In the compendium of
classic TV tropes, a courtroom episode is right up there with amnesia and
visits from eccentric relatives. In fact it's actually more difficult to find shows
that never featured a character standing before a judge. So let's delve into the docket once more for three memorable visits to Comfort TV Court.
Data vs. Starfleet
Star Trek: The Next Generation
From season two, “The
Measure of a Man” is almost universally regarded as the moment this series
first achieved greatness. It had been very good before that (“The Big Goodbye,”
“Datalore”), but here was an episode that would rival the best entries from
every Star Trek franchise.
The story: robotics expert
Bruce Maddox wants to dismantle and study Data, with the hope of replicating
the technology that created him. Data doesn’t believe the expert is up to the
task, and Captain Picard does not want to lose a fine bridge officer.But Maddox claims Data is the property of
Starfleet, and doesn’t have the right to refuse his orders, any more than a
starship gets to decide where it wants to go.
The conflict is resolved at
a makeshift trial, with Picard arguing Data’s case, and (because of a
technicality dictated by the circumstances) Commander Riker heading up the
prosecution.
The brilliant Melinda Snodgrass script delves into opposing ideas
regarding sentience, ethics, and self-determination, and even sort of
acknowledges the possibility of individuals having souls, a rare departure
from a series with a stubbornly humanist perspective.
Who’s That Judge? Amanda McBroom is best known as a
singer-songwriter whose shows always sell out at New York cabarets, but she’s
also wonderful here as JAG Captain Phillipa Louvois.
Her antagonism with Picard
dates from a previous judicial run-in, and she clearly delights in taking the
supercilious Captain down a peg or two. But there is clearly mutual respect
there as well.
Blair Warner vs. Jo Polniaczek
The Facts of Life
In “The Rich Aren’t
Different,” Jo borrows Blair’s watch (without asking) and breaks it during a
basketball game. “At least it’s no great loss,” she tells her. “How many
watches do you have? 20? 30?” That cavalier attitude toward the matter angers
Blair enough to take her to small claims court.
Usually if there’s a lesson
to be learned from their clashes, it’s Blair whose spoiled outlook needs
adjusting. But here it’s Jo who comes to the realization that her actions were
insensitive, regardless of how easily Blair could afford to replace the broken
watch: “Okay, I’m rich. But my things still deserve respect.”
As with so many Facts of Life episodes, the story
unfolds with crisp, quippy dialogue and punch lines every 20-30 seconds, and
then slows down for one scene in which the writers dig deeper for a more
substantive conversation that brings characters out of their simple stereotypes
and reminds us of why we care about them in the first place.
Unfortunately, to get to
that scene you’ll have to endure several silly grandiose courtroom outbursts
from Tootie. “One more word out of you and I’ll send you to traffic school!”
the judge cautions, much to the relief of the audience.
Who’s That Judge? Elliot Reid was a veteran character
actor who once starred opposite Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, and also wrote episodes of The Love Boat and Lou Grant. Not sure what’s he’s doing slumming here.
Peter Tork vs. Mr. Zero
The Monkees
Peter admires a beautiful
harp in a pawn shop window. The shop’s owner, Mr. Zero, gives it to him, along
with the knowledge on how to play it - in exchange for the deed to his soul.
“The Devil and Peter Tork” is
a fan-favorite episode from the series’ second and final season that contains
some of the best dialogue in any Monkees
show. By this time the quartet had stopped caring as much about the series, as
they were more focused on the music once they were given creative control. But they must have recognized something in this
script that deserved their best effort. Mike’s speech at the end of the trial
still resonates with anyone who loves to make music.
Who’s That Judge?
Billy Beck as Roy Bean, the
infamous hanging judge of the Old West (though that reputation, like that of so
many others within that historic era, was greatly exaggerated). Over more than
50 years Beck appeared in guest spots on dozens of shows, including The New Monkees.
I’m sure the passing of
Peter Tork sent many of us back to our Monkees CDs and DVDs and playlists. They
remind us of happier, more innocent times, and ease the realization that 50
years have passed, and the icons of our childhoods are approaching their final
bows, at least here in this imperfect world.
Those who own the series or
are catching up via Me-TV will likely begin their homage with “The Devil and
Peter Tork.” It’s arguably the best of the show’s 58 episodes, which is
surprising as it aired in the second and final season, when the group had
already become indifferent to the series (something that, thankfully, never
happened with the music).
But for me the most memorable
episode was “The Monkees on Tour,” which closed out the first season on April
24, 1967.
When Bob Rafelson and Bert Schneider created the show, they never
could have imagined a season one finale like this. But things happened fast
in Monkee-land, as the series about a fictional band evolved in just months into a
series featuring one of the most successful pop groups of the 1960s.
By April of 1967, the
Monkees had scored two #1 hits and two multi-million selling albums. Like
Pinocchio after a visit from the Blue Fairy, they found themselves unexpectedly
transformed from something fake into something real.
“The Monkees on Tour”
chronicled the culmination of that realization. It’s an unscripted documentary that follows the group as they land in
Phoenix for a live concert before more than 10,000 fans.
Here, for the first time,
the television audience is not seeing the Monkees as characters – dry-witted
Mike, love-struck Davy, manic Micky and lovably dense Peter – but four talented
singers and musicians with their own outside interests and personalities.
After an intro segment filmed
in Samantha and Darrin Stephens’ living room, we cut to an airport in Phoenix,
where the band arrives by Lear jet, separated by a chain-link fence from
throngs of screaming fans.
What follows is an oddly
compelling mix of schtick, sentiment and Cinéma vérité, as cameras follow the
quartet through room service breakfasts, horseback rides and dirt bike jumps,
shenanigans at department stores and radio stations, and finally backstage for the
concert.
As this is the only footage
that exists of the first Monkees concert tour, my only regret about this
episode is that we don’t see more of it. Granted, the snippets we get of “Last
Train to Clarksville” and “Steppin’ Stone” are almost inaudible over the
cacophony of audience shrieking. But it still would have been a treat (as well
as a rejoinder to those who claimed the band couldn’t play) to show at least
one song performed from start to finish.
More interesting is the
clips of each Monkee’s solo performance: Peter plays banjo and sings “Cripple
Creek”; Mike plays maracas (!) and sings Bo Diddley’s “You Can’t Judge a Book
By Its Cover”; Micky sings Ray Charles’ “I Got a Woman” while imitating James
Brown, complete with cape routine; Davy is the only one who actually performs a
Monkees song (“I Wanna Be Free”).
The audience loved
everything, of course. They could have read excerpts from Anton Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard and teen girls would
still swoon. But the fact that they were allowed to do what they wanted in
those solo spots is what makes them interesting. Here was a moment in Monkee
history when these four guys went from being along for the ride to deciding
they’d rather drive the car.
I’m not the only one who
thought this episode was noteworthy. On the DVD release there are three
separate commentary tracks for “The Monkees on Tour” from Peter Tork, Mike
Nesmith and songwriter Bobby Hart.
“This is the only show
where we weren’t pretending to be four starving, struggling musicians, but
actually were a performing band,” Tork says. “It was our ability to play on
stage that led us to think we could play on the records, which led to the
recording of ‘Headquarters.’”
The episode closes with a
reprise of the group at a Phoenix radio station, where Mike tells listeners “We'd
like to thank everybody, for making it a great stay. We'd like to thank The
Rolling Stones for being a great group. We'd like to thank The Mamas and Papas
for making it good. We'd like to thank Lovin' Spoonful for making it happy, but
most of all we'd like to thank the Beatles for starting it all up for us.”
Fifty years later, Monkees
fans would like to also thank The Monkees, for adding so many songs to the
soundtracks of our lives.
I was too young for the
series’ 1966-1968 prime time run, but when that ended The Monkees was moved to syndication on Saturday mornings, an
unusual but effective programming strategy. That’s when I discovered them,
right alongside Josie and the Pussycats and Kaptain Kool and the Kongs.
The songs were my favorite
part of the show, and back then that was the only place where you could hear
them. This was the early 1970s, when the original Monkees albums were out of
print, and radio (even oldies stations) never played them because they
were not a “real band.” Only dopes like Jann Wenner still hold that opinion.
Since my generation of
Saturday morning Monkee fans couldn’t buy the records, and iTunes was still
about 30 years away, we improvised by holding the microphones from our portable
cassette tape players up to our TV speakers, and making our own Monkees tapes.
Given the generally poor
state of my short-term and long-term memory, it’s surprising that I still
remember being in the record department at Sears in 1972 and seeing something I
had never seen before – an actual Monkees album.
Sometime after that I
picked up this import gem from Australia with 40 songs, plus amazing liner
notes that told the full story of the band.
It took MTV to finally
reignite Monkee-mania with an episode marathon that aired on February 23, 1986.
Its reception prompted a reunion tour (yes, I did get to see them live, and it
was awesome even with out Mike Nesmith) and the re-release of all the band’s
original albums, as well as the new top 20 hit “That was Then, This is Now.”
Today the reputation of The
Monkees has been mostly restored, though they remain a glaring omission from
the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
These are my 20 favorite
Monkees songs, in no particular order – along with 5 I’d rather forget.
I’m a Believer
This is not only one of the
band’s most popular and successful songs (seven weeks at #1!), I think it
belongs in the select company of the most perfect pop records ever made,
alongside The Ronettes’ “Be My Baby” and “California Girls” by The Beach Boys.
Last Train to
Clarksville
It was about a soldier
leaving for Vietnam, as most fans know by now. It’s fascinating to me that the
first single from this manufactured band of TV goofballs not only tackled such
a serious subject, but was also climbing the charts before the series even
debuted. Personally I think “Clarksville” is slightly (just slightly!)
overrated, but it was their first #1 hit and deserves to be here.
Mary, Mary
Given the master plan
behind The Monkees machine it’s doubtful that Mike Nesmith’s songwriting played
any role in his casting, but it became an essential element in the band’s
evolution. That’s Glen Campbell playing the distinctive lead guitar riff on
“Mary, Mary,” a song also covered by the Paul Butterfield Blues Band and Run
DMC.
Look Out (Here Comes
Tomorrow)
I think this is their best
pure bubblegum track. Those familiar with Monkees history know that original
music producer Don Kirshner exerted dictatorial control over the band’s first
two albums. Had Davy, Micky, Peter and Mike been the bystanders to their own
careers that some critics alleged, all Monkees songs might have sounded like
“Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow).” Thankfully, sweets like this form only one
part of their diverse catalog.
Shades of Gray
The Monkees’ third album, Headquarters, was the first that gave the quartet control over
their musical output. It produced no singles in the U.S., but this plaintive
ballad would have been a worthy choice.
Daydream Believer
Another obvious pick,
another #1 hit, and featuring Davy’s best vocal on a Monkees track (though if
you prefer “She Hangs Out” I won’t argue the point). How many other bands could
boast three lead singers as distinctive and as good as Davy, Micky and
Mike?
Randy Scouse Git
This is a Micky Dolenz
composition that was a huge hit in England and throughout Europe, but it tanked
in America. According to Dolenz, it was written the morning after a London
party for The Monkees hosted by another popular quartet called The Beatles.
Papa Gene’s Blues
“I have no more than I did
before…but now I’ve got all that I need…for I love you and I know you love me.”
Mike brought a country-folk flavor to the group both as a singer and
songwriter. This is one of his first Monkees contributions, and one of his
best.
I’m Not Your Steppin’
Stone
From “More of the Monkees,”
this is the only Monkees song covered by the Sex Pistols – assuming
there’s not a bootleg somewhere of Johnny Rotten singing “Valleri.” Micky’s
delivery is not quite as aggressive, but there’s a lot more snarl in this track
than anything else on the album.
Early Morning Blues and
Greens
This “Headquarters” track
is an acquired taste, as it lacks the irresistible hooks found in the band’s
best-known songs. I find it reminiscent of Crosby, Stills and Nash, and it’s
become a song I like more every time I hear it.
A Little Bit Me, A
Little Bit You
Neil Diamond, who wrote
“I’m a Believer,” also penned this memorable single, which just missed becoming
their third consecutive #1 hit. It stalled at #2 for two weeks, behind The
Turtles’ “Happy Together.”
The Girl I Knew
Somewhere
History tells us this is
the first fully self-contained Monkees song. Mike wrote it, and the group played the
instruments and performed all the vocals. Peter Tork plays a mean harpsichord
on this top-40 classic.
The Door Into Summer
The “Pisces, Aquarius,
Capricorn and Jones Ltd.” album (1967) came closest to earning The Monkees some
critical praise during their first go-round. Tracks like this one are a reason
why.
What Am I Doing Hanging
Round?
Mike showing his Texas
roots again, on a track that has all the twangy qualities of one of his own
compositions. However, this one was actually written by Michael Martin Murphy,
later of “Wildfire” fame. As much as fans wanted then and now for the band to
be taken seriously, it’s admirable how they rarely took themselves seriously,
as evidenced by Micky hamming it up in the video for this song.
Words
I know “Pleasant Valley
Sunday” was a hit, and I do like it, but if I’m being honest I prefer the song
on the flip side of the single, which was written by The Monkees’ most prolific
go-to songwriters, Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart. It’s also a nice reminder that
Peter could sing too, when he wasn’t goofing around on novelty tracks like
“Your Auntie Grizelda.”
Sometime in the Morning
The brilliant songwriting
team of Gerry Goffin and Carole King contributed several songs to the Monkees’
music catalog – this tender ballad is my favorite, perhaps because they sang it
to Rose Marie in the episode “Monkee Mother.”
Ríu Chíu
Ríu Chíu is a Spanish
Christmas carol that dates back to the 1500s. The Monkees a cappella version
(performed on “The Christmas Show”) is mesmerizing in its beauty.
Aunties Municipal Court
By now you may have sensed
that I am partial to Mike Nesmith compositions. Here's another one, but there’s not much Nashville
to be found in the psychedelic arrangement and evocative beat poetry lyrics of
“Aunties Municipal Court.” If you’re into great bass riffs, this has one worthy
of McCartney.
For Pete’s Sake
This is The Monkees’
“summer of love” song, not surprisingly co-written by the Monkee that most embraced
the counterculture and peace and love movements of the era, Peter Tork. It was
played over the closing credits of every episode in the series’ second and
final season.
Nine Times Blue
There are versions of this
Mike Nesmith song with Mike singing lead and Davy singing lead. I prefer the
first one, though it’s interesting to compare the interpretations.
My Five Worst:
Gonna Buy Me a Dog
Three minutes of Micky and
Davy ad libbing and telling bad jokes. Fun if you’re in the right mood, but
it’s hard to believe this earned a spot on their debut album while better songs
like “All the King’s Men” didn’t make the cut.
Mommy and Daddy
It’s a toss-up between this
song and “Zor and Zam” for the title of Micky’s most awkward stab at social
commentary.
Can You Dig It
The movie Head had some memorable music moments, particularly
“Circle Sky” and “The Porpoise Song,” but this was not one of them.
P.O. Box 9847
Proof that even Boyce and
Hart could have an off day.
99 Pounds
The last original Monkees
album was “Changes,” released in 1970. By then only Micky and Davy remained,
but even with half a group the album isn’t all bad – sample “Ticket on a Ferry
Ride” and “I Love You Better” if you’re curious. But on “99 Pounds,” Davy Jones
tries to be Little Richard, and falls short. But then, Little Richard couldn’t
do justice to “Forget That Girl” either.
While most of my TV viewing
time is devoted to shows that aired their last episode anywhere from 30-60 years
ago, I do make time for some current series. One of them is Dancing With the
Stars.
I’ve been a fan since the first
season and have never missed an episode. It’s a beautiful show to watch in HD,
with the elegant ballroom set and colorful costumes. And host Tom Bergeron is
the best in the business – he has perfect live TV instincts and knows exactly
how much to add to a moment while always keeping the focus on the performers.
The celebrities are
ostensibly the primary draw, to see if they take to the samba like seasoned
pros or get dragged around the floor like a wet sack of potatoes. But like many
fans I am drawn more to their professional partners, who represent the apex of
the species, and would easily sail past the cutline if eugenics ever made a
comeback.
Ultimately, I am a fan
because dancing is a beautiful thing to watch, especially when it is done well.
It is an art form that elevates the spirit.
Of course, long before Dancing
With the Stars there were memorable
dance moments on television, dating back to Arthur Murray’s Dance
Party in the 1950s.
These are a few of my
favorites:
Happy Days (“They Shoot
Fonzies, Don’t They?”)
This is the dance marathon
episode, where Fonzie partners with Joanie even though he’s exhausted from
pushing his bike 12 miles. At the climax, the Fonz performs a Russian folk dance called the Kazatsky with an athletic, showstopping virtuosity that is
completely unexpected from the character or from Henry Winkler. Who else was shocked at how good he was? Plus you also get Charlene Tilton as a snotty
cheerleader, so this is a win-win all around.
I Love Lucy (“Lucy Does
the Tango”)
In its final season, I
Love Lucy was still capable of
comedy greatness. The scene in which Lucy and Ricky dance the tango, while Lucy
has dozens of eggs hidden under her shirt, generates the longest sustained
laugh in the series’ history – longer than the chocolate factory assembly line,
Vitametavegamin or the grape stomping in Italy.
The Monkees (“Everywhere
a Sheik, Sheik”)
This is my favorite Monkees scene. It’s an ideal showcase for Davy Jones’
English dance hall panache, and it comes off as both polished and silly at the
same time. The girl, by the way, is Anita Mann, an Emmy-winning choreographer
who has worked on everything from Sesame Street to Solid Gold.
Star Trek: The Next
Generation (“Data’s Day”)
Dr. Crusher teaches Data
how to tap dance. While the scene is mostly played for laughs, it is obvious
that both Brent Spiner and Gates McFadden know what they’re doing.
Taxi (“Fantasy Borough:
Part 2”)
I was never a big Taxi fan, to be honest, but even if it never quite
connected with my personal taste I can certainly recognize its outstanding writing
and remarkable cast. The series’ second season concluded with a big Broadway
number performed to “Lullaby of Broadway.” Maybe the dancing here isn’t so
precise, except for Broadway vet Marilu Henner, but the scene wins you over on
enthusiasm alone. You can’t watch this and
not smile.
The Honeymooners (“Young
At Heart”)
Jackie Gleason was a big
guy who was remarkably light on his feet. Along with the golf lesson (“Hellooooo,
ball!”) Ed Norton teaching Ralph to dance “The Hucklebuck” certainly ranks
among the best moments in the classic 39.
Frasier (“Moon Dance”)
Niles’ unrequited love for
Daphne had percolated for more than a season, before the duo danced a sizzling
tango that brought his hidden feelings to the surface – and crushed them
moments later. Still, Daphne in that devastating red dress was a sight to
behold.
Friends (“The One With
the Routine”)
Siblings Ross and Monica
get on Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve, and introduce their “famous”
brother-sister dance routine to a nationwide audience. It was a toss-up between
this and Elaine’s dancing on Seinfeld for a best-of-the-worst dance moment. Friends rates the edge for the performance’s go-for-broke gusto, and for inspiring years of tributes at proms and weddings.
