Around the dial

This week begins with the return of Love That Bob to The Horn Section, and this time Bob's not the wolf preying on a lovely—he's actually trying to protect the lovely from another wolf: his friend Paul Fonda (Lyle Talbot). How does it work when the shoe's on the other foot, so to speak? Read what Hal has to say.

Something unusual at Cult TV Blog; John looks at the never-aired pilot for Blackadder, Rowan Atkinson's wonderfully funny alt take on British history. The entire Blackadder series is one of my favorites, and its quite interesting to document the differences between the series as aired and this pilot; as John says, it's hard to disagree with the changes made between the pilot and the series.

At A Shroud of Thoughts, Terence pays tribute to the career of producer and director Bert I. Gordon, who died last week, aged 100. Dedicated MST3K fans will recognize many of his movies, which tormented and delighted the show's fans: King Dinosaur, Beginning of the End, The Amazing Colossal Man, War of the Colossal Beast, Earth vs. the Spider, Tormented, Village of the Giants. Colossal!

Here's something you're not going to see in any store anytime soon, unless it deals in antiques: a television tube tester, courtesy of the Broadcasting Archives. I'm grateful, of course, for the new technology in TV, but there was something warm about those old sets, especially in the store, that I still remember. Wouldn't the tech who operated the tube tester have had a great line for What's My Line?

Episode 144 of Eventually Supertrain is up, and while we haven't gotten to Supertrain yet, Dan does have discussions of Lucan, Gemini Man, and something new, so be sure and check it out when you've got some time.

At Travelanche, a subject that, as he says, is sure to divide his audience: Jerry Lewis on television. I've always enjoyed him as a performer and humanitarian (I'm agnostic on his personal life), but there's no questioning that the man made a major impact on television history.

And if all this talk about classic television has got you in the mood for watching some, a reminder that one of the best places on the whole internet for viewing is Uncle Earl's Classic Television. This is one of my go-to sites, especially for shows that lack a proper DVD release. If you want to see for yourself what I keep talking about, go over there and visit the library. TV  

The Descent into Hell: "The General" (1967)

indoctrinate (in·​doc·​tri·​nate) verb. 1: to teach or inculcate a doctrine, principle, or ideology, especially one with a partisan or sectarian opinion or specific point of view. 

In man's eternal quest for knowledge, it sounds like a panacea, manna from heaven: an online learning program that allows a student to take a three-year college-level course in history in just three minutes. It's the most egalitarian of education opportunities, available, free, to everyone. You don't even have to leave home for it: it's delivered right over your television screen. And if you think you're the kind of person who can't learn like that, just ask The Professor: "It can be done," he says. "Trust me." 

What could possibly go wrong?

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There was something about The Prisoner from the very beginning, something that set it apart from other programs on television, before or since. It might have been the vividness of the color, or the style of Ron Granier's arresting theme, or the near-surreality of Portmeirion, the Welsh tourist village that became The Village in the series. Most likely, though, it was the defiant statement made by the series' protagonist in the initial episode. When told that he is, from now on, to be known not by his name but simply as "Number 6," he replies, "I am not a number; I am a free man!

This proclamation of individuality was different from those we're most familiar with, which usually have to do with greed or licentiousness—free to do, free to be, etc., etc. No, this was different—it was not external, but internal; not about an act, but about a state of being. It was a radical statement, coming as it did in the chaos of the 1960s, and part of its radicality was that it was not only a separation from the establishment, but from the counterestablishment as well. It meant free will, yes, but also freedom from organizations, from ideologies, from movements. "I am my own man," the statement says, and when we try to reconcile that with Donne's reassurance that "No man is an island," we can only think that this man is not afraid to stand alone against those who seek to subsume him; he hopes, however, that in so doing he will set a standard to which others can rally. It may mean a life of loneliness, of ridicule, contempt, exclusion, even death; his triumph will eventually come in the end, however, even if he is not alive to witness it.

The Prisoner presumed to tell the story of this struggle over the course of 17 episodes, and while its conclusion—that we are in fact our own jailers, our own oppressors—shocked and outraged viewers everywhere, it also inspired those who believed that one man could make a difference, that integrity could win out, that resistance wasn't necessarily useless, as long as that resistance itself didn't become a means of conformity. Heady stuff, for a television series with a cumulative running time of less than 17 hours, not including commercials.

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The premise of The Prisoner is critical to understanding the series; at the same time, its role in the big picture of each episode is often insubstantial. The Prisoner began as a quasi-spin off of a 1960s British espionage series called Danger Man (broadcast in the United States as Secret Agent), which starred Patrick McGoohan as John Drake, an agent at war against England’s enemies and, at times, against his own bosses. Unlike James Bond, Drake (at McGoohan's insistence) resorted to violence only as a last resort, and eschewed any romantic interest in women. Despite this (or perhaps because of it?), the series ran for three full seasons (the first of which consisting of 30-minute episodes), and had started a fourth season (and the first in color) when McGoohan announced that he was leaving the series to begin The Prisoner.

The Prisoner can be said to pick up where Danger Man leaves off; the opening credits tell the story of a nameless man, a secret agent now retired, who while preparing to go on vacation is kidnapped and taken to a mysterious village (or, since it's a proper noun, The Village) where everyone’s name has been replaced by a number. Some of them are prisoners, some are agents of The Village. Who knows which is which?

The Village is run by—well, that's just one of the mysteries. It could be an Eastern bloc country—East Germany, perhaps, the loyal lackeys of the Soviets; or, per The Manchurian Candidate, Red China. It could be a nation outside of the major powers—a rogue country, we'd call it today; or even an individual; think Doctor No, or George Soros. Or it could be the West, organized by the Dulles-era CIA, suspicious of anyone trying to assert their independence; or the Brits, still stung by the betrayals of Kim Philby, Anthony Blunt and Guy Burgess, and obsessed with suspecting their own. In this world, nothing and no one is above suspicion. We know only that the supreme leader of chimera-like city-state, the Big Brother of The Village, is the unseen, unheard, Number 1. 

Number 1’s major domo, the prime minister, as it were, is aptly called Number 2, and as an individual is completely interchangeable; we see a different Number 2 virtually every week. And while Number 2's responsibilities envelop the whole of The Village, he appears to have one overriding question of this new prisoner, whom he has dubbed Number 6: Why did you resign? It is a question which Number 6 stubbornly refuses to answer: My reasons, he says, are my own. 

Subequent episodes feature the struggle of the Village overlords, under the direction of Number 2, to obtain the answer to their question "by hook or by crook," while Number 6 fights his twin battles: to escape from The Village, and to resist their questioning. All the while, one overriding question hangs over the series: who is Number 1?

As for The Village itself—well, that's perhaps the most perplexing of all. Unlike the other interrogation centers we've seen, The Village is not a grim underbelly, a vista dominated by Brutalist architecture swathed in a uniform grayness. It is, in fact, beautiful: the small flats in which Number 6 and his fellow inmates reside are neat and tidy—all the comforts of home, really. The architecture of the civic and social buildings is playful and imaginative, the grounds manicured and colorful. You might find it so pleasant that you would choose to stay there forever.

Which raises the question: is there such a thing as dystopia in paradise?

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"The General" was the sixth episode of The Prisoner, airing in the UK on November 3, 1967. In the United States, where The Prisoner was the summer replacement for The Jackie Gleason Show on CBS (the same network on which Danger Man/Secret Agent was shown), it aired on July 13, 1968. Not that the broadcast order necessarily matters; like so much about The Prisoner, it's somewhat enigmatic.

The story opens with another typically bucolic scene in The Village, where it seems as if everyone is taking part in the latest offering for the betterment of residents: a three-part home course on history, presented by The Professor. Today's 15-second course is called "Europe Since Napoleon," which will be broadcast over The Village’s single television station. Number 6 reads a poster for the class, featuring a picture of "The Professor," the class instructor and proponent of "Speed Learn," the method used to teach the course. "It can be done," The Professor says encouragingly on the poster. "Trust me." There is also a quote from "The General," promising "One hundred per cent entry, one hundred per cent pass." 

Number 6 becomes more curious after Number 12, another resident, suggests to him that he enroll. “You’ll find The Professor most interesting.” When Number 6 asks who he is, Number 12 replies “A cog. . . in the machine.” 

On the way back to his cottage, Number 6 notices a crowd on the beach chasing someone apparently trying to escape; Number 6 is surprised to find out the man being chased is The Professor. While hurrying down to the beach himself, Number 6 stumbles over a tape recorder buried in the sand. On the tape he can hear The Professor’s voice: "This is The Professor speaking. I have an urgent message for you." Before he can listen further, he’s interrupted by men in an emergency buggy. Number 6 quickly hides the recorder as the men pull up in front of him and urge him to return home for the start of the class. "Hundred per cent entry, hundred per cent pass," one tells him. "You know what The General said." In his voice, it is more of a command than a suggestion.

Number 6 decides to watch the course; The Professor, who has been captured and returned, appears on-screen to introduce today’s lesson. As hypnotic music plays, the camera focuses on a picture of The Professor, zooming in on his left eye. After 15 seconds, everything returns to normal. Following the class, Number 2 and one of his assistants enters Number 6’s cottage, looking for the recorder, and suggesting that he might be open to a deal: the recorder in return for Number 6’s freedom. Number 6 evades his comments. Number 2 then begins quizzing Number 6 about the class, and Number 6 is surprised to discover that he knows by rote facts about European history, ranging from the date of the Treaty of Adrianople to when Greek independence occurred to who Bismarck's ally was in the Second Schleswig War vs. Denmark. Furthermore, everyone he talks to is able to recite the same facts, word for word.

Later, returning to the beach, Number 6 finds Number 12 in possession of the recorder, which he gives to Number 6. Turning to leave, he asks Number 6 "What was the Treaty of Adrianople?" When Number 6 replies, "September, 1829," Number 12 tells him he asked "what," not "when" and adds,"You need some special coaching." Listening to the tape, Number 6 hears The Professor’s voice again, picking up where he left off: ". . . I have an urgent message for you. You are being tricked. Speed Learn is an abomination. It is slavery. If you wish to be free, there is only one way: destroy The General. Learn this and learn it well: the General must be destroyed!"

We next see Number 6 attending an art class—another of The Village's "voluntary" activities—which happens to be taught by The Professor’s wife. (A particularly instructive moment occurs when Number 6 witnesses a man tearing pages out of a book and asks The Professor's wife what he's doing: "He's creating a fresh concept. Construction arises out of the ashes of destruction.") Number 2 shows her a drawing he's done of her dressed as a general, which seems to irritate her; later, searching their home, Number 6 comes across busts she's sculpted, including both Number 2 and Number 6. When she finds him and demands that he leave, he asks her if she's done a bust of The General as well.

In talking with her, Number 6 comes to understand that while The Professor and his wife came to The Village voluntary (or so she claims) and have been treated as VIPs with certain privileges, The Professor is now trying to break away, and his wife, out of concern for him (or is it just ambition on own part?) is trying to pretend as if nothing is wrong. In the meantime, The Professor is being tended to by a doctor, ostensibly due to exhaustion from preparing all the lessons for his classes; in all likelihood, the treatments are designed to keep him from rebelling—to keep him functioning as a tool of The Village. The Professor’s wife confides to Number 2 that Number 6 seems obsessed with The General. Number 2 tells her not to worry; "I have an obsession about him."   

The next day Number 12 arrives at Number 6’s cottage on the pretense of supervising repair work on an electrical short. He asks Number 6 if he’d like to see The Professor’s words on the tape recorder go out in place of the next class. Number 6, concerned that Speed Learn is a tool of mind control or indoctrination, agrees, whereupon Number 12 gives him a security pass disc that will get Number 6 into the Administration building, and tells him to be there the following morning.

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Isn't Speed Learn an interesting concept? "A three-year course indelibly impressed upon the mind in three minutes." Imprinted—downloaded, if you will—right onto your brain while you're hypnotized by what's on screen; I wonder if that's what the Chinese used in The Manchurian Candidate? And the machine that facilitates it is called the Sublimator—a nice touch. You remember how subliminal images of food and drink used to be inserted into movies to make people in the theater hungry and get them to buy popcorn and soda, all without them being aware? We didn’t like it then, so why should we tolerate it anywhere else? Even the word sublimator has a sinister connotation, as if you’re trying to get away with something you shouldn’t be doing. It's a very effective tool for indoctrination.

Indoctrination, of course, isn’t limited to education (or movie makers); in fact, there are many educators who would steadfastly denounce it. But there’s more than one way to “educate” people. Take, for instance, the media. It doesn’t matter what kind of media we’re talking about; it all has to do with presenting the news in such a way as to mold your reaction to it—to ensure that your opinion conforms. They control access to the facts they choose to present, the video they choose to show, the people who face their cameras and write on their pages; you could say that they control access to the access. 

You notice how, after taking the course, everyone answers the questions by rote, right down to the use of the same words? Their answers don't vary, even by a comma. Haven’t you ever gotten curious when newscasters do the same thing, report a story right down to using virtually the same words, the same phrases, on every network? Almost as if they’re all working from the same script, isn’t it?

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In the end, Number 6's plan to substitute The Professor's warning in place of the regular lecture fails, as it must. He is recognized by Number 2 and brought into the boardroom, where he is interrogated by Number 2 and Number 12 (who must maintain his cover). Once again, they demand answers from Number 6; instead of "Why did you resign?" however, this time the question is "Who’s the head of the organization" behind the 'conspiracy.'

Number 2 ridicules Number 6 over his insignificant attempts to replace The Professor’s lecture with "This reactionary drivel that you were on the point of sending out to our conscientious students: 'the freedom to learn,' 'the liberty to make mistakes,' old-fashioned slogans. You are an odd fellow, Number 6, full of surprises." He goes on to explain why the conspiracy must be crushed: "I'm sure that a man of your caliber will appreciate that rebels... that rebels must be kept under the closest possible surveillance with a view to their extinction if the rebellion is absolute."

Realizing that Number 6 will not break, Number 2 changes tactics and, with Number 12, takes him down a series of corridors to a large room where The Professor is typing out his latest lecture. "Allow me to introduce—'The General.' " He pulls back a pair of curtains to reveal—surprise—a room-size supercomputer, The Professor’s invention. "He gave birth to it and loves it with a passionate love; probably hates it even more." "That mass of circuits," Number 2 continues, "is as revolutionary as nuclear fission. No more wastage in schools, no more tedious learning by rote: a brilliantly devised course, delivered by a leading teacher, subliminally learned, checked and corrected by an infallible authority." When Number 2 observes that the result will be "a row of cabbages," Number 2 corrects him: "Knowledgeable cabbages."

Having failed to extract the information from Number 6, Number 2 has decided he will simply feed the information into The General, which will deliver its infallible answer. Motioning to The Professor, he begins to dictate the salient points: a traitor in The Village, Number 6 in possession of a security pass disc, distribution of which comes only through Administration—Number 12’s department. But before the information can be fed into The General, Number 6 bates Number 2 by issuing a challenge of his own: ask The General a question that cannot be answered.

Unwilling to back down in the face of Number 6’s dare, Number 2 allows him to ask the question. Number 6 walks to the terminal, presses four keys, takes the tape generated by the terminal, and feeds it into The General. Immediately, dials begin fluctuating wildly, and the machine starts to smoke and spark while The Professor frantically tries to turn it off. As Number 12 rushes to assist, the computer explodes, killing both The Professor and Number 12. 

"What was the question?" the stunned and broken Number 2 asks. "It's insoluble, for man or machine," Number 6 replies. Number 2 asks again, and Number 6 tells him: "W. H. Y. Question mark." "Why?" Number 2 repeats. "Why?" Number 6 says. Number 2 is left repeating, " ... Why?" as Number 6 leaves the room.

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It’s interesting that Thesaurus.com presents both instruction and training as synonyms for indoctrination, as if it could somehow infuse the word with a kind of value-free meaning. Indoctrination deservedly carries with it a negative connotation, because it’s not education so much as it is reeducation, a way of presenting information to ensure conformity—Groupthink—as a natural way of thinking. Or, to be more precise, to eliminate the need for thinking altogether, for Groupthink encourages infantilism: Here, let me do that for you, you don’t want to hurt yourself by thinking too hard.

We encountered the danger of rote learning back in “The Children’s Story,” when James Clavell used his daughter’s inability to explain what the Pledge of Allegiance actually meant as the basis for his subversive take on education. There are facts that are important to know, but one also has to have the ability to understand, to put things in context and thereby draw conclusions from them, and teaching this type of critical thinking is often absent.

This is nowhere more apparent than in the discovery of the secret behind The General. Even in 1967, the idea of a computer pulling all the strings was becoming something of a cliché; science fiction programs like Doctor Who and Star Trek had dealt with it many times. However, even though the visual concept of a giant supercomputer dates the series, the logic behind it remains sound. And what does it mean that these electronic brains, seen by the writers as threats to our freedom, have evolved into items of convenience for modern living? One would have to be a fool to deny how willingly we’ve allowed these programmed algorithms and artificial intelligence bots to make our decisions for us; in doing so, we seem to be getting ever farther away from thinking for ourselves. 

When Number 6 challenges the computer, he does so not as Captain Kirk might, by using its own logical against it, but by posting the most human of questions: Why? And think about it: why is one of the first questions that we learn as infants. We’re always asking our parents why this and why that, and the answer we get is always the same: Because. There’s no need to go any further, to justify the answer, because they’re adults and we’re not; they know more than we do. And that’s fine when one is five years old; it’s another thing when it happens to adults. Let me repeat: Groupthink encourages infantilism.

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The Prisoner is a series comprised of questions, and "The General" is no exception: Who is Number 1? Why did you resign? Who is The General? Who is the head of the conspiracy? It comes as no surprise, therefore, that the most devastating moment of the episode is also sparked by a question: "Why?"

It’s precisely that type of questions that The General proposes to render irrelevant. If you simply give people everything you want them to know, then there’ll be no reason for questions. Whereas The General implies knowledge, questions suggest a lack of knowledge, and if you don’t know what you don’t know—well, then, there’s nothing to ask, is there?

Anyone even slightly familiar with The Prisoner probably knows the great reveal of the series’ final episode, that [SPOILER ALERT] Number 6 turns out to be Number 1. While there’s a school of thought that takes this to be literal—that Number 6, as Number 1, allowed himself to be embedded in The Village as a fellow prisoner, presumably to root out security threats—the consensus remains that that the ending—indeed, the entire series—is allegorical, that McGoohan seeks to suggest that we are all our own jailers, imprisoned in the cells we create for ourselves. The Professor is as much of a prisoner as everyone else in The Village. His greatest creation, The General, is also is warder; Number 2 shows a great deal of perception in identifying the computer as both The Professor’s greatest love and his greatest hate. 

Each episode of The Prisoner concludes with an image of prison bars superimposed over Number 6's face. There are many kinds of prisons, however; fear, as we’ve seen in past installments of this series, is one of them. FDR said as much when he called fear the only thing to be afraid of. And if those in power seek to keep everyone else imprisoned, whether literally or through such things as ignorance, it is because they are imprisoned by their own fear—the loss of power. Number 2, the all-powerful figure of The Village, is a prisoner himself, subject to the whims of Number 1. The fact that there is a new Number 2 each week only emphasizes how Number 2 really deals not from power, but from fear.

In order to hold on to their power, the powerful become the architects of fear. Not that they’ll show it to your face; as Number 2 says of The Professor, “People love him, they'll take anything from him. It's the image, you see, that's important: the kindly image.” They’ll cite their confidence in things like science in support of what they say. And when they warn of the calamities that await unless--, they may describe cataclysmic events such as pandemics, ecological disasters, revolutions, and the dangers of knowledge. They may substitute paranoia for caution and censorship for discussion. They will give you no alternative. And, if they’re lucky, all this will happen without you even being aware of it. 

The powerful thrive on fear, which is why it must be resisted; otherwise, we wind up imprisoning ourselves. After all, it’s hardly a coincidence that the one phrase appearing in the Bible more often than any other is fear not. Just as well, the prophet Isaiah promises that Lord’s Anointed One will “proclaim liberty to captives and freedom to prisoners.” Even the most powerful are going to have a hard time defeating that. TV 

 

OTHER ENTRIES IN THIS SERIES:

• 1984
• Darkness at Noon
• Dialogues of the Carmelites
• The Obsolete Man
• Murder in the Cathedral
• Number 12 Looks Just Like You
• The Children's Story. . . but not just for children
• Moloch
• A Taste of Armageddon
• The Architects of Fear
• The Brotherhood of the Bell

What's on TV? Tuesday, March 15, 1966

As we saw on Saturday, the Gemini VIII launch was pushed back from Tuesday to Wednesday, so so we don’t have to worry about any pre-emptions to today’s schedule. So what do we have? Johnny Carson and the gang are doing The Tonight Show from Hollywood for the next two weeks, as they occasionally did prior to their permanent move in 1972. No word on guests, but I’m sure they’ll be some of Tinseltown’s finest. That CBS Reports "IOU $315 Billion" isn’t about the Ukraine war (yet), but instead it’s a look at the growing world of consumer personal debt. There’s a problem we don’t have to worry about anymore, right? And the F Troop episode, in which the troops find they aren’t legally bound to remain in the Army and leave Captain Parmenter as the only defender of Fort Courage, is one that Hal told us about at The Horn Section a few of weeks ago. All this and more is from the Northern California edition.

This week in TV Guide: March 12, 1966

My goodness, but we see a lot of articles about The Beverly Hillbillies in this job. There was a cover story on the female stars just a couple of weeks ago, and now the gang is back again. The British seem to have a particular fascination with the show; you'll recall Malcolm Muggeridge wrote a feature just the previous year that was probably more serious than it appears on first glance, and this week it's Ronald Searle, the British artist and cartoonist currently living in Paris (his illustrations accompany the article). 

It's not just the Hillbillies that fascinates, of course; the entire concept of America seems to cast a spell on Europeans, as if they're encountering some form of alien life. (And, in the case of Meghan Markle, they probably are.) The American West holds a particular interest for them; as Searle says, "The American Western is considered one of the fine arts. A dress shop, with appropriate decor, may be called "Ranch," a bar may be hung with saddles and pistols, and the jeunesse wouldn’t be seen dead in anything but "louees"—Levi’s, to you." The "West" is also, according to Searle, an approximation—"Somewhere beyond New Jersey," he says.

Searle's particular fascination with The Beverly Hillibillies has to do with the show's success. "By normal standards their rustic program should have been strangled at birth. And yet they have achieved the thing for which many an alchemist sold his soul to the devil: the transmutation of base metal into gold. Golden corn to be specific." And it's not just American captivated by these corn-shucking millionaires; "The adjective 'corn' has been tossed at the Beverly Hillbillies in many languages the world over," he notes, but "the Clampetts are still running way up top on Tokyo TV and, no doubt, in Hong Kong and Hanover. You name it, they probably have it in their rustic bucket."

Why the popularity? Searle isn't sure; "Braver men than I have tried to fathom the success of this comic strip from the backwoods." That isn't important, though. What is important, and undeniable, is that "in every nook and cranny in the United States where men and women are assembled together, millions of dreams are realized through the Clampetts. Week after week harmless citizens wish themselves into the boots of Granny and Jed and Elly May and Jethro."

Granny rules the roost

That's where Searle's article ends, but the question is a lasting one. The Beverly Hillbillies has long served as the poster child for the decline of American television—its dumbing down, if you will. Not because of any particular animus toward the show or its cast, I think; Searle noted that "a nicer bunch you couldn't wish to meet." Undoubtedly critics latched onto the Hillbillies because of the show's massive popularity; it was the number one series in the ratings for the 1962-63 and 1963-64 seasons, the first sitcom to hold that position since I Love Lucy in 1956-57. It broke up the domination of Westerns in the top spot; between 1957 and 1967, it was the only top-rated program not named Gunsmoke, Wagon Train, or Bonanza. In the 1963-64 season, Hillbillies had a 39.1 rating; the 2018-19 top-rated series, NBC's Sunday Night Football, had a rating of 10.9. The most-watched episode of Hillbillies, 1964's "The Giant Jackrabbit," was the most watched telecast up to the time of its airing, and remains the most-watched half-hour episode of a sitcom.*

*One critic speculated that it could have been helped by having followed LBJ's State of the Union address, but I'm not sure that holds water, given that the first primetime State of the Union wasn't until 1965.

Yes, I know things have changed a lot over the years, but that remains a hell of a lot of people watching that show, and enjoying it. Muggeridge, in his article, speculated that it might have had something to do with the show's innocense in a cynical age: "We, too, yearn after wealth which does not corrupt; after an innocence which triumphantly survives the possession of riches." Jed may have hit the jackpot with that oil strike, but it hadn’t fundamentally changed either him or his family, and there's something tremendously appealing about that. He felt that the reason for the show's worldwide popularity was also clear: "Backward or undeveloped nations are shown by means of television the way of life toward which they so ardently aspire." And if we skip ahead to August of 1966, we'll see a review of Hillbillies by Judith Crist that points to the same thing, that "what makes the show both durable and endurable," is its "utter lack of pretension."

 

Whatever the reason, and whatever you think about it, The Beverly Hillbillies remains one of the most popular weekly shows in the history of television. Given its success in a turbulent time, could it achieve a similar success today? Well, not to that extent; no show, save the Super Bowl, attracts that kind of audience anymore. And you'd have to have a unique cast, one that radiated warmth and likeability rather than stupidity and snarkiness. Still, you have to wonder: wouldn't it be nice to see a show about a family unspoiled by wealth, untouched by the corruptions of modern society?

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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: Scheduled guests for this St. Patrick’s Day salute include Pearl Bailey; comics Wayne and Shuster; the Irish folk-singing Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem; puppet Topo Gigio; comic Jackie Vernon; the Three Kims, Swedish acrobats; magician Johnny Hart; the Emerald Society Police Pipe Band of the New York City Police Department; and the McNiff Dancers.

Palace: Host Fred Astaire welcomes singers Ethel Merman and Jack Jones; Marcel Marceau, who pantomimes "Bip the Lion Tamer" and "The Butterfly Collector"; comedian Pat Morita; the Roggé Sisters, French balancing act; and the Hardy Family, tumbling acrobats. Fred dances to "Bugle Call Rag" and learns how to belt out a song in the Merman manner.

Some weeks are easier than others, and this is one of them. The Palace has one of the greatest dancers of all time hosting, one of the greatest mimes of all time as a guest, and one of the great belters of all time. With Fred Astaire, Marcel Marceau, and Ethel Merman, the show hardly needs one of the smoothest singers of the time, Jack Jones, but why not? Ed's big gun is Pearl Bailey, no slouch to be sure, but on mesasure this really isn't a contest: Palace wins in a song.

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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. 

One of the revealing aspects of the TV Guide collection is finding out how some of today's best-loved shows were, on first glance, not that big a deal. You might recall that Cleve was no great fan of Carol Burnett when her show first premiered, but it wound up outlasting his column. The same can't be said for I Dream of Jeannie; it only runs for five seasons, but it's been in reruns ever since, and remains one of the most popular of the classic TV sitcoms. To be fair, Our Critic doesn't hate the show, which he calls "the NBC answer to ABC's Bewitched (an unfair comparison, I'd say); in fact, he says that Jeannie, "which is only moderately well acted and directed, has at least three redeeming features."

Not surprisingly, first and foremost on that list (as it is with you, I'm sure) is Barbara Eden. Not only is she "a very good-looking girl," she's also capable of all the special-effects magic that Bewitched and other shows produce. And third, the show occasionally veers into actual satire; witness how Tony (Larry Hagman) can make Jeannie go back into her bottle any time he doesn't want her around. That would, Cleve points out, "make her the ideal wife." That's what Tony's friend Roger (Bill Daily) thinks, anyway, but Tony warns him not to go there. "Your friends will turn on you. Their wives will hate you. Do you think they’re going to watch her treat you with kindness and understanding and compassion? Do you think they’ll let her destroy everything they stand for?" Ouch.

Amory enjoys the fact that Jeannie, being a very jealous genie, which allows the writers to have a field day, as in the episode where Jeannie threatens to turn one of Tony's old girlfriends into a pillar of salt, whereupon Tony replies by threatening to pour ink in her bottle. She desperately wants to marry Tony; after being single for 2500 years, "I don't want to be an old maid." There's also a streak of michievousness in her, which can make things miserable for Tony, Roger, and Dr. Bellows (Hayden Rourke), and this, he says, "makes I Dream of Jeannie bearable for the rest of us." Now I grant you, this is the show's first season, so we don't know if Cleve modified his views as the series progresses. One would hope so; otherwise, Jeannie might just make one particular critic disappear.

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The latest effort of the American space program, the launch of Gemini VIII, is scheduled for Tuesday, March 15; it actually comes off the following day, following the successful launch of the Atlas-Agena target vehicle with which the Gemini capsule is scheduled to perform various docking manuevers. Network coverage begins with the twin launches on Wednesday morning, and continuesentire with the planned docking in the late afternoon. The networks also warn that programs "may be pre-empted" for coverage of the spaceflight, and if you know anything about Gemini VIII, you know that this promise was more than fulfilled.

The two first-time astronauts, Neil Armstrong and Dave Scott, successfully dock with the Agena (the first such docking in history), but shortly after passing out of communications range, the coupled spacecrafts began to rotate along all three axes at a high rate of speed. Concerned that the rate of roll could cause the Agena to explode, Scott uncoupled the Gemini, whereupon the tumbling increased violently, along roll, pitch, and yaw, at a rate of 60 revolutions per minute. Charts and checklists flew around the cabin, and the unfiltered sunlight came through the windows with the effect of a strobe. With the astronauts close to blacking out, Armstrong decided to use the craft's reentry thrusters to stop the spinning. It was a bold, but necessary gamble; Scott later said of Armstrong, "The guy was brilliant. He knew the system so well. He found the solution, he activated the solution, under extreme circumstances ... it was my lucky day to be flying with him." Once the re-entry controls had been activated, mission rules required that the flight be aborted, and Gemini VIII prepared for an emergency landing. 

Much like the Apollo 13 mission just over four years later, the networks interrupted regular programming—The Virginian on NBC, Batman on ABC, and, ironically, Lost in Space on CBS.  Reentering over China, the craft landed safely in the Pacific; although it was still daytime at the splashdown site, it was the first to take place at night in the continental United States. The crisis itself had lasted for about 30 minutes; the entire flight, which had been planned for three days, ended after around ten hours. 

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The Open Mind, hosted by Richard Heffner, debuted on public television in 1956, dedicated to "thoughtful excursion into the world of ideas." It reminds me of David Susskind's Open End, in that it tackles topics that you don't always see on programs like, say, Meet the Press. On Saturday night (8:00 p.m., KQED), we've got one that wouldn't be out of place today: "Are Flying Saucers Only Science Fic- tion?" And in fact, the program could still take up the topic (and include foreign balloons in the bargain!) since The Open Mind is still on the air, the 13th longest-running television program in American history, about to enter its 67th season and hosted by Richard Heffner's grandson, Alexander.

One other note about Saturday: NBC's Saturday Night at the Movies presents the American TV debut of A Place in the Sun (9:00 p.m.), based on Theodore Dreiser's novel An American Tragedy, and starring Montgomery Clift, Elizabeth Taylor, and Shelley Winters. Saturday Night at the Movies expands to two and-a-half hours for this movie, and a note at the end of the listing explains why: "The Los Angeles Superior Court recently ruled that this film could not be televised if its artistic qualities were harmed. NBC is presenting it without cuts." That would have been quite something, considering the editing of movies due to length or content was a common, and controversial, practice back then.

Spring is in the air, and with it the promise of baseball; KTVU gets things started with a spring training game between the San Francisco Giants and Cleveland Indians, live from Phoenix (Sunday, 12 noon). Sunday evening, The Bell Telelphone Hour (6:30 p.m., NBC) presents an hour of music from American movies, hosted by Ray Bolger, and starring Robert Merrill, André Previn, and musical-comedy performers Ann Miller, Gloria De Haven, Peter Marshall, Constance Towers and Judi Rolin. The Telephone Hour remains one of the 1960s last weekly programs to be done live on a regular basis.

A very funny parody of The Untouchables is the highlight on The Lucy Show (Monday, 8:30 p.m., CBS), with Robert Stack as an FBI agent who recruits Lucy to pose as the girlfriend of a soon-to-be-released-from-prison gangster, played by Bruce Gordon. Steve London, who played one of Eliot Ness's men on The Untouchables, is Stack's assistant, and the narration is provided, as it was then, by Walter Winchell. They even use the same theme music—but then, since Desilu produced The Untouchables, they shouldn't have had any trouble getting the rights. Stack and Gordon were good friends; Gordon never shied away from his casting as gangster Frank Nitti, so I wouldn't be surprised if they had a great time filming this. You can watch it all here.

Tuesday's 11:30 p.m. movie on KGO (not to be confused with the All-Night Movie, which doesn't start until 1:20 a.m.) is The Private Lives of Adam and Eve, which I would swear I'd seen on a program guide for an adult movie channel, but apparently not, since it's making its Bay Area TV debut. It's co-directed by Mickey Rooney, and it tells the allegorical story of a group of people seeking refuge from a storm in a country church. Rooney stars as Nick, aka the Devil, while who else could possibly play Eve but Mamie Van Doren? Need I include the fact that it's a comedy?

We don't know for sure what actually aired on Wednesday, what with the coverage of the Gemini VIII emergency, but the Bob Hope Comedy Special (9:00 p.m., NBC) sounds as if it would have been a good bet; skits include Phyllis Diller in "Pagoda Place" as a woman who's remarried, only to find out her first husband is still alive; an Academy Awards spoof with Jonathan Winters as Rock Surly, an actor accused of bumping off his fellow nominees; and Lee Marvin, one of those real-life nominees, as Slim Premise, a sissified gunfighter, and Bob as El Crummo, a bandit chief.

Part one of this week's Batman adventure was interrupted by last night's bulletins (at least twice, according to oral histories), but that won't stop ABC from airing part two on Thursday (7:30 p.m., ABC). It's called, unironically, "Better Luck Next Time," and it wraps up the first appearance of the one and only Catwoman (Julie Newmar). That's on up against The Munsters (7:30 p.m., CBS), which presents a rare look at the show's backstory, as Herman is visited by Dr. Frankenstein IV, decendant of the man who assembled him, and an evil Herman lookalike named Johann. Now that's scary!

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Friday night's episode of Camp Runamuck (7:30 p.m., NBC) features Spiffy (David Ketchum) falling under an oriental philosophy that causes him to make a truce with the ladies of Camp Divine. And that leads us to this week's starlet, Nina Wayne, who plays the "curvaceous counsellor" of the girls' camp, Caprice Yeudleman—also known as "the tall show girl with the tiny voice."

She didn't start out for a career in show business. Believe it or not, and there's no reason not to believe it, she and her sister Carol were afflicted with weak ankles and skinny legs—oh, and they were also pigeon-toed. Their uncle, a doctor, suggested they try ice skating, and they would up good enough at it that they joined the Ice Capades when Nina was 15. The Wayne Sisters toured with the Capades for two years, finally hanging up the skates when Carol fell and injured her knee.

From there, Nina moved first to Vegas and then Chicago, where she became "a model by day and a dancer by night"; her mother's only comment was that "Daddy and I would prefer that you wear a few more beads." She started working with Van Johnson in his nightclub act, which led to an appearance on The Tonight Show, where Johnny was charmed by her "kind of coo-coo way of speaking," and a comedy style that he described as "early idiot." (When Carson asked her, "How does it feel to work without any clothes on?" Nina answered, "Naked." David Swift, putting together a cast for a new sitcom, happened to see that appearance ("She has the voice of a grape comng out of a banana"), and two day slater she was doing the pilot for Camp Runamuck.

She wants to be a "big star," but her acting coaches are under instructions not to tamper with that voice; Swift says, "She has almost an armor of naiveté, translated directly without being filtered." And while Camp Runamuck, scheduled opposite The Wild Wild West and The Flintstones, won't be around much longer, she's hoping to be heard from again. In fact, her career continues until the mid-'70s, including the movie The Night Strangler and a career on the stage. She marries, and divorces, John Drew Barrymore, the father of Drew Barrymore. And, in case you hadn't figured it out from all the clues in the article—a curvaceous figure, a little voice, a last name of Wayne, and a sister named Carol—that sister is, indeed, Carol Wayne, the Tea Time Movie sidekick to Carson's Art Fern. Small world, so to speak.

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MST3K alert: The Indestructible Man (1956). "A death row inmate double-crossed by his lawyer gets a chance for revenge when a bizarre experiment brings him back to life. Lon Chaney, Casey Adams." (Friday, part of KGO's All Night Movie) Look for a small but pivotal role played by Joe Flynn, who's probably glad he's better-known for McHale's Navy. TV  

Around the dial

At Comfort TV, David leads off the week with an intriguing question: whatever happened to "America's Sweetheart"? It's a title that's been dispensed on many luminaries over the years: Annette Funicello, Karen Valentine, Sally Field, and Mary Tyler Moore, to name but a few. Can you think of anyone who'd fit the bill today?

Jack's Hitchcock Project continues at bare-bones e-zine with Oscar Millard's second and final teleplay for the show, "One of the Family," with Jeremy Slate and Kathryn Hays as a young couple worried that their baby's new nurse (Lila Skala) may be a child killer. 

I've said this before, but then there's a real knack to coming up with just the right title, and there's no way I'm not going to write about any show with an episode called "I Was Hitler's Bookie." The show is The Steam Video Company, a British comedy show with a bit of SCTV about it, and John has all the details at Cult TV Blog.

At Television's New Frontier: the 1960s, it's the 1962 episodes of Have Gun—Will Travel, starring Richard Boone as the man in black, Palladin. The episodes comprise the first half of the show's sixth and final season—find out how the stories stand up to the rest of the series.

In one of the more surprising developments, Robert at Television Obscurities reports that the 1957 sitcom Blondie, starring Arthur Lake and Pamela Britton, is coming to Blu-ray. I'm always delighted to see vintage shows being upgraded, but I'm also wishing they might get to some of the ones on my list! 

More Blu-ray news: Martin Grams says the Rankin-Bass classic Mad Monster Party is headed that way this May, with some special features and collectibles included. If you're interested in it, you can pre-order right now! 

At Vintage Leisure, Gary Wells takes a look at the book The Untouchables, written by Eliot Ness himself, with Oscar Fraley. It is, of course, the basis for the TV series of the same name, and you may remember a few years ago we looked at a TV Guide with a feature article by Ness's widow. Sounds like a fun book.

Cult TV Lounge features four early episodes of The Avengers featuring Honor Blackman's Cathy Gale. I always think it's important to point these out, because American viewers didn't get to see them when they were originally on, and Mrs. Gale is such a wonderful character. It is, as noted, a "startling" difference compared to the Emma Peel era. TV