famous in a small town

I was a big fan of the Andy Griffith Show. I still am. I have seen the original 249 episodes so many times that it's gotten to the point where I can identify a particular episode within the first minute. (Sadly, I watch so much "classic" television, I can employ this same ability with many shows. Kind of like a trained monkey.) 

Nothing compares to you

The "Andy Taylor" character was introduced on a 1960 episode of The Danny Thomas Show as a back-door pilot. General Foods, the show's sponsor, immediately signed to back the new series and The Andy Griffith Show debuted later the same year. At first, Andy Griffith's character was a scheming, backwoods "good ol' boy," presiding as sheriff over the fictional North Carolina hamlet of Mayberry. But as the show went on, Andy became more of a family man and the voice of reason, gently guiding the citizens of Mayberry in often heartwarming tales. Sure there was an amount of humor — mostly provided by the stalwart supporting cast of Don Knotts, Frances Bavier and Howard McNear — but the stories that involved Andy's relationship with his son Opie proved to be the most memorable. The series placed in the top ten in ratings for its entire eight-season run. Originally, Andy Griffith signed on for — and was only interested in — five seasons. As Season Five drew to a close, popular co-star (and multiple Emmy Award winner) Don Knotts, expecting to soon be unemployed, negotiated a five picture deal with Universal Studios. Meanwhile, CBS threw a ton of money at Andy Griffith and he reluctantly committed to three more seasons. As a result, Knotts left the show, the series began filming in garish color and things took a turn. Although, it remained popular, The Andy Griffith Show — beginning with Season Six — morphed into a surrealistic clone of shows like The Beverly Hillbillies and Green Acres. Andy became the sole normal person in a town filled with unrealistic lunatics. Looking like a forerunner to David Lynch's Twin Peaks, Andy became less of a sheriff and more of a stranger in a strange land. The citizens of Mayberry became one-dimensional cartoonish weirdos instead of the outré but friendly folks of the show's early days. Characters like Emmett the pompous fix-it man, Goober the bumpkin grease monkey and stuffy pseudo-intellectual county clerk Howard Sprague became more prominent and the situations became more slapstick. Eventually Andy Griffith had had enough. As the final season came to an end, genial Ken Berry was introduced as a gentleman farmer, all set to become the focus of the town's subsequent adventures in Mayberry RFD. Berry's "Sam Jones" was a level-headed, even-keeled fellow, cast from the same mold as Sheriff Andy Taylor. Except, Ken Berry was no Andy Griffith. He was close, but he lacked Griffith's large, authoritative demeanor. Andy was funny and frequently sarcastic, especially when it came to ribbing his deputy played by Knotts. "Sam Jones" was very laid back and vaguely humorless.

I'll give you two seasons. 

Mayberry RFD premiered on September 23, 1968 with Sheriff Andy Taylor and school teacher Helen Crump getting married. Don Knotts as "Deputy Barney Fife," as well as Andy Griffith Show regulars Ron Howard and Frances Bavier were also on hand as familiar faces to boost series' rating and appeal. As Mayberry RFD found its footing and its audience, Andy and his family moved to Raleigh and were never seen in Mayberry again. Sam, his son Mike and the goofy citizens of Mayberry were on their own to carry the show. Inexplicably, "Aunt Bee" (played by befuddled Frances Bavier) stayed on as Sam's housekeeper, despite being Andy Taylor's aunt.

I watched Mayberry RFD, but I would not classify myself as a "fan." You have to remember, back in the days of "classic television," we only had three networks from which to choose entertainment. We often watched TV shows just because "they were on." If you didn't watch television, you were forced to do something constructive or perhaps even interact with your family. So, folks would slog through poorly written garbage like My Mother the Car rather than help their kids with homework or fix that broken screen door. Not that Mayberry RFD was on par with My Mother the Car, but its production and writing certainly wasn't up to the standards of — say — The Dick Van Dyke Show... or even The Andy Griffith Show. Mayberry RFD just continued the silly sitcom-y writing of late seasons of The Andy Griffith Show that brought the series to a sad demise.

The Three Shumuck-skateers

First of all, no matter how nice a guy Sam Jones was, there was no way — no way in hell! — that he'd be friends with Goober, Howard and Emmett. I understand that Mayberry was a small town and the pickin's were slim, but Goober was an uncouth, loutish moron who wasn't remotely aware of the limits of his limited knowledge. Sure he could change an oil filter, but when it came to participating in a conversation, he'd quickly expose his lack of social relevance by quoting Captain Whammo, his favorite comic book hero. Emmett Clark was no better. As proprietor of the fix-it shop, this conceited idiot would treat every out-of-commission item brought to him in the manner — he'd smack it with a ball-peen hammer. Despite his reputation as a "fix-it" man, Emmett couldn't pour water out of a boot if the instructions were printed on the sole, yet he had the Mayberry market cornered in the fix-it business. Howard Sprague, the self-assured, self-proclaimed intellectual, goes out of his way to phrase the most common expressions in a haughty collective of obscure synonyms for the sole purpose of appearing smart (and being an asshole). When know-it-all Emmett mixed the paint color to the wrong shade while graciously painting Sam's house, Howard explained that the "pigmentation was of the incorrect hue." Oh, fuck you and your pigmentation, Howard.

Hutchins? Swanson?

Sam's love interest is clearly the most attractive woman in Mayberry — Millie Swanson, the cheery counter girl at the bakery, as played by the adorably quirky Arlene Golonka. She is so out of Sam's league, but since she is stuck in Mayberry, she has to make due. Curiously, when Millie was a character in the late seasons of The Andy Griffith Show (and her last name was "Hutchins") she came this close to marrying Howard Sprague. That story line was never acknowledged once Millie and Sam became an item. It should be noted that just prior to the series premiere of Mayberry RFD, Arlene Golonka played a feisty prostitute in the Clint Eastwood Western Hang 'Em High. I don't believe that occupation existed in Mayberry, so Millie was relegated to the closest approximation  — working in a bakery. In several episodes, I swear I caught Goober, Howard and even the married Emmett ogling Millie when she popped in to Sam's county office in her little pink bakery dress.

Jodie's bro

Mike, Sam Jones' typically average sitcom son, was played by Buddy Foster.... and he was no Ron Howard. Buddy, whose unsure raspy vocals gave voice to both the little boy in the iconic "How Many Licks?" Tootsie Roll commercial and the "Count's Son" in the Ringo Starr-narrated, Harry Nilsson-scored animated fable The Point, learned nothing from his Academy Award-winning sister Jodie. His on-camera performances were less than memorable and painfully uninspired. He lacked Ron Howard's charm, comic timing and acting capability. Buddy delivered his lines as though he was just handed the day's shooting script and he just learned how to read.

Know your Alices

In the second season of Mayberry RFD, Aunt Bee was replaced by Sam's ex-Army sergeant cousin "Alice Cooper," played by sitcom staple Alice Ghostley. That's right — Alice Cooper. In 1970, the boundary-pushing shock rocker was still a couple of years away from superstardom. The band (at that time, "Alice Cooper" was the name of the band) had released two albums to mostly negative reviews, but they were slowly gaining attention for their outrageous live performance. However, Mayberry RFD's target demographic was far removed from the burgeoning rock & roll scene. The coincidental character name would only be funny for future viewers of the show's reruns. Alice brought her signature bewildered character to the Jones' household — awkwardly fitting into her new surroundings and, once, even impulsively purchasing an antique harp. (Hilarity ensued.)

Mayberry RFD often resorted to recycling old premises from other TV series, including the Andy Griffith Show. I suppose they hoped that in the pre-VCR, pre-digital recording, pre-streaming services era, no one would notice. But now... oh, I noticed. There's an episode when Mike is coerced by his shitty friends into driving a car. When the underage Mike gives in to peer-pressure and crashes said car, his friends take off posthaste, leaving Mike to take the full brunt of his easy-going dad's wrath. This scenario is straight from the Leave It To Beaver playbook. Another episode puts Millie, eager to break out of the bakery game, in a secretarial position. The ultra-naïve Millie is unaware that her employers are bookies. This is a direct lift of a Season Six installment of the Andy Griffith Show in which Aunt Bee innocently takes a job working for counterfeiters. As the series progressed, more episodes focused on one of the many supporting characters, giving each a full 22 minutes in the spotlight.

Purge

At the end of the 1971 television season, despite wide-reaching popularity and high ratings, CBS president Robert Woods pressured Head of Programming Michael Dunn to cancel all of CBS's so-called "rural" shows. This included The Beverly Hillbillies, Green Acres, Petticoat Junction, Hee Haw and The Red Skelton Show, a variety series with a decidedly older, Midwestern appeal. Dunn personally hated these shows, but was hesitant to cancel them because they still garnered high ratings... and high ratings equaled sponsorship dollars. A frustrated Robert Woods fired Michael Dunn, bringing in Fred Silverman, who had no problem dropping the proverbial ax, thus implementing the notorious "rural purge." (Green Acres star, the venerable Pat Buttram noted: "CBS canceled everything with a tree in it — including Lassie.) Silverman ushered in a new, ground-breaking and influential era of television with shows like The Mary Tyler Moore Show, All in the Family, Cannon, Kojak and The Sonny and Cher Show, a variety show that was way hipper than Red Skelton's folksy revue. Mayberry RFD was also a victim of the rural purge. Its final episode, a confounding tale of Emmett's invention being of interest to an aerospace company, was broadcast in March 1971. 

Not for Buddy

In the aftermath, Ken Berry landed a show more suited to his talents as a song-and-dance man. The Ken Berry Wow Show showcased up-and-coming performers like Teri Garr, Cheryl Ladd and a budding young comedian named Steve Martin. Goober and Emmett (George Lindsey and Paul Hartman) showed up on The New Andy Griffith Show, a short-lived attempt at rekindling the Mayberry spirit. Although Andy was a different character, Goober and Emmett were the same two lunkheads from Mayberry. That show lasted 13 weeks. Lindsey took his "Goober" persona over to the syndicated version of Hee Haw, which in spite of its cancelation by CBS, went on to a successful 23 more seasons. Paul Hartman, however, passed away in 1973. Alice Ghostley, Jack Dodson (who played "Howard Sprague") and Arlene Golonka all enjoyed continued success, showing up in various film and television roles over the next several decades. Buddy Foster....? I suppose his sister invites him over for Thanksgiving dinner. He'll come... as long as she hides her Oscars.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

look away, look away, look away dixie land

It is certainly no secret how much I love television. I especially love old television shows, the ones I watched as a young and impressionable child. Thanks to the magic of syndication and endless reruns, I have also developed an affinity for television shows that were broadcast before I was born. Truth be told, I have watched reruns of shows that I don't particularly like. Shows that I find annoying, frustrating, unrelatable and downright awful. But, I watch them. I've watched them in countless reruns... over and over and over again.

I find it funny how many shows I have just recently discovered, even though they ended their series run decades ago and most (if not all) of their primary cast is now long dead. There are some shows with which I am familiar, but don't like. Yet, I watch them. I have seen every single episode of I Love Lucy, a show I cannot stand. I have seen every episode of Hazel, a show I dislike more that I dislike I Love Lucy. I have seen every episode of more recent shows, like Welcome Back Kotter, a show I despise more than Hazel and I Love Lucy put together! However, I still enjoy such sappy series as Family Affair and My Three Sons. I am fully aware of just how hokey and unrealistic these show are, but there is still something endearing about them... at least to me. Your mileage may vary.

This morning, I caught myself watching an episode of Dennis the Menace. The last first-run episode of Dennis the Menace was broadcast on July 7, 1963 — a month before I turned two. I'm sure that I never saw a single episode of Dennis the Menace in its initial four-season run. I'm almost certain that my parents never watched it. Although it was the lead-in to the ridiculously-popular Ed Sullivan Show, I'm positive that my father's limited patience wouldn't have lasted two seconds subjected to Dennis's irritating antics. Besides, Dennis the Menace was on opposite The Jetsons. My brother, who was six at the time, probably preferred the outer space cartoon adventures to some pain-in-the-ass kid making life miserable for his neighbor. I, of course, only remember watching Dennis the Menace in reruns on a local UHF channel when I was home sick from school. Over the course of many many reruns, I have managed to see every insufferable episode of the series and will still watch it from time to time... including this morning. Honestly, I was not giving the show my full attention. I was perusing the situation on Facebook, a distraction that surely did not exist in Dennis the Menace's original run.

The Programming Department at Antenna TV chose the twenty-fourth episode of Dennis the Menace's second season to broadcast this morning. The episode — entitled "Dennis and the Fishing Rod" — centered around a tried and true sitcom trope. Dennis wants to buy his dad a fishing rod, but he doesn't have enough money. This scenario has popped up on dozens of other series, from Father Knows Best to Leave It to Beaver to any number of "family based" shows. As I scrolled between Facebook and Instagram on my phone, a line of dialogue caught my attention. It seems while Dennis was looking for additional funds to supplement the pittance fished from his piggy bank, he found a stack of papers belonging to his visiting grandmother. Among the papers were several ornately decorated pieces of paper that Dennis and his limited intellect were unable to identify. He presented the papers to his father and grandmother who then explained that they were money from the Civil War. They belonged to Dennis's great grandfather Jedidiah Mitchell who served under a general in the Civil War. General Robert E. Lee, to be specific. She went on to proudly proclaim that ol' Jedidiah was a personal friend of General Lee and he was a true hero. Dennis's dad chimes in to echo his mother's assertion. "He sure was!," says Dad, a broad smile drawn across his bespectacled hatchet face.

What??? Dennis's great grandfather fought on the Southern side of the Civil War? Dennis's great grandfather was a goddamn antiabolitionist! Dennis's great grandfather fought to uphold the right to own slaves. And Dennis's dear old dad is singing his praises as a "hero!" Boy oh boy! If I didn't hate Dennis the Menace before, I sure do hate him now! 

As the episode progressed, Dennis asked to wear Jedidiah Mitchell's hat and uniform, despite it being way too big. Grandmother Mitchell said "of course you can!" adding that Jedidiah would be proud. So Dennis sported that Confederate hat and uniform as when he went to show off to his beleaguered neighbor Mr. Wilson. Mr. Wilson, an avid history buff and collector of coins, stamps and things of that nature, didn't bat an eye when his young neighbor bounded into his house decked out in full Confederate military dress. He was, however, very interested in the Confederate money Dennis brought over. While examining the bill, Mr. Wilson was given the "okay" sign by the engraved image of Confederate president Jefferson Davis. The episode went from an innocent pursuit of a fishing rod for dad to a full-on misrepresentation of what the Civil War stood for, who was a hero and the continued "white-washing" of American history. I don't even remember if the fishing rod was ever purchased.

This episode, as well as many others in the series, was co-written by Hank Ketcham, the creator of the Dennis the Menace comic strip. Maybe he should have stuck to single panel gags in the funny pages of the daily newspaper.

I knew there was an underlying reason I hated watching Dennis the Menace. Now I know.

RIP Jay North (1951-2025)

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

I hate everything about you

Spoiler Alert: Reality shows aren't real. They are scripted. The "real, average people" that appear in these shows are coached on how to behave. They are instructed on how to deliver their lines. The scenarios are set up. Sorry to be the one to break it to you.

On the bright side, the folk that appear on these shows are real people, not actors. It's only after a while they become "celebrities" because, as Andy Warhol once observed, "everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes." For some of these shows that have run for multiple seasons, that fifteen minutes has really lasted waaaay more than fifteen minutes.

I used to watch a show on The History Channel called Pawn Stars. The show, which began in 2009, presented the day-to-day activity in a 24-hour pawn shop just off the Las Vegas strip. All sorts of interesting characters would bring in all sorts of interesting items for the examination and possible sale to the three generations of the Harrison family who operated the store. Folks would present vintage items, stuff they pulled out of grandma's attic, things they've had lying around their home for years, in hopes of  cashing it in for some quick cash. The Harrisons — patriarch Richard, his son Rick and Rick's son Corey — would give a little history of each item then, if they were interested, make an offer to the owner. And that was it. That was the whole premise of the show. As long-time collectors of "things," my wife and I loved to watch and see the items that were brought in for inspection and potential payoff. For many years, Mrs. P ran her family's business in a local farmers market. As the years went on, the business morphed into a destination for collectors of the unusual. Mrs. P hunted and scoured the area (and beyond) to find items on which she could turn a quick profit.. As time went on, her ability to pick out such items became sharp and uncanny. As we watched episodes of Pawn Stars, we would often see items that Mrs. P — at one time or another — had sold herself.

When Pawn Stars' popularity grew, the tone of the show changed. The items for sale were no longer the focus. The show turned into a sitcom about the Harrison family, along with goofy employee Chumlee in the role of the "nosy neighbor." Episodes followed a conflict among the four principle "characters," with only one or two items presented for perusal. The Harrisons became celebrities and suddenly Pawn Stars was a different show. One day, Mrs. P received an email from a television production company inquiring about an item she had listed among her eBay auctions. The item in question was a child's rocking horse painted to look like "Pokey the Pony" from the 60s claymation series Gumby. This item was used as a display piece in a store called Heaven that featured pop culture items. When the store went bankrupt, Mrs. P acquired the Pokey rocking horse in a chainwide liquidation sale. The email explained that agents check all sorts of sources for interesting items to feature on Pawn Stars, as well as its new series American Pickers. This particular agent offered to fly Mrs. P and the Pokey rocking horse to Las Vegas for a possible appearance on Pawn Stars. There was no guarantee it would appear on the show, but a segment would be filmed and scripted and, if it made the final cut, well....great! While it was an interesting proposal, it was logistically prohibitive. Reluctantly, Mrs. P turned the offer down, although she was very flattered. From that point forward, we realized that Pawn Stars was not what it appeared to be. We also tapered off our viewing of the show, until we completely stopped.

Recently, Mrs. Pincus has been watching a show called Storage Wars. The premise is pretty simple. People rent storage lockers and stuff them with all sorts of things. Then, they default on rental payments until, eventually, the delinquent lockers are turned over to an auctioneer to sell off the contents. A group of regulars assemble and the locker goes to the highest bidder. We, as viewers, watch as the high bidder rifles through the purchased locker to reveal hidden treasures.

But then that premise changed.

After a time, the show (that we now know is preconceived and scripted, as well as having outside items planted in lockers) became a showcase for the regular bidders. Characters were created by way of creative editing and prewritten lines given to these folks to recite in the most amateurish of acting. The auction attendees are the proprietors of local businesses that hope to turn a quick profit, much in the style of Mrs. P in her family's business. However, the group of bidders presented in each episode are some of the dumbest, inarticulate, arrogant, scheming, scummy folks I've ever seen. Most of them have no head for business, although they perceive themselves as savvy, worldly entrepreneurs and experts on everything.  With few exceptions, they are not knowledgeable about.... well.... anything... let alone collectibles or objects of potential value. They cannot identify specific jewelry or furniture or if something is actually gold or silver. They think everything is going to net them a fortune. If they cannot identify a particularly obscure item, they consult an expert... then interrupt while the expert is offering the explanation they came for. On top of all that, they insult their fellow bidders and purposely drive up bids on things they themselves have no interest in.... just to be spiteful.

Scripting and editing of Storage Wars has created villains and buffoons and conspirators within the bidding regulars. The auctioneer and his wife have even become characters in this thoroughly annoying venture.

I have watched episodes of Storage Wars — now in its 16th season — because Mrs. P has it on. I try to pay attention when an interesting item is uncovered under a pile of blankets or misshapen cardboard boxes. But, unlike Pawn Stars, where the Harrison family was often good for a laugh or a little bit of relevant information, the crew on Storage Wars are an unlikeable, irritating bunch — and they're idiots. 

Every one of them.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

try to remember

I have loved television for as long as I can remember. I had my favorite TV shows that I watched episodes as often as possible. Unfortunately, at the time, "as often as possible" was usually twice. Back in the 60s and 70s, TV shows produced as many as 26 episodes per season — some even more! After the initial broadcast of an episode, it was usually rerun one more time in the summer when production went on hiatus until the fall season, if the particular show was renewed. If the series was canceled, that was it, that show would never see the light of day again. Of course there were exceptions. The Monkees, which originally ran in primetime on NBC, enjoyed a three-year stretch as part of the Saturday morning line-up on CBS and later for a year on ABC. But, for the most part, after a series was canceled, that was it! You never saw that show again... until syndication packages began popping up on local UHF channels in specific markets. (Hey kids, ask your parents to explain "UHF" to you.)  

In 1985, Nick at Nite changed everything. Boasting a kitschy line-up of television favorites from the 50s and 60s, Nick at Night kicked off a nostalgia trend and spawned a variety of other cable channels to purchase the rights to beloved — and forgotten — shows and rerun them over and over and over again. Nick at Nite showed Mr. Ed, Donna Reed, Dennis the Menace and Route 66. Soon, they were supplementing their library with The Andy Griffith Show, Get Smart, The Dick Van Dyke Show and others, allowing the fledgling network to expand its broadcast day from a few hours at night to a full 24-hour schedule. Nick at Nite's rivals were showing Leave it to Beaver, Burns and Allen, Jack Benny along with other forgotten favorites like My Favorite Martian, Mayberry RFD and other popular shows with a surprisingly limited number of episodes like The Munsters (70 episodes) and Gidget (32 episodes). With other "retro" networks showing up on cable line-ups, series that were long forgotten found a new home, new exposure to a new audience and a new lease on life. Hey! Who are we kidding? There was no new audience. These revivals were geared exclusively to folks who watched them in their original run. Being the trivia fan and nostalgia enthusiast, I loved watching shows that I watched — or barely remembered — in my youth. I saw a show called Good Morning World for the first time when Antenna TV brought it back for a short run a few years ago. The series surrounded a morning radio show and the wacky antics of its hosts (played by Joby Baker and sitcom vet Ronnie Schell.) The show featured Billy DeWolfe, exercising his classic uppity fussbudget character, as well as an early career performance by Goldie Hawn. It was the creation of Sam Persky and Bill Denoff, the creative team who got their start under Carl Reiner's wing on The Dick Van Dyke Show. Good Morning World was the pair's follow-up to the success of another of their creations — That Girl. You've no doubt heard of That Girl and you probably never saw an episode of Good Morning World. There's a reason for that.

As technology advanced and the act of watching television evolved from three networks to a variety of streaming services offering original content and old favorites, more and more "forgotten shows" have surfaced — whether we like it or not. A whole new generation is enjoying The X-Files. Sitcoms like Seinfeld (whose infamous final episode was broadcast over thirty years ago) still can be found in syndication and ready to binge on Netflix, thanks to a lucrative, long-term licensing deal. Sure there are plenty of shows that have not been seen in years and probably will never be seen again. But, thanks to the internet and the good people at YouTube, a quick search will have you wallowing in the nostalgia of your youth with one or two episodes of a "Oh yeah! I remember this!" show. Recently, my wife and I watched a few installments of the late night music showcase The Midnight Special, which ran for a decade on NBC after the Friday night edition of The Tonight Show. I never thought I'd ever see this show again, but... here we are getting misty-eyed while viewing a performance by Loggins and  Messina and scratching our heads while an obviously stoned Paul Williams trips over his lines.

YouTube is a treasure trove of content for those — like me — seeking long forgotten shows available for a curious viewing. I stumbled across one such show a few nights ago, one I had never heard of before. The show was called Normal Life and it ran for 13 unremarkable episodes from March until July 1990. It was a 30 minute sitcom starring Cindy Williams, giving television another shot after the embittered end to her successful role on Laverne and Shirley. Her costar was Max Gail, looking vastly different from his youthful "Detective Wojciehowicz" on the critically-acclaimed Barney Miller. The series was very loosely based on the homelife of eclectic rocker Frank Zappa. It even starred two of Zappa's children — Moon Unit and her brother Dweezil — essentially playing themselves. There is one episode of Normal Life available on YouTube, thanks to user "VHS Captures" who uploaded it, noting they discovered it on an old VHS tape. A little research revealed that the episode — entitled "It's Only Rock and Roll" was the fifth episode in the series, originally broadcast on April 18, 1990. So, we watched.

It was awful.

It was typical 90s sitcom fare, chock full of unnatural acting, trite dialogue, terrible jokes, exaggerated physicality and a lot of mugging for the camera. Poor Cindy Williams looked as thought she really wanted to make this show succeed. Max Gail looked as though he needed to have a firm talk with his agent. The two Zappa kids rolled their eyes and acted as though they had signed on for something different. The entire show ran for the standard 22 minutes with commercials. Ten minutes in, my wife asked if the show's runtime was an hour, as she felt that how long we had been subjected to it.

Look, I love television and I will watch things that most people will not. I will watch Gilligan's Island. I will watch Hazel (even though I do not like it). I watch Dragnet to laugh at the purposely stiff acting, as well as nostalgic vistas of 1960s Los Angeles. I even like to watch little curiosities like Normal Life. But, one episode was enough to satisfy my curiosity.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

season of the witch

It has been nearly six months since I did a blog post about television. Considering my daily participation in the activity of watching television holds such an important place in my life, let's remedy the situation right here and right now.

One of my favorite TV comedies was Bewitched. I remember watching and loving this show in its initial network run and still enjoying it in countless reruns throughout my teen years and later... right up to today. The show was conceived by screenwriter Sol Saks, lifting inspiration from the films I Married a Witch and Bell, Book and Candle. Saks had little to do with the series once production began. Those duties were shifted around a bit before chief director William Asher took over creative control for the show's eight seasons. Unable to settle on a deal with actress Tammy Grimes, Asher cast his wife Elizabeth Montgomery in the lead role as a real-life witch trying to live a life as a typical suburban housewife. Premiering in the Fall of 1964, Bewitched focused more on allegorical plotlines, substituting witchcraft for the tribulations of a mixed marriage. The "magic" actually took a back seat to standard "husband and wife" problems. The show was ABC's highest rated series and the second highest rated show across all three major networks, only bested by NBC's mighty Bonanza. By Season Three, head writer Danny Arnold and producer William Froug had left the production. William Asher became the default showrunner and took the comedy into a much more broad and slapstick direction, harkening back to what he learned as a sometimes director on I Love Lucy. 

Season Three opened with the switch to episodes filmed in color. For a long time, only these episodes where broadcast in syndication. It was believed that audiences wouldn't watch reruns in black & white (despite the perennial popularity of The Dick Van Dyke Show, The Andy Griffith Show and even I Love Lucy). Nevertheless, Bewitched was as popular a show in reruns and it was in the beginning of its first run.

Aside from its compelling and adorable star, the show was known for its mid-season replacement of co-star Dick York, who played the irascible "Darrin Stephens," beleaguered but loving husband to Montgomery's "Samantha." York had been injured on a 1959 movie set and was in constant pain for the rest of his life. After collapsing on-set in 1969, York was replaced midway through Season Six by actor Dick Sargent, coincidentally the original choice for the role at the show's conception. The show is much maligned for the switch and the decision is often cited as the downfall of the show. But that was not the only casting change on the series. There were many. The series featured two "Gladys Kravitz"s, two "Frank Stephens" (Darrin's father) and two "Louise Tate"s (Darrin's asshole boss Larry's wife). Many actors played multiple roles over the years, including Paul Lynde. Lynde was best remembered as Samantha's mischievous "Uncle Arthur." But the comedian appeared in an early episode as a driving instructor. Bernard Fox, who had a recurring role as the eccentric "Dr. Bombay," played a witch-hunting anthropologist in the second season. Veteran character actors Herb Voland, Edward Andrews, Larry D. Mann and Charles Lane appeared as various different prospective clients of McMann & Tate, Darrin's employer. And, of course, Elizabeth Montgomery took a shot herself, donning a brunette wig and flirty attitude as Samantha's sultry cousin "Serena" (credited playfully as "Pandora Spocks"). I have to admit, my little crush on Elizabeth Montgomery heightened when she played Serena. I think everyone's did.

In recent viewings of my beloved Bewitched, I noticed something that eluded me as a child, adolescent and even as a young (unaware) adult. Bewitched exhibited a pretty shitty view of women and marriage. There is an overall attitude of mistrust between husband and wife. Every female client of Darrin's makes some sort of overt sexual advancement on him, despite his protests of being happily married. Male clients brought home (on an unusually regular basis) for dinner, often make unwanted moves on Samantha once Darrin has exited the room to make drinks. Even her firm pleas of "NO!" are met with chuckles and even more grabby attempts to violate Samantha's personal space. Endora, Samantha's overbearing mother, is constantly filling her daughter's mind with notions of an unfaithful Darrin (or "Derwood" as she often calls him). Larry Tate leers at female clients and secretaries and every other woman who shows up, while Serena makes suggestive small talk with Larry right in front of his wife (whether it be Irene Vernon or Kasey Rogers). Nobody trusts anyone. Everyone lies to cover up a misunderstanding that could otherwise be easily explained in a loving trusting relationship. I suppose in the 60s and 70s, infidelity and adultery was good fodder for sitcoms. The home audience seemed to respond favorably, as Bewitched ranked among the top shows on television for most of its entire run.

Ironically, Bewitched's demise was met at the hands of another TV comedy, one that addressed real-life problems like bigotry, racism and even sexuality. Once Bewitched was broadcast opposite the up-and-coming All in the Family, its fate was sealed. Bewitched was canceled at the end of its eighth season. (In reality, Elizabeth Montgomery wanted out after five seasons, hoping to ignite a film career based on her popularity. Instead, ABC threw a ton of money and other financial incentives her way in a proverbial "offer she couldn't refuse.")

In the wake of the #MeToo movement and women's rights in general, I find Bewitched difficult to watch now. The fashions and dialog notwithstanding, the show is dated. Very, very dated. Sure there are other shows that are just as dated, like Leave It to Beaver. But that show depicts a time of old fashioned family values, the benefits of a loyal friendship and morality. Bewitched evokes a time that we should really be embarrassed by — and I don't mean because of the wide neckties and overuse of the word "groovy."

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

you bug me baby

It's no secret that I watch a lot of television, with a certain affinity for TV shows from my youth. I love the sitcoms with preposterous premises that were the staples of my formative years. Watching them now, however, I find these shows quaint and endearing in their awfulness. 

Most sitcoms featured a cast of likeable characters — a sweet mom, a friendly dad, a helpful neighbor, a loyal coworker, a jovial hillbilly who suddenly comes into a large sum of money. You know, everyday folks to which the home viewer could relate. A lot of shows, however, featured an annoying character. Someone whose sole purpose was to be irritating. I'm not talking about a character like Barney Fife, the hapless deputy sheriff on The Andy Griffith Show. Sure, Barney had his annoying moments, but he meant well. He was sincerely trying to help. He was just a little overanxious, longing for some real police action among the day-to-day tedium of cats stuck up in a tree or making coffee to sober up Otis the drunk. Sheriff Andy knew that Barney was not malicious, just zealous and proud. Also, Don Knotts was awarded five Emmys for his performance and he was a favorite of the viewing audience. In 1999, TV Guide ranked him ninth on its "50 Greatest TV Characters of All Time" list — so someone liked him. Although I love The Andy Griffith Show, I find the character of Barney thoroughly annoying in the majority of episodes, but I am in the overwhelming minority. 

I'm also not talking about characters like Dennis Mitchell, the rascally main focus of Dennis the Menace. Sure, the point of the show is that he's annoying, but he does mean well and, at times he can be endearing. I also don't mean Mr. Mooney, Gale Gordon's character from The Lucy Show. First of all, anyone who has to put up with Lucille Ball gets an automatic pass, but Mr. Mooney is just doing his job and Lucy is the real cause of his ire. I'm not talking about mildly annoying characters, like Dwayne Schneider on One Day at a Time or Steve Urkel on Family Matters. Yeah, they were annoying, but they genuinely meant well and weren't necessarily toxic. The kind of characters I am singling out are annoying for the sake of being annoying. They have no endearing qualities. They are selfish and mean for no other reason than stroking their own ego. Their actions are not beneficial to anyone but themselves. There are three of these jerks that I wish to expose.

Jerk.

First, there's Larry Tate, the weaselly, wafflely president of the advertising firm of McMann and Tate on the sitcom Bewitched. Larry is a jerk, first and foremost. He appears to be a friend of  star employee Darrin Stephens and his wife Samantha, but, in reality, he is not. Usually accompanied by an important client, Larry barges unannounced into the Stephens' home. He contradicts and questions Darrin's pitches, belittling his midnight-oiled efforts, as he second and third guesses the client's reactions. When a particular ad campaign is inevitably rescued by Samantha's contribution of witchcraft, Larry jumps on the congratulatory bandwagon at the first glimmer of approval from his client. In the next breath, Larry threatens to fire Darrin if he pulls a stunt like this again. A stunt like what, you ungrateful asshole? Saving your non-creative butt? What sort of input did you have in the development this ad campaign when Darrin was toiling nights and weekends before there was such a thing as "working from home." Larry Tate is a dick and Darrin doesn't need his wishy-washy, non-committal, two-faced bullshit. Plus, when Larry is at their home — whether invited or just showing up — he drains their liquor cabinet. 

Jerk.

Then there's Dr. Alfred Bellows, the ever-suspicious and ridiculously nosey NASA psychiatrist on I Dream of Jeannie. Prior to discovering a mysterious bottle on a beach in the South Pacific, we can only assume that astronaut Tony Nelson was a normal guy. But after uncorking that bottle, Tony's life was changed considerably when he unleashed an ancient (and adorable) genie who promised to grant his every wish. Now, granted, we don't know what sort of guy Tony was before he found that bottle, but he was a good-looking 34 year-old bachelor astronaut in Cocoa Beach, Florida. I'm sure he was hitting the singles bars and hooking up on a regular basis. That behavior must have appeared "normal" to the base psychiatrist. Suddenly, he has a hot blond living in his house and Dr, Bellows doesn't like it one little bit. Why? Why does this bother him? Was he jealous? I suppose, although Mrs. Bellows was pretty attractive and way out of his league. Okay, so, Dr. Bellows thought he saw some unusual things in and around the Nelson house... while he was peering in the windows looking for something unusual. What kind of career sabotage was he planning? Why did he have it in for Major Tony Nelson? Tony seemed to be handling his assigned duties well. He didn't behave in a manner that was detrimental to any space exploration mission. He was still a capable astronaut. If anything, having Jeannie around made him a better astronaut. But Dr. Bellows was a self-serving, meddling jerk. He was bent on convincing everyone at NASA that there was something off about Tony Nelson. In reality, Dr. Bellows was the only one who witnessed strange goings-on. You would think that after failing to get any of the top brass to believe his accusations, he would have given up after the first couple of instances. But no! Dr. Bellows kept it up for five seasons! What was his problem? He appeared to be the crazy one! Why didn't NASA dismiss him for incompetence? Dr. Bellows didn't benefit anyone. Not the space program, his fellow officers, the medical profession... or genies. Just himself.

Jerk.

I have saved the best — or in this case — the worst for last. The single most annoying character — in my qualified, long-time television watching opinion — is Lew Marie, the overbearing father of budding actress Ann Marie on That Girl. Played to the most grating degree by actor Lew Parker, this character's main purpose is to antagonize everyone with whom he comes in contact. He has an instant dislike for Ann's affable boyfriend Donald Hollinger. He criticizes, berates and insults every move poor Donald makes. Donald loves Lew's daughter (Hey! Who wouldn't?!?) and he is unnecessarily cordial and often forgiving of his future father-in-law. But, still the cranky Lew is relentless, unjustly flinging put-downs at Donald at every opportunity, sometimes creating those opportunities. Ann is also the target of her father's irascible persona. Nearly every episode of That Girl includes a scene in which Lew Marie threatens to physically drag his daughter back to the safe cocoon of Brewster, New York where she can give up her ridiculous dream of becoming an actress and work in her father's restaurant. Cute-as-a-button actress Marlo Thomas was 28 when That Girl premiered in 1965. She was not a kid. As the series progressed, she took jobs as a fashion model, commercial pitch girl, Broadway and television actress and dancer. It's not like she was a helpless failure. She was a working actress, hustling auditions and landing good roles. She did not need "Daddy's help." Yet, Daddy felt perfectly at home meddling in Ann's life — often misconstruing situations and perceiving them as dangerous to his daughter. He continually misinterpreted phone messages. He would overhear a conversation from the next room — or through a wall with the aid of an amplifying water glass — and invariably jump to the wrong conclusion. Lew Marie served only to benefit himself. He didn't really care about the welfare of Ann. He knew she could take care of herself, She knew she could take care of herself. It is my understanding that the relationship between Ann Marie and her father was based on the real-life relationship between Marlo Thomas and her father, entertainer Danny Thomas. I never liked Danny Thomas. I didn't find him funny. I found him to be smug, condescending and overbearing. In his long-running series Make Room for Daddy, he, too, was a jerk for the sake of being a jerk. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery... or something like that.

I like to think that television writing and character development has improved over the decades since Bewitched, I Dream of Jeannie and That Girl graced the airwaves. But it really hasn't.

Just ask Kimmy Gibbler or Ross Geller.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

if I wanted someone to clean me up I'd find myself a maid

My love for old television shows is no secret. Every morning, before I go to work, I pour myself a cup of coffee and stretch out on the sofa for a short visit to the black and white world of McHale's Navy or I Love Lucy* or The Donna Reed Show. I love the nostalgia of times past. I love the novelty of the far-fetched situations. I love seeing famous actors in bit parts early in their careers. (I've spotted a pre-Oscar-winning Cloris Leachman seeking advice from wise neighbor Donna Stone on The Donna Reed Show, Estelle Parsons, another Oscar winner, as a prospective customer for vacuum cleaner salesgirl Patty Duke and Jack Nicholson as the frantic father of a missing boy on The Andy Griffith Show.) I love the uncomplicated mawkishness of Mary having two dates for the same night or the panic over Uncle Tonoose dropping in for an extended weekend stay. (Cue spit take!)

There is one show, however, I do not get. I watch it, mind you, I just don't know why. I don't enjoy it. I can't, for the life of me figure out its appeal or who its target audience was in its initial run from its premiere in 1961 to its swan song in 1966. With each episode (and there are five seasons worth!), it gets increasingly frustrating.

Of course, I'm talking about Hazel.

At one time, Shirley Booth was a popular, versatile and well-respected actress. She made her debut on the Broadway stage in 1925 and went on to win an impressive three Tony Awards including Best Actress in the gut-wrenching drama Come Back Little Sheba. Shirley reprised the role of "Lola Delaney" in the film version of the play and won an Academy Award for her effort. She also received high praise for her role as "Dolly Levi" in Thornton Wilder's The Matchmaker, the non-musical source for Hello Dolly. Although she only made five films in her career, she was a staple in live theater, originating the roles in The Desk Set and Summertime that Katherine Hepburn eventually played in the films. She was the wise-cracking "Miss Duffy" on radio's Duffy's Tavern and she auditioned for, but lost, the lead role in Our Miss Brooks to Eve Arden.

Mr. B and Missy

In 1961, Shirley Booth was tapped for the live-action portrayal of Ted Key's cartoon maid Hazel, a popular character frequently appearing in single-panel strips in the Saturday Evening Post. The half-hour sitcom co-starred Don Defore as George "Mr. B" Baxter, Hazel's irascible employer, Whitney Blake as his ever-patient wife and little Bobby Buntrock as their son Harold. The show chronicled Hazel's weekly exercise in meddling, interfering, insubordination and arrogance. She was a smug, sneaky, obnoxious, condescending, self-righteous troublemaker. She regularly second-guessed and undermined both Mr B's business dealings and home life, despite bragging to the other maids that she worked for a "prominent attorney who practically runs the city for the mayor." She repeatedly interrupted client meetings with inane crusades for a new flower garden in the park or a new jungle gym for the playground. She often talked back — or worse — talked over her boss. Sure, she made impossibly flaky and delicious dinner rolls, but that's hardly an argument for putting up with all that other nonsense.

Still, I can't figure out who the hell was watching and enjoying this infuriating bullshit? Who was relating to this? I grew up in a middle class family in the 1960s. We didn't have a live-in maid. I didn't know anyone who had a maid, live-in or otherwise. Yet, everyone in the Baxter's neighborhood has a maid — and Hazel is friends with all of them. (And by "friends," I mean she's sticking her bulbous nose into their business as well.)

Meet the new boss.
Same as the old boss.

I can't understand why the ever-exasperated Mr. Baxter didn't fire Hazel's ass the first time she talked back to him or fucked up some important family plan or business venture because "she had a better idea." Hazel criticizes Mr. B's weight, clothing, golf game, business decisions and friends. She barges into personal husband-wife discussions (May I point out that the lovely Whitney Blake is way out of Mr. B's league!) and dispenses un-asked-for advice to impressionable young Harold (who thinks Hazel is "the greatest!"). When Defore and Blake were unceremoniously canned in favor of a more youthful couple, Ray Fulmer and Lynne Borden were introduced as George's brother and sister-in-law. Hazel went to work for them, inexplicably taking Harold along with her. But for some reason, Hazel was an instant hit and a ratings monster. It ranked in the Top 25 shows for most of its five seasons, including the Number 4 spot during its first. I know there weren't as many television choices as there are today, but — jeez! — I think I would have watched almost anything besides this irritating depiction of suburban life.

So, why do I watch it now? Because, in comparison, I would rather suffer through Hazel disrespecting poor Mr. B than be subjected to the reality shit storm that The Today Show has become.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

* It should be noted that I like everyone in I Love Lucy, except for Lucy. The ensemble cast — William Frawley, Vivian Vance and Desi Arnaz — are funny. Lucille Ball, however, is annoying, overbearing and not at all funny. Maybe they should have called the show "I Love Everyone Except Lucy." But, I watch it just the same.