Around the dial

It came as a revelation to me, many years ago, to see a reference in an old TV Guide to "Win" Martindale. At first I assumed it was a typo, but as we can see in this post from the Broadcast Archives, Wink Martindale was known, for a time, as Win. Either way you look at it, he was one of game show history's biggest winners.

At Comfort TV, David's journey through 1970s TV takes us to Monday nights, 1976. The highlight, of course, was Monday Night Football, but for every touchdown (Little House), there's an incomplete pass or two: The Captain and Tennille, All's Fair, Executive Suite. Stick to the movies and the game.

John returns to the world of the private detective at Cult TV Blog, with a look at the Shoestring episode "Find the Lady," with our heroic private "ear" on the trail of a murder—or is it? Check out an interesting story with a stellar guest cast.

At Captain Video's Secret Sanctum, we take a look at 2009's Spaceballs: The Animated Series, which ran for 13 episodes, and is pretty much exactly what you'd expect from an animated Mel Brooks project. I wonder what I was doing that I don't remember this?

Does a movie count as TV if you saw it on your television? It does in this case, as at Classic Film and TV Corner, Maddy reviews the top four performances from one of the all-time greats, Toshiro Mifune. I've seen all four of these movies, and I can't argue with a one of them; they're all superb.

Speaking of superb, at The View from the Junkyard, Roger reviews the concluding episode of The New Avengers, "Emily," which serves as a fitting end to the series, "a celebration of everything this show does best."

At A Shroud of Thoughts, Terence pays tribute to the legendary Brian Wilson, who died last week at 82. He was certainly a familiar face on television in the 1960s, given the prominence of the Beach Boys, and one of those tortured geniuses who accomplished so much, and paid a price for it.

Martin Grams is back with another selection of book reviews designed to appeal to the TV and film buff in you. I mention these not just because they sound interesting, but to remind me that I have a pile of books to review myself, all on hold while I finished my own book. Which is done, by the way.

And that leads to my reminder that if you'd like to sign up for updates on Darkness in Primetime: How Classic-Era TV Foresaw Modern Society's Descent into Hell, you can do so at this link. There's another reveal next week leading up to the August release date; why not take a moment to sign up? TV  

Around the dial

Let's kick things off this week with one of my favorite British detectives, Frank Marker, as played by Alfred Burke in Public Eye. But this isn't about either Frank or Alfred; it's the finale of the "Sylvia Coleridge Season" at Cult TV Blog, and I'll forgive John for ending the season since he's chosen well: the episode "No Orchids for Marker."

At Comfort TV, David looks at some of our classic shows to see what they have to say about the ubiquitous computer, which was a thing to behold back then—and something to be feared. The question that these shows posed: can the computer be trusted? 

The Broadcast Archives celebrated Game Show Wednesday this week with a look at the "Golden Age" of game shows, at least in number: the 1970s. They were everywhere, and I'm willing to bet you're going to recognize at least one or two of the hosts pictured.

Jack's Hitchcock Project returns at bare•bones e-zine with "Act of Faith," a seventh season episode written by Nicholas Monsarrat, starring George Grizzard and Dennis King. It is, as Jack says, a curious choice for a Hitchcock episode; you'll have to see whether or not it works.

At The View from the Junkyard, Roger continues to survey The A-Team, and points out that this week's episode, "The Out-of-Towners," keeps a trend going: that of the team taking on missions to right wrongs, rather than purely as mercenaries. It's part of what makes the show fun.

Television's New Frontier: The 1960s is back with the 1962 episodes of The Danny Thomas Show, and I'm always amazed that a show as successful as this was, with a star as big as Thomas was, can become so obscure today. Or maybe it's just me, I don't know.

At A Shroud of Thoughts, Terence bids farewell to Pippa Scott, a frequent presence on classic TV over the years, who died last month at the age of 90. If you had a favorite show back in those days, the chances are excellent that she was on it.

Better twice than never: at Drunk TV, Paul reprises a piece from Mavis Movie Madness on NBC's 60th anniversary show in 1986. I think it's safe to say that both Paul and I have our doubts about how well it worked, and what it may augur for the 100th anniversary show coming up. TV  

If I ran the network, part 5

Earlier this year, I introduced a new feature, "If I Ran the Network," a series of TV concepts that would never have made it to the small screen without network executives screwing them up. If you have similar ideas, please share them in the comments section; if I get enough, I'll use them to put together a complete prime-time lineup for the fictional HBC Network!

One of the games we play, you and I, is to recast our favorite movies and TV shows of the past, using the stars of today. You see it on social media all the time: "If you were remaking [fill in the blank] today, who would you cast as [star]? We all do it, I think. Studios do it too, albeit with much higher stakes, and it doesn't often work. 

One of the risks involved in resurrecting a classic show of the past is to decide whether it wants to be a resurrection, keeping the new version as close to the original as possible; or a reboot, in which case everything—time, place, technology—is brought up to date, with varying degress of success. For example, the new verison of Frasier is, I would suggest, a resurrection, while the new Matlock is a reboot. And while it's important, if you're considering such a move, to choose correctly—resurrection or reboot—it's perhaps even more important, once you've made your choice, to stick to it. Don't backtrack, don't fudge, don't change your mind in the middle of the process.

When What's My Line? finished its original run in 1967, it wasn't but a year before the show came back in a five-days-a-week syndicated version, but make no mistake: even though the basics of the game remained the same, this was no resurrection; it was a reboot, pure and simple. Gone was the formality of the past; instead of panelists dressed in tuxedos and evening gowns and addressed as "Mr." or "Miss," we were now on a first-name basis with the celebrities, who now dressed in a much more casual manner. Instead of the urbanity (and verbosity) of John Charles Daly, the program was now hosted by  actor and veteran game show host Larry Blyden (after one year in which the host was jouranlist Wally Bruner). Gone were the wit and humor of panelists like Bennett Cerf; instead we got the much broader comedy of Soupy Sales and Nipsey Russell. Contestants no longer came on the show only to stump the panel; on occasion they would also demonstrate their line, if it was an entertaining one. As I say, a reboot rather than a resurrection.

I'm not saying this is necessarily a bad thing, mind you; Soupy and Nipsey were funny guys, and Arlene Francis was still on the panel. The syndicated version had a pretty successful run. It's just that it's missing what made What's My Line? one of my favorite programs in the first place, and it's not what I had in mind when I pondered what a new version would look like. 

First things first: nobody can replace John Charles Daly. I've said it before, and I'll say it again now: John Daly is who I want to be when I grow up. But a show has to have a host, and I always felt that one person who might have been able to pull it off, who could approximate a modicum of the urbanity and formality of the original, while maintaining control over the panel, was James Lipton. He was terrific on Inside the Actors Studio, he was smart and experienced when it came to television, and he was self-effacing enough to laugh at lampoons of his own propensity for pomposity. 

Just as John Daly had Bennett Cerf for a foil, James Lipton would need one as well, and who better to serve in the role than Charles Grodin? If he was half as effective as he was as a guest with Johnny Carson, he'd have been perfect; I also suspect that, like Cerf, he would have been very good at the game. The two women on the panel, Julia Louis-Dreyfus and Robin Roberts, win their way on the panel through a combination of smarts and quick thinking; I think they both would have been very good while maintaining the sense of formality that I was looking for. And rounding out the panel, we have Neil Patrick Harris, who strikes me as someone who'd actually enjoy being on WML. There's our regular cast of characters, with plenty of room for occasional guest panelists.

Of course, neither James Lipton nor Charles Grodin are with us today, so my concept would require some retooling. Speaking of Frasier as we were, though, I could see Kelsey Grammer taking the place of either one of them; let's make him the host, though, since Frasier Crane wouldn't have settled for being a mere panelist. In place of Grodin: Anderson Cooper, perhaps? Jon Stewart? Dennis Miller? Piers Morgan, for an international flavor? 

Naturally, the network would never go for it. They'd want a panel made up entirely of stand-up comedians doing their routines, just fitting in a question here and there. Same for the mystery guest. No, I'm very much afraid that today's WML would be loud, crude, political, woke.  And forget the formal wear and means of address; nobody talks or dresses like that nowadays. 

The problem with a resurrection of What's My Line? is that it would be clever, witty, sophisticated, literate, and genteel. In other words, everything we aren't today. TV  

Around the dial

Cult TV Lounge takes a relatively short trip back to the 1990s (I still have a hard time realizing that the '90s are 30 years ago) with the Japanese anime OVA Cyber City Oedo 808, directed by the great Yoshiaki Kawajiri, with obvious nods to the William Gibson and Philip K. Dick. If you're a fan, it wouldn't hurt to check it out.

Also worth checking out is the latest episode of The Guardians, brought to us by John at Cult TV Blog. In part five, we pick up the dystopic story in progress following an assassination, with bodies and orgies left and right. And who, or what, is Quarmby anyway? Is this the direction we're headed in? Or are we already there?

One of my fond memories of childhood is watching wrestling on TV with my grandfather, with the result that I always had a soft spot for the sport, even when it seems like it's bordering on depravity. Paul has similar memories, and at Drunk TV he revisits them with the 2007 documentary The Triumph and Tragedy of World Class Championship Wrestling, a searching look at the WCCW's ups and downs.

At Comfort TV, David's perusal through prime time in the 1970s continues with Wednesday, 1974. What was it like? How about Get Christie Love!, Cannon, Little House on the Prairie, and Petrocelli? I'm betting most of you remember most of these, but there are bound to be some that you haven't thought of for awhile, if ever.

At Eyes of a Generation, Bobby gives us a unique look at "the battle for television," circa 1945. Not only do you get some interesting graphics on early TV equipment, you get insight into the rivalry between RCA and CBS over their "different techincal approaches to television." They were even talking about color TV in 1945; find out more about what might have been.

It's been 25 years (1) since Garry Berman's first book, Best of the Britcoms, and this week he takes a look back some of the glorious British panel shows that display such typically British "wit, speed, and spontaneity." Be sure to take some time to watch the clips that Garry has included, among which a show called 8 Out Of 10 Cats, which you can't miss.

In the mood for some TV-movies? Well, then, head on over to Reelweegiemidget, where Gill (with some help from Darlin Husband) shares some of the teleflicks they watched over this summer. Some you'll recognize, some you won't, and some you'll want to check out. And after all, isn't that what a good reviewer is for?

I don't have to tell you that it's been a rough time for some of our heroes of the past, which makes me even more glad to share Terence's latest at A Shroud of Thoughts, which is not an obituary! It's a look back at his memories of Sunday night television while he was growing up. He and I are of roughly the same era, and I can certainly identify with those memories.

At Television's New Frontier: The 1960s, we're in 1962, and the beginning of McHale's Navy, the drama that became a comedy. The show owes its roots to Car 54, Where Are You? and The Phil Silvers Show, but falls short of them in several ways. Still, a lot of you have fond memories of the show, and you'll want to see the many faces that appeared on your TV during that season.

As Travalanche notes, many of us associate Sally Struthers with a single, and singular, role: that of Gloria on All in the Family. There's been a lot more to her career than that, though, and it's good to be reminded that she's done movies, live theater, voice-overs, and guest spots on many shows, both before and after marrying the Meathead.

Roger has an interesting observation at the outset of his review of The Avengers episode "Fog" at The View from the Junkyard: it's all right to acknowledge that "the things we love don't have to be perfect." And that's true; you'll notice that when I really pick a show apart because of its implausibilities, it's not just the nits: it's likely that I'm not being entertained.

xx TV  

Around the dial

William Russell died this week, just short of 100 years of age, and with him died one of the last links to the beginnings of Doctor Who. We were introduced to him in the very first episode of Who, airing on November 23, 1963 (albeit delayed from its scheduled start time due to the JFK assassination coverage); he played schoolteacher Ian Chesterton, one of the Doctor's original companions (along with Jacqueline Hill as fellow teacher Barbara Wright and Carole Ann Ford as Susan, the Doctor's granddaughter). Having previously starred in the television series Sir Lancelot (one of the first British imports to American television), it was thought that the young, virile actor could provide the physical action to compliment the older William Hartnell's more cerebral Doctor. He remained on the show for the first two series, and history will record that he was the first person to utter the phrase "Doctor Who." 

We just started rewatching the first season last month, and my wife asked me if he was still living; at that point, he was, and there was something comforting about that, as if the original series was still alive and well. In a sense, he never really left the show; there were references to him throughout the years, he reprised his role as Ian for bridging sequences on a video release of a Hartnell story that was only partially intact; he returned once more for a cameo appearance in 2022 (along with several other former Doctors and companions) in the episode "The Power of the Doctor," aired as part of a celebration commemorating the centenary of the BBC. 

To say that he was fondly remembered by Doctor Who fans is an understatement; I think many of us hold him in the same regard as we do the actors who played the title role. It seemed as if he would go on forever, just like the Doctor, and I suppose that he will, for as long as video continues to exist. Among the many, many tributes on line this week is this typically quirky one from Inner Toob. The finest one, though, is probably the affection with which generations of fans, many of whom weren't even born when Ian Chesterton made his first appearance, continue to have for him. That, I suspect, won't end either.

On the personal side, here are links to my two latest appearances on the Dan Schneider Video Interview. Dan and I discuss Lucille Ball and Mary Tyler Moore, and somehow I was able to stumble through each of them without making a complete fool of myself. I'll have more on what it feels like to be a podcast guest in the near future.

June 1 was National Game Show Day (although I've yet to see the Congressional resolution proclaiming it), and Travalanche commemorated the day with a nifty, comprehensive list of links to all kinds of things game show-related.

The first of two Avengers-related posts comes from The View from the Junkyard, where Roger and Mike match wits with "Invasion of the Earthmen," an episode clearly intended to parody Star Trek, even though that show wouldn't be seen in the UK for another six months.

Keeping with The Avengers, at Cult TV Blog John looks at "The Joker," a Mrs. Peel episode that is actually a remake of the third-series episode "Don't Look Behind You," which featured Mrs. Gale. This wasn't uncommon on The Avengers, so you get the chance to compare and contrast styles.

Martin Grams regales us with some photographs from The Green Hornet television series, which have apparently never been published. The Green Hornet isn't a great series; it never really decided whether to play it straight or camp it up a la Batman, but it was great fun to watch all the same. 

Terence's great blog A Shroud of Thoughts turned 20 this week (!), and to mark the occasion he's linked to the best posts of the past 20 years. I've been at this awhile, but I'm a piker compared to Terence, so let's hope he's up for 20 more years! TV  

The history of game shows in one easy lesson

X couple of weeks ago, I appeared on Dan Schneider's American TV history series to discuss the history of game shows. It was a lot of fun, and I hope you'll check it out here. 

My primary reference source for the show was the book Game Shows FAQ: All That's Left to Know About the Pioneers, the Scandals, the Hosts and the Jackpots, by Adam Nedeff. It's a book I've had for a few years, and while I did mention it at the end of the program, I realize I've been remiss in not writing about it sooner, because it's an indispensable resource as well as one of the best television history books of recent years.

Game Shows FAQ: All That's Left to Know About the Pioneers, the Scandals, the Hosts and the Jackpots

by Adam Nedeff

Applause, 388 pages, $19.99

My rating: ★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

As you might gather from the title, this is no dry recitation of the history of television game shows. Neither, however, is it a series of headlines that read like internet clickbait. As the Amazon description reads (and why bother trying to reinvent something that says exactly what needs to be said?), "this book examines the most relevant game shows of every decade, exploring how the genre changed and the reasons behind its evolution." And it does so in a totally readable way.

Did you know, for example, that the first recorded game quiz on radio was in 1923, on radio station WNYC in New York, that it was called "Brooklyn Eagle Quiz on Current Events," and that the host the host was H.V. Kaltenborn, who would go on to become a respected newscaster and commentator? Or that "Uncle Jim’s Question Bee" was the first quiz show on television in 1941, when it appeared on WNBT in  New York in a special made for the first day of official broadcasting? You would if you read Game Show FAQ. You'd also know how and why old game shows become new game shows, how Merv Griffin and Chuck Barris each brought their own unique (and very different!) way of thinking to the genre, why many doubted the choice of Alex Trebek as the host of the revived Jeopardy!, how ABC ruined its biggest cash cow, and more.  

Game shows have changed dramatically from those days of the "Brooklyn Eagle Quiz on Current Events," when high school students stood on stage and competed until only one contestant remained. Daytime shows depended on knowledge of practical facts, such as how much household items might cost (The Price is Right), facts that might appeal to a predominantly female audience. Evening shows, seeking to make a bigger splash (and higher ratings) became big-money super-shows (Twenty-One, The $64,000 Question) based on high-level knowledge of specialized subjects ranging from mathematics to movies and boxing. Those shows produced their own superstars—and their own problems, as Nedeff details in his chapter on the Quiz Show Scandal. 

Following the scandal, a new generation of game show came to the front: panel shows driven by celebrities (What's My Line?, I've Got a Secret, To Tell the Truth), tests of a contestant's wits (Jeopardy!, Password, Concentration), and shows where the competition sometimes seemed to take a backseat to comedy (The Hollywood Squares, Match Game, Let's Make a Deal). The stakes were demonstrably lower, and eventually the genre began to die off, only to make a resurgence with a new generation of shows, from Family Feud to Wheel of Fortune, culminating in the prime-time sensations Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? and The Weakest Link. What about shows like American Idol and Survivor? Nedeff covers them as well. 

Sometimes books on television history can seem, well, more fan-based than historical; other times, the prose is so dry and scholarly that the shows described barely resemble the ones we remember having watched. Fortunately, this doesn't describe Game Show FAQ; Through nearly 400 pages, Nedeff goes through the history of game shows—from those unknown programs of early radio days to the shows that we all remember from those days when we were sick and couldn't go to school—in a style that's both breezy and informative, and exceptionally well-written. The man knows his topic (he's written other books on game shows), and more important he knows how to write about it: not only the historical facts, but the backstage information as well: feuds, misplaced jokes, network interference, hosts that didn't pan out, you name it. 

If you have a fondness for game shows—either those from childhood or today's shows populating the many game show-specific subchannels and streamers—you're going to find it in this book. Even if you're not a game show fanatic but enjoy the history of television, you'll learn about the role these shows have had and continue to have in the medium. For that, we have Adam Nedeff to thank, and Game Show FAQ deserves its place in the television library for that alone. That it's a great read just adds to the enjoyment. TV  

This week in TV Guide: August 13, 1966

Edith Efron leads off the week with one of television's truly existential questions: what do game shows prove? In the summer of 1966, game shows comprise 32 of the 110 weekly hours of network daytime programming. As Efron notes, with a brief break for lunch, "it is possible to watch. 13 game shows in a row from 10 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.—two on CBS, three on ABC; and eight on NBC." While they might not be as popular as soap operas, they attract a weekly audience of about 45 million, and since children are in school, these shows are designed for and watched by adults. What does it all mean?

The games themselves, Efron says, are not stupid. "Even the much-lamented Supermarket Sweep, which has been written off by casual observers as a graceless plundering of supermarket shelves, actually requires detailed knowledge of market prices plus the ability to make arithmetical calculations, involving fractions, at high speed." Network executives and hosts agree that the basic appeal of the shows is intellectual; The Match Game's Gene Rayburn says that "TV games are popular because they test people’s ability to think under stress. This has always interested people. Human beings have a survival need to keep their wits strong and alert." Allen Ludden, host of Password, adds that "It’s not accidental that Password, which is primarily dependent on deductive reasoning, is one of the most popular game shows on the air. Logical reasoning is very attractive to people." And Ed Vane, director of daytime programming at ABC, says that "The only game shows which succed are those which stimulate the viewer intellectually." 

Perhaps surprisingly, those from the world of academics agree with this analysis. Detroit psychologist Roger Callahan, ex-president of the Michigan Society of School Psychologists, tells Efron that "The appeal of the game shows is the same as the appeal of all quizzes and parlor games—they give people an opportunity to exercise their minds." This is seconded by professor Herbert Hyman, head of Columbia University’s graduate department of sociology, who says that the popularity of game shows derives from such factors as "traditional American pleasure in a contest" and the "intellectual pleasure of play," and Boston psychologist Barbara Klein says "The appeal of the game shows is obviously intellectual." Greed is not generally seen as an attraction; Klein and Callahan call the hypothesis of collective vicarious greed "absurd," and "irationally unfounded." 

Specialists in game shows—the creators, the hosts—are adamant that the success of the genre indicates people want smart television, and that networks underestimate the intelligence of their daytime audiences. "[Viewers are] hungry for the sight of brightness on the air," according to Bob Stewart, one of the creators of Password and To Tell the Truth.. "They’re starving for intelligent programming," adds Ludden. This is not, however, a view shared by network executives, who insist that more "mentally demanding" shows won't be successful. NBC's Larry White says "Most of the daytime viewers are women. They’re working during these hours—washing dishes, making the beds, answering the doorbell, taking care of the babies. They don’t have the time or inclination to watch more demanding shows." (Or fashion shows? You'll read about that shortly.) News-and-talk shows such as Calendar with Harry Reasoner, or Mike Wallace's morning news, "were calmly ignored by most of the daytime audience." "It’s hard enough to get an audience for intellectual shows at night,” says White. "Look at CBS Reports, look at East Side/West Side. If you put an intellectual show on in the daytime, you'd get zero ratings."

Ludden, for one, isn't buying it. "The networks simply don’t understand the difference between native intelligence and public-affairs stuffiness. The viewers are not academic squares, but that doesn’t mean they have 12-year-old minds." The psychologists agree. "Too often," Callahan says, "what passes for intellectual programming on the networks isn’t intellectual at all. Too often, it consists of dull, unresolved drama; dull, unresolved discussions; and dull, unresolved public-affairs shows, to which the only appropriate response is—so what? Such shows are mentally frustrating. Most viewers reject them day and night—and rightly so. To judge people as intellectually deficient because they repudiate such shows is absurd."

Where does this leave us? Efron notes that "native intelligence in the mass audience is rarely mentioned in all the brouhaha about TV programming," and that it is this native intelligence, not formal education, that comprises the audience. But network executives admit no study has ever been conducted on "the number of brains—the number of just plain bright people in both the day and the nighttime audiences." Personally, I agree with this totally; intellectuals, or pretentious executives, often confuse education with intelligence, and almost never consider common sense. After all, all those letters that follow someone's name makes them part of an elite minority, and to admit that this doesn't necessarily make them smart means they aren't special anymore, either.

The networks, Efron says, need to understand that "there are many millions of modestly schooled adults in this country who have good minds, and who would actively welcome more intelligent programming." To recognize "the existence of multimillions of intelligent 'common' men and women could have a profoundly salutary effect on U.S. television."

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That's no cavalry corporal on the cover, that's Larry Storch! And, with all due respect to Forrest Tucker, I think it's safe to say that without Storch, there would be no F Troop. In this week's episode he plays multiple roles, including the notorious bandid El Diablo, Grandma Agarn, Gaylord Agarn and Carmen Agarnado. But, says Michael Fessier Jr., the zany comedian you see on screen is, when the cameras stop rolling, "melancholy and detached, light years in his thoughts from the frantic activity surrounding him."

"Nothing’s easy for me," he says. "I'm always in a quandary over things." With a half smile, he adds, "I guess it’s my dark Russian soul." He broods about "ultimate meanings and truths," from Vietnam and underpriviledged children to "the well-being of every living creature." Not surprisingly, he's a product of the Depression, a boy who hated school and, one suspects, became an impressionist and jokester to stay away from the classroom. He "stumbled" into radio acting after WWII, impressing with his ability to mimic voices, and moved into some TV and film roles; his friends feel that it's his "unaggressive nature" that's kept him from going further. "[H]e deprecates himself," says one friend, Tony Curtis. "He’s afraid to assert himself. He doesn’t want to offend anybody. But underneath he’s fully aware of his talent."

In fact, it is Curtis, along with Storch's wife Norma, who deserve credit for keeping Storch's career alive. Norma, who used to manage him, got his career going after it appeared dead in the water, while Curtis got Storch a part in the movie Who Was That Lady I Saw You With? (Storch had played the role on Broadway); they've appeared in three more movies since, but Curtis says it's due to talent. "Larry's a very terrific actor." 

In addition to many television appearances, Storch will return to the stage after F Troop ends, and remains popular throughout a career that runs well into the 21st Century. He was a frequent guest at the Mid Atlantic Nostalgia Convention, where I saw him the last time I was there; his autograph prices were more reasonable than anyone else's, and I'm sorry I didn't take advantage of it at the time. He died last year, at the age of 99—still wearing the corporal's hat to the end.

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

Sullivan: Ed’s guests include Jimmy Durante, opera singers Franco Corelli and Dorothy Kirsten, British singer Petula Clark, comic Myron Cohen and Britain's rocking Animals. Also on hand are contortionist Gitta Morelly, balancer José Cole, dancers Lawrence and Carroll, and Durante’s partner, singer Sonny King. Durante and King perform excerpts from their night-club act. 

Palace: Host Victor Borge introduces singer Jane Powell, choreographer-dancer Peter Gennaro, comic professor Irwin Corey, the musical Kim Sisters and Kim Brothers, and Irish trapeze artist Gala Shawn. Victor offers his routine about phonetic punctuation. 

A pair of reruns this week offer us a pair of good lineups. Victor Borge's phonetic punctuation is funny no matter how many times over how many years you see it, and Jane Powell and Peter Gennaro are great guests. On the other hand, Ed's got Jimmy Durante and Myron Cohen, both of whom are funnier (IMHO) than Irwin Corey; the great stars Franco Corelli and Dorothy Kirsten are more than a match for the Kim Sisters and kim Brothers, and the Animals can take care of the rest. This week Sullivan takes the prize.

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If you've been following along with this series of Northern California issues I've been looking at this year, you might recognize KLOC, the independent station in Modesto. Channel 19 has been missing from earlier 1960s issues, but this week it makes its debut, premiering at 7:00 p.m. on Monday, broadcasting "approximately 50 hours [weekly], seven days a week.*" Welcome aboard!

*During the day, the station would simulcast the programming from sister radio station KLOC, including cameras showing the radio station's on-air talent. Now we know where ESPN got the idea! (Yes, I know Arthur Godfrey used to simulcast his show, but this is different.

With the exception of the one month that the United Network was in existence, KLOC remains an independent station until 1972, when it becomes an affiliate of Univision. As KUVS, it continues to broadcast to this day.

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Sunday is probably the most interesting night of this television week, one filled (as you might expect) with repeats. We begin at Tanglewood, located in Lennox, Massachusetts, the long-time summer home of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. (My wife used to be a regular visitor there each summer until I rescued her from the wilds of Maine.) On Sunday, NBC spends "An Afternoon at Tanglewood" (2:30 p.m. PT). a live concert with the BSO and conductor Erich Leinsdorf, featuring solo performances by 20-year-old pianist Misha Dichter and 19-year-old violinist Masuko Ushioda, both of whom go on to distinguished careers. During the intermission, host Edwin Newman interviews Leinsdorf and the two soloists. As I've mentioned many times before, this is the kind of thing networks used to show before Sundays became dominated by sports. 

If sports is your thing, though, there's the final round of the Thunderbird Classic golf tournament, from Clifton, New Jersey. (2:00 p.m., ABC) It's an important tournament; previous winners include major champions Jack Nicklaus, Arnold Plamer, Gene Littler, and Billy Casper. However, it's rookie Bob Murphy who comes out on top, firing a final-round 68 to win by three shots and take home the first price money of $30,000.

Ah, but what if your interest lies with unsold pilots? Don't worry; we've got you covered as well, with the debut of Preview Tonight (8:00 p.m., ABC), a five-week series of such shows. First up is Pursue and Destroy, a WWII drama starring Van Williams as the commander of a submarine in the days following the attack on Pearl Harbor. It has a very good supporting cast, including Dame Edith Evans, Jessica Walter, and Henry Wilcoxon; I wonder why it didn't get picked up? You can check it out here and see what you think. And Van Williams makes out just fine; instead of fighting the Japanese, he'll battle criminals as The Green Hornet.

Speaking of fighting crime, we can't really leave Sunday without mentioning "The Case of the Twice-Told Twist," tonight's episode of Perry Mason (9:00 p.m., CBS). It's the only color episode of the show's nine-season run, and had the show returned for a tenth season this is how it would have looked. I think I prefer it in black-and-white.

On Monday night, NET presents GI Joe (8:30 p.m.), a documentary following high-school senior Michael J. Frame, who's just been drafted into the Army. The cameras take us through his last days at school, a farewell date, and his swearing-in at an Army induction center. I always wonder, whenever I see a program from this era that features a serviceman, what winds up happening to him. Did he make it through basic training, and was he shipped off to Vietnam? I didn't find his name listed among those on the Wall, so that's encouraging; a quick Google doesn't turn up anything connecting anyone by this name to this documentary, which you might have expected in an obituary, and that's also encouraging. A "Michael J. Frame" does show up in another obituary, as the son-in-law of a woman who'd recently passed, so that's a possibility; if he was drafted in 1966, he was probably born around 1948, so he might still be alive. If anyone has more information, please let me know.

Tuesday afternoon features a rare daytime network special, The World of Fashion and Beauty: Italy (1:00 p.m., ABC), a fashion show highlighting the collections of Italy's top designers, with commentary by designer Lore Caulfield. I suppose it's on in the afternoon because, you know, women are the ones watching daytime TV, and that's what they'd be interested in, not "intellectually demanding shows." In the evening, NBC takes us to a different world, to The Angry Voices of Watts (7:30 p.m.), as author Budd Schulberg introduces us to a Watts writers' workshop, where the residents give voice to what it's like living in the infamous ghetto.

I don't know how many of you are familiar with Blue Light, a one-season (17 episodes) WWII espionage drama starring Robert Goulet as David March, an American journalist who's supposedly defected to the Nazis but is actually a double-agent for the U.S. This week's rerun (Wednesday, 8:30 p.m., ABC) presents one of those infinite-regression situations, as the Nazis ask March to pose as an American spy to get the goods on a Nazi admiral suspected of being involved in a plot against Hitler. In other words, he's an American spy posing as a German spy posing as an American spy, investigating a German who may be working for the good guys. This is either brilliant or totally confusing, and perhaps both.

On Thursday, NET's cultural program U.S.A. presents "Art as Religion" (10:00 p.m.), with author Tom Wolfe offering a commentary on U.S. culture. Wolfe's most recent book is The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, and throughout his career he'll be known for casting a sharp, jaundiced eye toward what he saw as pretentiousness in politics, art, architecture, and celebrity. Wolfe has always been a favorite of mine; his opinions are always well worth listening to.

The longer I'm at this gig, the more I realize how little I really know. On Friday, KLOC finishes a week-long (well, four days*, since they debuted on Monday) debut of country-western variety shows in the 6:30 p.m. timeslot: Ernest Tubb on Tuesday, Bill Anderson on Wednesday, Billy Grammer on Thursday, and, today, Midwestern Hayride. Now, I remember seeing Bill Anderson's show back in the days of the World's Worst Town™, but I had no idea it stretched all the way back to the 1960s, and I didn't know anything about these other shows, either. I guess they didn't air in Minneapolis.

*The following Monday saw the premiere of The Porter Wagoner Show, which began in 1960 and aired until 1981, a total of 686 episodes. Those of you of the male persuasion may recall that Dolly Parton was a regular on this show in later years.

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MST3K alert: The Sword and the Dragon (Russian; 1960) A legendary Russian hero sets out to rescue his wife. Boris Andreyev, Andrei Abrikosov. (Sunday, 5:00 p.m., KGO) This issue has plenty of MST3K wannabees (Queen of Outer Space, with Zsa Zsa Gabor and Eric Fleming), but we'll stick with the real thing. The movie itself is nothing to write home about, but the interstitials include what is probably the greatest-ever Ingmar Bergman joke. Granted, that may not be a huge category, but even so, it's a classic. TV  

Around the dial

I remember someone once saying, "Never tell people you don't think, or people will think you don't." (It was probably on some TV show.) Words to live by, even though I'm sure if you did a search of this website, you'd find that I use the phrase "I don't think" frequently. But do I say it too often? I don't think so.

Anyway, on with the show. At bare-bones e-zine, Jack continues the Hitchcock Project look at the work of Leigh Brackett with the episode "Terror at Northfield," based on an Ellery Queen short story, starring Dick York, Jacqueline Scott, and R.G. Armstrong. It is, Jack says, "a poor adaptation of a good story," which is why you need to read what he has to say to find out what it could have been.

As you'll recall, over at Cult TV Blog John has been pairing complimentary episodes of The Prisoner that would play well together edited into a film. This time it's the episodes "Many Happy Returns" and "A, B and C," and you owe it to yourself to read further and see how well this idea works.

Martin Grams takes a look at the late 1950s NBC series Harbormaster, starring Barry Sullivan—or is it the ABC series Adventure at Scott Island, starring Barry Sullivan? Well, as they would say on the classic SNL, it's both a floor wax and a dessert toping! The series started out as Harbormaster in 1957 on NBC, then changed networks and titles in January 1958. Only lasted one season, regardless.

Quinn Redeker, one of those actors you recognize even if you don't know his name, died near the end of last year, aged 86. It seemed as if he was on every television show, but he's probably best known for his roles in the soaps Days of Our Lives and The Young and the Restless. Find out about his career from Terence at A Shroud of Thoughts.

The Broadcast Archives links to a piece at oldshowbiz that offers a pictorial look at the vintage game show Concentration; it's a nice trip down memory lane for those of us who remember, and if you go to oldshowbiz you'll be led further down a series of posts that will leave you wondering where the time went, an hour or so later. TV  

Around the dial

Today is Veterans Day, and I'd be remiss if I didn't start out with recognition for all those serving in the Armed Forces, here and elsewhere. There's no jingoism needed to thank them for their service.

Now, for this week. There are many jokes out there about associating size with quality, and I think it would be right and proper to pass on all of them now. I'll just say that even though we have a smaller set of links to share this week, the quality more than makes up for the quantity.

Earlier this week, HBO celebrated its 50th birthday. For several years, HBO was cable TV, at least as far as many people were concerned, and to this day the network has a place at the highest level of broadcasting. At The Ringer, Alison Herman looks at how it's come a long way during those years and how it keeps overcoming the obstacles.

It's been a long time since I checked out GSN, the Game Show Network. So long, in fact, that the last shows I watched there were What's My Line?, Password, and PlayMania (for obvious reasons). The Flaming Nose brings us up to date with this review of one of its most popular shows, America Says, with host John Michael Higgins.

The Broadcasting Archives links to a Washington Post story by John Kelly on the catchy music that punctuated late-night movies back in the 1950s. The best-known of these is "The Syncopated Clock" by Leroy Anderson, but there are others you'll probably recognize in this charming look back. 

John is back at Cult TV Blog with another documentary review, this time a 2015 look at Manchester's Strangeways Prison and its infamous 1990 riot. The story is interesting, the techniques used in the documentary are interesting; read all about it.

I do link to Terence at A Shroud of Thoughts for other than obituaries, but he's always on top of things, and he does them so well—the way they should be done. He has several this week that deserve your attention: Andrew Prine, Leslie Jordan, Ron Masak, and Jules Bass. Champions all.

A pretty good week at that, right? As I said, size isn't everything. TV  

This week in TV Guide: May 6, 1972

Who decides what your children watch on television? The question is much more complex than it seems, because the answer you give will raise all kinds of additional questions, each of them requiring similar answers. At the end, you may want to test yourself on how consistent your answers are.

A few weeks ago—April 1, to be exact—the TV Guide editorial expressed concern about the 25 CBS affiliates that refused to run The Damned on the February 28 CBS Late Movie. Now, a word of exposition, in case we've never discussed The Damned here. It was—still is, for that matter—a 1969 movie by Luchino Visconti, which was among the first X-rated movies ever to be shown on television. It is, according to the editorial, a "brilliant allegory of Nazi Germany," which won raves from many critics, including TV Guide's own Judith Crist, who ranked it #7 on her own l0-best list of 1969 (just behind Midnight Cowboy, which she ranked #6). It also, as one critic pointed out, included murder, incest, cross dressing, pedophilia, suicide, rape, a gay orgy and mass murder. (In other words, typical Weimar Germany.) It had already been heavily edited to get an R rating, and CBS cut another 11 minutes of "objectionable scenes" to show it in a late-night timeslot. One wag ventured that so much had been cut, it should have been called "The Darned."

But back to the editorial. "Obviously, those stations which shied away from showing [The Damned] feared offending some viewers who were aware of the film's original reputation. But the result was that those viewers who wanted to see even a bowdlerized version of the Visconti classic were denied the chance." Some of the stations, it was pointed out, had made their decision even before seeing the film.

The editorial points out that "a station's responsibility for what it puts on the air is to the entire community, including those of us who are more offended by the leering, puerile jokes of some variety and talk shows." And while stations obviously need to "exercise caution" with what they program while children may be watching, the conclusion is that "if they are watching when the CBS late-night movie is on, their parents might be better occupied putting them to bed than by writing letters to stations objecting to anything that may not meet their own personal blandness standards."

That brings us to this week's Letters section, which is dominated by discussion of the April 1 editorial. From similar controversies in the past, we know that the published pro-and-con letters more or less reflect the same proportion that the magazine receives, and in this case we're evenly split, at two supporting the editorial and two opposing.

I was going to put a picture from the movie
here, but I think I'd rather not.

The arguments can be summed up in these two representative letters: J.R. Kohlhepp of Cincinnati says, "Bravo for your excellent editorial," and notes that their local station, WCPO, was one of the 25 not carrying the movie. "We have sent the station a copy of your editorial in the naive hope of educating them to their responsibility to, as you point out, 'the entire community,' not merely special vociferous factions. Though their decision was disappointing, it was hardly surprising, since in this town, self-appointed legislators of public morality are in obnoxious abundance." 

On the other hand, Marian Cure of Albany, NY speaks against the editorial: "There should be concern for those opposed to having tasteless pornography and violence coming into their homes under the name of 'art.' Parents have every right to be concerned. TV GUIDE—and broadcasters—have no right to dictate when children should be in bed, or what they shall do in the privacy of their homes." To this letter, the editor makes the following response: "There was no pornography in what was telecast. We won't tell you when to put your kids to bed if you won't tell other viewers what they may or may not see on television."

And here we come to the key issue raised by this editorial. TV Guide's response makes sense given their constant aversion to government control of television; it's the old "if you don't want your children watching this movie, change the channel" argument. So far, so good. The answer to the question I posed at the beginning is that it is the responsibility of the parents to decide what their children should watch. Not the networks, not the community. Generally, this would be seen as a classically liberal position.

This, however, is where things start to get slippery, for if it's up to the parents to monitor their children's TV viewing, could not the same thing be said about, say, their education? That parents should monitor what their children are taught in school, and that if they don't approve, they shouldn't allow them to learn it? It's a logical argument, after all—parents should be the guardians of what their children consume, whether it's pop culture like television, or the educational material taught in schools. And in today's political climate, that's a decidedly conservative argument. 

I think that in today's world, with more and more people turning away from the traditional programming delivery methods via cord-cutting and streaming services, it's fair to say that parents who are concerned about what their children watch are taking it into their own hands. They're changing the channel or getting rid of the channel altogether. Shouldn't that logic be applied consistently? Wouldn't it follow that parents should have the same rights when it comes to education?

I'm not saying, I'm just saying. As I mentioned yesterday, I love provocative questions.

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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. 

This week, Cleveland Amory takes a rare sojourn into daytime television with a look at General Hospital, ABC's venerable soap opera. And if you're feeling kind of down about how things are going in this old world of ours, Cleve has some words of encouragement for you: until you've seen General Hospital, "you don't know what troubles are."

I don't think I've ever read an Amory review like this; it consists, quite literally, of nothing other than a pair of convoluted storylines. (Probably running at the same time.) And the best part about it (or the worst, depending, I guess, on how you look at it), is that if you think this is typical Amory embellishment, you'd be wrong. It's just a sober, but well-written, look at what happens behind the scenes in your favorite hospital. At this point we should probably be grateful that we don't have government-run healthcare; just imagine how bad things might be then.

To be honest, though, it does make things a little hard to excerpt. But in order to give you a taste of what things are like in dear old Port Charles, let's look at the story of one of its typical residents, Nurse Jessie Brewer (Emily McLaughlin), who's married to Phil but really loves former husband Dr. Peter:

[Phil] had amnesia, and even though he was married to Jessie while he had this amnesia, he didn't know he was, and started going with Nurse Diana. And the next thing you knew, Diana and Phil had a baby. Before they did, though, Dr. Peter had offered to marry Diana, to give the baby a home. So Jessie lost Dr. Peter and wound up with Phil again, who is only interested in Diana's baby. He and Jessie, you see, could never have a baby. So this baby means a terrible lot to him. It makes life just awful for Jessie. And since Phil comes over to Diana's house any old time, it's pretty bad for Diana too. One day she just can't stand it any more. "Phil," she tells him, "he's not your baby, he's not your baby, he's not your baby, he's not your baby." To recap, it's not his baby. Anyway, our guess is we're due for another kidnapping here.

(And you thought The Damned was bad.)

See what I mean? Cleve doesn't have to resort to hyperbole; just reading the storyline is a riot. I don't know how anyone could do it with a straight face. Indeed, as Amory admits at the end, "we just love this show. It's really so awful that it is, in its awful way, wonderful." And it still is—50 years later.

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The first Saturday in May means it's Kentucky Derby time, and you can see the Run for the Roses at 5:00 p.m. on CBS. Will favorite Riva Ridge fulfill his promise as last year's 2-year old champion, and break the 24-year drought between Triple Crown winners? (The answers are yes, he wins; and no, he'll fade in the Preakness, but does win the Belmont Stakes.)

Elsewhere in the sports world, ABC will be televising the fifth, sixth, and seventh games (all if necessary) in the NBA finals between the Los Angeles Lakers and New York Knicks. As it turns out, only one of these three broadcasts will be necessary; Sunday's primetime game (10:00 p.m., ABC) in which the Lakers, winners of a record 60 games during the regular season, batter the Knicks 114-100 to win their first championship since 1954, when they were still in Minneapolis. Not to be outdone, CBS carries the first game of the ABA finals on Saturday (2:00 p.m.), with the New York Nets losing to the Indiana Pacers 124-103; the Pacers will win the championship in six games, their first of three ABA titles in four years. And let's not forget the NHL; CBS carries game four of the Stanley Cup final between the New York Rangers and Boston Bruins (Sunday, 2:00 p.m.), a series won by the Bruins in six games. 

You might have noticed that New York teams played in all three of this winter's finals. They lost all three.

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One of the reasons for the emphasis on sports is that we've moved into the rerun season, and until the summer replacement series begin to air, there isn't a whole lot new to talk about. Of course, in eleven years that hasn't stopped us, and it's not about to start now.

However, we'll start with some things that actually are new: an ABC News Special on "The Masks We Wear" (Monday, 8:00 p.m.), a personality study on "the roles people play," hosted by Harry Reasoner. How do we see ourselves, and what do our clothes, gestures, and speech reveal about us? And how do others see us? I suppose today we'd think of these masks as our "avatars." 

On Thursday, Playhouse New York takes a look at "The '40s: The Great Radio Comedians" (8:30 p.m., PBS), which must be a wonderful journey back to look at the Golden Age of Radio, with clips from classic shows featuring Jack Benny and Fred Allen; Bing Crosby and Bob Hope; Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy; interviews with Benny, Crosby, and George Burns; and a segment on Fibber McGee and Molly, among other highlights. What a great 90 minutes.

Documentaries aren't all that's new; on Sunday, it's a Special London Bridge Special (9:00 p.m., NBC), with a star-studded lineup hosted by Tom Jones and Jennifer O'Neill, with Kirk Douglas, Rudolf Nureyev, and—well, you can see them for yourself listed in the ad over there on the left.

A couple of first-run movies also make the cut this week: Enter Laughing (Sunday, 7:30 p.m., CBS), Carl Reiner's 1967 film version of his 1963 Broadway hit, which Judith Crist says is "warm and funny and on occasion hilarious"; despite Reni Santori replacing Alan Arkin in the lead role, Crist assures us that there the movie "has much to compensate" for his absence.

On Friday, PBS shows Our Daily Bread (8:30 p.m.), the controversial 1934 King Vidor drama that was denounced variously as leftist by some American newspapers, and capitalist propaganda by the Soviets. It tells the story of farmers banding together to form a cooperative community in the face of the Great Depression. Crist calls it "a piece of Americana to revel in."

That's not to say that there isn't anything worth a second look this week. Chief among them is Monday's repeat of the Emmy-winning special Annie, the Women in the Life of a Man (10:00 p.m., CBS), with Anne Bancroft in a tour de force portraying the different faces a woman wears based on the roles played by the different men in her life. (I wonder if she would have benefited from watching that documentary?) Playing the men are Jack Cassidy, Lee J. Cobb, John McGiver, Dick Shawn, and David Susskind.

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Finally, since we started on such a grim note, we should end on a lighthearted one. And what could be better than Robert Meyers's story on the man they pay $1,000 an hour to listen to jokes? It's none other than Peter Marshall, host of NBC's hit game show The Hollywood Squares, and while contestants do compete, and money does change hands, "Marshall never lets the game get in the way of the jokes. His primary task is to feed the panelists the straight lines they need for their gags."

Marshall got his training as a straight man as part of the comedy team Noonan and Marshall, with comedian Tommy Noonan. Marshall explains his role as "the one who's got to pace the act, set up the rhythms, know when to cut and move—but also when not to get in the way." It's a phrase you hear from others as well; "He goes along with our gags," Vincent Price says. "He feeds us openings but never gets in the way." 

There's no question that, despite the lineup of stars in the squares, Marshall is the glue holding the show together. "You won't find the same sense of family we have here," Suzanne Pleshette says. "Peter creates the atmosphere. Wally Cox says that, even with all the one-liners flying around, "Peter remains an oasis of peace." And Charley Weaver adds, "If we get too wild, he scolds us. He has great regard for the show." 

 

As for those one-liners:

Peter: "What makes water 'hard'?"

Charley Weaver: "Winter."

Peter: "Is it true that a new millionaire is made every half hour?"

Rose Marie: "Not by me."

Marshall doesn't mind being the straight man, though; as Meyers says, to make a quarter of a million dollars each year, you don't need to be a genius, a saint, or be the world's greatest actor. All you need is "a strong voice, a pretty face, a professional bearing, the ability to handle temperamental guests, and the willingness (at those prices, who wouldn't be willing?) to let other people tell you jokes." Or as Peter Marshall says, "It cracks me up to see actors who think they're important. Just stay off the air for two years and see what happens. I couldn't care less if I get remembered."

Or, as they might have put it on the show:

Peter: "True or false: having a good memory is a sign of a well-adjusted personality.

Karen Valentine: "What was the question?"  TV