Let us take a moment to review. Last week I led you on a guided tour of TV
sitcoms of the 1960s. You learned (or would
have, had you been paying attention) that producers hit their nadir in
development of entertainment art during this decade. But this is not a criticism. Nay, I praise their genius in designing exactly
the hypnotic drivel that captured the intellect of the target audience,
pre-pubescent pop-culture sponges. I
offer myself, and the endless hours of dedicated watchfulness, as proof positive
that in their cauldron of intellect-free stew, they hit the target as none
before them had. So with that dubious
endorsement, let’s stroll down the rest of this nostalgic lane and take a look
at my three favorite offerings of the era, according to my flawless assessment.
Harkening back to the impact the Second World War had on the
consciousness of the producers of this period, it is not surprising that many
of the sitcoms were set against a backdrop of that historical cataclysm. In today’s uber-sensitive, politically
correct atmosphere, it is hard to believe that a show like Hogan’s Heroes (CBS 1965-1971) would ever be scheduled must less enthusiastically
embraced by the public at large. For you
see, the central premise of this offering was, now hold on to your leder-hosen, Nazis were funny!
If you are not familiar with the weekly bumbling of Sergeant
Shultz (John Banner) or the inept naiveté of Stalag 13 Commandant Colonel Klink (Werner Klemperer), you would
hardly believe that a gang of POWs could run a successful insurgency operation
deep inside of Germany. But each week,
U.S. Army Air Corp. Col. Robert Hogan (Bob Crane) led his internationally
diverse cadre of fellow prisoners as they bamboozled the Luftwaffe and Gestapo at
every turn. They were so successful that
the show lasted six years (168 episodes).
In the real world the D-Day invasion of Europe to the capture of Berlin
took less than a year!
But Hogan and his team could not win the war by
themselves. And they were ably assisted
in the Pacific Theatre of Operations by the daring volunteers who manned the PT
Boats so valuable to the early, inter-island campaign against the Japanese
Imperial Navy. This show was military
farce at its best. Quite the opposite of
Hogan’s Heroes highly proficient
clandestine maneuvers, McHale’s Navy
(ABC 1962-1966) was the epitome of that military argot FUBAR.
The action centered on the crew of PT (patrol torpedo boat)
73 commanded by Lt. Cmdr. Quinton McHale (Oscar winner Ernest Borgnine… yeah,
that’s right, Oscar winner, look it up).
Of course, the show relied more on antics than action. Comic focus came from the friction between PT
73’s inept but eager executive officer, Ensign Parker (Tim Conway) and squadron
commander Captain “Wally” Binghampton (Joe Flynn). Each episode follows a familiar plot
line. Martinet Capt. Binghampton and his
number one, Lt. Carpenter (Bob Hastings), devise and hatch a plan to trip up
McHale and his crew so as hasten their removal from front-line service. Through the bumbling of Ens. Parker and the
misfit crew of the “73” they somehow outflank the captain, frequently earning
recognition or decoration from up the command chain. Hey, that sort of sounds like the real
military, doesn’t it?
In an early episode, McHale’s crew successfully shoots down
a Japanese plane and captures the pilot.
Rather than turning the POW over to the Navy, the crew domesticates Fuji
(Yoshio Yoda) and assigns him to houseboy duties. Fuji’s catch phrase was, “Oy Vey!”
Until I got into high school I thought, “Oy Vey!” was a Japanese curse word.
But as the American viewing audience was reliving WWII
through the filter of comedic exaggeration, there was another war in which we
actively engaged. The Cold War (term
coined by our old friend, George Orwell) was particularly insidious due to its
fulcrum being defined by mutually assured destruction. Think about that for a few seconds, the
security of the whole world was reliant on the presumption that if war started,
everybody would die! Everybody!
As always, art imitates life and a whole new genre blossomed,
known as spy fiction. Of particular
import was a series of “spy” novels penned by WWII British intelligence officer
Ian Fleming, introducing us to fictional hero James Bond. But literature is for readers. The real impact came as a result of Bond’s adaptation
into films. The success of the third
movie, Goldfinger (United
Artists-1964) in the U.S. launched a mania for all things spy related. Suddenly the era of Western ebbed and
shootouts were between men in trench coats.
Enter Mel Brooks and Buck Henry, two of the zaniest creators
of comedy in history. They jumped on the
spy genre bandwagon and gave us Get Smart
(NBC 1965-1969, CBS 1969-1970). It tracked the adventures of superspy Maxwell
Smart, Agent 86 (Don Adams) as he bumbled his way through saving the free world
week in and week out. He was joined by
his co-agent and love interest, Agent 99 (Barbara Feldon), whose name we never
learned. As with most such shows, the
cast was rounded out by Smart’s long suffering boss, “Chief” (Edward Platt).
No matter how serious the peril Agent Smart’s
ineffectiveness led them into, the good guys prevailed in the end. Max et al worked for a counter-intelligence
organization named CONTROL. Their principal
activity was to check the evil plots of their Eastern Bloc nemesis, KAOS. The show featured recurring roles for KAOS villains
and CONTROL Agents. Among the notables
were Siegfried (Bernie Kopell) and Hymie the Robot (Dick Gautier) and boasted
an impressive array of guest stars: Milton Berle, Carol Burnett, Johnny Carson,
Broderick Crawford, Buddy Hackett, Bob Hope, Leonard Nimoy and Don Rickles to
name but a few. The plots also featured
Bond-esque gadgets like the shoe phone, the cone of silence and the intruder
traps in Smart’s apartment that seemed effective only when activated in error
by the hero.
As is common among Mel Brooks’ heroes, Smart developed a
folio of catch phrases that even today bring a smile to aging Baby Boomers:
“Sorry about that, Chief.”
“Would you believe…”
“Missed it by that
much!”
“The old (such-and-such) trick and I fell for it!”
“And… loving it.”
“I asked you not
to tell me that.”
The blending of Mel Brooks’ creativity and Don Adams’
delivery make Get Smart my favorite sitcom
of the 1960s.
If you enjoyed this trip down memory lane, then be sure to
read next week’s offering, “Favorite Excerpts from the Gregorian Chant”.
No comments:
Post a Comment