Monday, July 30, 2012

Bewitched, The Electric Company and Prejudice

 
The premise of Bewitched is a thinly veiled treatise on intolerance. The series thrived during an era in which a situation comedy built around a mixed-race couple could never crack a network's prime-time schedule. But when the mixture is that of a pretty witch named Samantha (Elizabeth Montgomery) and a down-to-earth advertising man (Dick York, and later Dick Sargent as Darrin), the fantasy element diffused the tension of cultural clashes and the wrath of disdainful in-laws, so memorably represented by Agnes Moorehead as Endora, who imbued the word "mortal" with all the scorn of a racial epithet. 

 It's possible to enjoy this frothy, sophisticated series for decades and never get the connection. But the show's take on prejudice was acknowledged early on. "Bewitched is not about cleaning up the house with a magic wave, zapping up the toast, or flying around the living room. It's about a very difficult relationship, and people see that," Elizabeth Montgomery once said. "They know there's something going on besides the magic. When the show is viewed carefully, its other elements may be observed."



As much as Darrin rails against Sam's use of witchcraft, he ultimately accepts that her powers are part of who she is, and he should not try to change her. And though Sam's parents believe their daughter has married beneath her standing, their prejudice is no match for Darrin's love.  

Of course, some elements of the religious community remain upset over the series' sympathetic portrayal of witches, but you can't please everybody.

Bewitched was running out of steam by its seventh year, so much so that producers were recycling scripts from earlier seasons. But “Sisters at Heart” was a unique late-run triumph that represents the series' most overt exploration of the race issue.

The story begins when a bigoted client demands that Darrin be removed from his account after visiting the Stephens' home and mistaking an African-American girl for the Stephens daughter, Tabitha. The girl, Lisa, wishes she and best friend Tabitha could be sisters, though a boy at the playground tells her it can't happen because they're “different colors.” But Tabitha has inherited her mother's supernatural gift, and tries with a twitch of her nose to make Lisa her sister.

The spell doesn't quite work; Lisa develops white polka dots on her skin, while Tabitha breaks out in black polka dots. Samantha discovers what's happened just as Lisa's parents arrive to pick her up. Uh-oh.



One cure from Dr. Bombay later, the girls are back to normal, and Sam tells them that sisters don't have to look alike. “Actually, all men are brothers,” she says, “even if they're girls.”

“(This) is what I want Bewitched to be all about,” said Elizabeth Montgomery, who singled out “Sisters at Heart” as her favorite episode.

It's hardly surprising this episode would appeal to kids, since it was written by kids as well. “Sisters at Heart” had 29 writers, 27 of whom were tenth-grade students at Thomas Jefferson High in Los Angeles.




The students, most of whom were African-American, wrote the story as a class exercise. Teacher Marcella Saunders was concerned that so many of her students were reading at a third-grade level, and hoped this would be an innovative way to get them excited about writing. Bewitched writer Barbara Avedon heard about the project and visited the inner-city school, and was amazed by the quality of their story. The script was filmed with only a few changes, after a final polish from Avedon and producer William Asher. At the 1971 Emmy Awards, “Sisters at Heart” won the Governor's Award.

Where Bewitched took an in-your-face approach to its subject, no television series offered a subtler message of racial equality than The Electric Company. The Children's Television Workshop's follow-up to Sesame Street combined music, animation and comedic sketches to teach kids in grades 1-3 about the joy of reading. Another message slipped in as well, when the multiracial cast performed in sketches as spouses, boyfriends and girlfriends, with no acknowledgment of their diversity.  
           
 In the 1970s such couplings weren't unknown to television, but every show, whether it handled the issue comedically or dramatically, would focus on the black-white pairing with all the righteous fervor that a 'very special episode' demands. On The Electric Company, Morgan Freeman could play a guy married to Judy Graubart or Rita Moreno, and it was a non-issue because it was treated as such. How clever, and yet delightfully subversive, just like all the best children's shows.




Monday, July 23, 2012

Will Your Granddaughter Think Keith Partridge is Groovy?

 Although I own both series on DVD, I sometimes get sucked into watching music clips from The Monkees and The Partridge Family on YouTube. 
 




One of the reasons I enjoy this is reading the viewer comments on each video. Most of the time it’s the usual mix of people my age talking about how music today sucks compared to the 1960s and ‘70s, and a few angry spammers spouting nonsense. But the comments that warm my heart are those that read, “I’m only 13 and I love this show!” or, “I was born too late. All my friends are into Justin Bieber and I’d rather listen to Davy Jones.”

This type of feedback gives me hope that what I consider classic, comfort television will continue to be enjoyed by generations to come. However, there’s no guarantee this will be the case. 

Think about radio. There's a great book called On the Air: The Encyclopedia of Old-Time Radio, which I picked up as research for a magazine article.  I wound up reading it cover to cover – 840 pages. I was fascinated to learn about the programs that were national obsessions decades before I was born.

Radio was television before it existed – it was the first medium to introduce nationally broadcast situation comedies, detective shows, variety series, talk shows, adventure serials and soap operas. The golden age of the great radio networks spanned across the 1930s and ‘40s. Millions of Americans would gather round the radio to laugh with Fred Allen or Jack Benny, follow the travails of the lovelorn on Painted Dreams and The Romance of Helen Trent, or hide under the covers to escape the frightening stories on Lights Out and The Shadow.

Today, there’s a niche of vintage radio lovers, but it’s very small. Ask most people about The Great Gildersleeve, or Fibber McGee and Molly, and they’ll have no idea what you’re on about.



Is this the fate that awaits our TV classics? Perhaps. Or perhaps they will share the enduring popularity of motion pictures.

How many kids today love The Wizard of Oz, even though it was released in 1939? People still laugh at Laurel & Hardy, still wonder at the beauty of Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn, still think the chariot race in Ben Hur is as exciting as anything that’s in the multiplexes now. There are even a surprising number of silent movie fans, even beyond the acknowledged masters like Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton. Those who have never seen their films may still know their names, and we’re 100 years removed from their heydays.

No one knows for certain how our cultural tastes and preferred entertainment media will evolve over the next 100 years. I believe the shows I've discussed in this blog are worthy of being embraced by future generations. But I also realize that people now have access to more television options than ever before, and while the classics are still broadcast daily on newtorks like Antenna and MeTV, they are vulnerable to getting lost in a crowd of Real Housewives, singing competitions and braying Disney tween shows.



When people mention “Lucy” in the year 2112, will the reference still be instantly recognized? Will an anguished cry of “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!” still be a shorthand expression of the frustrations of sibling rivalry? I don’t know. I hope so.

Monday, July 16, 2012

Part Two: A Phone Call From Isis

 Sometime around the year 2000, I began to think about writing scripts for television. It is one of my great regrets that I let myself be discouraged by the odds against success, and instead devoted whatever writing talent I had to other pursuits. But at that time I was feeling particularly inspired, and decided to write a spec script just to see if I could do it.

What I chose to write was an updated pilot of the Isis series. I kept the characters of Andrea Thomas and Rick Mason, moved the location to Cameron High School in Miami, and established a new origin for Isis, who receives her powers during a class trip to Egypt.

I was very proud of it at the time, though years later I now see the flaws as clearly as the moments that I think still work. But my initial confidence inspired me to send a copy to JoAnna Cameron.


A couple of weeks later, on a Sunday morning, I staggered half asleep from my bed to my office desk, where the light was flashing on the answering machine. I hit the ‘Play’ button and heard, “Hi, David, this is JoAnna Cameron. I read your script and I wanted to talk to you about it.” And she left her number.

I went downstairs for a cup of tea, then returned to the office and hit the replay button to make sure I had heard what I thought I’d heard. The message was still there.

This is one of those calls that you can’t wait to make, but are very hesitant to make at the same time. Courage and curiosity finally won out and I dialed the number. I found out she lived near Monterrey, California, and she invited me up for a round of golf. I never took her up on that, and it’s too late now because she has since relocated to Hawaii.

During our 15-20 minute conversation, she spoke about how the show has played all over the world, and been translated into a dozen languages. I asked her why she never attended any of the sci-fi conventions, or Hollywood autograph shows. “That’s not for me,” she said. “I’m not Adam West.” Apparently she had a change of heart, however, as a few years later she appeared at a handful of shows.

As for the script, she said, “You should talk to Lou, and you guys could produce it.” “Lou” was Lou Scheimer, one of the creators and producers of the Isis series. When I told her I was calling from Las Vegas, she suggested we set part of the story at the Egyptian-themed Luxor Hotel (which actually had a steakhouse named Isis for awhile).

And just before we hung up, and as I basked in the gratification of an endorsement from the original Isis, she left me with one parting thought: “I can still fit into the costume.” I didn’t know if this was just a statement of pride or an audition.

Later that week I called Lou Scheimer’s office and he invited me to take a meeting. Was this actually happening? Was breaking into the television writing business really this ridiculously easy? I sent him the script, and two weeks later I was in his San Fernando Valley office, surrounded by memorabilia from the many shows created by Filmation. There was nothing from Isis but plenty from Masters of the Universe, which suggests that of all the films and shows he produced, this was the one that allowed him to sock a little away for retirement.


For the next hour, Scheimer regaled me with stories of his career and about how the Isis show came together, but when the subject of the script finally came up, he confessed that he couldn’t bring himself to read it. “I might love it,” he said, “And if I do I’ll be really upset because I don’t own the rights to the character anymore.”

That was a disappointing but understandable answer at the time. With the benefit of hindsight, I now think he probably read it and thought it was lousy, and this was a gracious way of avoiding that conversation.

Either way, that was essentially the end of my screenwriting career. He gave me a contact at Hallmark, which then owned Isis, but when a few phone calls and letters went unanswered I let the matter drop. The script went back in a drawer, where it remains to this day. I’ll never see it filmed, but by doing it I proved something to myself, I got to speak to Isis, and I got to take a meeting with a Hollywood producer about my first script. I’d still call that time well spent. 
 
For any fellow Filmation fans out there, there’s a book that will be out soon about Lou’s life and career that I know I can’t wait to pick up. Here’s what the cover looks like. 


Monday, July 9, 2012

A Phone Call From Isis

 In the 1970s, Saturday morning meant cartoons. And that’s what made the occasional live-action kids series stand out from their animated competition. One of my favorites was The Shazam/Isis Hour – particularly the second half.

Isis, as played by JoAnna Cameron, was one of those characters that help little boys realize there’s more to girls than they may have first appreciated. After two hours of Scooby Doo and Super Friends, there was something delightfully exotic about the appearance of a stunning brunette in a white miniskirt and spiked heels flying across the screen.

But there was more to Isis than Cameron’s beauty (and amazing legs). For the uninitiated, the character was based on the goddess of Egyptian mythology with powers over time and space. Science teacher Andrea Thomas visits the pyramids, and digs up Isis’s amulet, allowing her to transform into the goddess in times of crisis.



I always thought it would have made more sense for Andrea to be a history teacher or an archaeologist. Perhaps they made her a science teacher to tweak scientists, those “I won’t believe anything I can’t see or prove the existence of scientifically” types. One day you’re a secular humanist, the next you’ve got a mythical deity living inside you. That’s the heavens saying, “Not so smart now, huh?”

The stories, all basic morality plays, were set around the high school where Andrea taught. Which means that this superhero who could stop time, control nature and manipulate matter at the molecular level, who could have been out stopping wars and ending famine and turning tidal waves back into the ocean, instead devoted her powers to helping dopey high school kids who locked their keys in their car.

There were only 22 episodes, but this is a desert island show for me. I watched it in perpetual reruns in the 1970s, bought a bootleg set of VHS tapes in the ‘80s, own a carded Mego Isis action figure, and of course purchased the Secrets of Isis DVD set, and have watched every episode at least a dozen times. They take me back to simpler days, and there is a warmth and kindness that exudes from each episode that I find sadly missing in much of current pop culture.



It doesn’t matter how many times I watch these shows, I still love seeing favorite 70s-TV guest star Laurette Spang as a snotty cheerleader, the surprisingly moving “Bigfoot” episode, and lovely Christopher Norris, pre-Trapper John, M.D., as a science fair winner who gets stuck in a western ghost town. And of course, I always looked forward to the crossover episodes with Captain Marvel, the only superhero who traveled by Winnebago.

So why is this entry titled “A Phone Call from Isis”? Because one Sunday morning, many years ago, I received a very interesting call from JoAnna Cameron. Details in the next entry. As a classic TV fan, don’t you just love a good two-part episode?

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Why You Won’t Find Obituaries Here


In the short time since this blog was launched, Frank Cady, Don Grady and Andy Griffith have passed away.

As the subject of Comfort TV is classic television, it’s not surprising that I’ve had readers ask if I’ll be writing something on these poignant events. The answer is no.

My intent in this blog is to discuss, celebrate and hopefully offer a few observations about classic television in a way that will entertain those who share this passion. And doing so will certainly require acknowledging the contributions of the performers who make classic TV so memorable.

But while I understand the urge to pay tribute to these actors at the time of their passing, we honor them every time we watch one of their shows. We have been given no more valuable gift in this life than time, so what better way to express our recognition and appreciation for their talents than the desire to spend another few moments in their company, laughing again at familiar punch lines or riding along on another crime-fighting adventure?

However, for those who wish some sort of summation on these occasions, here it is: If you spend your time on this planet creating or collaborating on an artistic work that makes generations of people happy, that lightens the burden of their personal and professional trials, and inspires shared moments of joy with their family and friends, then you have spent your time here well.

Actors are mortal, but the roles they play are timeless. So while Andy Griffith has died, Sheriff Andy Taylor is still with us, and he will always be around anytime you want to stop by Mayberry and pay him a visit. Frank Cady is gone, but Sam Drucker is ringing the cash register of the Hooterville general store. One hundred years from now, they will still be there. And they will still make people smile.

God bless them all.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Monday, July 2, 2012

Comfort TV Marathon: Ringing in the Fourth

  
At Comfort TV any holiday is a reason to settle back with some appropriately themed classic television episodes, and Independence Day is no exception.

Here are five patriotic shows to help ring in the Fourth of July. Just make sure to crank up the volume so you can hear the dialogue over any bombs bursting in air.

Bewitched
“My Friend Ben” and “Samantha for the Defense”
A standard Bewitched set-up – Aunt Clara tries to summon an electrician but zaps up Benjamin Franklin instead – is elevated into the series’ best two-part outing on the strength of its shrewd scripts and guest star Fredd Wayne. Wayne takes a gimmick and gives it real depth – he captures Franklin’s wit and principles as well as the scientific curiosity and wonder you’d expect to see in an enlightened man suddenly transported 200 years into the future.

Wayne’s performance as Franklin was so convincing that he would play the character again in episodes of Daniel Boone, Voyagers! and Simon and Simon, as well as in award-winning audio recordings of Franklin biographies. Plus, he’s a lot more convincing as a Founding Father than Bert Convy’s season 7 appearance as Paul Revere.

The highlight, for me, is the courtroom trial in “Samantha for the Defense,” in which Franklin must convince a judge that he is who he says he is, against all logic. It’s like a July 4 version of Miracle on 34th Street. Some interesting cameos in these shows as well from Paul Sand and famed disc jockey The Real Don Steele. 



Star Trek
“The Omega Glory”
This is a season 2 episode of the Original Series that foreshadows the sillier stories that became too commonplace in Trek’s final season. However, it is redeemed by a gloriously over-the-top moment near the climax, when Captain Kirk recites the Preamble to the US Constitution, with all the crazy cadences and random pauses and staccato gesticulations that have made William Shatner a television legend. I wonder if he memorized it from Schoolhouse Rock like the rest of us?



Family Ties
“Philadelphia Story”
A feverish Alex falls asleep while writing a term paper on the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and dreams about helping Thomas Jefferson find the self-confidence to write that historic document. Some very funny lines in the writing scenes, as Alex tries to coach Jefferson (played by Keaton dad Michael Gross), without feeding him the right words in advance. “Okay, let’s sign this baby and ship it off to England!”

The Brady Bunch
“Everyone Can’t Be George Washington”
For a Brady fan, any episode can produce a warm and fuzzy glow of nostalgia. But most of the shows that are still pretty funny are the ones featuring Peter: there's “The Personality Kid,” with the pork chops and applesauce bit, and “The Private Ear,” where Pete bugs his siblings’ rooms. To that list I’ll add “Everyone Can’t Be George Washington,” in which Peter auditions to play the Father of Our Country in a school play, and is cast instead as Benedict Arnold. The best moments are at the dress rehearsal, especially when Benedict’s wife Peggy, played by Florence Henderson’s daughter, Barbara Bernstein, pulls out Arnold’s old army uniform. 



Father Knows Best
“24 Hours in Tyrantland”
Now this - this is a remarkable piece of history, shot in 1959 but never aired on television – nor was it intended to. It was commissioned by the US Treasury Department as a warning against the dangers of totalitarianism, and played for years in schools and churches across America.

The story has Jim Anderson – the ever-stalwart Robert Young – trying to get his family to join him in a campaign to sell US Savings Bonds. The kids basically blow him off, saying that bonds might be a good investment but all that patriotic stuff is rah-rah nonsense. Jim, desperate to teach them that bonds preserve the American way of life, proposes a challenge – to see if they can survive 24 hours under a dictatorship – with good old dad as the dictator.

The kids go along and Jim gives them the full treatment; hard labor, unfair working conditions, and severe punishment for trying to escape. “If our young people don’t think enough of our way of life to try to preserve it,” he tells his wife Margaret, “I shudder to think what’s going to happen to America.”

Whether you embrace the message as powerful and patriotic, or dismiss it as the kind of anti-Communist propaganda that produced McCarthyism, “24 Hours in Tyrantland” offers a fascinating insight into life in 1950s middle America.