Another Pinko Fantasy

Another Pinko Fantasy

Prime Time

Richard C. Walls

by

The mood this month is alienated—one goes to all the trouble to move to a near-suburb and finds that theres still no cable in sight. Meanwhile, the fact that commercial TV is so bad its funny isnt a particularly engaging joke anymore. Still, one is committed to writing an ostensibly humorous column about television so one tries, all the time wishing that one were outside playing in the mud, to temper ones crankiness with a hopefully not too heavy-handed irony. Youve been warned

PUTTING DOWN OLD

PEOPLE: Bob Hopes recent 80th birthday bash on NBC offered the usual type of wide-ranging revue that manages to define contemporary American cultureone can always count on Hope to be in touch. The show had a bonus prologue with Hope and the Pres rappin in the Lincoln bedroom like the old buddies they are (Reagan: What it is..."

Hope: Nothin to it..." and so forth). Watching the Pres in this unbuttoned mood, one couldnt help but wonder if this was the same guy who advocates cutting back on almost every humane social program that has developed during the past 50 years, urges Americans to support feudalism in Latin America, and appoints a gibbering looney to be his Sec. of the Interior...this likeable schmo? Impossible.

Things really started to cook when Ronald lurched into a show-biz anecdote and whipped out his Richard Pryor impression, which was on the one, particularly the way he peppered" his take with emphatic but rhythmically unawkward motherfuckers"— though I think he overdid the word nigger" a bit. The first 10 times were cool but after awhile you couldnt help but think that he seemed to be enjoying it just a taste too much (Pryor himself is cutting back on the epithet and actually achieved total abstinence bn his first post-burn Carson appearance and for two months following his last trip to Africa...).

After such a hip intro, the show itself, taped live at the Lincoln Center, couldnt help but be somewhat anti-climactic. First half m.c. Tom Selleck especially seemed a little flat. (And incidentally, now that Selleck is Mr. Hot Cakes of the Universe, when is some enterprising impressario going to re-release his 72 starring epic Daughters Of Satan, which I originally endured on a triple-bill with a Filipino bowwow called Superbeast and The Vampire Lovers, which was a late-Hammer/recycled Sheridan La Fanu number, i.e., stylish but spastic plotwise? Selleck may find Daughters a trifle embarrassing nowadays, but compared to High Road To China its Citizen Kane.) But things took an energetic, if nostalgic, turn when Monty Rock III did a medley of Mitch Ryder hits during which the shows director wisely interjected several shots of the Hopes and the Reagans lapping it up in the Presidential Box—a field day for lip readers (Reagan: OF Montys still got it." Hope: Fuckin A.").

Other highlights, for those unfortunate enough to have had something better to do: Secondhalf m.c. George C. Scott, in a moving monologue, explained how it could be that he had too much integrity to accept an Academy award but not enough integrity to refuse a disgraceful gig like this one; George Burns did a hilarious bit about how being real old, and near death, and at the end of lifes road...well, you had to be there; Cheryl Tiegs, Christie Brinkley, and Brooke Shields did a charming novelty number about how they didnt worry about their looks going cause by then theyd have made enough bread to coast through the rest of their lives at all the better resorts (balcony shot: Pres: Hubba-hubba."

Nancy: Not funny, Ronald..."— arent they adorable?) ', Sheena Easton did a disco-ized version of the Calls The Walls Came Down," impressing everybody with the incredible speed with which anti-establishment ideas get co-opted nowadays; and, of course, the finale, Hope and Reagans duet of Endless Love," which was interrupted by some comedy schtick from Flip Wilson in Geraldine drag, at one point kissing Ron and teasing him about his part in the Bob Jones University tax exemption brouhaha. The president chuckled gamely, Hope smiled knowingly, and everybody went home happy. A perfect evening.

INSERT FUNNY HEADING: And speaking of cable-deprived areas, for those unfortunates who still live in one and are unable to watch (and fashionably jeer at) MTV, theres a new syndicated show out of L.A. thatll give you an idea of what the new video revolution is all about (sort of). Called MV3 and subtitled Music Of The 80s, its an hour long and manages to fit in about a dozen videos per show. The emphasis is anti-AOR (despite an occasional showing of Van Halens Pretty Woman"), similar to that one commercial radio station you can now find in most major cities that has what you call your new wave rotation list which aint free form but instead of Led Zep and Journey at the axis you have Duran Duran and Adam Ant... progressive and conservative at the same time.

The show is hosted by a trio—a girl who plays it cute and dumb, a guy who plays it cute and (supposedly) funny and another guy whos only moderately cute and English (no surprises here since cute" has always been part of the shared aesthetic of the New Wave—harumph)—whose intros to the videos are either mildly informative or groaningly unfunny. But except for this and one other minor complaint (occasionally the videos are punctuated by gratuitous shots of in-studio dancers—irritating with the more inventive videos, though with something like A. Ants Stand And Deliver" its a positive boon) its a pretty good hour with an impressive range within its chosen limits—theres golden oldies (Elvis Costello, the Buggies), current teen throbs (AA, DD), up and comers (Red Rockers, the Eurythmics), instant has-beens (Soft Cell, Toni Basil), novelty acts (Weird A1 Yankovich, Bow Wow Wow) even a few black videos (the usual Jackson/ Clinton/Prince, Eddie Grant) (Meanwhile, Commander Christgau, in his yearly address to the critical troops—Village Voice, Feb. 22 83—aside from recommending that goldbrickers be summarily relieved of duty, encouraged the wider acceptance of black music but warned that white critics, all of whom are unreconstructed hippies in their hearts, will have to scour themselves of their hard-earned but elitist prejudices against populism and chic and conspicuous consumption"—right on, I guess, even though, as Buck Turgidson said to President Muffley in Dr. Strangelove, re: the purity and essence of our natural fluids," were still trying to figure out that last part of the message...I always thought conspicuous consumption" was a euphemism for bad taste.")

Still there? Good. Myself, I swear Im gonna run out of this room screaming if I have to sit here and think about TV for another second...no, wait, its all right, I got it under control now. Maybe if I move on to another topic, thatll help...

FILLER SO THE BOSS WILL THINK SHES GETTING HER MONEYS WORTH: Hey, I like Dick Clark too, even if he doesnt look like the Dorian Grey of show-biz anymore, and I thought $20,000 Pyramid was about the finest quiz show in history but have you ever noticed how lately hes beginning to act a little, uh, well I dont wanna say psychotic, even in jest, but just a little... distracted? I mean some of those intros and little interviews he does on Bandstand, rambling down all those side streets, free associating like mad, qualifying his qualifiers, making little jokes that nobody laughs at...I mean, give this guy a vacation, fchrissake, the last thing this country needs is to watch good ol Dick Clark have some kinda gruesomely protracted nervous breakdown. Am I right? Do you care? Can I go now?