Happy Fake Jan Day

 

Television has created catchphrases, fashion trends and classic theme songs, but it hasn’t tried adding many holidays to the calendar. The only one that caught on is Festivus, introduced on Seinfeld. The O.C. tried to make Chrismukkah work but it had little pop culture impact, despite the steady encroachment of some Christmas traditions into the Jewish faith.

However, there’s one other TV-inspired holiday that is celebrated by a small but loyal contingent of classic television fans – particularly those over the age of 40. It has but one inspiration and one tradition, and it has its origin in a short-lived series that few people watched and less remember.

On January 2, 2013, I invite you to join me in celebrating Fake Jan Day. 

 

The holiday was created by fans of The Brady Bunch Variety Hour, an ill-fated attempt to revive the popularity of the Bunch with a new series featuring singing, dancing, and water ballet. All of the original series’ cast returned except for Eve Plumb, who was replaced by a lithe teenage beauty named Geri Reischl. Since then, Reischl has forever been immortalized as Fake Jan.

In my book What Were They Thinking? The 100 Dumbest Events in Television History, I ranked The Brady Bunch Variety Hour at #11 among TV’s most memorable atrocities. Here’s a quote from that entry:

“It’s impossible to single out individual moments, as it all runs together now into a blur of ghastly images: the performance of “Car Wash” as characters from The Wizard of Oz; the Brady kids saying, “We want to sing the music of our generation,” and then opening the show with “Baby Face,” a chart-topper from the 1920s; The Water Follies Swimmers and the Kroftette Dancers; Greg in a white Elvis jumpsuit doing The Hustle; a 1950s roller-rink scene, in which the three Brady brothers try to pick up their sisters; a family sing-along to Donna Summer’s orgasmic “Love to Love You Baby.” 

Having now become friends with Geri Reischl on Facebook I might have felt bad about some of that criticism, but then I read Love to Love You Bradys, a book coauthored by official Brady Susan Olsen that trashed the show worse than I ever could. And Barry Williams is on record as referring to the series as “perhaps the single worst television program in the history of the medium.”

Fortunately, no repeat viewings of the show are required to celebrate Fake Jan Day, which was first recognized in 2008. In fact, this is the perfect holiday to follow Christmas, as it is completely stress-free. There are no decorations to put up, no cards to mail, no gifts to buy. It is also controversy-free, with no whining atheists griping about Fake Jan Day displays in the public square, and no politicians co-opting the occasion to advance their agenda. I’ve yet to hear a Senator, arguing gun control or the fiscal cliff debate, asking “What would Fake Jan do?” If they did, the answer would probably be “sing an Elton John song.”

There is only one tradition associated with Fake Jan Day, and that is the purchase and consumption of the holiday’s official food, the cheese ball. If you have to ask why this particular delicacy was chosen, you have clearly never watched The Brady Bunch Variety Hour. 

Why January 2? If you look at that date on many calendars it is abbreviated as “Jan 2” which is another way to describe Geri Reischl’s altar-ego. Reischl, by the way, is completely on board with this unconventional tribute, and proudly serves as the charismatic ringmaster for her own silly circus. With her ever-growing numbers of Facebook supporters (more than 5,000 and counting), and the unpredictability of what may capture the fancy of social media, Fake Jan Day already has the potential to spike cheese ball sales at Hickory Farms. 

What I like most about Fake Jan Day is that it is goofy, immature and utterly pointless. We’re all getting too busy in our lives to make room for such things, so when an opportunity presents itself, go for it. You’ll feel better in the morning – unless your cheese ball surpassed its shelf life. 

The Classic TV Christmas Blues

 Is Christmas everything it used to be?

That question has been a frequent topic of discussion over the past few years. From ministers and cable TV pundits to retail employees receiving edicts on what to say and what not to say to customers, for many the simple pleasures of the holiday have been lost among the controversy. It’s sad, but most of us attribute these misfortunes to the times in which we live.

That’s why it is somewhat surprising, and even amusing, to hear these same objections raised in classic TV shows that first aired more than half a century ago. As many adults dream about celebrating the kind of old-fashioned Christmases they found so fulfilling as a child, these shows suggest that such laments were already familiar in the era that now seems so idyllic by comparison.

“A Very Merry Christmas,” from the first season of The Donna Reed Show, aired on Christmas Eve of 1958. The story focuses on Donna’s concern that nothing is apparently being planned for the children’s ward of the hospital where her husband Alex works. She later discovers that the hospital’s janitor, Charlie (played by legendary silent film comedian Buster Keaton) is in charge of the annual Christmas party, which takes place right on schedule.

But earlier in the episode, Donna watches her daughter Mary fret over whether she should buy a gift for one of her friends, since that friend hasn’t given her anything yet, and hears her son Jeff complain that he’s probably going to lose money on Christmas because he spent more on presents than he’s received. She also barely survives a trip to a frenzied department store to buy a last minute gift for one of Alex’s co-workers.

“Was Christmas always like this?” she asks Alex. “Christmas should be warm, and friendly, and peaceful.” “Christmas hasn’t changed,” he tells her. “Maybe wrapped up in too many ribbons, but its still Christmas.”

Later, Charlie echoes Donna’s sentiments: “I love watching children at Christmas. It’s a shame we took it away from them.” 

Father Knows Best was another series we now associate with the more wholesome, family-oriented 1950s. Aired during that series’ first season, “The Christmas Story” (1952) finds Jim Anderson disillusioned with his family’s cynicism. “Why can’t we have Christmas the way it used to be? Quiet…simple…” Later, he chastises his children for their materialism. “Have you forgotten the meaning of Christmas? Have you forgotten everything you learned at Sunday School?”

Determined to celebrate the holiday right, Jim drags the whole family up to the mountains so they can cut down their own Christmas tree.  His plan goes awry when the car gets stuck in a snowdrift, and they are forced to seek shelter in an abandoned fishing lodge.

By episode’s end they’ve all rediscovered the true meaning of Christmas, thanks to a kindly stranger in a white beard – but it’s Jim’s nostalgic reflections that are most interesting. He’d be in his early 40s in 1952, so his memories of when Christmas was celebrated right would date back almost to the turn of the 20^th century. And if there were TV shows back then, I’m sure someone would regret how the holiday has changed since the glory days of the 1870s. 

What should we take away from this? That perhaps we should spend less time moaning about how Christmas has changed, and more time enjoying what it still represents. This is a day of good tidings of great joy, whether one believes that Christ was a savior or merely a wise and compassionate man. Sure, there have been some statements made and actions taken in the name of political correctness that I find unsettling, but none of them can or will change the way I celebrate the holiday.

No one can take Christmas away from you. And no one can force you to celebrate if it’s not something you wish to observe. And if Christmas today doesn’t seem as special as the ones you enjoyed as a child, that’s probably as it should be. Just ask Donna Reed.

The Top Five Classic TV Christmas Commercials

  

Classic TV commercials have become a casualty of the DVR era. Today, so many viewers are able to fast-forward through them, or mute them, that their impact is no longer as profound as it was in the era before such conveniences existed.

When I was growing up, one of the first signs of an approaching holiday season was the appearance of Christmas-themed commercials. Some companies reused the same ads year after year, until they became as much a seasonal tradition as the first quarts of egg nog appearing at your neighborhood supermarket.

Holiday commercials are still around, of course. I’ve already seen the Hershey’s Kisses playing “Jingle Bells,” and the M&Ms having an unexpected encounter with Santa Claus. But when I think of classic TV Christmas commercials, these are the ads that come to mind.

1. Andre Champagne

Today, this ad could be created on a computer in about an hour, at a cost of maybe 20 bucks. But it played for at least a decade in the 1970s and into the ‘80s, and every time I watch it on YouTube and hear that distinctive “ding” of the champagne glasses, I am instantly transported back to the holiday seasons of my childhood. My favorite image is the one of the guy coming through the front door cradling six bottles in his arms. He looks just like that one uncle in every family that you only see on holidays, and that always needs someone to drive him home after the party. I’ve never had a glass of Cold Duck in my life, but I still see Andre Champagne in the stores ($4.50 with a coupon at one supermarket near me, so you know it’s good stuff) and it’s reassuring to know they’re still around. 

2. Folger’s Coffee

This is one of those commercials that pack an emotional punch into one minute. The phone company (back when we only had one of them) used to be masters as this with its “Reach out and Touch Someone” campaign. Some of their spots could move people to tears. This one, first aired in 1986, tugs on the heartstrings as well, particularly in that impossibly cute little girl’s reaction to Peter’s return, and the expression on mom’s face.  Peter was played by an actor named Greg Wrangler, and if you’ve got a sharp eye you can spot him now in a more recent Capital One commercial. The Folger’s ad was so popular that it inspired a 2009 remake, which fared about as well as most remakes of classics. 

3. Norelco

Norelco knew they hit on something after this spot debuted in the 1960s. For the next 30 years, with occasional revivals as recently as last year, the company unveiled slightly different variations of the same concept, with updated products appearing in the shop window that Santa slides by. The original spots have a Rankin-Bass look to them, which could help to explain their popularity among baby boomers who grew up with annual showings of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and Santa Claus is Coming to Town. It’s such a charming perennial that no ever thought to ask why a guy with a full beard is so attached to shavers. 

4. McDonald’s Gift Certificates

From the 1960s through the early 1990s, McDonald’s commercials had a consistency of quality matched by very few other brands. From the colorful McDonaldland spots to a litany of memorable jingles (“You deserve a break today,” “We do it all for you”) the company promoted family fun and happy times, which was still acceptable in an era when society didn’t make you feel like a pariah for eating fast food. Every holiday season, McDonald’s would unveil new seasonal ads touting their gift certificates (“just 50 cents each, or a book of 10 for 5 dollars”), suggesting they would be a perfect gift for your teacher, the mailman, the babysitter, and anyone else you really didn’t feel like shopping for. 

5. Kraft Recipes

While the tradition of television programs having only one sponsor peaked in the 1950s, the practice continued into the 1980s through Kraft’s sponsorship of various TV movies and variety specials, as well as the long-running series The Kraft Music Hall. This set of festive recipe commercials, which originally aired during the 1986 broadcast of Jim Henson’s The Christmas Toy, have all the hallmarks of any Comfort TV broadcast. Narrator Ed Herlihy’s soothing voice was once as much a television staple as a Johnny Carson monologue. If you are curious to try any of these holiday food creations, I can heartily recommend the cheddar crisps and the cappuccino cheesecake.

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.

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. 

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.

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.