This week in TV Guide: August 7, 1965

You all know about my affection for Gene Barry's detective series Burke's Law. (If you don't, you haven't been reading very closely.) It was a stylish mix of humor and police drama, all done with tongue-in-cheek and twinkle-in-eye. But Burke's Law, as we know it, is now done. Starting this fall, the show's jumping on the secret agent bandwagon popularized by The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Amos Burke, Secret Agent retains Barry's suave style (and Rolls Royce) amidst a bevy of beauties, but the supporting cast that did so much to make Burke fun—Gary Conway, Regis Toomey, Leon Lontac and Eileen O'Neill—is long gone, never to be seen again.* And Amos Burke, Secret Agent will be gone before long itself; the reboot lasts a mere 17 episodes before the series bites the dust.

*Except for a cameo appearance by O'Neill as one of Burke's "secret agent" operatives. Though she doesn't play the Sergeant Ames character, I think it's significant that she's one of the few female operatives working with Burke in the new series who doesn't get killed.

According to the article by Peter Bogdanovich (!), network executives feel the Burke's Law format was getting stale, "running 'out of gas'." And despite the protestations of Tom McDermott, president of Four Star Productions that Amos Burke will not be a carbon copy of U.N.C.L.E.—"The last time I saw U.N.C.L.E., they looked like they were doing Burke's Law"—there's no doubt that the spy spoof has played a big role in the retool of Burke. It's a James Bond world now, and we're all just living in it.

Barry himself professes to be excited about the new format (although we would later learn that both Barry and producer Aaron Spelling were dead-set against it). "We made TV history," he says of the cameo-laden, sly humor of Burke, "and now the time is ripe to enlarge the format of the show." And to its credit, Amos Burke doesn't try to deny its past. As the season progresses, there are several references to Burke's previous career as the head of the L.A. homicide department, and Burke continues to drive his Rolls. In fact, Barry's sophistication, which everyone agrees was the major selling point of Burke, should have been tailor-made for a globe-trotting secret agent. But without the supporting cast of the previous two years, the spark just isn't there anymore. The shows are pleasant, but nowhere near as entertaining. Which once again proves that if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

Besides Amos Burke, Secret Agent, the 1965-66 television season also sees the premieres of I Spy, The Wild Wild West, and Get Smart. They all go on to longer, more successful runs than Amos Burke. And when Gene Barry reprises the role of Amos Burke in 1994, it will be under the moniker of Burke's Law. As it should be.

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

Sullivan: Ed welcomes Steve Lawrence, Victor Borge, the rock 'n' rolling Dave Clark Five, comics Rowan and Martin, the Israeli Ballet, puppet Topo Gigio, the tap dancing Mattison Trio and John, a balancer.

Palace: Host Steve Lawrence inroduces Mickey Rooney and Bobby Van in a spoof of the movie "Bridge on the River Kwai"; operatic soprano Jean Fenn; the Backporch Majority, folk singers; choreographer-dancer Jack Cole; comic Gene Baylos; plate spinners Alberta and Rosita; the Gimma Brothers, novelty act; and 4-year-old drummer Poogie Bell.

As I typed these listings, I was thinking to myself that I really wanted to go with Palace this week because I like Steve Lawrence, but beyond Rooney and Van the lineup's pretty weak.  And then I come over to Sullivan and who do I see?  Steve Lawrence! As far as I remember, this is the first time we've had an act appear on both Palace and Sullivan the same week. Of course, it helps when both shows are in reruns. But Ed has more than Steve—try the very funny Borge, the occasionally funny Rowan and Martin, and the stylish Dave Clark Five. And if that isn't enough, you've got a puppet and a ballet company! No more calls, ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner—Sullivan takes it in a song.

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From 1963 to 1976, 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. 

Before Daniel Boone was a big man, before Mr. Smith went to Washington, before Davy Crockett was king of the wild frontier, there was Fess Parker. And, according to Cleveland Amory, this is where the problem starts.

Don't get me wrong; like Amory, I like Fess Parker, both personally and as an actor. If he has not always been a great actor, or even a very good one, he has been a pleasant one, which can get you a long way with viewers, But, quite frankly, in this first season of Daniel Boone, Parker has a lot to fess up to. (Don't blame Amory; that one belongs to me.) Cleve has only two things to say about Parker's acting: "(1) He can keep up with the dialog. (2) He can out-act the Indians." When it comes to the acting, though, you can't blame Parker entirely: "[T]he only possible explanation for the dialog in this show is that it was written by writers who live in canyons—the echo techique whereby every question is asked and then reasked, answered and then reanswered." And over and over. As for the Indians, "they are fascinting in their inepitude. They play almost every scene as if someone had just told them they were not going to be paid after all." So bad are the actors playing the good guys, "one way we have found to enjoy it is to root for the bad guys, who are, at least sometimes, good actors." 

Believe me, I tried to find something good about Daniel Boone in this review, but the best I could do was an episode called "The Sisters O'Hannrahan," and, says Amory, that was good "if for no other reason because it at least had an idea for a plot." I can't really speak to the series myself; it was not a show I had any real interest in watching when I was growing up. I do know that Daniel Boone ran for six seasons and continues to be popular today. I also know that many series take awhile to get going, and the latter episodes bear only a passing resemblance to the initial ones. And finally, I know that Cleveland Amory doesn't always get it right; he is, after all, a curmudgeon. But if you enjoy someone who obviously takes great pleasure in the use of words, then this column, if not this show, is for you.

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Football? This early in August? Of course. The sporting landscape changes dramatically this week, with our usual summer fare of baseball, golf and bowling being joined on Sunday by the return of the American Football League as the Buffalo Bills and Boston Patriots face off in a pre-season tilt from Boston (1:00 p..m. CT, NBC). This is the first year of the AFL's new television contract with the network, which will give the AFL the necessary finances to launch the bidding war that ultimately results in the league's merger with the NFL.

Not to be outdone, CBS presents an NFL game opposite the AFL, but we're really talking apples and oranges here. The CBS offering (1:00 p.m.) is the Baltimore Colts inter-squad game, taped the previous night. The focus is on Baltimore's preparation for the regular season, in which they'll be out to avenge their 24-0 loss to the Cleveland Browns in the previous year's NFL championship game. In fact, it's Cleveland, not Baltimore, that makes it back to the title game, where they're waxed by my favorite team of the era, the Green Bay Packers, 23-12. Better that you should tune in a day earlier and catch their broadcast of the Washington Redskins and Philadelphia Eagles from Hershey, PA. (1:00 p.m., CBS)

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Kellam de Forest is my kind of guy. His research company regularly vetts scripts for accuracy and liability, and is on call to answer questions that producers and scriptwriters might have about, say, how to peel a pearl (The Richard Boone Show) or what day December 30, 2022 falls on (The Twilight Zone). And while some of these items may seem like they're not such a big deal—after all, anyone with an internet connection can tell you that 12/30/22 is a Thursday—others can be very important, not only for the show's accuracy, but its financial well-being.

For one thing, de Forest conducts a vigorous background check into character names that appear in scripts. This service would have been particularly advantageous had the producers of Dr. Kildare taken advantage of it. They're currently in the midst of a $5 million lawsuit because of a recent episode in which a fictional doctor stands accused of covering up a medical mistake that resulted in the death of a young child. Seems that there's a real doctor out there with the same last name, who didn't take kindly to having that name besmirched, whether the TV doc was fictional or not. Sending the script de Forest's way could have saved the producers a lot of grief, for a fraction of the cost.

DeForest and his staff

I first read about de Forest many years ago, in Marc Scott Zicree's Twilight Zone Companion, in which de Forest applied his trade to the 1963 episode "In Praise of Pip." Rod Serling's original script contained a reference to American military action in Laos, with Jack Klugman's son Pip dying in a place where "There isn't even a war there," but de Forest pointed out that the Geneva Treaty on the neutrality of Laos stipulated the removal of all foreign troops from the country. "The implication that the U.S. has troops fighting in Laos (even in The Twilight Zone) could be an embarrassment and might cause repercussions.," de Forest noted. "U.S. Special Forces are fighting ('in an advisory capacity') in South Vietnam. Suggest South Vietnam." That wasn't his only suggestion for the script. A line from Klugman states, "There isn't even a war there," but, wrote de Forest, "In South Vietnam it is common knowledge that there is a Civil War, but U.S. troops are not supposed to be fighting there. Suggest 'There isn't even supposed to be a war there.'"

It's a fascinating line of work, at least to me. De Forest sits in his office, surrounded by a library of over 5,000 books "run[ning] the gamut from "The History of Orgies" to Dr. Spock's 'Common Sense Book of Baby and Child Care.'" A script comes in, from an episode of Profiles in Courage set in the late 1800's. Among 54 research points, de Forest issues recommendations regarding the phrases "Little old bird dog, that's me" ("the term 'bird dog,' referring to one who hunts and finds objects, didn't come into use until circa 1930") and "to take in a water cooler around the bend in the corridor" ("the modern cooler was invented about 1910, though there were can-top coolers earlier"). Another Profiles script called for a scene of "great shouting and commotion" at the 1924 Democratic National Convention.  De Forest, on his own, added "The 'official' record indicates specific cries of 'soak it to them, boys, soak it to them.'"

In years to come, de Forest would continue to prove his worth to various producers, often through his name-checking. For instance, All in the Family's Archie Bunker was originally named "Wally" Bunker, until de Forest discovered there was already a "Wally Bunker" living in Queens. Wally quickly became Archie—the name Norman Lear wanted in the first place. Very cool, don't you think? He also did key research and technical advise for the original Star Trek; he was responsible for the stardate format by suggesting that the writers use the Julilan rather than the Gregorian calendar. (It would "not only be more precise, but more futuristic.")

I don't have a Kellam de Forest Research Services at hand for my use, although the resources of the internet probably provide me with more data than de Forest could have dreamt of. It's knowing how to use the research that counts. And when it comes to storytelling, it's the details—putting a war in South Vietnam instead of Laos, or taking care to avoid historical anachronisms—that can make all the difference.

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Some quick programming hits for the week:

Saturday, as we noted, is the return of exhibition football on CBS. That night, Al Hirt, summer replacement for Jackie Gleason (and beneficiary of a feature article elsewhere in this issue), features a pretty good middlebrow lineup, with satirist Stan Freberg (one of the funniest men in radio or television), Met Opera soprano Anna Moffo , ballet dancers Edward Villella and Patricia McBride, pop singer Dionne Warwick, rockers Chad and Jeremy, harpist Robert Maxwell and jazz pianist Willie Smith. (6:30 p.m., CBS) And then, of course, there's Al's trumpet. Pretty good lineup; to be honest, it might top Ed and Palace this week.

Sunday is public affairs day, starting with Lamp Unto My Feet (9:00 a.m., CBS). This week's topic is "Reunification of Mankind," featuring historians Arnold Toynbee and William McNeil, and the question is "Can religion help man adjust to rapid and profound social, political and technological change?" I cannot possibly imagine a more prescient topic today, given that we live in a world of profound social, political and technological change that's pretty much rendered our society a shambles, precisely because of a decline (for whatever reasons) in religious belief. This is just what Toynbee's concerned with, given his view of religion as "a powervul force in shaping man's responses to human and environmental changes." 

Later, the public affairs program ABC Scope commemorates the 20th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima. (Noon, ABC) We hear about this on an almost annual basis around this time of year, but in 1965 it was still pretty fresh in people's minds. Correspondent Lou Cioffi (incorrectly identified as Gioffi in this issue) reports on how the city has changed since then; I wonder how much discussion concerned the use of the bomb in the first place? I'm always interested in intense conversations about this today, conducted mostly by people who weren't alive then and have little feeling for the context and climate in which the decision was made.

Monday's rerun of Andy Williams (8:00 p.m., NBC) features an odd pairing of guests: Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, and Jonathan Winters. "In a circus spot, Roy demonstrates his marksmanship and Jonathan portrays a lion tamer." On the other hand, the aforementioned The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (7:00 p.m., NBC), which is coming to camp mode by this time, has a story about "a strange disease [that] killed the entire population of a small English coastal village—by afflicting the inhabitants with old age." With a couple of tweaks, that could almost be The Andromeda Strain, couldn't it?

We're seeing the summer season wind down, and with it the shows that won't be returning in the fall. NBC has a pair on Tuesday; Moment of Fear (7:30 p.m.), which is showing an episode that originally came from G.E. Theater in 1959, and Cloak of Mystery (8:00 p.m.), which shows a failed pilot episode. Hullabaloo, also on NBC, will be back next summer, but it ends this year's run with a show hosted by Frankie Avalon, with Barbara McNair, Joanie Sommers, the Supremes, Peter and Gordon, the Byrds, and Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs. (9:00 p.m.)

Wednesday: It's Our Private World, the first prime-time program spun off from a daytime soap, in this case As the World Turns. (You'll remember Cleveland Amory reviewing this a few issues ago.) It airs twice weekly, on Wednesdays and Fridays (at 8:30 and 8:00 p.m., respectively), and stars the legendary soap actress Eileen Fulton in her ATWT role of Lisa Miller Hughes. It would have been interesting had this show taken, to have a bifurcated story universe running in both daytime and nightime; that is, even though the shows (and storylines) are separate, the participants inhabit the same universe. Alas, the show, which started in May, only makes it through to September and the beginning of the fall season.

On Thursday, the Minnesota Twins and New York Yankees wrap up a series at Yankee Stadium (7:00 p.m., WTCN, KCMT, WDSM, KROC). It's an informal changing of the guard; the Twins, who were mostly miserable as the Washington Senators, are headed for the American League pennant in 1965, as part of a run that includes a second-place finish in 1967 and West Division titles in 1969 and 1970. For the Yankees, on the other hand, it's the Twilight of the Gods: American League champions for the last five years and 22 of the last 29, the Yanks are headed for a sixth-place finish in 1965, followed by a total collapse into the cellar in 1966. They won't make it back to the World Series for another decade.

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Finally, what would Friday be without a beauty pageant, or "Beauty Spectacular," as the listings put it? It's the 14th annual International Beauty Pageant, live from Long Beach, California. (9:00 p.m., NBC) John Forsythe is the host, with an all-star panel (well, kind of) of judges including actress Virginia Mayo, pin-up illustrator Alberto Vargas, and Tom Kelley, the fashion photographer, who took a very famous photo of Marilyn Monroe against a red background which we probably, ah, shouldn't link to here.

Interestingly enough, this lesser-known pageant is still around (although it skipped a couple of years during COVID Theater), and is one of the few that doesn't judge solely on looks. Its "contestants are expected to serve as 'Ambassadors of Peace and Beauty', demonstrating tenderness, benevolence, friendship, beauty, intelligence, ability to take action, and, most importantly, a great international sensibility. The ultimate goal of the Miss International beauty pageant is to promote world peace, goodwill, and understanding."

In other words, just like this blog, right? TV

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Around the dial

Today is Good Friday, and for an example of the kind of programming you don't see on commercial television anymore, here is Archbishop Fulton Sheen's Life is Worth Living Good Friday broadcast. 

The Secret Sanctum of Captain Video dips once again into the world of comic book adaptations of television series; this week, it's the 1959-60 series Men Into Space, one of the first realistic looks at interstellar travel on TV. The comic's pretty good, from what I can see.

Orson Welles never appeared in a space opera to my knowledge, but at Cult TV Blog, John reviews "A Time to Remember," an episode of the 1973-74 Orson Welles Great Mysteries anthology series, starring Patrick Macnee in a Cold War thriller.

Did someone mention Pat Macnee? It was 60 years ago that The Avengers premiered on American television, and at A Shroud of Thoughts, Terence looks back on one of the great British import series of the 1960s.

And Martin Grams has some more comic book goodies as part of a treasure trove of rare pictures and clippings about Dick Tracy. There are a lot of really fun things included here; be sure to take some time and look at them.

It's said that everyone loves a good scandal; thankfully, this isn't true, as David points out at Comfort TV. He has an excellent piece on the recent revelation of "scandals" surrounding Bob Barker and The Price is Right, and what exactly it's all supposed to accomplish.

At Silver Scenes, the Metzingers have a great story on  The Silver Banjo Barbecue, a Disneyland restaurant located in Frontierland, and run by the actor Don DeFore! What a terrific bit of trivia!

An amusement park of a completely different type is at the center of Westworld, which I remember not from the TV series but the original movie, starring Yul Brynner as a version of his Magnificent Seven character. Read about it from Rick at Classic Film & Movie Cafe. 

This week's A-Team recap at A View from the Junkyard has Roger reviewing "Hot Styles," a Face-centered episode that involves kidnapping, counterfeit clothing designs, and questions as to whether the past should be left in the past. 

What better for Holy Week than another look at Greatest Heroes of the Bible? It's volume three of the 1978-79 NBC series, and Paul has all the news at Mavis Movie Madness. And they are great heroes, but is it great television? Read on and find out.

And at Cult TV Lounge, it's a look at a book I happen to have, the 1969 Prisoner tie-in novel called, appropriately enough, The Prisoner, and written by the noted sci-fi author Thomas M. Disch. It's quirky and kinda different from the series, but encapulsates its spirit perfectly.

Finally, it's the third installment of photos of the week, a collection of candid and publicity photos from the classic movie and television world, which Maddie has dug up at Classic Film and TV Corner. It's a fine way to end the week. TV

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This week in TV Guide: May 24, 1969

You might well recognize the name of U.S. Senator John Pastore, "the tart-tongued Democrat from Rhode Island," who for years has been the bane of the television industry with his campaign against what he sees as excessive sex and violence on the networks. This week, he explains the motivation behind his campaign to "clean up" television; not surprisingly, it begins with his constituents. 

The networks often point out that they don't really get all that many complaints about the content of their programming, Pastore says, but that's misleading. "People don't write to stations and networks like they write to congressmen, you see, and I have heard from many people," he explains. "I go to church on Sunday, and I’m stopped by half a dozen people who make a complaint about it. Or I have people visit with me or I go to a social affair or I go to a civic club, and it's continuous. It's continuous. I've been swamped with complaints." Pastore doesn't believe that everything on television is junk; in fact, he says about 90 percent of television is good. But that other ten percent; ah, there's the rub. 

"There isn’t a man I’ve met in the broadcasting industry who doesn’t know the difference between right and wrong, who doesn’t know when a joke has gone too far, when a gesture has gone too far, when a dress is cut too low, when the feminine body is too much exposed, when a joke begins to lose its subtlety and becomes a vulgarity—and that has happened!" Pastore says. The networks claim that we live in a more permissive era, and they point to today's motion pictures as evidence of how it's reflected in the entertainment industry. "But the fact remains that television was invented to service the family in the home," Pastore counters. "It's an entirely different medium than a moving-picture theater. With a moving picture, you can read a review. If you feel it's going to be a picture that's a little out of bounds, you don't buy a ticket and you don't go." 

It's different when it comes to television, though. "When you turn on that knob, that knob, and you hear from a licensee of the Government, you expect something decent. And you have a right to expect something decent." Which leads to one idea that Pastore's been advocating for years: pre-screening of shows by the National Association of Broadcasters. Pastore claims that many of the problems resulting from controversial shows such as ABC's Turn-On could have been avoided if such programs were simply screened in advance, the content adjusted when appropriate, and changes made if necessary, not unlike what will be done with the motion picture rating code. Not every program would need to be prescreened; "Take My Three Sons. Who has to prescreen that? The Doris Day Show, do you have to prescreen that?. . . there are so many shows they know beforehand are all right." But, in the case of Turn-On, "there was a reluctance to say exactly why it was taken off the air and finally I butted in and asked, 'Wasn’t it taken off because it was too risque?' and the fellow [Elton Rule, president of ABC-TV] said, "Yes." Said Pastore triumphantly, "That's it!"

Pastore scoffs at those who deny that there's a link between on-screen violence and its real-life counterpart. Relating his conversations with network heads, he urges them to take responsibility for what they show in their programs. "All I'm saying is, look, you're sensible people. You're men of the world. You're fathers of families. You know the difference between right and wrong. There’s so much about this you can do on your own! Then, when you get to the marginal cases, maybe you need a Surgeon General's opinion." 

The last thing he wants, Pastore says, is censorship. "I'm opposed to Government regulation, because I think they can do this job on their own. Not only that, I tell you very frankly, we don’t want to do anything here that will impinge on the basic constitutional rights of freedom of speech. I’m very strong on that." But it's up to the networks, and particularly the judgment of the NAB Code Authority. When Pastore says he's against government regulation, he pointedly adds, "For the time being, of course not."  It's an argument that the editors of TV Guide have made many times themselves, that if the industry doesn't police itself, someone else is going to. Of course, what we may find naïve today is the very idea that television can be cleaned up. And a larger question: does anyone out there even care anymore? 

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

Sullivan: Tentatively scheduled guests: Theodore Bikel; Beatles’ protege Mary Hopkin (singing "Good-By"); comic Louis Nye; and soul singers Sam and Dave. Also on hand: comic Ron Carey, the singing Primo Family and juggler Ernest Montego. (This appears to be the actual lineup on the show.)

Palace: In a repeat, Van Johnson presents the Beatles (in a film clip from Liverpool); Mickey Rooney (in a baseball sketch); Liza Minnelli; actress Chris Noel (with films of her visit to Vietnam); comic George Carlin; the acrobatic Palace Duo; and comic illusionists Milo and Roger.   

I think when you're able to lead with the Beatles, you've already got a leg up on the competition. Mickey Rooney, Liza Minnelli, and George Carlin give the Palace the bench strength it needs, and even though Ed's lineup is not weak, common sense says this week's nod goes to The Palace.

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

With television's regular season turning to an endless cycle of repeats, Cleveland Amory has the opportunity to look at those programs that the average viewer might not be familiar with, and this week he turns his attention to the Sunday morning ghetto of religious programming, and NBC's Frontiers of Faith.

As was the case with so many religious programs of the time, Frontiers of Faith, which debuted on the network in 1951, has evolved over the years, from being a more or less televised religious service, to one that explores music, dance, and drama, using both documentary and interview formats. Since it's not a commercially-sponsored program (its sponsor is the National Council of Churches), it has the added advantage of not having to deal with sponsor controversies, which means it's free to tackle controversial topics and guests, "from the Archbishop of Canterbury to James Baldwin." Two programs from a couple of years ago, both featuring Dr. Lycurgus M. Starkey Jr., pastor of the College Avenue Methodist Church of Muncie, Indiana, serve to illustrate the point: one was called "The Manly Art of Seduction," while the other explored James Bond movies and sadistic paperbacks, called "The Violent Ones."

Amory singles out a particularly notable series of episodes aired earlier this year. Called "Challenge of a Closer Moon," it was a timely examination of U.S. foreign aid to underdeveloped countries—the "closer moon" of the title—and what we were, and were not, getting from it. Said moderator Donald Barnhouse, "It is said about aid to developing countries that it is a kind of Operation Rathole." He then interviewed guests from the Rockefeller Foundation and the Agriculture Development Council to demonstrate, as Amory says, "that it is not." 

Programs like this are important, even though this isn't particularly my style of religion, but as Amory points out, "the people who wanted preaching and singing went to their church or synagogue; that, if they didn’t, they didn’t want it; and that, even if they did, they didn’t necessarily want it again." What I do want out of television is something challenging, provocative, and willing to take chances with creative formats. You can't accuse Frontiers of Faith of failing in any of those areas.

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Until 1971, Memorial Day was celebrated on May 30. Until 1971, the Indianapolis 500 was run on Memorial Day, whether it fell at the beginning, middle, or end of the week.* That means that this year's race is scheduled for this Friday, with a good number of special programs, all on KXTV, leading up to the self-proclaimed Greatest Spectacle in Racing. On Saturday Track Talk (11:45 a.m.) presents a 15-minute update on qualifying and preparations for the great race, including interviews with some of the drivers. Sunday, it's Rookie (7:30 p.m.), which tells the story of rookie drivers trying to make the field of 33 for the race. It's not an easy task; in 1967, only one first-year driver (not including those with experience in Formula 1) qualified for the 500. Tuesday (7:00 p.m.), it's a half-hour of qualifying highlights, including the pole-winning run of A.J. Foyt. And on the day of the race itself, it's the Indianapolis 500 Festival Parade (1:30 p.m.), held two days ago, and hosted by Steve Allen. The race itself isn't yet shown live on home television; to watch it live, you have to head down to your local movie theater carrying the closed-circuit broadcast, or wait until the following Saturday for the highlights on Wide World of Sports. Otherwise, you can do as I did for many years, and listen to the live radio broadcast. The 1969 race is won by Mario Andretti, the first and only 500 victory for the great racing family.

*When Memorial Day fell on Sunday, the race was transferred to Monday, May 31. Ironically, the race is permanently scheduled on Sunday nowadays, with the actual Monday holiday being the back-up date. 

There's another program note that runs through the week: the debut of Dick Cavett's new thrice-weekly primetime show (10:00 p.m., ABC). It's the latest landing spot for Cavett, whose 90-minute Monday-Friday daytime show ended in January after a little less than a year; it was always problematic that a show with Cavett's relatively intellectual heft would make a go of it as a morning series. The series kicks off on Monday at 10:00 p.m. PT, with Truman Capote, Liza Minnelli, James Coburn, and Candice Bergen; in later weeks, it will air on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, running throughout the summer. I think there was always a thought on the part of the network that Cavett would serve as a backup in case Joey Bishop's show failed, but as it happened, Cavett was thrust into the late-night spot earlier than expected, when Bishop quit in a contract dispute; he slides into the role at the end of 1969.

And the Apollo 10 flight comes to an end this week with the splashdown scheduled for Monday; all three networks plan live updates throughout the weekend and on Monday; NBC's Today expands to three hours for the event, including an appearance by "Harvard medical student Michael Chrichton [sic], discussing health problems that could be created by interplanetary travel." It's too bad that Apollo 10 tends to get overshadowed by the flights of Apollo 7 (first successful Apollo flight), Apollo 8 (first trip around the moon), and Apollo 11 (first moon landing), because its successful test of the lunar module in lunar orbit was essential in making the moon landing possible. And think about this: that Apollo 11 flight took place only two months later. Amazing to think all those missions could take place in such rapid succession, doesn't it?

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What else? Saturday leads off the week with The World of Charlie Brown and Charles Schulz (8:30 p.m., CBS), a look at how Schulz's comic strip Peanuts has become an industry unto itself, from serving as mascot for the Apollo space missions to movies, musicals, books, and more. I've always enjoyed Peanuts, although I'll freely admit that once Calvin and Hobbes came along, that became my favorite, a position it continues to hold today; I always admired Bill Watterson for not selling out his characters for every commercial purpose around, unlike—well, frankly, unlike Charles Schulz. Later that night, CBS is on hand in the sun and fun capital of the world, Miami Beach, for the Miss USA Beauty Pageant (10:00 p.m.), hosted by Bob Barker, with singer John Gary as special guest star. The winner: Miss Virginia, Wendy Dascomb.

In looking through Sunday's features, I came across this description for the 1934 King Kong with Robert Armstrong and Fay Wray: "Bizarre retelling of the “beauty and the beast’ legend." Now, I've heard King Kong called many things, usually variations of "epic," but I've never seen it called "bizarre." Oh well, it's on at 2:00 p.m. on KTXL. Later, Leonard Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic spend on hour on what Lenny calles "the first psychedelic symphony," the Symphonie Fantastique of Hector Berlioz, on Young People's Concert (4:30 p.m., CBS). In primetime, NBC Children's Theatre presents a children's ballet based on Louisa May Alcott's Little Women (6:30 p.m., NBC). Think about these last two shows for a minute: the presumption that children, or "young people," would be interested in two one-hour programs dealing with classical music and ballet. 

On Monday, Arthur Godfrey is on hand to host an hour of highlights of the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus (8:00 p.m., NBC). The Old Redhead also finds the time for a dressage exhibition on his horse Goldie, and sings "Mr. Clown." If that's just not for you, you might be interested in "The World of Carl Sandberg" (8:00 p.m., NET), an adaptation of the 1961 Broadway show starring Fritz Weaver and Uta Hagen, plus period folk songs from the Tarriers and Carolyn Hester. You can see a clip of this fascinating program here; Sandburg, had only died two years previously at the time of this airing.

Tuesday sees a repeat of A Hard Day's Night (9:00 p.m., NBC), the Beatles' film debut, which Judith Crist calls a "mad mixture of sophisticated satire and glorious silliness." It's the movie's third run on the network, in what Crist hopes will become an annual tradition. One of the most enduring, and endearing, aspects of the original NBC broadcast was the first (only?) appearance of the "NBC Penguin," taking the place of the Peacock to introduce this movie in "lively black and white." 

On Wednesday, that great thespian, William Shatner, stars with Elizabeth Ashley in the Prudential: On Stage presentation of ". . . The Skirts of Happy Chance. . . " (9:00 p.m., NBC), a comedy-drama about the members of an anti-poverty program in a small city. On Stage is the program launched by NBC following the disastrous "Flesh and Blood," called "the worst disaster of the TV season," the previous year; as I noted at the time, the plan was for "five original 'upbeat' dramas" in the coming season—dramas that will be 'exciting, hopeful and affirmative.'" It's produced by David Susskind, and written by Albert Ruben and directed by David Pressman, both veterans of Susskind's N.Y.P.D., which was very good but wasn't exactly what I'd call "upbeat" and "hopeful." But maybe I'm wrong.

Thursday night, it's a repeat of "Arrival," the stunning premiere episode of Patrick McGoohan's surrealistic allegorical drama The Prisoner (8:00 p.m., CBS). Last season, it aired as a summer replacement for The Jackie Gleason Show; this season, it takes the place of the cancelled Jonathan Winters Show. I've found that the best way to prepare for the series is by watching Danger Man, the secret agent series starring McGoohan as John Drake, who bears a stunning similarity to Number 6. Later, the late John F. Kennedy's 52nd birthday is commemorated with a repeat of the 1964 documentary The Life and Times of John F. Kennedy (9:00 p.m., KTVU), narrated by Cliff Robertson, who played JFK in PT-109. 

Other than Michael Crichton, the most interesting guest on Today this week (Friday, 7:00 a.m., NBC) may be author Edward Luttwak, promoting his book Coup d'État: A Practical Handbook, which TV Guide dryly describes as a handbook "on how to take over a nation." It's important, Luttwak notes, to understand the difference between a coup and a revolution; the former consists of "the rapid takeover of governmental mechanisms by insurgents without destroying them, thereby enabling a swift transition of power." Luttwak points out that not every country is suitable for a coup, and that the key to success lies in flexibility and "maximum speed in the transitional phase, and the need to fully neutralize the opposition both before and immediately after the coup." Not surprisingly, it's actually been used as a guide in several coup attempts staged around the world; Luttwak wrote an updated version in 2016, which includes technological advances made since the original version. I'm not sure why this isn't on my bookshelf.

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According to the Teletype, Steve Douglas, the character played by Fred MacMurray on the long-running My Three Sons, is getting married during the new season. No word on who the lucky lady is, but she'll have a seven-year-old daughter in tow. Historian and former JFK assistant Arthur Schlesinger Jr. is writing the script for "The Unfinished Journey of Robert F. Kennedy," the David L. Wolper documentary that will be the only non-fiction film ever shown on ABC's Movie of the Week. And Chad Everett, star of the upcoming CBS drama U.M.C. (it hasn't yet been renamed Medical Center) will be doing a guest appearance on Liberace's summer show for the same network.

Speaking of CBS, Richard W. Jenks, the new president of the CBS Broadcast Group, addressed the many rumors regarding the network's cancellation of the Smothers Brothers. Richard K. Doan reports that Jenks "flatly denied" that the Brothers were dropped due to declining ratings, nor was it done to protect the aforementioned Senator John Pastore from criticism on the show. And it's "simply wrong" to claim that CBS has given up on topical satire. In fact, says Jenks, the decision was made based on the network's responsibility to both viewers and the industry. In strong words, Jenks said that "someone has to be the judge of the difference between entertainment and propaganda," and that the network does not subscribe to the theory that "free speech not only permits, but compels, the dissemination of antisocial material." Voicing an idea that would strike contemporary viewers as being somewhat quaint, Jenks said that those appearing on the network have to be "as interested as we are in avoiding unnecessary offense to the pious, the immature and the innocent." There is, I think, a lot to that. 

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MST3K alert: Invaders from Mars (1953) A boy awakens in the middle of the night to see a spaceship disappearing underground. Helen Carter, Arthur Franz. It's another presentation from the MST3K quasi-spinoff Rifftrax, spotlighting something that we've always known: the surest way for space aliens to conquer the Earth is to take over the back yard of one particular family in one sleepy little town in America. Makes perfect sense to me; maybe they got the idea from reading Edward Luttwak? TV  

The golden age of religious television

Over the last 50 or so years, we've become used to seeing, periodically, reports of a religious "revival" on television, and here I'm not talking about the televangelists who've carved out their own piece of the television pie. (That's a topic for another day, and, quite possibly, another forum.) No, what I'm talking about are movies, miniseries or series that, in one way or another, are actually about religion.

This talk starts whenever a series with a vaguely "spiritual" theme becomes successful—it's seldom prompted by an unsuccessful series.* And it's true that there have been a number of series over the decades that have succeeded in crossing over from the niche religious audience to wider ratings success, from Jesus of Nazareth to The Chosen, Highway to Heaven, Touched by an Angel, Seventh Heaven, Joan of Arcadia, and the like. Some of them are more traditionally religious than others, and some could probably be more properly categorized as "family-friendly" rather than religious. 

*Think McLean Stevenson's sitcom In the Beginning, or Nothing Sacred, a bomb about a progressive Catholic priest.

But whenver one of these "revivals" happens, the cover of TV Guide trumpets the news that God is back on television. You'd be forgiven if you didn't remember these occasions, coming as they did sandwiched between pictures of ever-more-scantily dressed starlets displaying their décolletage while promoting their latest hot series or movie.

Admit it—which one of these covers are you more likely to have noticed?

But in the 1950s and '60s, actual religious programming—not spiritual, not religious-themed, but Bible-type religion—was a far-more frequent occurrance on television, something as ordinary as a sitcom or police drama. You probably know about heavy-hitters such as Bishop Fulton Sheen and Billy Graham, fixtures on network and syndicated television throughout television's mid-century era; many episodes of Bishop Sheen's Life is Worth Living are available on YouTube, and historic Billy Graham crusades can be found on TBN, as well as on YouTube. 

But one site I want to bring to your attention today is Gospel Film Library (also available on Roku), where you can now acquaint (or reacquaint) yourself with many of the religious programs that were mainstream staples of television's early decade. Their website describes Gospel Films Archive as "a repository of films that chronicle how the Bible, faith and Christianity was presented to 20th century audiences through the medium of film and television. Our mission is to track down, digitize, and restore hundreds of Christian films that have renewed relevance in the modern era."

What I appreciate about GFL, in addition to the content, is the role it plays in preserving an underappreciated part of television history, one that reflects how American culture has shifted over the decades. Whereas so many of today's "God" programs are primarily based either on an appeal to emotions or a religion-free discussion of ethics, the programs included in the Gospel Film Library "reflect Biblical history and Christian ideology, while addressing topics that remain relevant to contemporary audiences. Many of these rare, neglected, historic films were crafted by talented Hollywood filmmakers expressly for Christian organizations. Other films with strong spiritual themes were produced by traditional studios for mainstream theatrical and television audiences." 

The film library includes many 30-minute programs that were seen frequently on local stations throughout the '50s and '60s, especially at Christmas or Easter, and are going to be familiar to anyone acquainted with TV Guides of the time. There are also three series that ran either on network television or in syndication: Crossroads, a multidenominational program that dramatized the experiences encountered by clergymen; This is the Life, produced by the Lutheran Church, which ran in syndication from 1952 to 1988; and The Christopher Program, created by Catholic priest Fr. James Keller. Episodes of these shows were run and rerun in syndication for years, and attracted loyal and appreciative audiences. Thanks to GSL, you can now see episodes of these programs, which featured both familiar faces and up-and-coming actors, including a very young James Dean.

Graphic courtesy Gospel Film Library

There have been other religious programs on network television throughout the years. Perhaps the best-known, as well as the longest-running, was Fr. Elwood Kieser's creative and dynamic Insight, which aired in syndication from 1960 to 1985, and featured top talent from Hollywood actors, writers, and directors, many of whom donated their time and talent to work on the program. (Thanks to my friend Tony Pizza for the reminder!) There were also the Sunday morning programs Look Up and Live and Lamp Unto My Feet, both of which ran on CBS until 1979; For Our Times, a combination of the two programs that continued until 1988; and Directions, which aired on ABC from 1960 to 1984 and featured cultural presentations as well as dramas and documentaries. 

Today, there are a plethora of cable stations devoted to religion (EWTN and TBN), as well as syndicated televangelist programs that still dominate Sunday mornings in some markets. But as for the types of programs that you can see on Gospel Film Library—well, good luck finding anything like that on network television.

What happened? Well as early as 1954, Leonard Goldenson, head president of ABC (the network most heavily invested in religious programming) decided that "a television network was not the place for religious programs," and cancelled both Billy Graham's Hour of Decision and This is the Life. While Goldenson cited low ratings "hurting the 'flow' of ABC's entertainment programs," that argument doesn't really hold water, given that Hour of Decision was the last program on ABC's Sunday night lineup; according to one historian, Goldenson "simply felt uncomfortable about organized religion." (It also didn't stop ABC from picking up Bishop Sheen's Life is Worth Living from DuMont.) The times were also a-changing as the '50s gave way to the '60s; I probably don't need to go any further on that. There's a very good article about the history of religious programming on TV during this era, which discusses the rise and fall of religion on network television, which I would happily recommend.

I'd also happily recommend Gospel Film Library to those of you interested in finding out more about some of these programs, and to see yet another aspect of television's often-ignored heritage. If groups like GFL don't preserve this history, nobody else will. TV  

When good comes from evil

Life, as I have remarked more than once, is at heart a human drama. And not just any drama, but one shrouded in mystery. Oftentimes, it seems as if the act of living provides us with more questions than answers, which is rarely satisfying to anyone; it is frequently that lack of answers that causes some people to conclude that there is no meaning to life at all, that it’s simply a matter of random chance that determines what happens to us. Why, we ask, do bad things happen to good people while good things happen to bad people? Why does God allow evil to exist in the world? It's a question that's shattered the faith of more than one person over the millennia, and continues to do so to this day—perhaps especially in this day.

Sometimes we find explanations to these kinds of questions difficult to come by, and often it's easier (and more effective) to illustrate a point than it is to explain it. Likewise, those illustrations will often come from unusual places; in this case, the classic Doctor Who episode "Genesis of the Daleks," which first aired in March, 1975. It is a brilliant science fiction story that deals, as sci-fi often does, with big issues thinly disguised in different wrappers. With "Genesis of the Daleks," we find as near as possible a perfect demonstration of the Christian explanation regarding the existence of evil, and what, in fact, it's good for.

"Genesis of the Daleks" begins with the Doctor (Tom Baker) being intercepted by a fellow Time Lord, who intends for the Doctor and his companions to take on a secret mission. As usual, the Doctor resents this interference by the Time Lords in his life, but his interest is piqued when he's told the subject of the mission: Daleks.

In short, the Time Lords plan to transport the Doctor, Sara Jane (Elisabeth Sladen) and Harry (Ian Marter) back to the planet Skaro at a time just before the creation of the Daleks. Once there, the Doctor's assignment is to prevent the Daleks from achieving their eventual domination and enslavement of the universe. To do this, he has three options: stop the creation of the Daleks before it can be completed; slow down their development if it cannot be stopped; or at the very least, determine what their weaknesses are, so that they can be better defended against.

As the story proceeds, the Doctor is left with a single choice: he can destroy the Dalek incubation room where the mutated creatures are being prepared for installation in their pepper-pot containers. Working quickly, he wires the room with explosives. And then arrives the moment we’ve waited for from the beginning of the story. The Doctor holds in his hands two wires: touch them together and the explosion will destroy the incubation room, destroying forever the Daleks and their reign of terror and death. And yet the Doctor hesitates.

“What are you waiting for?” Sarah Jane asks him. “You can’t doubt it.”

“Well, I do,” the Doctor replies. “You see, some things could be better with the Daleks. Many future worlds will become allies just because of their fear of the Daleks.” To Sarah Jane’s objection that this isn't how things work, the Doctor points out that the responsibility for this act rests on his shoulders—his soul, really, although he doesn't use that word—and no one else’s; he then poses a question of his own. “Listen, if someone who knew the future pointed out a child to you and told you that that child would grow up totally evil, to be a ruthless dictator who would destroy millions of lives, could you then kill that child?”* It’s true that, as the Doctor says, “Hundreds of millions of people, thousands of generations can live without fear, in peace, and never even know the word Dalek” if he simply touches the two wires together, and yet – does he have the right? It’s not like killing a bacteria, wiping out a disease; this is an intelligent life form. If the Doctor does it, he becomes a perpetrator of genocide, no different from the Daleks themselves.

*That is, of course, the same argument made by Ezra Lieberman, Ira Levin’s Nazi hunter in his novel The Boys from Brazil. Kill all the Hitler clones Mengele has created—all of whom happen to be young boys, by the way—and you’ll prevent one of them from growing up to become another Hitler. Lieberman, like the Doctor, is unable to do it, and for the same reasons.

Ultimately, the decision is taken out of the Doctor's hands, through yet another plot twist. As the story ends, one of the Daleks inadvertently sets off the explosion. Although the room has been destroyed, Daleks outside the room continue to live, and the best the Doctor can hope is that they've bought some additional time to prepare for them—perhaps a thousand years or so. The Doctor and his companions manage to escape Skaro with their lives, which under the circumstances may be the best they could hope for. And yet there’s no doubt they’ve failed in the mission on which the Time Lords sent them, to prevent the genesis of the Daleks.

Or have they? “Failed?” the Doctor asks. “No, not really. You see, I know that although the Daleks will create havoc and destruction for millions of years, I know also that out of their evil must come something good.”

This is one of the pivotal moments in the history of Doctor Who. We already knew how it would turn out; the BBC isn’t about to kill off the cash cow that is the Daleks. But in resolving the situation, the Doctor, who in all of his incarnations has witnessed first-hand more Dalek-caused death and destruction than it would ever be possible for anyone else to experience, who knows the millions of years of “havoc and destruction” that awaits because of the Daleks, still remains confident that good will ultimately emerge from even the worst of circumstances. It is a profound statement; in effect, an explanation for the existence of evil.*

*Two profound statements, in fact, the other being the sanctity of life—even Dalek life.

Granted, there’s an entire theology dealing with good and evil—Original Sin, free will and the like. But in some ways the simplest answer remains the best, and this is what the Doctor presents. Note the force of his statement: some good must come from the evil of the Daleks. Planets and nations will come together as a result of them, and perhaps it will foster understanding between different races and species. People who would otherwise remain apart will meet because of them, and some of them will marry and have children, and some of those children might, propelled by the threat from the Daleks, come up with inventions that will greatly benefit the brotherhood of man. One need only look in our own time at the many scientific achievements that resulted from the space program, which itself was a part of a Cold War being fought against dictators responsible for the deaths of many millions of people. You can create your own scenarios, but the point remains the same.

Ultimately, all that's required to understand the nature of good and evil is faith: faith that evil is not the end-all and the be-all. Indeed, the Doctor's refusal to commit genocide, even in what would appear to be a good cause, speaks to the importance of one remaining true to himself, regardless of the costs. Christians might think of this as the sanctification of the individual, the ability to reach into inner depths that might not otherwise be exposed save the existence of such a threat. For a program such as Doctor Who, one that frequently looks at religion with a cynical eye, the message that comes from "Genesis of the Daleks" is a surprisingly affirming one.

But then we really shouldn't be surprised. It's a point I've made more than once here, that inadvertent prophets can be found in the unlikeliest of places, It also reinforces another point: the truth is always the truth, no matter how you package or present it. Bishop Sheen probably couldn't have said it any better. TV