One of the pleasures of this weekly feature is that there's almost always one kind of linkage or another going on, and this week is no exception. For instance, at Cult TV Blog, John continues his look at Hammer House of Horror with the 1980 episode "Children of the Full Moon," featuring a terrific performance by Diana Dors.
By remarkable coincidence, Rick's latest edition of "The Alternate Movie Title Game" at Classic Film & TV Café focuses on Hammer films. (See what I mean about linkage?) Be sure not to read the comments until you've made your own guesses.
At Comfort TV, David concentrates on the actors who also wrote for the TV shows in which they appeared. Some are more familiar than others; Robert Culp and Alan Alda wrote several episodes each of I Spy and M*A*S*H, respectively, but Peter Falk also wrote an episode of Columbo.
One of the several programs hosted by Dave Garroway was the Sunday afternoon show Wide Wide World (not to be confused with Wide World of Sports, although wouldn't that have been interesting? "I'm Dave Garroway with great moments in Olympic history!") At Garroway at Large, Jodie is back with Bob and Ray's hilarious parody, Big Big Earth. (And don't miss that video, which predates Today and has a surprise visitor.)
At Television's New Frontier: the 1960s, we turn to Rawhide circa 1962. As noted before, by this time the show is closer to the end than the beginning, and the quality of the stories is wildly uneven, but even so there are a few episodes that look to be well worth watching, one of which was written by star Eric Fleming.
I think it was last week that Terence noted the 60th anniversary of Combat!, and this week at A shroud of Thoughts he takes up the 60th anniversary of another iconic series: McHale's Navy. I know I've made this point before, and some of you may have commented on it, but it's quite interesting how many of these iconic shows of the time were ABC products; in addition to these, you've got The Fugitive, The Addams Family, Ozzie and Harriet, Bewitched, Donna Reed, Peyton Place, Patty Duke, and more. And yet we also know how long it took the network to finally rise to the top.
And of course, last but not least, one has to take time to remember the great Angela Lansbury, who died this week aged 96. Stage, screen and television, comedy, drama and musicals—it seems as though there was nothing she couldn't do, and she remained beloved throughout her magnificent career. Terence is always my go-to for such remembrances, and he provides a fitting tribute here.
By the way, my continuing apologies for not responding more quickly to your comments and inquiries (or, in some cases, not responding at all). I believe I'll be back on track quite shortly, at which time you probably won't be able to shut me up. TV
Xet's start this week with bare-bones e-zine, as Jack's Hitchcock Project introduces us to a new writer: Sarett Rudley who adapted the magazine story "The Baby Sitter" into a teleplay of the same name for the series' first season. The story stars two greats, Thelma Ritter and Mary Wickes, but still lacks that certain, what, je ne sais quoi?
Being a writer myself, I tend to attach a certain importance to how well-written a television show is, and my fellow writer David shares that interest in this week's Comfort TV entry, in which he looks at what may be the best written shows in TV history, as selected by the Writers' Guild. How much did they get right? You be the judge. . .
Great news from Jodie at Garroway at Large: the document has gone to the printer! That means we're that much closer to getting the definitive Dave Garroway biography. And yet, as she points out, there still a lot of work to be done. Pretty exciting!
The Broadcasting Archives links to an NPR piece on the end of the Maury Povich show after a 30-year run. That sound you're hearing is champagne corks popping everywhere, although I don't mean that as a personal slam at Maury, who is probably a great guy. It's just that—well, you know my feelings about reality television.
At Silver Scenes a favorite episode from The Avengers: "You Have Just Been Murdered." It's a terrific story from the Steed and Mrs. Peel era, with a clever, witty script and a great villain in Mr. Needle, played by George Murcell.
Over at Cult TV Blog, John continues the Orphaned Episodes series with a closer look at "A Woman Sobbing," one of the surviving episodes from the 1972 supernatural anthology Dead of Night on BBC. think Gaslight, and you're on the right track.
Next up, Terence at A Shroud of Thoughts reviews the classic Maverick fourth-season episode "Hadley's Hunters," which includes just about every Western star on a Warner Bros. series. And I'll say one more time, no relation! If you know or have heard of anyone named Hadley, we're not related!
At Drunk TV, Paul undertakes the massive task of looking at Gunsmoke, one of television's most influential shows (of any kind, let alone Westerns), starting with season one (of 20). I really enjoyed reading this piece for a number of reasons.
Finally at Once Upon a Screen, Aurora has a warm, touching tribute to her mother, who passed away last December. Her stories about watching television with mom remind us—and we could use it—that television was always intended to be a communal experience, to be watched and shared with others. That, in large measure, is where it derives its power from, and let's not forget it. TV
Someone once asked me, having found out that I'd written a couple of novels in addition to what you read here on the website and in The Electronic Mirror, whether I preferred fiction or non-fiction. The typical way I answer that kind of question, and the way I probably answered it this time, is "Yes." Writing, at heart, is all about storytelling, and though that might seem to be more obvious when writing a novel or short story, it's also true about non-fiction. The true historian, the investigative journalist into the past, has to know how to frame these discoveries, opinions, presentations or what have you, into some type of narrative that tells the reader a story, that keeps him turning the page time after time.
It's true that there are different methods of storytelling. When it comes to fiction, as those of you who've bought The Collaborator or The Car can probably tell, my style there tens to be somewhat postmodern (though I haven't gone completely off the bend; there is still a story at the heart of it). I was greatly influenced by non-linear, visually arresting, prose when I was learning how to be a reader (as opposed to learning how to read). Second Skin, by John Hawkes, was one such example, as was the story "By the Waters of Babylon" by Steven Vincent Benét, which, years after the fact, remains one of the most striking things I've ever read in my life. As I moved from being a reader to a writer, and learned how to "write by ear" (i.e. making sure what you've written sounds right to you), I latched on to more classically postmodern writers like Don DeLillo and I suppose you'd have to say that this is the kind of prose I've settled on as a fiction writer.
Now, that's not necessarily the kind of writing one wants to do when writing non-fiction, such as this website. I don't know that reviewing an issue of TV Guide using the voice of Thomas Pynchon is the most effective way to communicate to readers (although I should try it sometime). That "diary" entry on MANC that I did last week is probably the closest I'll ever get to doing creative writing here.
That doesn't mean that writing here isn't creative, of course. One has to find a way to tell the story - a story that, on first glance, can seem to be the same week after week - in an engaging way, a way that captures and keeps the attention of the classic TV fan. It may not be the same as the prose in my novels, but it's something I work at crafting every bit as diligently. I don't know about other writers, but I often consider the art of writing to be one in which sentences and paragraphs are constructed, and the writer himself is more like an architect than anything else. Pride goeth before a fall, but I daresay I'm proud of some of the pieces I crafted for The Electronic Mirror. I've invested almost my whole life in television one way or another, and I consider the opportunity to write about it to be a privilege that ought to be safeguarded.
If this sounds like a brief meditation on the writer's craft, you're right. If it sounds like a commercial for my books, you're also right. You really need to go to my author page and invest in The Electronic Mirror; since you're reading this website, you really have no excuse! And while you're there, you might as well check out The Car and The Collaborator, two very different novels, and see if you prefer my fiction or non-fiction.
If this also sounds like the kind of piece one writes when facing a short deadline and without anything else in the hopper - well, you're right there as well. I can't promise I'll be deep in the cellar of classic television history next week - the completion of The Electronic Mirror and the presentation at MANC really were exhausting - but you know it's coming sooner or later. TV
One of the great things benefits of having my own website is that I can pretty much write whatever I want, whenever I want. Well, that isn't strictly true; I've created a weekly schedule over the last six years that works pretty well, and while I'm not a prisoner to it, there are expectations from my adoring public that I have to deal with, so I don't want to disappoint you.
By and large, though, I have a freedom to pursue what's referred to nowadays as "long-form" writing, that is, a piece that might run for several pages were it in print rather than pixels. You've been remarkably generous in allocating your time to indulge me in this project, whether I'm nattering about some obscure aspect of an equally obscure program, or going off on some tangent or other than elevates a mere sitcom to something metaphysical, if not existential. It must be a labor of love, because I don't make any money off of it (yet; just wait until the book version of It's About TV comes out), but at the same time I'm very fortunate to have the time and ability to pursue it.
*Imagine, a network built on video going back to video. But, as you'll see from the article, we're talking about a different kind of video.
I think one of the sadder takes on the whole tend came from Sports Illustrated's Andy Gray, who, while expressing regret for those who lost their jobs, added on Twitter that “I’ve been in digital media for 12 years. One thing I’ve learned is that nobody wants to read anything over 1,000 words. MTV is more proof.” Of course, as more than one person pointed out, SI's motto is “longform since 1954.” Despite the ridicule that Gray received for the comment, the fact remains: people, so the storyline goes, don't want to take the time to read all about it. If you can't summarize what you have to say in a few choice soundbites, forget about it. Often, a website uses video to do just that; Curtis notes that "I often get a paragraph or two into a Sports Illustrated story only to find Madelyn Burke in the lower right-hand corner of the screen, giving me a summary of the sentences I’m already reading."
Now, you may wonder what all this has to do with classic television, and the answer is this: directly, nothing; but if you think about it indirectly, you'll find that it could mean a great deal. In a way, it sounds funny to suggest that the future of television depends on the written word; after all, TV was one of those forms of entertainment that was supposed to kill reading. And yet the continued appreciation of classic television often depends on people reading about it; I’ve got shelves lined with books about television history, television genres, specific television programs, and so on. My laptop is filled with bookmarks of various websites that exist to share information about various aspects of television. The loss of these sites would be another example of our culture dumbing itself down for the sake of sexy soundbites and video bursts that cannot possibly be a substitute for the written word:
Television is history, and history doesn’t lend itself very well either to soundbites or snapshots. In fact, it’s twofold history: not just the history of the medium itself, but the history of the culture through its depiction on screen. History doesn’t have to be dry and monotonous, but you can’t tell the story of Western Civilization in Twitter-sized bits either. To explain and understand it, you need both room and time.
Television is meaningful, and the meaning isn’t always apparent in a clip or a screenshot. To understand what a television show is saying (either overtly or subconsciously), you occasionally need to spread it out in front of you and go through it one step at a time. Long-form writing is, as I hope I’ve shown, one of the best ways to accomplish this.
Television is entertainment, and entertainment doesn’t always come right out and bite you on the nose. Sometimes you need to dig for it – I can’t count the number of times I’ve learned about a television series by reading an article about it, either through an old issue of TV Guide or by reading about it on one of the blogs, and in cases like this, a headline or soundbite often won’t do.
This last point, I think, bears further elaboration. Classic television has developed a kind of oral history through the years, a history that was initially passed on from people who’d seen old programs when they originally aired, to people who obtained copies of these shows through traders and other “brown market” sources, to people who purchased the shows on VHS or DVD when they were released by studios. In each case, the audience for this oral history was often comprised of people who had no first-hand knowledge of the program, other than perhaps a few vague memories from when they were a child, or something they’d briefly heard about or seen mentioned in an article.
As the internet grew, these oral histories were set down in writing, either in message boards or through websites dedicated to preserving the memories of particular programs or entertainers. These histories did indeed keep classic television alive, beyond the familiar programs (I Love Lucy, Perry Mason, Gilligan’s Island, and others) that made the rounds of syndicated reruns. This is how people learned of truly obscure programs that hadn’t seen the light of day since their original broadcast, or had faded from view after garnering initial publicity. Oftentimes people were intrigued, even captivated, as they learned of these shows, and sought them out as blind buys, based on nothing more than what they’d read in a long-form article. In other instances programs were made available because of the demand harnessed by the sharing of these memories. In either case, were it not for written communication, many of these programs would have gone unwatched, and the lives of their viewers would have had that much less enjoyment in them.
I doubt I’ll be starting a podcast anytime soon; for one thing, I don’t have time, and for another I don’t really have anyone close by that I can talk with about these things. And while podcasts can be both entertaining and educational, they’re not always a substitute for writing. That’s why I’ll keep at this, in one way or another, for as long as there’s something for me to write about, whether it runs 1,000 words or not. For if we don’t continue this oral history that has now become written, there soon won’t be any history to talk about at all.
THIS MEETING MIGHT NOT HAVE BEEN NECESSARY, IF PAUL DRAKE HAD ONLY HAD A CELL PHONE
Watch an episode, any episode, of an old TV series, any series, from the '50s through the early '90s. And as you watch it, ask yourself this question: how would the plot change, how would the story be different, if the characters had cell phones and computers? Would we ever again hear lines like this?
“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you everywhere.”
“I’m sorry, but you just missed him. Can I take a message?”
“I had to step out and make a call, and when I got back she was gone.”
For those who grow up knowing nothing other than iPhones and iPads, it might be increasingly difficult to relate to an time in which most meetings took place face-to-face rather than over the phone or via email, where major plot twists occur because someone missed a phone call or didn’t know where to reach someone, where someone had to wait hours, if not days, for a piece of information that could be located or verified with a few strokes on a keyboard. In an era of mobile communication, when people are less tied down to homes, to businesses, to landlines, it’s almost impossible to be out of touch. And that makes for a major change.
In a classic Nero Wolfe story – The Mother Hunt, I think it was – Wolfe's right-hand man Archie Goodwin is out on a stakeout when he has to call Wolfe for instructions or reinforcements or something of the sort, so he drives into town to use a pay phone. Naturally, when he gets back he finds the subject’s car, which had been in the garage, is long gone. He’s lost the suspect, and by the time she’s found, she’s also dead. And if you know anything about Nero Wolfe's temperament, you know this is not good news for Archie.
Something like this is an elemental part of so many mysteries, and yet it would be impossible to pull off today. Archie would simply pull out his iPhone and call Wolfe from the car, all the while keeping his eyes focused on the front door of the house. He could even take pictures and email it to Saul or Fred or Orrie, to let them know who or what they should be looking for. Oh, if you needed to create tension you could have the phone drop coverage or have the battery die, but you can’t go there too often without making a joke of it.
And then there's the Route 66 episode where the boys are staying near the coastline, and Buz finds himself struggling frantically to free a woman whose foot has become caught in a reef, before the rising tide drowns her. There’s no phone in their cabin, and Tod’s taken the car to town to buy supplies. Now, you can say that the situation is contrived and maybe it is, but it's still plausible.
So Buz can’t drive to town to get help – he needs to find a phone and call Tod. He runs to various places where he thinks he might find one – leaving the trapped woman in the meantime – only to find that there is no phone, or that the phone is disconnected. But even if he could find that phone, Tod won’t be any help because Buz doesn’t know where Tod is, doesn’t know that on the way back from the store he’s stopped at a diner for lunch. Probably he could call the police, but in the isolated coastal hamlet they’re in, the police might take even longer to get there. In other words, Buz is screwed. It’s only because a boat just happens to sail by (and how’s that for contrived?) that he’s able to get help to free her just in the nick of time. But if he had a cell phone? No problem. Call the police, call Tod (on his cell), call the Coast Guard, take video for YouTube if he wants. In the meantime, stay with the damsel in distress and comfort her – who knows what might come of that?
Perry Mason is a great example of how technology can change things. In a typical Mason episode, Perry’s always sending Paul Drake to San Francisco or New York or Mexico or wherever he needs to go, often on little more than a hunch, in search of the one piece of evidence that proves his client’s innocence. Will Paul find that evidence? And will he get it back to the courtroom in time for Perry to use it in his devastating cross-examination of the real killer?*
*Paul did get a car phone at some point in the series, as did other private detectives such as Richard Diamond and Joe Mannix, which helps to some extent - as long as you're in your car. And yet I can remember several Mason episodes in which Paul, like Archie Goodwin, is forced to rely on a pay phone while he's on a stakeout.
More likely, Paul doesn’t have to rush back to the courtroom – he can just email Perry the document, so he read it right there where he sits. Come to think of it, Paul doesn’t have to leave the courthouse either; he can take the elevator down to the lobby (where he gets a good clear signal on the city's free wi-fi), get the information from one of his operatives, and then text Perry something like “ASK WITNESS WHAT WAS DOING SAT NITE.”
How many times have we seen a plot hinge on a phone call that was missed, with no voicemail to take the message? How many murders could have been prevented by reaching someone on their cell phone instead of driving to their house only to find out they were too late? How often does someone sit at home desperately waiting for news that today would be only a text away? How many misunderstandings could have been avoided if the driver had simply used GPS instead of fiddling with a map (or, if he's a man, refusing to ask anyone for directions)?
This development of technology has to have changed the art of scriptwriting.* So many misunderstandings, cliffhangers, mistakes, anxiety-ridden moments – all the elements of human relationships – become much harder to pull off now, when we’re all so connected, all of the time. And so the story has to change. Information that might have taken 15 minutes to unfold on Dragnet now gets done in the blink of an eye. The phone caller claiming to be John Doe in order to suggest that John Doe is still alive when in reality he was murdered an hour ago – well, that’s a little more difficult with Skype, isn’t it? The frantic drive through rush hour traffic to prevent an assassination can be taken care of easily, with the press of a few buttons.
*I’m sure there’s an article on it somewhere, but frankly I’m too lazy to Google it; besides, I might lose my train of thought.
I wonder if that’s one of the reasons why shows like CSI and NCIS are so prevalent now. The classic police show - Columbo for instance - seldom relies on technology (other than the communications devices found in any standard issue police car), and when it does, it’s usually to confirm a suspicion the detective has already sleuthed out, rather than pointing him in the right direction. I’m not saying this is always the case; a lot of shows from the era used advanced science to identify suspects. But the show featuring the lone wolf – the brilliant police lieutenant, the world-weary private detective – how many of these shows still exist? And of the ones that do, how many of them rely on some kind of a gimmick (think any American crime show, for example), rather than the depiction of good, hard investigative work? Some might say they’ve fallen victim to the ensemble casts that dominate most television nowadays, but I would suggest an additional factor, that these shows reflect the nature of technology today. Simply put, too many of the things upon which these shows were based have now been rendered pointless because technology has changed the way we operate.
I don’t say that it’s good or bad – just different. As for how different, just watch your favorite black-and-white show, pretend there’s a cell phone or a laptop around, and imagine what happens.
Although Danny Thomas is on the cover of this week's issue, the article within is actually about Marjorie Lord, the "second wife" to Thomas' character, Danny Williams, on his successful sitcom.
Lord joined the show in the fourth season, after Williams' "first" wife, Jean Hagen, left the show (partly, it has been said, because of her acrimonious relationship with Thomas). The writers solved the problem by killing off Hagen's character Margaret between seasons; when the show resumed for its fourth season, Danny Williams was now a widower, it being explained that Margaret had "died suddenly" According to the always-reliable Wikipedia, this was the first time a main character had ever been killed off in a sitcom, though it certainly wouldn't be the last.
There are, generally speaking, three reasons why an actor leaves a television series: they're tired of or unhappy with the role, they leave because of a contract dispute or are simply fired, or they leave due to illness or death. It's always a roll of the dice when a cast change is made - some shows, like The Danny Thomas Show, adapt without missing a beat. Some, like M*A*S*H, evolve into a series with a much different tenor, while Doctor Who famously made the change in lead actors into an integral part of the show, introducing The Doctor's ability to change appearance through regeneration - a little trick that has enabled the series to continue (with one lengthy break) for over fifty years. Some, such as Bewitched, create a whimsical "which Darrin do you like best?" history, with fans forming camps behind one or the other actors. Some shows, like Route 66, suffer either artistically or in the ratings when they change main characters, losing whatever chemistry made the show a success; these series generally wind up in the cancellation bin.
The article itself doesn't go into the reaction that must have occurred when Hagen's character was killed off, noting only that "her absence has not hurt the popularity of the show, which has consistently landed in or near TV's Top 10." It will remain on television until 1964, which seems to qualify this change as a success. It could have been a failure though, and one wonders, if the recast show had bombed and it therefore became an accepted fact that you couldn't recast a main character, what television history might have been like.
◊ ◊ ◊
On a special 90-minute episode of NBC's Sunday afternoon news program Outlook, Chet Huntley looks at the forecast for the next ten years for Israel. The discussions center around irrigation, immigration and military training, all of which have played significant roles in Israel's history.
Now, the odds are that any ten-year period you look at in Israel's future is going to include either at least one outright war or multiple military conflicts of one kind or another. In this case, it's the Six-Day War of 1967, in which the Israelis launched a preemptive strike against Egypt, which had been massing troops along the common border. At the request of Egyptian president Nasser, who suffered massive losses in that initial attack, Jordan and Syria also became involved. When the dust had settled, less than a week later, Israel had scored a decisive military victory, capturing the Gaza Strip and the Sinai Peninsula from Egypt, the West Bank (including East Jerusalem) from Jordan, and the Golan Heights from Syria. It was a dramatic demonstration of the country's willingness to act aggressively and unilaterally to any perceived threat to its security. When you recall that the duration of wars used to be measured in centuries, the idea of a major war lasting less than a week is shocking.
Since then, the region has been no stranger to continued turmoil. If you were to choose another ten-year period, you'd likely run into the Olympic Massacre in Munich in 1972, the Yom Kippur War in 1973 (in many ways the sequel to the Six-Day War), the first Gulf War in 1991, and countless low-level exchanges and terrorist incursions, not to mention the raid on Entebbe*. You also would have seen the peace accords between Israel and Egypt, and Israel and Jordan.
*Many of which have been made into television movies and documentaries. One could do an entire piece, if not a book, on how the Middle East conflict has been portrayed on television.
Really, has there been any country in the post-World War II era that has had as dramatic a history as that of Israel? And I wonder if any of this could have been foreseen in Chet Huntley's report?
◊ ◊ ◊
I've written off-and-on during this time period about Sid Caesar, who was never quite able to recapture the magic of his years with Imogene Coca on Your Show of Shows. As proof of that, there's this bit in the news and notes section that says he "had to reach into his happier past and buy sketches used on the Show of Shows which made him famous. He is reported physically ill as a result of the severe strain of this current season." A comic genius, and a troubled man.
We also read that the eccentric actor/comedian/pianist/composer Oscar Levant, currently hosting a talk show in Los Angeles, is being looked at to possibly have his show transferred to a national audience. I like Oscar Levant a lot: he had an acid, sometimes cruel wit; he was a complete neurotic who spent significant time in various mental institutions, a classical pianist who studied with Arnold Schoenberg, worked with Aaron Copeland, and was friends with George Gershwin and Al Jolson; and, as we read, he was a talk show host.
Here's a clip of Levant with Jack Paar:
Here he is (in a very shaky recording) on his own show, with guest Fred Astaire:
And here is a recording that demonstrates his classical music credentials, performing Chopin's Etude in C# minor, Op.10:
Like Sid Caesar, a very troubled man - and a very, very talented one.
◊ ◊ ◊
The highlight of this week's sports calendar is the second jewel of horse racing's Triple Crown, the Preakness Stakes, telecast live on CBS from Pimlico in Baltimore.*
*Just last week, we saw the Kentucky Derby. See how quickly time flies? That's what happens with a concept as elastic as "This Week in TV Guide."
It's worth mentioning again that the broadcast of the race is minuscule compared to the saturation coverage we see nowadays. It starts at 3:30 on Saturday afternoon, and ends at 4:00. But then, after all, the race lasts just under two minutes. Tim Tam, the Kentucky Derby winner, adds the Preakness to his resume, and becomes a heavy favorite to take the Belmont Stakes in three weeks, only to succumb to injury in the home stretch, finishing second to Cavan. His consolation prize: a successful stud career. Oh well.
◊ ◊ ◊
Fifteen minutes before the start of Preakness coverage, at 3:15 p.m. on KRLD, it's the sports with Bill Sherrod. KRLD, at the time, was a CBS affiliate and was owned by the Dallas Times Herald. Working for the Times Herald at the time was a 38-year old sportswriter named William Forrest "Blackie" Sherrod - the same Bill Sherrod?
Blackie Sherrod died last week at age 96. At his death, he was acclaimed "the greatest Texas sportswriter of his generation or any other, now and forevermore" by the Dallas Morning News. He had an obituary in The New York Times, another in Newsday. Obviously, it's not every sportswriter from Texas that gets notices in New York newspapers.
Perhaps the only industry that loves hyperbole as much as sports is politics, but in calling Blackie Sherrod one of the greatest sportswriters of all time is no hyperbole - just stating a fact. He won the Texas Sportswriter of the Year award 16 times and received the Red Smith Award for lifetime achievement. During a career that spanned more than six decades, he won so many awards that "he stopped keeping plaques or certificates for anything other than first place." He outlived two of the newspapers for which he wrote. He mentored many future writers, including Dan Jenkins, the best sportswriter I've ever read. He was also more than just sports - he covered political conventions, moon shots, and was a major player in the Times Herald's coverage of the Kennedy assassination, leading a fellow writer to call him "the best newspaperman I ever knew."
It wasn't uncommon back in the day for newspaper writers to appear on television, or for TV figures to have newspaper columns. This is back in the days before these shows devolved into shoutfests, when writers were more interested in transmitting how much information they knew than they were being clever for being crude. (See Bayless, Skip - a fellow Texan, I'm sorry to say - for further information.) Now, of course, we live in the era of television specialists, of newsreaders whose prime qualifications often are how well they come out of the makeup chair; and the advent of the internet means that virtually everyone is a newspaper columnist, albeit some better than others.
It's not likely, however, that the internet will produce someone like Blackie Sherrod, someone with style and smarts and longevity, someone who demonstrated that newspaper writing was a craft, an art form of its own. In virtually every area of communications today, we live in a post-literate society, with the well-crafted word being devalued every day. I don't know that this trend can be turned around, but there will always be those who try, and to them, as to Dan Jenkins, Blackie Sherrod will be considered "our hero." TV
I've mentioned this series before, but it's worth repeating with Rick's fine write-up at Classic Film and TV Cafe regarding the British spy series Man In a Suitcase. I've managed to catch a couple of episodes (so far) of this on YouTube, and it's very good. Rick's right - it may well be the best of its type that you've never heard of. I just wish the price on the DVDs would go down!
At Captain Video, Britt Reid (love that name!) gives us a different look at The Saint, via a comic strip. The Saint is one of my favorite Brit series from the time; Roger Moore has, I think, much more of an edge to him than Patrick McNee's Steed, and maybe even more than Moore himself when he played James Bond. I've also heard Vincent Price's version of Simon Templar on OTR - Price is always good, but only Roger Moore is The Saint.
Keeping with the British theme, Cult TV Blog continues looking at allegory in The Prisoner, this time with one of the series' strangest episodes - "Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darling." Despite the title, this is not the Prisoner episode that takes on the Western genre - that would be "Living In Harmony," which comes later. I always thought this a great episode, and there's some very interesting analysis in this week's piece.
We've talked about TV themes before, particularly the dreadful covers done by Sammy Davis Jr. (starting here), but Comfort TV takes us through a list of the top 20 TV themes of the '50s. Of course, the theme from Peter Gunn takes first place with me, but all of these themes do a great job of presenting their respective programs - nowadays with the truncated openings and closings that so many programs have, we lose sight of how important themes are in setting the stage for a program.
At Television's New Frontier: the 1960's, we get a really good look at a series I've heard of but never seen, the syndicated Western Shotgun Slade, starring Scott Brady. On the other hand, now that I read more of the article, I think I have seen this before, at least one episode. What I remember is the "jazz-Western theme music," which at the time I thought was both unusual and kind of neat. So much Western music sounds the same. Unfortunately, it was perhaps the most distinctive part of this two-season show.
Classic TV History Blog takes on The New York Times this week, as Stephen Bowie tells us "how to get away with being a terrible critic." My own personal feeling is that this is a problem that's endemic to the Times as a whole, not just the TV section, but the things Stephen points out are appalling in and of themselves. I don't pretend to be a journalist, even one good enough to write for the Times, but I hope I give you better quality than what they're doing.
Finally, over at The Hits Just Keep on Comin', jb has a touching piece on "the man who took an interest" and his effect on jb's radio career. I really enjoyed reading that - to have someone like that play a part in your life like that, large or small, is very special. And by the way, I also want to link back to jb's terrific piece from a while back on NBC Radio's Monitor, since I reviewed a book about that just the other day.
Gotta run now - see you back here on Saturday, right?
