Wednesday, October 24, 2012

The Munsters or The Addams Family?


With Halloween approaching it seemed an appropriate time to revive an age-old pop culture debate – one that rivals “Ginger or Mary Ann?”, “McDonald’s or Burger King?” or, if you’re really old school, “Quisp or Quake?”

Two horror-inspired sitcoms debuted in the same week in 1964 – The Munsters and The Addams Family. And both ended their runs within the same week in 1966, only to begin a thriving afterlife in syndication. But for whatever reason, there has never been a lot of crossover within their respective fanbases. Classic TV lovers are either Team Herman or Team Gomez.




For me it’s always been an easy choice. I’m in the Addams camp. From the pedigree of the characters (based on the sly New Yorker cartoons of Charles Addams) to the casting and the subversive nature of the stories, The Addams Family seems superior in every respect to the more slapstick-based, sillier Munsters.

Both shows had killer theme songs. The idea to use a surf-rock tune for The Munsters was genius. But even here the insanely catchy, finger-snapping classic written for The Addams Family by composer Vic Mizzy rates the edge. 




The Munsters concept ­– a family sitcom comprised of Universal horror movie creatures  – was unique but hardly groundbreaking. Universal had already exploited the humor in its monsters in a classic Abbott & Costello film. And once the premise was set they never transcended it. Sure, the show was still funny – Fred Gwynne and Al Lewis knew how to deliver a punch line – but it’s not a series I revisit very often.

Where the Munsters most often acted like a typical American family despite their creature features appearance, the Addams Family was proudly non-conformist. They perceived beauty in ugliness, a saintly virtue, not to mention a possible explanation for most reality television. They were a close, polite and loving family that faced the world on its own terms, with open hearts and an optimistic outlook.

These attributes were most noticeable when someone from the community paid a visit to the Addams home. After cowering from Lurch, stepping on the growling bearskin rug, or watching Thing emerge from his box, a guest would typically run screaming from the premises. But rather than feel offended, Gomez would typically respond with, “Poor fellow, must not have been feeling well.”

The message – if one chooses to look for one in a show like this – was to live your life the way you wish, and respect the rights of others to do the same. 



Setting social commentary side, the show was also funnier than The Munsters, at least to my sometimes-warped sense of humor. Whether it was Gomez blowing up toy trains with a maniacal grin, or turning into a lust-crazed lothario when Morticia speaks French, Lurch’s all-purpose “Uggghggh” lament (Gomez once asked him what he meant by that, and Lurch replied, “Just Uggghggh”), Morticia’s gardening, Pugsley’s pets, or any appearance by Cousin Itt, the show seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of running jokes and sight gags.

That and perfect casting went a long way toward elevating scripts that were formulaic but serviceable. There were no standout classic episodes, but none that weren’t watchable either.

The Addams Family also had a more successful post-series legacy, inspiring two feature films that didn’t damage the brand, a Broadway musical and an awesome pinball machine. There was also a 1998 television revival that few remember, and with good reason. 

A Munsters revival was launched this year, under the title Mockingbird Lane, but it appears to have stalled out of the gate. The pilot will air as a Halloween special on October 26 on NBC. It may be creepy and kooky, but I do not expect it will be altogether ooky.

Opposing viewpoints from Munsters loyalists are always welcome.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Doctor Who and James Bond: 50 Years of Fantastic Adventures

 
This year, the James Bond movie franchise celebrates its 50th anniversary. Its success is unprecedented and well-deserved, and would be wholly unique in pop culture were it not for another British character that is, in many ways, television’s counterpart to Agent 007  – Doctor Who.

Like Bond, The Doctor was first introduced in the early 1960s, and has been played by several different actors, each with their own interpretation of the role. Like 007, The Doctor often relies upon sophisticated gadgets to get him out of life-threatening situations. And like James Bond, The Doctor is often found in the company of beautiful women, though until recently he really didn’t know what to do with them.

There are two distinct eras of Doctor Who; the first was launched with the character’s debut adventure in 1963 and ended in 1989; the second began when the series was revived in 2005. 

The current run of Doctor Who certainly qualifies as classic TV. But it’s the first era that falls more appropriately into the Comfort TV classification. 



The difference is pace. As with most shows from a bygone era, early Doctor Who was more leisurely in its storytelling. The 21st century episodes are self-contained 45-minute adventures with a frenetic pace, rapid-fire dialogue and lots of action. Under current writer/executive producer Steven Moffat, there is so much content in each show that repeat viewings are almost required to take it all in.

But for most of its run, Doctor Who stories unfolded over anywhere from 4-7 one-hour episodes. Some of the earliest shows ran even longer. And while sometimes this led to extended scenes of corridor walking and villainous master plans that unfolded at the speed of continental drift, it also provided the actors more of an opportunity to inhabit their characters, which is easier to do when you’re not running around all the time.

Don’t misunderstand – David Tennant and Matt Smith have been exceptional stewards of the title character, and I’ve enjoyed almost every one of their episodes. In fact, “The Girl in the Fireplace” from 2006 is one of the finest hours of television I’ve ever experienced. But it’s not Comfort TV, which is quieter, less stressful, and does not demand undivided attention. 

My first experience of Doctor Who was back around 1980, when the Tom Baker episodes began airing on WTTW channel 11, the Chicago PBS station. Their popularity made them a pledge-drive staple, and gradually the network began airing episodes from the series’ previous eras, featuring William Hartnell, Patrick Troughton and Jon Pertwee, as well as Baker’s successors, Peter Davison and Colin Baker (the less said about the Sylvester McCoy era, the better). 

As with the original Star Trek series, one had to overlook the rudimentary special effects and Styrofoam monsters, and appreciate the quality of the writing and performances. But there are great rewards here for those able to do so, not the least of which is more than 600 episodes of delightful sci-fi stories to enjoy. That should keep you busy for awhile.

If you’re new to Doctor Who, or have only watched the more recent incarnations, here are a few suggestions of outstanding stories from the show’s original eras.

William Hartnell: The Aztecs
Doctor Who was originally conceived as a children’s series, which would use The Doctor’s time-hopping abilities to teach history lessons. “The Aztecs” fulfilled this objective, but it’s also a powerful treatise on respecting other cultures, even when their actions seem indefensible. 


Patrick Troughton: The Mind Robber
Many Troughton stories were wiped by the BBC back in the less-enlightened days when television was perceived as disposable entertainment. Of those that survive, “The Mind Robber” is a wonderfully imaginative journey through various worlds of literary fiction. 



Jon Pertwee: The Time Warrior
In addition to introducing one of The Doctor’s most famous adversaries, the baked-potato shaped Sontarans, “The Time Warrior” also features the debut of perhaps his most beloved companion, Sarah Jane Smith. More than 30 years later, the character was still popular enough to inspire a BBC spinoff, The Sarah Jane Adventures



Tom Baker: City of Death
Tom Baker was the first Doctor discovered by most American fans, and would still win a poll ranking the best actors to take on the role. You can’t go wrong with almost any Baker story, But “City of Death” benefits from Paris locations, Baker’s wonderful chemistry with companion Romana (Lalla Ward, whom he’d later marry) and a cameo from John Cleese.



Peter Davison: The Caves of Androzani
This was Davison’s last adventure, and while his era is less-celebrated than some of his predecessors, he went out in high style with a brilliant story from one of the series’ best writers, Robert Holmes. 



Colin Baker: The Two Doctors
By this time the original series had started to run out of steam. But “The Two Doctors” is worth a look for the alliance between Colin Baker and Doctor #2, Patrick Troughton.

Sunday, October 7, 2012

The Dukes of Hazzard: Meeting Daisy Duke

 One of the first pieces on this blog focused on the unique circumstances surrounding an interview with Tom Wopat for my Dukes of Hazzard book. That piece received some of the most positive feedback of anything on Comfort TV thus far, so here’s a follow-up, about my interview with Catherine Bach. 



Some people may assume that when a writer signs a contract for a book on a TV series, he or she is automatically granted access to the stars of the show. I must confess that, for a brief moment back then, I thought so myself. After all, I wasn’t “just” a fan anymore, I was a professional with a job to do.
           
But since my book contract for The Dukes of Hazzard: An Unofficial Companion did not come with a list of phone numbers (and this was pre-Internet), I began my quest by finding home addresses for the stars through agency contacts, and a research library in Los Angeles. To each one I sent a cover letter with a copy of the book proposal. I had no idea what the rate of response would be, but I was pretty sure of Catherine Bach, because I had met her before.

In 1981, almost 20 years before I was offered the book, I waited in an autograph line at a Las Vegas car show to have my picture taken with TV’s Daisy Duke. That photograph appears on page 87 of the Companion


           
So obviously, I had nothing to worry about. I’d just say “Hey, Catherine, remember me? We met for 30 seconds 19 years ago at a car show. I’m doing a book now. Can I interview you?” But my letter was not answered. Apparently, those 30 seconds didn’t have the same lasting impact on her.
           
Turns out I had the wrong address anyway. That happens a lot. Celebrities move so often you’d think they had trouble paying the mortgage. Back then, two or three letters to different places (office, home, agency) were fairly standard when trying to reach someone in the Hollywood community, and I was still waiting for a response from Ms. Bach when I flew to L.A. for my interview with John Schneider.
           
The details of that day will also be covered at some point in the future, but I have to mention it now because it was through John Schneider that I was at last able to reach Catherine.
           
We were about a third of the way through our interview, which was being conducted in his dressing room, during a break from his hosting chores on the short-lived series Ordinary/Extraordinary. I had the car show picture with me, and while we were chatting I pulled it out to show him. To my surprise he really enjoyed seeing it. Looking back, I think that photo upgraded my status from a writer doing a job to a fan who once cared enough about The Dukes of Hazzard to stand in line for the chance to meet one of its stars. Being “just” a fan meant something after all.
           
John asked if I had talked to Catherine, and I told him I wrote to her but hadn’t received any response yet. He took out his cell phone and called her.
           
“I’m talkin’ to a guy who’s doing a book on the show,” John said. “He really knows his stuff. He’s even got a picture that he took with you at a car show. You should talk to him.” Then he handed me the phone.
           
Now, I like to prepare for things like that in advance. I admit, I’m one of those people who actually writes out answering machine messages before I leave them. Had I known I’d be speaking to Catherine Bach, I’d have had my pitch scripted. My first talk with her would also have been easier if I wasn’t in a room with John and about ten other people, all of whom thought this might be interesting and stopped what they were doing to listen. 

Fortunately, I kept my stammering to a minimum and Catherine was wonderful. By this time she had plenty of practice patiently talking to guys my age who thought about her legs the way my dad’s generation recalled Betty Grable’s. 



We scheduled the interview for a week later, at her home in Encino, which worked out well as I was heading back to L.A. anyway to interview the series’ creator, Gy Waldron.
           
A maid let me into her spacious ranch home;  as I walked through the foyer into the family room, I spotted the large painting of Catherine that appeared in the Dukes episode “Heiress Daisy Duke.”  I was offered a drink, and told that Catherine would be with me momentarily. A few minutes later she appeared, wearing a black dress with a knee-high slit. She was accompanied by a very large black dog who appeared ready to swallow my tape recorder while my hand was still attached to it. I believe this was her way of saying, “I don’t know you yet, so watch your step.”
           
She sat down in the chair next to mine and said, “Okay, so where’s this picture of you and me?” (again with the picture!). She laughed at seeing it, and gave me the first quote I used from her for the book, about how she loved doing the car shows because it took her mind off the marital problems she was having at the time. That broke the ice, and we spent the next three hours looking back on her life and times in Hazzard County. The giant dog was quickly dispatched to the backyard, and when the interview was over I got a hug from Daisy as she walked me to the front door.
           
One other story should be told here, about how Catherine came to write the book’s Foreword. My first thought was to ask John Schneider to do it, as his enthusiasm for the show was still so palpable during our interview. However, my only access to him was through the email address of his assistant, and I wonder to this day if he actually received the request. He seemed to have such a wonderful time talking about Dukes that I couldn’t imagine him turning this down. My suspicion is that John’s the kind of guy who would say yes to almost every call for help from a friend or fan, and his assistants are there to screen these requests so their client will have enough time to do the jobs that pay the bills.
           
So I approached Catherine next, with the advantage of being able to call her directly. Without hesitating she said “Sure, whatever you need.” Having agreed so quickly, however, she later discovered that the task was a little more difficult than she had anticipated. She called several times over the next few weeks, to read her latest draft and ask for suggestions. The final result was certainly worth the wait.
           
Every guy who grew up with The Dukes of Hazzard fell a little in love with Catherine Bach, and I was no exception. The chance to meet and spend some time with her ranks among my favorite experiences in writing the book. That’s why I couldn’t resist sending her flowers after our interview. Daisies, of course.  

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

My Blind Spot: Gilligan's Island

 This will sound egotistical, but I am always shocked when I meet someone who doesn’t share my enthusiasm for a television show I love.

I remember once telling a friend about an episode of The Fugitive that I found particularly profound and moving. He watched it and responded with that all-purpose dismissal so popular among his generation: “Meh.” He is lucky I still speak to him.

Of course, this works both ways. Gilligan’s Island is one of the series that defines the classic TV era for many baby boomers…and I just don’t get it.

I mean, I get it ­– there’s not much to get, really – seven stranded castaways, catchy theme song, “Ginger or Mary Ann” debate – just as he did with The Brady Bunch, Sherwood Schwartz created another series that is much more loved than admired, and another set of characters that have penetrated the popular culture to a depth and extent far beyond their simplistic pedigree. 



For years, Schwartz tried to sell a bill of goods about how the island and its inhabitants were a microcosm of human society and there were larger themes ingrained in the stories about cooperation and acceptance…look, the guy was very gracious to me the few times our paths crossed, but nobody is buying that.

Still, it nagged at me that so many of my fellow TV enthusiasts found such pleasure in repeat viewings of this silly sitcom. So about a year ago, I borrowed all three seasons on DVD and watched every episode in order. And it still did nothing for me. Send the hate mail.

By the midpoint of the first season, I was already finding ways to make the experience more interesting. One of my favorites was the “Spot Mary Ann’s Belly Button” game, otherwise known as tracking network enforcement of the “occasional navel rule.” This was an actual network edict which Schwartz amusingly described in his Gilligan’s Island book. The CBS censors would allow belly button exposure in one scene, as long as the character covered her navel in another scene, even if she was wearing the same outfit. Most of the time the show stayed within this bizarre guideline, but every so often Dawn Wells was flashing navel all over the island without repercussion. 



While I can’t buy Schwartz’s island-world harmony hypothesis, the one theory I’ve read that does make sense is that Gilligan sabotages every escape attempt because he likes the island and prefers it to the outside world. He doesn’t do it on purpose, because he realizes that means disappointing his friends, but when it comes time to send that message or fire that flare or accomplish whatever task with which he has inexplicably been trusted, he screws it up. He just can’t help himself.

This is less an indictment of Gilligan as it is of his fellow castaways. Despite repeated blunders they still, invariably, assign him some critical task that can make or break their salvation. I don’t need realism from my escapist TV, and that ship has already sailed when you’re watching a show in which three characters wear the same outfit for three years, while four others sport new clothes from a seemingly inexhaustible supply that was packed for a three-hour tour. But at some point, the other islanders would have killed this idiot.

I found only two episodes worth singling out for special merit, and if you’re a fan you probably already know which ones. First, “Don’t Bug the Mosquitoes,” in which the famous pop band The Mosquitoes (Bingo, Bango, Bongo and Irving) land on the uncharted isle for some relaxation. The highlight is the performance of “You Need Us” by The Honey Bees – Lovey, Ginger and Mary Ann. It’s dreadful, but at least it’s dreadful in an interesting way. 



The other standout effort is “The Producer,” better known as the Hamlet show. Here our castaways create a musical version of Hamlet set to various classical themes. I was so entertained by the performances that I forgot to look for Mary Ann’s navel. I know as testimonials go that one won’t make the cut for a DVD box. But when the show is Gilligan’s Island, it’s the best I can do.