This week in TV Guide: November 18, 1967

Thanks to a typographical error, you almost wound up with another issue this week, which would have been disastrous. Fortunately, however, disaster was averted, which means we're on to another great Thanksgiving issue! Thanksgiving in 1967 was, as it is this year, on November 23, which means this should be a great lead-in to one of the best days of the year. 

Not everyone shares my opinion on Thanksgiving. For some, such a family get-together is a source of dread greater than a turkey watching the farmer sharpening his ax . If you live in such a family, you have my sympathies—you indeed have less to be thankful for than some of us. But if you're looking for a solution to such problems, perhaps you just need to read what Stanley Frank has to say, because he can show you how television makes your Thanksgiving Day better than ever.

The TV Guide writer knows what such family gatherings can be like; the motley collection of relatives, the "opinionated loudmouth determined to impress one and all with his garbled misinformation, the in-laws and the "incessant yakking and bragging of birdbrains on her side of the family who make more money than I do," and the like. The secret, Frank has discovered, is to "create a community of interest that will keep them from each others' throats." And the way that you do that is by turning on the television.

"The incontrovertible truth," he says, "is that TV is the greatest boon to family harmony since the introduction of the second bathroom, and a vigorous defense of this marvelous force for domestic tranquility is long overdue. I mean the rapport TV has brought to family gatherings, especially during the holiday season that is rapidly approaching like a thundercloud." Frank even took the precaution of renting a portable color set to augment his regular black-and-white set. By making sure there's television for everyone, "it unites them in criticism of the show they’re watching. Their hostility is diverted from the host to the performers on the screen." 

Now, if that isn't a recommendation, I don't know what one is. 

True, there are some dangers involved in using TV as such a buffer. "The networks competing for the home audience are loading holiday schedules with so many morning attractions that people come early and turn a dinner invitation into an all-day chomping and guzzling marathon." Last year's specials began at 10:00 a.m. with the dual parade telecasts on NBC and CBS, which, in the Frank household, meant "coffee, Danish, eggs and booze, in reverse order of preference." Then came the football, beginning at 11:00 a.m. with the Detroit Lions and their annual clash. They say the early start is meant to give fans a chance to get home in time for Thanksgiving dinner, but in reality, it's "designed to give freeloaders an early start on heartburn." On balance, however, "the emotional wear and tear saved by TV more than compensates for the extra cost." For instance, the youngsters were drawn to Treasure Island on the second set, which started at 1:30; they were so enthralled "they refused to come to the table." That was a plus.

Further benefits came at 3:00 p.m, with two games on the air, a pro game on NBC and a college tilt on ABC. "It is unclear how the myth originated, but it is an enduring fallacy of American folklore that after overeating at family dinners everyone is in a torpor broken only by gentle burping." The truth is that before television, after-dinner conversation consisted of  "a relentless torrent of such pompous nonsense that even the nitwits could not let it pass unchallenged. One word led to another and the situation deteriorated into a free-for-all of abusive name-calling." But with two games on simultaneously, "guests were so confused shuttling between the two sets to catch both games that they forgot to repay old favors with contempt." 

And now, for dessert, so to speak: the men voted to continue with the Dallas-Cleveland game at 6:00 p.m. In the past, "wives, tired of yelling at their rotten kids and resentful of the fun the men were having, always turned on their husbands and demanded to go home while they, the husbands, were in condition to drive." But the second TV enabled them to tune in to Divorce Italian Style, with Marcello Mastroianni. "The ladies blissfully watched Mastroianni and the gents happily watched Danny Villanueva kick four field goals to win the game for Dallas." That was followed by the CBS Thursday Night Movie, which happened to be Jason and the Argonauts, "a gem of a horror that cleared the joint with occasional groans and retching noises from me. As I said, TV is a wonderful instrument for serenity."

So the moral of the story is that if you're dreading this year's family gathering, try television. It may seem counterintuitive to those who've grown up hearing how TV turns us all into couch potatoes, but trust Stanley Frank: "The family that watches television together stays together." Especially at Thanksgiving.

And by the way, if you're wondering what's TV has to offer on Thanksgiving Day, 1967, tune in on Monday; as I've done in the past, Monday's listings will be from Thanksgiving, and I'll have all the details on parades, football, and more! But even without it, there's a lot to watch this week, as you'll soon find out.

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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. 

A few years ago, Cleveland Amory described Raymond Burr's performance as Perry Mason as "too businessmanish." The great man is now ready for two large helpings of crow, for Burr's performance in NBC's Ironside is, in a word, "magnificent." "Playing San Francisco police detective Robert Ironside, a man confined to a wheel chair, he is, in character range, far from confined, and with the same ease with which he manipulates his chair he moves from fury to fun and from cynical curmudgeon to philosophical elder statesman." 

But don't think that the producers have left Burr to do all the heavy lifting himself; they've surrounded him with a strong supporting cast: Don Galloway as Detective Sergeant Ed Brown and Barbara Anderson as policewoman Eve Whitfield; both of them seem to be impossibly good-looking, but you soon discover that they're both very good at their jobs, and "as taut and exciting as the boss." And you might think that Don Mitchell, as Ironside's aide Mark Sanger, is "in the show merely for the sake of being," but you'll quickly find that "his performance is both different and convincing." All in all, Cleve writes, credit show creator Collier Young for "bringing exciting originality to a tired field."

So far the episodes have generally been excellent, with top-notch guest stars. One such show, featuring John Saxon and Don Stroud as a pair of escaped killers, culminated in "as exciting a scene as we've seen this year." Ironside is rarely mentioned in the pantheon of classic programs from the 1960s and 70s, yet it has a legacy that continues to this day; it was spoofed and parodied by the shows of its time (always affectionately), and Quentin Tarantino used a sample from the Ironside theme in the Kill Bill movies. You might recall a while back I featured several guest pieces on Ironside from Stephen Taylor, and his reviews were often as positive as Amory's. For me, Raymond Burr will always be Perry Mason, but I imagine that for others, he's remembered first as Robert Ironside. Either way, it's a testament to the man, his supporting cast, and those behind the scenes, that he's remembered for not one but two long-running successes.

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On the topic of football, I'll admit to being puzzled by this description of Saturday's game between UCLA and USC (1:30 p.m., ABC). According to the listings, the teams may be playing for "the highest stakes ever in a college game." Now, it's true that this is a very big game; UCLA is undefeated and ranked #1 in the country, while once-beaten USC is ranked #4; the winner of the game will go to the Rose Bowl; and the teams' best players (quarterback Gary Beban of UCLA and running back O.J. Simpson of USC) are the two favorites to win the Heisman Trophy as player of the year. There's also the unofficial championship of Los Angeles on the line.

And yet: "the highest stakes ever"? You'll pardon the confusion, but it was almost one year ago to the day (November 19) that Notre Dame played Michigan State in what was being called the "Game of the Century." Notre Dame was undefeated and ranked #1, while Michigan State was undefeated and ranked #2. And while it's true that neither team could go to a bowl game (Michigan State was ineligible, having gone to the Rose Bowl the previous season, while Notre Dame didn't play in bowls at the time), the stakes were much higher: the national championship, which would undoubtedly go to the winner of the game. The number of press credentials issued for the game was higher than for any game ever played at the time (and would go on to include the first few Super Bowls), and an unprecedented demand to watch the game led ABC to tape-delay it to any part of the country that didn't get to see it live. (It also had the largest audience ever to see a college football game on TV.) As I wrote about here, the game changed college football forever, and as big a game as USC-UCLA was, I can't countenance putting it in quite the same category.*

*For the record, Notre Dame and Michigan State tied 10-10, giving Notre Dame the national championship. In a game that was nearly as close, USC defeated UCLA 21-20, on the strength of a missed extra-point.

The highest stakes ever? Granted, it's true that memories are short; there would be another, and better-remembered, Game of the Century played in 1971 between Nebraska and Oklahoma, but I'd have thought the memory would have lasted at least a year.

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There's more to Saturday than football, though. There are, for example, two absolutely powerhouse movies on in the late night slot. At 10:30 p.m. on KGO, it's the unforgettable Hitchcock shocker Psycho, with Anthony Perkins and Janet Leigh. An hour later, on KPIX, it's "the most powerful film yet on TV," The Pawnbroker, starring Rod Steiger. To have two great movies like these on local television—well, that's what TV used to be like. And to have them on at nearly the same time is what VCRs were made for. But there's more! Earlier in the evening, KOVR is showing The Magnificent Seven (6:30 p.m.), with a magnificent cast headed by Yul Brynner, Steve McQueen, and Eli Wallach. What a night for classic movie lovers—and you didn't even need TCM to achieve it. 

On Sunday, Debbie Reynolds features in her first special, "And Debbie Makes Six!" (8:00 p.m., ABC), with five fabulous guest stars: Bob Hope (confirming my suspicion that Hope appears in every variety special that's ever appeared on television), Jim Nabors, Bobby Darin, Frank Gorshin, and Donald O'Connor (who co-starred with Debbie in Singin' in the Rain). That's a pretty good lineup, even if it does pre-empt The FBI. And we can't forget Ed Sullivan this week (8:00 p.m., CBS); his guests are Eddie Albert; George Hamilton who does a song-and-dance number; Diana Ross and the Supremes; and the Temptations; Flip Wilson; George Carlin; Apache dancers Evon and Astor; and the Muppets. On film: Rex Harrison in a scene from Dr. Doolittle.

Monday, Pernell Roberts reminds us of just how successful his departure from Bonanza was with a guest-starring role on Gunsmoke (7:30 p.m., CBS). Yup, trading one big-time Western for another; I'm not so sure just how good an idea that was. Elsewhere, Sammy Davis Jr. pulls double-duty, first on Danny Thomas's dramatic anthology series (9:00 p.m., NBC), where he plays a World War II soldier wondering if the fellow GI who befriended him (Henry Silva) is really a German spy; then as a guest on The Joey Bishop Show (11:30 p.m., ABC). If you want to catch him on the latter, though, you're going to have to pass up yet another outstanding late-night movie—The Maltese Falcon (11:30 p.m., KPIX in San Francisco), with Humphrey Bogart as private detective Sam Spade, and Mary Astor as the woman he won't play the sap for.

On Tuesday, NBC airs a made-for-TV flick, The Outsider (9:00 p.m.), a pilot for next season's series of the same name, starring Darren McGavin as an ex-con-turned-private detective. Although it was well-regarded by many critics, who welcomed the departure from the smooth, well-dressed jazz detectives we'd become accustomed to, it will run for 26 episodes before departing these mortal coils. And a couple of specials at 10:00 p.m. vie for your attention: on CBS, it's "Gauguin in Tahiti: The Search for Paradise," a documentary recounting the painter's time in Tahiti, narrated by Charles Kuralt, with Sir Michael Redgrave as the voice of Gauguin. Meanwhile, ABC pre-empts The Hollywood Palace (and whose stupid idea was it to move the show from Saturday to Tuesday?) for One-Night Stands, a look at the lives of performers who make their livings touring from city to city. Featured performers include Johnny Rivers, Woody Herman and his Swinging Herd, and the 5th Dimension; Bing Crosby, who knows a thing or two about life on the road, is the narrator.

Wednesday is the fourth anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy, a fact that is commemorated by a Kennedy documentary (9:00 p.m., KTVU in Oakland) narrated by Cliff Robertson, with added insights by Jim Bishop, author of The Day Kennedy Was Shot. On a lighter note, the King Family celebrates Thanksgiving with the first of five holiday programs (7:30 p.m., KXTV in Sacramento). And the Kraft Music Hall goes Country this week, with Dinah Shore hosting "The Nashville Sound" (9:00 p.m., NBC), aided by Ray Charles, Eddy Arnold, Johnny Mercer, the Everly Brothers, and the Stoney Mountain Cloggers.

In Thursday's non-Thanksgiving programming, Cliff Robertson returns, this time as John F. Kennedy, in a rerun of PT 109 (9:00 p.m., CBS), the story of JFK's time as a World War II PT-boat skipper. Judith Crist calls the movie "a kind of comic-book-version-of-history-for-slow-readers," and mentions that when the movie was originally broadcast, she'd described it as "an adventure movie that would appeal to 10-year-old boys of all ages," only to receive objections from 10-year-old boys who thought the age limit should be lower. This movie was released in theaters during Kennedy's lifetime, so don't expect any exploration of the actual circumstances surrounding the sinking of Kennedy's boat. And on Batman (7:30 p.m., ABC), Rudy Vallee and Glynis Johns star as Lord Ffogg and Lady Penelope Peasoup in the first part of a mediocre three-part story that somehow contrives to put Batman, Robin, and Batgirl in "Londinium."  

On Friday, it's ABC's annual day-after-Thanksgiving Cartoon Festival, running between 9:30 a.m. and 2:00 p.m. It's one of the things that I miss most about Thanksgiving week, even though I might not have watched any of these cartoons; there was something special about seeing Saturday morning cartoons on Friday that reminded you that this was a bonus day, an extra Saturday if you will, on top of everything that happened yesterday. Of course, one reason why it's not done today is because the networks don't show cartoons on Saturday morning anymore. As a matter of fact, I don't think they show anything on Saturday morning anymore; they leave it to the local stations and their lame E/I programs. Ah, another golden memory gone; I guess college football serves the same function today. In primetime, NBC pre-empts Star Trek (note to programming: in the future, don't pre-empt the program on the cover of this week's issue) for a repeat broadcast of Singer Presents Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass (8:30 p.m.), which the ads promote as "the most popular hour special in TV history!" Now, whether they can actually prove that statement or not is, I suppose, questionable, but there's no question that Alpert & Co. were as popular as any group around back in the late 1960s. It's also a great time to be selling sewing machines.

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As you probably know by now, we at It's About TV! are dedicated to examining classic television through the microscope of American culture, and nothing could be more American, though lacking in culture, than the Hippie. So we'd be remiss if we passed up Robert Higgins' examination of what Hippies think of television, the ultimate instrument of the establishment? And, perhaps surprisingly,  "the tuned-out generation is as tuned in to TV as Ernest Establishment and Company." This insight comes to us courtesy of "combing through a horde of hippie pads," and interviewing representative members "ranging from spokesmen such as poet-writer-musician Ed Sanders of The Fugs, a singing group, to hippie rank-and-filers like Richie (he’s dropped his last name), a former Ashbury-based Digger." Their verdict: "the boob tube was the grove tube." 

The psychedelic artist Peter Max, for instance, sees television as "almost spiritual," while Ed Sanders calls it "hypnotic," and adds that "It’s part of life—like toothpaste and cancer." His bandmate, Ken Weaver, watches TV "all the time." "I watch movies all night, and at 6 a.m. I start the day with Modern Farmer. That’s groovy—all about cattle diseases." (Funny, I never thought about Modern Farmer that way when I was living in the World's Worst Town™.) And Village Voice staffer Don McNeill thinks TV is a "fantastic medium. You can find out where America’s really at by watching TV." Which is what I've been saying here for years.

Hippies don't pay much attention to the fact that they're often portrayed on television in a negative light. And, oddly, they aren't offended by the materialism implicit in the commercial medium; "[t]hey often dig the commercials more than the programs." Richie says it's because they're on to the "hucksters' hoaxy ways," but Weaver has perhaps a more practical explanation: "When you’re stoned you don’t get so mad at them. Even the soap -commercials. You figure, what the hell; soap’s to wash dirty clothes, man. They can’t make that romantic." They're not always stoned while they're watching, though. "One of the grooviest ways to watch TV," Sanders says, “is to turn on a series like Gunsmoke, turn the sound off and put on a Beatles or, better still, a Fugs record." Hippies also don't seem to mind the violence that infests so much of television. "If people want it," says Sanders, "I say slap it to them. I'm democratic." Adds McNeill, "Hippies aren't particularly anti-violence. Most aren't put off by it." 

Even though Hippies are masters of the put-on, they seem to be sincere in their admiration of television. "Young Hippies aren’t going to put down TV," Sanders tells Higgins. "It’s like going to church for them, They’re products of the middle class. Their parents have made sure they can plug back in whenever they want to. They can plug back into the Long Island railroad, the commuter card or TV. Those who haven’t already plugged back in will do so eventually. They'll go back to Jersey and marry the dentist. The only difference is that they’ll turn the dentist on to grass."

As for the influence that Hippies will have on the future of TV, Sanders thinks it will be substantial. "TV is one generation behind. Today's kids will have a lot of power—and they're not going to be buying a lot of what's on TV." Did that come to pass; is that reflected in the television of the 1970s and 1980s? If you see the evolution of television as a linear progression, that would explain a lot.

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MST3K alert: Dressed to Kill (1946) When banknote plates are stolen from the Bank of England, Sherlock Holmes is called onto the scene. Basil Rathbone, Nigel Bruce, Edmond Breon. (Sunday, 11:15 p.m., KRON in San Francisco) OK, I'm cheating a bit this week; this is actually part of Rifftrax, the spinoff from Mystery Science Theater, featuring two of the stars from MST3K, Bridget Nelson and Mary Jo Pehl. And we don't usually get to see movies that are, well, not bad. But there's still a lot of humor to be mined from the Rathbone-Bruce movies, and don't forget the biscuits! TV  

Over the Transom: Wishing upon the stars

by Stephen Taylor

Watched a couple of Ironside episodes the other night; one was routine but entertaining for another reason, and one was sterling in every way. Both episodes are from the end of the Seventh Season.

My evening led off with "Come Eleven, Come Twelve." It’s s a routine little thriller; Ed has to bring home from Chicago a prisoner (Andy Robinson) who’s going to testify in a high-profile

murder trial. Obstacles arise immediately; his gangland buddies don’t want him to testify and are trying to shut him up permanently. Through a bizarre series of events, Ed and his prisoner become trapped in an abandoned bar way out in the mountains. Pretty routine, but fun for another reason.

I have this little game I play. In any movie or TV show I watch I look for the Star Trek connection. Star Trek was a prime locus of my television watching in the Seventies, and I enjoy seeing Star Trek veterans in other productions. The Star Trek connection may be in any iteration of the franchise, from the early days when Spock still smiled, to the execrable reboots with Chris Pine. It’s a lot of fun. Westerns are usually pretty easy; if John Hoyt wasn’t in a Fifties western, then Karen Steele or Paul Fix was. My personal all-time best catch was a bit player in a Randolph Scott movie from 1943 (Barfly / Man eating with Edith Keeler) I thought Leave It to Beaver was going to be a tough slog, but Tony Dow directed a Deep Space Nine episode in 1999. Ironside hasn’t been any sort of challenge, due to Barbara Anderson and producer Cy Chermak (story for a Next Generation episode in 1993.) Sometimes I strike out but most times I’d find someone. It can be an actor or someone involved in production. Like I said, a little game.

Whoa. "Come Eleven, Come Twelve" had Andy Robinson as Ed’s prisoner, Michael Strong and Paul Comi as mobsters, Ken Lynch, Bill Zuckert, Paul Kent, Cy Chermak (producer), David Huddleston, and Shelley Manne (musician). Seven actors and two production personnel. Like I said, lots of fun. This episode was just loaded with Star Trek talent.

The second episode was "Riddle at 24,000 Feet"; it’s about the pilot of a small airplane who has a heart attack in mid-flight, leaving his wife to land the plane. A small-town doctor crawls up into the plane to start the post-mortem, and immediately becomes suspicious. We’re already off to a good start, but it gets even better when the small-town doctor opens his mouth and starts to speak and Ay-yi-yi-yi-yi it’s Desi Arnaz. What a treat!

It’s simply impossible to overstate just how much impact Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball had on television, past and present. Both were very shrewd business people, with both having that perfect combination of foresight and the ability to solve problems. Arnaz decided that I Love Lucy needed to be filmed, and in doing so solved the time-zone kinescope problem and at the same time inventing the concept of re-runs. And in a masterstroke of genius, he talked CBS into allowing him to retain the rights to I Love Lucy, and in doing so invented the concept of syndication of television shows. (Fredrick Ziv could be said to have originated the concept of syndication before Arnaz, but Ziv was syndicating original product, while Arnaz and Ball were syndicating already-shown product created for a TV network.) American television looks like it does today in large part due to Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball.

And here he was on Ironside. His Cuban accent was just as thick as ever, but he had the same charisma that has charmed TV viewers for 70+ years. People just liked seeing him and allowing him into their living rooms. Here he was older, but still vigorous.

And he was excellent. He’s a small-town doctor in a solo practice, and his old friend Chief Ironside is coming to visit. All good so far, until the small plane makes that unscheduled landing. And Dr Domingo immediately smells a rat. And after Domingo ‘splains things to Ironside, the Chief becomes interested as well. They decide it’s murder. And there are a number of suspects; the dopehead son (Michael Richardson), his business partner (Ralph Meeker) as well as the business partner’s wife (Dolores Dorn). There’s a local cop who tries to supervise (L.Q. Jones)* but allows the Chief to take over the case after observing that the Chief seems competent.

*I see by the papers that L.Q. Jones died back in July of natural causes. He was everywhere, but is probably best known for the five movies, all Westerns, that he did with Sam Peckinpah. My favorite? Ride The High Country, with Joel McCrea, Randolph Scott and a very young Mariette Hartley. He’ll be missed. He was 94.

The car dealer/business partner is very nasty; Ralph Meeker runs away with the part. He doesn’t much care for Domingo; he has no use for "wetbacks." He didn’t care for his business partner, either. Meeker, who’s put on weight since the first time he was on Ironside way back in Season Two, is really good; he has no redeeming qualities and doesn’t care who knows it.

It’s odd, but the whole thing felt like a backdoor pilot. Dr Domingo is a very strong character who could have carried a television series, and the episode went to great pains to show us the very close relationship he has with his nurse Big Sue (Linda Foster); there’s even a cute sub-plot involving a teenage boy with a sick duck. It had an interesting feel to it. Having said that, the writing, acting and directing were all outstanding. Not the best episode of the series, but in the top ten for certain.

No spoilers here, but the murder involved a thermos and an oxygen tank. Dr Domingo walks us through the entire murder, from how it was committed to what the suspect did wrong, and ties up the case very neatly, doing everything except enjoying a glass of port with the post-confession suspect. Lieutenant Columbo would have approved. TV  

Over the Transom: Roman Carnival

by Stephen Taylor

Watched a pretty good Ironside tonight; it was also very funny. How, you might ask, could Ironside be funny? It’s funny when Nurse Skinner (Ruth Roman) is running a blackmail/murder scheme out of a nursing home. 

The episode is called "Gentle Oaks." Ironside receives a tip that strange things are taking place at Gentle Oaks, and goes undercover to find out more. Good supporting work from John Carradine and Lynn Hamilton, along with character actor Jon Lormer. (Only a Star Trek fan would know his name, but everyone else knows his face; even my wife spotted him as "that guy on the planet with Susan Oliver.") 

But this episode belongs to Ruth Roman. We open with Nurse Skinner dancing in front of a mirror, modeling furs and wondering "where did all the pretty years go?" before declaiming that she’ll be returning to Hollywood real soon now, and opening another can of beer. She’s got other problems, however. Why, just yesterday she had to have the suspicious young doctor murdered, and Gentle Oaks is for sale, and if she’s going to make another score by killing someone’s elderly parent, she’ll need to act fast. The one remaining doctor (Harry Townes) is a drunk, but when sober he’s started having regrets. She needs another victim, and fast. How about the cripple in the wheelchair?

Roman explodes across the screen; I suspect the screenwriter had Joan Crawford in mind as the nurse, but Ruth Roman took the part and made it hers. She’s calculating and cold at the same time, but also way over the top. it’s as if someone told the rest of the cast to dial back the acting, but for her to take it to 11. After pushing over Ironside’s wheelchair, she opens up. "Listen, buster. You’re nothing but a crippled old man that no one cares about; your children are waiting for you to die. Your time here will be what you make of it. So get with the program..." One cheesy howler follows another. When the children of a potential patient plead poverty, "Dad’s stocks aren’t doing so well," she suggests that "perhaps your father needs a better stockbroker." Upon meeting a student priest, "Don’t take any wooden crosses." She talks to herself; "...How do I sleep? With all those faces and voices?" She slings whiskey glasses with abandon. She lights a cigarette during a monologue, then exhales smoke like a dragon while facing the camera. Ruth Roman was one of those actresses who had more than one speed, and she has it turned way up tonight; her tachometer is in the red zone. The part is written as evil, but she adds some camp to it and makes it work. She’s quite good.

I’ve watched about eight episodes of Season Five so far, and here are some thoughts. First, Elizabeth Baur continues to underwhelm. She has no gravitas. Her voice is high and tentative; she doesn’t project the same refinement as Barbara Anderson, and, frankly, she’s just not as pretty. Yes, I know. You male chauvinist pig. Yada yada yada. But television and the movies have always looked for sex appeal in casting choices, and they still do today. Ironside was no exception. Barbara Anderson was a clotheshorse, had a pretty face and a great figure. Elizabeth Baur not so much. Tonight they had her in boots, and boots always look great on a nice set of legs, but her legs are like matchsticks. She can’t act, and got off on the wrong foot with the audience by having a crying screaming fit in front of Ironside and the rest of the gang. Barbara Anderson never had crying screaming fits on this show; she saved her histrionics for Lenore Karidian. An interview with Baur included with this set makes the claim that Raymond Burr had a hand in her casting. I doubt it.

Second, Barbara Anderson wasn’t even mentioned during the transition. No "hope officer Whitfield does well in her new assignment in bunco" or "We’ll miss Eve now that she’s returned home to take care of her sick father" or "Only fragments were left of Eve after her car hit the side of that building." Nothing was said; it was as though she never existed. That was irritating. Ironside could have taken a lesson from M*A*S*H, which wrote the book on transitioning characters.

Third, Gene Lyons as Commissioner Dennis Randall is in almost every episode. Most times it’s only one short scene, but he had a 13 in 26 contract in the first four seasons, and now we’re seeing more of him. (This was an illusion.) He’s an interesting character; he and "Bob" go way back, and it would’ve been neat if we’d have had an episode giving us his backstory. But Gene Lyons had a problem with his elbow; he died in 1974 of a liver ailment "related to chronic alcoholism." Could be they’re filming all his bits at the same time; perhaps he’d become unreliable by this point. It was sad to watch his physical appearance deteriorate over the course of the series. Lyons really only knew how to play one character, that of an officious authority figure with a good heart, so he really nailed Commissioner Randall. (He ended up in 10 episodes of Season Five. He did 66 episodes across eight seasons, for an average of eight episodes a season, so the 13/26 thing may not have been the case. Perhaps a commenter can

offer greater clarity.)

Like every other season of Ironside, Season Five has hits and misses, with more misses than not. But there are very few TV series that cast a pearl every time the camera was turned on, and Ironside was no exception. TV  

Over the Transom: Emily Hartley visits Ironside

by Stephen Taylor

Just got done watching an episode of Ironside called "But When She Was Bad..." The episode was routine in every way but redeemed by some fine acting by Suzanne Pleshette. She’s a B-girl from Dallas up to no good in San Francisco, and she’s good in the role.

Pleshette was a stunningly beautiful woman, but she had the acting chops to go along with a pretty face. I first remember seeing her in an episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents in 1960; she was good in the role, and I suspect her work in that episode got her the role of doomed schoolteacher Annie Hayworth in The Birds. In The Bob Newhart Show she was able to show us she was also a pretty fair comedienne, but in between those two she did television. Lots and lots of television. This episode is from 1971, she was less than a year out from Emily Hartley.

In this one she plays a prostitute from Dallas named Shelly Kingman who’s come to San Francisco to kill Chief Ironside; she doesn’t want to murder him, but she’s being blackmailed. Nothing much else to say about the plot; this is all about Pleshette’s acting. Being a prostitute has made Shelly Kingman hard; she’s been hurt so many times by so many people, especially men, that an offer of friendship from Ironside and the gang makes her uneasy and conflicted.

(This part of the episode felt odd; why would a group of hardened cops want to take a out-of-town prostitute under their wing?) Shelly doesn’t want their friendship, as she’ll only get hurt.

And that Ironside. He seems able to read her mind, and to see deep inside her. She begins to like Ironside and is tormented by the thought of killing him. She’s in a lot of pain, and numbs the pain by drinking; she flees, only to end up passed out in a cheap hotel room. It’s her milieu; she’s well acquainted with cheap hotel rooms, and her bottle is always good company.

And Pleshette makes it all work. She’s absolutely believable as the B-girl who’s fallen so low that she’s trying to murder someone who’s treated her with decency and respect. Her face shows the day-in and day-out misery that Shelly Kingman endures. And while screaming at Ironside she begins to weep; her life, what there is of it, is crashing down around her. Shelly Kingman is in a world of hurt in more ways than one, and Pleshette shows us every corner of her misery. She’s a bright spot in an otherwise forgettable episode.

Dane Clark plays the bad guy; he was menacing, but not much else. Len Lesser is a hitman with not a single line. The episode did have some good music; existing cues were used in some different contexts, and worked well. Quincy Jones had by this time written a jazz version of the main theme, and part of it was played in Act One. It’s good stuff; the full version of this piece was released on his album “Smackwater Jack” that same year.

And my estimation of Fran Belding may have just gone up a bit. She immediately senses that something is wrong with Shelly, telling the others that “I don’t like her”. She couldn’t articulate why, but her judgment is borne out when the report from the Dallas police comes in. 

Routine, but still fun. TV  

Over the Transom: The fork in the road

By Stephen Taylor

While most episodes of Ironside were routine, with some even being bad, every now and again the show would cast forth a pearl. It does so tonight with an episode from the Sixth Season called “Down Two Roads.”  

Mark Sanger has been going to night school for several seasons now; he wants a law degree. And he’s made it. The episode opens with Mark graduating. Now it’s time to clerk, and then the Bar Exam; but for now, he’s got his diploma, and a buddy from school is also graduating. On the day of the graduation, however, a beloved janitor at the college is arrested; he’s stolen $6,000 from the college. Mark knows the man, and doesn’t believe it. He sets out to solve the crime, and on the way finds that he has a decision to make.

Fran Belding and Ed Brown fade into the background, as this episode is all about Mark Sanger and Chief Ironside. They’ve worked together for five years now, and they care for each other a great deal.  Ironside is to Mark the surrogate for the father he never had, while Mark stands in for the son Chief Ironside never had. Their relationship is characterized in an early scene; Mark trips into the Chief, and a bowl of chili is dropped on the floor. The Chief snaps at Mark, and Mark snaps right back. The two began to yell at each other, but the disagreement is borne of the affection the two men have one for the other. And underlying all of Ironside’s bluster is the knowledge that he’s going to lose Mark; he’ll miss him, but he’ll also needs to learn to do more for himself. And there’s a nice touch; with Mark gone the Chief will need to learn to drive the van. And he does, but only after failing his first driving test. It’s funny, and a nice contrast to the serious tone of the episode.

Ironside has arranged for Mark to interview with the District Attorney's office, and the ADA (David Spielberg) invites him to tag along for the day, to see how things are done. And Mark gets an eyeful.  The ADA interrogates the janitor, and suggests that "you’re guilty, and we both know it. Why don’t you just go ahead and plead?" Mark is horrified. He questions the ADA, who tells him that guilt or innocence isn’t really the point; what matters is the conviction rate and saving money for the taxpayers.  Mark then spends a day with a public defender (Michael Lerner); he’s clever, and understands the problems Mark has with the case against the janitor, but he makes clear to Mark that there isn’t going to be a proper investigation, as they have far more work than resources. Mark then enlists the aid of Lt Reese (Johnny Seven), who brought the original case to the ADA. Mark begs Reese to re-open the case, but "Do you know how much paper crosses my desk every day?"  Mark is enormously frustrated. He’s gotten a first-hand look at the judicial system, and it’s nothing at all as he imagined. Ironside has little sympathy, and advises Mark to "investigate the case yourself!" And he does, finding evidence that points away from the janitor and directly toward his buddy from law school.

Of the entire cast, Mark Sanger had to be the easiest to write for; his character was dynamic and had a lot of room for growth. The characters of Ed Brown, Eve Whitfield and Fran Belding would remain static; they began and ended the series as cyphers, while Chief Ironside started the show with a fully developed character. But Mark Sanger? The Chief had plucked him out of jail; he saw something in Mark and took him under his wing. And Mark has come a long way. He’s no longer the fatherless young street rat from The Fillmore; he’s learned a great deal about police work, and now he’s an attorney. (Chief Ironside paid for Mark’s college.) And in the growing he’s stubbed his toe more than once, and there’s been conflict with the Chief. Yes, he was very easy to write for.

And this episode ends with a bang. Mark finds the trail of evidence leads straight back to his friend from school (Felton Perry) and confronts him in his apartment. Ironside and Ed Brown are with him And it’s sad. There’s bluster at first, but Mark’s friend finally admits he stole the money. He’s not really sure why, but he comes to realize that he’s thrown away three years of hard work, along with a promising career in law. And the disappointment; he’s let down everyone who had faith in him. It’s all very emotional, and Felton Perry is quite good. He asks Ironside for a little help, a little consideration, but the Chief just very quietly shakes his head, "I'm afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Stewart." 

With the case closed, Mark has a decision to make. Which sort of law? And Mark has found that he doesn’t think he cares to practice law, at least not for now. What he’s learned during the investigation is that he likes the work, and would probably be a good cop. And Ironside, to no one’s surprise, has already made arrangements for Mark to enter the police academy in "two weeks and four days! Now go to bed!"

Kudos to writers Collier Young and Sy Salkowitz for one of the best episodes of the series. Highly recommended. TV  

Over the Transom: Sian Barbara Allen

by Stephen Taylor

Watched two episodes of Ironside tonight. The second one "Nightmare Trip," involved Ed Brown being thrown into the Los Angeles County jail because he wouldn’t identify himself to the two cops checking him out. What a mess. Too many unanswered questions, and a great deal of bizarre behavior on the part of Sgt. Brown and Chief Ironside. Raymond Burr directed this one, so you’d expect better, but no. A soggy, leaden mess, with the less said the better.

  

The first episode was just routine. The plot was opaque and the writing only so-so. But if you watched a lot of television in the Seventies, you’re going to see a familiar face. The episode is called "Riddle Me This," A man has been run over, and his daughter is convinced he’s been murdered. Ironside is skeptical at first; there’s no real evidence. But Fran shames the Chief into beginning an investigation, and the clues start piling up. All very routine. It’s Sian Barbara Allen, playing the daughter, who makes the episode worthwhile.

Allen was at her best playing characters who were fragile, vulnerable or damaged in some way.  She wasn’t flashy or glamorous; she looked a lot like you might think her characters looked.  She was all over television, but most active in the Seventies.  She also did some writing, including an episode of Baretta.  But her best role, in my opinion, was as a junkie in an episode of Adam-12 called "Something Worth Dying For." Officer Reed is detached to Narcotics. He’s directed to befriend her, cultivate her and then turn her into a snitch. He does this, hating himself the entire time. But it gets worse; he’s instructed to bust her for an unrelated theft. She’s really good in this one. While she’s street-tough, she’s also damaged, fragile and vulnerable. She trusts Reed, only to find out what happens when you trust someone too much. It’s excellent television, and perhaps the best episode of the entire series, and it couldn’t have happened without Sian Barbara Allen. She was one of those actors who was never going to have a series; her career was one long succession of guest starring roles, but she also added instant credibility to any role she played and stayed busy.

Her last acting credit was an episode of L.A. Law in 1990; she retired from acting at that point. She’s still with us. TV  

Over the Transom: Ironside

by Stephen Taylor

We were not an Ironside household as I grew up. I never saw a single episode of the show as a child, and grew up knowing only that it involved a cop in a wheelchair; that was the extent of both my knowledge and my interest in the show. I’m much older now, and I have time to watch old television shows, and I thought I’d give Ironside a try. I’ve always enjoyed Raymond Burr, and thought the show might be fun to watch. I’ve watched the first three seasons, and thought I’d offer a few comments.

The premise is this: Robert T. Ironside (Raymond Burr) is the Chief of Detectives for the San Francisco Police Department. He survives an attempt on his life, but suffers an injury which leaves him a paraplegic. Forced to retire, he returns to the SAPD as a consultant; he forms a special unit comprised of Detective Sergeant Ed Brown (Don Galloway), Officer Eve Whitfield (Barbara Anderson) and assistant Mark Sanger (Don Mitchell). He reports to Police Commissioner Dennis Randall (Gene Lyons). The special unit handles almost every sort of crime, from con artists to car thieves to murder to property theft to security for dignitaries and more. Sometimes they’re directed by the Commissioner to handle certain crimes, but they mostly spring into action unbidden. It’s a standard police drama centered around Burr, except that he’s in a wheelchair.

The two-hour pilot aired in March of 1967. It was pretty good; it introduced Ironside and his team to the audience, and explained how Ironside came to be in that wheelchair. There is a lengthy list of suspects, as Ironside was not popular with quite a few people. The ending was fairly suspenseful; the murderer was not who you might think it was, and the pilot made a basic attempt to show how Ironside assembled his team. Sgt Brown and Officer Whitfield he wanted because “they’re good cops!” Mark Sanger was a different story. Ironside had already sent Sanger to jail twice. Hearing that Sanger was downstairs in booking and making threats about “getting” the Chief, Ironside had Mark brought to his office, where he offered Sanger a proposition: come to work for him or go back to jail. Push the wheelchair, assist Ironside in getting around, perform odd jobs, other duties as assigned. All for the princely sum of $20 a week. Sanger accepts, but he’s an angry black man. Very angry. Angry, but not stupid, and knowing that he’s entered an important fork in his road, he accepts. His hiring set up some of the only conflict between characters the show ever had.

Raymond Burr was an excellent actor. He’d been a supporting player in movies since the Forties, and could play a variety of parts. He committed a murder in Rear Window, and starred as a psychopathic gangster in a movie called Raw Deal* in 1948. He already had a lengthy track record on television; he’d starred in Perry Mason as the titular character in the long-running series about a defense attorney. America knew Raymond Burr, and they liked him. Never a father figure, he was the gruff but avuncular uncle who always knows how to be stern with an adult but kind to a child; understanding always, but insistent on a moral code based on honesty and integrity. The part of Chief Ironside called for this character, and it fit Raymond Burr to a T; he’d been playing a variation on that character for the last 10 years. For his part, Chief Ironside had been a cop for at least twenty years. It’s mentioned that he’d been in the Navy, presumably in WW II. He’d risen through the ranks to Chief of Detectives, where he stayed until the attempted murder. Even as a consultant he’s still called “Chief” by his subordinates and others. There are exceptions; those exceptions being his aunt; who calls him Robert, and Commissioner Randall, who, along with all his old flames, and there were many old flames, calls him Bob. 

He’s gruff and something of a tyrant, yet capable of acts of astonishing kindness and generosity. He takes no guff from anyone. He demands respect and gets it; even professional criminals respect him, as they know he’s fair and will never give them a raw deal or go back on his word. He has a keen sense for when something’s not quite right, a sharp eye for detail, and a knack for interrogation. He inspires an almost slavish loyalty from his team, and sometimes abuses that loyalty; he also has a short temper and isn’t above raising his voice if something displeases him. The show was centered around Chief Ironside, and it’s fair to say that Raymond Burr carried the show. Burr, in this part being confined to a wheelchair, has to rely on his face to convey mood and emotion, and he’s gifted in doing so. He could convey anger, happiness, deep suspicion, exasperation and many other emotions with his expressions or the way he held his jaw. He’s quite good.

Sergeant Brown (Don Galloway) is a detective sergeant who landed on the team simply because Ironside approved of his work as a detective. Although portrayed as a bit of a bumbler in the early episodes, he soon demonstrates that he is fast on his feet, good with interrogation and even better at anticipating the Chief's next request/demand. He seems to have been born suspicious; his eyes squint when he smells a rat, and they squint a lot. He doesn’t seem to have any sort of personal life. And Don Galloway is woefully miscast in this part. I don’t know much about Galloway. I don’t remember seeing him either before or after Ironside. He makes no strong impression. Brown’s a detective sergeant, meaning that he’s a veteran who’s seen every side of the human condition, including a great many things civilians can only imagine. There are many ways to die, and he’s seen all of them. Yet none of it registers on his face. There are no lines or wrinkles; nothing to indicate that his experiences have changed him. He’s just an anonymous guy wearing a suit who happens to carry a badge. He has no gravitas. No bearing. He’s simply not believable. Galloway reminds me of Dick Sargent, not a detective in a large city. He’s simply too clean-cut to believably play the part. He’s not objectionable, and he does sort of grow on the viewer, but he never really makes an impression. And he’s not given a lot to do.

Only one episode, “Girl in the Night” from the first season, really centers on Brown; he meets a troubled nightclub singer (Susan St. James) and becomes attracted to her. Sparks should have flown, but they didn’t. He just isn’t believable as the sort of guy who might meet a nightclub singer and have a brief fling. Susan St. James lit up the room, but it was as though she was talking to a wall for all the good it did her. His casting was a loss to the series. It will be interesting to see if he’s given more to do in later seasons, but Brown was horribly miscast. Journeyman director Ralph Senesky directed “Girl In The Night”. On his website**, Senesky discusses the production of this episode, as well as his general opinion of Universal Television, which wasn’t favorable. He did think that “Girl In the Night” turned out well, however. 

Oh, my. I spoke too soon. I wrote the above after watching all but the last episode of the third season. After an entire season of indifferent writing and acting, would the last episode be the one to break the pattern? Yes. A very strong yes. Don Galloway, please forgive me. 

Don Galloway finally gets a chance to shine in an episode at the end of the third season; “Tom Dayton Is Loose Among Us” shows us that despite being miscast, Galloway could act, and the episode answers some questions the audience has about Sgt. Ed Brown. Bill Bixby plays a sociopath named Tom Dayton, with William Smithers being cast as defense attorney Ross Farley. Dayton tends to react violently to women in positions of authority. During one such act of violence, he causes the death of Brown’s fiancée. Finally, we get some backstory. Finally. Told in flashback, Brown, a rookie patrolman at this point, becomes obsessed with catching Dayton, and gets in the way of Ironside’s investigation into her death. Ironside isn’t happy, and he lets Brown know it, but he also senses the makings of a good cop in Ed Brown, and invites him to join the investigation. Brown comports himself well, and Ironside makes a mental note for the future. But it isn’t over. Not yet. 

Seven years later, Dayton is paroled. Brown, a Detective Sergeant by this time, is convinced that Payton will strike again. His old obsession with Payton returns; he’s angry and in danger of losing his objectivity regarding Payton; it gets to the point that Ironside has to tell Brown to stand down. And Payton does strike again. Ironside, to show his trust in Sergeant Brown, allows him to conduct the initial interrogation after Payton surrenders in the company of attorney Farley. Bill Bixby puts on an acting clinic in the entire episode but especially this scene, proving once again what a superb actor he really was; this is a juicy part and he makes the best of it. But Don Galloway, bless his heart, reaches deep within himself and finds acting talent he probably didn’t even know he had; he matches Bixby stroke for stroke during the interrogation. Sgt Brown begins by trying to build some rapport with Dayton, and he’s successful. He then pushes, pokes, prods and goads Dayton to answer, as one man to another, some questions about the most recent assault he’s committed. And as Brown continues to push, Dayton begins to lose control. Brown pushes even more, and Dayton cracks wide open. 

Defense attorney Farley can’t do anything but give himself a facepalm; he’s never seen an interrogation go off the rails like this, and it gets worse. After Brown finally goads him into losing his last vestige of self-restraint, Dayton concludes by giving a full confession; he’s proud of himself, and with rapport established, is convinced that Sgt. Brown surely understands why he assaults the women who show him disrespect. And, while conducting the interrogation, an entire range of emotion plays across Brown’s face; he’s alternately amused, understanding, angry, misbelieving and repulsed, all within the span of just a few minutes. It’s an excellent scene, with tour de force acting by Bixby forcing Galloway to up his game; he doesn’t want Bixby to show him up, and that certainly doesn’t happen here. More of this from Don Galloway, please. Give us more.

Barbara Anderson portrayed Officer Eve Whitfield. The Chief selected her at the same time he selected Sgt. Brown, because “they’re both good cops”. Barbara Anderson certainly wasn’t miscast. She could act (Lenore Karidian, call your office….) and she’s given a backstory. Eve was a young socialite with a strong sense that there might be more to life than fashion shows. The episode “Reprise” had a badly injured Whitfield recalling how she met each of her teammates. Ironside, who had an absolute gift for sensing human potential, sized her up as a potential police officer, but he had to reel her in, and the early scenes between the Chief and the civilian Whitfield were excellent. She’s a snappy dresser (Barbara Anderson was beautiful) and does a lot of undercover work on the show. 

She’s also unafraid of danger. While leaving a movie theater, she quite literally walks into the middle of a jewelry store robbery, and comports herself well in the ensuing gunfight. This was one of the best episodes of the first season; it’s called “All In a Day’s Work”, and it’s good. Eve shoots down one of the robbers, and is horrified to find that she’s just killed a teenager. She becomes afraid of her pistol, “forgetting” to put the pistol in her purse when she leaves the office and performing abysmally at the gun range. Ironside grows exasperated with her and essentially tells her to put on her big girl pants and be a cop. Which she does. The others were horrified at his attitude, but his little lecture is just what she needed. The ending is a little pat, as almost all the endings were, but this episode was a cut above the rest, due mainly to her acting and the writing by Ed McBain (Evan Hunter). I had no idea that Evan Hunter had done any writing for TV, but he did indeed, especially in his salad days in the 50’s and 60’s. You can tell it in this episode; the writing is a little sharper and the characterizations a little more vivid. And it includes one of the best scenes in the series.

Ironside is talking to the mother of the dead boy; she’s played by Jeanette Nolan, one of the best character actresses I’ve ever seen. Raymond Burr was one of those actors who could draw a better performance out of another actor simply by being in the same scene, but Nolan needed little prodding. The scene lasts about three minutes, but it’s very emotional. She doesn’t want to help Ironside find the Fagin who was running the robbery ring, and Ironside has to convince her otherwise. A lot of emotion and feelings rubbed raw here, and the final moment when Nolan relents and gives Ironside the information he needs is just excellent. It’s always a joy to watch two fine actors work together, and this is a fine example of just how well Raymond Burr could act, especially with actors who were his equal.

Don Mitchell played Mark Sanger. Mark Sanger had to be easy to write for, as Sanger was an interesting character. Mark Sanger grew up on the mean streets of the city, probably in Fillmore. It was a challenging life for a boy with no father and Mark began to drift into crime. As an adult, he’d been sent to jail multiple times by Chief Ironside, and Mark didn’t appreciate that one bit. He was angry, not just at Ironside, but at everything. He was an angry black man, and meat for multiple scripts which explored his upbringing and his relationship with Ironside. He respected Ironside, and ultimately came to care for him very much. In return, Chief Ironside was proud enough of Mark that he paid for Mark’s education, which ultimately led to his becoming a lawyer.

But in the beginning there were fireworks. In “Memory Of An Ice Cream Stick” from the first season, Mark goes to visit an adult figure from his childhood named Sam Noble; Noble has just been released from prison. Mark has pleasant childhood memories of the ex-con; Noble treated Mark decently and gave him a sort of father figure to look up to. Ironside warns him against being involved with Noble, as he suspects Noble is involved in a gangland murder. Mark declines Ironside’s request, and forcefully explains to Chief Ironside that he doesn’t need or want his advice, that he is a grown man, and that the Chief simply does not understand how Mark grew up or the role that Sam Noble played in Mark’s life. He is tired of the Chief’s advice and admonishments in general, as well as his patronizing attitude. The Chief is taken aback, and, for both the first and last time in the first three seasons, apologizes. He takes Mark’s request to heart, and Mark learns a valuable lesson about childhood memories when he finds that Noble is indeed involved in the murder, and that he’s not at all the man Mark remembers. As the series progresses Mark begins to loosen up; he works well with the other members of the team, and begins doing more and more police work. 

My overall impression of the series is that it’s a routine police procedural with some nice touches. The writing and direction was routine, and the acting routine as well. In his discussion of the two episodes he helmed for Ironside, director Ralph Senensky refers to Universal as a factory; he stated further that, and I’m paraphrasing, that simply driving through the Universal gate seemed to drain all the creativity out of him. It’s tempting to say that Ironside was routine, and to simply leave it at that. Except that that’s not really fair to Universal Television. NBC, Universal and Harbour Productions signed a contract guaranteeing NBC 26 episodes of a crime drama; each episode was to be about 52 minutes long, and each episode was budgeted at between $150,000 and $200,000 apiece, and each episode had a shooting schedule of either six or seven days. It was right to say that Universal was a factory; they really were making a product, and their customer was NBC. Consistent excellence simply wasn’t possible under these conditions. And quite a bit depended on the mix of producers, writers and directors. Some dramas, such as The Fugitive, simply had a better mix of the three and were able to turn out consistently better episodes. Ironside did not. As a result of all these factors, there were many episodes of Ironside that were simply routine at best and nearly unwatchable at worst. This was never the intent, but it’s just how it played out.

Having said all this, sometimes the factory turned out some excellent television. And the best was an episode called “Price Tag: Death”. It starred Ralph Meeker as a homeless former cop, and ◀ Clu Gulager as a petty thief who lives in the bottle. During a burglary, the thief accidentally kills a homeless man, who was a friend of the fallen cop. Meeker asks Ironside for help. Jack Brody, the thief played by Gulager, is a pathetic figure. He’s a boozer. He’s lost his wife and family. He sits and smokes and drinks all day. He writes bad checks to generate an income; he’s discovered that if you buy some groceries at a supermarket, they’ll let you write the check for some amount over the purchase amount. He dumps the groceries and lives on these small sums of cash. He’s a complete loser. He goes to see his ex-wife; she wants nothing to do with him and doesn’t want him near their children. He picks up a woman at a bar and takes her home, only to wake up the next day to find that she’s cleaned out his wallet; she even returns later in the day and steals the machine he stole during the disastrous burglary, which he uses to make the checks he cashes, meaning he no longer has an income. He wrecks his car. His pitiful little life is falling apart, and he’s almost relieved to be shot to death at the end of the episode.

What to say? Clu Gulager’s acting is outstanding. Gulager was one of those actors who was never going to carry a show, and he didn’t do character roles. He spent nearly his entire career doing Guest Star roles such as this one. He was one of those rare actors that screenwriters live for; give him some good lines and he runs away with them. His Jack Brody is vivid; the cold sweat of desperation oozes from every pore on his body. He’s trapped in this cycle of petty crime, and he doesn’t know how to escape. He’s simply a bystander who watches as his life, which wasn’t much to start with, degrades with increasing speed. Clu Gulager plays this role very, very well, and is completely believable as the alcoholic loser who isn’t even a very good thief. Kudos also to director Richard Colla and writers Collier Young and Robert Earll, who wrote the lines which Clu Gulager used so effectively to define Jack Brody. This is the best episode yet in the first three seasons, and perhaps one of the best episodes of series television I’ve ever seen.

Ironside is worth watching. It’s not great television, but it is entertaining. It doesn’t enjoy the same iconic status in our culture as other shows of the period, such as Mannix and Star Trek, but it succeeds on its own merits as simple entertainment and a pleasant way to spend an hour. This set of episodes was packaged by Shout! Factory; for whatever reason they only released the first four seasons. The second set has been released by an Australian company called Via Vision, and it’s proving difficult to find; it goes in and out of stock at all American retailers. If you enjoy vintage television from a different time and place, you’ll enjoy Ironside.

* Raw Deal is a gem. It’s one of the finest film noirs ever made. Directed by Anthony Mann, with cinematography by the legendary John Alton, it really gives Raymond Burr a chance to shine as the sadistic gangster Rick Coyle. While not the main character, Burr chews the scenery, and plays evil very convincingly; he has an epic death scene which can only be envied by other actors. ClassicFlix has re-released their restoration of Raw Deal; their restoration is pristine. This movie is an excellent introduction to the world of noir, and Raymond Burr is a huge asset to a movie which also stars Dennis O’Keefe, Marsha Hunt and Claire Trevor. John Ireland plays Fantail, Coyle's psychopathic assistant. Highly recommended. This movie is without flaw.

** Ralph Senensky has made an invaluable contribution to television history with his remarkable website “Ralph’s Cinema Trek”. Senensky, who’s still with us at 99, was a journeyman director who worked in television from the Fifties into the Eighties; he directed episodes of a great many iconic television shows, including Ironside, Mannix, The FBI, The Fugitive and many others. He’ll still be known in 100 years, after all the other shows are forgotten, for directing seven episodes of Star Trek. Senensky was a competent and respected director who could solve problems on the fly, knew how to improvise, and most importantly, he knew how to put a show in the can on time and on budget. His website is packed with his memories of nearly every episode he directed; he illustrates his stories with embedded clips from each show, as well as imagery of scripts and other documents used to illustrate his memories. His stories are priceless, as they provide a up-close look into television production of that time. My favorite article talks about how he was fired from “The Tholian Web”. Be prepared to spend hours reading the articles. He helmed two episodes of Ironside, “Girl in the Night” and “Return of the Hero”. He never liked working for Universal; he makes his reasons abundantly clear in the article detailing the productions of these two episodes He describes Raymond Burr as “aloof”; he also describes some of the troubles Burr was beginning to have with Universal. Good, good stuff. His website is at senensky.com. Give it a look-see.  TV