Preserving the 1000 Greatest Icons and Significant Events of Television History... A project by Greg Howell exploring the history and development of television and its cultural impact.
Late in the long run of the Carol Burnett Show, after a decade on television, this classic variety show was funnier than ever. On November, 13, 1976, episode #238 opened with typical Burnett banter with the audience, and announcing the show's guest, Dinah Shore.
It was the last half hour of the broadcast that can still produce a roomful of laughter just speaking about it! The sketch, Went with the Wind, was timed with the television premiere broadcast of the movie classic, Gone With the Wind. Carol Burnett parodied Scarlett, Dinah Shore played Miss Mellie, Harvey Korman mocked Rhett, and Vickie Lawrence, nearly stealing the show, spoofed Prissy.
The sketch created a greatly condensed version of the movie, and produced one of the most iconic moments in television history. Scarlett, in attempt to look fresh and successful, rips the green velvet drapes down from the window to make a new gown. From the top of the grand stairs, Carol Burnett's Scarlett decends in her new dress, with the curtain rods still attached. As one of the longest laughs in television history finally subsided, Rhett complements her dress and Burnett replies, "Thank you, I saw it in the window and just had to have it."
Trivia: It should be noted that an almost equally funny paradoy of Gone With the Wind had appeared on TV's Here's Lucy four years before, with guest star Flip Wilson, and over the years some viewers have confused and combined the two sketches. Almost no one, however, confuses the iconic image of Burnett's Scarlett O'Hara, as it is permanently burned into the fabric of American culture.
In the mid-1980s, Moonlighting reshaped and broadened the television landscape. Notorious for mixing tense drama and side-splitting comedy, this television masterpiece influenced the direction of television like no other show of its era. On November 25, 1986, "Atomic Shakespeare" demolished old television devices and created a fresh new approach for entertainment. The episode opens with a young boy obligated to read "The Taming of the Shrew" as homework, but the young tyke would prefer instead to watch the TV show "Moonlighting". This scenario bookends the episode, as the kid daydreams that the Moonlighting cast, including Petruchio Dave and Kate Madie, perform a feminist take of "The Taming of the Shrew," in full iambic pentameter.
The complexity of the writing, including the self-mocking show-with-in-a-show formula, was landmark. Television networks (and cable) began to push for the development of smarter programming. It was cable that paid the most attention, however, as broadcast networks continued to demand too many episodes per season for this type of production. Moonlighting, refusing to litter their catalog with filler episodes, set a new standard for production companies. Ultimately, Moonlighting's refusal to create a 22 episode season was muddied by ABC's demanding schedule of repeats, and the smash show lost viewers.
In 2007, television viewers who love cable TV's superior, shorter season series of 12 to 15 episodes with superior production values, such as the Sopranos, Curb Your Enthusiasm, and Rome, can thank "Atomic Shakespeare" and Moonlighting.
By 1985, MTV had revolutionized the music industry. Video had killed the radio star, and, naturally, MTV decided it was time to hand out some awards. The first MTV Video Music Awards was hosted by Bette Midler and Dan Ackroyd, setting the tone that this was not your parents' Grammy show, but a youthful celebration of everything edgy, decadent, and dangerous. It was a perfect fit for their "virgin" broadcast that newcomer Madonna debut her single from her second album.
On September 14, 1984, fans and video artist filled New York City's Radio City Music Hall to watch rock stars David Bowie, Tina Turner, Cyndi Lauper inaugarate the latest incarnation of Hollywood self-indulgence. Catching everyone by surprise, however, was the relatively new star, Madonna.
Rising from the stage on a giant wedding cake, a fully-veiled Madonna launched into "Like a Virgin" in full wedding attire and a "Boy Toy" belt buckle. As she stripped her wedding veil, Madonna introduced herself to the world as true performance artist. By the song's end, Madonna was literally writhing and grinding on the stage floor. Audiences at home and in the auditorium went wild, and the performance catapulted Madonna into the stratosphere. Not since Elvis had a television performance caught America so off-guard. It would hardly be the last time that Madonna would push the envelope and stir up controversy.
All the evidence pointed to a premeditated crime of passion. A six inch knife purchased days before the murder measured the same depth of the stab wounds. The suspect had been spotted in the neighboorhood, running a redlight in his Ford Bronco, around the time of the murders. A waiting limo driver witnessed a tall, dark figure race through the yard and immediately into the house, where the suspect finally answered the limo driver's repeated calls. The suspect says, out of breath, "he overslept." The suspect had planned a last minute trip to Chicago, and was scheduled to leave for the airport immediately!
Once the DNA was analyzed, the suspect's blood was found intermingled with the two murder victims, including on a glove left behind. Also left behind were a set of six bloody footprints, all from the same person, seemingly a man with expensive taste in shoes. Perhaps the most incriminating aspect were the corpses. Violently and repeatedly stabbed, each the hallmark of a crime of passion. O.J. Simpson's violent past and abuse toward his ex-wife fit the pattern. He was the prime suspect.
Of course, this is the infamous murders of Nicole Simpson and Ron Goldman. The suspect, football legend turned actor O.J. Simpson, on June 16, 1994 attended Nicole's funeral, falling on the casket and begging forgiveness. The next day, with so much evidence studied, analyzed, and tested, it all pointed to O.J. Simpson.
Simpson's attorney, Robert Kardashian, was notified the morning of June 17 to report with his client to the LAPD headquarters. O.J. never arrived, and 3 police cars were dispatched to Kardashan's home, where O.J. Simpson was staying. Kardashian, however, tells the police that O.J. and friend Al Cowling drove away in Cowling's white Ford Bronco and never returned.
At 2:00 p.m., LAPD Spokesperson and Commander David Gascon announce at a Park Center press conference that O.J. Simpson was a fugitve on the run. A warrant had been issued for his arrest as the suspected murderer of Ron Goldman and Nicole Simpson.
By 5 pm, with an all points bulletin issued for the capture and arrest of Simpson, Robert Kardashan held an impromptu press conference to publicly plea for O.J. to turn himself into the Los Angeles Police Department. Kardashian also read an ambigious, desperate note from O.J., seemingly suicidal, proclaiming his innocence within a lengthy, meandering letter.
It was not long before the LAPD traced Simpson and Cowling's cellphone location within Orange County, and at 6:45 pm, Cowling's white Ford Bronco was spotted driving north on Interstate-5. Soon a trail of police cars and helicopters were hovering on the slowly traveling Bronco. Cowling reported by cell phone that Simpson was suicidal and holding a gun to his own head, threatening to kill himself. With this, feverish coverage by news media began. Every major network halted regular programming to cover this odd, unintentional event. Within minutes, millions of viewers tuned in to watch the birds-eye view of the white Bronco traveling a mere 40 miles per hour. Slowly and delibertly, it weaved between traffic. Soon, the interstate was lined with cars and people, many carrying signs reading "Go, OJ, GO!" Crowds on overpasses shouted, and cheered, as if the event was a parade for a ballgame.
The dawdling police chase was like some surreal action movie filmed in slow motion. The impromptu television event lasted for hours, as American's sat glued to watch the story unfold. After hours of slow motion drama, driver Cowling moved toward the Simpson address at Rockingham Avenue, and television viewers stayed tune to see the final outcome. Would O.J. Simpson kill himself? Would he surrender? Would he attempt another getaway?
As 8 pm Pacific time approached, the plodding journey ended as the now famous white Bronco arrived at Simpson's home. Also waiting were 27 LAPD swat team members, a dozens of other specialist, negotiators, and assault teams. Even so, O.J. Simpson refused to leave the Bronco, and sat huddled inside, still with the gun to his head. At 8:45 pm, once O.J. Simpson was prevailed to exit the Bronco and face his arrest, the viewers received their denouement. Found in the white Ford Bronco was Simpson's passport, a disguise kit, a loaded Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum and $8000.
The final tally was that 95 million U.S. viewers watched the event unfold that night. It was the end of the chase but just the beginning of the story called the "Murder of the Century." Over the next year, Simpson was the lead televsion news story. He even eclipsed Elvis Presley as the #1 most-googled name on the internet. O.J. Simpson was the most famous man on earth.
Newsweek called it "the most shamelessly corny show in years"; Time magazine declared "the pone is the lowest form of humor...a program that is dedicated to finding out how many times the same joke can be repeated." Even the New York Times couldn't resist a dig, declaring "The Beverly Hillbillies is steeped in enough twanging guitar and rural no-think to make each half-hour seem like sixty minutes." TV talkshow host David Susskind seriously begged "the few intelligent people left" to write Congress to get the show off the air.
The American public, however, begged to differ. The Beverly Hillbillies was #1 within just three weeks of its first broadcast in the fall of 1962. The Beverly Hillbillies and Who Wants to Be A Millionaire are the only TV shows to become the #1 ranked program of the year its first, freshman season. Not I Love Lucy, not Dallas, not Cosby, not American Idol, nor even the $64,000 Question can claim that feat. Audiences ate up the "fish out of water" concept like a fresh-from-the-oven TV Dinner. Early during the show's second season, ratings continued to hold strong at #1, but just above Bonanza, Candid Camera, Red Skelton, and Lucy.
Then national tragedy struck! When President Kennedy was assassinated Thanksgiving weekend that fall of 1963, the stunned nation dissolved into mass depression. The entire Kennedy saga was a cataclysm that played before American eyes in their living rooms, and for weeks after the assassination, television assisted viewers make sense of it all.
By Christmas and the end of the year, weary Americans were ready to move forward, and primed for some mindless, harmless escapism. The Beverly Hillbillies came to the rescue. Beginning January 1 and for the next seven weeks, American's tuned into the Clampett clan in record-breaking droves. Mystified critics again protested, but over 60,000,000 viewers turned a deaf ear. The January 8th episode, The Giant Jackrabbit, became the highest rated television program ever broadcast; and, as of 2007, it still remains the highest rated half-hour program in television history. A cool dozen Beverly Hillbillies shows from these post-assasination days currently rank in the list of Top 100 Highest Rated Television programs of All-Time.
For much of the coming spring, the nation continued to heal with a weekly dose of gentle, home-spun humour. By summer and fall of 1964, the hillbillies' ratings swell passed, and the show tumbled to a respectable 12th place showing. It had done its job and notably by bringing comedic relief and a "heaping helping of hospitality" to a devastated nation.
During the telecast of David & Bathsheba on the NBC Monday Night Movie, the most controversial presidential advertisment in the history of television and politics aired. Democratic incumbent Lyndon B. Johnson approved the campaign ads depicting a typical American girl in a field of daisies. As she plucks petals from the daisy, charmingly mis-counting to ten, the voice over begins to count down to a nuclear explosion, then visuals of a giant mushroom cloud. Johnson's voice-over begins "These are the stakes! To make a world in which all of God's children can live, or to go into the dark. We must either love each other, or we must die." Another voiceover then says, "Vote for President Johnson on November 3. The stakes are too high for you to stay home."
The public outcry was so great the the Johnson camp pulled the ad. It only aired once, but, despite the uproar, the advertisement is credited as the major factor in Johnson's defeat of Barry Goldwater. The campaign spot and coverage of it continued on television news programs for the remaining few weeks prior to the election.
It's effectiveness, despite the deplorable, desperate fear tactics and public protest, was not forgotten. In the 2006, the Bush campaign revived the ad's "These Are The Stakes" theme to promote democrats as soft on terror.
Imagine if we lived in a world in which the most ghastly visuals of death and destruction were displayed on television, and schools encouraged children to rush home to watch them. Well, we do live in that world, at least we did in November, 1983. The Day After was a special effects laden made-for-TV-movie with wooden acting and dialogue. Billed by ABC television as "the most important movie ever made," it certainly propagated the biggest build-up and publicity of any movie ever made. Tossing character development and scientific fact aside, the centerpiece was a 6 minute orgy of unimaginable devastation of a nuclear blast. Witnessed on television by over 100,000,000 adults and children, those 6 minutes exploited every potential scenario of nuclear war, including vivid scenes of human disintegration. Thanks to a mixture of big budget effects and pentagon stock footage, those six minutes terrorized the nation.
A study from the Journal of Applied Psychology reported that just the commercial build-up to the broadcast jointly depressed and horrified the nation, even by those who did not watch the broadcast; and, "that The Day After and the surrounding controversy had a substantial impact on many dimensions including the salience of nuclear war, feelings of personal efficacy, affect related to the idea of a nuclear war, intentions to engage in anti-nuclear behavior, estimates of the probability that a nuclear war would occur, and beliefs about the likelihood and desirability of survival." The timing was significant, as well, with a newly instigated President Reagan pushing his Star Wars defense system and renewed warnings against communism.
Perhaps the most abhorrent aspect of the production was that children were encouraged to watch, even if with counsel. There were reports of children hiding in closets after the fictional blast, and, of course, no one dared point out that all that nuclear fallout was just Kellogg's Corn Flakes painted white. Nonetheless, where the movie truly succeeded artistically was the unforgettable imagery, images that would linger in minds for decades. There was the moment the world stopped--in this case, a ball game-- to watch the minute men missiles lifting into the air; the quick-cut editing of human flesh melting to bone; the moment of power failure seconds before the strike; the masses of burned bodies, literally in human piles. ABC, at least, showed a nuance of good judgment by withholding commercials after the blast occurred midway through the movie. While ABC attempted to psychologically right the telecast with a Ted Koppel special to sooth the nation, it felt more like a clever strategy to recoup ad time and extend the two hour event, particularly with Carl Sagan suggesting the movie soft-peddled the true horror of nuclear war. Sagan notoriously stated that nuclear proliferation was tantamount to both the U.S. and Russia standing in waist-deep pools of gasoline, one with 3 matches and the other with 5.
Beyond the television movie's fear-mongering and pandering focus and blow by blow account of nuclear devastation, there was at least one positive result. Many Americans began to protest continued development of nuclear weapons. President Reagan, however, writing in his diary, cited the movie as "greatly depressing him" and two weeks later he deployed two additional nuclear missles to Western Europe. Ultimately, the film only heightened the arms race and fears of nuclear war.
On the eve of the home video explosion, TV viewers gathered at the same time, on the same channel, entering a type of national collective consciousness, as millions of minds, eyes, and ears would be tuned to their favorite programs. Some programming, such as Mary Tyler Moore (and much like I Love Lucy, Dick Van Dyke, and All In the Family) promised better televsion than most shows, and on occassion, transcended into thirty minutes of excellence to be discusssed, not just the coming week over watercoolers, but for decades.
October 25, 1975 was one such rare occassion. Just a month into the new 6th season, Mary Tyler Moore took the unlikely comedic subject matter of death and left America doubled over from laughter. As our heroine Mary Richards listens, aghast, the WJM crew crack joke after joke about Chuckles the Clown's disturbing death. Dressed as a large peanut, he was crushed in a parade by a rogue elephant. Mary's dismay represents the moral view, and home viewers respected her struggle with the entire station's flip, disrespectful conduct. At the same time, the jokes about Chuckle's death were hysterical.
Of course, the payoff is Mary Richards, in the midst of the funeral service, as all involved have shamed themselves into respectful silence, gets the giggles. As the minister eulogizes, "If only we could all deal with it as simple and bravely and honestly as Mr. Fee-Fi-Fo. And what did Chuckles ask in return? Not much--in his own words--"A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants," our heroine can hold the laughter in no more.
Turning in a performance ranking as great as any Lucille Ball accomplishment, Moore's transcendance into gut-bursting laughter toward a final, embarrassed gut-wrenching wail is a comedic masterpiece. The entire viewing audience knew they had just witnessed a very special televison moment.
Maude, the radical spin-off from All In the Family, was even more controversial than Archie Bunker. Brash, loud, and feminist, Maude Finley was a character like no other before on television. Just ten episodes into the series, Norman Lear's comedy created one of the biggets television controversies of the decade. 47 year old Maude discovered she was pregnant. This was before the Supreme Court's landmark Roe vs. Wade decision, but Maude decided to have an abortion.
Titled Maude's Dilemma, the two-part episode unfurls plot devices dealing with the abortion, and also birth control as Walter considers a vasectomy. Over 25,000 letters were written in protest, yet 65 million viewers tuned in. The boycotted show produced a little expected result: CBS, and the entire television industry, discovered that extremely controversial television brought blockbuster ratings, and Maude hovered in the top ten for the next 4 years.
Maude's Dilemma started a revolution as various advocacy groups turned their attention to television. Religious groups, African-Americans, Gays & Lesbians, and Hispanics began to threaten networks and advertisers with boycotts. A 1989 New York Times article, Taming of the Tube, "details a more chilling story of human vulnerability to power and corruption: how again and again the networks craftily subverted idealistic protesters by offering them official status as consultants, thus transforming them, if not into pussycats, at least into well-behaved beasts of burden, unwittingly laboring to help the networks achieve their primary goal: higher ratings for the very programs under protest." By the home video explosion in the 1980's, the networks were using hot-button topics to actually lure viewers back to television .
In an interview with USA Today, Maude's star Bea Arthur describes her experience portraying "the liberal, 4-time married adversary of Archie Bunker, "She was not your average, beautiful heroine, but I felt like Cinderella," says Arthur, now 83. "It was one of the first times on television that a woman was seen as the head of the family instead of the usual fumbling male."
Legendary producer Fred Coe helmed NBC's Philco-Goodyear Television Playhouse. He incorporated a pool of talented writers and encouraged the development of original television plays, referred to as teleplays. Early in the series run, writer Paddy Chayefsky delivered a script titled Marty, based on Chayefsky's observations of a singles bar located in the same building as Philco Playhouse.
Marty aired May 24, 1953 and was directed by Delbert Mann. Star Rod Steiger delivered an emotional, tour de force performance and the entire production set off a whirlwind of press attention and critical acclaim. New York Times, for the first time, delivered a full page critique on a television production, something previously only done for movies. Marty indicated a turning point for television production. Live teleplays with strong actors and excellent scripts became a benchmark for TV anthology shows, and presented quality entertainment only before seen on Broadway.
A few years later, the same play, also directed by Mann, was made into an Academy Award winning film, another first for television. Television, after Marty, began to create original works considered high caliber enough for film and stage.
This I Love Lucy story arc is the pinnacle of the television event for entertainment. As Christmas, 1952 approached, TV's top show was enjoying record-breaking ratings and enormous publicity. American audiences had flipped for Lucy Ricardo's independent spirit and Lucille Ball's comic genius. The second season premiere, the famous "candy factory episode" had placed Ball and the show at the top echelon of comedy, not just for TV, but any comedy ever preserved on film.
In deed, Lucille Ball's brilliant performance created a character so sharp and so complex, audiences had taken her into their hearts and families almost instantly. Most actors are lucky if they are capable of resonating a few distinct character traits, but Ball's Lucy Ricardo came to life through hundreds of nuances. Take a minute to describe Lucy Ricardo. She was zany, independent, determined, conniving, maniupulative, inventive, loving, and fiery. She was loyal, envious, smart, sexy, cheerful, agressive, and feminine. She was humorous, imaginitive, sophisticated, and fearless. This excercize could go on for hours. No other television character in history was as well defined or expertly crafted. And in December, 1952, Lucy Ricardo was about to fold "maternal" into the list of character traits.
America responded as never before and never since. The first "baby" episode is a masterpiece, establishing the intense joy and excitement of a new baby. Through 7 episodes that holiday season, the anticipation grew. When would it happen? What was the baby's sex? The entire story arc was the talk of America.
As word was leaked that January 18, 1953 was the date for the baby's birth, as well as the real date for the birth of Lucille Ball's baby, the two events combined into one, unprecedented explosion of publicity and outpouring of national emotion. The January 18 episode captured almost two-thirds of the audience. 71.7% of Americans with television watched the birth of the Ricardo baby. More people watched the episode than watched Eisenhower's inaugaration the previous day. More people watched the birth of Little Ricky than watched the coronation of Queen Elizabeth earlier in the year. Newspapers in large cities and small towns exclaimed on front pages, "LUCY HAS A BOY!," and above headlines related to Ike's inaugaration or politics. Walter Winchell reported it a "banner week" as "the nation got a President, and Lucy got a boy."
The influence, both in culture and entertainment, was staggering. The use of story arcs became a television staple. I Love Lucy began a merchandising campaign that still resonates today. Little Ricky dolls, cribs, pajamas, and furnishing made the Arnaz's tens of millions of dollars. And television immediately became THE favored medium in America. It is nearly impossible to fully describe the baby show's impact and longevity.
Even as recently as 2006, the Ricardo baby was used to define the excitement surrounding the Cruise-Holmes baby by ABC News. In a lengthy discussion, ABC News acknowledged "The hoopla over the baby girl born Tuesday to Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes recalls another highly anticipated birth 53 years ago arguably, one of the most-covered births of the 20th century."
David Susskind was the forerunner to Donahue, Geraldo, Bill O'Reilly, and Dick Cavett, but in truth, Susskind came across as a psuedo-intellectual New Yorker more closely related to current day Bill Maher. His confrontational approach created a show in which anything could happen. Over the years, beginning in 1958, Susskind, a former actor, covered hot-button topics ranging from the Vietnam War, mixed marriages, homosexuality, and civil rights mixed with general doses of celebrity interviews.
In late September, 1960, the United Nations had gathered in New York City, uniting leaders from around the world. News cameras continuously captured international dignitaries on film for broadcast. In early October, one such film was made of Nikita Khrushchev and Fidel Castro, embracing on the streets of New York. The footage put America, steep in the Cold War, on alert. For several years, the United States had cut ties with Fidel Castro, including refusing to import Cuba's sugar or allow American-owned oil refineries based in Cuba to refine oil for Cuba. The financial strain on Cuba was significant, and, as a final resort to the U.S. embargo, Castro declared the Cuban government communist to become an ally with Russia. Russia needed Cuba's exports. This backdrop was the setting for the Khrushchev-Castro embrace captured on film.
David Susskind's show, Open End, was so titled because the show's episode ran as long as needed to cover the topic. In mid October, 1960, Susskind invited Nikita Khrushchev to appear for an interview. Khrushchev was prepared to expose any hypocrisy and propaganda, and the usually unbeatable Susskind had met his match. For 2 hours, Khrushchev pummeled Susskind's anti-Russian and anti-Castro's rants, embarrassing Susskind and the nation. It was even more unfortunate when a anti-communism commercial ran mid-way through the live event. Khrushchev, realizing what had just happened, commented about the "trickery."
Susskind delivered long patriotic orations and attempted to appear statesman-like, but Khrushchev exposed Susskind's flip behavior. When Susskind remarked to Khrushchev, "You are baying at the moon", Khrushchev, according to Time Magazine, "gave him a naughty-boy dressing down, beginning by asking Susskind's age (39) and suggesting he had much to learn." Throughout the interview, Khrushchev was amiable, calm, and on-target.
The fallout created nationally about the appearance was staggering, especially considering only people in the Northeast saw the late night program. "Damn it," said David Susskind after the show, "I don't think I'm a wild egomaniac destroying Western civilization. I did my best with Khrushchev." The Washington Post reported two days after the Sunday broadcast that Susskind's sponsors walked off the show; but, the negative publicity, rather than back-firing on David Susskind, pushed his northeast program into national syndication.
It remained on the air until his death in 1987. His confrontational style impacted the direction of talk shows, and ultimately, to a more sensational approach to journalism.
Sources: Time Magazine, The Washington Post, Encyclopedia of Television, New York Times
David Lynch's films, Eraserhead, Elephant Man, and Blue Velvet, had sparked a cult following due to his edgy, intimate, and dark technique. When it was announced that Lynch had landed on the 1989 fall TV schedule with his new mini-series, there was immediate buzz, publicity and interest. Time Magazine called him the "czar of bizarre." Entertainment Weekly boasted the "triumph of Twin Peaks" even before the program aired. ABC decided, however, to hold the show until spring, offering 6 months of build-up and an option to continue Twin Peaks as a regular series in the fall of 1990.
Sunday, April 8, 1990, viewers were lured to television to see if there was any merit to all the hype. From the episode's beginning, it was obvious that a very different kind of television program was unfolding. As the body of teenage Laura Palmer is unwrapped from heavy plastic, the intense sound of crinkling plastic unveiling her pale blue face established this as no ordinary television show.
Slowly, intensely and starkly, the two-hour launch unfolded in gut-wrenching drama as the viewer witnesses the reaction, character by character, of the discovery of the death of the popular teen. The production's subdued blue tones and intense close-up photography wowed the audience, particularly disturbing scenes like the magnified lens capturing a tiny, hand-held pick removing evidence from underneath the dead body's fingernails. These visuals often played under the sumptous, eerie soundtrack. The end of the episode left everyone eagar for the next installment, scheduled 4 days away, as the installment's end provided possible connections of Laura to cocaine use and prostitution.
The overnight ratings placed it at the top for the night, and 5th place for the week. According to Brandon Tartikoff, however, he was stunned to learn that Lynch could care less how huge the ratings were, and concluded that avant-garde Lynch was "even more dangerous than we thought." By Thursday, the American audience had been whipped into a gossipy frenzy over the quirky, ominous premiere and stay tuned. Being scheduled opposite to TV's top show, Cheers, suddenly seemed irrelevant. America had to know more about Laura Palmer.
While the remaining 7 episodes maintained the quality and audience, Lynch pushed the viewers to the brink with promises of revealing the murderer by the end of the season. It did not happen, however, and much of the audience eroded after the May finale. It was the remarkable premiere, however, that greatly influenced the direction of television. Future shows such as the X-files, Northern Exposure, and the CSI chain imitated Twin Peaks off-beat, quirky style, and introduced an art house style of filmmaking to television, a Lynchian vision that is still proliferated today on HBO and other up cable networks.
This forgotten show, Hour Glass, is credited with the being the program that convinced radio networks to pay attention to television programming. Hour Glass premiered May 9, 1946 and ran only a few seasons, like most early shows. The difference was in the quality. Hour Glass presented an hour of variety programming that included comedy sketches and music, and was television's first "big budget" presentation.
A few months after the premiere, on November 14, 1946, radio officially crossed over to TV. The audio-only medium featured a host of stars already regularly welcomed into homes across America. On this telecast, Ventriliquist Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy made their cross-over debut into the new medium. Posters publicizing the event were created for trade magazines featuring cartoon characters of the ventriloquist act. The possibility of viewing entertainers before only heard stirred excitement and new energy into television broadcasting. Bergen and McCarthy jump started their new career in television, and a stream of radio favorites began to develop their radio shows for the small screen. Within five years, radio stars Jack Benny, Bob Hope, Lucille Ball, Abbott and Costello, and Burns & Allen were ensconced in television.
Studio One was one of television's most ambitious and acclaimed anthology series. Like all these hour long presentations of classic plays, musicals, and variety showcases, the ratings were never consistently high, but rose up and down depending on the weeks presentation. Each week was a risk.
During preparation for the upcoming November 15, 1954 hour, producer Mitch Miller realized one of the featured songs by actress Joan Weber was sensational. Titled Let Me Go, Lover!, it was the highlight of the production. Miller, thinking ahead to the built-in audience of 30 million viewers, rushed the song to record stores, where it sat like a lead balloon. Miller had predicted correctly, however, and immeidately after the November telecast, record stores were rushed by 100,000 Studio One fans wanting Let Me Go, Lover! The record bound up the Billboard charts immediately on its way to the number one song in the nation.
Cross-promotion of music created for television was born, and record companies began a long-term marketing relationship with telelvision, essentially paving the way for MTV.
NBC chief Pat Weaver called them Spectaculars! These were lavish, big budget specials from the 1950s. Most were broadcast live and in color, and associated with select producers. Broadway star Mary Martin had just won her 4th Tony award, and Weaver spared no expense mounting Peter Pan. The Washington Post predicted it "to be the TV accomplishment of the year," and it was.
Children and families loved the production, whether they watched in color or black and white. Peter Pan topped the ratings for the week. Time Magazine triumphed, "As the first play ever televised in its entirety fresh from its Broadway run, NBC's Peter Pan was the biggest news of the week," and called Mary Martin's performance "warm, saucy and soaring." The New York Times crowned the broadcast as "television's happiest hour".
Mary Martin won an Emmy in 1955 for Peter Pan, making her the only star to win a Tony and Emmy in the same year (and for the same role.) NBC was so pleased with the remarkable success of the spectacular, Producer's Showcase mounted the same production again in January 1956. In 1960, after years of repeated performances, all lost to live broadcast, Mary Martin committed the production to tape for posterity.
The success of Peter Pan moved programming in a new direction. These special, high-budget Spectaculars raised the standards and expectations of home viewers, and offered a temporary respite from regular programming.
Irene Wicker was a pioneer of children's programming on radio. Her show, "Kellog's Singing Lady" featured more story-telling than singing. Children also adored her singing voice, and her radio show was essential childhood listening of the 1930's. Her songbooks were marketed on boxes of Kellog's cereals, often featuring her own adaptations of classics, including Charles Dickens and Oscar Wilde.
She transitioned to television with ease in the fall of 1948, becoming one of the most popular stars of children's television. Adding an imaginative visual layer to her radio program was a perfect fit, and ABC's The Singing Lady telecasts were poised to run another decade.
The show's run was halted abrubtly in 1950, when she was listed in the red scare propaganda magazine, Red Channels. The program's sponsors immediately dropped the show, and ABC cancelled it. Ultimately, it was shown that Ms. Wicker's name WAS NOT listed in Red Channel among the long directory of suspected communist and loyalists in Hollywood. Many careers were destroyed by the red scare and Red Channels. Ms. Wicker cleared her name, and five years later. the network's attempt to revive the show failed. The damage had been done. Once implicated as a communist in the 1950's, it was fatal.
While Irene was never was able to completely remove the public stigma of the communist label, she was recognized for her outstanding contributions to radio and television with a 1960 Peabody Lifetime Achievement Award.
Good Source: The Complete Directory to Prime Time Network and Cable TV Shows Television by Tim Brooks and Earle Marsh
Connie Chung was the second woman to anchor the evening news (Barbara Walters was the first). Sharing the spotlight with co-anchor Dan Rather seemed prickly, but Chung was definitely a rising star. As per her agreement with CBS, Connie Chung premiered her own primetime news magazine, Eye to Eye with Connie Chung, a producer-heavy tabloid affair seeking to make a dent in the ratings.
In an early telecast in March 1995, while interviewing Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich's mother, Kathleen, Chong was offered a juicy tidbit from Mom Gingrich. Newt had asked her not to mention his feelings about First Lady Hillary Clinton. Connie, playing to the producer's whim, asked Mom Gingrich to whisper it in her ear. Just as Ms. Gingrich leaned in and whispered "he thinks she's a bitch," the microphone's recording level was amplified, catching it all on tape.
Newt Gingrich was furious. He accused the news magazine of taking advantage of his mother's lack of sophistication, and a flood of other media outlets began covering the hot story. Other networks saw no hypocrisy in repeatedly playing the Eye to Eye clip to capitalize from it. It was an embarrasment to CBS, Dan Rather, and CBS Evening News. By May, Chung was demoted and she walked away from the CBS network and Eye to Eye. Connie Chung's award-winning career in journalism never recovered, and television news continued its downward spiral into sensationalism.
1939 World's Fair was the official end of the Great Depression. The focus was only forward, and the fair featured a world envisioned 50 years hence in 1989. Exhibits featured primitive computers, microwaves, copiers, and high speed jets, and of course, television. The 45,000,000 people who attended were opened to a world of unimaginable convenience and luxury. Opening Day, April 30, 1939, the fair's events and exhibits were showcased by live broadcast to a plethora of television sets in the RCA Pavilion. As an added prize, fair attendees could stand on stage in front of a yacht and be broadcast to nearby televisions. Hard to understand today, but this seemed like magic to the audiences of 1939, and the yacht was used to prove the broadcast was real.
The fair featured a host of firsts . . . .
• First public viewing of television • Televised speech by an American President • Public use of fluorescent lighting • Color transparencies and color home movie film • Noiseless fireworks • 3D film, viewed through special Polaroid glasses • Use of Lucite and Plexiglass
.....to name of few.
World War II, less than 6 months away, would vanquish that futuristic vision of hope and luxury, at least temporarily. By 1946, however, the vision offered by the 1939's World Fair resurfaced, and all of America was ready for the future. The best place to start was the $375 RCA Victor television set.
During the morning hours of July 29, 1981, 600,000 people lined the streets of London between Buckingham Palace and St. Paul's Cathedral to witness the marriage of a 20 year-old nursery school teacher to the future King of England. Lady Diana was the queen of the day, lavishly presented in highest royal fashion and horse-drawn carriages. The global interest in the wedding of Prince Charles and Diana peaked on television that morning with 750,000,000 viewers! It was the most popular broadcast ever at the time, an audience unsurpassed until 1997.
Lady Diana, wearing a 25 ft train and sumptuous, romantic gown, appeared angelic. The event even ended like a fairy tale. The Prince and Princes acesended a balcony; at last, overlooking hundreds of thousands of cheering subjects, they blew kisses and waved.
The cultural shift after this event is part of the fabric of the 1980's. Suddenly, books, movies, and television shows were featuring weddings and royalty. Childrens toys shifted toward princes and princesses and elaborately adorned fairytale horses. Even Barbie joined the royal resurgence with a collection of Princess Diana releases. The decade of the 80s perhaps, in deed, is aptly defined as being on "A Fairy Tale High." Only four months after THE Wedding, television viewers were engrossed in Luke and Laura's wedding from General Hospital.
Geraldo Rivera had taken note when his 1987 episode "Men in Lace Panties and the Women Who Love Them," brought higher ratings. Disguising journalism and education with sensation, Rivera's latest incarnation, Geraldo, intended to wring out the last drop of journalistic integrity for mass appeal and financial gain.
In October, 1988, Geraldo put racism in the hot seat with the volatile mix of a Jewish activist, a black activist, and a trio of white supremist. By the final segment, the audience and guests, with ample assistance from the show's producer, were wound tight with racial tension. After further taunting the White Aryan Resistance Youth about their lack of education, one of the supremist referred to activist Roy Innis as "Uncle Tom".
The bomb blew. Innis, within seconds had a tight grip around a supremist's neck. The immediate explosion brought two dozen men to the stage. In a blur of arms, fists, and chairs, Geraldo went down! As he reappeared on stage, his nose was broken and the studio was out of control.
The press was covering the story even before the episode aired. The haughty mainstream press used the story and actual footage to bash Geraldo and his show. Somehow the mainstream news missed the irony of their own glee and prosperity of repeating the riot clips. With over-exposure, a serious topic had become a national punch line. Only a few days after the show's taping, pranksters had climbed 30 feet high and painted nose bandages on Geraldo's super-sized Hollywoood Boulevard billboard. In November, Newsweek featured a bandaged Geraldo head shot, exclaiming Trash TV: From the Lurid to the Loud, Anything Goes. Within hours of the episode's taping, it was the hottest news story around. When the show finally aired, Geraldo broke ratings records.
All of television took notice; unfortunately, journalism, news, tabloid TV, and trash TV blurred their dividing lines as each sought more sensational approaches to ratings glory.
Much had changed in television since the 1948 Presidential election. Uncle Miltie, Lucy, Mama, and a multitude of news programming had changed the way families received entertainment and information. Politicians were just testing the waters, and Eisenhower's gentle "I Like Ike" television campaign was politic's first success. Ike's running mate, Richard Nixon, was on the verge of destroying their bid for the White House, however, and would have to make an immediate exit from the Republican ticket.
Nixon had been accused of receiving $18,000 in illegal campaign funds. In a last ditch effort to save his political career, Richard Nixon took to the television airwaves in the first significant television speech in the history of politics. Looking directly into the camera at the viewing home audience, a nervous politician attempted to defend his honor. The speech was unrehearsed, and Nixon had to ad lib most of it. The official documents from accounting firm Price Waterhouse regarding Nixon's finances did not make it to the studio. When the camera's rolled, Nixon was on his own. After a long diatribe about reimbursements, personal account information, even life insurance, Nixon ad libbed a comment about his dog Checkers, claiming the cockerspaniel may be an issue, but "the kids, like all kids, love the dog and I just want to say this right now, that regardless of what they say about it, we're gonna keep it."
The speech was broadcast live on all three networks. Due to the impromptu, rushed nature of the broadcast, Nixon actually ran over the alloted time, and was cut off the air before he was finished. Nixon believed the telecast was a disaster. He was so flustered once finished that he tripped over a camera and lost his balance.
The public response, however, was overwhelmingly in favor of Nixon's speech, and the Eisenhower/Nixon team rebounded. Eisenhower, realizing that Nixon's television speech had struck a chord with Americans, simply responded afterward, "we're keeping the dog."
Politics and television were officially introduced on Tuesday, Septembr 23, 1952, thanks to a heart-warming family tale about a dog named Checkers.
Sidenote: The speech was produced by Ted Rogers (The Stu Erwin Show) and directed by John Claar, a liberal democrat!
I remember Mama, but I love to visit the Museum of Television & Radio. This long-forgotten show ran seven seasons and was one of television's early blockbuster hits. Mama featured a Norwegian family in early 20th Century San Francisco as remembered by daughter Katrin. Each episode opened with a classic monologue as Katrin flipped the pages of the family photo album, "I remember the big white house on Elm Street and my little sister, Dagmar and my big brother Nels, and of course, Papa But most of all, I REMEMBER MAMA"
The hallmark of this series was warmhearted tales of family survival. Mama featured complex characterizations set against a backdrop of social tension. The series usually ended each show with the family gathered around the table enjoying a cup of Maxwell House Coffee, the show's sponsor. Often labeled a comedy/drama, the show was a forerunner to shows like the Waltons, and Little House on the Prairie.
On December 23, 1949, Mama changed the direction of television in a different way. Wrapped around a Christmas theme, the episode's centerpiece was the Christmas tale of how the barnyard animals could speak a few hours on Christmas Eve in Bethlehem at the birth of Jesus. The episode was a phenomenal ratings success; so much so, that the cast restaged the live Christmas themed episode every year during December. The impact was significant, and holiday themed episodes and specials are still a staple in television programming. The networks, it seems, still remember Mama.
James at 15 is one of the most well-remembered teen dramas ever on television, yet it ran a only a single season. The critics found the show sensitive and real, but the ratings were only mediocre. Perhaps in 1978, parents still had some control over what their children watched, and the show's controversial themes kept this out of most American living rooms. Even so, baby-faced star Lance Kerwin became one of the year's biggest teen cover boys.
Trouble loomed as the network received word of the subject matter for the February 9 episode. James Hunter would lose his virginity, but first NBC insisted that James, at age 15 was too young for sex. Beginning with this episode, the title was changed to James at 16. The irony did not stop there, however, as network interference implemented a string of mind-boggling decisions. James, it was decided, must lose his virginity to an unknown character, a Swedish foreign exchange student, in a casual affair. This would prevent an ongoing sexual relationship. Even more astonishing, the network refused to allow James to use protection, thus, the only way this episode would go into production was if James was aged to 16, had a random affair and not use protection against pregnancy or STD's. Go figure???!!!
The episode begins with James receiving his birthday present from his uncle. Anticipating a car, James is startled when his uncle unveils a hooker, and shuns the call girl, saying "I'm sorry, I thought you were a car."
James does meet a Swedish exchange student, and before the episode is up, James is in love and in bed with her. As Billy Joel's "Just the Way You Are" plays over the soundtrack, James, at 16, becomes a man.
Head writer Dan Wakefield, left the show after this episode over NBC's ironic and puritanical meddling (16 year olds could have sex, but only without condoms).
There were a great deal of protests from the religious community and preemptions of the February 9th episode, which, of course, pushed this episode into the stratosphere of popular culture. It influenced countless future television productions, such as "My So Called Life" and "Dawson's Creek."
Oprah was used to hearing confessions, but on January 13, 1995, she dropped a bombshell of her own. During a feature about mothers battling addiction to drugs, Winfrey spontaneously interupted her guest, saying:
I relate to your story so much. In my twenties, I have done this drug. I know exactly what you're talking about. It is my life's great big secret. It is such a secret because I realize that the public person that I have become, if the story were ever revealed, the tabloids would exploit it and what a big issue it would be. But I was involved with a man in my twenties who introduced me to it. ... And that is my life's great big secret that's been held over my head. ... I understand the same and I understand the guilt, I understand the secrecy, I understand all that."
As Oprah explained that she had for a time smoked cocaine, the viewers were shocked. Of course, the shockwaves reverberated through the press and public, and Harpo Productions became nervous the publicity would negatively impact ratings. It didn't, of course, and Oprah learned that telling the truth would really set you free . . . . and really set the ratings on fire.
The return of Cher to Late Night with David Letterman was destined to be a ratings winner. A press-fueled rumour lingered of a Cher/Letterman fued. Cher had nailed Letterman on her previous appearance, calling him "an asshole" following a string of typically indulgent Letterman questions.
This time, Sonny joined Cher for the interview. Any viewers hoping to see Cher give it to Letterman again had nothing to fear. Cher was in top form. Sonny and Cher sat tensely in adjecent chairs and bantered about their careers. When Letterman cajoled Sonny & Cher to perform "I've Got You Babe", Cher balked as the audience went wild. Letterman told her not to be nervous, this was not planned, it's a last minute thing," Cher bleeped to Letterman "You are so full of shit". When he retaliated about her being nervous for being on the show, she sarcastically continued, "I'm not nervous for being on the show with you!
The audience, though, thrilled by the reunion, encourage both to the stage. Obviously nervous, and a bit stunned, the long-divorced couple followed the band's music ackwardly reading cue cards and stumbling over verses. Half way through their old classic hit, however, magic happened, and Sonny and Cher did reunite. Their short glances and broad smiles proved real. By the end of the song Sonny & Cher were arm and arm, and the home audience shed tears right along with them.
The 1947 World Series is still revered by sports afficianados. Countless sports shows and documentaries have featured and referred to this classic television event, the first World Series broadcast.
The series pitted the New York Yankees against bitter rival the Brooklyn Dodgers. Yankees Joe DiMaggio and the unbeatable Allie Reynolds had been charging up the fans all season. The Dodgers had just added Jackie Robinson to their roster, breaking the racial barrier and making this a landmark series indeed. Baseball was at an all time peak, and this series had everything, including rookie Yogi Berra.
And for those unable to attend, it was truly miraculous. It was being broadcast to bars and homes, though in most cases a neighboor's home. The New York area broadcast, including Philedelphia, Washington, and Schenectady was an NBC gamble, but the network certainly suspected the two New York baseball rivals would be the perfect test for the new medium. NBC's good fortune was momentus and it is still considered one of the greatest World Series of all times.
By Game 4, with baseball fever running at full force, it appeared the Brooklyn Dodgers were taking full revenge against the Yankees. Bill Bevens was pitching a series no-hitter, however that was before Cookie Lavagetto made it the "Cookie" game. People watching grainy gray telecasts on 7 inch television screens, and at their neighbor's home were dreaming and planning to own a televsion set for their living room.
Television coverage of the series was a smash, with an estimated total viewing audience of 3.9 million. It provided the medium a new sense of urgency and potential. Owning a television was the new American Dream.
In the fall of 1947, the television schedule consisted of a quiz show, a western movie, three hours of sports, a newsreel, and not much more. The few homes and bars with television were lucky to get even 2 hours of programming a night, and the networks were lucky if the 20,000 sets in the city could capture an audience of 50,000. Television was beginning to look more like a pipe dream. If television was to survive, it needed a hit show.
Just days after Christmas, Howdy Doody would arrive; and, thanks to a savage blizzard in New England, by mid-day Saturday, December 27, 1947, the entire city and east coast was blanketed with several feet of snow. In New York City, theaters, clubs, and restaurants closed. Travel was nearly impossible, and many in the city, still bristling with Christmas spirit, found the opportunity to tune into television.
At the NBC studio, problems were mounting as well. The snow storm made it difficult for the cast and crew. Buffalo Bob Smith almost didn't make it to the 5 pm air time. Howdy Doody, the puppet, didn't make it the studio at all. In a desperate attempt to put a show on the air, much time was spent on various entertainment for children while building up to the arrival of Howdy Doody. By the show's end, Buffalo Bob had become the voice of the puppet refusing to come out of the desk drawer. And the puppet never did show that first episode.
In many ways, the tension caused by the snowstorm added additional layers and excitement to the show, and certainly increased its audience. Howdy Doody was the talk of the town without even making an appearance. Variety raved and the high viewership continued until 1960. The network's program schedule ballooned after the premiere of Howdy Doody. The 1948-49 season brought over 120 different television shows to the schedule.
For a full account of this story, I recommend the book Please Stand By: A Prehistory of Television by Michael Ritchie
By the fall of 1969, ABC's gothic romance and horror show Dark Shadows seemed unstoppable. The series soundtrack and massive hit single, Quentin's Theme, had been released to great fanfare. The series was reaching a ratings high of 18,000 viewers a week, a remarkable audience for daytime television. College students across the nation gathered in dormitories and lobbies for their daily dose of Dark Shadows. Kids rushed home from school to catch the latest episode. Movie studios were in talks with Dan Curtis for a big screen adaptation. The series had crossed the treshold into popular culture as few televsion shows had.
The summer of 1969 saw the storyline again back in time, in the year 1897. The costumes and sets were lavish, and the Dark Shadows crew used the growing budget dynamically. Television had never before witnessed such an ambitious show. Producing a new episode each day, live-on-tape, the cast and crew literally had 30 minutes to perform the show and send the video signal via telephone lines to a larger ABC studio for recording on video tape. If that wasn't difficult enough, dozens of remarkable sets and props were used and changed daily. Throw in cutting edge special effects and experimentation with the video format, topped with a beautiful and talented cast of New York stage performers, and one would have to wonder if feat this could be pulled off today, in 2007.
The star players were Jonathan Frid (Baranbas Collins), David Selby (Quentin Collins) and Lara Parker (Angelique). These were creator Dan Curtis' "big guns" as he called them, as they were the only series cast members whom always played the same character. Frid's Barnabas was the show's superstar since 1967, and the audience had grown to love this nervous vampire with a helpful, caring heart - despite his true, dark nature.
On September 11, 1969, as viewers watched the 1897 story unfold, suddenly, out of nowhere, Barnabus was destroyed with a stake through his heart. The ABC studios recieved outraged mail and angry phone calls. It just couldn't be that Barnabas was dead. Over the next 4 weeks, the writers taunted and teased the audience. Was he dead, destroyed, gone forever? Dark Shadows had a history of killing major characters throughout its run, so no one really knew.
When Barnabas did return in October, Dark Shadows gathered record viewers. Dark Shadows continued for the next year and a half, and despite what some critics have said, produced its best, most polished work while exploring parallel time themes, time travel into the future (1995) toward the ultimate destruction of Collinwood.
Darks Shadows influence is unparalleled. Stephen King and Anne Rice have stated the show's direct influence on their work. The concept of endearing monsters involved in human classic tales of love, death, and the struggle with inner demons all started with Dan Curtis' Dark Shadows, and writers Sam Hall and Gordon Russell's complex characters.
September 11, 1969 was not the first time Dark Shadows created a national outcry or intensified viewer response, nor would it be the last. It was, however, its greatest moment; and daytime television, in general, became more ambitious and aware of its potential.
This journal, a sketchbook exploring the significant events and icons of television history, is a draft and research tool for a project by Greg Howell. The goal is to offer a new and unique spin on the documentation of the history of television and its impact on modern culture.
Many entries are simply "water cooler" television, a collection of individual telecasts that had the U.S. population and media talking, often prior to the broadcast and definitely the following days, weeks, and even months. Other entries are larger moments that changed and influenced monumental historical events - and impacted the culture at large as well as influenced the direction of television.
This project intends to explore individual television broadcasts, those events that are tied to a very specific date and time. It is not a broad review of television shows or networks. The only exception is the documentation and discussion of television icons, those people, entities, or symbols that had a long-lasting impact on popular culture, some of which are often forgotten or nameless by newer generations, but whose influence is still apparent.
