PRIME TIME

PRIME TIME

YOU GONNA DIE

Richard C. Walls

by

True, cable has its limits. It�s best for watching movies, old and new, usually uncut and uninterrupted. It�s good for confirming one�s suspicion that the wonderful world of politics is dominated by scoundrels and idiots and their admirers. There�s news 24 hours at your beck, though about 80 percent of it is of the inconsequential feature variety. There�s sports, if that�s your taste. And The Weather Channel. And local access, which is like watching paint refuse to dry. But despite the fact that the cable revolution has been thus far a bit short on new ideas (though let�s not undervalue those movies), it�s still got the networks beat all to hell, content-wise—which is why, when Pat Robertson recently crowed that network viewing was down by at least 50 percent (he managed to imply total responsibility for this phenomenon), I figured that even if ol� Pat�s as unreliable as any zealot when it comes to cold hard facts, this time he was probably on the money.

As if that weren�t sad enough, the beleaguered networks now face another threat—a fourth entity, the Fox Network, alternative TV you don�t need a cable for, or so goes the hype. The Fox shows are scheduled to appear on one of your local UHF stations and by the time this is printed will no doubt be well on their way toward establishing a prime time beachead. Fox started with The Joan Rivers Show last fall (no comment) and, as I write, is attempting to take over Sunday night. I�ve caught a few episoded of their first three series and, in that endearingly unfair way I have, am ready to render judgement. Now, remember the premise: alternative fare, something you won�t see on the old networks, hip, brash, the cutting edge of commercial TV. Got it?

First up is Married... With Children, which I have to say is pretty darn funny. And generally I hate sitcoms (with the usual exceptions: Taxi, Cheers). This is being touted as an antidote to Cosby�s show and so it is (so far the With Children aspect has been downplayed, sis and junior being limited to one or two non-essential wisecracks per show). It�s The Honeymooners post-Archie Bunker, with two amusingly coarse lower middleclass old marrieds (15 years!) slinging insults at each other and playing off the broadly satirized New Age pieties of their newlywed neighbors. What saves this claustro-formula is the writing (most sitcom writing is mush—this is snappy and meanspirited) and the leads; Katey Sagal, happily garish, master of the low-blow, sweetly delivered, and Ed O�Neill—just imagine Judd Hirsch without a shred of decency.

Then there�s The Tracy Ullman Show. This being CREEM, I don�t have to go into background on Trace, right? This is a variety half hour with skitlets and misc. (a funny juggler, an accomplished player of water glasses). Again, the writing is two notches above. Ullman is funny and energetic and does a great American accent. Music by George Clinton. Give it time to sink in, you�ll like it.

After this auspicious beginning I was surprised at how abyi mal entry number three was. Of course, 21 Jump Street is aimed at a younger audience than the other two shows—like age 10 (and one hopes that this lame Mod Squad update never finds said audience—or that it doesn�t exist). It�s about a multi-ethnic group of baby-faced undercover cops who work with the high school beat and are led by an obnoxious aging hippie undercover police captain (!?) who learned to talk by watching old AIP flicks (honestly, nobody in real life ever used the word �Splitsville,� ever, except in bad jest) and who is played by the once-interesting Frederic Forrest. Cliches, TV-violence, car chases, soggy patter, menacing black guys on steroids. Then the great anti-drug message which (give �em credit) only lasted about five seconds and went �you do drugs, you gonna die, maybe not right away, but you gonna die� or words to that effect. You�d think, since you gonna die anyway, they�d beef up the moral a little. How about "you gonna die drooling blood in a bad part of town.� Now there�s a thought. And if this were cable, they�d show you. Face it, when it comes to message entertainment, commercial TV is forever lightweight.

But don�t give up on the Fox Network. Personally, I�m eagerly awaiting Mr. President starring George C. Scott—I can�t imagine what the experts have decided is the profitably contempo attitude to cop toward the Prez. More on this next time.