This week in TV Guide: April 12, 1969

What's with the talk about the Academy Awards, you're thinking. Weren't they on TV last month? Why is TV Guide bringing it up now, in the middle of April?

Well, that's the way it used to be, back in the days when the only significant movie awards show besides the Oscars was the Golden Globes, and those were confined to an hour-long broadcast on The Andy Williams Show. Back then, the Oscarcast was held in early April, usually on a Monday night, and it was the only awards show for most people. Now, it's just one of many, and soon it won't even be on commercial TV, just YouTube.

Dwight Whitney's take on the Oscars concerns the revamping of the show, under the direction of famed Broadway choreographer Gower Champion. It's been an uphill climb for Champion, who's had to deal with the conservative Board of Governors of the Motion Picture Academy, a group that has "always considered jazzing up Oscar tantamount to jazzing up the Lord’s Prayer." For them, the the one and only important thing about the show is "The Walk," that "interminable walk to the podium" taken by the winners. As producer and former Academy president Arthur Freed says, "It's the World Series. I don't care what you say, it's who's going to win the ball game. The drama is The Walk." William Dozier dryly notes that "The big question is, does the winner kiss his wife or his girl friend when he hears the thrilling news?"Joe Pasternak, producer of three of the most recent Oscarcasts, predicts that "Gower will regret the day he took it on. They will stop him from having a great show. They control the costs."

Nonetheless, after taking five months to consider the Academy's offer, Chamption decided to take on the challenge. And take it on he has. Bob Hope has been replaced as host (Hope said, "Thank God," when Champion boached the subject with him), to be replaced by ten "Friends of Oscar*" who will share the emcee duties. The venue has changed, from the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium to the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion in Los Angeles, and the look will be entirely different; "The customary white-fluted columns and classical-garden settings would give way to elaborate rear-projection effects, slides, clips, silhouettes, mirrors, multiple images on  multiple screens and sets that fly apart and change their conformation at will." 

*Ingrid Bergman, Diahann Carroll, Tony Curtis (replacing Warren Beatty), Jane Fonda, Burt Lancaster, Walter Matthau, Sidney Poitier, Frank Sinatra, Barbra Streisand, and Natalie Wood.

And that's not all. The dress code has been relaxed, with black tie replacing white tie and tails. Champion even proposes getting rid of the bleachers outside the auditorium, where the fans gather to watch the stars walk down the red carpet, but that was going too far in the eyes of many, and Champion eventually relented.

Whitney expresses an appropriate level of skepticism regarding Champion's plans. After all, the Academy Awards are now "an electronic monster which no one seems able to control on any level." (Boy, some things really don't change.) But, in the end, the broadcast comes off pretty well. It's one of the longer broadcasts in recent years, checking in at what now would be considered a svelte two hours and 33 minutes, but it brings in good ratings, along with some surprise winners, and Champion is accorded a standing ovation when he arrives at the after-broadcast party. As stagnant and dull as recent broadcasts have been, it's a pity we don't have another Gower Champion waiting somewhere in the wings. And let's be honest: none of the recent hosts have been any "friends of Oscar."

l  l  l

From 1963 to 1976, TV Guide's weekly reviews were written by the witty and acerbic Cleveland Amory. Whenever they appear, we'll look at Cleve's latest take on the shows of the era.

Many of us may have been tempted, over the past few years, to ask the question, "What's It All About, World?" (The answer is not "Alfie.") This week, Cleveland Amory asks the same question, but without the existential angst that the question merits today. It is, instead, ABC's "Second Season" variety show, hosted by Dean Jones, which Cleve describes as "a kind of Thinking Man's Laugh-In." (A low hurdle to clear, perhaps, but still...) 

Most of us are familiar with Jones from his many appearances in Walt Disney movies over the years, and he gives us a different host than we've become used to, "both charmingly different and genuinely diffident—and that, these days, is difficult." He's also backed by a cast of regulars including comedian Scoey Mitchell, singer Gerri Granger, news commentator Alex Dreier, and the comedy team of Jenna McMahon and Dick Clair. The show has boasted an impressive guest lineup as well, with the Smothers Brothers, Martin Landau and Barbara Bain, Carl Reiner, Barbara Feldon, Alice Ghostley, and Art Carney. Skits tend to be geared toward current events, and they don't shy away from controversial issues in their comedy bits. (Amory notes that previous topics have included overpopulation, obscene children’s books, the "obsolescence" of husbands, and exclusive country clubs taking on minority members. This suggests that Laugh-In isn't the only apt comparison; one might also suggest that the network learned its lessons after the fiasco of Turn On.)

Unfortunately for those who like What's It All About, World?, it's on ABC. And ABC, as Cleve says, has employed a unique strategy toward their second season, which appears to have been, "put out a whole barrage of new midseason shows, then decided to take them—literally before anyone even knew they were on—off." The network, he says, used ratings as an excuse, but "It would have taken a pretty nimble Nielsener just to keep these shows straight, let alone rate them." Before too long, What's It All About, World? becomes The Dean Jones Variety Hour, and after a total of thirteen weeks, it takes on a title that's all too common to ABC series of the day: cancelled.

l  l  l

No "Sullivan vs. The Palace" this week, even though we're in the right era for it.  And for once, it's not a preemption of The Hollywood Palace that causes it. No, it's Ed who's preempted this week, in favor of Dick Van Dyke's variety special, Dick Van Dyle and the Other Woman, billed as "a program of music, dance and comedy," featuring the "other woman"—Mary Tyler Moore, the two of them together again after the success of their famed sitcom. (Sunday, 8:00 p.m., CBS) THe special is co-produced by Bill Persky and Sam Denoff, the same pair that used to do the series. Says the preview, "The two stars and the two producers hope to produce again the chemistry that once resulted in television success for them." Did they succeed? Well, you don't think I'd ask that question unless you were able to check it out for yourself and draw your own conclusions.

And that's not the only special on Sunday evening. NBC, wisely, scheduled a Dinah Shore special to follow Dick Van Dyke, rather than go head-to-head (9:00 p.m.). Will wonders never cease? It's called "Like Hep," and features an all-star lineup of guests: Lucille Ball, Dan Rowan and Dick Martin, and Diana Ross; and cameos from Tom and Dick Smothers, Lorne Greene, Greg Morris, Victor Buono, and Elisha Cook Jr. You can also see this special and decide, as I often say, who's better, who's best.

But in case you were curious, Saturday night's Palace (9:30 p.m., ABC) is hosted by Diahann Carroll, with her guests, Richard Harris; Mort Sahl, the Checkmates, Ltd., and her young co-stars from Julia, Marc Copage and Michael Link. And yes, this episode exists as well. Can't beat YouTube, can you?

l  l  l

It's a new era for Major League Baseball, with the two leagues expanding to twelve teams each, the creation of two divisions in each league, and the advent of playoffs between the division winners prior to the World Series. Some would argue that the game hasn't been the same since. (I'd say that it still had a few decades to go before "baseball" evolved into a completely different sport, but the point is well-taken.) The changes are immediately apparent in the season premiere of NBC's Game of the Week, with the San Francisco Giants taking on the expansion San Diego Padres (Saturday, noon PT)—or, depending on where you're located, the game between the Boston Red Sox and Cleveland Indians. 

Sunday continues the sports spectacular, with the final round of the Masters golf tournament (1:00 p.m., CBS). Among the star-studded field, it's unheralded George Archer who comes away with the famed green jacket, finishing one stroke ahead of Billy Casper, George Knudson, and Tom Weiskopf to win his only major championship. And in honor of baseball's opening, CBS reruns one of the oldest, yet least remembered, of the Peanuts specials, Charle Brown's All-Stars. (7:30 p.m., CBS). The special, which premiered in 1966, was an annual feature on CBS until 1972, and made its last appearance on the network in 1982. There was a big promo effort for the cartoon when it first came out; I remember the baseball caps with the "Charlie Brown's All-Stars" logo on the front, and there was a book version of the special (differing slightly from the televised version). In the story, a company offers to sponsor Charlie Brown's team and provide them with real uniforms, but there's a catch: no girls and no dogs allowed on the team. Charlie Brown refuses the offer and then tells the team about it (without telling them why he turned the sponsor down). Predictably, they heap abuse on him until Linus and Schroeder step up to defend Charlie Brown, berating the girls for attacking him. The idea of making females the heavies, along with the dated concept of girls not playing baseball, probably accounts for its disappearance from the rotation.

In addition to the Academy Awards, the Monkees return to the airwaves Monday night in "a superpsychedelic hour" with the Brian Auger Trinity, featuring Julie Driscoll; Fats Domino; Jerry Lee Lewis; Little Richard; the Clara Ward Singers; the Buddy Miles Express; We Three; and Paul Arnold and the Moo. The special isn't named, but it's the infamous 33⅓ Revolutions Per Monkee (8:00 p.m., NBC), which, according to the always-reliable Wikipedia, was "chaotic, both on-screen and off-screen," and which Mike Nesmith described as the television version of their equally infamous movie Head.  The network was said to have been so disappointed by the result that it scheduled the West Coast telecast opposite ABC's live broadcast of the Oscars. (It was seen two hours before the Oscars in most areas.) It would be the final time the Monkees performed as a quartet until 1986. There's also a Carol Channing special (9:00 p.m., ABC, time approximate), which follows the Oscars on the West Coast but was seen prior to the show everywhere else; Danny Thomas and Carol Burnett are Miss Channing's guests.

Tuesday features a repeat of the TV-movie Prescription: Murder (9:00 p.m., NBC), with Gene Barry, whom we loved as a millionaire cop in Burke's Law, playing a doctor who's killed his wife and plans to run off with his mistress. The only problem is when he runs into a particularly dogged detective who won't give up. He's played by Peter Falk and his name is Columbo. It would be wrong to call this a pilot in the strictest sense; another Columbo telemovie will follow, this one with Lee Grant, and the decision to turn it into a series is technically because of that movie. But all the goods are here already, as is the pleasure in watching it unfold. Interestingly enough, Judith Crist wasn't all that thrilled with it, calling it "one of last season’s tailored-for-television contrivances that proves that a pedestrian but tidy one-hour melodrama can’t be stretched into a two-hour movie without stultifying all concerned. Peter Falk, as a persistent cop, is the major, but intermittent, relief." She's right about one thing: Columbo, as a series, was almost always better at the 90-minute length than when stretched into two hours.

Wednesday sees the Beverly Hillbillies, accompanied by Drysdale and Miss Hathaway, heading to London for four episodes, starting this week (9:00 p.m., CBS). This was a popular trope back in the day; stars from Lucille Ball to Danny Thomas to Jack Benny would do episodes from London; Jack Paar did a week's worth of shows from there, as did Today. I wonder, though, given what London has become over the last few years, if it would be quite as popular a location shoot today? Meanwhile, Oliver and Lisa chaperone Arnold the Pig to Hollywood, a much safer (in some ways) location, in the second of a two-part story that sees the pig in the running to appear in a movie. I didn't realize Babe was a remake... (9:30 p.m., CBS)

Thursday, Bob Hope make his final appearance of the season (8:30 p.m., NBC), with an eclectic cast that includes Patti Page, Jack Nicklaus, Sergio Mendes and Brasil ‘66, and Bob‘s newest leading ladies: Jane Wyman, Maureen Arthur, and Tina Louise. The telemovie feature is entitled U.M.C., which stands for University Medical Center and is the pilot for a new fall series. (9:00 p.m., CBS) The movie stars Richard Bradford as Dr. Joe Gannon, with James Daly as his colleague and mentor, Dr. Paul Lochner. Daly, father of future TV-star Tyne Daly, stays with the project when it becomes a series, but Bradford, whom we recognize from the British import Man With a Suitcase, is replaced by Chad Everett when the series, now called Medical Center, makes its debut in September of 1969. The movie wasn't available for preview, but Judith Crist praises the cast, which features Edward G. Robinson, Kevin McCarthy, Maurice Evans, J.D. Cannon, William Windom, and Kim Stanley.

Usually, when a television series appears in a movie slot, it's because the producers took two or more episodes and combined them into a feature-length presentation, but such does not appear to be the case on Friday, when Roger Moore returns as Simon Templar, aka The Saint, in a regular one-hour story in which our hero carries out the last wishes of a notorious gangster: stage a gold robbery that will implicate his four greatest enemies. (10:00 p.m., NBC). Given that reruns of The Saint appear in this timeslot for the next several weeks, I suspect this was nothing more than a typo. It only appears on the San Francisco affiliate, KRON, though; KCRA, the Sacramento NBC affiliate, has Playboy After Dark (10:00 p.m.), with Bill Cosby, Don Rickles, attorney Melvin Belli, Doug McClure, Robert Fuller, the Checkmates, Ltd., and Kelley Garrett.

l  l  l

By the way, do you find yourselves wondering if any of those shows would have been worth watching? Well, if it were up to Dr. Frank Stanton, you'd have a little more information to go by when making your viewing decisions. In The Doan Report, Richard K. Doan reports that Stanton, the president of CBS, is advocating giving TV critics a chance to review shows before they're broadcast, ostensibly to warn of content that might seem "too risque or violent for younger audiences."  The other networks, NBC and ABC, are aghast at the idea; "Stanton is way out on a limb," one rival says "What are sponsors and their agencies going to say the first time the critics blast a CBS show before anybody else has seen it?"

Many think Stanton is overreacting to the latest Congressional push against TV violence, and with talk of a ratings system continuing to grow, it may be that Stanton is proposing advance screenings as an alternative. But when a CBS spokesman is asked when the previewing will start, he says not before next fall. And as for NBC and ABC, "the betting was it'll never happen."

In this case, I think we can say "never" didn't last quite as long as those networks might have thought. With a few exceptions, most shows have been made available for preview for quite some time now; even in the case of streaming series, critics (and other influencers) are often given the first three or four episodes in order to prime the pumps, so to speak. And it really is difficult to remember a time when this wasn't the case; after all, without previews from the critics, how else would we know what to watch?

l  l  l

I've written about Garry Moore many times in the past, as well as devoted a full episode of the "American TV History" episode to talking about him. And there's a good reason why. At one time, Garry Moore had logged more hours in front of a television camera than anyone in history. In 1963 he was the highest paid entertainer on television, making $43,000 a week, and at the time of Paul Wilkes's article this week, he's still pulling in about $200,000 a year, for doing nothing.

And therein lies the rub. In a 1966 TV Guide profile, Moore talked about wanting to do something "new and different" from his variety and game show host duties. Three years later, we get a closer look at the fall of Moore's career. He's bored, to be blunt about it. He's still under contact to CBS, and despite that huge salary he's getting, CBS doesn't have (or doesn't want to have) anything for him to do. Although he insists there are joys in his life (even though he doesn't name them), he laments that "I don't want a leftover life to lead." But the fan mail has disappeared, he's seldom recognized anymore when he walks down the street, and the man who once had a radio show and two television series now has more time on his hands than he can count.

It's really a rather sad article. Although he's only 54, he's aged dramatically in the two-plus years since his last CBS show went off the air; one executive says he looks closer to 70. Moore wants to work, but nobody's interested in him; they tell him he appeals to the wrong demographic. He'd like to do something substantial, "like CBS Reports," but the network doesn't mingle its news and entertainment divisions, and while he's under contract to CBS he's prohibited from appearing on other networks without their permission. He's about to start a stint as host of the syndicated To Tell the Truth, which he'll stay with until 1977, and he's making guest appearances on shows like The Carol Burnett Show, but it's just not the same thing. He says he's not bitter, just that "I'd like to be used somehow."

Garry Moore was a unique figure in television. He wasn't a singer, although he could sing, and wasn't an actor, although he could act). Mostly, he played himself, on his variety show as well as his long run hosting I've Got a Secret, and he did it better than anyone else. He was friendly and avuncular, and he put viewers at ease as they watched him, making them feel like his friends.  But as we know, the times are changing; CBS isn't far away from the "Rural Purge," and the people who have grown old with television are now seen as being too old for television.  As the song at the end of Wilkes's article puts it, "oh, how the years have flown."

l  l  l

An interesting editorial on the front page makes a humorous point about how the years have flown: the editors declaim the state of modern language, and the new catch phrases that dominate: "hang-up," "blow your mind," "generation gap," "tell it like it is," and more.  "Are you up-tight about the language of the acid heads, the teeny-boppers and the flower children?" they ask. "Would you, in short, think it groovy if the English language were discovered to be alive and well and living in the United States—its old turf?"

Humorous, as I say, but making a point. "We are brought to a state of nausea whenever we hear or read one of these banal or crude or cloddish substitutes for thinking that are so horribly ubiquitous these days in broadcasting and in print." I wonder if you couldn't make the same sort of statement today? We don't write or even think in words so much anymore—it's more likely the strange pig-Latin language of texting, with its abbreviations, concepts, half-thoughts, and emojis. Such is the life of a post-literate society, though. And it has consequences, which we see play out today with ever-increasing frequency: "people talking about commitment and value judgments" which they use as weapons against those who have the temerity to disagree with them.

Although we're all about television here, we're also about language, especially the written word. I find there's a great deal of eloquence in writing about TV, even though I may only capture a fraction of its potential. Television, and its history, has painted a vast panoply of imagery over the years, which words are uniquely suited to describe. It's ironic, in that television is mostly a visual medium, one that's been blamed by many for leading to the death of the written word. And yet millions of words have been, and continue to be, written about it, words oftentimes more powerful than those images they describe. And as long as I'm writing about it, I intend to keep looking for the beauty in those words, as well as the pictures which accompany them.

l  l  l

MST3K alert: Agent for H.A.R.M. (English; 1966) Tale of a creeping blob from outer space that transforms human flesh into fungus. Mark Richman, Wendell Corey, Carl Esmond. (Saturday, 11:30 p.m., KPIX in San Francisco) Peter Mark Richman, Wendell Corey: what are you doing here? H.A.R.M. was, apparently, initially supposed to serve as a pilot for a new series, but wound up in theatrical release instead. My favorite review comes from The New York Times, which called it an "anemic James Bond imitation." I don't believe this is currently part of the MST3K episodes that run on TV; all-in-all, probably a good thing. TV

If you enjoy the content here and want to support my broader creative work, please consider making a donation at my Ko-fi page. Any amount you contribute helps me continue writing, researching, and sharing these articles and projects. Thank you!

Critic, explain thyself

I had originally intended to include this in the TV Guide writeup for this coming Saturday, but as I got deeper into it, I realized that it would make an already-long piece even longer; at the same time, I didn't want to cut it short, because I think it raises the types of questions many people have asked over the years. Ultimately, it was so interesting that I felt it deserved space of its own.

It begins with a letter to TV Guide from Mrs. Iveta Moore, a housewife living in Piedmont, Kansas, who has some questions about how professional critics go about reviewing television shows. She describes herself as "a perfect example of the favorite target of all TV critics’ scorn: a square, a citizen of the Corn Belt, a part of the moronic masses!" She is also a voracious reader—illustrated, I think, by the questions she asks—who, having read many reviews over the years, would like to know about the standards they use when writing their reviews. "I think I understand what they write," she says, "but if they are really saying what they believe, I don’t understand why they believe as they do." She poses the following questions in hopes that they will help her, and other viewers, to better understand where these critics are coming from:

1. What makes fantasy? What is the difference between Peter Pan, accepted by critics as a classic, and My Mother, the Car, panned as silly and ridiculous?
2. What is escapism? Why is it used so often for TV entertainment and not, for example, Shakespearean plays? "Didn't the critics of his day think his plays were for the ignorant masses?"
3. Why not escapism? It helps her keep stable and cheerful. Why does this so often have negative connotations?
4. What makes a soap opera? Many of them are as true to life as Shakespeare's Portia winning a law case without training, while posing as a man. "Yet one is considered melodramatic trash, and the other culture. Why?"
5. What is good music? If the purpose of music is to enjoy and entertain, "Why, then, isn't it good or bad according to how it affects the listener?"
6. What is artistic freedom? Writers often think citizens of the Corn Belt are "narrowminded," yet "most of us accept Peyton Place as showing things that really do happen, over and over, in any size city or town, while the critics ery 'smut.' Why?"
7. What is realism? Writers think of it as tragic and brutal, but "doesn't it take even more talent to include the light, happy things of life in good drama?"

"Her questions seemed not only valid but also quite possibly representative of the thinking of many viewers," the editors responded, "and we felt they deserved an answer." Thus, they reached out to novelist, social commentator, and frequent TV Guide contributor Marya Mannes, to reply to Mrs. Moore.

"Dear Mrs. Moore," Mannes replies. "You deserve to be answered, not only because your questions go to the heart of television’s functions but because you belong to the great majority of viewers who, by turning on their sets for hours each day, have far more power over the nature of TV than we—the tiny minority of TV critics—have ever had." So. "for better or worse," she proceeds to tackle those questions, one by one.

What makes fantasy? "Fantasy is made by imagination. We imagine things we know are not real, but which we would like to believe. And the test of successful fantasy is whether for even fleeting moments we do believe it." Peter Pan, for example, embodies two great human desires: to fly by oneself, and to never grow old. So captivating is James M. Barrie's story, it matters not whether Peter is played "by not-so-young women or by boys." On the other hand, when it comes to a program such as My Mother the Car, "The idea behind it is not so much fantasy as a gag, or gimmick—good for some laughs, maybe, but hardly likely to stir the imagination." After you introduce the idea, which may well be funny, what else have you got? "Another formula comedy to pass the time. But—fantasy?"

Mayra Mannes

What is escapism? Just that. "To get away from the real world of worries, of tensions or problems, of daily boredom or suffering. Some escape through drink or gambling or pills, some look at television entertainment." Everyone needs a break once in a while. "But is there any reason why this break has to be silly or cheap or poorly written stuff, with a phony laugh track tacked on?" Danny Kaye is a kind of escapism, but done with "taste and wit and charm along with the fun." The reason someone like Shakespeare isn't considered escapist is because his plays "are so much more than that: They are mirrors of enduring human passions," combining the most beautiful language in all literature with plots that gave "both the mass and the minority what they looked for."

What makes a soap opera? "I have seen quite a lot of them, because I admire the acting and find them truly 'escapist.'" They seem true to a certain type of life, to "stereotypes of American middle-class suburbia and therefore not true of the millions of Americans who are neither middle-class nor white, nor of the many American wives who are too busy working to worry about all the things soap-opera housewives moan about." The difference between Portia being "culture" and soaps being "trash," it amounts to quality, "the difference between the imagination of a great writer and the slick formulas of Hollywood writing teams." If there was ever a woman in soaps who talked like Portia, "I'd spend my day at the set."

What is good music? There are good musicians and bad musicians in every genre of music; the difference depends on things such as voice quality, the songs they use, and their orchestrations. "In any case, it’s no more true that something is good because it’s popular than that something is unpopular because it’s no good." Nobody's going to stop you from listening to whoever and whatever you like; "The only point here is that your enjoyment doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s good."

What is artistic freedom? Just that, the freedom of a writer "to determine without interference what he writes about and how he writes it." It's not just cultural mores that affect such freedom; it's "a television system that depends on getting the greatest possible audience to buy the products advertised." Sponsors can't afford to offend consumers, which means avoiding anything controversial or unpopular, "and many of the most important human problems are both." Peyton Place, on the other hand, is just "a nighttime soap opera full of people in trouble."

What is realism? More than just costumes and settings. "Realism is the reflection of life as it is lived— really lived." It can be tragic, violent, tender, corrupt, or funny; "A light comedy is just as valuable as a dark tragedy, provided it is the product of talent and keen observation." If today's writers seem more attracted to the "seamy side," it's because "we live in an age of change and violence which no artist can ignore, but which, unfortunately, too many mediocre writers use to exploit the public appetite for shock and sensationalism, particularly in the areas of crime and sex." 

Taken as a whole, Mannes boils Mrs. Moore's questions to the central question: "What is Good—or Bad? And who are you, the critics, to tell us which is which?" It's a very hard thing to define, she says, but one major component is experience. "I think it can be fairly said that a critic on a responsible newspaper or magazine has, in the pursuit of his profession, read more books, seen more plays, heard more music, looked at more art than the average television viewer." Critics base their judgments on these years of experience and the thought given to them. A critic may or may not be right, "but he has earned his right to judge." 

If a critic seems harsh in his assessments, "it is because he thinks the medium can do much better and the viewers deserve much better." Why must entertainament be silly and cheap? Why do you need guns for excitement? Why must all popular music be directed to the young? In conclusion, if you like what you see, feel free to ignore the critics. "However, it is a sign of your intelligence that you choose not to, and that you have asked questions which, although these answers may not satisfy you, need asking. Thank you, Mrs. Moore."

I've come to develop an appreciation for Mayra Mannes over the years; I've devoted a chapter of my upcoming book to the television adaptation of her novel They, and even when I don't agree with her, I admire her keen mind and thought. But there's not really much to disagree with here. Her ultimate defense of the role of the critic is not, as some might think, a form of elitism; instead, I think she's talking about the vest amount of experience professional critics have accumulated over the years, and the consideration they've given to that experience over time. I've seen too many examples myself of online "critics" who blithely propose to discuss television history while at the same time demonstrating that they lack any depth of knowledge of the topic whatsoever. And I think she does an admirable job of defining the often-undefinable term "quality," rather than the relativistic notion that if it sounds good, it is good.

I don't think you'd see this kind of intelligent conversation about television (or most artistic endeavors, for that matter) in the average publication today, let alone in TV Guide. All in all, I find that what Marya Mannes said in answer to Mrs. Iveta Moore, sixty years ago, still holds true today. It's just too bad that much of her criticism of television back in 1966, unfortunately, holds true today as well. TV  

Around the dial

Let's start this week with another edition of "The Hitchcock Project" at bare-bones e-zine. This week Jack's back with a follow-up on Emily Neff, the author of the short story "Partner in Crime," about which Jack wrote a couple of years ago. One of the many things I like about Jack's project is that he goes so far beyond what most episode guides provide - you not only find out about the episode, you learn about the original source material, differences in how the story is adapted, other versions that may exist, and - as in this case - background on the authors.

Of course we need to know seven things about Tina Louise - that should go without saying. And that's just what Rick gives us this week at Classic Film and TV Café. Did you know that prior to movies and television (and Gilligan's Island), Tina was a successful Broadway actress? Or that in 1957 she released an album called It's Time for Tina? Go to Rick's place (I've always wanted to say that) to find out the rest.

At Garroway at Large, Jodie looks back to the first time Dave appeared in a full-length article in TV Guide - it was the July 10, 1953 issue (the 15th issue in the magazine's national history!), and he appears on the cover with the ubiquitous J. Fred Muggs. As Jodie says, it's a nice reminder of just how big a star Dave Garroway was at the time, and for many years thereafter.

One of the things I always have to be careful about as a blogger is the constant temptation to give someone a piece of my mind. In the first place, I don't have that many pieces left, and second, the web is dominated with people who seem to dedicate their lives to shooting their mouths off, often in the most vulgar way. However, there are times when I'm tempted to make an exception - but at Comfort TV, David spares me the trouble by taking on "The Worst Entertainment Critic on the Planet," someone who understands nothing about classic TV. I have only one thing to add: what a bollock.

As if to belie what this twit wrote, at Criminal Element, Julia Keller writes about the detectives that were "Too Cool for TV" - five detectives from the classic era of television. Take that!

Here's a very cool story - DC Video's restoration of the oldest color videotape of Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show. It's from August 24, 1964 - you can see a few minutes of the footage at the website. Those were the days - unless, of course, you're the worst entertainment critic on the planet, in which case television might as well not even have existed! TV