Around the dial

Before we get to the heart of things, an addendum to Wednesday's book reviews. In addition to posting them here, I've also shared them on Amazon, and I can't stress enough how important an Amazon review is for authors. Reviews affect the algorithms that determine which books shoppers see (the more, the better), they give a sense of legitimacy to a book, and positive reviews may encourage other readers to try these books out. Now, obviously, I'm not encouraging you to lie and leave a good review for a bad book, but speaking as someone with a book coming out next month, I urge you to take a couple of minutes and leave a review of it at Amazon or wherever you happen to have purchased it. Even negative reviews, written constructively, can be helpful to us, and of course, positive reviews can make all the difference. So please, when you've finished that book, let everyone know what you think of it. This concludes today's public service announcement.

Speaking of book reviews, Martin Grams has a quartet of them himself, with books on Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C., movie star Deanna Durbin, Peter Marshall's memories of Hollywood Squares (a terrific book; I can vouch for it personally), and Peter Mark Richman's bio. Check them out.

At bare-bones e-zine, Jack's Hitchcock Project continues with "The Pearl Necklace," a sixth season teleplay by Peggy and Lou Shaw that tells a nasty tale of greed and deception; the luminous Hazel Court, the smarmy Jack Cassidy, and the manipulative Ernest Truax star.

When last we visited Cult TV Blog, John was taking us through a pair of episodes from the British series P.R.O.B.E, neither of which was the first episode. We get that this week, in "The Zero Imperative," with Whovians Sylvester McCoy, Peter Davison, Colin Baker, Jon Pertwee, Caroline John and Louise Jameson. And Linda Lusardi. Yes!

The always-valuable Broadcast Archives gives us a look at what prime time television was like in the late 1940s. Some of the footage in this video is not just rare, but drenched in the history of television, perhaps the only look we'll ever have at some of the shows from this era.

At The View from the Junkyard, Roger takes us on an A-Team revenge trip in the first season finale, "A Nice Place to Visit," a darker and more serious episode than usual. Will the Team be able to even the score with the small-town rednecks who killed their old war buddy? What do you think?

Kenneth Washington, the last surviving regular on Hogan's Heroes (he played Baker in the show's final season) died this week, age 87. He never got the credit he deserved for the impossible task of replacing Ivan Dixon in the cast; Pop Culture has the story.

At Classic Film and TV Corner, Maddie reviews five significant movies from one of my favorite eras in movie history, the British New Wave, popularly known as "kitchen sink drama." I have to be in a certain mood to watch them, but when I am, there's nothing better out there. TV  

Shows I just don't care about

I was going to call this, "Shows I don't give a s*** about," but decided against it at the last minute—this is a family website, after all. But the sentiment remains the same.

The idea came to me a few weeks ago on one of the Facebook classic TV groups, when someone quoted an unnamed "television legend." Since the quote wasn't familiar to me, I idly inquired as to who this legend was. "Michael O'Donoghue," the poster replied. My first thought was, "You mean the guy with the beard who's the lead singer for the Doobie Brothers, and you can never understand what he's singing? Since when did he become a television legend?" 

Of course, when he elaborated that O'Donoghue was one of the head writers for Saturday Night Live, I was able to figure things out. But the truth of the matter is that had that context not been provided, I wouldn't have had to work hard to find out who Michael O'Donoghue was. I'd seen SNL from time to time, but not for at least 30 years (not since Wayne's World, and that only because I was a hockey fan at the time); I read his entry at the always-reliable Wikipedia, and I couldn't find anything other than SNL that would have linked him to my circle of knowledge. And the question quickly became: Could someone legitimately be considered a "television legend" if a classic television historian—that's me, in case you're wondering*—doesn't know who he was?

*Perhaps I should start referring to this period as "vintage" rather than "classic," given that a classic could be 40 years ago (1985, which doesn't seem that long ago to me), or could even be an "instant classic" (the first episode of Twin Peaks, for instance). What do you think?

I don't say that to flatter myself, but this was a question worth asking, even though the answer could  potentially be a severe blow to my already-fragile ego. It's true that I've got a fairly vast knowledge of things other people don't know, but if I didn't recognize someone who was an important figure in the history of television, was all that knoweldge simply in vain, a vast assemblage of minutiae inhabiting space that could, and should, be put to more useful purposes? The very thought tempted me to hang up my keyboard in shame.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you want to look at it—subsequent investigations convinced me that, while Michael O'Donoghue is quite well known within a certain sphere of television fandom, it was quite reasonable that even a dedicated television viewer might not travel in the same circles, and thus not be familiar with his output. A "legend"? To some, undoubtedly, but not in the same category as, say, Lucille Ball. Or Babe Ruth.

So it's perhaps understandable that I wouldn't immediately have recognized his name. But this, in turn, led to another question: given all the talk this week about Saturday Night Live's 50th anniversary, almost all of which went straight over my head, what other shows are there that everyone seems to have seen but me? And does this mean I'm suffering from a televison pop culture deficiency syndrome? It seemed time to take stock of those shows, shows that I might be familiar with, but never had any interest in watching. The results were—well, I suppose some of you might consider this disturbing, or even disqualifying, but others might consider that I have discerning tastes, or that I'm countercultural. The way I look at it, there are only so many hours in a lifetime, and a man's got to make choices. I've already filled my dance card, and if you want to get on it, you're going to have to prove to me you're more worthwhile than a 30th rerun of Mystery Science Theater 3000. 

You already know about my top ten shows, so here's a much longer list of the shows I just don't care about. I'll let you be the judge.

• Game of Thrones
• Succession
• Breaking Bad
• Better Call Saul
• Mad Men
• The Sopranos
• Parks and Recreation
• Friday Night Lights
• The Office (either version)
• 30 Rock
• The Wire
• NCIS
• Law & Order
• Stephen Colbert, Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Kimmel (especially!), Conan O'Brian, Jon Stewart, and Seth Myers
• The Americans
• Arrested Development
• Friends
• Seinfeld
• Cheers
• Frazier
• How I Met Your Mother
• The Cosby Show
• Survivor
• The Daily Show
• American Idol
• Ellen
• Buffy the Vampire Slayer
• Spin City
• Everybody Loves Raymond
• Roseanne
• Home Improvement
• ER
• St. Elsewhere
• The X-Files
• Any version of Star Trek other than the original (and the animated series)
• All in the Family
• M*A*S*H
• Saturday Night Live (obviously)

This is just a partial list, but I think you get the idea.

Now, understand a few things. First, I'm not suggesting these are bad shows, nor am I critiquing anyone who does watch them. I suspect far fewer people watch the shows I watch—of course, that's your loss. (Iust kidding; I've always said that if you're a friend of TV, you're a friend of mine.) Nor does it mean that I'm completely ignorant* about these programs: to say that I don't watch them doesn't necessarily mean I've never seen an episode. I also read entertainment sites, I browse through episode recaps, I research shows I'm going to write about, and I try never to criticize a show without familarizing myself with the gist of things (see Law & Order and NCIS). I know who Walter White and Don Draper are, I know how The Sopranos and Succession ended, and I know that Sam didn't run off with Diane. It may not be my world but I do have to live in it, so it behooves me to keep track of it. 

*Although I'll be the first to fess up to my ignorance, which I have to do many, many times. 

The point of it all is that I'm quite out of step when it comes to contemporary pop culture, and, frankly, I'm glad. Still, as I remarked to a friend the other day, it's sobering to discover that one has outlived their time. TV  

Around the dial

All right, we're ready for another week, and we'll start at Comfort TV, where I've been enjoying David's trip through 1970s TV; he's now up to Saturday, 1973, and unless you have a favorite somewhere else, you'll be bowled over by the epic CBS lineup: All in the Family, M*A*S*H, Mary Tyler Moore, Bob Newhart, and Carol Burnett. Has any other lineup come close?

At Cult TV Blog, John takes on "The Black Tower," one of the adaptations of P.D. James's famous Adam Dalgliesh detective novels, with Roy Marsden as Dalgliesh. I'm always partial to him because his is the Dalgliesh I saw on Mystery! too many years ago; I think you'll like it as much as John does.

The Broadcasting Archives has a brief but neat post, complete with picture, about Garroway at Large, the 1949-54 series starring Dave Garroway (who else?), which provides an outstanding example of what came to be known as the "Chicago Style" of TV, furthered on Today.

This is from last year, but it's new to me, so it counts: at A Vintage Nerd, it's 10 hard-to-find classic TV shows. Some of them are harder to find than others, but a little effort will turn most of them up, and you'll find they're worth it.

A View from the Junkyard returns to the world of The Avengers (I should say that we return to it, since I've linked to other things the past couple of weeks), and the Steed/Tara episode "All Done with Mirrors." involving spies, a telescope, and a lighthouse. What more do you need? 

How old does a show have to be to qualify as "classic"? I've often wondered whether or not what I write about is really more like "vintage" TV, but regardless, 15 years is probably long enough, and since I live in Indiana, I can hardly ignore Terence's take on Parks and Recreation at A Shroud of Thoughts.

You'll remember my review last week of Lon Davis's terrific book Stumbling into Film History, and this week Lon appears on Richard Skipper Celebrates to discuss his book, and more. Sit back and relax, and let Lon take you back to a wonderful and fascinating time! TV  

Around the dial

One of the reasons for this website is my belief that classic television has value: not just entertainment value, but something beyond that. Fortunately, David feels the same way at Comfort TV, where he writes about how classic TV inspires still inspires people every day.

At Cult TV Blog, John writes about "Fear of God," an episode of the 1978-80 British anthology series Armchair Thriller. As good as the writeup on the episode is John's comment that "when I started blogging about old TV I had no idea how much like being an archaeologist it is, often like assembling the pieces of a pot and still not being sure about it." You and me both, John.

The View from the Junkyard has moved on to the Tara King era of The Avengers, and, as Roger says, while Tara, unlike Emma Peel, is more typically "a damsel in distress," the series has also become "a huge amount of fun." Typical is this week's reviewed episode, "Game."

The 1970s sitcom Good Times was more than just a popular sitcom and spinoff from Maude: it was, as Terence points out at A Shroud of Thoughts, a historic television series. Find out what makes this series special, and why.

Remember Warren Beatty's big-screen movie Dick Tracy? Martin Grams does, and this week he shares the bizarre story of the battle between Beatty and the Chicago Tribune over movie rights to the story, and how this results in Beatty making 25-minute TV specials—in character as Tracy. Read about it here, and see the latest installment.

At Drunk TV, Paul reviews the 1990 cable movie Psycho IV, which manages to be both "lumpy and unnecessary" and "entertaining." Anthony Perkins returns as the unfortunate Norman Bates, with Olivia Hussey as his equally disturbed mother.

I've written several times about how there was television prior to World War II, and how further development (understandably) went into hibernation during the war. But as the Broadcast Archives recalls, RCA reminded people that after the war, TV would be back. 

Finally, my latest appearances on the Dan Schneider Video Interview are now up. It's a classic TV doubleheader: first, a look at the legacy of legendary television producer Quinn Martin, followed by an affectionate salute to Fred Rogers. TV  

Around the dial

For the first entry of the new year, we'll start at Cult TV Blog, where John reviews "Home Cooking," an episode of the 1980s series Unnatural Causes full of nasty little twists and turns. It's available on YouTube, and John's description makes it sound well worth checking out.

We'll stick with British TV for the next item, which comes from Paul at Drunk TV. It's the DVD box set The Steve Coogan Collection, with highlights from some of his best-known creations, including the Alan Partridge character. Perhaps something else I should be looking at.

At The Lucky Strike Papers, Andrew shares a couple of nice examples of recent classic television questions—er, answers—on Jeopardy. It's always nice to see someone keeping the institutional memories alive!

And speaking of institutional memories, at Cult TV Lounge, it's a review of 2022 cult TV viewing, including introductions to Simon & Simon, Decoy, Miami Vice and other series. As much as I enjoy discovering new pleasures, it's almost as much fun to read about the discoveries others make.

JB takes a look back at January 2, 1977 at The Hits Just Keep on Comin'. I remember most of the events he talks about, and it's nice to bring back some of those memories. I wonder, 50 years from today, what memories people will choose to bring back.

At Classic Film and TV Corner, Maddy's entry in the What a Character! Blogathon is on the Japanese actor Takashi Shimura. Thanks to the Criterion Channel, I've actually seen several of his collaborations with Kurosawa, including Stray Dog and Scandal, movies that ought to be more familiar here. Maybe that' a cue as to what we should watch this weekend. TV  

Fame vs. Greatness: In Television, Does It Matter?

by David Hofstede

His name was Edwin Arlington Robinson. And I’d wager if you asked the next

thousand people you meet who he was, not one could tell you.

But 100 years ago, when Americans read more books and universities still

espoused a liberal arts education (now supplanted by mere liberal indoctrination), it wouldn’t take long to find someone familiar with Robinson’s work. He won three Pulitzer Prizes for his poetry and was nominated four times for the Nobel Prize in literature, achievements that placed him at the pinnacle of his artistic endeavor.

His poems are not widely known today, and his name even less so. Teenagers might have read “Richard Cory,” in high school, as its macabre final verse is just the thing to rouse bored students from their stupor in English Lit. But if they read it they certainly long forgot who wrote it.

Fame can be fleeting (or even non-existent) for poets. How many Americans could identify the country’s current poet laureate? But is television fame any less so?

One would think a mass visual medium that beams pictures of attractive, talented people into millions of homes would confer some level of enduring recognition. But once their shows disappear, or get lost amidst a rerun universe of hundreds of channels and streaming options, once exalted personages are often reduced back to mere faces in the crowd.

A friend who teaches college told me that during COVID he taught a business class online in which his students appeared on the computer screen in rows of boxes. “It looks like The Brady Bunch,” he said, and was greeted with blank stares from the 20-somethings in the class.

It says something that a show with that high of a pop culture profile is now on the verge of being unknown. Is that important? Should it matter? Or did The Brady Bunch just connect with the children who grew up at the same time as the Brady kids, only to pass into obsolescence when they do?

These days television fame is more transitory than ever. Survivor castaways and RuPaul’s Drag Race hopefuls achieve it for a time without even winning their respective contests. How many of this month’s most buzzed about streaming shows will anyone remember in, say, five years? At least syndication kept the Bradys relevant for at least two generations.

Some facets of art and culture do last. And perhaps here is where we need to draw a distinction between fame and greatness, as one does not always accompany the other. Poets can achieve greatness without fame. Television personalities can achieve fame without greatness.

The works of great authors, painters, sculptors, composers, and playwrights may be venerated for hundreds of years. Movies are the closest medium to television, and even here cinephiles recognize names like Chaplin and Bogart, Hitchcock and Capra. Their odds for continued recognition now rest on whether future generations designate them for cancellation for being too white, male, straight, and/or religious. Will the same be said for those that achieved not just fame but greatness in television? Rod Serling? Lucille Ball? Sid Caesar? Mary Tyler Moore? Ernie Kovacs? Will their work endure? If I had to guess I would say no, because television then and now is largely perceived as a disposable medium— a pleasant distraction, but not an art form comparable to a great book or a classic film. That’s disheartening to those of us who love it, but I see no basis on which to believe otherwise.

This isn’t the first time I’ve wondered about this – one of the first pieces I wrote for my Comfort TV blog was titled, “Will Your Granddaughter Think Keith Partridge is Groovy?” That was ten years ago. Why is this still on my mind?

I struggled to find the right words until I read a column by Los Angeles writer and radio personality Doug McIntyre. He had just returned from a Hollywood Bowl tribute to Frank Sinatra and Peggy Lee, in which current pop star Billie Eilish sang the praises of these musical icons, before singing some of their greatest hits.

"Peggy Lee and Frank Sinatra were once enormous stars. Today, young people are likely to ask, 'Peggy who?', or 'That old mafia guy?' When the things we loved all our lives draw a blank from our kids, it’s hard not to feel a sense of loss," McIntyre wrote. But if their legacies live on through subsequent generations of singers, perhaps their names will never be forgotten. "We want our world to be remembered," he admits, "even if we are not."

Maybe that’s it. Maybe this is really more about us than the entertainers whose prominence we want so ardently to preserve. I’m still not confident it will happen with television the way it might in music. I’ll try to be optimistic, but these times were not made for optimists. With all the advances of western civilization under constant assault, what chance do a few old TV shows have to survive?

The best we can hope for now, I think, is for even the greatest of these shows to be mostly forgotten, but hopefully still accessible. Like the poems of Edwin Arlington Robinson, you might have to dig through a lot of other stuff to find them. Hopefully, those that do will decide they were worth the effort. TV  

David Hofstede is the founder of the Comfort TV blog, as well as the author of several books on television history. His most recent book is When Television Brought Us Together: Celebrating the Shows and the Values That Shaped America's First Television Viewing Generations. 

Around the dial

More impressionable young minds enthralled by C-SPAN

I think we'll kick off this Friday the 13th edition with something I've mentioned before—many times, I'm sure—how classic TV fans are accused of living in the past, and the shows themselves are held up to present an unrealistic and unattainable ideal. This week at Comfort TV, David takes a thoughtful look at this and asks the question: are these ideals beneficial or dangerous?

When I lived in the World's Worst Town™, you'll recall, I spent the better (or worst) part of six years with little more television entertainment than NBC, then suffering through a very bad decade. Petrocelli wasn't a bad series by any means, but it never caught on with me. Nonetheless, it's certainly watchable, and at Classic Film & TV Café, Rick reviews Night Moves, the pilot for the series, with Barry Newman reprising his role in the theater movie The Lawyer, and Susan Howard as his loyal wife and secretary. 

At Cult TV Blog, John looks about a series I have seen before: The Prisoner. One of the reasons I celebrate this as one of my favorite series is that it never ceases to make me think, even though I've watched it numerous times. And John comes up with a scenario that's making me think again—as it should you.

An oldie but goodie: at TVParty!, Billy remembers what surely must be one of the most controversial sitcoms ever seen on television anywhere: the British series Heil Honey, I'm Home, a spoof of American '50s sitcoms, which chronicled (or would have, were it not cancelled after one showing) the trials and domestic travails of Adolph Hitler and Eva Braun.

At A Shroud of Thoughts, Terence takes a look at the final episode of a long-running series that few people realize was actually a "proper" final episode: "The Case of the Final Fade-Out," the series finale of Perry Mason. And it is, as Terence says, one of the best.

The A.V. Club's Will Harris has a very interesting interview with John Astin, in which the Addams Family icon talks about everything from getting into acting (a great story) to his career role as Gomez, to his relationship with Fellini. What a life!

Forget the political discussions: Fox Entertainment talks with Diane McBain, a mainstay in the Warner Bros. shows of the early 1960s, about her new novel, The Color of Hope, how Aaron Spelling wanted to marry her, what it was like working with Elvis, and more.

Finally, Ben Model, who usually blogs about theater organs and silent film music, takes a good look at Ernie Kovacs, and one of his best sketches: "Albert Gridley," the story of the talk-show guest who can't remember the details of the subject he's being interviewed about. Matt Dennis plays the unfortunate guest. I'd better watch this again the next time I'm being interviewed. TV  

How old is old?

I've long since become accustomed to the idea that nothing of much value comes from the BBC; it is, after all, the network that got rid of the Jeremy Clarkson version of Top Gear. I'm not here, though, to rag on the BBC. Instead, I'm going to rag on a recent article at the BBC website.

The article, by David Renshaw, asks the question: Is Watching Old TV Good For the Soul? For those of us who hang out here, the answer is obviously yes. It is, in the words of my friend David Hofstede, Comfort TV. It's something of an existential question, getting to the heart not only of what old television purports to be, but how it intersects with the increasingly fluid values displayed in today's pop culture. I suppose you could describe it as the basis for everything this website is about, and in fact I did describe it that way in the first chapter of my book The Electronic Mirror, which is pretty much all about the question of what classic television is. The only question that concerns me right now, however, is how you define the word old. 

I've used the words old and classic more or less interchangeably in that paragraph, because that's how I've always thought of it myself. Maybe I've been wrong about that, though. One of my favorite commentators, Mike Doran, once suggested using the word "vintage" instead of "classic," since classic implies a certain quality that doesn't necessarily depend on age; hence the otherwise oxymoronic term "instant classic." (I suppose one could say that "instant classic" is as oxymoronic as "instant coffee," but since I don't drink coffee, I don't have a horse in that race.) Anyway, it was a good suggestion, but I was already too far down the road I've taken to change, and so the term remains "classic television." 

But this Renshaw article redefines old in a way that isn't familar to me. Some of the "old" television programs mentioned in the article include:

• The Sopranos
• The Office
• Seinfeld
• The West Wing

Depending on what you think of them, these shows (and others from their era) could, I suppose, be considered classic, but would you consider them old? I don't; to me, "old" means the 1950s and 1960s, perhaps the 1970s. I suppose, though, today's viewers would consider them not old, but ancient. Maybe that's what bothers me about this article; after all, if shows from less than 30 years ago can be considered old, what does that make me, in the early years of my seventh decade? Am I ancient too? Hell, I'm not even eligible for Medicare yet. 

It gets worse. Renshaw quotes Daniel D'Addario, Variety's head TV critic: "'The sea-change I'm really expecting is that there will come a point where we're so far past Friends and The Office that future generations cannot relate to them,' he says, pointing to I Love Lucy as an example of a classic TV show that no longer chimes with modern audiences."

It's true that I've never been much of a fan of Lucy, but I'm going to take a stand on her behalf here. Yes, the world populated by Lucy and Ricky Ricardo is one that might appear foreign to modern audiences, unless they grew up watching Mad Men (another "old" program). And yet, I have to ask why Lucy wouldn't chime with them? The show's humor, much of it rooted in the human condition, is timeless, and often laugh-out-loud funny. Love, friendship, misunderstandings, couples getting mad and making up—these are things that have tickled the funny bones of people for generations. And as for slapstick, someone once said that nothing was funnier than a man slipping on a banana peel, because the anticipation was half of the fun. Isn't that how we feel when Lucy and Ethel are trying to keep up with the chocolates on the assembly line in the candy factory? And I'm not just talking about comedy; is there any who can really say, with a straight face, that a show like The Twilight Zone doesn't have something to say to us today?

No, you know what kinds of shows I think future generations won't be able to relate to? Shows that traffic in political proselytizing in the guise of entertainment. These shows don't even attempt to be timeless; they're geared to appeal to others of similar beliefs, a kind of secret handshake that welcomes like-minded viewers into an exclusive club, from which they can laugh at and ridicule those outside their clubhouse walls. I suppose these shows, like so many other things in our modern economy, are designed to be disposable; considering the number of programs viewers can choose from (532 original scripted television series were created last year), maybe they don't need to have any shelf life at all. We watch them, and when we're done with them we just throw them away. Maybe it's just me, but I doubt that in twenty years very many people are going to be laughing at jokes about presidents with orange hair.

The best part of this article, by far, is D'Addario's explanation of why people turn to old shows, and it's as David Hofstede says: for comfort. "[T]here is the comfort of familiarity. The things people are binging are not deeply experimental, you know the rhythms of these shows very well. It's about knowing what you're getting and letting it wash over you." And for people who feel alienated from today's world that seems to say that right is wrong, left is right, up is down—well, for them (and there are a lot of them), that familiarity is not going to be found exclusively in the shows of the last thirty years; they're going to find it in shows like Leave it to Beaver, Andy Griffith, and, yes, I Love Lucy.

It is, I think, alarming that we've come to the point that we consider something from thirty years ago as old. It really doesn't have anything to do with television at all, you know. It's a disregard for experience, for history, for tradition; it's a scorn for values that were accepted and lived out for centuries, if not millennia. It's the mark of a society that thinks only the now is important and that values are transitory, that crucifies people for the sin of having been products of their time, that views the past and those from it as being as disposable as, well, those TV shows I was talking about. 

So that brings us back to the question I posed at the beginning: how old is old? It's a question we all struggle to answer; we keep coming up with trite phrases like 60 is the new 40 and then plaster them on wooden plaques we hang on our walls to make ourselves feel better as the birthdays ramp up; we keep talking and dressing and living as if we're still twenty years younger than we are. We don't want to grow up, let alone grow old.

There are those who say that seeking comfort in nostalgia is an attempt to escape the world of today, but maybe it's also a way of acknowledging that we're all growing older, at the rate of 60 minutes per hour, and that we've come to terms with it. Watching television from the 1950s and 1960s isn't a way of trying to recapture our youth—it's admitting that, like these shows, we are old, and we accept it. As Harry Reasoner (a really old TV guy, and therefore of no importance) once said, no matter how a man tries to avoid risk or grasp for youth, "he may get one day extra or none; he never gets eternity." Not in this world, anyway. TV  

Running out of TV? Nonsense!

Last week, Alison Herman had a story at The Ringer with the panic headline "We're Going to Run Out of TV" (exclamation point optional). Obviously, what she's referring to is the lack of new television due to the virus. "[A] drought is upon us," she says.

Nonsense! In reality, there's no lack of television out there; between DVD, YouTube, and other sources, there's more TV available than any sane person could watch in a lifetime. Of course, throughout these ten years we've established that sane people do not run this website; even so, there's still a substantial number of TV shows just waiting for viewers to discover them.

And that's the problem: when it comes to television, too many people people limit the scope of their investigation to what's new, what's now, what's dope. Maybe, just maybe, they could be persuaded to look back as far as ten years. And you might as well forget about anything in black-and-white; I'm sure there are plenty of college-age types who refuse to believe there was ever such a thing.

It's their loss. Herman's story reminded me of this piece from 2014, when we got to take a look at what happens when someone is willing to expand their horizons a little bit. After six years, it's just as true as ever.

t  t  t

In a perceptive article at the AV Club, Brandon Nowalk writes about discovering a brand new world, one he scarcely knew existed:*

Late one night a couple of years ago, I stumbled upon an exciting new channel out in the back alleys of my cable package. That’s when I first laid eyes on Peter Gunn, which was exotic even apart from its shadowy look and circus-murder hook. I was bewitched from the moment the carnival barker interrupts the mystery of a stranger draping a reticulated python around a woman in the shadows. And that was just the beginning. Practically the entire programming schedule was new to me—a shaggy case-of-the-week PI show, a small-town drama in the middle of its 13th season, a horror anthology grasping at Val Lewton.

*The articles to which Nowalk links are well worth reading as well.

In addition to Peter Gunn, the shows Nowalk was watching were The Rockford Files, Gunsmoke, and Thriller—all shows new to Nowalk.  I know that may be hard for us to believe, steeped as we are in the minutiae of old television, but Nowalk was enchanted by the revelation, which is something that should make all of us happy.  Describing MeTV, the station on which all these shows appeared, Nowalk writes that "its lineup of reruns manages to rival the best slates of the 21st century."

Nowalk refers to this lack of familiarity with the shows of the past "television's cultural amnesia."

When television fans lose their familiarity with classic television, every little formal discrepancy—from black-and-white to a multi-camera format to more obviously stylized performance—leads to perceptions that older TV is dated. And that, in turn, leads to blanket dismissals.

It's reasonable to assume that we all have a bias toward the television of our own time, which is why today's viewers call Breaking Bad "the best drama television has ever had to offer"—which it might well be, but it's pretty hard to make that claim stick by ignoring the first sixty or so years of television's history. "Don’t we lose more than we gain by constantly promoting the new and hip at the expense of the old and unfamiliar?"

In addition to losing our knowledge of television's past, though, we run the risk of losing touch of our own cultural past.  I often point out how the shows of yesterday offer us a window to the world of yesterday—one which is only approximated in period shows such as Mad Men.  I suppose this isn't a real surprise, given that these kids nowadays think history started about ten minutes ago.  But looking at the shows from the 50s and 60s introduces us to a world of wonder, in which walking on the moon was a fantastic dream; a world of apprehension, in which the threat of nuclear annihilation was a real and present danger; a world of comfort, in which the two-parent family was the norm, and neighbors looked out for each other.  We look at the stereotypes of women and minorities and see how things have changed, we see cars and fashions and marvel how technology has evolved.  We see the small towns and byways of America in the 60s, and wonder at how completely different the country has become.  We see travelogues of distant lands, and dream of travel beyond our own homes.

This is our world—the world that has been shaped by generations past.  When we lose touch of it, we lose touch of ourselves.  It's part of the magic of classic television—the magic of memory.  It's like looking through a family scrapbook, where we can watch ourselves grow, and grow old.  When we suffer from amnesia, when we lose touch with our roots, we are the poorer for it, for as Nowalk writes in conclusion, "To the untraveled viewer, the horizon is endless. I highly recommend exploring." TV 

Around the dial

One thing we can surely use nowadays is positive thinking, and David has a thought at Comfort TV that is both positive and comforting: no one can take classic TV away from us. "The ability to watch a great series from the past is not impacted by season, by weather, by labor disputes, by travel restrictions, or even by global pandemics."

At The Twilight Zone Vortex, this week's sojourn into the TZ comic book comes from May, 1963. It's called "The Last Battle," and let's hope that's not a prophetic title! Thanks to Jordan for bringing these to us!

"The Sergeant Wore Skirts" wouldn't fit very well into the story of that last battle, would it? But, as Hal points out at The Horn Section, it's a perfect fit for this week's look at Love That Bob! Bob does get himself into some situations, doesn't he?

Jodie has some fun tidbits from the life of Dave Garroway at Garroway at Large, from a sleek car to help for balding heads. I should have such thin hair.

The new frontier in this week's Television's New Frontier: the 1960s is the 1961 season of The Joey Bishop Show, the first for the series. If you're a fan of the show, you might not recognize it  in this incarnation; the premise and supporting cast changes for the next season, even though the first is also the most successful in terms of ratings.

At TV Confidential, you can now find part one of Ed Robertson's interview with Donna Mills, now available for on-demand listening.

Tomorrow, return to a time that seems simpler in retrospect, although it might not have been that way at the time, with another TV Guide. TV  

Around the dial

The picture above is of newsmen at NBC (is the one behind the desk Bill Monroe?) covering the assassination of President Kennedy. In the background you can see the TV sets, at least one of which is tuned in to their network. We don't always watch television for entertainment.

We know that bigger isn't always better, and this week's Hitchcock Project at bare-bones e-zine demonstrates it, with Jack's review of "Ten Minutes from Now," a Jack Ritchie short story that loses much of its punch in Arthur A. Ross's adaptation to fill the hour-long timeslot.

Does the name Denny Miller mean anything to you? David explains why it should, and once you've seen a review of Miller's career at Comfort TV, you'll understand why; it's not likely you've watched much TV if you don't recognize the familiar character actor.

At The Twilight Zone Vortex, Jordan reviews the May, 1982 edition of The Twilight Zone Magazine. Thomas M. Disch reviews books, Gahan Wilson talks about movies, and the classic story is "All of Us Are Dying" by George Clayton Johnson, precursor to the episode of the same name.

I know it's now August, but that doesn't stop Joanna at Christmas TV History from continuing to celebrate Christmas in July. Take a moment to page back through the entire series, and some wonderful Christmas memories.

In the TV Guide for July 29, 1989, Dr. Joyce Brothers looks at the shows that'll make you feel better. Considering the DVD and streaming market didn't exist back then, it will be interesting to see what she picks. Find out about it, and more, at Television Obscurities.

Ed Gross at Closer Weekly takes a look at classic TV that is neither condescending nor uneducated when he provides a guide to 101 classic (and not-so-classic) TV shows. Unlike most lists of this kind, Gross isn't content with the obvious choices, instead offering some deep cuts like Overland Trail, Bus Stop, and Window on Main Street. Check it out for yourself and see what you think. TV  

My turn: my little list of classic TV programs

Groucho Marx as Ko-Ko in "The Mikado," Bell Telephone Hour, 1960

The task of filling up the blanks I'd rather leave to you. 
But it really doesn't matter whom you put upon the list, 
For they'd none of 'em be missed — they'd none of 'em be missed! 
(CHORUS)
You may put 'em on the list — you may put 'em on the list; 
And they'll none of 'em be missed — they'll none of 'em be missed!

- Groucho Marx (and others), The Mikado

You may recall that last Friday, I shared with you the results of the Classic TV Blog Association's list of the Top 25 Classic TV Programs of all time. (Classic being defined as anything which appeared in prime time and started before 1990.) It's generated comments, not only at our respective blogs, but in Twitter discussions as well. In passing along the list, I refrained from sharing my own thoughts, other than to say that some of my shows had made the final count, some had not. However, a number of you were quick to jump on this; you weren't going to let me get away so easy without putting my own choices on the line.

Fair enough, I thought; and then, like any writer, I figured I might as well get my money's worth, or at least get another post out of it. I really didn't plan this though, and I don't mean to make anything sound like second-guessing or criticizing. As I generally say, the fault in cases such as this is probably mine.

As many of you probably know, a list of my own Top 10 programs appears on the menu; but I could use this as a consideration only to a point. For one thing, some of the shows are post-1990 (so there! to any of you who think I only live in the past); for another, it's highly personal on my part—to the point, some of you might say, of eccentricity. I mean, no matter how much I might love The Alvin Show, I'm not going to put it on anyone else's list. Because of that, I threw out the rankings of the remaining shows altogether and decided to start from scratch.

A word on the methodology: each of us was first asked to submit a list of ten nominations, from which a list would be compiled. That would then be winnowed down in a final, ranked vote, to produce the final list of the top 25. As I mentioned, one proviso was that we could take the historical or artistic significance of programs into consideration; in other words, this wasn't necessarily a list of our favorite programs, but the programs we thought were the best. To this I'll add that I permitted a small conceit of my own, which was that I would not list a program that I didn't like. I was OK with voting for a show that wasn't a particular favorite, but I wouldn't compromise myself more than that. Well, I'm a TV historian, but I've never pretended to be completely objective.

Enough blabbering, I hear you saying—let's get on with this! And so we shall. I'll give you my lists first, followed by explanations where necessary. We'll start with my ten nominations; keep in mind that this is in no particular order:

1. Naked City
2. The Twilight Zone
3. Perry Mason
4. The Prisoner
5. What’s My Line?
6. The Fugitive
7. SCTV
8. Rocky & Bullwinkle
9. Police Squad
10. The Ed Sullivan Show

When the nominations had been whittled down, I submitted this as my final list, in order of preference:

1. Perry Mason
2. The Prisoner
3. Doctor Who
4. SCTV
5. The Fugitive
6. Dragnet
7. The Twilight Zone
8. The Ed Sullivan Show
9. Alfred Hitchcock Presents
10. The Defenders

For comparison, here are the top 10 of the list of 25 that the CTVA produced:

1. The Twilight Zone
2. I Love Lucy 
3. The Mary Tyler Moore Show
4. Columbo
5. All in the Family
6. Dragnet
7. Monty Python’s Flying Circus
8. Star Trek
9. The Prisoner
10. M*A*S*H

Having seen all these lists, I'm sure you have some questions:

I sure do. First of all, where's Lucy?

Fair enough. You remember how I said at the outset that I couldn't vote for a show that I didn't like? Well, at the risk of sacrificing any credibility as a TV historian, not only don't I love Lucy, I don't really like her. Not her, not the show. Something about her just grates on me, and it always has. But I don't begrudge people who do; this isn't a case of someone voting for, say, My Mother the Car as the greatest show ever. That one you'd have to defend, but not Lucy. Besides, I knew she'd be on the list anyway whether I voted for her or not.

Well, that's not a good reason, but at least it's a reason. But why don't you like The Twilight Zone? Have you got something against science fiction?

No! I've got it right there, at #7. As a matter of fact, I've also got Doctor Who on my list, as well as The Prisioner (but we'll talk about that later). At it's best, TZ is unquestionably one of the greatest. If we were to limit it to the show's first three seasons, I might have put it at #1 myself. But see, that's the thing. Rod Serling could be poetic, incisive, literate—even at his worst, he's most of those things. But he can also be didactic, strident, and lazy. Some of his scripts beat you over the head, again and again, to make a point. As I mentioned in my Top 10 review of TZ, "Those stories are painful enough when first viewed; they become almost impossible to watch again, and when you run into enough episodes like that, it can make it very difficult to enjoy and appreciate a series." The first couple of times through the series, I wasn't familiar enough with each episode to recognize the ones I liked as opposed to the ones I didn't like, so it was a voyage of discovery. Now, though, when I can pick and choose which ones to watch, I find that I'm skipping too many of them to make it #1 on a list of mine. Put another way: this is a series I liked a lot more when I was younger than I do today.

How do you justify Perry Mason as #1 on your list?

Well, that's a case where I've indulged my prerogative to combine "excellence" with "entertainment." Was Perry Mason great art? I don't know that I'd go that far, although I think it does say quite a bit about the American jurisprudence system, not to mention the integrity required from an officer of the law (I go into this more in The Electronic Mirror). As I've mentioned in the past, it's a series that takes quite seriously the concept of the single-combat warrior. But besides that, it's fun—even though I own the DVD set, I still watch the MeTV runs of the show whenever I don't have to get up early the next day. Unlike Twilight Zone, I don't get tired of them after repeated viewings.

Any shows you think were overlooked?

I think The Fugitive ought to have been in the top 10. It's perhaps the best-written drama series that's ever been on television, and David Janssen delivers one of the most compelling performances TV has ever seen. Not to mention the idea of the nation's most-famous convicted murderer becoming the nation's #1 most-wanted criminal. The Fugitive invented a whole genre of television.

I can't believe that Naked City didn't even make the final list, let alone the top 10. It's also one of the best-written programs ever, and it gives us a noble presentation of what a policeman's job really is, a reminder that they truly are public servants. (I suspect that were they real, they'd be appalled by how today's detectives look at the public with contempt.) At its best, which is often, it touches on existential questions that TV has rarely done, then or now.

And Rocky & Bullwinkle (or whichever title you prefer)—well, it's perhaps the most brilliant satire we've ever seen on TV (and that includes SCTV). The way cartoon characters are used to say things that humans could never get away with is pure genius.

Speaking of SCTV, that should have been in the top 10 as well. I can't tell you how many times I look at shows from the 1980s on, on those YouTube channels that show you the opening credits from programs of the past, and find myself wondering if this is real, or SCTV.

I nominated The Ed Sullivan Show not because Ed was a great talent, because he wasn't. He did have an eye for talent, though, or at least was willing to take a chance on something that he believed his audience might like. If you want a cross-section of America at any given time, just look at the guest lists on Sullivan.

What programs made the list that you really want to rip?

Steady, now. As I said, I'm not questioning anything here. None of the shows were, I thought, indefensible, but under the category of programs that I don't like, in addition to Lucy I'd have to add M*A*S*H, Mary Tyler Moore, and All in the Family. If I'm being honest, they ought to be on a list, although maybe not as high as they are here. But M*A*S*H is too dated and way too sanctimonious for me, and as far as All in the Family is concerned, if I want to see people screaming at each other, I'll watch Fox News. I should add that I have nothing against MTM; after all, she did bring Minneapolis into the big time. I'm just not that high on sitcoms per se, and of those that do work for me, I'm a much bigger fan of Hogan's Heroes or Police Squad!

Any do-overs that you'd like?

Well, I do like Columbo; I just didn't have the room. Same thing with Python, which is almost as absurd as SCTV. And as several people mentioned on Twitter, there should have been at least one Western on the list somewhere. Maverick came up several times, as did Gunsmoke, and I think either one of them would have been at home on the list—probably Gunsmoke, if I were to choose again. There probably ought to be a private detective series on there as well, at least if we're talking about television history. The Rockford Files, for example, can look dated because of the clothes and hair, but Jim Garner's performance is never dated.

I think lists like this are fun, and as I mentioned last week, I'd still take this list over those that are produced by "experts" that think any show that was on more than 10 minutes ago is passé. So now it's your turn to go after me—but please be gentle. TV  

Around the dial

I'm not really sure just how much stock to put in lists, and that includes—perhaps especially—my own. They're always fun to read, though, which is why the Classic TV Blog Association, to which I proudly belong, recently polled its members on the 25 Greatest Classic TV Series of all time.

Part of the challenge with contributing to a list like this lies in the guidelines. In this case, programs were limited to those that aired in prime time, and debuted prior to 1990. We were also asked to consider criteria such as enduring popularity, social impact, and influence on other TV series. In other words, this isn't simply a list of favorite television shows.

1. The Twilight Zone
2. I Love Lucy 
3. The Mary Tyler Moore Show
4. Columbo
5. All in the Family
6. Dragnet
7. Monty Python’s Flying Circus
8. Star Trek
9. The Prisoner
10. M*A*S*H
11. The Dick Van Dyke Show
12. The Fugitive
13. Dallas
14. Doctor Who
15. The Andy Griffith Show
16. The Defenders
17. The Golden Girls
18. Perry Mason
19. SCTV
20. The Honeymooners
21. Alfred Hitchcock Presents
22. Hill Street Blues
23. The Odd Couple
24. The Outer Limits
25. The Avengers

For the record, I believe two of my choices made the top 10, and there are perhaps a half-dozen in the top 25 that I definitely wouldn't have put on any list. A couple of them are shows that I didn't have, but heartily approve of; likewise, I grudgingly included two that I don't particularly like, but had to acknowledge their cultural and/or historical significance. Some of you might be taken aback by shows that I omitted, or equally surprised by those I included. (Being a coward at heart, I'm refraining from being any more specific than that.)

The Last Drive In, Comfort TV, and Classic Film and TV Café have particularly good takes on the results. Ultimately, though, television is, or at least was, something very personal to people—as I've written before, the most personal of all communications media. A particular program may bring back memories of where you were, what you were doing, or what was happening when you watched it, and something like that is impossible to quantify. If there's any program here that you've never seen before but are encouraged to check out because it's on the list, then we've done our job as curators of the past. What are your thoughts—where do you agree or disagree?

In other news...

It was 67 years ago this week that The Today Show premiered on NBC, and at Garroway at Large, Jodie gives us a look at what the critics had to say on the morning after. Hint: I doubt many of them thought we'd be having this conversation 67 years later.

The Hitchcock Project moves on to writer James P. Cavanagh, as Jack at bare-bones e-zine looks at the first season episode "The Hidden Thing." I'm afraid  I'll have to agree with Jack that what was most hidden in this episode was a satisfying resolution.

It's Bart Maverick's turn to lead on Maverick Mondays at The Horn Section, as Hal reviews the fifth-season episode "The Golden Fleecing." James Garner's long-since left Maverick, but Jack Kelly does his best in a good, but not quite great, evocation of the show's past.

At Cult TV, the emphasis is on the late '70s and the British police drama Target. As John points out, Target was a series known for its violence, and the episode "Blow Out" is perhaps one of the most violent, along with some suspect police methods.

The Broadcasting Archives at the University of Maryland links to this provocative article at Dazed on how Soul Train was "the most radical show on American television." Never watched it myself, so I appreciate this kind of serious analysis as to its cultural weight.

At Television Obscurities, Robert is once again taking on the task of documenting a year in TV Guide, from beginning to end. This time it's 1989, and since that's not a time period that I generally write about myself, I'm very much looking forward to these weekly recaps.  TV  

Around the dial

At Comfort TV, David says something I've believed for a long time: the end of the classic era of television starts with the end of television as a communal experience. (No wonder we get along so well.) For David, that era ended in the '80s, and this week he cites the signposts that mark the end of an era.

A frightening sight indeed: the original Ronald McDonald, courtesy of the Broadcast Archives at the University of Maryland. It's a good thing they went back to the drawing board.

When do seven lady truckers become "Seven Lady Captives"? When it's an episode of BJ and the Bear, in the latest review by Daniel at Some Polish American Guy.

Jack is back at bare-bones e-zine, but this time it's not the Hitchcock Project; instead, this week it's an appreciation of the author Frederic Brown and TV adaptations of his works. Case in point: "The Thin Line," an adaptation that appeared on Four Star's The Star and the Story.

Is Gary Seven a hero or a villain? That's the question at Classic Film and TV Cafe, where Rick considers the character played by Robert Lansing in the Star Trek episode "Assignment: Earth." Rick comments that Kirk is rarely as indecisive as he is here; it's also rare that a guest proves to be the equal of Kirk and Spock, as Seven is. It goes without saying that Lansing is terrific.

I like Jodie's piece on "The questionable narrator" over at Garroway at Large, proof that nothing takes the place of research. Did J. Fred Muggs really bite someone on Today? You'll just have to follow the link and find out!

Television's New Frontier: The 1960s takes a look at a show that's fairly unremarkable, but one that I find quite likable: Lock Up, a legal drama starring Macdonald Carey as real-life attorney Herb Maris. No courtroom scenes, but enjoyable nonetheless, and certainly available on YouTube.

At Cult TV Blog, John writes about The Avengers and the episode "November Five," which I remember having written about for TV Party! a few years ago. What struck me at the time was that it was an episode involving politics, a man with a rifle, and a date in November - all three of those being things with great significance in this country. TV