The ultimate logo smackdown: The MTM Kitten vs. Ubu. Does dog eat cat, or does the kitty sit pretty?
I personally think the MTM kitten is tougher and certainly more versatile, having been a basketball player ("The White Shadow"), a detective ("Remington Steele") and even having shown an ability to imitate Bob Newhart's voice. But I once posted this match on a message board and received the reply: "Ubu's a badass MOFO who don't sit for nobody!" So it's really kind of a toss-up.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Bum Bum, Bum-Bum Bum-Bum, Bum-Bum-Bum...
"Mission: Impossible," the complete first season, September 12. This of course is the Steven Hill season; I prefer him to his replacement, Peter Graves, but that might be the result of being indoctrinated by all those Law and Order reruns.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Lyrics by Carolyn Leigh: "Corduroy Road"
Some more lyrics by one of my top three favourite lyricists, Carolyn Leigh. This song, "Corduroy Road," is from the musical Wildcat, where it was sung by a group of people working on an oil rig. It has all the stuff I love about Leigh -- lots of rhymes combined with language that is both colloquial and full of unique phrases ("the shriekin' of the spider"; "all the angels lettin' go"). And notice how, like most good lyricists, Leigh doesn't settle for generic or vague images; she deals in concrete images of things associated with the oil rig -- specific objects (winches, piping), sounds ("bangin' and clankin'), all leading up to the climactic image of what they're working up to ("the earth will explode").
Take up them hammers and lay down that plankin'
If you've a derrick you wanna get growed.
Here come the greaseballs a-bangin' and clankin',
Here come your cousins of Corduroy Road.
Tattoo and Sandy and Corky and Oney,
Cisco and me and the tools to unload.
Half of us stinkin' and all of us stoney,
Here come your cousins of Corduroy Road.
I wanna hear the moanin' and the windin' of the winches,
I wanna hear the grindin' of the gears.
The shriekin' of the spider on the pipin' where it pinches,
Buddy, that is music to my ears.
Talk about your Christmas and your choir singin' carols,
Talk of all the angels lettin' go,
Let me hear the rumble of a half a million barrels,
That's the only song I wanna know.
Corduroy Road, the highway to hell,
The wages are rotten, and so is the smell,
The whiskey runs low and the temperature high,
You can't see the sun for the mud in your eye,
Then all of a sudden the earth will explode,
And halfway to heaven is Corduroy Road.
Then all of a sudden the earth will explode,
And you're halfway up to heaven on the Corduroy Road.
Crude oil or sweet oil or oil to your order,
Oil for to light up your lady's abode.
If you've a well and you ain't yet explored 'er,
Count on your cousins from Corduroy Road,
Count on your wildcat cousins from Corduroy Road!
Sunday, May 28, 2006
You Yugoslavian Recidivist Knuckleheads!
Some enterprising contributor at the IMDb has added a really fantastic collection of quotes from the show "Night Court", that pretty much sum up why this was the funniest show on NBC in the '80s. Note I didn't say the best, or the most sophisticated, and certainly not the smartest; but at least until the departure of its creator/showrunner Reinhold Weege, "Night Court" brought teh funny more often than most shows, including even the sainted "Cheers."
As I wrote in an earlier post, "Night Court" started out with relatively dry, understated humour but soon became the broadest, most Vaudevillian comedy on TV: in its nonstop punchlines (if you didn't like one joke there'd be another joke coming in about ten seconds) and willingness to do anything for a laugh -- puns, double entendres, crazy costumes -- it was a throwback to the TV comedy of the '50s, and even somewhat of a throwback to radio comedy. That made it kind of fresh at a time when most TV comedy was getting a little too bland.
Some particularly good quotes from Weege-land:
The flaw of the show was that Weege was apparently under the impression that he was doing a show with a mix of comedy and social significance, like the show where he got his start, "Barney Miller." So every "Night Court" episode would come to a halt for several minutes while the characters explained the Message that the episode was trying to convey. But the cardboard cartoon characters of "Night Court," unlike the more realistic and three-dimensional characters of "Barney Miller," just couldn't hold up during serious moments, so the serious stuff felt forced and contrived. But when it came to pure unapologetic well-crafted low comedy, it was the best of its time -- what other show would have a major character running down the hall from a giant 8-ball?
To wrap it up, here are three clips from Weege's best episode, the two-parter "Hurricane," which Weege wrote (and Jeff Melman directed). Here is "Night Court" at its best, for better or for worse: no subtlety, not much characterization, but lots and lots of jokes, and most of them work. The first clip features the guest characters of Bob and June Wheeler (Brent Spiner and Annie O'Donnell), who would have become regulars on the show had Spiner not gotten the "Star Trek" gig. This bit could easily have come out of a '40s radio comedy, complete with Harry doing age-old straight lines like "Okay, let me get this straight...":
The second clip features two of the better scenes from the baby-delivery marathon that takes up the second half of the episode: highlights include the inevitable vagina joke ("Night Court" had more vagina jokes than many an uncensored cable series), and John Larroquette's best bit -- "my briefcase, top pocket."
And finally, in the most famous bit from this episode, Harry Anderson explains why the sky is blue:
As I wrote in an earlier post, "Night Court" started out with relatively dry, understated humour but soon became the broadest, most Vaudevillian comedy on TV: in its nonstop punchlines (if you didn't like one joke there'd be another joke coming in about ten seconds) and willingness to do anything for a laugh -- puns, double entendres, crazy costumes -- it was a throwback to the TV comedy of the '50s, and even somewhat of a throwback to radio comedy. That made it kind of fresh at a time when most TV comedy was getting a little too bland.
Some particularly good quotes from Weege-land:
[on trial are a group of beauty contestants who attacked their sneaky pageant coordinator]
Dan: Your Honor, according to witnesses, Miss Congeniality led the attack with a kick to the groin.
[Mac is trying to figure out the new computer system]
Harry: What's the next case, Mac?
Mac: [staring at the computer, confused] Uh, People vs. Pac Man, sir.
Lorna Huebner: Your Honor, my father's dying words were, "No matter what, don't make me go with Arlene."
Arlene Huebner: Why, you lying...!
Harry: Whoa, whoa, whoa! Dying words? Is Dad dead?
Dan: As a kipper on a cracker!
[shocked looks]
Dan: I'm sorry to say.
Dan: Harry, here it is in a nutshell. Mel Tormé is in your office right now! He wanted to leave but I couldn't let him, so I locked him up with your trick shackles!
Harry: I don't have any trick shackles. Those are real, and I don't have a key!
Dan: Oh! Then I just managed to kidnap a well-known jazz artist.
Dan: Women.
Harry: So, who was it last night? The Soviet gymnast?
Mac: The farmer's daughter?
Bull: One of those rubber-jointed ladies from the freak shows that like to be handcuffed and thrown around the room by their ponytails, screaming for mercy until they black out?
[Stares from everyone]
Bull: What?
The flaw of the show was that Weege was apparently under the impression that he was doing a show with a mix of comedy and social significance, like the show where he got his start, "Barney Miller." So every "Night Court" episode would come to a halt for several minutes while the characters explained the Message that the episode was trying to convey. But the cardboard cartoon characters of "Night Court," unlike the more realistic and three-dimensional characters of "Barney Miller," just couldn't hold up during serious moments, so the serious stuff felt forced and contrived. But when it came to pure unapologetic well-crafted low comedy, it was the best of its time -- what other show would have a major character running down the hall from a giant 8-ball?
To wrap it up, here are three clips from Weege's best episode, the two-parter "Hurricane," which Weege wrote (and Jeff Melman directed). Here is "Night Court" at its best, for better or for worse: no subtlety, not much characterization, but lots and lots of jokes, and most of them work. The first clip features the guest characters of Bob and June Wheeler (Brent Spiner and Annie O'Donnell), who would have become regulars on the show had Spiner not gotten the "Star Trek" gig. This bit could easily have come out of a '40s radio comedy, complete with Harry doing age-old straight lines like "Okay, let me get this straight...":
The second clip features two of the better scenes from the baby-delivery marathon that takes up the second half of the episode: highlights include the inevitable vagina joke ("Night Court" had more vagina jokes than many an uncensored cable series), and John Larroquette's best bit -- "my briefcase, top pocket."
And finally, in the most famous bit from this episode, Harry Anderson explains why the sky is blue:
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Could It Bat-Be?
According to this, Adam West was at a convention in Detroit and said that the "Batman" TV series will be coming out on DVD soon. Grain of salt and all that, but let's hope this means Warner Brothers and Fox have worked out the rights disputes over this series.
Best Fake Trailer Ever
This video already went viral last week, but I can't not link to my new favourite in the YouTube-powered "fake movie trailer" genre: Smacky Productions' 10 Things I Hate About Commandments. "Moses, Moses!"
Friday, May 26, 2006
Aldrich's Aims
There are two films by Robert Aldrich coming out in two-DVD special editions, Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? and The Dirty Dozen. This would be a good opportunity, then, for me to say what I think of his work... except I've never been entirely sure what to think. Aldrich was an auteur, there's no doubt about that; he picked his own projects, produced his own movies, had a team of people he worked with frequently (especially cinematographer Joe Biroc and composer Frank DeVol). He had a distinctive style, which I might describe an odd combination of the mundane and the crazy: his movies have a lot of static, TV-style shots and flat lighting, but with heightened or lowered camera angles and the over-the-top performances he gets from his actors, there's always crazy stuff happening within that sensible, budget-conscious framework of his.
And he certainly had a distinctive worldview: an Aldrich movie, in whatever genre, is cynical, nasty, and grotesque, and not terribly forgiving toward the people who have come to see the movie. The Dirty Dozen is about the way we, the audience, will root for a bunch of vicious thugs and murderers if they're doing what we like to think of as "good guy" stuff (fighting Nazis). And that's one of his more upbeat movies.
He was also a bit like that other self-promoting producer-director, Otto Preminger, in that he tried to push the boundaries of what kind of content was acceptable in American movies; but whereas Preminger basically made high-toned prestige pictures that happened to deal with touchy subjects, Aldrich was out to push the envelope when it came to how lurid or gruesome or amoral a big-star, mainstream movie could be. In many ways no one, not even the '70s film brats, ever went as far as Aldrich in re-defining what the bounds of good taste were for a mainstream film.
Some of this was probably just opportunism; Mad Magazine did a parody of Aldrich's Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte where they pointed out that movies like Charlotte and Baby Jane were just big-star versions of the kind of bad "B" movies kids were seeing in drive-ins. (At the end of the parody, the stars are hacked to pieces by the stars of the "Beach Party" movies, jealous that the aging stars are getting Oscar nominations for their schlock while the critics ignore teenage drive-in schlock.) But I think he genuinely wanted to shake audiences up and bring some of the liberating tastelessness of exploitation movies to "A" pictures. And remember that the '50s and '60s were a time when American "A" pictures were sinking into a rut of tasteful, prestigious boredom; in a time when movies like The Robe or Marty were the big successes, a film like Kiss Me Deadly -- a movie seething with angry contempt for its audience, its source material, and basically all of humanity -- was like a slap in the face to a somnolent film industry and filmgoing audience.
Aldrich could occasionally show compassion to his characters, especially supporting characters on the periphery of the story, and even occasionally to the leads (Beryl Reid in The Killing of Sister George is weirdly sympathetic at times). But when you come right down to it, I don't think he liked people very much and he wasn't afraid of showing it. How many directors, before Aldrich or after, could make a successful commercial moviemaking career out of an openly-expressed conviction that humans are vile creatures? Not many, I think. And that's what makes Aldrich's movies both fascinating and off-putting: fascinating because of what they say about people, and off-putting because he definitely thinks we're as creepy and violence-loving as some of the people he shows us on the screen.
Of course Aldrich also introduced hot girl-on-girl action to your local cinema, so if my generation knew about him, they'd probably consider him a god.
And he certainly had a distinctive worldview: an Aldrich movie, in whatever genre, is cynical, nasty, and grotesque, and not terribly forgiving toward the people who have come to see the movie. The Dirty Dozen is about the way we, the audience, will root for a bunch of vicious thugs and murderers if they're doing what we like to think of as "good guy" stuff (fighting Nazis). And that's one of his more upbeat movies.
He was also a bit like that other self-promoting producer-director, Otto Preminger, in that he tried to push the boundaries of what kind of content was acceptable in American movies; but whereas Preminger basically made high-toned prestige pictures that happened to deal with touchy subjects, Aldrich was out to push the envelope when it came to how lurid or gruesome or amoral a big-star, mainstream movie could be. In many ways no one, not even the '70s film brats, ever went as far as Aldrich in re-defining what the bounds of good taste were for a mainstream film.
Some of this was probably just opportunism; Mad Magazine did a parody of Aldrich's Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte where they pointed out that movies like Charlotte and Baby Jane were just big-star versions of the kind of bad "B" movies kids were seeing in drive-ins. (At the end of the parody, the stars are hacked to pieces by the stars of the "Beach Party" movies, jealous that the aging stars are getting Oscar nominations for their schlock while the critics ignore teenage drive-in schlock.) But I think he genuinely wanted to shake audiences up and bring some of the liberating tastelessness of exploitation movies to "A" pictures. And remember that the '50s and '60s were a time when American "A" pictures were sinking into a rut of tasteful, prestigious boredom; in a time when movies like The Robe or Marty were the big successes, a film like Kiss Me Deadly -- a movie seething with angry contempt for its audience, its source material, and basically all of humanity -- was like a slap in the face to a somnolent film industry and filmgoing audience.
Aldrich could occasionally show compassion to his characters, especially supporting characters on the periphery of the story, and even occasionally to the leads (Beryl Reid in The Killing of Sister George is weirdly sympathetic at times). But when you come right down to it, I don't think he liked people very much and he wasn't afraid of showing it. How many directors, before Aldrich or after, could make a successful commercial moviemaking career out of an openly-expressed conviction that humans are vile creatures? Not many, I think. And that's what makes Aldrich's movies both fascinating and off-putting: fascinating because of what they say about people, and off-putting because he definitely thinks we're as creepy and violence-loving as some of the people he shows us on the screen.
Of course Aldrich also introduced hot girl-on-girl action to your local cinema, so if my generation knew about him, they'd probably consider him a god.
Worst Theme Songs Ever: Addendum
You know how I said that when it comes to theme songs with lyrics that explain the premise, a good theme song is one that takes a convoluted concept and explains it in as few words as possible? Well, the opposite of that is a song that takes a simple concept and tells you more than you would ever want to know about it. And so I give you: "The Brady Brides."
And in case that didn't blow your mind sufficiently, here's the theme song for Filmation's "The Brady Kids."
And in case that didn't blow your mind sufficiently, here's the theme song for Filmation's "The Brady Kids."
Weekend Nessmania
The world probably isn't clamouring for more Les Nessman clips, but hell, I uploaded 'em, I'm going to post 'em. More of the news personality whose style, professionalism and worldview has come to define modern news:
Les Nessman delivers an emergency warning, informative yet culturally-charged, about a natural disaster ("Tornado"):
Les Nessman explains the problems that a pundit can run into when his two heroes are Edward R. Murrow and George S. Patton ("Clean Up Radio Everywhere"):
And finally, Les Nessman demonstrates the first rule of news reporting: read what you're told and relay it to the public, because the official report never lies:
Les Nessman is the news media. He just is.
Les Nessman delivers an emergency warning, informative yet culturally-charged, about a natural disaster ("Tornado"):
Les Nessman explains the problems that a pundit can run into when his two heroes are Edward R. Murrow and George S. Patton ("Clean Up Radio Everywhere"):
And finally, Les Nessman demonstrates the first rule of news reporting: read what you're told and relay it to the public, because the official report never lies:
Les Nessman is the news media. He just is.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Meep Meep Jr.
Earl Kress is doing a series of posts on "the best Looney Tune You've Never Seen," "Little Go Beep", about the youthful Road Runner and Coyote. Kress wrote it and Spike Brandt directed it (Brandt was an animator for StarToons before joining Warner Brothers, where he specialized in handling the classic characters). The posts are very informative about the process of getting a cartoon made, and make you sorry that WB didn't go on commissioning more Looney Tunes cartoons from its in-house production people.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Kubelik
I've been listening to some opera recordings by the Czech conductor Raphael Kubelik, a very underrated conductor who somehow managed to rack up a huge catalogue of recordings on a major record label (including complete Mahler and Dvořák symphony cycles) without ever becoming particularly famous. He didn't get a lot of chances to record opera -- most of the big opera recording projects were given to bigger-name conductors like Karajan -- but when he did, he always turned in excellent work, and these three recordings of three very different operas would be somewhere near my first choices for these pieces:
1. Verdi, Rigoletto - A recording with a rather strange concept behind it: take the orchestra and chorus of La Scala Milan, and an all-Italian supporting cast (Carlo Bergonzi, Renata Scotto, Fiorenza Cossotto) but cast the German baritone Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau in the title role. For some weird reason, it works. Fischer-Dieskau's voice is exactly wrong for the part of Rigoletto -- it's supposed to be a big, full, Italianate baritone voice, whereas Fischer-Dieskau's voice is high and light -- but he puts so much conviction and real passion into his singing that it turns out to be one of the better versions of that part on record; Conrad L. Osborne, who didn't care for F-D's other attempts at Italian opera, was totally won over by this one. The young Scotto is a fine Gilda, Bergonzi is at his best as the Duke, and Kubelik's conducting is some of the best Verdi conducting on record. Definitely the Rigoletto to get if you're getting just one, and a very good introduction to Verdi.
2. Debussy: Pelléas et Mélisande - This is a live recording from two concert performances in Munich in 1971. The stereo sound is very good and the audience isn't too intrusive (there are a few stray coughs, but applause has been edited out). You wouldn't expect a German orchestra with a Czech conductor to produce a great performance of an early 20th-century French work, but it's actually quite fantastic -- instead of making Debussy sound cute and "impressionistic" as so many conductors do, Kubelik really has his orchestra dig in and bring out all the menace and brooding threats of violence in the score. (The opera is about repressed passions and meanings that are just beneath the surface, and the orchestral accompaniment -- which is really the main melodic material, because the singers mostly communicate in recitative -- constantly sounds like it's just about to burst forth in anger, but never quite does, or at least almost never.) The cast is very good, though the French pronunciation is variable; the highlight is Helen Donath, who is simply one of the great opera singers of her generation -- the kind of "light" soprano who could actually project more powerfully than many a bigger-voiced singer.
3. Wagner, Parsifal -- I must be nuts or something, because while I'm not that big of a Wagner fan, I do love the music of Parsifal, his last opera and the one that is generally considered to be the least accessible by non-Wagnerians. The libretto is insane hokum, with Wagner's patented weird mixture of the worst aspects of Paganism and Christianity. The opera moves at a slow pace even for Wagner, with endless expository monologues and scenes of chorus people standing around doing nothing. But the music has a hypnotic quality to it; the melodies are so strange (Wagner pushed the limits of traditional tonality and rhythm in this, his last opera, and sort of paved the way for the atonalists who would follow him) that they make you want to follow them and see what Wagner is going to do with them, how he will build the scene musically; and before you know it another half-hour has gone by, and you realize that, long as the opera is, there's not a lot in it that's really boring or redundant -- it's long and slow because that's what the material demands, but it's long and slow in a fascinating and even gripping way. This Kubelik recording was another studio recording that the major labels wouldn't release (Karajan had a competing version coming out, and that probably blocked Deutsche Grammophon from releasing it). It was finally released a couple of years ago, and it becma pretty much the first choice among studio Parsifal recordings; Kubelik's work is excellent and his cast -- the American heldentenor James King, the wonderful Australian mezzo Yvonne Minton, and the best German bass of his era, Kurt Moll -- is excellent.
1. Verdi, Rigoletto - A recording with a rather strange concept behind it: take the orchestra and chorus of La Scala Milan, and an all-Italian supporting cast (Carlo Bergonzi, Renata Scotto, Fiorenza Cossotto) but cast the German baritone Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau in the title role. For some weird reason, it works. Fischer-Dieskau's voice is exactly wrong for the part of Rigoletto -- it's supposed to be a big, full, Italianate baritone voice, whereas Fischer-Dieskau's voice is high and light -- but he puts so much conviction and real passion into his singing that it turns out to be one of the better versions of that part on record; Conrad L. Osborne, who didn't care for F-D's other attempts at Italian opera, was totally won over by this one. The young Scotto is a fine Gilda, Bergonzi is at his best as the Duke, and Kubelik's conducting is some of the best Verdi conducting on record. Definitely the Rigoletto to get if you're getting just one, and a very good introduction to Verdi.
2. Debussy: Pelléas et Mélisande - This is a live recording from two concert performances in Munich in 1971. The stereo sound is very good and the audience isn't too intrusive (there are a few stray coughs, but applause has been edited out). You wouldn't expect a German orchestra with a Czech conductor to produce a great performance of an early 20th-century French work, but it's actually quite fantastic -- instead of making Debussy sound cute and "impressionistic" as so many conductors do, Kubelik really has his orchestra dig in and bring out all the menace and brooding threats of violence in the score. (The opera is about repressed passions and meanings that are just beneath the surface, and the orchestral accompaniment -- which is really the main melodic material, because the singers mostly communicate in recitative -- constantly sounds like it's just about to burst forth in anger, but never quite does, or at least almost never.) The cast is very good, though the French pronunciation is variable; the highlight is Helen Donath, who is simply one of the great opera singers of her generation -- the kind of "light" soprano who could actually project more powerfully than many a bigger-voiced singer.
3. Wagner, Parsifal -- I must be nuts or something, because while I'm not that big of a Wagner fan, I do love the music of Parsifal, his last opera and the one that is generally considered to be the least accessible by non-Wagnerians. The libretto is insane hokum, with Wagner's patented weird mixture of the worst aspects of Paganism and Christianity. The opera moves at a slow pace even for Wagner, with endless expository monologues and scenes of chorus people standing around doing nothing. But the music has a hypnotic quality to it; the melodies are so strange (Wagner pushed the limits of traditional tonality and rhythm in this, his last opera, and sort of paved the way for the atonalists who would follow him) that they make you want to follow them and see what Wagner is going to do with them, how he will build the scene musically; and before you know it another half-hour has gone by, and you realize that, long as the opera is, there's not a lot in it that's really boring or redundant -- it's long and slow because that's what the material demands, but it's long and slow in a fascinating and even gripping way. This Kubelik recording was another studio recording that the major labels wouldn't release (Karajan had a competing version coming out, and that probably blocked Deutsche Grammophon from releasing it). It was finally released a couple of years ago, and it becma pretty much the first choice among studio Parsifal recordings; Kubelik's work is excellent and his cast -- the American heldentenor James King, the wonderful Australian mezzo Yvonne Minton, and the best German bass of his era, Kurt Moll -- is excellent.
Best TV Theme Song Ever?
So, okay, what's the best TV theme song ever?
My answer to that question is boringly conventional, but really, no matter how many times I try to think about it, it always comes down to one show and one only: "Hawaii Five-0." That Mort Stevens theme just grabs you like no other TV theme song; it has so much action and suspense built into the music, and such a satisfying ending, that the episode always seemed like a letdown by comparison. It helps that the title sequence, by Reza Badiyi, basically revolutionized TV title sequences. (Badiyi was also the one who came up with the idea for Mary Tyler Moore to throw her hat in the air.)
My other choices are equally conventional: "The Addams Family" (Vic Mizzy), "The Rockford Files" (Mike Post and Pete Carpenter), "Mission Impossible" (Lalo Schifrin).
In the "catchy song with lyrics that explain the premise" category," my top two are "The Beverly Hillbillies" (Paul Henning) and "The Nanny" (Ann Hampton Callaway). Both of them do an amazing job of summing up rather convoluted premises, and making them sound perfectly comprehensible, in as few words as possible.
I also have a great fondness for the theme song of "Phyllis", with lyrics by series co-creator Stan Daniels: an absolutely dead-on parody of Jerry Herman with a great punchline ("It sure isn't yoooouuuu").
Your nominations in the "best" category?
Addendum: I don't know what to make of this, but I saw someone nominate "Angie" as one of the best theme songs ever -- and I was considering including the song (which was a top 40 hit at the time) on my "worst" list. Maybe I'm just not hip to the magic of Norman Gimbel, but anyway, You be the judge. ("Angie," by the way, was one of the better shows to come out of the Miller-Milkis-Boyett fiefdom in the late '70s and early '80s, but it fell victim to constant re-tooling and schedule changes and was off the air within two years.)
Update: A few more "best" nominations from the comments:
- "Gidget" (Howard Greenfield and Jack Keller)
- "Maude" (David Shire and Alan & Marilyn Bergman)
- "The Green Hornet" (Billy May)
- "The Patty Duke Show" (music by Sid Ramin, better-known as a great Broadway orchestrator for shows like West Side Story and Gypsy)
Update 2: Tor Harbin notes that John Williams's theme for "Amazing Stories" (and the accompanying title sequence with Ray Walston as the storyteller) is another example of the theme song being better than the show.
My answer to that question is boringly conventional, but really, no matter how many times I try to think about it, it always comes down to one show and one only: "Hawaii Five-0." That Mort Stevens theme just grabs you like no other TV theme song; it has so much action and suspense built into the music, and such a satisfying ending, that the episode always seemed like a letdown by comparison. It helps that the title sequence, by Reza Badiyi, basically revolutionized TV title sequences. (Badiyi was also the one who came up with the idea for Mary Tyler Moore to throw her hat in the air.)
My other choices are equally conventional: "The Addams Family" (Vic Mizzy), "The Rockford Files" (Mike Post and Pete Carpenter), "Mission Impossible" (Lalo Schifrin).
In the "catchy song with lyrics that explain the premise" category," my top two are "The Beverly Hillbillies" (Paul Henning) and "The Nanny" (Ann Hampton Callaway). Both of them do an amazing job of summing up rather convoluted premises, and making them sound perfectly comprehensible, in as few words as possible.
I also have a great fondness for the theme song of "Phyllis", with lyrics by series co-creator Stan Daniels: an absolutely dead-on parody of Jerry Herman with a great punchline ("It sure isn't yoooouuuu").
Your nominations in the "best" category?
Addendum: I don't know what to make of this, but I saw someone nominate "Angie" as one of the best theme songs ever -- and I was considering including the song (which was a top 40 hit at the time) on my "worst" list. Maybe I'm just not hip to the magic of Norman Gimbel, but anyway, You be the judge. ("Angie," by the way, was one of the better shows to come out of the Miller-Milkis-Boyett fiefdom in the late '70s and early '80s, but it fell victim to constant re-tooling and schedule changes and was off the air within two years.)
Update: A few more "best" nominations from the comments:
- "Gidget" (Howard Greenfield and Jack Keller)
- "Maude" (David Shire and Alan & Marilyn Bergman)
- "The Green Hornet" (Billy May)
- "The Patty Duke Show" (music by Sid Ramin, better-known as a great Broadway orchestrator for shows like West Side Story and Gypsy)
Update 2: Tor Harbin notes that John Williams's theme for "Amazing Stories" (and the accompanying title sequence with Ray Walston as the storyteller) is another example of the theme song being better than the show.
"Revenge isn't sweet, kids -- it's actually salty with a twist of lime!"
Instead of posting a classic cartoon, I'll post one from the early '90s "silver age" of TV cartoons -- the "Tiny Toon Adventures" cartoon "Ruffled Ruffee." Written by Sherri Stoner and directed by Alfred Gimeno (who directed many of the best "Animaniacs" segments and storyboarded the great Tiny Toons "Do You Love Me" video I linked to in another post), it's one of the show's more successful attempts at doing a Bugs Bunny-style cartoon, with Buster Bunny pulling a "Long-Haired Hare" on a Raffi-type singer (Rob Paulsen) whose bland songs encourage kids to be docile and dull.
It's also a good example of the distinctive animation of Tokyo Movie Shinsha; with their angular (but beautiful-looking) drawing style and their way of animating -- having characters move broadly and pop from one pose to another with a lot of "smear" drawings -- they did some of the best-looking animation ever seen on television.
It's also a good example of the distinctive animation of Tokyo Movie Shinsha; with their angular (but beautiful-looking) drawing style and their way of animating -- having characters move broadly and pop from one pose to another with a lot of "smear" drawings -- they did some of the best-looking animation ever seen on television.
Can You Tell Me How To Get...
In addition to announcing another The Electric Company box set, TV Shows on DVD informs us of the imminent threat of a "Classic Sesame Street box set" for this October. I couldn't be happier -- Electric Company may have been hipper, but Sesame Street is a part of our lives. Hell, I still remember being a kid and being actually happy -- overjoyed, even -- to receive a Sesame Street record called "Bob Sings!" Do you know how much of an impact Sesame Street must have on your life if you squeal with joy at hearing a solo record for Bob?
Criticism Noted
A commmenter writes: "I think you overrate Jay Tarses and his maverickness(?)"
Point definitely taken. Some of the Jay Tarses stories -- including those recounted in Lynne Farr's article (which appears to have disappeared from the WGA site, but the cache is still there) aren't that atypical in TV-writer terms. I once wrote up a character vaguely based on Tarses and I may be guilty of conflating him with that character.
Still, I've always been kind of fascinated by the tale of Tarses and his status as the king of the ambitious failure that eventually gives someone else the idea for a hit. "Buffalo Bill," "The Days and Nights of Molly Dodd" and "The Slap Maxwell Story" influenced future hit shows ("Molly Dodd" especially) without ever becoming hits themselves. There are other showrunners with that kind of track record, and still other showrunners who have, um, quirky personalities, but it's the combination that makes Tarses an interesting character, at least in theory. (Plus the additional irony that his daughter became a network executive.)
Point definitely taken. Some of the Jay Tarses stories -- including those recounted in Lynne Farr's article (which appears to have disappeared from the WGA site, but the cache is still there) aren't that atypical in TV-writer terms. I once wrote up a character vaguely based on Tarses and I may be guilty of conflating him with that character.
Still, I've always been kind of fascinated by the tale of Tarses and his status as the king of the ambitious failure that eventually gives someone else the idea for a hit. "Buffalo Bill," "The Days and Nights of Molly Dodd" and "The Slap Maxwell Story" influenced future hit shows ("Molly Dodd" especially) without ever becoming hits themselves. There are other showrunners with that kind of track record, and still other showrunners who have, um, quirky personalities, but it's the combination that makes Tarses an interesting character, at least in theory. (Plus the additional irony that his daughter became a network executive.)
Round-Headed Milestone
The official "Peanuts" site just reprinted the strip where Charlie Brown's sister Sally is born. One of the great "Peanuts" dailies, especially for Linus's closing line.
The Dave Davis Enigma
Further to my earlier post about "The Bob Newhart Show," one oddity that I noticed is that every time the writer/producer David Davis left a show, it got better. Davis (and his writing partner Lorenzo Music) was a top writer on "Mary Tyler Moore" for the first two seasons; he and Music left after season 2, and "Mary Tyler Moore" got much, much better and funnier in season 3.
Then "The Bob Newhart Show" seemed to get better the more Davis and Music stayed away from the show and left it in the hands of Tom Patchett and Jay Tarses; the best season of that show, season 4, was the first season where Davis and Music weren't involved at all.
And finally, Davis was one of four creators of "Taxi," but he was only involved with producing the show for the first season -- which was not as good as the Davis-less seasons that came after.
None of this is meant as a slur on Dave Davis, a fine writer and a brilliant producer of title sequences (the "Bob Newhart" and "Taxi" main titles are his creation); MTM didn't get better because he left, but because they brought in new writers like Ed Weinberger and David Lloyd. But I just thought it was odd that a guy should leave behind him an apparent pattern of improving shows by his departure -- kind of Ted McGinley in reverse.
Oh, and speaking of "The Bob Newhart Show," Newhart recently mentioned at a public appearance that the fourth (and, as I said, best) season of that show will have DVD commentaries with Tom "Peeper" Poston and Suzanne Pleshette -- who of course is now Mrs. Tom Poston.
I'd still love to hear what a Jay Tarses DVD commentary would be like, though. I have this feeling that most of his comments would be omitted by studio lawyers.
Then "The Bob Newhart Show" seemed to get better the more Davis and Music stayed away from the show and left it in the hands of Tom Patchett and Jay Tarses; the best season of that show, season 4, was the first season where Davis and Music weren't involved at all.
And finally, Davis was one of four creators of "Taxi," but he was only involved with producing the show for the first season -- which was not as good as the Davis-less seasons that came after.
None of this is meant as a slur on Dave Davis, a fine writer and a brilliant producer of title sequences (the "Bob Newhart" and "Taxi" main titles are his creation); MTM didn't get better because he left, but because they brought in new writers like Ed Weinberger and David Lloyd. But I just thought it was odd that a guy should leave behind him an apparent pattern of improving shows by his departure -- kind of Ted McGinley in reverse.
Oh, and speaking of "The Bob Newhart Show," Newhart recently mentioned at a public appearance that the fourth (and, as I said, best) season of that show will have DVD commentaries with Tom "Peeper" Poston and Suzanne Pleshette -- who of course is now Mrs. Tom Poston.
I'd still love to hear what a Jay Tarses DVD commentary would be like, though. I have this feeling that most of his comments would be omitted by studio lawyers.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Worst TV Theme Song Ever?
Important, world-shaking question: what's the worst theme song in TV history?
I've been going through Retro Junk and Sitcoms Online looking for really terrible theme songs (Retro Junk has the main title sequences for many TV shows; you click on a show, scroll down and watch the intro), but I've frankly been a little disappointed. Most shows have songs that are more annoying than terrible; I mean, the "Diff'rent Strokes" theme is evil -- as you would expect from any song co-written by Alan Thicke -- but it's not exactly bad. What are some TV theme songs that are just plain terrible?
I think I might nominate "Hello, Larry" as the worst-ever theme song. It's not just that the song is dumb; lots of dumb shows have dumb songs. There are two things that make it stand out as particularly bad. One is the fact that it has backup singers repeating "Hello, Larry, Hello, Larry" all through the song. If you took a shot every time they sing "Hello Larry," you'd be smashed in less than the minute it takes to sing the song. And second, the lyrics are the most on-the-nose, dry, unsubtle lyrics ever. My favourite bad line in a TV theme song lyric may be "Portland is a long way from L.A." Yes, it certainly is.
The theme song of "Charles in Charge" isn't actually all that terrible, but the arrangement (in the infamous syndicated version, anyway) is the ultimate in '80s cheese and fully deserves a place in the pantheon of bad.
I would also put in a good/bad word for the Garry Marshall atrocity "Blansky's Beauties", though it's hard for me to say whether it's the theme song I hate or just the whole title sequence. One way or another it's one of those inappropriately uplifting theme songs for a truly crass show -- kind of like the way the "Laverne and Shirley" theme tried to convince us that the show was some kind of feminist statement.
And while it's not exactly a theme song, I think there's a case to be made that "The Fonz and the Happy Days Gang," which has been called the worst cartoon series of all time, also has the single worst title sequence of all time.
Update: Some other suggestions received are:
- "Joanie Loves Chachi" -- still another entry in the Scott Baio Hall of Shame.
- "It's About Time" (a Sherwood Schwartz production that proved that he did not, in fact, have the magic touch when it came to theme songs).
Update 2: How could I have forgotten "Small Wonder?"
Update 3: Sarah reminds me that we both hate Billy Goldenberg's theme song for "Rhoda."
And there's something deeply wrong about the theme song of "The Ropers."
I've been going through Retro Junk and Sitcoms Online looking for really terrible theme songs (Retro Junk has the main title sequences for many TV shows; you click on a show, scroll down and watch the intro), but I've frankly been a little disappointed. Most shows have songs that are more annoying than terrible; I mean, the "Diff'rent Strokes" theme is evil -- as you would expect from any song co-written by Alan Thicke -- but it's not exactly bad. What are some TV theme songs that are just plain terrible?
I think I might nominate "Hello, Larry" as the worst-ever theme song. It's not just that the song is dumb; lots of dumb shows have dumb songs. There are two things that make it stand out as particularly bad. One is the fact that it has backup singers repeating "Hello, Larry, Hello, Larry" all through the song. If you took a shot every time they sing "Hello Larry," you'd be smashed in less than the minute it takes to sing the song. And second, the lyrics are the most on-the-nose, dry, unsubtle lyrics ever. My favourite bad line in a TV theme song lyric may be "Portland is a long way from L.A." Yes, it certainly is.
The theme song of "Charles in Charge" isn't actually all that terrible, but the arrangement (in the infamous syndicated version, anyway) is the ultimate in '80s cheese and fully deserves a place in the pantheon of bad.
I would also put in a good/bad word for the Garry Marshall atrocity "Blansky's Beauties", though it's hard for me to say whether it's the theme song I hate or just the whole title sequence. One way or another it's one of those inappropriately uplifting theme songs for a truly crass show -- kind of like the way the "Laverne and Shirley" theme tried to convince us that the show was some kind of feminist statement.
And while it's not exactly a theme song, I think there's a case to be made that "The Fonz and the Happy Days Gang," which has been called the worst cartoon series of all time, also has the single worst title sequence of all time.
Update: Some other suggestions received are:
- "Joanie Loves Chachi" -- still another entry in the Scott Baio Hall of Shame.
- "It's About Time" (a Sherwood Schwartz production that proved that he did not, in fact, have the magic touch when it came to theme songs).
Update 2: How could I have forgotten "Small Wonder?"
Update 3: Sarah reminds me that we both hate Billy Goldenberg's theme song for "Rhoda."
And there's something deeply wrong about the theme song of "The Ropers."
Friday, May 19, 2006
More Frank Tashlin
Here are some more examples of the animation and live-action work of Frank Tashlin:
- One of my favourites among Tashlin's early black-and-white cartoons, "The Case of the Stuttering Pig," a Porky Pig cartoon (one of the few in which Petunia Pig makes an appearance; she would feature more prominently in comic books) that parodies horror/suspense movies while being pretty horrific and suspenseful in itself, with one of the first great Looney Tunes meta-gags. Billy Bletcher is the voice of Lawyer Goodwill.
- From Hollywood Or Bust, the opening sequence, involving two Tashlin trademarks: having characters talk directly to the audience about the movie they're about to see (Dean Martin welcoming movie fans everywhere while Jerry Lewis illustrates different types of movie fans around the world), and a title sequence consisting entirely of cheesecake poses, in this case featuring "guest star" Anita Ekberg. Tashlin hated credit sequences -- "who wants to read a bunch of names," he said -- so he always liked to put something under the credits that would "distract" the audience.
Incidentally, the writing credit for this film is misleading: Erna Lazarus had written a serious script about a road trip taken by two middle-aged people; Hal Wallis somehow decided to make it into a Martin-Lewis vehicle, and Tashlin wrote an entirely new script, but Lazarus still got the writing credit.
- And from Artists and Models, the "bat lady/fat lady" routine, one of the few Martin/Lewis comedy routines on film that can really stand up with the best of Abbott and Costello or other screen comedy teams. Though, Tashlin being Tashlin, he seems more interested in the young Shirley MacLaine's Bat Lady costume.
- One of my favourites among Tashlin's early black-and-white cartoons, "The Case of the Stuttering Pig," a Porky Pig cartoon (one of the few in which Petunia Pig makes an appearance; she would feature more prominently in comic books) that parodies horror/suspense movies while being pretty horrific and suspenseful in itself, with one of the first great Looney Tunes meta-gags. Billy Bletcher is the voice of Lawyer Goodwill.
- From Hollywood Or Bust, the opening sequence, involving two Tashlin trademarks: having characters talk directly to the audience about the movie they're about to see (Dean Martin welcoming movie fans everywhere while Jerry Lewis illustrates different types of movie fans around the world), and a title sequence consisting entirely of cheesecake poses, in this case featuring "guest star" Anita Ekberg. Tashlin hated credit sequences -- "who wants to read a bunch of names," he said -- so he always liked to put something under the credits that would "distract" the audience.
Incidentally, the writing credit for this film is misleading: Erna Lazarus had written a serious script about a road trip taken by two middle-aged people; Hal Wallis somehow decided to make it into a Martin-Lewis vehicle, and Tashlin wrote an entirely new script, but Lazarus still got the writing credit.
- And from Artists and Models, the "bat lady/fat lady" routine, one of the few Martin/Lewis comedy routines on film that can really stand up with the best of Abbott and Costello or other screen comedy teams. Though, Tashlin being Tashlin, he seems more interested in the young Shirley MacLaine's Bat Lady costume.
My Blog Translated
I have to say, this blog makes a lot more sense when it's properly translated.
(This translation brought to you by the good graces of Gizoogle.)
(This translation brought to you by the good graces of Gizoogle.)
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