Around the dial

Let's start this week's review at Comfort TV, where David offers a tribute to Bob Newhart that's both a personal reflection and a historical appraisal of why Newhart is one of television's greatest actors, and how his brand of humor will always be timeless. 

Inner Toob has his own tribute to Newhart, and as a bonus we get his celebration of the 100th birthday of Don Knotts by looking at his many appearances outside of The Andy Griffith Show. At A Shroud of Thoughts, Terence has his own memories of Don Knotts and Bob Newhart, and I recommend checking these out as well. When we have the opportunity to celebrate our classic TV icons, we should take every chance we get.

At bare•bones e-zine, Jack's Hitchcock Project continues with the grimly humorous "Six People, No Music," the only Hitchcock episode written by Richard Berg, featuring a masterful performance by John McGiver as an undertaker seeking to bury the truth along with a body.

Jack continues his review of the nasty dystopian political thriller The Guardians at Cult TV Blog. "Head of State" is a lesson in politics, power, and political power, creating all kinds of interesting conversation points that would fit in well with my recent series on thoughtful television.

At The View from the Junkyard, Roger realizes something I've been saying for years: it's impossible to watch classic television with the mindset of a contemporary viewer, and those who do are doomed to failure. It's a truth discovered while watching this week's Avengers, "Take Me to Your Leader." TV  

Ethics in America

Fred Friendly with Newt Gingrich and Rudy Giuliani on the set of Ethics in America

During the 1988-89 television season, PBS presented a ten-part series of seminars that proved to be one of the most thought-provoking, provocative programs ever shown on television. In doing so, the network provided a blueprint for how to engage viewers with stimulating ideas that, in turn, forced them to deal with tough, real-life questions that had no easy answers. 

Ethics in America was the brainchild of Fred Friendly, former president of CBS News and a leading critic of what he saw as the superficiality of news coverage on network and local television. After leaving network television for the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism, Friendly continued to concentrate on ways in which broadcast journalism could both serve the public interest and engage the public in the vital issues of the day. Beginning in 1974, Friendly inaugurated a series of seminars on media, law and public policy, involving professionals from disparate fields. Eventually, these evolved into the Fred Friendly Seminars, which debuted on PBS in 1981. Prior to Ethics in America, various series looked at questions ranging from the Constitution to medical care and personal choice.

The format for Ethics in America, like the other series, begain with a panel of professionals being presented with a hypothetical scenario, in this case revolving around the ethical implications raised during the course of the discussion. The scenarios themselves covered such issues as politics, the media, medicine, and the law. (Thanks, Wikipedia!) The scenario would appear quite simple at first, but as a number of factors and variables were introduced, the ethics involved became more and more complex, the questions more and more difficult to answer. That there wasn't always an obvious "right" or "wrong" answer, or that sometimes it was a case of the lesser of evils, made the situations doubly challenging. Frequently a panelist, challenged by the moderator to tell what he or she would do in a given situation, would sit silently for several seconds, visibly engaged in an internal struggle to answer the question. 

Lest you think the panels were comprised of obscure academics, most of the panelists were either well-known or soon-to-be so, including Peter Jennings, Mike Wallace, Warren Buffet, Antonin Scalia, Newt Gingrich (before he became Speaker of the House), Rudy Giulaini (before he became mayor of New York), former Vietnam commander William Westmoreland, columnist Ellen Goodman, and others. The thoughtfulness of their answers (and sometimes questions of other panelists) and the depth with which they immersed themselves in these hypothetical scenarios indicated how seriously they took the questions, and their own responsibilities as panelists.

What I want to do here is focus on two episodes in particular that I found—and I'm not exaggerating here, either—thrilling. Yes, you may be thinking, but you would be interested in something like this, being a nerd and a news junkie. And you'd be right about that, at least in part. But, watching this series again over the past few weeks, I can honestly say that it would never occur to me that a viewer wouldn't be interested in these questions. If they aren't, then they either have no curiosity, no desire to think, or no willingness to confront issues that might make them feel the teensiest bit uncomfortable. 

The two episodes are actually parts one and two of an extended discussion on ethics in the military, subtitled "Under Orders, Under Fire." The two hours present a vast array of uncomfortable questions covering a variety of situations, including whether the use of torture to extract information from prisoners is ever justified, how and when an unjust order from a superior must be disobeyed, whether journalists owe their first allegiance to their country or their profession, the morality of killing enemy soldiers who've surrendered when circumstances make it impossible to take them prisoner, the confidentiality of a soldier's confession to a chaplain, and more. 

If you think any of these questions are easily answered, you won't think so after the struggles of the participants. There are sharp disagreements among members of the panel, and probing questions pass between them. Peter Jennings changes his mind twice in trying to answer a question about whether or not he'd warn allied troops if he was imbedded in an enemy unit, and Mike Wallace admits he doesn't know what he'd do.

In one of the most powerful exchanges, a former army lieutenant says frankly that he'd torture a prisoner to get information that could save the lives of some of his men, and that he'd even kill the prisoner if he thought it would "send a message" to other prisoners; his statement is met with revulsion from clergymen and generals alike, who not only condemn the lieutenant, but stress that any such order to kill a prisoner must be disobeyed on moral and ethical grounds. 

General Westmoreland himself goes on to remind the panel that the United States is a signatore to the Geneva Convention, and that such violations make us no better than the enemy we fight. But, the moderator asks another officer, are you saying that you'd sacrifice some of your own men rather than torture an enemy prisoner. After an uncomfortable pause, he replies that he hopes he'd have the courage to do it, to make the right decision, but in the heat of the moment, who can be sure?

All this reminds me of a quote from Joyce Carol Oates in her novel The Assassins (a provocative book in its own right):

Does a demon beckon?

Do you follow?

Do you turn aside, mashing your fists into your eyes?

You won't know until it beckons. To you. So long as it temps others you can judge—can sneer—can express shock, disgust, outrage, and prim disdain—the usual emotions of punitive people. But you won't know. I didn't.

And that's it in a nutshell, not only regarding this particular question, but the questions posed by every scenario in the series. You may know what you'd like to do, but until you're faced with it, in the heat of the moment, you don't know.

That's what makes Ethics in America such a stimulating series: the confrontation that invariably goes on within each individual—both participants and viewers—not only about what should be done in a given situation, but whether or not they would be able to do it. What does "ethics" involve? Are ethics constant or situational? If it's hard for these panelists, all distinguished within their own professions, to answer these questions, imagine how difficult it is for the viewer. And yet life doesn't give you a free pass on these kinds of things; you might not be confronted with these issues, but, believe me, there will be others. As Leon Trotsky said, "You may not be interested in war, but war is interested in you." You may not care about the affairs of the world, but the world doesn't much care whether you're interested or not.

If you read last week's article "To Think or Not to Think," you must have figured out by now why I'm focusing on this series. Ethics in America doesn't give the viewer a choice; it forces you to think. And while the intensity of this ten-hour series might be too much for some people, it doesn't have to take ten hours for viewers to be presented with a variety of Hobson's choices: the best one-hour dramas have been doing that for years. Such programs could be used to form the basis of ongoing discussion groups, much like book clubs have been doing for years. More on that next week. TV  

What's on TV? Wednesday, July 28, 1965

I don't know if The Today Show uses guest hosts anymore; if they do, they're probably one of the last shows to do so. But back in 1965, when Hugh Downs was the host, they did, and this week's guest hosts are most unusual: puppeteer Burr Tillstrom and the Kuklapolitan Players, featuring Kukla and Ollie. It's an inspired choice, given the popularity of the characters with adults as well as children. This isn't the first time we've seen puppets on one of the morning programs, either; remember Bil and Cora Baird's marionettes with Walter Cronkite on CBS's The Morning Show back in the 1950s. So the next time you think your newscasters are all puppets, you just might be right. This week's listings are from the Minneapolis-St. Paul edition.

This week in TV Guide: July 24, 1965

It's one thing to know you're old, to be aware of the chronological truth. I freely admit it in my own case; longtime readers know I make no bones about it. It's another thing, though, to be reminded, by your own actions, that you're old. Take this week's issue of TV Guide. I've had this issue for at least three years, given that I purchased it back when I lived in Minnesota. I recognize its cover, I've read its articles, I'm familiar with its programs. It's highlighted on the very complicated spreadsheet that I use to track the issues I own. All this would suggest to me that I wrote it up at some time in the past 

And yet, I don't see it anywhere on the blog. I don't remember having made any pithy comment about it. I've searched the blog using various terms from articles I would have written, had I written them. In other words, I've owned this issue for at least three years, and whenever July would roll around, I skipped over it because I thought I'd already done it. I feel as if Perry Mason is convicting me with his stare. 

At this point, if I were really losing it, I'd probably figure I was done and end things right here. (Either that, or I'd run for office.) But, perhaps fortunately for you, I've retained enough of my wits to forge ahead, and there's no better place to begin than with the aforementioned Raymond Burr, about to embark on what will be the ninth and final season of Perry Mason. He speaks candidly about it with Dwight Whitney, admitting that he didn't expect to still be doing the series. "I wanted to do a show called The Power," he explains. "In it I played the governor of a state, and it had some of the same things going for it that Perry did. It was the best damn thing I ever read, the best new show presentation anybody in this business had ever seen." So what happened? Well, "the heads of CBS decided that with another year of Perry in the offing they didn't want to convert [to another series] at that point. I went along. I'm a paid actor. Once having signed a contract, I had a certain obligation. Last year I still felt it. So we made an eighth season of Perry Mason." And in the meantime another political drama, Slattery's People (starring Richard Crenna) came along. And there went The Power. As a consolation, however, Burr is paid "what may be the highest straight salary ever offered any TV actor."

Not that he didn't have concerns about Perry Mason, particularly the just-completed eighth season. "This year was a bad year," he tells Whitney. "Sometimes the plots got so involved even I couldn't understand them. But next year can be a great one." (Spoiler: it isn't.) That isn't the only reason he came back, though; "My actors were hurting," he says. "I couldn't let go. I was concerned." He had suddenly become, Whitney says, "God's gift to intransigent actors, tender to men's troubles, father of the world." 

Thanks to Mason, Burr has been one busy man: making regular trips abroad to entertain the troops (four to Vietnam alone), speaking to various bar associations (58 since the show started), and serving on the boards of various foundations and organizations. Next year, he says, he'll be visiting a dozen countries around the world, making speeches to universities. "I speak for world peace through law," he says. "I'm a kind of one-man lobby for the legal profession. I believe that the world will either destroy itself or learn how to settle things by law. So it becomes the world's most important profession." He's grateful for the non-monetary things the show has given him; "It's not very often that a person is given the opportunity to use his personal image to do so much good in the world. That's tough to give up regardless."

I've written about Raymond Burr many times in the past; he's appeared on the cover of TV Guide many times in the past. His secret life with its created backstory is always intriguing, but his public life as a mensch has always been impressive, and genuine. As he and Whitney part, the weary Burr—he leaves on another trip to Vietnam early the next morning—says that he does what he has to do. "What is right for me. What I have done may not have brought absolute happiness. But for me it has brought some measure of satisfaction. IF that makes me a fool, my friend, then that is what I am."

Rather than ending on that somewhat somber note, I prefer to think that I've saved the best for last. It comes from a paragraph earlier in the article, after Burr tells Whitney he wants Perry Mason to go out with a great year. "I could visualize Burr waiting for that 'great year' to go out on until Perry Mason was defending cases from a wheel chair." It sounds like a great role for Robert Ironside, doesn't it?

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

Sullivan: Ed welcomes Maurice Chevalier, the San Francisco Ballet, comic Soupy Sales, singer Felicia Sanders, rock ‘n’ rollers Gerry and the Pacemakers, middleweight boxing champion José Torres, comedian London Lee, Stephenson’s Dogs, and Jorgen and Conny, a perch act.

Palace: Host Tony Martin and his wife, actress-dancer Cyd Charisse, introduce comedian Jack E, Leonard; veteran song-and-dance man Ted Lewis; Johnny Puleo and his Harmonica Gang; a vocal-instrumental trio composed of Dean Martin Jr., Desi Arnaz IV and Billy Hinsche; ventriloquist Fred Roby; and the Half Brothers, jugglers.

There's no question that Cyd Charisse is always worth watching, whether she's with Fred Astaire or not. Now, having said that, I'm forced to add that Gerry and the Pacemakers have the edge over Deano, Desi, and Billy, and while Ted Lewis certainly had a legendary career, I have to give the nod to Maurice Chevalier. Meanwhile, there's no comparison for the San Francisco Ballet. Based on all this, I give the win to Sullivan by a José Torres knockout

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Throughout the 60s and early 70s, TV Guide's weekly reviews were written by the witty and acerbic Cleveland Amory. Whenever we get the chance, we'll look at Cleve's latest take on the shows of the era. 

It seems as if it was only two or three weeks ago that we were last talking about Jimmy Dean, and here he is again, this time as the subject of Cleveland Amory's review. We learned back then that the network suits were doing their very best to make Jimmy into something he wasn't, something that Cleve rightly judged to be "unwise," because the truth is that "if there’s one thing certain in this changing world, it is that you can’t make Jimmy Dean into anything but Jimmy Dean."

Is that a backhanded compliment? Maybe; it depends on what you think of Dean's style, his schtick, his brand of contemporary country music. But as Amory points out, credit where credit is due: "taken for what he is, and what the show is, Jimmy is good." Take, for instance, his interaction with his Muppet sidekick Rowlf, manned by the team of Jim Henson and Frank Oz, and voiced by Henson. Their bits, such as a recent one which involved a trained flea, "may not sound funny, but with Rowlf and Jimmy looking at an imaginary trained flea, it was a funny scene." Considering that many of their interactions are ad-libbed, it speaks to Dean's quickness with the comeback lines. His interactions with his guests are equally believable; whether it's Rex Allen, Molly Bee, Jack Jones, Eddy Arnold, or Roy Clark, he's fulsome with his praise, and deservedly so. "For country singing or folk singing—and even for city folks who like the country—this show has many virtues."

In fact, if the show has any flaws at all, it's from the constant plugs for his guests' latest albums. It's one thing, says Amory, for it to happen on a talk show, but on a variety show where the guests get paid— well, "Ah want you to know, Jimmy, whan you air a-doin' thet, we dang near burn up." But if that's the biggest complaint that Cleveland Amory has to offer about your show, you're doing all right, son.

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Raymond Burr isn't the only star getting the in-depth profile treatment this week, as Arnold Hano takes a look at the up-and-down life of Jackie Coogan, currently undergoing a career renaissance as Uncle Fester on ABC's The Addams Family. 

Once upon a time, Jackie Coogan was one of the biggest stars in Hollywood. At the age of six, he appeared as The Kid in the Charlie Chaplin film of the same name. As a ten-year-old, he met the Pope, received an ovation from the delegates at the League of Nations, received the highest honor from the Greek government, and was mobbed by a crowd of 50,000 in Paris. He made $4 million in the movies, and another $4 million in outside earnings. And when he reached the age of 23, he found out that his mother and stepfather had squandered it all. He filed suit against them but was told he had no claim. He joined such distinguished company as Lou Gehrig in having a dubious namesake, in this case the Jackie Coogan Act, which required at least half of a child actor's earnings to be kept in a trust for him until he came of age. He married and divorced Betty Grable; "My success did not match hers," he comments. Two more marriages and divorces would follow, before the fourth one took.

He joined the Army (long before Pearl Harbor) and piloted a glider in Europe during World War II. "Nothing you've ever done before in life really counts," his commanding officer told the pilots the night before their mission. "Tonight you'll find out if you have a soul." Returning from the war, he discovered the acting roles were nowhere to be found. He took odd bits in nightclubs, parodying The Kid on his knees. 

The role that changed his life, he says, came on October 4, 1956. It was "Forbidden Area," the premiere episode of CBS's Playhouse 90, a tense Cold War drama written by Rod Serling, directed by John Frankenheimer, and starring Charlton Heston and Vincent Price. There was one comic role in the play, that of the Cook. Coogan was cast in the part, won critical acclaim, and was nominated for an Emmy. The offers came rolling in after that.

He was asked to audition for The Addams Family; ABC's Harve Bennett took one look at him in Fester's black robes and said, "He's perfect!" He enjoys his work on the show, but can't help looking at the child actors playing the two Addams children, Lisa Loring and Ken Weatherwax. "Kids can't get proper experience today," he says. "No vaudeville." He works on his autobiography (a book that seems not to have been published), and tells Hano, "I've never enjoyed life more than today." After The Addams Family ends, he continues to do guest appearances on television until his death in 1984. Maybe Hollywood can still produce happy endings, after all.

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Not much on the menu this week other than reruns, but in these pre-DVR days, there are certainly some of them you'll want to catch if you missed them the first time. 

One piece of original programming, however, leads off the week. It's the Miss Universe Beauty Pageant (Saturday, 9:00 p.m., CBS), live from Miami Beach. Jack Linkletter, Art's son, is the emcee, while John Daly and Sally Ann Howes are the commentators for the television audience. Meanwhile, Pat Boone presides over the crowning of the new Miss Universe, who happens to be Thailand's Apasra Hongsakula, the first Southeast Asian to win the crown.

The hour-long version of The Twilight Zone has always been considered something of a hit-or-miss season, as the format didn't really fit the tight stories that had become the hallmark of the show's first three seasons. (One of the few instances where the network executives knew best: Rod Serling had originally conceived TZ as an hour-long program, but was convinced by the suits to change it to 30 minutes. They were right.) Sunday's episode, however, is an exception: "The Incredible World of Horace Ford" (8:00 p.m, CBS), a touching story of a man trying to recapture his lost youth, with Pat Hingle outstanding in the title role. The story, written by Reginald Rose, originally appeared on Studio One ten years previously, with Art Carney; the story's downbeat ending was modified for TZ, and that was fine with Rose—as he pointed out, he'd already had it done his way the first time.

One of the week's most watchable repeats is Monday's The Winging World of Jonathan Winters (8:00 p.m, NBC), first shown in May. Winters is at his best in this "freewheeling" hour, which features Steve Allen, Leo Durocher, Stiller and Meara, and a taped tribute from Jack Paar (who featured Winters on his show many times). Alexander Scourby narrates the hour, produced and directed by Greg Garrison, who will go on to helm The Dean Martin Show.

On Tuesday, George Hamilton hosts Hullabaloo (9:00 p.m., NBC), with his musical guests Brenda Lee, Noel Harrision, Linda Bennett, the Hollies, the Impression, the Womenfolk, the Ronettes, and the Wayne—I mean, Wayne Fontana and the Mind Benders. (Sorry, got carried away there for a moment.) Hamilton, who'd starred in the Hank Williams biopic Your Cheatin Heart the previous year (probably when this episode was first shown), sings the song of the same name with Brenda; Harrison, who'd yet to record the Oscar-winning "The Windmills of Your Mind," sings the ballad "Barbara Allen." Perhaps the show's ratings would have been better had the host been George Harrison. 

You'll recall that last week I highlighted a couple of programs that were representations of a socio-culture that's long-since disappeared, and this week offers something of the same: Key to the City (Wednesday, 8:00 p.m., NBC), a 1950 comedy set at a mayors' convention in San Francisco, starring Loretta Young as "a prim and serious lady mayor" who's mistaken for a night-club dancer; Clark Gable co-stars as the man who makes the initial misidentification; romance follows! Would we see something like that on network TV today? Somehow, I doubt it. (By the way, Raymond Burr appears as the heavy!)

Thursday night is highlighted by one of the best, and best-known, episodes of Kraft Suspense Theatre, "The Jack is High" (9:00 p.m., NBC), a heist caper with a very, very gruesome twist at the end. Edd Byrnes, Henry Jones, William Bramley, and Larry Storch are the gang trying to pull off their getaway hidden inside a gasoline tank truck, while Pat O'Brien plays the dogged detective on their trail. Ralph Senensky directed; you can read his thoughts about it here. (For good measure, you can see the complete episode here.)

We started our look at the week with an original program, and we'll end it the same way, as Sally Ann Howes returns from Miami Beach to participate in a mini-Rat Pack reunion on The Tonight Show. (Friday, 10:30 p.m., NBC) Joey Bishop is the guest host (completing his second week subbing for Johnny!), and in addition to Sally, his guests are Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis, Jr. I'd stay up late for that.

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Another Raymond Burr note, of sorts; Ray Collins, who played Lieutenant Arthur Tragg for so many seasons on Perry Mason, died of emphysema on July 11 at age 75. As "For the Record" reports, his career spanned 60 years on stage, in the movies, and on television; "If they've written it," he used to say, "I've played it." He'd been in failing health for some years, with his last appearance on Mason coming on January 16, 1964 (filmed in October of 1963). Raymond Burr, ever the mensch, insisted that Collins be kept in the show's credits until he died, not only to help keep his spirits up (he watched the show every week), but to allow him to continue to receive health coverage from the Screen Actors Guild.

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MST3K alert: Robot Monster (1953) Deadly robots descent upon the earth. Their mission: to destroy civilization with supersonic death rays. George Nader, Claudia Barrett. (Thursday, 10:30 a.m. as part of a double feature, WTCN) This description actually flatters a movie that is widely considered to be one of the worst ever made. The "robots" are dressed in gorilla suits, the premier special effect is a bubble machine, and the best thing about it, by a long shot, is the score, composed by the before-he-was-famous Elmer Bernstein. Fortunately, we have not one, but two episodes of Radar Men from the Moon to soften the blow. TV  

Around the dial

The picture above is of Sinatra Sr. watching Sinatra Jr. on television. Whether it's staged or not, it's still a pretty candid shot. Interesting, isn't it?

My latest appearance on Dan Schneider's Video Interview is up; this month, Dan and I discuss some of the notable (as well as some of the lesser-known) legal dramas on television, and their place within the larger cultural zeitgeist. I also tried to touch on some of the larger socio-political issues raised through these programs, such as the correlation between the law-and-order movement of the late 1960s and the decline of popularity in shows featuring defense attorneys; that alone is worth a show from someone. Anyway, take a listen if you've got a couple of hours.

It's been an appalling week or so for deaths in the world of classic television and movies, and the most recent—such as Bob Newhart—will probably be covered in-depth next week. However, Terence at A Shroud of Thoughts keeps up with this remembrance of Hill Street Blues veteran James B. Sikking, who passed last week at the age of 90, and Beverly Hills 90210 and Charmed actress Shannen Doherty, who died at the far-too-young age of 53. Travalanche remembers the deaths of Dr. Ruth Westheimer and Richard Simmons, who also died this week. 

At Comfort TV, David has one of those think pieces I'm so fond of: how dead shopping malls serve as an allegory the state of television today. Both malls and TV rose in the 1950s, offered something for everyone, and now have audiences that are a fraction of what they once were. There's much more to his essay; I urge you all to take a moment to read it.  

Jordan returns at The Twilight Zone Vortex with an in-depth look at volume 3, number 5 of The Twilight Zone Magazine, from November/December 1983. There's coverage of the premiere of The Twilight Zone: The Movie, filming Stephen King's Dead Zone, an interview with David Cronenberg, a retrospective on The Outer Limits, and more. 

At Cult TV Blog, John reviews "The State of England," an episode of teh 1971 series The Guardians, which presents an alternative history of England in which the country is ruled by a fascist dictatorship. As you know, I'm partial to these kinds of stories, which—as John points out—almost always rely on a heavy dose of fear. A nasty piece of work.

At Garroway at Large, Jodie celebrates the birthday of the blog, as well as that of the master communicator himself, Dave Garroway. It's an update along with a couple of pictures that continue to give us insight into the early years of Today, and the progression of time on Garroway.

An additional post from Travalanche reminds us that looks can be deceiving, asT he offers a retrospective on the voiceover career of Dallas McKennon, veteran character actor (and Denver Pyle-lookalike) from Westerns like Daniel Boone, Wagon Train, and Bonanza, and voice artist of, among others, Gumby!

And one more from A Shroud of Thoughts that I wanted to touch on: a reminder of the three books that Terence has written, along with information on where to get them. Remember to support your bloggers in all their efforts! TV