Showing posts with label TV on DVD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label TV on DVD. Show all posts

Monday, July 31, 2017

“Well, thank you, Harvey! I prefer you, too…”


For ten seasons on TV’s The Carol Burnett Show, comic actor Harvey Korman was not only one of the hardest working second bananas in the variety show bidness but one of the funniest.  Korman left the series before its eleventh and final season to pursue projects that would allow him to take center stage (he was offered a contract by ABC-TV and did a self-titled sitcom in 1978 that came and went) and while he never quite captured the stardom he sought he had plenty of laurels to rest on as far as his boob tube legacy was concerned (not to mention his sidesplitting turn in Blazing Saddles [1974]).  During his stint on the Burnett show, Harvey was nominated six times for an Emmy (and he won four trophies) and four times for a Golden Globe (he won in 1975).  “He was fearless: he sang, he danced, he ad-libbed, he pranced, and he made TV audiences roar with laughter,” observes a Time Life press release for a DVD due to be released tomorrow (August 1): The Best of Harvey Korman.

My chum Michael Krause at Foundry Communications was good enough to slip me a screener, and while people may quibble what constitutes Mr. Korman’s “best” there’s certainly nothing to be ashamed of with regards to the material on this disc.  There are four telecasts (three of which haven’t been seen in 40 years) present, with the first a very funny show that closed out the first season of Burnett’s series on May 13, 1968.  Carol has no guest stars on this telecast; it’s billed as a “family show,” and focuses on her talented ensemble—Vicki Lawrence performs Best of Both Worlds and Lyle Waggoner does a not-too-shabby By the Time I Get to Phoenix—including a hilarious sketch where Harvey ducks into his dressing room to avoid his “fan club” (the women who comprise that aggregation reminded me of the same matrons who were gaga for Jack Benny) and fantasizes about being a Hugh Hefner-type.  There are funny segments of “Carol and Sis” and “The Old Folks” on hand, and a sprightly version of Together by the cast just before the wonderful closing featuring Carol’s charwoman character.

When Carol's Molly suggests the two of them "go inside and turn on Lawrence Welk" Bert cracks: "I didn't think that was possible."
Carol, Harvey & Vicki as Patty, Maxene & Laverne
A November 18, 1968 episode is unusual in that it was taped during a musician’s strike…which necessitates Carol having to hum her show’s opening theme and sing the familiar I’m So Glad We Had This Time Together close with choral accompaniment.  A telecast without an orchestra might be a handicap if Ella Fitzgerald is your musical guest (Ella could have just scat-sang a couple) but the First Lady of Song, Carol explains later, lip-synched to previously recorded numbers…and demonstrates by doing her own lip-synch to The Trolley Song (which experiences speed problems during the playback, and Burnett’s facial expressions are hysterical).  There’s also a lip-synch performed to the Andrews Sisters’ Bei Mir Bist Du Schön…executed by Carol, Vicki, and Harvey (in drag) in a “Carol and Sis” sketch.

In the "Carol and Sis" Andrews Sisters sketch, Isabel "Weezy" Sanford plays a cleaning lady...

...and Elaine Joyce turns up in another skit as the sexy neighbor from next door.

Carol gives Harvey a Miranda warning. (Sorry about that...
I've been hanging out on Facebook with Andrew "Grover" Leal
too much.)
Carol Burnett and her writers were classic movie fans, and many of her show’s best-remembered sketches were hilarious parodies of movies.  The November 18th show features Carol and guest Sid Caesar in “Mrs. Magnificent” (Mrs. Miniver), and as much as I revere Sid he’s forced to take a back seat to Burnett’s antics as a stiff-upper-lip British woman who’s unsettlingly nonchalant about being shelled by the Germans during WW2.  (Sid reprises some bits from Tars and Spars in the show’s opening Q&A segment, and he’s much funnier there.)  A September 29, 1969 show with guests Bernadette Peters and Nancy Wilson teams the two guests with Carol in a big musical number split in three parts: Wilson does a kind of Casablanca parody, and Peters is the novice who’s going out a nobody but coming back a star in a send-up of Warners’ Depression-era musicals.  In between these two, Carol apes Carmen Miranda and completely loses it when Harvey slips and falls on his Gazoo during the number.  (At one point in the song Korman ad-libs “I suppose they’ll want the Emmy back,” breaking Carol up.)

A reminder of CBS' commitment to programming in color.

Look who's in the audience!  Mr. and Mrs. Ross Martin!

A spoof of Summertime (the 1955 Katharine Hepburn film) is the highlight of the fourth and final show on The Best of Harvey Korman, a telecast from October 27, 1971 with guest stars Tim Conway and Diahann “Julia” Carroll.  Tim does his shuffling old man character in a sketch about a jewel robbery (Harvey manages to keep it together for the most part despite a couple of lapses into hysterics) and Carol and Diahann do the number that you see Carol perform with Lucille Ball in that segment that Burnett narrates on The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™, Chutzpah.  Carol Burnett fans will want to nab this very entertaining DVD for their shelf—a fitting reminder that whether he was supporting Carol or Danny Kaye, Harvey Korman was the yardstick by which second bananas should be measured.

Monday, June 19, 2017

From beautiful downtown Burbank…


When Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In premiered as a one-shot NBC-TV special on September 9, 1967, several of the show’s best remembered cast members were already on board: Judy Carne, Arte Johnson, Henry Gibson, Jo Anne Worley, and Ruth Buzzi, to be precise.  Larry Hovis also appeared in the special, taking a sabbatical from his regular gig as Sgt. Andrew Carter on Hogan’s Heroes (he would return to Laugh-In later in the show’s run, along with his Heroes castmate Richard Dawson), as did Barbara Feldon—who might have become a Laugh-In regular if her Get Smart duties hadn’t limited her participation to a handful of the early telecasts.  What you may not know (then again, if you’ve read my Facebook compadre Hal Erickson’s book you might) is that Ken Berry was also in the pilot.  Just imagine.  If they had kept Berry in the cast, we might have been spared Mayberry R.F.D.  (Just can’t catch a break.)

If you’re curious as to my sudden interest in Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In, it’s because I received an e-mail last month from my good friend Michael Krause at Foundry Communications that the iconic comedy hour—which aired over NBC from January 22, 1968 to March 12, 1973, and was television’s #1 show in the 1968-69 and 1969-70 seasons—has made its home video debut in a ginormous DVD collection available from Time Life and Proven Entertainment.  All 140 telecasts are present (including the final season, which until they recently resurfaced on the Decades channel had long been MIA) and accounted for in this 38-disc set, along with scads of bodacious extras and a 32-page collectible booklet—Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In: The Complete Series can be ordered right now at www.timelife.com/laughin: the tariff is $249.95 (for the budget-minded, there's a 40-episode "Best of" set priced at $99.95).  (Fans of the show have my permission to discard their “Best of” Rhino DVDs they may own—eBay operators are standing by.)

The cast of Laugh-In (1968-69)
Like most couch potatoes of my generation, I dropped in on the show’s legendary “cocktail party” from time to time…though admittedly, it was in the show’s declining years, when most of its famous cast members had moved on to bigger and better things and Laugh-In was having to rely on the high-wattage comedy contributions of Moosie Drier.  I’m more familiar with the whittled down half-hour version of the program which aired for a time on Nick at Nite (the series’ original hour-long syndication package consisted of 70 hours culled from the first three seasons, along with the pilot and a few Season 4 installments) but to be honest—I never could figure out what all the fuss was about.  I think Laugh-In’s reputation for hip irreverence is somewhat inflated; creator-producer George Schlatter describes it as “a free fall of television without a net.  It was dangerous.  It was controversial.  It was totally unpredictable and always funny.”  Well, not really.  It was little more than sped-up vaudeville hokum—a mixture of the irreverence of Olsen and Johnson’s Hellzapoppin’ and the technological wackiness of television comedy innovator Ernie Kovacs.  (Schlatter was and still is married to Jolene Brand, a cast member of Kovacs’ show.)

Creator George Schlatter (holding sign) and the Laugh-In writers
Laugh-In was critically praised for its “representation of the counterculture” …but in this superb article by Kliph Nesteroff (who recycles some of this material in his indispensable The Comedians: Drunks, Thieves, Scoundrels and the History of American Comedy), the argument is convincingly made that the show was nothing more than The Establishment’s idea of The Counterculture (if you read Kliph’s piece, you’ll learn that Laugh-In head writer Paul Keyes played a large role in making Richard Milhous Nixon palatable to TV audiences).  “Laugh-In is commonly considered a reflection of the late sixties youth sensibility, but closer examination reveals a much different picture,” Kliph writes.  “It was, in essence, an establishment show, profiting from the anti-establishment sentiment running through America.  Moderated by the comedy team of Dan Rowan and Dick Martin, Laugh-In was old in style, but draped in the popular fashion of the day.  It effectively garnered a genuine hippie aesthetic, but any actual connection to the counterculture was mostly smoke and mirrors.  The bulk of Laugh-In consisted of eye-catching vaudeville bits that mostly ignored the war, the riots and the protest.  It embraced the look and sound of the hippies and had no problem making references to getting high, but generally glossed over political issues.”

"Sock it...to me?"
This assessment goes a long way in explaining why I experienced disappointment with Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In as I got older: I was looking for something that was never there in the first place.  So I need to temper my criticism from the previous paragraphs with this caveat: if you’re looking for the biting political satire of such 60s shows as That Was the Week That Was or The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, you’re not going to find it on Laugh-In; its humor was more of the toothless Jay Leno-Tonight Show variety.  (In fact, if you read Nesteroff’s article in its entirety you’ll learn that hosts Rowan and Martin eventually bought out producer Schlatter’s interest in the program because the two stars “were very heavily into Nixon.  They actually had a quota of Daniel Ellsberg jokes, a quota of anti-New York Times jokes, and a weekly segment on the [left-wing] distortion of the news.”)  Yet if you look at the series through the prism as one of those classic television variety hours that they sadly don’t make any more, Laugh-In can be pretty amusing from time to time.  (Television to me has become a vast repository of “reality shows” …which you can actually lay the blame for at Schlatter’s feet for creating the successful Real People in 1979.)

Ruth Buzzi, Jo Anne Worley and Goldie Hawn in a Season 3 sketch
The “big names” on the show had already vamoosed during the period I watched Laugh-In although Lily Tomlin was still on the show; she joined in the show’s 1969-70 season, and became phenomenally popular with her characterizations of Ernestine (“Have I reached the party to whom I am speaking?”), Edith Ann (“And that’s the truth…thbthh!!!”), and Mrs. Earbore, the “Tasteful Lady.”  Tomlin probably enjoyed the biggest post-Laugh-In career—she garnered an Oscar nomination for her performance in the 1975 film Nashville, which also featured Laugh-In alum Henry Gibson—save for Goldie Hawn, who took home her Academy Award trophy (for Best Supporting Actress in 1968’s Cactus Flower) while she was still performing on the show.  (I’ve watched a few of the early telecasts featuring Goldie, and was amused that her persona of the giggly blonde ditz took a show or two to develop—in her early appearances she plays it perfectly straight.  Also hooty: Hawn was on the show at the same time her Private Benjamin co-star Eileen Brennan was also a regular.)  Laugh-In featured some truly funny comic actresses: Judy Carne (the “Sock it to me” girl who would be doused with water or dropped through a trap door whenever she uttered the show’s phrase), Ruth Buzzi (“I just want to swing!”), and Jo Anne Worley (“Bo-ring!”), who only has to start in with that infectiously goofy laugh to make me chuckle (“Is that a chicken joke?”). 

Buzzi and Arte Johnson as Gladys & Tyrone
On the distaff side, there was Henry Gibson (the poetry guy with the flower), Gary Owens (the old-style announcer with his ever-present hand cupped to his ear), Alan Sues (sidesplitting as “Uncle Al, the kiddie’s pal”), and Larry Hovis (I loved his David Brinkley-like newscaster).  I didn’t find Arte Johnson as hilarious as some of my contemporaries (his German soldier shtick—“Verrry interesting”—got old quickly) though I did like his interactions with Buzzi’s Gladys Ormphby (“Care for a walnetto?”).  (Actually, the funniest thing about the old man was that his official name was “Tyrone F. Horneigh” …though they had to pronounce the last name as “Hor-NIGH” for obvious reasons.)  And I still have a soft spot for Dave Madden, who made me titter as the dour deadpan guy who threw confetti as a reaction to punchlines…because his “Reuben Kincaid” on The Partridge Family is one of my role models.

Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In has been released to DVD to coincide with the commemoration of the show’s 50th anniversary, and while I couldn’t score a screener of the set I did receive a wonderful consolation prize that I’ll discuss in a bit more detail in a future post.  What I could sample was a delightful surprise in that the show still manages to be entertaining despite the inevitable dating of the material, and I would not hesitate to recommend a purchase for true Laugh-In diehards—it’s timeless TV.  (You bet your sweet bippy!)

Monday, May 29, 2017

One size does not fit all


One of the pitfalls in revisiting TV shows from the past—alluded to in the famous Peter DeVries quote at the top of the blog—is that some series simply aren’t as good as you might have remembered.  I have found this to be the case with many of the cartoons I dutifully watched as a young sprout, though I surmise that this is by design: kids will watch any kind of crappy animation provided there is some semblance of movement.  (Some of these cartoon shows that immediately come to mind are The Mighty Hercules, Cool McCool, and Milton the Monster; on the live-action side, I was disappointed that Sledge Hammer and The Greatest American Hero weren’t as great as when I watched them initially—though I still think Robert Culp’s character on Hero was a 24-karat gem.)

As such, it came as a most pleasant surprise when, after purchasing Square Pegs: The Like, Totally Complete Series…Totally recently at Oldies.com, I watched the show in its entirety (totally) over the weekend and was delighted at how well it still holds up.  (Oldies.com still has a few copies available at $4.98—and these are the original 3-DVD sets that came out in 2008.  The 2-DVD Mill Creek reissue is also available…but for $7.98.   I am nothing if not S-M-R-T when it comes to shopping.)  I was a huge fan of this sitcom during its original run in the 1982-83 season, and was a bit bummed when I learned it was not going to be picked up for another year because I thought it was a bright, funny look at high school angst.  (I suppose, in retrospect, that I should not have been surprised a smart series like Pegs was cancelled too soon…there’s a reason why we call that device “the idiot box.”)

Amy Linker, Sarah Jessica Parker
But on the off-chance that anyone reading this was cryogenically frozen during its original run, Square Pegs was the stirring saga of two young girls entering their freshman year at Weemawee Penitentiary High School: Patty Greene (Sarah Jessica Parker) and Lauren Hutchinson (Amy Linker).  Patty was, according to the write-up TV Guide gave the series in its 1982 Fall Preview issue, “the smart, skinny, nearsighted one” while Lauren was “the one with baby fat and braces.”  The girls wanted nothing more than to “click with the right clique and we can finally have a social life that’s worthy of us,” as viewers were reminded in a voiceover that opened the show each week.  (Patty: “No way—not even with cleavage!”)  “This year we’re going to be popular…even if it kills us,” Lauren assured her pal.  This quest for popularity would prove to be a daunting task.

Jon Caliri, Tracy Nelson
Pourquoi est-ce donc?  (Tish!  I spoke French!)  Well, the girls quickly found themselves at cross purposes with the high school’s popular clique, made up of vacuous Valley Girl Jennifer DiNuccio (Tracy Nelson), her BFF LaDonna “L.D.” Fredericks (Claudette Wells), and Jennifer’s none-too-bright boyfriend Vinnie Pasetta (Jon Caliri), memorably described on one occasion by one of Pegs’ characters as a “walking gland.”  Shunned by the “in crowd,” Patty and Lauren were forced to associate with misfits like themselves: class clown Marshall Blechtman (John Femia), who had an endless repertoire of bad celebrity impressions and jokes to go with them, and Johnny Ulasewicz (Merritt Butrick), whose fondness for New Wave music earned him the nickname “Johnny Slash.”  (People often mistook Slash for a punker but he emphatically insisted that New Wave was a “totally different head—totally.”)  The remaining member of this motley bunch was Muffy B. Tepperman (Jami Gertz), the annoyingly vivacious preppy who was constantly imploring her fellow classmates to show the proper school spirit (she was chairperson of Weemawee’s “Pep Committee").

Linker and Parker
Created and produced by former National Lampoon/Saturday Night Live writer Anne Beatts, Square Pegs premiered in the fall of 1982 to positive critical buzz and very impressive ratings in its debut time slot Monday nights on CBS (though its competition was formidable: the popular ABC [non]reality series That’s Incredible and NBC’s Little House: A New Beginning).  Had the network kept the show around on Monday nights, Square Pegs might have continued for a season or two (Little House was in its last year, and CBS had a fairly strong Monday lineup despite M*A*S*H also calling it quits).  But the show shifted to Wednesdays later in the season, where its lead-in was the terrible Zorro and Son (Beatts notes in a segment included on the DVD collection that’s when she knew there was little hope for her creation), and the network was also discouraged by the small numbers in male viewership (which was one of the reasons why Beatts persuaded Bill Murray to guest star in one episode…more on that in a bit)—the fact that it was popular with practically every female member of the viewing audience was of little comfort to them. 

Merritt Butrick, Parker, Jami Gertz, Linker, John Femia
After the show’s May 1983 cancellation, TV Guide published an article entitled “Anatomy Of A Failure: How Drugs, Ego, And Chaos Helped Kill A Promising Series.”  I don’t believe the piece is online, but it is referenced in this well-written article by Gwen Ihnat at the A.V. Club.  I remember reading the TV Guide article at the time of publication and thinking there was something mighty hinky that—save for Beatts, who acknowledged: “I think that certainly, there was some drug abuse or drug traffic that may have happened, because I would say that that is norm for a set”—no one in the cast or behind-the-scenes would go on the record for attribution.  (You can argue, of course, that with minors on the set, folks might be a little reluctant to engage in a little cleansing confession.)  As to Beatts’ observation, Anne may have been thinking about the history of substance abuse on SNL, which has been soldiering on for over forty years now despite this pharmaceutical handicap.  (I also got a chuckle out of the “ego and chaos” mentioned in the article.  I mean, that must have been a first for show business, huh?)

Butrick
Many former members of the cast are interviewed in “where-are-they-now?” segments on the Square Pegs DVD collection (humorously titled “Weemawee Yearbook Memories”) and the drug abuse on the show is not remarked upon in any of those features either (which is certainly understandable; Gerald Casale, the bassist/synthesizer with Devo, recalled for Heeb in 2009 that he snorted coke with Jami Gertz and Sarah Jessica Parker in their trailers during the time the New Wave band guested on a classic episode, in addition to observing a lot of sexual activity).  But I’m not going to continue to dwell on the “sin and vice” aspect of Pegs because a) it’s boring, and 2) it doesn’t seem to have interfered with the truth that Square Pegs was a hell of a funny show.

The actors—and creator Beatts—are unanimous in their assessment that Square Pegs was a show that was ahead of its time.  I think in some respects this is accurate, but what I’ve noticed in many of the articles I’ve read about the series is that they ignore that Pegs was essentially an 80s version of The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis.  There are differences, to be sure; the protagonist (Dwayne Hickman) of Dobie Gillis wanted little more out of high school (and later life) than “a girl to call his own.”  Patty and Lauren on Square Pegs desperately strived to be popular, and the romantical aspect wasn’t quite as prominent (though some Pegs outings did play on the “puppy love” trope—Lauren gets a major crush on the hunky janitor in “The Stepanowicz Papers,” for example).  What both shows had in common was the notion that it was okay to be a non-conformist in an atmosphere that unceasingly pressures kids to be and think alike.

Parker, Linker, and Nelson
Johnny Slash was the son of Dobie Gillis’ Maynard G. Krebs (Bob Denver)—a spacey, sweet-and-innocent manchild who marched to the beat of a different drummer, and who listened to that beat through his ever-present set of headphones.  Patty Greene was a slightly-less-obnoxious Zelda Gilroy (Sheila James) in that while her intelligence may have posed a handicap where the opposite sex was concerned (in “It’s Academical,” Lauren convinces her friend she needs to “play dumb” if she’s to have any chance with a senior on the quiz bowl team), any guy would be lucky to be with such a bright, funny girl.  Jennifer DiNuccio wasn’t as devoted to the pursuit of money as Dobie Gillis’ Thalia Menninger (Tuesday Weld), but she was every bit as superficial and drop-dead gorgeous (Jennifer was already being looked after—her father owned a successful auto dealership—but in one of my favorite episodes, “Hardly Working,” she’s forced to become a waitress at the gang’s hangout due to slumping sales brought on by the Reagan recession).  The dynamic of the popular and unpopular kids interacting with one another was present on both sitcoms; Dobie and Chatsworth Osborne III (Steve Franken), for example, normally didn’t travel in the same social circles but when they did it made those episodes of Dobie Gillis that much funnier—the same is true of Square Pegs, with the episodes in which the cliques must form “alliances” (“Working,” “A Cafeteria Line,” “To Serve Weemawee All My Days”) being the ones that remain in the memory.

In case you thought I was kidding about the Dobie Gillis comparisons.  Femia and Butrick strike familiar poses.

Caitlin Adams
Square Pegs even had funny teachers like Dobie Gillis.  In the place of Dobie’s Leander Pomfritt (William Schallert) and Ruth Adams/Imogene Burkhart (Jean Byron), you had history instructor Rob “Lovebeads” Donovan (Steven Peterman), popular among the students because of his unconventional teaching methods (there was a running gag on the show in which Donovan would reminisce about his “radical” college years and always stop short when he was about to mention his partaking of weed).  Caitlin Adams played Allison Loomis, a liberated feminist (her area of teaching expertise varied from episode to episode) who was bitter about her ex-husband and hilariously called her class to order by running her fingernails down the chalkboard (the girls have a slumber party at her house in “Halloween XII,” another favorite of mine).  The principal, Winthrop Dingleman—you can probably guess what unfortunate nickname he was saddled with—was portrayed by sad sack actor Basil Hoffman as a golf-obsessed authoritarian, and Craig Richard Nelson turns up in several episodes as John Michael Spacek…who, despite the usual drama teacher stereotype, was married and had several kids.

The Pegs cast pose with Devo
Unlike Dobie Gillis, Square Pegs chose not to focus on the characters’ parents too much (preferring to reference them in jokes) though there were two exceptions: Leave it to Beaver’s Tony Dow plays Patty’s divorced father in “A Child’s Christmas in Weemawee”—a Yuletide-themed episode that ranks as the show’s low point (they try to stretch a half-hour show into an hour, with disastrous results; also, too: because this episode was split into two for syndication, it’s assumed there was twenty total episodes in the entire series when there was really just n-n-n-n-nineteen).  They fared better with introducing us to Muffy’s parental units in “Muffy’s Bat Mitzvah” (the Devo episode); character veterans William Bogert and Marj Dusay are Alan and Beverly Tepperman (Dusay also played the snooty ma of Lisa Whelchel’s Blair Warner on The Facts of Life—so this was a walk in the park for her), and as a bonus we get Dena “Mother Nature” Dietrich as Muffy’s hip aunt.  (Aunt Vida is quite taken with Johnny Slash, and much hilarity ensues.)

The cast of Hello, Larry (shudder)
I loved all the Square Pegs characters except for Marshall—it’s not that I found him pestiferous (I was the same kind of kid in high school, a pop culture-obsessed wiseass), it’s just that I wasn’t a fan of the actor who played him; I remembered John Femia from the loathsome sitcom Hello, Larry—a show I despised with the intensity of a thousand white-hot suns despite the presence of Kim Richards.  But my favorite character on Square Pegs was Jami Gertz’s Muffy Tepperman, chiefly because my graduating class was packed to the rafters with Muffies, male and female.  I thought Muffy hysterically funny because of her cluelessness (in one episode, she responds to one of Marshall’s barbs with “I’m going to ignore that…because, frankly, I don't get it”) and considered her one of the show’s most intriguing personas in that, unlike Pegs’ protagonists of Patty and Lauren, Muffy wasn’t motivated to be accepted socially—she was just driven by her constant need to take charge.  There was also an interesting streak of villainy in her character; in “To Serve Weemawee All My Days,” it’s Muffy who stirs up trouble (as head of the “Morals Club”) by trying to get Mr. Donovan fired when it’s revealed that outside of class he’s in a relationship with an unmarried woman (quelle scandal!).

"People..."
Addressing her classmates with an elongated “People…” and punctuating her vocabulary with “It behooves me to say” and “It’s incumbent upon me,” Muffy was also at the center of one of Square Pegs’ funniest running gags: her tireless fundraising efforts on behalf of “Rosarita,” Weemawee’s “adopted Guatemalan child.”  By the time “Hardly Working” aired, Muffy was soliciting fundage so that Rosarita could get cable television, and when Patty inadvertently lets slip to Muffy that Jennifer’s having to take a job waitressing she laments to Lauren: “When’s the next flight to Guatemala—I hear they have cable now.”  (Muffy goes completely over-the-top by organizing a “telethon” to help Jennifer out—something that meets with Marshall’s enthusiastic approval because it appeals to his show biz ambitions.  I’d like to think that had there been a second season of Square Pegs the show’s writers would have gotten around to fashioning an episode where we would be presented with a more vulnerable Muffy.)  Like Sarah Jessica Parker (Sex and the City), Jami Gertz had a prolific acting post-Pegs acting career, appearing in such films as The Lost Boys (1987) and Less Than Zero (1987) and sitcoms like the schlubby-guy-with-a-hot-wife Still Standing (2002-2006) …but nothing ever made me laugh harder than the actress’s turn as Tepperman.  (“Why are you calling that woman Muffy?” my mother asked one night as she was watching 1996’s Twister, in which Gertz plays Bill Paxton’s girlfriend.)

Bill Murray's character (here with Gertz and Steven Peterman) has a lot of fun at Muffy's expense (calling her "Muffin," "Muffler," and "Mothball") in "No Substitutions"...but Gertz reminisces that Murray called her "Chicago" when not filming and that he let her road-test his rented Mercedes.

Claudette Wells (with compact), Butrick, Gertz
Bill Murray plays a substitute teacher (he’s an actor who teaches in-between thespic gigs) in “No Substitutions,” which is inarguably Square Pegs’ finest hour.  He pairs up the kids in Ms. Loomis’ class in a “marriage experiment,” much to Patty’s dismay because Lauren ends up wedded to Vinnie while she remains single (“Great—you get to marry Vinnie Pasetta, and I get to learn life can be cruel…I could have learned that in gym.”).  Murray’s Jack McNulty offers to “marry” Patty, which makes Lauren jealous…and that jealousy spreads to Mr. Donovan, who resents how quickly the kids have made McNulty the most popular teacher on the Weemawee campus.  Now, having Bill Murray guest star on any episode of any sitcom would reap tremendous comedy benefits (Nelson recalls that Murray never did scenes a second time in the same way, and Beatts laughs when she relates how the actor called her up the night before shooting to tell her he was incarcerated in a Tijuana jail…yet he was actually calling from Los Angeles) but this episode is also falling-down funny because the stick-up-her-ass Muffy is paired off with the laidback Johnny Slash, much to her undisguised contempt.  After four days of misery, McNulty agrees to divorce the students—something Muffy is delighted about, but Johnny is mortified (“I think we ought to have a baby”).

Square Pegs' pop culture references (this one is from "No Joy in Weemawee" -- you might have to enlarge this to get the extra joke in the byline) have been frowned upon by a few critics...but a classic movie fan like myself finds them irresistible, with sequences riffing on everything from Frankenstein to The Godfather.  In fact, the funniest bit in the terrible Christmas episode occurs when Patty has a vision of herself in her dad's ice fishing cabin, devouring a shoe like Chaplin in The Gold Rush.

Square Pegs never had the luxury of a “series finale,” but the last episode, “The Arrangement,” is a pretty good capper to the sitcom.  Vinnie wants to throw Jennifer a six-month anniversary party, but he’s not going to get that opportunity if he doesn’t pass a crucial math test.  Jennifer and L.D. prevail upon Patty for help, and Patty agrees under the proviso that the two girls treat she and Lauren like people and not “lint” …and that they also get invited to the shindig.  (On Pegs, LaDonna always called Lauren and Patty “that fat girl” and “that fat girl’s friend.”  Muffy’s pet nicknames for the duo were “Stringbean” and “Fang,” but seemed blissfully unaware that L.D. referred to her as “that loud-mouthed girl.”)  Lauren can’t fathom why Jennifer and L.D. are being so nice to her (Patty has refrained from clueing her in on their deal), and their moment of social solidarity ends when the two popular girls tell our heroines at Vinnie’s party to amscray usterbay.  The dejected girls wind up at Johnny’s place, where they watch TV with Slash and Marshall…and then the cool band that played at Vinnie and Jennifer’s soiree shows up, because they’re friends with the Slashman.  “Arrangement” is an excellent example of Pegs’ underlying message that high school popularity is not the end-all and be-all.  I’d rather hang out with Patty and Lauren than the shallow and self-absorbed Jennifer and LaDonna.

Nelson's short, Pat Benatar-like haircut didn't pass muster with Anne Beatts...so she had to wear a wig "that looked like a squirrel."  Wells took the time to get hair braided and beaded...and wound up having to also wear a wig because the beads were the wrong color.  (Hair issues.)

Nelson and Wells, circa 2008
I mentioned earlier that there are interviews with some members of the Square Pegs’ cast included on the DVD set; I think it’s sweet that Tracy Nelson and Claudette Wells do their segment together because like their characters, they later became the best of friends (they explain they bonded because of “hair issues”).  (There’s also a nice tribute to Merritt Butrick—“Johnny Slash”—from those who participated; Butrick passed away in 1989 from toxoplasmosis and AIDS-related complications.)  What amused me about these segments is that all the interviewees (not too surprising coming from Beatts, who used her own matriculating experiences as the spark plug for the series) seem to identify with the Patty and Lauren characters and admit that they, too, were “square pegs” in high school—just once I’d love to see someone blurt out “Yes, I was phenomenally popular in high school; I spoke fluent cheerleader and made the other students’ lives a living hell.”  (If you think I’m exaggerating about my outsider status during “the best years of my life,” I have people who will sign affidavits as to my geekdom.)  Square Pegs would later pave the way for similar high school series like Freaks and Geeks and a gazillion lame Disney Channel sitcoms, but there’s a reason why I never embraced the cult show My So-Called Life like its devoted fan base—I’d seen teen angst portrayed much better on the earlier Pegs…and in a much funnier fashion, too.

Monday, May 22, 2017

“Well…how-dee do!”


Rick Mitz, author of The Great TV Sitcom Book, once joked that Amos ‘n’ Andy constituted the “two dirty words” of American broadcasting (and he even thought the “’n’” suspect).  I myself refer to the program as “the third rail” of old-time radio, insomuch as the medium’s first true phenomenon has been clouded with controversy ever since its premiere over Chicago’s WMAQ on March 19, 1928 (the show went national over NBC’s Red network in August of 1929) and stayed with the show long after it left the airwaves on November 25, 1960.  Created by Freeman Gosden and Charles Correll, two vaudeville performers who had a talent for black dialect, the long-running serial/sitcom began as Sam ‘n’ Henry over rival Windy City station WGN in 1926; the two men left the following year after a dispute with the station…and since they were unable to use the “Sam ‘n’ Henry” name (it was still owned by WGN) they changed the name of the characters to their better known alliterative association.

Freeman Gosden & Charles Correll
Amos ‘n’ Andy was one of the Golden Age of Radio’s most durable programs in addition to most popular.  In its early years (1928-43) it was a comedy serial, and its history is documented in a first-rate McFarland book penned by my fellow Radio Spirits scribe Elizabeth McLeod, The Original Amos ‘n’ Andy.  (McLeod has always championed that the serialized Amos ‘n’ Andy presented its characters in a sympathetic fashion—that it was only when the show adopted its sitcom format that the racial stereotypes became more blatant.)  From 1943 to 1955, it was presented as a weekly half-hour sitcom, and from 1954 to 1960, the show played out its waning radio years as The Amos ‘n’ Andy Music Hall—a weeknight program with Gosden and Correll performing skits as their characters while spinning records as disc jockeys.  Amos ‘n’ Andy made the eventual transition to television (casting African-American performers in the title and supporting roles, of course) in 1951 but CBS-TV would cancel the series two years later despite its popularity, under protest from organizations like the NAACP…and in 1966, CBS completely removed Amos ‘n’ Andy from its syndication package.  (The Wikipedia entry for Amos ‘n’ Andy notes that Rejoice TV, “a small independent television and Internet network in Houston,” reran the show in 2012…though there’s scant mention as to whether CBS, which purchased the rights to the series from its creators in 1948, brought in their team of attorneys.)

With the cancellation of The Amos ‘n’ Andy Music Hall, Freeman Gosden and Charles Correll weren’t quite ready to abandon the characters that made them famous…and with the prompting of ABC, anxious to duplicate the success of their hit animated series The Flintstones, they came up with an idea that would allow them to continue the show in cartoon form.  It was not a new idea; a cartoon version of Amos ‘n’ Andy had actually been attempted as far back as 1934 at the Van Beuren Studios but after two entries (The Rasslin’ Match and The Lion Tamer) the series was abandoned.  This time around, Freeman and Charlie would lend their characterizations to a pair of anthropomorphic animals…and Calvin and the Colonel was born.

Charlie & Gos with their cartoon counterparts
The “Colonel” was Colonel Montgomery J. Klaxon (voiced by Gosden), a crafty Kingfish-like fox who ostensibly ran a real estate firm but more often than not was involved in any number of get-rich-quick schemes.  Like his radio counterpart, the Colonel possessed a streak of larceny and many of the Calvin and Colonel episodes would find the character cooling his heels in the cartoon animal hoosegow.  The “Andy” of the series was Calvin J. Burnside (cartoon characters seem awfully fond of “J” as a middle initial for some reason), a dimwitted bear (Correll) who, depending on the situation, either served as the Colonel’s patsy or confederate in whatever scheme Klaxon had cooking on the burner.  Calvin and the Colonel didn’t really have an “Amos” character (though Andrew “Grover” Leal has posited that that function was fulfilled in the minor character of “Gloria,” Calvin’s manicurist girlfriend voiced by Gloria Blondell) but by the time Amos ‘n’ Andy had reached its radio sitcom stage the character of Amos Jones had started to take a backseat to the Kingfish-Andy shenanigans anyway.  (An acquaintance of mine who had just started listening to the radio show once asked me: “Why isn’t this series called Kingfish ‘n’ Andy?”)

The Colonel had a Sapphire-like spouse in Maggie Belle (voiced by Virginia Gregg)—although her name is spelled “Maggi Belle” in the show’s closing credits, I’m going to go with “Maggie.”  Instead of having to put up with a mother-in-law like the Kingfish, Colonel Klaxon suffered under the domineering thumb of Susan Culpepper (Beatrice Kay)—Maggie Belle’s sister, affectionately known as “Sister Sue.”  The character of Maggie Belle is not one of Ginny’s finest thespic hours, mostly because of the severe limitations of the role (she’s there to be a constant scold to the Colonel and little else) …but Kay doesn’t come off that much better (though I do giggle when she calls The Colonel an “old foof”).  I believe this can be explained by the fact that the radio counterparts of Sapphire and “Mama” were also rather thinly written…yet I wish they had considered letting Ernestine Wade and/or Amanda Randolph perform the Maggie Belle/Sister Sue roles to give their cartoon counterparts a little more oomph.  (I can certainly understand the reluctance to do this, though.)  The remaining character on Calvin and the Colonel was “Judge” Oliver Wendell Clutch (Paul Frees)—a shady lawyer (appropriately portrayed in weasel form) who the Colonel was always asking for advice (Clutch was the show’s Stonewall/Algonquin J. Calhoun counterpart).

Bob Mosher & Joe Connelly
Calvin and the Colonel was produced by Joe Connelly and Bob Mosher through their company Kayro Productions…and if it seems a little odd that the two men responsible for Leave it to Beaver and The Munsters would get involved with a project like this, it’s because Connelly and Mosher not only wrote many of the original half-hour Amos ‘n’ Andy radio scripts but the TV ones as well.  Many of the Calvin and Colonel teleplays are credited to Joe and Bob, mostly because they dusted off a lot of their earlier Amos ‘n’ Andy efforts and recycled them for their “funny animals.”  Even though Amos ‘n’ Andy earned a fair share of criticism for promoting unflattering racial stereotypes, there was never any real malice in the program’s content—you could read the scripts without the black dialect and still enjoy a fitfully funny sitcom…which is why Calvin and the Colonel works so well, in my opinion.  The only thing that gave me pause about the animated series was that Calvin seemed to have an eye for a lot of females who were not of the ursine persuasion (I chortled at the thought of fundamentalists having a field day with this dating “outside of his species”) though he does get engaged to a female bear in “Calvin’s Glamour Girl.”

My interest in Calvin and the Colonel was stoked by the recent Oldies.com purchase of three volumes of the show released by Alpha Video.  I’d previously watched an episode or two at YouTube, but the more episodes I tuck under my belt the more I enjoy this pleasurable little series.  I’ll state right off the bat that this is due in large part to my familiarity with the source material, but as someone who loves old-time radio I think like-minded folks will follow my lead.  It’s quite hooty hearing the voices of Kingfish and Andy emanate from a fox and a bear, and in addition to the regular cast you’ll hear OTR/character favorites (in various episodes) like Joe Flynn, Jesse White, Frank Nelson, Barney Phillips, Will Wright, June Foray, Howard McNear, Hans Conried, Charlie Cantor, Frank Gerstle, Marvin Miller, Elvia Allman, Forrest Lewis, Olan Soule, and Peter Leeds.  (“It’s too piercing, man…too piercing.”)

It’s television animation, of course, but despite the limited budget the style of Calvin and the Colonel is reminiscent of that in the creations of Jay Ward (Rocky and His Friends) or Total Television (King Leonardo, Underdog).  A 2006 post at Michael Sporn Animation notes that the company who produced Calvin was TV Cartoons/Creston Studios (who also did the non-Jay Ward version of Crusader Rabbit), and the roster of talent that cranked out the installments included Chuck McKimson, Norm Gottfredson, Lee Mishkin, Phil Roman, John Sparey, Ben Washam, Tom McDonald, Volus Jones, Dave Weidman, Jim Davis, and Bob Bemiller—“They were more WB & Disney people unlike the Hanna Barbera shows which initially seemed to use more of their MGM cohorts.”

That post also observes that Calvin and the Colonel was the “second prime time show to premiere” after The Flintstones—which I don’t think is entirely accurate if The Bugs Bunny Show is worked into the equation (you can argue that the animation on Bugs had already appeared in motion picture theatres…but the segments that introduced the cartoons had not).  (Television Obscurities notes that CBS Cartoon Theater even predated The Flintstones by four years—though like Bugs, the show featured shorts previously unspooled in theatres.)  It is accurate to say that the success of that “modern Stone Age family” ushered in a slew of prime-time cartoon efforts in the 1961-62 season, with Calvin joined by the premiers of The Bullwinkle Show (okay, technically a continuation of Rocky and His Friends), The Alvin Show, and Top Cat.  Calvin only lasted two months in its 8:30pm Tuesday slot (stiff competition from Alfred Hitchcock Presents and The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis) before it returned in January of the following year to a Saturday time slot (7:30pm) to fulfill its obligation to sponsor Lever Brothers.  It then made Saturday a permanent home—mornings, that is—for another year before fading from the small screen landscape.

Calvin and The Colonel working for the sponsor.
Though produced in color, Calvin and the Colonel originally aired in black-and-white…which is why so many of the prints you’ll find at YouTube and elsewhere are presented in monochromatic form (most of the sources I’ve consulted question as to whether the series was ever syndicated), except for the program’s inaugural episode, “The Television Job”…


…which I will graciously share here with you until some hoser pulls the YouTube plug.  “Job” (the black-and-white version), “The Polka Dot Bandit,” “Thanksgiving Dinner,” and “The Costume Ball” are featured on Alpha’s first volume of the series, while Volume 2 includes “Sycamore Lodge,” “Wheeling and Dealing,” “Sister Sue’s Sweetheart,” and “Nephew Newton’s Fortune.”  (“Wheeling” is one of my favorite Calvin outings—The Colonel is under orders from the women in his life to ship Nephew Newton’s car to him out on the West Coast…but he and Calvin have a mishap that results in Newton's ride being filled with cement.  It’s an unusual episode in that The Colonel emerges victorious in this one—at the end of the show, he breaks the fourth wall as he enjoys breakfast in bed: “I know I didn’t earn all this love and affection, but…I’m a married man, so I’m gonna take what little I can get.”)

But if you’re like me and there’s often too much month at the end of the money, Volume 3 is the Alpha Calvin and the Colonel collection is the one you should get—it features four color episodes in “The Colonel’s Old Flame,” “Sister Sue and the Police Captain” (this one was an episode I watched on YouTube—in color!—but it has apparently been yanked), “Calvin’s Glamour Girl,” and “Colonel Out-Foxes Himself.”  This last one is very funny (it’s the one on which I heard Conried and Cantor), as The Colonel attempts “The Pocketbook Swindle” after it’s been pulled on him…with unsuccessful results.  Animation history king Jerry Beck calls the show “illustrated radio” …which is certainly fair, though I’ve heard the same term applied to much of the Hanna-Barbera product as well, and Calvin and the Colonel can certainly hold its own with Huck, Yogi, and the rest of my childhood heroes.

I told Grover I'd only buy these dolls if one of them said "Holy mackerel, Calvin!"

Dell Comics published two Calvin and the Colonel comic books in 1962 (one of which was in their “Four Color” series, which is why the second issue was labeled “#2”) and Milton Bradley released a board game to capitalize on the (non)popularity of the program (Leal also notes that there were “Calvin” and “The Colonel” dolls available for purchase—they talk, too!—and Beck has published this image of a C&C coloring book)—you can find the board game/comic books on eBay, if you’re curious.  I’d settle for a DVD release of the complete series only because I believe it’s much better than its reputation and it doesn’t deserve its current obscurity.