Friday, November 30, 2012

Sibling Envy: Eight is Enough

 As an only child, I’ve always found myself drawn to shows about large families. Watching them was a way to vicariously experience what it may have been like to have a childhood surrounded by loving, but sometimes frustrating siblings, while actually growing up without ever having to wait in line for a bathroom or a telephone.

While I can only infer which show about a house full of kids offered the most accurate look at a crowded family unit, the one that resonates most with me is Eight is Enough. It seemed like a more authentic portrayal of both the advantages and drawbacks to that kind of upbringing.

I’ve been getting reacquainted with the Bradfords now that the series’ first two seasons are out on DVD. And once again I’ve been impressed with the genuine family “feel” that pervades, even if some of the situations are heightened for dramatic effect beyond what most of us will experience in our non-scripted lives.

I cannot recall any other series from that era that moved as easily from sitcom style humor, complete with laugh track, to serious moments, and then back again. That tonal switch is fraught with peril, and only the best television shows can pull it off without undermining the drama or overplaying the comedy. Eight is Enough gets it just right.



The Bradford home looks lived in. This is not a showplace with the little touches of perfect organization that betray set design. The house itself is one step up from ramshackle, and the interior is in desperate need of a makeover. A flat and awful green carpet looks how you’d expect an old floor covering to look after ten people have been running up and down the stairs on it for years.

Tom Bradford, as played by the genial Dick Van Patten, was not the cool dad, or the all-knowing dad, or the befuddled dad that is regrettably now so commonplace on television. He was just a father who did the best he could. As a writer I liked that he was a writer – and even more that he could support a large family by writing a newspaper column.

Voices were raised in nearly every episode, but when Dad got mad it was usually at eldest son David, and here again we saw characters honestly conceived and portrayed, so it was possible as a viewer to see both sides of the dispute. Rarely in real life is it as simple as the parent being a blustering dictator, or the son being an irresponsible delinquent. Tom and David were both intelligent, compassionate people who simply saw things differently across generations.

This was also a family that experienced a profound loss, as a result of a real world tragedy that forced a change in the series. Diana Hyland, who played Tom’s wife, Joan, in the first season, died before the series returned for its sophomore year. The change was noted respectfully, in scenes that were admirably underplayed. In the first episode of the second season, Tom recalls a fight with Joan over whether the spare room should be converted into his work place or her dark room. As his sentences drift into quiet reflection, the kids listen in silence but their expressions say it all.

Sometimes with a large cast it can take several episodes to get to know each character, but that wasn’t the case with liberal crusader Mary, theatrical Joanie, tomboy Susan, sexy Nancy, rebellious Elizabeth, sensitive Tommy and precocious Nicholas. The Bradford bunch was a beguiling collective that gave every viewer a character to emulate, identify with, or crush on. 



Contrast that with The Waltons, where it could take a full season to figure out who was Jason and who was Ben.

In its later seasons, as the family grew and writers began playing too much to cute Nicholas hijinks, Eight is Enough gradually began to lose its footing. But even in its least compelling moments, this was a far more rewarding glimpse into life with eight kids than that provided by Jon and Kate Gosselin. And I for one just can’t picture the Octomom brood spending their days like bright and shiny new dimes.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Reuben Kincaid: Television’s Worst Manager

 My age was still in the single digits when The Partridge Family debuted in 1970, and it remains one of my favorite shows to revisit on DVD. But even as a kid I questioned the managerial prowess of Reuben Kincaid. 




In the series’ first episode, the Partridge Family is introduced by music icon Johnny Cash, and headline Caesars Palace in Las Vegas. I’ve lived in the Las Vegas area since 1982 – you don’t play the Circus Maximus unless you’ve already made the big time.

So I assume viewers expected to then discover how this family from San Pueblo became major pop music stars. But no – one minute Shirley is working in a bank, and by the end of the show she’s standing on the same stage made famous by Sinatra, Ann-Margret and Diana Ross. 

Okay, so the show must be about what it’s like to be nationally famous recording artists, while also maintaining some semblance of a family life. But if that were the case, why did the Partridges spend the next four years playing tiny supper clubs and town picnics where the tickets were probably free? Why would a group that was charting a steady stream of top 40 hits have to fight for bookings at condemned fire stations and Girl Scout jamborees?



Of course, the real reason for the scale of their concert appearances is that Screen Gems wasn’t about to rent an arena and hire 20,000 extras for a three-minute performance in each episode. These are the moments that, as a classic TV fan, we are just meant to accept and move on.

Normally I’m not a nitpicker, and I don’t have much affection for those who gleefully expose continuity glitches. Star Trek fans are particularly obsessed with demonstrating their keen insight and powers of observation, some to the point that I wonder why they bother to watch at all.

But with The Partridge Family, the show seemed to want to have it both ways, and that couldn’t help but be confusing to even less discriminating viewers. Were they a local act that just made the rounds in Southern California? Well, no, because they got booked on that European tour in the first season. But if they were that successful, why play the kinds of dinner theaters where you expect to find Charo appearing in Hello, Dolly?

So clearly, Reuben was the kind of manager who would lure The Rockettes away from Radio City Music Hall and send them on a tour of supermarket grand openings. But that was not his only sin. Once he booked the Partridge Family into yet another Holiday Inn lounge, he permitted them to lip-synch a live performance for a paying audience. Watch almost any rerun and you’ll see them taking their bows while the voices and instruments are still fading out. This type of deception would later be adopted by Milli Vanilli, Britney Spears and Ashlee Simpson, among many others. That is not the way for a band to become trendsetters.

Here’s The Partridge Family with one of my favorite songs, “Summer Days.” It looked like the 50-60 people in attendance enjoyed it as well. 


Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Still a Wonder – Lynda Carter



For comic book fans, this is a golden age – not related to the comics themselves, which face the same awkward transition to digital media that have cost newspapers and magazines countless subscribers – but in the ascension of their most iconic characters into motion pictures that have dominated the global box office for the past ten years.

I was a Marvel fan in the 1970s, and was still picking up about 20 books a month into the 1990s. And I remember the dark days of Marvel’s live-action adaptations, when Captain America was played by a chowderhead named Reb Brown, and Nicholas Hammond, fresh from jilting Marcia Brady, played Peter Parker in a short-lived Spider-Man series.

What about The Incredible Hulk? Yes, it was a good show, guided by the sure hand of producer Kenneth Johnson. The music still haunts, and Bill Bixby makes almost anything worth watching. But it wasn’t really the Hulk – It was The Fugitive with cameos from a green bodybuilder. There were no super-villains, no army battalions giving chase, no Betty Ross, no Rick Jones. They even got Banner’s first name wrong. And while the comic book Hulk could juggle Buicks, Lou Ferrigno seemed to get a hernia lifting one of those Styrofoam boulders that was always handy for throwing at someone and narrowly missing them.

Two factors triggered the renaissance in the comic book movie genre; the source material was taken more seriously, and CGI finally caught up to the types of superhero exploits fans expect to see from larger-than-life characters.

What does this have to do with classic TV? Here’s the transition – the success of Marvel’s The Avengers has DC Comics and parent company Warner Bros. looking to fast-track their own superhero team movie, The Justice League of America. To do it right, they’ll need a Wonder Woman. And that could be a problem.

Joss Whedon, who co-wrote and directed the Avengers film that thrilled both critics and fans, tried and failed to crack the Wonder Woman conundrum. David E. Kelley wrote and produced a WW pilot starring Adrianne Palicki that also didn’t get picked up (and by the looks of the scenes that escaped to YouTube, it was just as well). 



When you consider how problematic Wonder Woman’s movie/television transition has been from the comic book page, you have to marvel at Lynda Carter’s ability to make that transition seem effortless. Maybe the reason there hasn’t been a successful new version is that Carter still owns the role.

In my first book, Hollywood and the Comics (don’t bother looking for it – it’s not worth the effort), I wrote that Carter’s “resemblance to the Amazon princess is flawless enough to fool the guards at the gates of Olympus.” But the success of her portrayal goes far beyond her obvious statuesque beauty and physical assets. 



Wonder Woman is an outsider from paradise forced to not only cope with a more hostile modern world, but to serve as its protector. Carter tapped into the character’s compassion, her puzzlement at the dishonesty and casual cruelty that surrounds her, and her sometimes childlike optimism in a better future for a deeply flawed world.

Sadly, the show itself never reached the heights of Carter’s portrayal. As in The Incredible Hulk, Wonder Woman rarely faced any of her comic book adversaries (only Baroness Paula Von Gunther made it into the series), and her super heroics were largely limited to running fast, jumping over fences and bending the barrels of guns.



The series’ supporting cast provided no actual support. As co-worker/love interest/perennial kidnap victim Steve Trevor, Lyle Waggoner looked dashing in his military uniform, but that was about it. No one else stuck around long enough to make an impression.

However, Comfort TV doesn’t have to be brilliant to be satisfying, and Wonder Woman squeaks into the pleasant diversion category for its parade of classic ‘70s guest stars. Who can forget Oscar-winning actress Debra Winger’s early career appearance as Wonder Girl, or Ted Shackelford and Joan Van Ark playing silver-suit-clad alien invaders, before they were cast as Gary and Valene Ewing?   



Then there was Leif Garrett, in a rare moment of sobriety, playing identical twin pop singers.  If you watch this episode, check out the scene where WW is climbing the side of a high-rise building. From the rear, Lynda Carter’s stunt double looks like someone stuffed Brian Dennehy into a bustier and hot pants.

The series’ first season, set during World War II, is slightly better than the final two years, but whether Wonder Woman was battling killer gorillas, mad scientists, kid psychics or evil geniuses that hypnotize government agents with disco music (yes, that’s an actual episode), Lynda Carter always maintained her grace and dignity. As super heroic achievements go, that’s the real wonder.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Classic Comfort TV Moments: "The Littlest Lamb"

 When I coined the expression ‘Comfort TV’ for this blog, and for the book proposal where it was first conceived a few years ago, I had no idea whether it was an original phrase. Now, if you Google search that term you’ll find it has indeed been used by other writers in articles about specific shows, or about eras of television past.

There is even an “official” definition on a website called Word Spy: “Television programs with unsophisticated or homespun themes that comfort or provide solace.” I could quibble with some of that, but it will suffice as a starting point. 

Can any single moment encapsulate all that is meant by Comfort TV? Probably not. Different moments touch us for different reasons. But there are generational touchstones among the late Baby Boomers that more of us have in common than you might think.

From time to time I’ll nominate a personal favorite, starting with one first broadcast in 1963. It’s Ann-Margret’s poignant performance of “The Littlest Lamb,” from an episode of The Flintstones entitled “Ann-Margrock Presents.”



Here are all of the elements that inspire both nostalgic fondness and renewed appreciation for the artistry on display. It is a kind moment, a quiet moment, and a special moment within the confines of a beloved series with cross-generational appeal.

And it is a scene built around music, which has a more potent impact on our memory receptors. How many of us learned our multiplication tables, or the difference between nouns, verbs and adjectives, from Schoolhouse Rock? There was a time when I hadn’t watched The Flintstones in years – so when I caught this episode on Boomerang I couldn’t remember even the basics of the plot. But when the song began, I could still sing along.

What was the plot? The Bedrock Bowl concert hall is about to open, and local talent is invited to be part of a show starring Ann Margrock. Fred and Barney work up an act, and later meet “Annie” when her car breaks down near the Flintstone home.

In the finale, she sings “I Ain’t Gonna Be Your Fool No More” as Fred and Barney realize their houseguest was the famous star they hoped to meet. But it’s “The Littlest Lamb,” performed midway through the episode, that lingers most profoundly and gently in the heart.

The sole purpose of any lullaby is to convey comfort and security. As Pebbles drifts away to its calming melody and Ann-Margret’s soothing voice, the song plays over a simple but affecting dream sequence in the classic Hanna-Barbera style. The animation is evocative of nursery rhymes, and will take many of us back to our earliest television watching memories, whether it’s Sesame Street or Saturday morning cartoons. 



The scene carries a potent combination of reflective sights and sounds, and its impact is evident in the YouTube comments on the song, which has been uploaded multiple times and viewed by hundreds of thousands: “This always brings tears to my eyes”; “I loved this as a child and always felt sorry for the fourth sheep”; “I have to admit…I cried during this song”;  “Sang this to my baby girl”, and one that gives us all pause – “Wow, where has the time gone?”

I was not yet born when “The Littlest Lamb” was first performed. I doubt there have been many years since when it hasn’t appeared on television, given that The Flintstones still airs every day. The song has become one of those shared moments among a generation that grew up with the TV as babysitter, and will endure as something to share with children and grandchildren at bedtime, something to help them conjure happy thoughts to make the darkness a little less scary. That is the essence of Comfort TV.