The New Top Ten, #3 Judd for the Defense

It seems to me to have been a few months ago when I made some kind of rash promise that I was going to update my Top Ten show list, which you see on the sidebar. As I say, it was a rash thing to do, because here we are months later, well into the new year, and if you were to check that list, you'd see that nothing had changed. It isn't that I bite off more than I can chew, or promise more than I can deliver, or at least I don't think it is. I've thought about it, which has to count for something. And I wasn't trying to deceive anyone—matter of fact, the reason I mentioned it when I did was to give me time to do something about it. 

Well, I'm finally doing just that. There are several series out there that have earned a place on the current Top Ten list, and I think it's about time to give them their due. Notice that I'm not doing them all at once; after that first paragraph, there should be no explanation necessary, and this way I get a little more mileage out of it, a few more pieces to help fill out those quiet weeks. There's also an ulterior motive, as always: the more I talk about this, the more I force myself to follow through, lest you hold me accountable and demonstrate to everyone out there that I really am the fraud you suspected me of being.

But if you choose to bring that charge against me, I can't think of anyone better to defend me than the protagonist of the first addition to the list, Clinton Judd, the high-priced, high-profile defense attorney of Judd for the Defense. I rediscovered this show a few years ago, and almost immediately realized that my memories from having seen it originally were doing a great disservice to the show. What I had remembered, back when I was eight years old, was a show with a liberal viewpoint, one sharply at odds with the law-and-order ideology I grew up with and cultivated over the next five decades. Call them do-gooders, bleeding hearts, whatever you want, but Judd was definitely not Perry Mason.

And you know what? It isn't Perry Mason, and that's a good thing. Whereas Mason's pleasure lies in its predictability through a formula that plays episode after episode with little variation, Judd gives us something that's in stark contrast: a lawyer dealing with sometimes shockingly contemporary issues, ones that aren't always cut-and-dried, black-and-white, right-and-wrong, and may not even be solvable within the 60 minutes allotted to the story—in fact, we don't always even see the verdict come in.

That's because Judd, for the Defense is not a show about whodunnit, or at least not always. It's a show about ideas, about what a variable thing the law can be when you take the time to study it, how defending the law isn't always popular, and why it's more important than ever nowadays. John Adams—the same Adams from The Adams Chronicles—wrote, in his defense of the British soldiers charged with the Boston Massacre, that "it's of more importance to community, that innocence should be protected, than it is, that guilt should be punished." It was, Adams went on to argue, a distillation of Blackstone's Ratio, that it is better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer. (Benjamin Franklin actually upped the ante; he made the ration 100 guilty and one innocent.) In other words, you don't apply the law only for the case today, but for the case tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.

At a time when individual rights are being trampled upon with increasing frequency, when the application of the law itself is being politicized beyond what we might have thought possible, and when law enforcement agencies often view citizens not as human beings to be protected, but as threats to be disarmed and persecuted, one readily comes to appreciate the importance of having someone standing in your corner, defending your rights, making sure you're not being taken advantage of by a system that can seem to care more about obtaining convictions than imparting justice. Someone once said that if the guilty occasionally seem to use the system to go free, it's so that the system can protect the innocent, the law exists not to punish the guilty, but to free the innocent, and that put things in a completely different perspective for me. Perhaps I have become more liberal over the years, at least in some ways. I suppose it's part and parcel of becoming a reactionary.

As I mentioned above, Judd is often a show about ideas, and shows like that can get preachy if you're not careful. In truth, there are moments when Judd seems to be standing on a soapbox instead of inside a courtroom, but that doesn't happen all that often, and even when it does, you're not really irritated by it, primarily because of the power with which these polemics are being delivered by Judd's star, Carl Betz. Best-known as Alex Stone, the pediatrician-husband of Donna Reed on The Donna Reed Show, Betz plays Clinton Judd with an edgy toughness; a man of integrity, committed to justice, and willing to do whatever it takes to achieve it for his client—even a client he doesn't particularly like, whose cause he doesn't especially approve of, because justice belongs to everyone, not just those who don't need it.

I also like Judd's able assistant, Ben Caldwell, played by Stephen Young; it's hard to pigeonhole him in the traditional mentor/student relationship we see so often on television (Ben Casey, Dr. Kildare, etc.) You can tell he's already a good lawyer (he gets to try a couple of cases during the series, and Judd wouldn't have him at his side if he wasn't); he's learning from Judd how to be a great lawyer. 

As I've gotten older over the years, I've begun to appreciate that not everything is as cut-and-dried as one would like it to be. This is especially the case when it comes to legal dramas. (Get it? Legal drama? Case? Never mind.) In an episode of The Defenders, another series I'm starting to reassess, Robert Reed's character, young lawyer Kenneth Preston, complains to his father, experienced attorney Lawrence, (E.G. Marshall), that sometimes the law is too unbending, to which the elder Preston replies that, as an attorney, it's Kenneth's job to figure out how to bend it when that's what's needed. 

I find myself feeling the same way, understanding that there is a dynamic that exists between law enforcement—the entire justice system, really—and the average citizen that is, right now, not a particularly healthy one. Maybe that's the way it's always been—unequal access, unequal outcomes—or maybe it's just become more pronounced over the last couple of decades; it's certainly become more political. Whatever the case, it's true that political conservatives, who have always been the greatest champions of law and order, have come to understand that the law is not always your friend, and it doesn't always work for justice. I've voiced this complaint many times over the years, particularly in the series of posts I wrote a few years ago about how America is more and more resembling a police state (You can see this one, this one, and this one for starters), so I'm not going to plow that ground again. 

My point is that the oft-heard argument that "if you're innocent, you have nothing to worry about" doesn't hold water any more. Perry Mason often tells his clients not to talk to police unless he's with them (and this was before Miranda), and I think this has only increased over the years. In such an atmosphere, lawyers like Clinton Judd, lawyers who realize what "justice" really means, become very appealing characters. There is a reason, after all, why more legal dramas tell the story of defense attorneys than they do prosecutors. It's difficult for us to envision ourselves as the murder, the rapist, the bank robber—but it's no longer impossible for us to suppose that we're innocent citizens who've found ourselves in some kind of Kafkaesque world where we're on trial for a crime we didn't commit, and nobody will listen to us. Judd, and shows like it, exist to remind us that there is one person who'll listen, and who'll fight on your behalf: your lawyer.

Provided you have the right lawyer, of course. That's something that Judd's very aware of; he's committed to taking pro bono cases on occasion for that precise purpose, but you get the idea that it does trouble him, the idea that not every defendant has the same access to receive the same benefits that his clients do, and it fuels his determination to fight on behalf of that amorphous, sometimes unbending concept of justice. It's not a matter of ideology or altruism; it always comes back to the idea that you preserve the rights of the guilty in order to protect the rights of the innocent. 

There are other things I like about Judd; the gravitas and literacy with which the issues are presented; the absence of stock characters such as Mason's Della Street, who—let's be honest here—can get a little annoying sometimes with her cutesy comments and presumptions; and the disinclination toward wrapping things up at the end with a nice little joke or feel-good moment—such scenes happen but rarely.

I've written about Judd a couple of times—here and here—and so I don't want to be guilty of repeating myself. And anyway, these Top Ten essays were never formal reviews of the shows themselves so much as they were descriptions of my personal relationships with the shows, the little things that elevate them from something I enjoy to something just a little bit more. Judd for the Defense is one of those series I get a great pleasure from; a serious show that makes one think, but also an exciting, enjoyable drama that one looks forward to each week. But it's also a noble depiction of what justice really means, and while there might be more than a dash of idealism in that presentation, well, I think that's all right, too. After all, a fella can dream, can't he? TV  

The live Top Ten

Time flies. It was ten years ago that I prepared my Top Ten list that's been residing over there on the sidebar. Most of those shows had been part of my informal top ten, the one I kept in my head, for years, and given my disinclination to watch contemporary television, there was no particular reason to think those choices would be changing any time soon. 

Recently, though, I've been thinking. (Granted, that's often cause for alarm among you readers, but it's a habit I've had trouble breaking.) Ten years is a long time, and while it’s true the classic era of television (which encompasses most of the shows on that list) is long since over, that doesn’t mean I’m done discovering classics that are new to me; indeed, thanks to the wonders of YouTube and the Internet Archive, I probably have more access to unseen shows from the 1950s through the 1970s than ever before. And so it sees to me that it’s about time for a reappraisal—or perhaps, using today's industry lingo, I should call it a "reboot."

This first list is one made up of shows that have been my favorites over the last year or so. Think of it as a "live" list—in other words, (spoiler alert!) while The Prisoner will always be one of my all-timers, it's been a few years since I've watched it. Therefore, it wouldn't make a list of current favorites. Conversely, there are shows that I really enjoy right now, but when they're stacked up against the rest, they might fall just outside the top ten. That's not a knock on them; it just shows how tough it is to crack that list. Later on in the year, I'll be introducing an all-new all-time Top Ten. I wouldn't expect too many changes if I were you, but it will definitely have some additions, not to mention revised comments on some of the shows that remain. 

Having already gone on altogether too long, I'll now get to the point with two legal dramas that rise to the top of the list: Judd, for the Defense and Sam Benedict. I reviewed Sam Benedict just a couple of weeks ago, while I shared my feelings for Judd last year. Each of them represent a welcome break from the formulaic Perry Mason; while Mason is still a favorite, the Perry/Della/Paul triangle gets old after a time, while Hamilton Burger's incompetence remains beyond comprehension. Both Judd and Benedict give us what is probably a more realistic look at the high-octane life of a big-time trial lawyer. It's also quite a different view of the legal system, though; for example, in one case Sam gets his client acquitted, but we never find out who actually did commit the crime. That's not Sam's job, though; he was hired to ensure justice for his client, and that's what he did. 

Both men share a passion for that concept, justice, which causes them to occasionally take cases against their better judgment, representing unpopular causes or defending people they don't like—but, as Clinton Judd reminds us, everyone is entitled to a fair trial, even those with whom you might not agree, and what's popular is not always what's right. (By the way, it's also nice to see clients who behave like real people, with well thought-out backstories, rather than the cartoonish caricatures that too often comprise the Mason universe.) Our heroes aren't assured of winning, either; a couple of Judd's cases go to the jury without us ever finding out the verdict, while one of Benedict's clients turns out to be guilty, and another is only saved from a long prison term by a plea deal that Sam arranges for him. We may not be used to seeing that, but it's a fact of life, and in these stories the casees were just background; there was something much more fundamental at stake, which is what the stories were actually about. These shows have hard edges and deal with hard issues, and they've both earned top places on this list.  

Also on the list, and this won't come as any surprise to longtime readers, is Mystery Science Theater 3000. As many times as I've seen some of these movies, there's invariably a riff or two that I hadn't caught before, or one that just hits me the right way; along with the original British version of Top Gear, it's one of the few shows that actually makes me laugh out loud. I've gained a real appreciation for the various casts that appeared on the show over the years, particularly the dry wit of Mike Nelson, the voice talents of Trace Beaulieu, and the offbeat riffs from J. Elvis Weinstein, who started on the show when MST3K was just a local program in the Twin Cities, and stayed for the first year of its national run. (I remember seeing the very first MST3K, a double-feature that aired on a Thanksgiving evening, and was a fan from the start.) I also learned how a bad serial like Radar Men from the Moon can be that entertaining.

There are a couple of war dramas on the list as well. I took on Garrison's Gorillas here, and followed it up with the show that succeeded it on our schedule, Combat! Garrison's Gorillas is action-adventure at its finest, with a very good ensemble cast (as opposed to, say, The Rat Patrol) and entertaining stories; at the same time, it never forgets (nor lets you forget) that war is no game, and it's fought for the highest possible stakes. That's a message that's driven home relentlessly in Combat!, which is not only perhaps the best war drama ever seen on television, but one of its best dramas period. Its well-drawn characters and literate plots give us a graphic look at the horrors of war; it makes those of us who never fought profoundly grateful for our good fortune, and even more appreciative of those who have. If you're not anti-war after watching Combat!, you haven't been paying attention.

The British police series Maigret, starring Rupert Davies, got my treatment here, and my enjoyment of it continues to increase each week. Davies's portrayal of the famous French detective is spot-on, capturing the world-weariness and hard edge of the character perfectly, while also portraying his warmth and good humor, seen both with his wife and his colleagues. Maigret is shrewd, intuitative, and, in contrast to most American police dramas, demonstrates both respect and empathy for many of the accused that he investigates, including some that he arrests; "Some people criticize me for being too sympathetic," he comments in one episode. American detectives would probably accuse him of being soft; they fail to understand what humanity is all about, primarily because they've already lost their own.

The Twilight Zone is already on the Top Ten list, but it's been many years since I've given the series a proper look, and my new BluRay set has been the perfect excuse to start watching it again from the very beginning, with spotless and uncut episodes. It's provided me with a reminder of how brilliant the show's first season is; I wonder what people thought back in 1959 when they were seeing these episodes for the first time? We can look it up, of course; there's been a plethoria of material written about the show. Still, it's interesting to see how well those first season episodes reflect the tenor of the times: several early stories depicting military themes (how many men back then would have found these settings familiar; after all, it was what they'd experienced), while others involve man's quest for space, or just a general unease with the modern world. Add to that a layer of the unexplainable, and it's hard to top.

My relationship with Twin Peaks remains an ambiguous one, in light of a brilliant premiere episode, a solid first season, and a disastrous second one. I'm in the midst of watching Twin Peaks: The Return right now (six episodes in), and I'll write it up when it's over. But right now I'm at a point where each week's episode is highly anticipated, if for no other reason than to see if things begin to make sense. Bit by bit some pieces of the story come together each week, but there's a long way to go. Still, when you're dealing with David Lynch, you either trust him or you don't, and The Return has still paid off in a way that season two never quite managed. Besides, remember how I said this was a live list? Well, I look forward to it each week, and if that doesn't earn a show a spot on the list, what does? We'll see if it's still there the next time we try this little experiment.

Hawaiian Eye is probably the third-best of the WB detective dramas, behind 77 Sunset Strip and the underrated Bourbon Street Beat, and the quality of episodes varies wildly, but in a TV diet that, at the moment, is a very intense one, it's the kind of show that you can relax and watch, knowing you don't have to listen carefully for the smallest verbal clue, react to the injustice you see on the screen, or wince once again at man's inhumanity to man. You just watch it and accept it for what it is, and believe me, there's a lot to be said for that. I first wrote about it here, and since then Grant Williams has joined the cast; he doesn't really add anything to the show, but he doesn't hurt it either. Otherwise, the only changes I'd make to what I said then are that I've come to enjoy Anthony Eisley much more—I might have mischaracterized him as being stiff back then, and he's grown on me since; I'll miss him when he leaves the show for the final season—and Connie Stevens is starting to get on my nerves. Her Cricket Blake character keeps complaining that she's not treated like a grown-up, but for my money she doesn't give us any reason to think otherwise. Hopefully, as it is with so many immature people, it's just a phase.

Finally, I wrote about Burke's Law just recently; there's a reason why we're watching the series again from the very start. It's as charming now as it was the first time, and with the passage of time there's still some mystery as to whodunnit; what more can you ask for in an encore showing? It's the perfect Saturday-night compliment to a movie from the Criterion Channel that's often intensity ramped up to eleven on the dial. (Have you ever watched Japanese noir? Try it sometime.)

As I mentioned, I'll have a complete revised Top Ten later in the year, but looking at it in real time has been an interesting exercise. Maybe we'll do it again sometime. TV  

This week in TV Guide: April 13, 1968

It's time once again for a visit from our favorite television tech expert, TV Guide's  David Lachenbruch. We're used to his articles every fall, when he gives us a preview of the new model televisions for the coming year, but this week David is really looking ahead, to the future of television technology over the next 20 or so years.

We're in the 21st year of American television, and during that time more than 140 million sets have been manufactured, and "no other institution or industry in our history has achieved so much growth or so much influence in so short a time." For all that, though, "remarkable and revolutionary changes" are on the way, changes that will transform your TV from an appliance housed as an attractive piece of furniture to a "system," an "electronic-communication center that touches on almost every phase of your daily life." And since his future is our past, we're able to see just how accurate his predictions were.

For example, in five years (1973), you'll be able to take advantage of the Home Video Recorder (HVR), which we'll come to know and love as the VCR. This gizmo, which will cost less than $500, will allow you to record and replay your favorite shows, watch pre-recorded movies and other programming that you can buy or rent at the store, and make and show home movies, courtesy of a midget camera included with the HVR. You'll also have more television than ever to choose from, thanks to cable TV; it's already in use in over two million homes, but by 1973 your wired system should provide you with "20 or 25 channels, including the regular on-the-air stations." You'll be able to see everything from 24-hour weather to local city council meetings to "Teleshop" —where you can shop for clothes, toys, or groceries and then place your order by phone. On the technology side, tiny integrated circuits mean large-screen sets will be reduced in size by about a third, and you'll rarely have to adjust your picture.

In ten years (1978), your television will be able to receive faxes; your list of reading material (books, magazines, newspapers) will print overnight and be ready for you to read the next morning. Your picture tube will now be so thin that you'll be able to hang it on your wall "in an attractive furniture frame," and every room in your house will be wired with closed-circuit cameras so you can monitor your baby or see who's at the door. There will be pocket-sized portable TVs, operaing without batteries or line cords, " 'stealing' power through the air from near-by TV or radio stations." We'll even be able to view live color TV from the moon, although "It's not clear whether the commentary will be in English or Russian." 

Fifteen years (1983) will bring a change in the aspect ratio of your screen to that of movie theaters. You'll have a sharper picture as well, "as the result of a switch from the present 525 horizontal TV lines to 1000 or more, vastling increasing the resolution of the picture." You'll be able to use push buttons to teleshop (instead of ordering on your phone), take telecourses, and maybe even vote in elections. And you may be able to use your television to see the person you're talking to on the phone; a small screen will be built into your telephone for more private conversations.

Why are they sitting so close to the screen?

As television enters the 1990s, your flat screen will display pictures "virtually life-size and in realistic depth, without the need for special viewing eyeglasses." You'll be connected to a nationwide computer grid that will allow you to acces just about anything you want, 24 hours a day—you'll be able to "solve math problems, tell you your bank balance, help junior with his homework, look up recipes, make travel reservations, map out auto routes (and supply you with instructions for the exact setting of your autopilot) and perform a wide variety of other services." There will be "Telegames," video games you can play against the computer, with results shown on your screen. Transponders sewn into your children's clothes will allow you to track them wherever they might be in the neighborhood. 

And so on. As you can see, Lachenbruch's predictions are remarkably accurate. Not all of it came via the TV, of course; the home computer really became the hub of the telecommunications revolution, and many of the achievements that Lachenbruch mentions actually come from your mobile phone. But the flat screen hanging on the wall? The high-resolution picture? VCRs, DVRs, wireless communcation, home shopping channels? Distance learning? Absolutely! He's even a little behind the curve on some things; those color TV images from the moon, for instance, actually came in 1969 on Apollo 12 (that is, before the camera was ruined by accidentally pointing it at the sun). 

In fact, if there's anything he didn't anticipate, it's that television would become irrelevant to so many people, although it's taken much longer for that to happen. Who would think that speciality cable stations, for instance—one of the achievements predicted since the 1950s—would come and go, pushed out by the medium's insatiable desire for profit? Or that the traditional television network would be replaced by on-demand programming, streaming, and video games? Could he have even anticipated the "cutting the cord" movement? Or that most of us would carry our entertainment around with us in our pockets? Maybe only insane minds could have come up with that; after all, the whole world seems pretty crazy from our perspective today.

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After eight seasons as Dr. Alex Stone, the "foil and kindly domestic mediator" of The Donna Reed Show, Carl Betz must have jumped at the chance to play a role with some real weight to it, that of the high-profile, high-octane defense attorney Clinton Judd, on Judd for the Defense. As Betz sat, "slightly numb," in executive producer Paul Monash's office, "I realized he was serious, but I kept wondering, 'Why me?' I knew there must be others they wanted. Then Paul said, 'You might be just the man,' and I heard myself say, 'You’re damn right.' "

As Michael Fessier Jr. notes in this week's profile, Betz was not the first choice of ABC; they were thinking more along the lines of Chuck Connors or Martin Landeau. But Connors would have demanded part ownershihp of the show. and besides, he'd already failed once as a defense attorney, in Arrest and Trial, only four years ago. (Although to be fair, a lot of that was the fault of the show's premise.) Meanwhile, Landeau has busy as Rollin Hand on Mission: Impossible, although he would have been an interesting choice. But Monash prides himself on his casting acumen, and personally, I can't imagine anyone better for the role that Carl Betz. He plays Judd with the intensity of a man finally getting a chance to show what he can do; says soundman Jerry Kosloff, "Carl really lives the part. He has worked his tail off. He has a lot riding on this show." 

For too long, Betz had been stuck in the kind of roles that didn't require him to flex his muscles—"three crummy Westerns," as he describes his days at Fox, and a long stint on Love of Life—culminating in his eight years as Dr. Alex Stone. And he won't put down those years on Donna Reed; "I miss the fun we used to have," he tells Fessier, but admits, "after eight years you run out of material." It left him all feeling that "The goal in an actor's mind can be a great illusion." Between seasons of the Reed show, though, he'd done "some heavyweight drama" in local theater—plays like "Night of the Iguana" and "Krapp’s Last Tape." Monash had seen those performances and liked them, and, when it came time to cast Judd, he remembered them. Betz imbues a gravity and dignity to a role that could easily become preachy and strident; and wears Judd's Western hat and string tie with an easy confidence. He's become a smash critically, often getting better reviews than the show itself, and he'll wind up with an Emmy for best actor in a drama.

Betz admits he's an Anglophile; his greatest acting admiration is for the English theater and actors like Paul Scofield. Don't get the idea that he's putting down "lowbrow" shows, though. "There is a place for The Flying Nun and The Donna Reed Show," he says, "and a place for shows like Judd and The Defenders." Nerves are flying high on the Judd set right now, as everyone waits for word from the network as to whether or not the show's going to get picked up for a second season; as everyone acknowledges, Betz has puat everything on the line for this show. It's rallied from the bottom of the ratings to a place in the low 30s, and Monash's emphasis on current issues (race, rape, sex) helps. It will only run two seasons; both the series and Betz deserve more. One contemporary critic has remarked that had Betz not died at the young age of 56, he might in time have pulled a Brian Cranston, evolving in the public mind from sitcom characters to being seen primarily in dramatic roles. As far as I'm concerned, though, Carl Betz has nothing left to prove.

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That takes care of our cover stories, so let's see what's on the tube this week. Anything?

The first of golf's major championships is on Saturday and Sunday; CBS carries third round coverage of the Masters Saturday at 2:00 p.m PT, while Sunday's coverage begins at 1:00 p.m. The tournment provides one of the strangest endings ever: British Open champion Roberto De Vicenzo appears at first to have tied Bob Goalby for the lead (which would have necessitated an 18-hole playoff on Monday), but he was found to have signed an incorrect scorecard, having failed to notice a mistake on the 17th hole (where he was marked down for a par rather than a birdie); and winds up one shot behind Goalby. I wouldn't call this a controversy; while some people feel the punishment was unduly harsh, the rules are the rules; De Vincenzo himself will tell reporters, "What a stupid I am" for the error; he blames neither the rules nor his playing partner, Tommy Aaron (who'd written down the wrong number), but instead takes sole responsibility, and wins many fans for his gracious acceptance of his fate. 

Sunday is Easter, and Duke Ellington takes the spotlight with a performance of his "Sacred Concert," filmed during the piece's premiere last January at the Episcopal Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine in New York. (8:00 a.m., CBS) There's no copy of this concert on YouTube, but you can see an excerpt of a subsequent performance from 1969 here. Opera stars Cesare Siepi and Judith Raskin appear in the Bell Telephone Hour's Easter special, "Going to Bethlehem" (6:30 p.m,. NBC); in this case, the Bethlehem is in Pennsylvania, home of the Bethlehem Bach Festival, and the centerpiece is Bach's epic Mass in B Minor. Meanwhile, ABC's Easter offering is a repeat of the 1953 drama The Robe (8:00 p.m.), with Richard Burton, Jean Simmons, and Victor Mature. The movie is known for being the first done in Cinemascope; Judith Crist calls it "relatively tasteful," but notes that its Cinemascope spectacle is mostly lost on the small screen.

On Monday, Nancy Sinatra hosts "Movin' with Nancy," a "fast-paced musical tour" (don't you just love those canned descriptions?) with daddy Frank, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., and Lee Hazlewood. (9:00 p.m., NBC) The ad tells us that this special won Nancy the coveted "Hollywood Star of Tomorrow" award; and while I might have thought it was due more to her last name, who am I to disagree? At 9:30 p.m., in a sign of things to come, NET Journal shows highlights of Canada's Liberal Party Leadership Convention, in which party members come together to select a new party leader; since the Liberals control Parliament, this means the new party leader will become Prime Minister. The three leading contenders are External Affairs Minister Paul Martin, Justice Minister Pierre Trudeau, and Transport Minister Paul Hellyer. Trudeau, the winner, will go on to become one of the most prominent and colorful leaders on the world scene. 

Tuesday's Jerry Lewis Show features a stellar cast, with Count Basie and his orchestra and Mel Torme providing the entertainment. (8:00 p.m., NBC) At 9:30 p.m., David Susskind's Open End (9:00 p.m., KQED) takes on three subjects you'll rarely see discussed on the same show: comedian Ronny Graham, who was jailed for refusing to pay alimony, discusses the unfairness of the system; Gore Vidal, author of Myra Breckenridge, and Fr. Morton Hill debate censorship; and there's a discussion on astrology. Next, Harry Reasoner profiles a true Renaissance man: Gordon Parks. (10:00 p.m., CBS) Parks is considered one of the greatest photographers of all time, frequently looking at the plight of American blacks, but in his spare time he also directed Shaft and Shaft's Big Score with Richard Roundtree; composed classical music and ballets; wrote books on photography, plus poetry, novels, and three momoirs; and helped found Essence magazine. What have you done since you got up  this morning?

On Wednesday afternoon we'll see one of Jack Nicholson's early cult classics, The Terror (3:30 p.m., KSBW), with Boris Karloff and Sandra Knight. Karloff is the real star, and portions of the movie wound up in Peter Bogdanovich's movie Targets. The story of the making of the movie is probably more interesting than the movie itself; I'm surprised it's never been made into a movie. Later on, it's a rerun of Julie Andrews' Peabody-and Emmy-winning 1965 special, where she's joined by Gene Kelly and the New Christy Minstrels (9:00 p.m., NBC). If you don't want music, give a second go to the 1967 telemovie The Desperate Hours, one of David Susskind's video remakes of classic movies (9:00 p.m., ABC); in this version, Arthur Hill and Teresa Wright are the Hilliards, whose lives are upended by a home invasion by three escaped convicts: George Segal (in the Humphrey Bogart role), Michael Conrad, and Barry Primus. And if that doesn't work, switch over to NET at 10:00 p.m., where Julia Child takes us behind the scenes at a White House state dinner.

You'll recall—I'm sure of it—a while back, when we looked at The Tunnel, the true story of a group digging a tunnel from East to West Berlin to aid refugees escaping the Communists. Well, as proof that truth can be more engaging than fiction, there's Thursday night's movie Escape from East Berlin (Thursday, 9:00 p.m., NBC), based more or less on the true story (and made in the same year as The Tunnel), with Don Murray and Christine Kaufmann engineering the escape, and Werner Klemperer as Colonel Klink—I'm just kidding; he actually plays Walter Brunner, one of those working on the tunnel. Says Judith Crist, the authentic locales lend "enough interest, perhaps, to make one overlook the obvious mechanics of characters, dialog and bits of business."

That brings us to Friday, when not much happens No, I'm kidding again; this has been a week with not one, not two, but three documentaries connected to the ocean. Monday, Search in the Deep saw Jacques Cousteau use new research submarines to record the life cycle of the great sea turtle, and on Tuesday National Geographic looked at Portugal's Men of the Sea, harvesting the North Atlantic cod. Tonight, we have the third part of the trilogy, as NBC's Tomorrow's World explores "Man and the Sea" (10:00 p.m.), with Frank McGee reporting on the latest scientific developments regarding "Earth’s greatest source of food, minerals and energy." To say that these shows are all wet would be a cheap joke (as well as perhaps inaccurate), so I'm not going to make it.

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Next up in the cultural zeitgeist: the kids "proud to be happies, not hippies."

Milton C. Anderson is not the last angry man, but there is one thing that burns him up: the way the youth of America are being portrayed in the Sixties. "The picture of young America—in the papers, on television—was something completely different from what I saw every day at school," he says. "And what was true in ’61 is even more true today." So instead of "tune in, turn on, drop out," he came up with "drop in, tune up and turn on" to a group of young people, all high school or college students, who are "all cleanliness, friendliness and Sunday-school manners." Thus were born the Young Americans, using their clean-cut, flag-waving song and dance to spread, according to their motto, "Understanding of people through youth and music."

Anderson reviews with Judith Jobin the process by which the group is formed: from the thousands of applications he receives, he selects 86 studients, from which a core of 36 perform most frequently. Those chosen have to be performers, of course, with "large doses of talent," but more important, "they must be Good People. Good People are people who aren’t all wrapped up in themselves but have thoughts and feelings for others."

Since their first appearance on a Bing Crosby special in the early 1960s, the Young Americans appear to have struck a chord with a public "increasingly discomfited and unnerved by rampant 'naysaying' among the country’s youth." Just ask Alex Grasshoff, the director of a documentary about the group: "They generate a fantastic emotional level. When I first saw them, I started to get a lump in my throat." Members of the group ("Unashamed Pollyannas all") talk about how "Talking out differences is the only way to world peace," and despite the upheaval in the world, they try to remain apart from it. "We talk about school, we worry about getting drafted," one says. "Well, we don’t talk about the Government—we’'re not politically inclined." 

Not everyone is a fan of the Young Americans; "it’s hard to ignore the fact that other young musicians—Dylan and Donovan, the Beatles and Buffy Sainte-Marie, to name a few—are doing songs that 'tell it like it is' ", while the Young Americans sing show tunes and upbeat songs with lyrics like "We’ve got the road ahead of us . . ." and “We’ve got the future in our hands . . ." One member of the group acknowledges that "It does get kind of cutesy-cutesy at times," and that cutting out references to smoking and drinking, and words like "damn" is "not too realistic." For all that, though, the Young Americans are a close-knit group; members must leave when they reach 21, and "Nobody ever wants to leave. All your friends are inside the group." And, more than 60 years later, they continue to perform and tour, "inspiring the world through music." 

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Fashion layouts usually go over well, so I'd be remiss in not including this one with Angie Dickinson. Here, she's showing off the spring collection for TIffeau & Busch; designer Jacques Tiffeau "likes hippie bells, colored sandals and short, curly hair with his clothes—and we couldn't agree more."

The outfits swing for sure. But Ang, that hair—it looks like someone stuck your finger in a light socket.

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Finally, a quick look behind the scenes at what goes into "This Week in TV Guide."  

Some issues are chosen for a specific reason—a story in the issue, or a particular program on at the time. The majority, though, are picked more or less at random, depending on what might be available for a given week. For instance, I was going to do an issue from 1954 this week, but considering the last issue from the '50s didn't get much of a response, I though you all might prefer something more recent, so I looked through the issues that fit the week, and chose this one, for no particular reason. 

We come to The Doan Report, and the headline: "How TV Covered Dr. King's Death." 

The turnaround time is impressive, cosidering the assassination happened on Thursday, April 4, just a week before this issue landed on newsstands. That day, news of King's shooting reached most viewers during the evening news; announcement of his death came about an hour later. Cameras switched back and forth: to Washington, where President Johnson and Vice President Humphrey expressed their shock; to Atlanta, where Coretta Scott King was. to Memphis, the scene of the crime. NBC cancelled Dragnet at 9:30 p.m. ET for a special report; ABC was on at 10:00 p.m. for an hour, and later Joey Bishop devoted his entire late-night show to King tributes. (Although it's not mentioned here, Johnny Carson skipped his monologue the following night, instead using the time to talk about King, who'd been a guest two months earlier,) CBS had an 80-minute summary at 11:00 p.m. Coverage continues next week, including the funeral, which forces the rescheduling of the Academy Awards. 

In a couple of months you'll be reading from the issue of June 15, 1968; I was looking through it recently, doing some preliminary scouting for items of interest, and saw the following headline, again from The Doan Report: "How TV Saw the Assassination." He's speaking this time, of course, about Robert F. Kennedy; a virtually identical headline, only with different names, but death casts the same odor. 

In the issue of April 20, following up on the King story, Doan says that King's assassination "pre-empted TV’s attention as had nothing since the assassination of President Kennedy." Just wait, though; you'll have another opportinity a couple of months later. TV  

The best of worlds, the worst of worlds

(left to right) Stephen Young, Luke Halpin, and Carl Betz

One of the things I most like about Judd, for the Defense (along with the powerful performances each week by Carl Betz) is how the scripts take on controversial issues without necessarily being polemical, demonstrating through misdirection and unexpected plot shifts that things are not always as simple as they seem. (You could argue that there's a little too much misdirection, but that's how good mysteries work.) Combine this with the occasional episode that stubbornly refuses to wrap everything up in a bow at the end, and you get a series that probably should have lasted more than two seasons. (But then, not being a network executive, what do I know?)

Something else that Judd has in common with the best shows of its era is the ability to illustrate, unironically and without the filter of contemporary mores, how society has changed over the decades—sometimes evolving, frequently devolving, but seldom remaining static. Case in point is the first-season episode "The Worst of Both Worlds," a story that's both timeless and subject to a completely different interpretation than it would have had when originally broadcast on March 8, 1968.

The Cliff Notes version of the plot: Judd and his associate, Ben Caldwell (Stephen Young) are called in to defend 17-year-old Kenny Carter, Jr., who was sentenced to 3½ years in the county juvenile home for stealing and wrecking a sports car belong to a family for which he'd done odd jobs, the wealthy and influential Merritt family. The man driving the car that Kenny hit was seriously injured in the crash. 

At first, it seems a straightforward case of injustice being done to the boy; talking to Ben at the county home, Kenny (Luke Halpin) insists that "I didn't admit anything because I didn't do anything," and that "because of the way they ask you the questions in court, if you answer 'no,' it turns out you're a liar; if you answer 'yes,' you're guilty." At the hearing, he was without benefit of counsel (a lawyer wouldn't have been available for three weeks, and upon suggestion of the judge, Kenny waived his right), and no transcript of the hearing was kept, due to cost. The juvenile officer, Frank Austin (Frank Marth, so we know he's going to be the bad guy), whose duty is to act in Kenny's best interests, maintains that the boy's rights were always kept in the forefront of the investigation. 

Convinced that the boy's rights were denied, Judd applies for a Writ of Habeas Corpus to get Kenny out of the home, and seeks a new hearing for him. Based on the circumstances, a judge agrees to both. It's then that the first complication occurs, when Austin reveals to Judd that Kenny had assaulted Mrs. Merritt prior to stealing the car. Austin's motive in acting as he did in the first hearing was to prevent this from coming out--"holding back the kind of charge that could ruin his life"; as it was, he would have been a delinquent in the juvenile home, "but you had to come along and open Pandora's Box." Kenny denies the assault, but Judd and Ben know he's holding back. After Mrs. Merritt (Pippa Scott) testifies in court and confirms that an assault happened, Kenny finally, reluctantly tells them the truth: he and Mrs. Merritt had been having an affair, she had tried to prevent him from leaving the house because he wanted to go on a date with a girl his own age, and (because she'd been drinking) she fell and hit her head, sustaining the injuries that Kenny was supposed to have inflicted. He then took the car to get a doctor for her, and wrecked it because the brakes were faulty. All this time he'd been trying to protect her, but now that she's turned on him, he has no choice. After undergoing a withering cross-examination from Judd, Mrs. Merritt finally breaks down and admits the truth, and the charges against Kenny are dismissed.

After the judge has ruled, while Kenny is being comforted by his family, Judd confronts Austin in the corridor, and we come to the plot point around which everything revolves:

Mr. Austin, you owe me an explanation. Didn't you know what was going on between Kenny and Mrs. Merritt?

She told me about their struggle. When she was still upset enough to be telling the truth. Later on, I could see she carefully did not tell her husband. So I could make a pretty good guess.

And you didn't say a thing in your official capacity?

My official capacity was to protect the kid, n ot to let him get smeared the rest of his life. Of course, I didn't know the whole story, particularly that brilliant council would take over the case.

Mr. Austin, I did nothing more than any competent lawyer would have done. The point I wish you would see is the injustice of trying so many of these kids in juvenile court without lawyers and calling that 'protection of the young.'

Well, how would you protect them? By feeding kids into the machinery of the ordinary criminal courts, where nobody cares what happens to them? Look, do you really think you did this kid any favors by getting him off scot-free? Without any disciplinary correction? 

He's not legally guilty of anything.

He was carrying on with a married woman. He lost his head, he took a car he couldn't handle properly, and he caused a very serious crash. Now, let me ask you this, Mr. Judd. How would you feel about seeing some other lawyer get him off, if you were the man he ran into?

Judd wins again—or does he?

This is how the episode ends, with Judd left to ponder how the legal system works, and us to ponder what it all means. As I mentioned, us viewers have been conditioned over the years to connect Frank Marth with the heavy, so we're only too willing to accept Judd's version of justice as the correct one. And yet, likely with this in mind, writers Paul Monash (series creator) and Norman Borisoff take pains to suggest that Austin did have the boy's interests in mind. Perhaps he didn't handle it correctly, but he's not a one-dimensional pantomime villain. In the end, though, you still have to think he's wrong—flat wrong, about Kenny, and about the legal system in which he acts as an officer. 

If one were to air this episode, unchanged, on a contemporary program, we'd probably be shocked. First of all, Mrs. Merritt, having seduced a minor, would be considered a sexual predator, and even if she didn't do any jail time, she'd go into the sex offender registry for sure. (What would that have done to a socially prominent family?) Kenny would be seen as a victim, not someone carrying on an affair with a married woman. His name would be kept confidential; even though word would spread in a small town like the one in which the story occurs, it's not going to follow him around on his record. Far from recommending "disciplinary correction," a judge would probably order counseling for him; as for taking the car, under the circumstances he acted not out of malice or criminal intent, but as a confused and abused boy who didn't know what else to do. In short, he's not a delinquent, but a boy taken advantage of by an older woman who should have known better. Austin likely would have been sacked had he proceeded the way in which he did and would have left both himself and the city wide open to civil charges. The entire denouement would have flipped, and Judd would have had an even stronger case for demanding that the legal system do more to protect juveniles from adult predators. 

That's the way it is. That's not the way it was. At the risk of identifying myself once again as old, I can say that when I was in high school, none of us boys would have considered Kenny a "victim"—we'd have called him lucky, and each one of us were probably hoping the same thing would happen to us—minus the accident, of course; it's never any fun doing something you aren't supposed to be doing unless you get away with it. And we wouldn't have seen him as having been taken advantage of, he scored. Of course, that's what happens when you think with your hormones instead of your head, and that's why teenagers (or those who've never matured beyond their teens) shouldn't be running the world.  

I'm certainly not suggesting that things were better back then, nor am I saying we're wrong to view things differently today. It probably suggests we should look at situations like this on a case-by-case basis. But "The Worst of Both Worlds" functions not only as entertainment, but as that time capsule I'm always talking about, presenting us with a look at how society was—not in retrospect, not seen through 21st century-tinted glasses, but the way it actually was at the time. If you want to study societal evolution, you can certainly do worse than this. TV  

What I've been watching: April, 2022

Shows I’ve Watched:	Shows Next on the List:
Judd, for the Defense	Surfside 6
The Felony Squad The Man Who Never Was The Rat Patrol	Dante Blue Light

Around the Hadley household, Monday nights have been psychiatric drama nights for quite some time, what with Breaking Point, The Eleventh Hour, and The Human Jungle being regular features. (No smart cracks about self-diagnosis.) So, naturally, the only kind of show that will do as a follow-up is a courtroom drama, right?

Judd, for the Defense was an ABC series running for two seasons, from 1967 to 1969. Now, every courtroom drama inevitably winds up being compared to Perry Mason, and Judd is no exception. Like Mason, Judd involves a high-powered defense attorney; like Mason's, Judd's clients are (usually) accused of murder; like Mason, Judd culminates in a courtroom trial with a fair share of histrionics. And like Perry Mason, Judd, for the Defense is powered by the charismatic performance of the title character.

Clinton Judd, whom the ABC press releases compared to real-life attorneys such as Percy Foreman and F. Lee Bailey, is played by Carl Betz, best-known as Dr. Alex Stone, Donna Reed's husband in The Donna Reed Show. Betz played Dr. Stone for eight seasons and, as more than one critic has pointed out, he must have loved sinking his teeth into a juicy role like this. Judd, like Mason, is driven by a thirst for justice, often resulting in him taking on clients against his better judgment. They're far from identical, though. Whereas Perry relied on his loyal secretary, Della Street, and his trustworthy investigator, Paul Drake, Judd has his young associate, Ben Caldwell, played convincingly by Stephen Young.

Judd also displays a flamboyance that Mason, for all those accusations of "courtroom theatrics" that Hamilton Burger flings against him, rarely shows. Wearing a string tie and sporting a Stetson, Judd is every bit the Texan he portrays. (His office is, I believe, supposed to be in Houston.) And he's not above pulling some real theatrics; in one episode, just as the prosecutor is about to reach the dramatic peak of his argument, Clint "accidentally" knocks a pitcher of water off the table, interrupting his adversary and causing a delay while everything is mopped up. He was, of course, appropriately apologetic. 

Longtime viewers of Perry Mason know that Mason's cases don't usually get to trial; most of them are solved in the preliminary hearing (thus saving the producers money in having to cast actors as jurors). Things are a little different here, though; Judd does his work in front of the jury, where he forcefully argues his case before the defendant's peers. It's a thrill watching Betz do his thing; he speaks with heat and passion in a way that we seldom get to see Raymond Burr operate, beyond the first season or two. The same goes for the way Judd questions witnesses; he can be sly and subtle, or he can lash out like an angry animal. Either way, you get the point that Clinton Judd is not a man to be messed with.

Another thing about Judd: you can't always assume that his clients are innocent. One of them, in fact, turns out to be guilty, although as the victim of a split personality, he didn't really realize it. It was very cleverly set up and well executed, though, and the reveal came as a genuine surprise, to me at least. And then there was the case of a woman accused of murdering her abusive husband. She's acquitted, but at the end she wonders out loud whether or not she really acted in self-defense, or if she wanted to kill her husband. She's not suggesting that she got away with something; rather, she's expressing a self-doubt that is clearly going to take her years to work through. The point is, you're not nearly as confident that Judd's client will get off, or deserves to get off, as you were with Perry.

It's true that the legal side of things is often a bit dubious, the plots can sometimes be far-fetched, and while the series is admirable in tackling "relevant" issues like abortion, drugs and the draft (not unlike The Defenders), those "with-it" moments can be a little bit painful. the scenes in the courtroom never last quite as long as you want them to. The important thing, though, is that they're entertaining; you won't be bored watching them. 

Most of all, Judd is about Carl Betz, who is just terrific. I'm not enough of an expert on Donna Reed to tell whether or not he ever flashed these glimpses of edgy toughness, but watching him, you believe he's a man of integrity, committed to justice, and willing to do whatever it takes to achieve it for his client, even when he's pushing the envelope. You find yourself tuning in to watch Betz, and sticking around for the rest of the show; no wonder he not only won an Emmy for the role, but (like Raymond Burr) frequently spoke before bar associations. I don't want to shortchange Stephen Young, though, who is smart and tough. He's not afraid to stand up to Judd, to challenge or goad him on his strategies, and to rake their client over the coals when it's justified. 

And those clients often have it coming. After all, the lesson learned from all these shows—even more than "crime doesn't pay"— is this: never, ever withhold anything from your lawyer. You'd think they'd know better by now. 

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Speaking of programming, Thursdays have been cops-and-robbers night here for as long as I can remember (keeping in mind that my memory doesn't work as well as it used to). First, there was a long, long run of Hawaii Five-O (except for the final season, which—let's face it—was really, really bad). After that ended, Thursdays became a rotating series of half-hour dramas, many of which you've read about here: N.Y.P.D., Richard Diamond, Johnny Staccato. Now we've moved on to another pair of 30-minute melodramas featuring good guys and bad guys, but that's where the similarities end.

The Felony Squad ran on ABC for three seasons, from 1966 to 1968. It lacks the grittiness of, say, N.Y.P.D. or Dragnet, and unlike those series, it always seems to feel as if the ending is rushed, or condensed, to make sure it fits inside the half-hour timeslot. That's not meant as a knock, just an observation. The Felony Squad stars Howard Duff as veteran detective Sam Stone*, Dennis Cole as his partner, young Jim Briggs, and Ben Alexander as desk sergeant Dan Briggs, Jim's father.

*I've often wondered if the name "Sam Stone" was an inside joke, since for many years Howard Duff played private detective Sam Spade on the radio.

The stories are run-of-the-mill, nothing special, but usually well-acted, although the first episode, "The Streets Are Paved with Quicksand," is harmed by an unbelievably hammy performance from Darren McGavin as a shyster trying to get Stone and young Briggs nailed on a charge of police brutality. Stone is street-smart, young Briggs is earnest, and elder Briggs shrewd, and protective of his son. (Fun fact: this role prevented Ben Alexander from reuniting with Jack Webb on the reprisal of Dragnet.) I would prefer more, especially more for Duff, but I'm not complaining about what I do have. It clearly falls into the "enjoyable" category, plus it has a no-nonsense theme by Pete Rugolo. And there's a crossover story with Judd, for the Defense!

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Felony Squad teams up with another half-hour drama, The Man Who Never Was, yet another ABC drama which aired for 18 episodes in 1966-67. For all I know, commercials for all three of these shows might have run during the others' shows, but that's kind of beside the point, I suppose. I'll say this right up front: The Man Who Never Was is extremely frustrating to watch. Not because it's a bad show, although it should have been called The Show That Should Have Been Better Than it Was. No, it's frustrating because very little of it exists, at least on YouTube, and most of what does is taken from two theatrical releases that were, in turn, compilations of episodes from the show. What that means, in practical terms, is that of the seven or so episodes that YouTube has, most of them only run about 17 minutes, leaving you with the distinct impression that something is missing.

And that's too bad, because I'd like to give this show a better look. It stars Robert Lansing as Peter Murphy, a CIA agent in East Berlin whose cover is blown in the premiere. On the run from the Stasi, Murphy staggers into a bar where he sees his exact double, playboy Mark Wainwright, who just happens to be one of the richest men in the world. As Murphy watches, an inebriated Wainwright stumbles out of the bar and is promptly gunned down by an agent who mistakes him for Murphy. Well, since they're exact doubles, you could be forgiven for making that kind of mistake, I suppose. 

Murphy assumes Wainwright's identity in order to save his life, but finds that having to pretend to be Wainwright is no bargain. For one thing, he was a bully, a louse, and a ruthless businessman. For another, Wainwright was also married. Fortunately for Murphy, Wainwright's wife Eva is played by the elegant Dana Wynter, who has as much of a motive for keeping the deception alive as Murphy has: half brother Roger is trying to steal the family fortune, something he can't do as long as Wainwright refuses to go along with it. So in turn for helping Eva out, she agrees to help him impersonate her late husband—his mannerisms, his turns of phrase, his relationships with friends and enemies. Despite this, almost every episode features Murphy having to fight (and kill) in order to keep his real identity secret, all while falling in love with his pretend wife.

Yes, it is pretty implausible; I mean, I have yet to meet my exact double, although if he's out there, I hope he's enjoying pretending to be me. But in Lansing and Wynter, you have a couple of real pros; ad to that the presence of John Newland (One Step Beyond) as producer and director, and location filming throughout Europe, and you've got the ingredients for a pretty good show. Maybe it's another case of an idea not served well by a 30-minute running time; maybe the laid-back Lansing was a little too laid back (which is what Cleveland Amory thought, although I think an undercover agent would necessarily be restrained in his actions), maybe the audience liked their spies to be more like James Bond. It was up against Green Acres and Chrysler Theatre, which didn't do it any favors. I'd just be happy to see a few more complete episodes. It's a short run, though—stay tuned to see what takes its place next month. TV