to the screen. I'm sure that at least one network executive would have said something about how "There's just so much killing it." I don't know anything about scriptwriting, or doing treatments for series proposals, and even if I did, I'm not sure that I would have done anything with this. After all, although it's called The Killer, I wouldn't have wanted to see an executive perform euthanasia on it. TV