The wonder of it all

I've said this before, but it bears repeating: I am a child of television. There's never been a time when television was not a reality in my life, never a moment when I wasn't able to turn it on and look in at the rest of the world. Television was always a marvel because of what it could do, but its existence was something I could take for granted because I didn't know any other way of life.

Because of that, I can't really imagine what the advent of television must have been like for people who'd lived maybe 20 or 30 years of their life without it. Was it something that never stopped being amazing to them, a phenomenon that, in some way, they appreciated more than those of us who grew up with it? That's how I feel sometimes when I look up at the moon, remembering the first nine years of my life, when nobody had ever set foot on its surface.

Or is it possible that they merely took it in stride, one more step in what must have seemed to be the inexorable march of progress: radio begat television, just as the movies preceded radio, gas led to electricity, balloons became the Wright Flyer, and so on. Sure, they were impressed, but they'd seen this kind of evolution before, and they were sure they'd see it again. I doubt that the millennials are much amazed by every next iteration of the iPhone or Android, and while the technology is a marvel, it couldn't be that surprising to someone who'd grown up watching Dick Tracy and his two-way wrist radio. On television, of course.

The late Paul Auster, in Report from the Interior, a memoir of his years growing up, wrote of an early childhood memory, conveying the sense of wonder that television could create in a five-year-old's mind, even from something as simple as watching a Felix the Cat cartoon:

They appear every afternoon on a television program called Junior Frolics, hosted by a man named Fred Sayles, who is known to you simply as Uncle Fred, the silver-haired gatekeeper to this land of marvels, and because you understand nothing about the production of animated films, cannot even begin to fathom the process by which drawings are made to move, you figure there must be some sort of alternate universe in which characters like Farmer Gray and Felix the Cat can exist—not as pen scratches dancing across a television screen, but as fully embodied, three-dimensional creatures as large as adults. Logic demands that they be large, since the people who appear on television are always larger than their images on-screen, and logic also demands that they belong to an alternate universe, since the universe you live in is not populated by cartoon characters, much as you might wish it was.

One day Auster's mother told him that she would be taking him and his friend Billy to see Uncle Fred's show in person.

All this is exciting to you, inordinately exciting, but even more exciting is the thought that finally, after months of speculation, you will be able to set eyes on Farmer Gray and Felix the Cat. At long last you will discover what they really look like. In your mind, you see the action unfolding on an enormous stage, a stage the size of a football field, as the crotchety old farmer and the wily black cat chase each other back and forth in one of their epic skirmishes. On the appointed day, however, none of it happens as you thought it would. The studio is small, Uncle Fred has makeup on his face, and after you are given a bag of mints to keep you company during the show, you take your seat in the grandstand with Billy and the other children. You look down at what should be a stage, but which in fact is nothing more than the concrete floor of the studio, and what you see there is a television set. Not even a special television set, but one no bigger or smaller than the set you have at home. The farmer and the cat are nowhere in the vicinity. After Uncle Fred welcomes the audience to the show, he introduces the first cartoon. The television comes on, and there are Farmer Gray and Felix the Cat, bouncing around in the same way they always have, still trapped inside the box, still as small as they ever were. You are thoroughly confused. What error have you made? you ask yourself. Where has your thinking gone wrong? The real is so defiantly at odds with the imagined, you can't help feeling that a nasty trick has been played on you. Stunned with disappointment, you can barely bring yourself to look at the show. Afterward, walking back to the car with Billy and your mother, you toss away the mints in disgust.

Sure, the ending is something of a downer, but even so, Auster's tale speaks to the miracle of television, even to someone who has basically grown up with it. I was in the peanut gallery of one of those shows myself, once upon a time, although I don't recall having any expectations of seeing Felix the Cat in real life. (Maybe I was just a little older, or my imagination wasn't as fantastic.) I do remember how great it was to see backstage at a television studio. It's no big deal now, but it was back then.

How easy it's been for me to accept television, from rabbit ears to rooftop antennas to cable to satellite to streaming, from black-and-white to color to HD. How amazing it's been, and how easy it is to take it all in stride, as I do, as so many people do. I wonder; are we capable of wonder anymore? Kids start in on technology at such an early age, I don't know if it's even possible for them to be amazed by anything. Maybe we're past that, and if so, it's too bad. There's something exciting about the wonder of it all, the wonder and excitement that Paul Auster felt in that studio all those years ago. At least until he threw away the mints. TV

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This week in TV Guide: October 28, 1961

Every so often, we encounter one of these "Week to Watch!" issues, when television is filled with big-name, marquee-value specials. Back in the 1960s, they frequently happened around Thanksgiving, but nobody's waiting around this year! Most of this week's issue is devoted to backstage looks at the feature presentations, so let's get right to it and see just how special this week really is!

The week starts with Saturday's Ernie Kovacs Special (8:30 p.m. ET, ABC), one of the comedian's monthly appearances, sponsored by Dutch Masters Cigars. Kovacs, in an article accompanying the special, describes it as "a half hour composed of Beethoven's Fifth, a girl in a bathtub, an interview with Horace Gridley, the noted molester, and Stravinsky's 'Firebird Suite.'" Scattered throughout, he continues, are blackouts done to the tune of "Mack the Knife" (in the original German," plus "Mona Lisa" sung in Polish, and a section of the program devoted to "Sex and Violence." There are also "some complimentary phrases dedicated to Dutch Masters Cigars." And lest anyone think Kovacs isn't responsible for the content, "I direct the show. I also write and produce the show. Do you realize how much money I would be making if this show had any kind of decent budget?!" It's an absolutely delightful half hour, available on DVD in the Ernie Kovacs collection put out a few years ago by Shout! 

Sunday bring a triple-header of specials, beginning with The World of Bob Hope (7:30 p.m., NBC), which is not the typical Bob Hope special we've all come to know and love; instead, it's a documentary look at Hope, narrated by Alexander Scourby, that not only reviews his show-biz career, but gives us a glimpse at what life is like for Hope on the road, interacting with friends, and talking about her personal and private life. That's a good lead-in to The DuPont Show of the Week (10:00 p.m., NBC), which features none other than Joan Crawford, narrating "The Ziegfeld Touch," a look at the legendary producer and impresario. The documentary combines vintage film clips featuring stars of various Ziegfield Follies shows, including Fanny Brice, Eddie Cantor, Will Rogers, and W.C. Fields, and contemporary performances by musical-comedy performers, recreating performances from the era. 

Now, if you're not in the mood for this, I recommend the David Susskind-produced adaptation of Graham Greene's novel The Power and the Glory (9:00 p.m., CBS), with a sterling cast topped by Sir Laurence Olivier, and co-starring George C. Scott, Julie Harris, Martin Gabel, Roddy McDowall, Keenan Wynn, Patty Duke, Cyril Cusack, and others. (It's really too bad they couldn't have gotten some bigger names, isn't it?) The star, of course, is Olivier, who won an Emmy the previous year for "The Moon and Sixpence." Booton Herndon's profile of Sir Laurence is an admiring one, though he doesn't shy away from the actor's faults, including two spectacular and very public divorces. 

But the man often referred to as the world's greatest actor comes off as sincere and unpretentious, admired by his colleagues and those who work with him (Keenan Wynn made two cross-country trips just to shoot one scene with Olivier "Because this guy is the greatest", and a valet remembers Olivier waiting around for an hour after a shoot in order to give the man a ride back to Manhattan), and his dedication to his craft is without question (he spent days just working on the Latin accent he used in the production). History records that The Power and the Glory, which tells the story of a "whisky priest" in Mexico during the Catholic persecution, will fall short of its lofty ambition; Greene himself hated the adaptation, and critics gently chided Olivier for a tendency to ham it up at times. Nevertheless, its themes of faith, human frailty, and redemption are timeless, and the thought of a special like this appearing on commercial television today is just a dream. And you can see it all here, including the original commercials.

On Friday, James Arness is the unlikely host for The Chevrolet Golden Anniversary Show (8:30 p.m., CBS), a variety special celebrating the 50th anniversary of the American auto manufacturer. These anniversary shows used to be quite common; the Ford 50th Annivesary Show, nearly a decade earlier, not only ran two hours, it was broadcast on both CBS and NBC simultaneously.* Many of us have seen clips from this show, as well as The Edsel Show, which didn't commemorate an anniversary but did celebrate the launch of Ford's new automobile. (Only retrospectively does it look like a special covering the christening of the Titanic.) Anyway, back to Chevy; this "fun-filled" hour looks back at comedy and songs from the last 50 years, and features a lineup including Art Carney, Nanette Fabray, Tony Randall, Allen Case, and Eileen Rodgers. Now, if Matt Dillon ends the show by gunning down Henry Ford at high noon, I'm tuning in.

*It should be pointed out that at the time (1953), neither network covered 100 percent of the country, necessitating a multi-network purchase to cover the whole nation.  

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Granted, after all this, anything else is likely to pale, but there is certainly more worth watching: for instance, who could pass up John Carradine as "a half-crazed old man" (is there any other kind? I say this, of course, as a half-crazed old man myself) scaring Tom Poston and Elizabeth Montgomery with talk of vampires and such on Monday's Thriller episode "Masquerade" (10:00 p.m., NBC), which you can watch here. And on PM East . . . PM West (11:15 p.m., WBZ), Mike Wallace and Joyce Davidson's guests are monster and horror figures from the movies, including Theodore, movie host John Zacherle, "Famous Monsters" editor Jim Warren, and producer Mike Ripps. By the way, did I happen to mention that the next day is Halloween?

Perhaps it's interesting only to me, but Tuesday's ABC News Closeup! (10:00 p.m.) on "The Awesome Servant" seems to strike a chord with today's world. It deals with the growing trend toward automation in industry, the unemployment it has caused, and the fear engendered in those losing their jobs. The special includes looks at a meat processing plant and a data processing center, and how jobs have been both lost and created in the process. Most of us are, I trust, familiar with the effects AI is having on various industries, from acting to writing; I've known several of my writing colleagues who've lost jobs because they've been replaced by AI. Like so many things, there's no easy solution to this problem; it's also clearly a situation that continues to replicate itself over and over again, in every era and generation.

Wednesday's daytime rerun of I Love Lucy (10:30 a.m., CBS) is highlighted by a rare television appearance from William Holden, playing himself in a classic episode in which he meets Lucy, who's wearing a fake nose. We all remember that one, don't we? There's also a very funny takeoff on The Untouchables, entitled "The Unscratchables," on Top Cat (8:30 p.m., CBS), involving a gang of jewel thieves (fresh from the Louvre, perhaps?) who hide their stolen loot in T.C.'s garbage can. 

Speaking of can, the question is whether or not William Shatner can bail himself out of trouble in an episode of Dr. Kildare that finds him being sued for malpractice after a patient he treated and released dies afterward. (Thursday, 8:30 p.m., NBC) Will Shat discover that the Kobayashi Maru doesn't work in Blair General and that he's going to have to act his way out of this one? Tune in tonight and find out.

And on Friday, Dinah Shore welcomes Dean Martin and Donald O'Connor to the spot she shares on an every-other-week basis with The Bell Telephone Hour. (9:30 p.m., NBC) Ironic, isn't it, that' just an hour before we were celebrating the anniversary of the company she used to shill for, Chevrolet? You can still see the U.S.A. in your Chevrolet, apparently, just not with Dinah. And what fun would that be?

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This week Gil Seldes gives us his opinion on two of television's legendary series, The Twilight Zone and Alfred Hitchcock Presents. One of the reasons I enjoy reading contemporary reviews of classic series is that, over time, such programs can become so wound up in reputation that it becomes difficult to, as John Ford might say, separate the fact from the legend. The good news, for fans of both shows, is that for the most part they live up to their reputation.

Serling has described episodes of TZ as being mostly "far out," which is just fine with Seldes: "I, who am not even a mild addict of science fiction, find I like the far-outs better. In those, The Twilight Zone not only kids me, it kids itself. In the others, it gets all solemn and allegorical." As an example of the former, he cites a pair of well-known episodes: ◀ "A World of His Own," in which Keenan Wynn plays a novelist who brings his characters to life through a tape recorder; and "The Arrival," with Harold J. Stone as an investigator who can't crack the case of an airliner that lands without any passengers or crew. Seldes praises the ending, with Stone's desperate cry of despair, as "magnificent." Less successful is one of the "important" episodes, "Two," with Charles Bronson and Elizabeth Montgomery as the last two survivors of a world war. It was, says Seldes, little more than "boy meets girl." Turning to Hitchcock, there is "The Changing Heart," with a clock-maker (Abraham Sofaer) who can't bear the thought of his daughter (Anne Helm) leaving him, and "Specialty of the House," a darkly humorous story of cannibalism, with Robert Morley and Kenneth Haigh.

 "At their best," Seldes writes," both of these programs are first-class entertainment and they are always well-made and thank heaven no one has inflated them beyond their proper length, which is half an hour." Of course, The Twilight Zone would go to an hour for its fourth season (a story in inself), but the half-hour format is perfect for these tales; "I have in recent weeks seen three hour-long dramatic shows which among them hardly contained more entertainment than a single show of either of these."

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I'm well aware that not everyone will find a certain item as interesting as I do, and I do sometimes write about particular issues multiple times. Yet, that's the way of it as a historian; you trace certain significant trends as they evolve through the years, as a means of measuring their impact on whatever it is that you write about. This week, that issue is television sponsorship, as seen by the editors.

A recent FCC hearing "confirmed what everyone knew all along: Many sponsors censor their shows." It's not necessarily as nefarious as it might sound; sponsors, risk-averse as always, seek to avoid "anything that might offend potential customers or place their products or companies in a bad light." And that's an understandable position, one for which you can hardly fault them, given that they're spending millions in support of their product. The threat comes when things get out of hand, and when writers and producers start to self-censor in an effort to proactively appease the sponsor, in which case "the result is bound to be bland, unimaginative programming." (Ask Rod Serling about the effects of sponsor pressure.)

So who's to blame, if not the sponsors, nor the content creators? It is, according to the editors, "a television system which permits an advertiser to decide upon, and to buy, the editorial material that surrounds his advertising." An advertiser can't do that in newspapers or magazines, and "television can't possibly be an independent, mature communications medium until he can't do it there either." The answer, ironically, could lie in the rising costs of television production, which is increasingly requiring multiple sponsors for a broadcast. The more sponsors a show has, the less influence any one sponsor can have on that show's content. Still, recent episodes of The Defenders and Bus Stop encountered significant opposition from a sponsor who threatened to withdraw sponsorship from both episodes. Will the producers of these shows seek "safer material" as a result? 

What is the relevance for today's television? Well, oftentimes, ad time is sold through brokers, meaning that the sponsor might not even have an active role in determining what programs they sponsor. For this reason, sponsorship boycotts, while they may be good for headlines, often have no impact on overall content unless a program becomes too toxic for anyone to touch. On the other hand, in an era of corporate activism, one can't rule out coordinated efforts by various sponsors to influence programming. The real test comes when a network makes decisions that appear to be at odds with the network's own priority, which is presumably achieving successful ratings in a given demographic. When that metric begins to take a back seat, then we'll know there's something to worry about.

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I mentioned at the outset that this issue is dominated by the week's special programming, but there's still room for mention of a serious topic: whether or not television is being used as a "scapegoat" for social ills. Edward Walsh, the Patterson Professor of Journalism at Fordham University, thinks it is, and says that those who put down television need to take a good look in the mirror first. If, as Walsh suggests, television bears some responsibility for the sharp rise in juvenile delinquency in the nation, is it solely TV's fault? Or, as Walsh suggests, should the parents who "lash out at television as the great debaser of modern society" take a closer examination at the programming they watch? For "it's their viewing habits that set the pattern for those of their children, at least up to the age of 10."

Walsh refers to what he calls "a triangle of responsibility" regarding mass media, involving the government, the media themselves, and the public. Each bears a particular obligation to see to it that mass media remains a responsible part of society. And yet there's another triangle, one that has been around much longer and goes to "the very core of our society": the church, the school, and the home. Each of these has greater responsibility than that of the government or the media, but so far they've escaped the bulk of the blame. And that's not right, says Walsh; according to Fr. J. Franklin Ewing, an anthropologist at Fordham, "Culture is not an inhuman juggernaut. The participants in a culture are individuals. If errors, inadequacies or dangers appear to you to exist in TV, you are the one to do something about this." 

Indeed, writes Walsh, "Television content is a symptom of our social problems more than it is a cause of them. We may decry the great incidence of violence in the medium, but we must also remember that the age of mass communication has been an age characterized by violence." To the extent that television reflects the world in which it exists, "Can our society condemn television without condemning itself?"

Furthermore, there's the question of those who use television as a babysitter or pacifier. According to Dr. Wilbur Schramm, Director of the Institute for Communication Research at Stanford University, "If we do not introduce our children to books, simply because television is so easily available, then we are being foolish. If we do not help our children to build up healthy contacts with other humans their own age, simply because television 'keeps them at home,' then we are truly doing them an unkindness." One could, I suppose, say the same thing about social media.

Parents must take responsibility for their duties as parents: keep informed of what's on TV, and carefully supervise what their children watch. If this results in them developing good taste in programming, their influence will help elevate the quality of the content. "That is a long-range job," he concludes, "but most jobs worth doing are long range."

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MST3K alert: Plan Nine from Outer Space (1956) Reports of flying saucers terrify San Fernando Valley. Bela Lugosi, Vampira. (Saturday, 11:15 p.m., WPRO in Providence) Now, you didn't think we'd pass up the opportunity to spotlight one of the worst, if not the worst, movies ever made? It's never better than in the Rifftrax edition—featuring a colorized version of Plan 9—in which our heroes play off the energy from a live audience to deliver a memorable interpretation of this epic failure. Who could ask for anything more? TV

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This week in TV Guide: March 2, 1963

One of the season's more interesting new shows, both conceptually and in practice, is The Eleventh Hour, NBC's drama dealing with the world of the mind. The Eleventh Hour—the title refers to those patients "on the verge of breakdown" and facing the last chance for treatment—is the product of executive producer Norman Felton, creator of the radio programs "Doctors Today" and "Today in Medicine" with the American Medical Association, and of the dramatic series Dr. Kildare for NBC television.* 

*Felton is perhaps best-known for a later show with absolutely nothing to do with medicine, The Man From U.N.C.L.E. 

Felton is determined to remove The Eleventh Hour from the traditional stereotypes of psychiatry; "What we're not doing is the story of Pen, Pad and Couch. Our forensic psychiatrist—Dr. Ted Bassett—is no analyst taking notes about patients' dreams. He's active, not passive. He's a therapist, a healer." The field of psychiatry has been relatively untouched by television, so Felton has established an advisory board comprised of 20 psychiatrists and four psychologists, plus psychiatrist Dr. Harold Arlen as technical advisor. In so doing, Felton and his staff have unearthed some potential concerns; after viewing the pilot episode, one psychiatrist wondered if viewers, after seeing various mental illnesses dramatized, might wonder if they themselves are suffering from the same illness. Felton reassured the doctors that while the show will deal with serious issues and how people can get help, "At the same time we want to entertain and hold an audience so that our program doesn't end up on the Sunday morning schedule." 

The lead characters of The Eleventh Hour are Wendell Corey as the aforementioned Dr. Theodore Bassett, a forensic psychiatrist and former lawyer, who is often called in to consult on cases involving an accused's sanity or state of mind; and Jack Ging as clinical psychologist Dr. Paul Graham*. Originally Ging was to be another psychiatrist sharing the office with Bassett, until it was pointed out that in real life, psychiatrists do not share offices. Changing Ging's status created another problem, this one with the American Psychological Association, which accused the show of portraying psychologists too often with "little resemblance to the realities of today's methods for care and treatment of the emotionally disturbed." (Graham, for instance, is the member of the duo most likely to enlist the use of such tropes as ink blot tests.) The network replied that "the psychologists were preoccupied with professional status." I had no idea that the behind-the-scenes story could be so dramatic!

*Unlike psychiatrists, psychologists are not medical doctors and, for example, cannot prescribe medication. Their title of "doctor" refers to their Ph.D. or Sc.D. degrees.

If you're a longtime reader, you'll know that I have a great admiration for The Eleventh Hour, and particularly for Wendell Corey's performance. Corey portrays Ted Bassett with great sensitivity and compassion; the opening of the first episode sets the tone for the series. A disturbed patient is running berserk through the hospital halls, trying desperately to escape. As he reaches the elevator, the doors open, revealing our first look at Dr. Bassett. The patient comes to a complete stop, as Bassett holds out his hands and offers him a small smile of reassurance. The patient, calming down, takes Bassett's hand, and then allows the orderlies to lead him away. Bassett watches after him, saying, almost to himself, "Poor damned soul." 

Wendell Corey and Barbara Rush

Some critics found that opening melodramatic, carrying overtones of the "great white father" school of medicine. On the contrary, I found Corey's gesture to be deeply moving, the kind of caring that I'd want from my doctor in a similar situation. Corey is, in fact, the fulcrum around which this show pivots; Jack Ging's character is very good, equally committed to helping his patients, but I so admire Corey's performance as Dr. Bassett; it's no easy feat to take a broken person and try to put him back together, to find out what's at the root of the problem and treat it; but Corey gives you confidence that it can be done.

(Corey leaves the series after the first season, and is replaced by a similar character, played by Ralph Bellamy, for the show's second and last season, which has not been made available on DVD; if anyone is aware of a—ahem—gray market dealer who has it, please let me know.) 

Mental illness is precisely that, an illness; it should be viewed without stigma or prejudice. Those who scoff at such diagnoses, who think of it as a weakness, or who view it as a crutch, are not just misinformed, they're ignorant. As such, I'm a great believer in psychiatry, though one has to be very careful about the psychiatrist as well as the technique involved. You might recall a similar series, Breaking Point, which will be premiering on ABC in the 1963-64 season. I liked that show as well, and thought that it dealt with the issue with sensitivity. These shows, for the most part, avoid easy answers in favor of hopeful ones; the illnesses from which these patients suffer will not go away magically. It will take work, it will take desire on the part of the patient to get better, but these doctors will be there to help him on the way. Sam Rolfe, the producer of The Eleventh Hour, says that "We want to let people know that when a man is boxed in, when it's a case of 'I've lost my job and my world is tumbling down'—there are doctors for that, too." Doctors like Ted Bassett, whose philosophy, Wendell Corey says, is "Never mind the past. Let's give the patient a future." In this cruel, cruel world we live in today, it's impossible not to be moved by it. 

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ABC's new fall season

Spring is just around the corner, at least according to the calendar, and it's oft been said that in springtime, a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. Unless, that is, he happens to be a young television executive, in which case springtime means his thoughts are focused, rather heavily, on the upcoming fall season. And, according to the Hollywood Teletype, there's quite a lot to think about. Titles for the new season are said to include The Travels of Jaimie McPheeters, starring Dan O'Herlihy; Butterball Brown, with Mickey Shaughnessy; Ready for the People, starring Everett Sloane; Arrest and Trial, with Ben Gazzara and Chuck Connors in a 90-minute drama; Please Stand By, a sci-fi anthology; The Fugitive, with David Janssen; Breaking Point, starring Paul Richards; The Patty Duke Show; The Greatest Show on Earth, with Jack Palance; Mr. Kingston, with Peter Graves and Walter Pidgeon; Thunderhead, starring George Montgomery; The Young and the Bold; and Archie. In the New York Teletype, a separate item mentions the upcoming 90-minute Jerry Lewis Show.

Some of these probably ring a bell. Please Stand By made it to the tube as The Outer Limits, while The Young and the Bold wound up as Channing and lasted one season. The Fugitive and Patty Duke speak for themselves; Arrest and Trial was truly innovative, but it took until Law & Order to make it work; Jaimie McPheeters was also one season and out, as was Breaking Point (unjustly) and Greatest Show. And you probably know about the bomb that was The Jerry Lewis Show.  The others left less of an oil slick than Jerry, but disappeared beneath the waves nonetheless.

As for the shows that have to go to make room for future hits, they include The Jetsons (which had a longer half-life than all but a couple of the new shows), The Rifleman, Going My Way, Our Man Higgins, I'm Dickens, He's Fenster, The Gallant Men, Naked City (a true classic), My Three Sons (which moved to CBS and ran for another seven seasons), and 77 Sunset Strip (although that survived by moving to another timeslot; the reformatted Sunset Strip was a disaster). Fred Astaire's Premiere anthology probably won't be back, but even if it is, Fred's already decided to return to movies (a good idea). 

I always enjoy looking at these proposed new series—which ones succeed beyond our wildest dreams, and which fail miserably, which cancelled shows are totally forgotten (like last week's My Friend Tony), and which are remembered forever (the aforementioned Jetsons). The fact that the young television executive, given the choice between love and television, chooses television, perhaps explains why TV itself seldom fulfills our expectations.

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And this serves as a nice lead-in to our next story, an interview with Dr. Gary A. Steiner, a psychologist from the University of Chicago, who's done a comprehensive study of television viewers, the findings of which are summarized in his new book The People Look at Television. In the TV Guide interview, Dr. Steiner explains "what viewers say they want to see on television and what they actually watch," and this should be good.

First of all, says Dr. Steiner, "everyone—highbrows included—watches mostly light entertainment," which includes action, comedy, variety, light drama, and sports. That accounts for roughly two-thirds of the average viewing week. Another large chunk of viewing comes from newscasts, making up anywhere between 25 and 40 percent of viewing. However, "heavier fare—serious drama, classical music, heavy information such as public affairs presentations" makes up less than 10 percent of the average viewing diet.

Isn't it the case, though, that viewer choices are based on what's available? Well, no. Even when given the choice, viewers, including better-educated ones, turn overwhelmingly to light entertainment. "Four out of five times" the college-educated viewer will pick light entertainment even when public affairs broadcasts are available. Even those viewers who say they want more public affairs programming consistently choose light entertainment shows when they have a choice. "So there is little evidence in support of the argument that viewers watch so much trivia because trivia is all they are offered."

As far as that light entertainment goes, Dr. Steiner's survey found that about every genre of programming has as many supporters as it does critics, meaning that for every critic who claims there are, for example, too many Westerns on TV, you're likely to find a satisfied fan. There is, in other words, "no simple change in program composition that on balance would satisfy more people than it would dissatisfy." 

There is, however, some correlation between education and the choice of entertainment; college educated viewers will turn from light to heavy entertainment when it's available. The general public, in such cases, still prefers light entertainment, and public affairs programs run a distant third. As for the fact that viewers say there needs to be more public affairs programming, Steiner speculates that this could be similar to "speed limits or integration—they recognize the need for information as a need for the country in general," not specifically for themselves. 

In general, viewers think there's too much violence on television, and they're particularly concerned about the exposure children have to such shows—both on shows designed for adults and for children. "It is the eye-gouging, slapping, hitting over the head—not mowing down with machine guns—that causes the greatest concern." They understand the need for commercials, but find them too long and interrupt too frequently, and at crucial points during a broadcast; they like commercials for beer, food, and automobiles, and dislike those for bathroom products, cigarettes, and undergarments. (I wonder what they'd think of today's commercials for, among other things, vaginal deodorant?)

In conclusion, Dr. Steiner gives us an idea of what the "composite viewer" wants. "First and foremost, give me more programs that are fun and worthwhile programs that I find relaxing and entertaining but, at the same time, are in some way informative, uplifting, useful." Make programs that are "safe for children and attract and hold their attention." Don't give us commercials that insult our intelligence, and don't interrupt in the middle of a program to show them. Raise the average level of all programs, rather than offering a few outstanding shows each year. And, since it's hard to control the amount of television watched by both adults and children, help us out by making those hours a little more worthwhile. "Television could certainly stand improvement. But all things considered, you're doing a good job."

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A pair of legal dramas lead off the week: Sam Benedict (Saturday, 7:30 p.m., NBC) has a change-of-pace episode, in which star Edmond O'Brien plays a dual role: high-powered attorney Benedict, and ne'er do well Charlie Dunphie, who's guilty of having bilked 17 charities—in order to support the 17 orphans he tends to on the old showboat they call home. I don't think the story is up to the caliber of most of the show's episodes, but it gives O'Brien a chance to show off his acting chops, and that's always welcome. Later, on The Defenders (8:30 p.m., CBS) the Prestons take the case of Luke Jackson (Rubert Duvall), a convicted murderer who's spent the last seven years on death row, and now a model of rehabilitation—just in time to be strapped into the electric chair. 

Looks as if whoever owned this issue planned to watch it as well!

If you're looking for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I have just the thing for you. It's the NBC Opera Company world premiere production of Gian Carlo Menotti's made-for-TV opera "Labyrinth" (Sunday, 2:00 p.m. ET), and when I say that it was made for television, I'm not kidding; the special effects and trick photography involved make it almost impossible for the opera to ever be performed on a stage. You can see the broadcast here, and it's a good thing that the video exists, because the opera was never rebroadcast and, aside from a 2020 performance at Ventura College, it has never been staged anywhere else. It saves us from having to ask the question: if an opera is performed and no video of it exists, did it really happen?

Sunday evening, Ed Sullivan's headline guests are Kate Smith, Bob Newhart, Anita Bryant, Nancy Walker, and Charles Nelson Reilly. He's also got a British ventriloquist, a Spanish dance group, and a hand-balancing act, but I think his main lineup would have won the day, regardless of what show it might have been going against (8:00 p.m., CBS). And on an NBC News Special, John Chancellor takes a look at the European Common Market, progenitor to the European Union. (10:00 p.m.) I don't know that it was a good idea then, any more than it is today.

Future Oscar winner Beatrice Straight stars as Edith in Monday's Ben Casey, a drama filled with family tensions: her niece Greta (Diana Hyland) is being controlled by her domineering mother; and Edith is refusing to undergo critical surgery until Greta is given her freedom. I wonder how Casey's going to handle this one?

The luminous Diane Baker appears as a young blind woman who's the target of farmer Lloyd Bridges' affections in The Lloyd Bridges Show (Tuesday, 8:00 p.m., CBS). Efron presents a rather interesting profile of the man whom she describes as "an enormously frail personality—so gentle and shy that it takes an hour of conversation before one gets any definite impression of him at all." His friends paint a similar picture;  Aaron Spelling, producer of Lloyd's current anthology series, calls him an enigma, "full of sweetness, full of love," while his wife Dorothy notes how "children worship him, flock around him." Both add, however, that his desire to love and please everyone is a source of trouble for him; "poor judgement," says Spelling, while his wife feels others take advantage of his gentle disposition. Not everyone is a fan; one critic says he doesn't believe all the talk of love of life and people: "He's weak, unrealistic. He refuses to look life in the face." Bridges himself doesn't particularly like the description of himself as a "gentle muscleman," but admits to a lack of aggressiveness, which could be due to a lack of confidence in his own abilities. Even though his new series lags in the ratings, he's enthusiastic about the opportunity to show that he can act, that he's not just the adventure star of Sea Hunt; he calls it "the biggest opportunity of my life." In the end, the series does leave the air after a single season, but Lloyd Bridges seldom leaves the small screen; he'll be back in Rod Serling's existential Western, The Loner, and was a fixture in guest appearances and TV-movies (not to mention his memorable role in the movie Airplane!) until his death in 1998.

Pop singer Joanie Sommers is Wednesday night's star; she appears first as one of Perry Como's guests on the Kraft Music Hall (9:00 p.m., NBC), along with Gene Sheldon, Charlie Manna, and the Four Step Brothers; later, she shows up on The Steve Allen Show (11:15 p.m., syndicated), with jazzman Frank Rosolino and singer Dean Reed. James Stewart makes a rare appearance on series television on Thursday, portraying himself in his real-life capacity as a brigadier general in the Air Force Reserves, on My Three Sons (9:00 p.m., ABC) in an episode in which Robbie is competing to win a high school letter for science achievement. 

On Friday, Leonard Bernstein's Young People's Concert presents its last show of the season, "The Latin American Spirit," featuring his new symphonic arrangement of West Side Story, along with pieces by Aaron Copland, Heitor Villa-Lobos, and Oscar Fernandez (7:30 p.m., CBS). Later, on The Jack Paar Program (10:00 p.m., NBC), former Vice President Richard Nixon makes his first network TV appearance since losing the election for governor of California last November. He's given Jack carte blanche on any question topics, and even takes time out to play a composition of his own on the piano. The audience reaction shows that even after his defeat, he remains a popular political figure.

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Ann Flood is frustrated. She's already an established star of daytime television as Nancy Pollock Karr, the fresh-scrubbed heroine of CBS's The Edge of Night. Before that, she was Liz Fraser Allen, the fresh-scrubbed heroine of From These Roots. And therein lies the rub: Flood, whom everyone describes as warm and sweet-hearted is feeling a little stifled. "I've been cast as the all-American-girl type, the sweetheart type, for years. For a change, I'd like to be the Other Woman." 

No matter what kind of character she plays, though, she's committed to the world of the soaps—which, for the most part, are still being done live. "I'm not pursuing a stellar career," she tells TV Guide. "My home is most important. I don't want my work to interfere." Earlier in her career, she was a fixture on just about every evening dramatic anthology, an experience she found "thrilling," but no longer. "Now it would interfere with my family."

So she doesn't get a chance to demonstrate a hard edge in her soap roles; maybe she makes up for that in her personal life. Her favorite show is The Untouchables; when she and her husband visited Chicago recently, the first thing she wanted to see was the site of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. And she's a ferocious debater in social gatherings—"If it's a theatrical crowd, she's arguing about Method acting. And if it's a non-theatrical crowd, it's politics. She's usually denouncing union corruption." Listening to her husband talk about her, she says with a twinkle, "Down deep, this all-American girl is really Eliot Ness."

Ann Flood is too experienced, too well-known, to be considered a startlet, but I enjoy these kinds of stories because you're inevitably drawn to find out what happened to the rest of her career. And in her case, the answer is formidable. She continues to play Nancy Pollack Karr until the series ends in 1984, during which time The Edge of Night transitions from live broadcast to tape, and from CBS to ABC. She remains married to Herbert Granath, from 1952 until his death in 2019. Ann Flood dies in 2022, at the age of 89, proof positive that nice girls don't always finish last.

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MST3K alert: Bride of the Monster (1955) An intrepid female reporter investigates a mad scientist who is attempting to harness atomic energy to turn people into superhuman monsters. Bela Lugosi, Tor Johnson, Harvey B. Dunn, Dolores Fuller. (Thursday, 5:00 p.m., WFMJ in Youngstown) Two words: Ed Wood. Need I go any further? It may not be Plan 9 from Outer Space, but it doesn't have to be, does it? TV  

This week in TV Guide: April 9, 1955

When I was a kid playing with model trains, there was a line of accessories that you could use to build your own village, complete with stores, factories, and even a depot. It was called Plasticville, and it was (and is; it's still around) pretty cool. But can Plasticville possibly compete with Videotown, U.S.A.? 

Videotown is also known as New Brunswick, New Jersey, a community of nearly 40,000, which has been studied—"relentlessly scrutinized," as Frank De Blois calls it—for the last seven years to find out the impact TV has had on the community, "and, by extension, on all the rest of us." The raw figures tell us that 83 percent of families in Videotown own televisions (compared with 64 percent who own cars, and 80 percent with telephones), that the average size is 21 inches and that the family room is built around it, that 74 percent turn on the set at least once a day, and that the longer they have a set, the more they use it—at least three hours a day. What those numbers don't tell us is the effect television has had on these people. That is what we're about to find out.

It all started in 1948; there were 267 sets in the town at that point, and because of its proximity to New York City, the advertising firm of Cunningham and Walsh decided to launch their study. One of their initial conclusions was that, interestingly enough, television brought families together. "Children stopped playing stickball in the street. Parents quit going to the movies. Bowling leagues broke up. Even the sale of comic books went down. Result: the living room once again became the social center of the family." Said one mother in 1950, "We all stay home now. TV is wonderful." Women began doing their daily routine early in the morning, so they could get to watching TV. "It takes up so much of my time," one woman confided, "that I don't have enough left to do my housework." 

Since then, things have evened out a bit; "[P]eople began to go out to the movies again, to read books and magazines once in a while, and to get back into the bowling league. Even radio made a comeback." Even so, people continued to watch as much TV as ever: "Monday through Friday nights husbands total 13.3 hours; wives, 13.8 hours; kiddies 7.7." The conclusion, according to the firm's research chief Gerald Tasker, was that "for one thing, most viewers had completely stopped visiting their friends." When television first came along, one housewife recalls, "our neighbors used to come in every week and look at Milton Berle with us. But now they got the TV too—and whenever Milton Berle goes on, why, me and Pa just sit there and watch him all alone." Sure enough: whereas 25 percent used to go visiting or entertain, the number has now dropped to 10 percent. And that's how they can continue to go to movies, go bowling, read, or listen to the radio. Those who go out have simply traded one kind of socializing for another, but for those who don't leave the house at all, it's just them and their TV.

One of the broad conclusions that everyone seems to agree on is that people love their TVs ("It's the greatest thing in the world!"), and they'd hate to go without it. ("We'd rather hock the ice box.") The rest of the results are, as you might say, mixed: TV either starts or stops fights, it's good or bad for the eyes, it's better or worse than radio, and so on. 

It's hard to draw a direct parallel between 1955 and today, thanks to social media; you'd have to compare the number of hours people watched television back then with the number of hours they spend looking at their screens now. There are other differences; the multiplication of options and the introduction of various options for on-demand viewing mean that television—media, we have to call it—is no longer a unifying experience, with people watching the same shows at the same time. What it has succeeded in doing is isolating people, not only from their neighbors but from their own family members, as everyone retreats into his or her own virtual world. And it's trivialized so, so much; I do wonder if everyone still thinks of television as "the greatest thing in the world." 

On my reading list is Neil Postman's provocative Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business, which I expect is going to have a lot to say about the effect television has had on our society. Once I've read it, you can be sure I'll be back to this subject. Maybe Videotown, U.S.A. is just another Plasticville after all.

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Here's something for my friend Hal Horn at The Horn Section: a profile of Bob Cummings, the "up and coming" star of The Bob Cummings Show, better known as Love That Bob. He's also the star of My Hero, which is currently in reruns and scoring healthy ratings. And he's also "a man endowed with a talent for spinning yarns so complicated and so fantastic—and yet, coming from him, so believable—that people believe them." For example, there are at least five different versions of how he came upon "Robert S. Beanblossom," the name of his My Hero character; the latest one says Beanblossom was a man who found a mechanical pencil that Cummings had lost and carried it with him for 16 years until he could return it to Cummings. 

Bob with co-star Ann B. Davis

Cummings is considered one of the most versatile performers in Hollywood, particularly in light comedies, but he's also made several movies, a Studio One drama, and a musical for NBC. (That Studio One drama, although the article doesn't mention this, was "Twelve Angry Men," in which he played the Henry Fonda role, and brilliantly.) And he's not afraid to use his influence, either: not only does he deliver the commercials on his show, he won the right to write them as well.

The concept for his new show—a Hollywood photographer with an eye for the starlets he snaps—came to Cummings in an episode he wrote for My Hero; independent of that, a similar idea had also come to Paul Henning, writer for Burns and Allen. When Henning approached Cummings with the idea, it turned out that Cummings had been about to call him with the same idea. Henning is now the show's producer and its only writer. The Bob Cummings Show will run for five successful seasons, and though Bob will have two other series and will appear many times on other shows (including a memorable appearance on The Twilight Zone), audiences will never love Bob as much as they do now.

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Sunday is Easter, and as is to be expected in the 1950s, television takes notice. Besides five chuch services on Sunday morning (two Catholic, two Episcopal, one Baptist for those of you keeping count at home), we have coverage of New York's Easter Parade on not one, but two stations. WPIX's ambitious two-hour broadcast, starting at 11:30 a.m., features Ed Sullivan as host and actress Haila Stoddard providing fashion commentary, plus the Georgetown Chimes a cappella group performing Easter songs, actress Patty McCormack reciting an Easter powm, Easter art fromt he Metropolitan Museum of Art, UN members talking about how the holiday is celebrated in their countries, appearances by Nancy Kelly, Don Ameche and other stars, and President Eisenhower's Easter message from Washington. Over on WRCA, coverage begins at 12:30 pm, with Ben Grauer on Fifth Avenue, Arlene Francis covering an international fashion show from the Hotel Pierre, and music from soprano Mimi Benzell and the Robert Shaw Male Chorus. Another Easter fashion show follows on WRCA at 1:00 p.m., this one from the Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf-Astoria, hosted by Tex McCrary and Jinx Falkenburg. The show's called "The World of Silk," and it's sponsored, surprisingly, by the International Silk Association.

One of the day's highlights has to be The Kuklapolitan Easter Show (6:30 p.m., ABC), starring Fletcher Rabbit, with Fran Allison and the rest of Burr Tillstrom's Kuklapolitan puppets, plus a "special appearance" by Kukla and Ollie. It's an "egg-sighting" tour of the Easter Bunny's famous Egg Plant, and I think this would be a delightful show to see. The Hallmark Hall of Fame presents "Lydia" (5:00 p.m., NBC), with Sarah Churchill as a Greek pagan converted by the apostle Paul; there's also a special Easter show by Fred Waring and his Pennsylvanians on G.E. Theater (9:00 p.m., CBS) to round out the evening.

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There's music in the air this week as well, with a couple of specials to look forward to. Max Liebman's monthly "spectacular" on NBC is the Franz Lehar operetta, The Merry Widow, with Anne Jeffreys, Brian Sullivan, Edward Everett Horton, and John Conte heading the cast. (Saturday, 9:00 p.m.) And on Sunday, The Colgate Comedy Hour turns itself over to an hour-long adaptation of Roberta, the Jerome Kern-Otto Harbach operetta, starring Gordon MacRae, Nina Foch, Agnes Moorehead, and Jack Carter. The orchestra is conducted by Carmen Dragon, whom, we all know, is the father of Daryl Dragon, the former husband of Toni Tennille. (8:00 p.m., NBC)

As if that isn't enough, baseball season starts on Monday, with two traditions: the Cincinnati Redlegs, the first professional baseball team, opens the National League season at home against the Chicago Cubs, while in Washington D.C., President Eisenhower is on hand for the Senators opener against the Baltimore Orioles. However, in New York the television season begins much earlier; on Saturday, WOR carries the pre-season game betwen the Yankees and Dodgers from Ebbets Field in Brooklyn (1:55 p.m., with Vin Scully on the play-by-play!). and on Sunday the two teams meet again, this time at Yankee Stadium in the Bronx. (1:55 p.m., WPIX, with Mel Allen and Red Barber) You might wonder how baseball was handled in a three-team city like New York; WOR is the hme of the Dodgers, with all 77 home games and 25 road games on the channel; the Yankees and the New York Giants both call WPIX home, with each team having their 77 home games carried. Including the two exhibition games over the weekend, that means New Yorkers will be blessed with 258 games from which to choose. And here's a footnote: all three teams start weekday night games at 8:00 p.m. or so, much later than teams do today. Fewer night games, shorter games, and less crime are your reasons.

Keeping with the baseball motif, Ed Sullivan introduces all the stars on Toast of the Town. (Sunday, 8:00 p.m., CBS) The lineup includes Willie Mays, Pee Wee Reese, Dusty Rhodes, Robin Roberts, Warren Spahn, Vic Wertz, and Jerry Coleman. The first televised regular season games are on Tuesday (Dodgers vs. Pittsburgh Pirates at 1:25 on WOR; Yankees vs. Senators at 1:55 on WPIX.) Play ball!

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Some big names on Monday's shows: Robert Montgomery Presents stars Montgomery himself as Jay Gatsby in "The Great Gatsby" (9:30 p.m., NBC), which also includes Phyllis Kirk as Daisy, Ed Binns as Nick, John Newland (host of One Step Beyond) as Tom Buchanan, and Gena Rowlands as Myrtle. And at 10:00 p.m. on CBS's Studio One, Louis Jourdan stars as a Czechoslovakian hockey player plotting to defect after the Soviets take over his country, in "Passage at Arms"; Theodore Bikel is part of the supporting cast.

On Tuesday's Today (7:00 a.m., NBC), Dave Garroway interviews film producer Stanley Kramer; if Kramer's there to promote a movie (the listing doesn't say), it's probably Not as a Stranger, which comes out in June, and stars Olivia de Havilland, Robert Mitchum, Frank Sinatra, Gloria Grahame, Broderick Crawford, and Lee Marvin. Also, "[a]n armored truce is scheduled to drie up with a million dollars worth of jewels and Jinx Falkenburg inside." Whether the guards are for the jewels or Jinx isn't said. 

But since this is the second mention of Jinx Falkenburg in a handful of pages, let's take a timeout for a minute. Last year, after she appeared in a TV Guide from 1951, I noted that Jinx Falkenburg was the owner of the nightgown that Rita Hayworth wore in her famous pinup. Which is why I'm submitting this for your approval.

Getting back to the subject at hand, Tuesday night Wendell Corey and Keenan Wynn star in Rod Serling's "The Rack" on The United States Steel Hour (9:30 p.m., ABC). "The Rack" is a Korean War story about a decorated Army officer being court-martialed for collaborating with the Chinese as a result of being tortured in a POW camp. Marshall Thompson (Daktari) plays the young captain facing charges of treason; when the story's made into a movie the following year, the role's played by Paul Newman. The lesson remains that torture is second in immorality only to war itself.

Wednesday's Disneyland sees the premier of the three-part story "Davy Crockett, Indian Fighter" (7:30 p.m., ABC), shot on location in the Great Smoky Mountains and along the Ohio River, an impressive achievement for television. Fess Parker stars as Crockett, with Buddy Ebsen as George Russell. The Hollywood TV Teletype reports that Disney has already decided on four more Crockett films for next season.

This month's Shower of Stars (Thursday, 8:30 p.m., CBS) is called "Show Stoppers," and it figures to deliver, with Ethel Merman, Red Skelton, Peter Lind Hayes and Mary Healy, Harold Lang, and Cindy Robbins. It's nice to see how the ad reassures us that, even if you don't have a color set yet (a status that applies to roughly most of the country), you can still enjoy it in black and white. Later, on Four Star Playhouse (9:30 p.m., CBS), Charles Boyer and Angela Lansbury star in "Madeira! Madeira!" and Charles Bickford stars in "The Woman at Fog Point" on Ford Theatre (9:30 p.m., NBC). A big night for stars, indeed.

I don't know why, but I noticed the debut of a program on WOR called A Man's World (Friday, 7:00 p.m.), described as "a weekly series of fashion hints for men," starring a man with the unlikely name of Bert Bacharach. And no, of course it's not the composer. It's his father. 

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Finally, a collection of those clever slides you used to see on your screen whenever technical difficulties would arise, which in the early days of television happened relatively often. There must have been a million of these at one time or another; these are some of them.

I'm sure we're all grateful that technology has become more dependable over the decades, but there's something charmingly playful that's missing from our oh-so-serious way of doing things, even as the things we do continue to seem less and less serious. The 3D, CGI graphics, slick and polished and identical no matter what or where the channel is—is there really no room for them today? As the pioneers of television might say, so uncreative. TV