Variety (January 1953)

There’s No Glamor In an Ortliicon, No Romance In a Rating By MAURICE ZOLOTOW Maurice Zolotow Kow that video has developed into the country’s sec- id most popular indoor sport, it has become necessary the national magazines to satisfy the intense public «?,rt*n«!itv about the new personalities thrown into promi- cur nence by this new medium. It was — .. % Pete Martin, himself one of the top- . ■•••% notch writers of show business stories jfPr V': and now editor in charge of enter- •fc tainment subjects at the Saturday ftEvening Post, who was one of the . first to become aware of this craving among readers to learn the intimate details about the Sid Caesars, the Jac kie Gleasons, the Arthur Godfreys, the Sam Levensons. Yet, as he ex- ■M pressed himself to me, it has been quite a problem for the Satevepost— Maurice zolotow whose dilemma is . duplicated by the Maurice /.o o other magazines — to get the round, exciting, colorful pieces on video personalities. Recently, I have been probing around for human stories myself in this new phase of entertainment, and I realize that the magazine profileur is faced with a basic problem—which, at the moment, seems to me to be in- soluble—in. trying to bring to life on paper the new stars of television. It seems to me that the very nature of the television medium—its frantic rush, its stifling pres- sure on actors, the domination of the machine aspect in the person of sound engineers and lighting experts and button-pressers—definitely inhibits the development of the type of eccentric and colorful and flamboyant char- acter which has made the legitimate theatre and Holly- wood such a gold mine of exciting stories for the maga- 'zinesr : — ; ■■■■-.-r : A star doing a weekly show on television must be in bed by 11 o’clock and lead a quiet life, with most of his time occupied at rehearsals and script conferences, or he will be out of business in 13 weeks. The stage performer, except on matinee days, has the afternoon free and he also can cavort around from 11:15 to four in the morn- ing and still get a decent night’s (day's) sleep. The video star is chained to his work eight hours a day, like a teller in a bank or a sausage maker in a bologna factory. So he just hasn’t got the time or energy to develop into a colorful character like John Barrymore—even if he had the urge to. or even if he had the latent genius for in- dividuality that is necessary, 1., Directors [ You don’t find fascinating directors like Jed Harris or Josh Logan or Elia Kazan or Harold Clurman among the men who direct television plays, for the simple reason that the latter, do not operate in an atmosphere conducive to the flowering of personal quirks and odd exuberances. Your TV director is a harried, ulcerated, suburbanated creature, with not a minute to spare for flamboyance, completely enslaved by the machine that is television. , I think it is quite extraordinary, considering that at least a third of all TV programs are dramatic, that there has not emerged even a single radiant and electrifying acting personality. I doubt if there ever will be. A Tallulah Bankhead, a Helen Hayes, a Bea Lillie, can only flourish amid the air and water of the legitimate theatre, which is still the most fruitful soil in which to grow actors of stature and depth and violence—-all that is connoted by the word “temperament.” The very birth of a new play-—the six months it takes to write the play,-the six months in which the play- wright rewrites it (amid fights) with the director, the role of the avuncular and often lunatic producer, the hysteria of raising cash from a series, of intimidated angels, the excitement of casting, the magic of rehearsals with the author’s words taking on the flesh and blood of life over a period of four weeks, the tension of the “Tout in New Haven or Philadelphia, the drama of the first night and waiting for the notices at Sardi’s—all tins makes possible the expression of a wide range of human impulses and drives. I The Theatre ■ , Above all, in the theatre, there is a quality of genuine , ^spect for talent—for the verbal talent of the author, the virtuoso talent of the star, the imaginative gift of the director, the nimble-witted shrewdness of the pro- ducer—and not only a respect for talent, but a respect for human beings, in all their rich diversity, in all their charming deviations. But in television? In television, there is just the un- ending weekly crisis of getting the same show (in slightly different variation) on the air, keeping the spon- sor contented, holding on to the rating. No time out ; or inhaling or exhaling, for spitting in somebody’s eye, ior storming out of a rehearsal, for buying a castle on a 1.. 11 a fleet of foreign cars, for amatory adventures or Sy unken brawls in nightclubs, for conspicuous consump- th° n ; a / tei \tbe Hollywood style of exhibitionism. In fact* lc * ea in television is to be as inconspicuous as pos- as conventional as possible. ^ ' Even, Hollywood ' f ^b ou Sh Hollywood, to my way of thinking, has never ™e same atmosphere of human growth as our f a f , ay theatre, it also has been and is a fertile field thpi- • P T0 ffl eut '» primarily because in Hollywood, too, fni/? ls the same peculiar respect (and often veneration) hi?^- 1 ?*’ and a similiar admiration for the delightful \\t n e i l . ie , s of an Errol Flynn, a Humphrey Bogart, a ,ts, • Fle] ds. bio«i!-. e ^tudent of character, which is what the magazine i ' er * s * cannot accomplish a great deal unless he sonaiit- iaracter to study. So many of the television per-- been les • ah< * this was true of*radio also) have not when i )erm ^tted to ripen into real characters. I recall, Jhnm.J jy dul d \vrite a story on a radio star, a Fred Allen, woni^ , Duran te, Jack Benny, or Fannie Brice, the story in .^citing^filied with^ thrtiirmoil^f struggles or SdlS e tr e and on the stage, of conflicts with Ziegfeld sketch Harris ’ of great creative moments in a certain * or a certain play, of adventures with wives and HiVRIETY Anniversary husbands and sweethearts and gamblers and bottles of whiskey—until suddenly you arrived at that point in meir careers when Grape Nuts or Sal Hepatica or Lucky Strikes smothered experience. From then on, you would find almost nothing to write about, except a fearful urge toward conventional behavior, except the same dreary weekly repetition of methodically going through the dull , 4 rP- *t a hle.) chores, without the creative challenge that a Ziegfeld Follies” gave a Brice, or a new season on the Orpheum circuit gave an Allen or a Benny, Or an engage- ment m a cafe gave a Durante. But at least, the Durantes, the Bennys and the Bank- heads, have had long and colorful lives long before Dr. V. K. Zworykin started trifling with the orthicOn tube. But what of the new stars, the young stars, the men. and women under 35, the ones whose emergence into stardom is due entirely to this mechanical monster, the ones whose career begins and ends with television? I fear we maga- zine writers- have grueling task before us. A television stage, with its jungle growth of cables and its four imper- sonal cameras, lacks the romance of the vaudeville era with its fleabag hotels and absconding managers, lacks the creative freedom >of Broadway, lacks the glamor and mad- ness of-Hollywood. Frankly, we shall have our typewriters full the next few years. Warm and Believable ' ' By LOU DERMAN - ■■ ■ ■■ „ ' ’ Hollywood. The Word was passed around—the networks were look- ing desperately for a new type of TV show that was dif- ferent from anything seen today, yet not so different that it \yas too different from anything seen today that had won audience acceptance, In the words of one network executive: “We are looking for a warm, believable show that— jvell, it’s hard to describe—but you submit it to us and if it has that quality we’re looking for, we can always rewrite it so that it’s acceptable commercially to a cer- tain sponsor who isn’t sure whether he wants comedy, mystery, drama, or a panel show featuring three two-by- fours;' ‘' —■. .- With such obvious hints to guide them, every writer in town got down to business. Will Glickman quickly rented . a room at the Royalton, shut himself in, threw away the key and began to work out a family-situation show built around two warm, believable characters: Boris Karloff and Ed Sullivan, A1 Schwartz decided it was novelty they were after, so he constructed a show around a deaf and dumb midget, detective. You never saw his face—just a pair of shoes carrying a gun. Hal Kanter deserted movie-writing for two hours and knocked out a comedy-drama idea called “The Underdog;” It was to be a series of intimate bedroom farces, featuring Lassie, and a different guest dog each week. Charlie Isaacs knocked out an audience-type show, en- titled: Guess My Age. A beautiful girl was brought out on the stage and if a contestant guessed her age, he kept her. If he missed, she kept him. And so it went. Ideas by the hundred were submitted to the networks _ . . . arid summarily rejected. Some of them were even read. One almost rriade the grade. It was an audiehce show entitled: Funch The Widget . . .and was pure tele- vision. Strictly sight stuff. Eleven people lined up on the stage and for a half-hour they did nothing but funch widgets at each other. It had a week to week mounting jackpot hooker; it offered fabulous prizes; and it eoujd be produced for under $600 weekly. Yet it was rejected. Somebody looked up the law and found out that funch- ing Widgets was a direct violation Of the Sherman Anti- Trust Act. In desperation, the network phoned Cy Howard for help. Cy climbed out of his pool long enough to dictate 14 damp pages to Fala, his pooch. The idea was distinctively origi- nal. Howard’s new TV show was to be photographed through an X-ray machine, and you never sa$ faces on your set. Just warm, believable bone structures. Cy called it': I’s Fun Tibia Alive. Nothing happened. It was then that my agent phoned me. “Lou,” lie said excitedly, “here’s your big chance. Listen. I just, had breakfast with somebody—I can’t tell you who^my agent’s a big name-dropper)—and I found out exactly what they want.” I asked: “What?” He said: “Something warm and. believable.” It sounded easy, so I got to work. To prepare myself for the revolutionary new type of show I had to create, I read (four times) Egri’s “The Art of Dramatic Writing.” Then I flew down to Caracas, Vene- zuela, to gather some local color. Then I interviewed some Siamese twins, a two-headed snake charmer, a talk- ing horse, and a condemned parakeet that was awaiting trial as an international spy. You see, my show had to have a warm, believable basis. Even ‘Conflict’ ■ j Remembering Egri’s chapter on Orchestration of Char- acters, I made my protagonist a fun-loving, wise-cracking abalone salesman who always meant well but never got in trouble. (A switch on all existing shows.) His wife did not love him and she never pulled him out of scrapes. She was his worst enemy and had married him simply because he was terribly, terribly sexy-looking. Immedi- ately, I had “conflict” . . . because the hero wasn’t what he looked because he couldn’t even if he had. Living with the couple is the wife’s mother—a zany yet warm, believable 70-year-old buffoon who never squirted seltzer bottles or blacked out her teeth to get a laugh. She did snap her bloomers occasionally, or emit a belch —but it was always in situation, and the laughs were not pulled in. ' Then, to balance my lineup of characters, I invented “the neighbor who lives next door,” only the houses were 30 miles apart, since our locale is in Yucca Flat, Nevada. This neighbor is a full-blooded Cherokee Indian, and he has a psychopathic hatred for the hero, due to a childhood neurosis. (Lots of plots inherent in this whole setup.) To show' that my idea was not simply a one-shot deal, I mapped out the first 26 stories—all with surprise end- ings. - One even had a surprise beginning. It opens on the last minute of the show and all you see are the writing credits. I typed up my show, showed it to my agent and he RADIO-TELEVISION 97 Teen s an d TY Hearst-Syndicated Teen-Age Authority’* Findings on Young America's Likes and Dislikes By BETTY BETZ Television has created a topsy-turvey social life for teen-age girls according to my recent nationwide survey. Here’s what one girl says: “Instead of taking us out on date nights, the free-load- ing fellas park in our homes and stare at the boxing on TV . . ” Other — beefs* are that the girls, spend most of the time in the kitchen making “TV snacks,” and also they are frequently 4f& . encountered with, , “cornball Casano- vas” while watching television in a «B darkened room. For these reasons, flft over 80°?/ of the girls interviewed ad- mitted they’d rather go to a B film than stay home and watch ^ TV on < dates. And largely for economical y reasons the majority of the boys said f they preferred television dates, to Petty Betz movie dates. " And when they’re not dating, .which TV shows do.teen- agers like? According to our surveyj few of. the p-'ograms intended for their own age group which they sav are either “too ridiculous or too sublime.” In commenting on the youth forum and panel shows, one high school girl stated, “They’re fine for the squares and 'intellects, but for me there’s too much science and polities . , .” When asked what sort of informative shows they’d like, the girls listed “manners, grooming, careers, home entertaining and cook- ing.” The boys expressed preference for shows dealing .with sports, careers, history, science, hobbies and military life. If a show is intended to educate, teen-agers would prefer not to have the setting a classroom. Learning is . Less.tedinus \vhiie„watching a quiz show, news telecast, an interview or a good documentary. When queried on teen-age talent shows there was a “take-it-or-Ieave-it” attitude as indicated by s®lne of the comments . . . “They’re an insult to our intelligence” . . . “Our parents like them . . .” “They, do give kids a chance to crash’“show business . . .” “They’re all right, but I’d rather look at Sullivan or Gjpdfrey.” |_ Li ke Family Series 1 Teen-agers particularly enjoy comedy shows portray- ing family life so that there’s some identification with the characters. “Henry Aldrich,” “Our Miss Brooks,” “My Friend Irma” and “I Love Lucy” rate higher than do the Broadway comedians. However, their favorite funnymen, Martin & Lewis, were applauded as “the best on TV.” Kids all over the country now imitate the mad gestures of Jerry Lewis. Dinah Shore and Perry Como were voted the most solid pop singers among teen viewers, with Eddy Arnold climbing up fast. Young people living outside Manhattan expressed dis- gust over the “low and behold” gowns on bosomy female TV stars. Kinescoped quiz and panel shows appearing at odd hours in cities which aren’t on the cable, brought this question from a Dallas high schoolgirl. “Why do those New York women run around in strapless ballgowns in broad daylight?” Girls and boys alike enjoy a good, romantic love story such as those seen on the Hallmark Theatre. According to parents, some of the more sophisticated TV dramas shouldn’t be seen by adolescents, particularly those in which the theme Is adultery or pre-marital love. I have received many letters from mothers asking if there is any censorship on television which insures some family .entertainment. “The movie industry maintains a high moral code and even if a film is unsuitable for childreri there are ways of keeping them frorn seeing it. But we mothers have no control over TV programs brought to our living rooms . . . “Wrote one mother currently. Some adult TV shows, applauded by the critics, seem to be objectionable to par- ents as indicated in this opinion regarding one segment of the first “Omnibus”: “It’s excellent adult theatre, and most of the program was informative and entertaining,” stated a housewife shocked by a native voodoo dance which she called a “sheer display of vulgarity.” Other parents of teen-agers object to “left-wingers and labor goons” appearing on TV political programs, claiming their “propaganda” might be harmful to the thinking of ybung Americans. All parents agree that there are too many crime shows on television. When television on programs must please all members of the family, parents hope the networks and sponsors will reach a happy medium between education and enter- tainment which is always in good taste. Since there are so few shows aimed at the teen-age audience, naturally they look at all of the adult shows. When the television screen defies rules of decency and moral standards taught in the home, conscientious parents have reason to be concerned. However, if the more sophisticated shows were labeled “for adults only,” nothing save handcuffs and a blindfold could actually prevent a teen-ager from turning the dial! frowned immediately. He said: “The whole thing sounds too familiar.” “Familiar?” I said. “Mmm hmm. Better make it a Sioux Indian.” So I did and we submitted the show and waited. Two days later, my agent phoned excitedly. “They want to see you right away, so go down there, but don’t sign any- thing, leave your peri hOirie!” I raced down to the Network Executive’s office, and when the door had been securely bolted behind us, the big boss turned to me and smiled. "Derman, I think you’ve finally got something.” I beamed expectantly. “You’ll never guess who wants to sponsor your show.” <*Who?” “The Combined Radio Sponsors of America, a new or- ganization.” “Radio Sponsors?” I said weakly. “yes. They think your television show is Radio’s An- swer to Television.” I knew he meant it, because he gave me a warm, be- lievable smile.