These Happy Days Are Yours and Mine
  • These Happy Days Are Yours And Mine

    If anything could be said to define retro nostalgia, it would be Rock Around the Clock. And not only because that was the name of an iconic rock-and-roll classic from two decades before, but because it was the name of a hit sitcom set two decades before, and that song was its theme tune. However, and as is so often the case, Rock Around the Clock was the product of earlier successes that had spurred the trend, despite later epitomizing it. The obvious touchstone was American Graffiti, which (though set in the early 1960s instead of the 1950s) was a clear inspiration in the development of Rock Around the Clock. However, Graffiti, in turn, had owed much to the series, which (as with so many other shows) had a particularly long and convoluted history

    Creator Garry Marshall had been developing what eventually became known as Rock Around the Clock since 1970, when he was shopping his pitch around to the various TV studios. He caught the attention of Star Trek associate producer Edward K. Milkis, who (after the run of that show had ended) would develop his own production company, with business partner Thomas L. Miller; what was then called New Family in Town became their first project. [1] It was shot in late 1971 under the auspices of Paramount Television, in an experimental move on their part to branch out from their reputation for more modern and topical shows; filming took place on the soundstages at neighbouring Desilu Productions, and it was during this time that those in charge at the studio, including Herb Solow and even Lucille Ball herself, became aware of it.

    However, the President of Paramount Television, Grant Tinker, declined to pursue taking the pilot to network, seemingly ending its history before it had started. However, it was agreed that the pilot would be shown on the anthology series Love, American Style, known throughout the industry as “the place where failed sitcom pilots went to die”. [2] The show was placed into turnaround, and development rights were sold at a bargain rate to Desilu, who saw some promise in a potential series; Tinker believed their studio to be a better fit for the project, famously describing the Desilu roster as being “set in any time but the present, and in any place but down-to-Earth.” [3] Early negotiations went nowhere, however, leaving Marshall no better off than when he had started. He did, however, continue working to develop what was now called Happy Days.

    The pilot had starred Ronny Howard, a child actor from The Andy Griffith Show (in which he had played Andy Taylor’s son, Opie), as clean-cut all-American teenager Richie Cunningham. Character actors Harold Gould and Marion Ross were cast as his parents… Harold and Marion Cunningham. [4] Anson Williams also appeared as Richie’s best friend, Warren “Potsie” Weber. Other featured characters included Richie’s older brother, Chuck, and his younger sister, Joanie. But it was the presence of Howard in the cast that would prove significant; George Lucas, in casting for American Graffiti, watched the pilot when it had aired (under the title “Love and the Happy Days”) on Love, American Style in early 1972, and decided to choose Ronny Howard to star as one of the two central characters of the film, Steve (with then-unknown Billy Crystal playing the other lead, Curt). [5] The smash success of the resultant film reawakened interest in Happy Days on the part of Desilu, especially with Howard being involved.

    In the interim, Marshall had further developed the setting and characters, having become inspired by an episode of Adam-12 airing in September of 1972. It featured a gang of bikers, including one character, named “Oiler”, played by Micky Dolenz, who had reminded Marshall of his own youth, as a greaser biker. As a result, he created the character of “Mash”, whose nickname was derived from his last name of Maschiarelli (derived from Marshall’s own ancestral surname, which had the proper spelling of Masciarelli, the corruption introduced largely for the benefit of non-Italophone audiences). [6] Naturally, he liked Dolenz for the part, though there was some resistance on the part of the production crew, because Dolenz was much taller than most of the other actors. In the end, it was decided to use that to their advantage, highlighting the more sinister and menacing aspects of his personality. “He
    ’s a good guy, deep down – way deep down”, was the rationale. [7]

    The choice of theme song, Rock Around the Clock, which (as was common custom in the 1970s) also became the choice of title, was a crucial one. The version of “Rock Around the Clock” by Bill Haley & His Comets had featured in the classic coming-of-age film Blackboard Jungle, and in doing so had done more than any other song to introduce rock-and-roll to the American mainstream (beyond which it rapidly spread to, most prominently among many other places, the British Isles
    – obviously making the round-trip a decade later). The exact same recording was used as the theme from Rock Around the Clock. Indeed, it even returned to the Billboard Top 40 in early 1974, on the strength of airplay inspired by a theatrical re-release of Blackboard Jungle, coupled with its use as the theme for the show. [8]

    The Executive in Charge of Production during the show’s early seasons was, naturally, then-VP of Production Robert H. Justman, who had shared history with Executive Producer Edward K. Milkis from their time together on Star Trek; indeed, on that series, Milkis had been promoted to replace Justman, who had himself been promoted. Ronny Howard, who now identified as Ron Howard, was also a Desilu veteran, as The Andy Griffith Show had been a Desilu production. As it happened, the very same fabled backlot in Culver City that had once portrayed rural Mayberry, North Carolina, was now outfitted to stand in for suburban Milwaukee, Wisconsin. [9] The primary set built for the series was the exterior to Arnold’s Drive-In, made to resemble, as strongly as possible, the real-life Mel’s Drive-In featured in American Graffiti (for that building had been demolished and later re-assembled at Universal Studios, another legendary backlot in its own right). Interiors were filmed on soundstages, before a live studio audience. [10]

    When it finally reached the airwaves in early 1974, as a mid-season offering, it was an instant hit: Rock Around the Clock finished at #12 overall for the season, the best showing for any Desilu program since the heyday of Star Trek. It rode the wave of retro nostalgia most successfully, as the series (set in 1955 for its first two seasons) frequently mentioned events and popular culture of the day; it proved unable to resist frequent mentions of I Love Lucy, of which Marion was a fan, though in that case it helped that the show had spent the better part of 1955 in Hollywood, allowing second-hand references to many famous actors of the 1950s (some of whom, such as Harpo Marx, had sadly passed since). In the interest of “fair play”, Harold was more a fan of The Honeymooners, with the show even featuring a clip of the famous “Man from Space” episode. [11]

    But it was Arthur “Mash” Maschiarelli who became the surprise breakout character. Originally fairly incidental and highly enigmatic, his edgier, greaser persona made an excellent contrast to the stereotypical white-bread wholesomeness of most of the other characters. Indeed, the network had considerable reservations with the character of Mash, in particular wanting him to avoid wearing his trademark leather jacket – in a compromise, they agreed to permit it when the character was on or near his motorcycle, in which case the jacket would be a legitimate piece of safety equipment. The producers then simply had Mash remain at or near his bike at all times until the network finally relented. [12] Having the character seated on or reclining against his bike also ensured that Dolenz would not tower over all of the other actors.

    During the show’s second season, ratings continued to improve, resulting in the series cracking the overall Top 10 for 1974-75. It was the banner success for both Desilu and ABC, and a rare reprieve from irrelevance for the Alphabet Network. Indeed, the new President of ABC, Fred Silverman, formed a lucrative agreement with Desilu in hopes of developing future projects that might prove to be as lucrative as both Rock Around the Clock and The Muppet Show. The results would prove most intriguing


    ---

    [1] The production company, initially known as Miller-Milkis, endured for three decades IOTL, becoming one of the most successful sitcom producers in American television (perhaps only Carsey-Werner has a more sterling pedigree). Their unmistakable
    “style”, perfected on Happy Days, is ITTL tempered by the watchful eye of Desilu.

    [2] This is exactly what happened IOTL. Marshall is credited with the wry observation about its destination; Love, American Style was cancelled in 1974 (IOTL and ITTL).

    [3] And as is so often the case, what was originally intended as a glib insult was quickly embraced by its target.

    [4] Gould appeared in the original pilot under the original name of Howard Cunningham, and his interpretation was more adroit, more Father Knows Best than the well-meaning but overburdened interpretation assumed by his OTL replacement, Tom Bosley (apparently at the behest of executives who will not get their grubby mitts on this show ITTL). Upon moving ahead to series, Gould (who was able to take this role instead of the theatre commitment that he had already made IOTL) requested that his character be renamed Harold, quite reasonably under the logic that
    if Marion gets to be called Marion then it’s only fair that I should get to be called Harold”. Bosley, of course, appears at this time as the voice of Harry Boyle in the primetime animated series Wait Till Your Father Gets Home, and is not wanting for employment.

    [5] Crystal replaces Richard Dreyfuss, who instead appears in Those Were the Days (in the role held by Rob Reiner IOTL).

    [6] IOTL, the character was instead given the name of Arthur Fonzarelli, better known as
    “Fonzie” or “The Fonz”. This was a consequence of there being a very popular sitcom on another network called M*A*S*H, which (as has been explained in some detail in prior updates) does not and will never exist ITTL.

    [7]
    Mash (just “Mash” “Mashie” would be both too silly-sounding and too familiar) is a darker character than Fonzie was IOTL, but he remains appealing in a classic oil-and-water sense, along with the classic appeal of the macho tough guy and the “bad boy”. To modern OTL sensibilities, Mash definitely reflects a legitimate “classic cool” more so than Fonzie, who even in his heyday was always a little goofy and cuddly, probably on account of Winkler’s warmer personality.

    [8] The re-release of Blackboard Jungle did not happen IOTL; shrewder management on the part of MGM ITTL sees them riding the wave of retro nostalgia and getting a decent chunk of change for their trouble. With regards to
    “Rock Around the Clock”, it did chart in 1974 as a result of its use in Happy Days IOTL (it was replaced in 1976 by a new, original theme, called simply “Happy Days”, fulfilling the “theme’s the same as the show’s name” covenant, in reverse), though it is not clear whether or not it actually hit the Top 40. I’m willing to allow that, ITTL, it did, allowing Bill Haley & His Comets to join that rare club of artists who chart two hits with the same single.

    [9] This is an example of Robert Justman
    ’s intentions to make better use of the famed Desilu Forty Acres backlot, which was demolished in 1976 IOTL.

    [10] Earlier seasons of Happy Days were not filmed before an audience, but used a laugh track. As one might expect from the studio that brought us I Love Lucy, laugh tracks do not truck with Desilu, who insists upon a live studio audience. The backlot scenes are recorded in advance, and then presented to an audience “for live responses”. The soundstages at which the bulk of Rock Around the Clock are filmed are located at the Desilu-Cahuenga lot, which is (not) coincidentally where much of I Love Lucy was filmed.

    [11] Any references to another property set (mostly) in 1955 and featuring the
    “Man from Space” episode of The Honeymooners is strictly intentional :D

    [12] Much the same situation happened IOTL, with the same resolution.

    ---

    And now you have some idea of the development of Rock Around the Clock, one of the most popular shows of the late 1970s! I also hope that it gave you some insight into the operations of Desilu, the production studio at the heart of our story. This is a critical time for them, as they
    ’re moving beyond “the House that Paladin Built” into a new era. Of course, since theyre a bona fide larger studio, their output will naturally be a great deal less cohesive, less patterned than in their earlier days. But isn’t that half the fun?
     
    Requiem for the Yank Years
  • Requiem for the Yank Years (1971-75)

    And now, for the newest update! But first, two very special notices: this marks my 200th post to this thread, and far more importantly, thank you all for 150,000 views! It warms the cockles of my heart to know that you have bestowed so many views and replies upon my humble thread! But without further delay, we present the thrilling conclusion…

    ---

    The “Yank Years” of Doctor Who are, in retrospect, easy to define – those four seasons during which the show aired on American television: from September 13, 1971, through March 10, 1975. In the UK, these seasons aired early in the year, or started in late December of the year preceding; in the US, as was typical, they would begin in September and carry through to March. Canada, due to simultaneous broadcasting policies enacted in 1972, was forced to follow the US schedule, even though it put them several months behind; Australia, by contrast, took the opportunity to catch up with the UK in the early 1970s, having previously been rather far behind themselves; by the beginning of the 1973 season they were only a few weeks behind, largely the result of physical limitations (tapes having to be shipped halfway across the world proved cumbersome). [1] The “Yank Years” represented the majority (four seasons out of six) of the tenure of the Third Doctor, Jon Pertwee, who is consequently remembered as the Doctor in the American popular imagination. Though Desilu Productions had acquired the tapes depicting the adventures of the first two Doctors (played by William Hartnell and Patrick Troughton), these had seen only limited success stateside, a state of affairs that would endure until changes in the industry during the late 1970s.

    Recurring thematic elements of the Yank Years included the involvement of the Doctor with the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce, or UNIT. Though this organization, whose purpose was to combat extraterrestrial threats to Earth and/or humanity, had already been in place prior to the plans to export Doctor Who into foreign markets, it made for an excellent opportunity to enhance the international appeal of the program. Not only Americans, but also Canadians and Australians were frequently said or shown to be involved with UNIT, though the Doctor primarily interacted with agents from the United Kingdom. The organization also supplied many of the Doctor’s beloved supplementary companions, such as Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, the only companion to appear throughout the entirety of the Yank Years (not to mention the entire tenure of the Third Doctor). Restrictions on movement through time and space, imposed by the BBC in the show’s darkest hour (financially speaking), were gradually lifted.
    The Doctor could travel throughout Earth as of the crossover with Star Trek, and after the show was established as a hit, he and Linda Johnson were able to travel to any time and any place starting in the ninth season. Finally, and most importantly, there was the Master (played by Roger Delgado), who was the equal and opposite to the Doctor.

    As part of the broadcasting agreement with NBC and the production agreement with Desilu, both of those American partner companies were given considerable clout over the production of Doctor Who – the BBC and those directly in charge of the show could obviously negotiate with NBC in the event of disputes, but Desilu – which had total control of much of the post-production process, including film editing (handled, in the early years, by none other than the Oscar-nominated Marcia Lucas) and visual effects (by former members of the Star Trek effects team) – music and sound libraries remained the responsibility of the BBC – was able to get its way far more often.

    When times – and ratings – were good, the two American partners saw little need to exercise their power, and such was the case for the show’s first American season in 1971-72, which had surpassed all expectations and cracked the Top 30. In the ensuing years, as ratings continued to decline, both NBC and Desilu were inclined to credit Star Trek, which had entered syndication that season and aired on many NBC affiliates at 7:00, for that initial burst of success; given their already established shared history and their very similar genres. On Mondays, Doctor Who followed Star Trek at 8:00 on the primetime network feed. It would remain in that timeslot for the entirety of the Yank Years. Laugh-In would follow until 1973, and then The Bill Cosby Show until 1975, at which point both it and Doctor Who were cancelled.

    One of the fiat requirements by Desilu was that every serial, starting midway through the second Pertwee season (and the first broadcast on American network television), be five episodes long (allowing airing on Monday-through-Friday in syndication). Most story arcs had been four to six episodes in the past, so the firm insistence on five – though limiting creative flexibility – was not considered an overwhelming restriction. Indeed, even the British side of the operation could appreciate the appeal, and would find even more reason to do so in the coming years, as it became clear that British audiences, in addition to Americans, greatly enjoyed looking back on the past. [2] Indeed, their experiences likely softened them to the idea of a tenth-anniversary special, which would unite all three incarnations of the Doctor, played by their original actors.

    Though NBC was highly reluctant to fund a serial that would co-star two characters largely unknown to American audiences (the Second Doctor, popularly known at the time as “that other Doctor”, had received decent – if erratic – exposure, whilst the First had been almost completely absent from the airwaves stateside), Desilu was enthusiastic, for exactly that same reason. Stations would be far more willing to pay for the Hartnell and Troughton era episodes, the studio reasoned, if they were better acquainted with the actors and their characters. [3] “The Three Doctors”, the serial that featured said doctors, was – much as the crossover between Star Trek and Doctor Who had been – far better received in the United Kingdom, again largely for the same reason: the “unfamiliar” characters were actually not so for British audiences. However, “The Three Doctors” performed well overall, as it represented Connie Booth’s swan song in the role of Linda Johnson; both Desilu and NBC agreed to pay the (much larger) salary that Booth demanded to appear in the arc (having left the program after her two-season contract had expired), which was commensurate with that of Pertwee himself. Booth had only made such an outlandish demand in an attempt to dissuade the BBC from agreeing to it, but (as is often the case) she was obliged to accede when it was met.

    The BBC and the producers of Doctor Who had considered the obligation to have an American companion over and done with after Booth’s departure, only to face a rude awakening when NBC insisted on another American to replace her. Given viewer demographics, this was not surprising; Booth had been credited with attracting the interest of males aged 14 to 29 – the most desirable of all viewer demographics – even as other groups stopped tuning in. The BBC was given “complete” control over the casting decision, provided that the new companion would be a young American woman under age 30. Their eventual choice was Angela Bowie, young wife of the rising rock star David Bowie, known for his breakout hit “Space Oddity”, which had ridden Moonshot Lunacy to the Top 10 on the British charts, and – surprisingly – the Top 40 in the United States, as well, giving him a minor chart hit stateside. [4] At the time of her selection as the new companion, her husband was riding high with the release of what would later become viewed as a seminal rock recording: Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders of Mars. Additionally, she and David had a young son, commonly known as Zowie (legally Duncan Jones). The selection of Angela Bowie as the new companion – who was named Claire Barnett (her real-life maiden name) – was considerably more risky than that of Booth, but it also had potential advantages. However, Bowie was neither as talented nor as disciplined as Booth, and her character was far more empty-headed than the competent Linda Johnson. [5] However, she did generate good publicity, and remained as the principal companion for the remainder of the Third Doctor’s tenure.

    After the conclusion of the Yank Years, Pertwee, already tiring of his role, agreed to appear for one additional season, which would be his last. He had already arranged this with his good friend Roger Delgado, who was planning to bow out as the Master within the same timeframe. [6] Thus, it appeared that the final confrontation between the Doctor and the Master would be unavailable to American viewers, NBC having cancelled the program in 1975. The BBC proved surprisingly willing to provide a compensatory funding boost, largely due to fan lobbying (Doctor Who fandom was said to reach as high as the Queen herself) [7] though obviously not to the same level as that established by the American network.
    But Desilu, it turned out, continued to be willing to support Doctor Who, for the very simple reason that additional episodes would pad their syndication package. They continued to provide post-production services free of charge for the final Pertwee season – therefore, all story arcs remained five episodes long.

    Pertwee and Delgado both departed at the end of the twelfth season of Doctor Who in 1975, their story arcs having been completed. A new Doctor had to be chosen to appear in the final episode of the last story arc featuring Pertwee, in order to complete the regeneration from the Third Doctor to the Fourth Doctor. From a long list of candidates, the final choice was 39-year-old Jim Dale, over fifteen years the junior of Pertwee. He became the youngest-ever actor cast as the Doctor. Desilu very specifically had nothing to do with his casting; the BBC believed that a youthful Doctor would appeal to the ever-younger audience of the program. [8] Chosen as his principal companion was the first unambiguously British young woman to take the role since Caroline John in 1970: 23-year-old Jane Seymour, as Londoner Alice Evans.
    [9] Their adventures would be completely funded and produced by the BBC, the post-production facilities devoted to Doctor Who at the Desilu studios instead being redirected to focus on motion pictures.

    Meanwhile, in Canada, perhaps as an indication of its growing cultural independence from the United States and strengthening ties with the Commonwealth, Doctor Who remained on the air, having become a genuine success there – more so than in the United States, in fact, as it remained one of the most popular shows on the CBC. It was a vindication, as it washed away any memories of the abortive run in the 1960s. No longer bound to simulcasting with the American airings, they did their best to air them closer to the original British airdate, though with some difficulty (even though the voyage from Southampton to Halifax was a much shorter one than Southampton to Perth). However, and as was the case with syndication in the United States, this asynchronous situation would endure only until technological advances permitted alternatives…

    In total, the Yank Years comprised 100 episodes, divided into twenty-five arcs averaging five episodes apiece, over four production seasons. Included in this package was the four-episode crossover with Star Trek, entitled “Starship from the Future”. Throughout the Anglosphere, only the Doctor Who version was widely seen following the initial broadcast of the two-part Star Trek version (“Lords of Time and Space”), which aired in 1970 stateside and in 1972 in the UK. Bootleg versions were hot items at conventions. [10] The entire Pertwee run in American syndication was 150 episodes over six seasons (the two non-NBC seasons bookending the four). This allowed Desilu to “strip” the program over a period of 30 weeks; every story arc beyond the initial six was five episodes long, with the first six totalling exactly thirty-five episodes. This allowed a strong sense of week-by-week continuity, which would become a very popular method of storytelling with the rise of direct syndication in later years.

    ---

    [1] Australia very nearly caught up to the original UK airdates by the early 1970s IOTL, often by airing several episodes a week, before falling behind again. ITTL, given the popularity of the program in North America, Australian broadcasters and viewers want to avoid being left out of the loop (and wind up ahead as a result).


    [2] You may note that the mid-1970s were about the time that the BBC stopped wiping tapes IOTL (as did the American networks, with regards to auxiliary programming such as talk shows and game shows). This was a contributory factor ITTL, part of an overall snowball effect.

    [3] Hartnell was in slightly better health at this stage ITTL, allowing him to appear in one proper scene with his fellow two Doctors (although his character is constantly shown viewing offscreen monitors or readouts, in order to “disguise” that he is reading cue cards). Sadly, his still-limited presence in the serial wasnt really enough to motivate sales of his tenure into syndication; the Second, on the other hand, would become a syndication mainstay (if not nearly as much as the Third Doctor, let alone Star Trek) as a result of his good reception by American audiences, which is consequently enough for Desilu to rate “The Three Doctors” as a success.

    [4] IOTL, “Space Oddity” failed to chart on the Billboard Hot 100 on its original release in 1969 (it became a hit single on re-release in 1973).

    [5] Angela Bowie was a controversial figure, kept on largely because NBC insisted on an American, and because she was willing to work cheap. Her well-known androgyny was sublimated into a tomboyish persona for the character of Claire. Her husband, who IOTL has dabbled in acting, made cameo appearances but never took a serious role.

    [6] The death of Delgado in a car crash in Turkey in 1973 IOTL has been butterflied, allowing both he and Pertwee to depart hand-in-hand.

    [7] Yes, apparently Her Majesty is a fan of Doctor Who. The supporting evidence for this IOTL is that Michael Grade, who did his best to destroy that program during his tenure as BBC Controller, is the only person to hold that position who was not knighted by the Queen. And considering just how indiscriminately she hands out knighthoods

    [8] Dale was an OTL candidate to replace Pertwee, in fact the youngest on the shortlist. The next-youngest, one year older (and chosen one year earlier, thus making him the same age as Dale ITTL, since Pertwee stayed on for one extra season) was Tom Baker, the OTL choice.

    [9] Seymour, of course, was the primary Bond girl in Live and Let Die IOTL, but had no role in Moonraker ITTL, and is therefore largely unknown. She auditions for the role of the new companion reasoning that she could surely do a better job than Bowie, and indeed she does. She then shared her (Greater) London origin with Alice Evans.

    [10] Desilu is aware of the bootlegging of “Lords of Time and Space” at Star Trek conventions, and tacitly permits it; they believe that keeping the crossover strictly a part of the Doctor Who syndication package will make it far more desirable (and Star Trek certainly doesnt need any help getting airplay). It also helps that Star Trek has 135 episodes and Doctor Who has 150 episodes under this arrangement, both of which “strip” nicely (as opposed to the clunkier 137 and 146 episodes, respectively).

    ---

    For the official record, until such time as it can be added to the Wiki (all tenures are reckoned by British airdates):

    Doctor Who Actors


    First Doctor: William Hartnell (1963-66)
    Second Doctor: Patrick Troughton (1966-69)
    Third Doctor: Jon Pertwee (1970-75)
    Fourth Doctor: Jim Dale (1975-)

    Principal Companions


    Third Doctor


    Caroline John as Liz Shaw (1970)

    Connie Booth as Linda Johnson (1971-72)
    Angela Bowie as Claire Barnett (1973-75)

    Fourth Doctor


    Jane Seymour as Alice Evans (1975-)


    ---

    Thus concludes our look at Doctor Who in the Yank Years! The further adventures of the Fourth Doctor (and all those subsequent), along with his companions, will now be featured as part of the greater focus on British telly. For those who are lamenting the absence of Tom Baker and Lis Sladen in their OTL roles, please bear in mind that they were cast as such IOTL, and I can never take that away from you ;) Thank you all for your patience and understanding!
     
    Last edited:
    1975-76: Lonely at the Top
  • Lonely At The Top (1975-76)

    February 27, 1976

    It was early evening at Desilu Productions, and a time to kick back and relax. Active production on their roster of programming had been completed for another season, and would not resume until May, marking the beginning of their “summer vacation”, such as it was. Other branches of the studio, however, including the Post-Production house, would remain in business, but none of these were under the purview of Robert H. Justman, Vice-President of Production.

    “All the filming done on yet another season,” he said, as he ate dinner with his two immediate superiors, Lucille Ball and Herbert F. Solow, in the Desilu commissary.

    “It’ll be a lot quieter around here with all the actors, technicians, camera crews, and pyrotechnics guys gone,” said Ball. “That’s really good work, though, Bobby. How many years has it been now?”

    “Five,” he and Solow replied in unison.

    “Five years,” she repeated. “That’s a pretty decent chunk of time in our line of work.”

    “It sure is,” he said. “And I’ve been meaning to talk to the two of you about that.”

    Ball and Solow exchanged knowing glances.

    “Working here has been a great opportunity for me, and I’m really proud to have helped Desilu reach such great heights these last few years; but this line of work, overseeing and underwriting… it’s not my passion. I miss being the driving force behind a show, working in the belly of the beast. I really think I should be going back to that.”

    “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Ball finally said, after the news had taken some time to sink in with both of his dining companions. “You’ve been a valuable asset to our team, Bobby, but you’ve gotta do what you wanna do. And you can’t let putting off a decision like that tear you apart. Look at me, I was juggling acting in my own sitcom and running this studio at the same time for a few years there… it’s a good thing I was younger then, because looking back, it was just crazy.”

    “Crazy isn’t a strong enough word for it,” Solow chimed in.

    “Well then, what would you call it, Herbie?” Ball replied, laughing. “Loony? Screwy? Zany? Because it was all of those things, and so much more.”

    Solow laughed too, before turning to Justman. “I know you’ve been itching to get back into active production, Bob. We’re going to miss you helping us hold down the fort, but you have to do what you love. That’s what we’re both doing, and you deserve the same.”

    “Well, of course I’ll stay until you find a suitable replacement for the position,” Justman assured them. “And I still intend to oversee the production of the I Love Lucy special. I know better than to turn down the chance to be a part of history.”

    “Says the man who produced Star Trek for five years,” Ball retorted. “Trust me, Bobby, you’re already in the history books at this studio. I swear that show still brings in more money than I Love Lucy ever did. Y
    ’know, maybe sometime, we oughta do something about that…”

    “One big idea at a time, Lucy,” Solow said, gently. “First we need to find Bob’s replacement. And he might have chosen the best possible time to quit on us, because I’ve heard about somebody promising who might be willing to take the job with the right amount of coaxing…”

    ---

    In many respects, it was a quiet season for Desilu Productions – their ambitious plans for an I Love Lucy 25th Anniversary Special (which had been green-lit by CBS, and would even air on the actual anniversary date of October 15, 1976) had largely precluded the opportunity to scout for and develop pilots, so the studio had only four shows remaining on the air in the 1975-76 season; in a triumph of quality over quantity, all four cleared the Top 30, with two – Rock Around the Clock and The Muppet Show, both on ABC – reaching the Top 10. Indeed, in a singular triumph for the studio, Rock Around the Clock reached #1 overall for the season [1], dethroning Sanford and Son, and serving as one of the crowning achievements of the retro nostalgia trend: the most popular show on the air in 1975 was one that took place in 1955, cementing in the popular imagination the idea that nostalgia was in fact relative, not absolute, and always projected two decades behind whatever vantage point was chosen.

    But when it came to crowning achievements and retro nostalgia, another rousing success was none other than the King of Rock-and-Roll himself, Elvis Presley. Ever since what had become known as his Comeback Special in late 1968, his career had been moving from strength to strength. The personal image of Elvis as a family man, with his young wife Priscilla, and their two children – daughter Lisa Marie, and son Jesse Garon [2] – contrasted delightfully with his increasingly sexualized stage persona and song choices. Elvis, like Desilu, had staked his claim on quality over quantity. He had parted ways with his longtime manager Colonel Tom Parker in 1973, and under new manager Tom Hulett, he was performing international tours for the first time in his career; travelling to Europe, Australia, South America, Japan, and (controversially) Saudi-Arabia, whose oil sheiks had apparently made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. [3] He also accepted an offer to appear as the male lead in a remake of A Star Is Born, opposite Barbra Streisand, embarking on the “serious” acting career he had always craved. And then there was television, the medium that had revitalized his career (and, fittingly, had helped to launch it back in the 1950s). His two children, both of whom adored Sesame Street, no doubt played a part in his decision to appear on the show in 1974, performing “Promised Land”, and making the acquaintance of Jim Henson and Frank Oz in the process (both Lisa Marie and Jesse could be seen on the sidelines watching their father perform in the episode).

    It was as a result of this appearance that Elvis and Desilu came together, when Henson and Oz invited the King to appear on The Muppet Show in its second season. Hulett wasn’t sure what to make of the offer; it was the kind of “silly” gig that Col. Parker would have signed his client up to in a jiffy, which was already enough to give him pause – but at the same time, it was (improbably enough) now the highest-rated variety show on television, and it was even catching on with foreign audiences; much to the pleasure of Desilu, who were happy to have another licence to print money. As Elvis was now touring worldwide, the appeal of being seen on television worldwide was obvious. The King thus consented to appear, and performed three songs: “Burning Love” (with Miss Piggy), “Teddy Bear” (with Fozzie Bear), and “Jailhouse Rock” (with most of the Muppet repertory). The decision to perform two of his standards, balanced by only one recent hit, was justified by the popular revival of his 1950s-era music; indeed, it would begin to see regular airplay on Rock Around the Clock as soon as it became feasible to do so (as the series moved into 1956, the year of “Heartbreak Hotel”). Needless to say, this provided a further financial boon to the King’s career, as well as his popularity, and his television appearances certainly didn’t hurt on that score. The Elvis Presley episode of The Muppet Show, the highest-rated in its history, aired on February 22, 1976. Any lingering reticence on the part of actors or singers to appear on the program vanished overnight.

    The influence of retro nostalgia even percolated into shows with modern settings. A classic example of the needs of network executives conflicting with the pitches made by writers was the curious case of Welcome Back, Kotter, which was based on the youth of its star and co-creator, Gabe Kaplan. During its development, MGM had re-released its seminal rebellious youth film Blackboard Jungle, which had performed very well at the box office – well enough to convince executives at NBC (who were already feeling the heat from having cancelled The Bill Cosby Show, which was also about a “hip, young” educator) to tailor Kotter to fit that paradigm. [4] The group of remedial students whose destinies Kotter would shepherd would be led by a young, black “ringleader” similar to Sidney Poitier’s character in The Blackboard Jungle. Eventually chosen after an exhaustive talent search was 21-year-old Denzel Washington, who idolized Poitier. [5] The two actors were similar in a number of ways – both were poised, passionate, and classically handsome – though Washington was capable of surprising deviousness as well, which producers eagerly utilized to their advantage. As seemed to be an emerging theme among inter-generational series in the era, the show revolved around both lead characters attempting to improve each other, and – at the same time – improve themselves.

    The cop show genre, though relatively inauspicious in comparison to the
    “important” shows of the era, proved insidious. The big new show in the genre for that season was the more buddy comedy-influenced Starsky & Hutch – which, oddly enough, heavily bucked the retro nostalgia trend and instead focused on trying its best to follow modern-day fashions and styles as slavishly as possible – which, naturally, dated it very quickly. The cop shows also finally found themselves with a distaff counterpart in Police Woman, which acquired a fan in very high places – none other than Gerald R. Ford, Speaker of the House of Representatives, who made sure to get all House business over and done with early enough on Friday nights to get home in time to watch the show. Whatever his motivations, his wife Betty, for her part, seemed to take it all in good humour. [6] Meanwhile, Norman Lear and his Tandem Productions continued to insist on hard-hitting, modern, relevant programming; even though escapism was rapidly triumphing over realism, and there was fear that he would oversaturate the market for such, all by himself. Nonetheless, One Day At A Time, which tackled single-motherhood, premiered in this season, and continued the Tandem hot streak by finishing within the Top 30, as all of their other shows did, with the notable exception of Maude. [7] Thus ended the supremacy of Norman Lear, who (with his characteristic self-righteousness) spoke openly against the newly-enthroned Desilu, whose two most popular shows were (in his words) a throwback and a trifle. When his sour-grapes critique was met with strong backlash within the industry, he backpedaled and claimed that he admired the progressiveness of the Desilu roster as a whole, but the damage was done. His partnership with Bud Yorkin – the creative core of Tandem – would dissolve before the end of the year. [8]

    Those Were the Days was unquestionably suffering from the imposition of the Family Viewing Hour, which had forced it to move to 9:00 on a different night, and consequently saw it falling out of the Top 10. The cast did their best to take this in stride, even recording a spoof version of their theme song in which they lampooned the envelope-pushing changes to television programming in the last few years; contrasting it pointedly against the more “wholesome” shows still on the air. [9] Meanwhile, Paramount Television chose a relatively safe, conservative means of expansion, spinning off the character of Phyllis Lindstrom (played by Oscar-winner Cloris Leachman) from The Mary Tyler Moore Show, as they had done for Rhoda the year before. Technically, this tied the studio (who now had four shows on the air, The Odd Couple having been cancelled at the end of the previous season) with Desilu in terms of Top 30 success, with four shows apiece; but on average, the Desilu shows ranked higher. Certainly, this rivalry appealed to the trade papers, who never failed to note that the two studios were located right next-door to each other; the rather obscure bit of trivia that Charles Bluhdorn had once offered to buy Desilu resurfaced at this time, fueling speculation as to what this hypothetical “super-Paramount” might have looked like (though some dismissed this as a pointless exercise).

    A landmark innovation of television presentation was achieved during this season, when the mini-series Rich Man, Poor Man debuted. Although it had definite precursors, such as QB VII from the previous season, as well as transatlantic counterparts (known in the UK as
    “serials”, and having aired there since the 1950s), Rich Man, Poor Man was the first that caught the attention of executives and programmers, as it had done spectacularly well in the only metric that “mattered” – the ratings. It had finished at #2 overall for the entire season, behind only Rock Around the Clock, and ahead of Sanford and Son. It capped a remarkable renaissance for the Alphabet Network, which now had five Top 10 shows, as many as the other two networks combined; though all three had tied with ten shows in the Top 30. [10] ABC also had only the second #1 series in their history, following the one-year blip of Marcus Welby, M.D.; and Rock Around the Clock would prove to have a great deal more staying power. However, and despite their arguable first-place status, they were not without their blunders: two key figures from the sports division of the network, producer Roone Arledge and commentator Howard Cosell, put their talents to use in an altogether disastrous project called Saturday Night Live. Neither of these two accomplished gentlemen had any experience in the comedy/variety format of this new series, and it showed. Though it was cancelled, they were soon able to dust themselves off, and get back into an arena where they could really shine.

    At the Emmy Awards that year, all three major series repeated their wins in their respective categories: Mary Tyler Moore for Comedy, Police Story for Drama, and The Muppet Show for Variety. Indeed, there was a great deal of repetition in many of the major categories: Outstanding Lead Actor in a Comedy Series for Milton Berle in Chico and the Man; Valerie Harper in Outstanding Lead Actress in a Comedy Series for Rhoda (beating out both of her former co-stars, Mary Tyler Moore and Cloris Leachman, for their respective shows); and, controversially, Ted Knight in Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Comedy Series, when the buzz had revolved around hot newcomer Denzel Washington for his breakthrough performance in Welcome Back, Kotter. It was theorized that he had split the “tough guy” vote with Micky Dolenz for Rock Around the Clock, allowing Knight to come up the middle in his very different, and far more broad, performance as news anchor Ted Baxter in The Mary Tyler Moore Show. On the other hand, Elvis Presley won his very first Emmy for his performance in The Muppet Show. The smash Rich Man, Poor Man won the Emmy for Outstanding Limited Series, against minimal opposition. [11]

    And at the end of the day (quite literally), NBC was doing well enough to play hardball with Johnny Carson, host of The Tonight Show, when his contract was due for renegotiation in 1975. Carson had wanted to end the “Best of Carson” compilations that were airing on the network during late nights on weekends, so that they could instead be aired during weekday late nights, which would then allow him to take those days off. [12] NBC flatly refused; not only would that necessitate the creation of a late-night weekend variety program in place of those reruns, but it would have them competing against Dick Cavett on ABC and Merv Griffin on CBS with them as well. [13] Though Carson was beating the two of them quite handily, they were still holding their own, especially with niche audiences (Cavett attracted a more highbrow, intellectual crowd; Griffin was warm and genial in contrast to Carson’s more smarmy, detached persona). Eventually, a compromise was reached: in addition to a hefty raise, Carson was granted syndication and distribution rights of The Tonight Show through his production company, and was guaranteed at least one night per week off in his contract. [14] That day quickly became established as Monday (leading to one of his most famous catchphrases, I don’t work on Mondays”), and a small, rotating group of guest hosts would soon becomes fixtures on those nights. Within the late-night business, Monday acquired the nickname “Merv-day” or “Mon-Dick”, as Tonight Show viewers were much more likely to watch one of the other two hosts on that night. It was certainly a far more eventful night than Saturday


    ---

    [1] All in the Family finished at #1 for the fifth (and final) consecutive season IOTL. Sanford and Son ranked at #7, and Happy Days ranked at #11.

    [2] Elvis had just one child IOTL. The Mini-Boom has he and Priscilla say – you guessed it – “let’s have one more”, and their son is named for his stillborn uncle.

    [3] The King held onto the Colonel until his death in 1977 IOTL; however, there were many opportunities for that partnership to fracture from about 1973 on. ITTL, since Elvis is still married to Priscilla, she bolsters his inner resolve and an arrangement is made in which Col. Parker is put out to pasture (his silence arranged through a mutual agreement, as the new manager was smart enough to dig up dirt on his predecessor’s citizenship status and military service); since the Colonel was the primary roadblock against international touring and the movie gig IOTL, these are both able to happen ITTL, allowing Elvis to become one of the first past-his-prime musicians to sustain himself through international tours (many others would follow, as they did IOTL), which also keeps his name in the paper (and allows him to be billed over La Streisand in A Star is Born).

    [4] IOTL, ABC aired the show; NBC buys it up instead, because it fits their
    “image” (think Sanford and Chico) better. The success of the Blackboard Jungle re-release ITTL convinces executives to rip it off, and among the pitches they’ve been given, the Gabe Kaplan sitcom fits best. In effect, he’s having his own show ripped out from under him.

    [5] The casting of the
    “Sweathog” student characters was more ensemble-oriented IOTL, though John Travolta (who was not cast ITTL) quickly emerged as the breakout star.

    [6] Ford was just as big a fan of Police Woman during his OTL Presidency – he once rescheduled a press conference so that he wouldn’t miss an episode.

    [7] Yes, every Tandem show finished in the Top 30 IOTL, including Maude at #4 (it helped that All In The Family was its lead-in).

    [8] Lear and Yorkin ended their partnership at around the same time IOTL, due to what appears to have been “creative differences”.

    [9] The OTL cast members did the exact same thing, creating a spoof “theme song” which was never aired; you can find a fan-edited “intro” based on it right here.

    [10] IOTL, ABC had five shows in the Top 10 and thirteen in the Top 30, putting them at a virtual draw with CBS, which had four shows in the Top 10 and fourteen in the Top 30. This left NBC with only one show (Sanford and Son) in the Top 10 and a mere three in the Top 30 (one of which, Police Woman, was at #30 exactly). Thus, ITTL, NBC is doing much better (despite still technically being in third place overall). This means that they are far less motivated to protect their few hits (because they have more of them), and they are also less desperate and therefore less likely to take chances on wild gambles, as they did at about this time IOTL.

    [11] IOTL, the award for Outstanding Variety Series went to
    NBC’s Saturday Night, with Chevy Chase winning (instead of Elvis) for the same program. Outstanding Lead Actor in a Comedy Series went to Jack Albertson, playing the analogous role to Berle; Lead Actress went to Mary Tyler Moore. Outstanding Limited Series was awarded to Upstairs, Downstairs as part of Masterpiece Theatre; as that analogous program is a continuing comedy series, it was not nominated ITTL, allowing Rich Man, Poor Man to win instead.

    [12] IOTL, NBC accepted this arrangement (in desperation, as Carson had threatened to walk to one of the other two networks if his demands went unmet, and the network had very few other hits in this era), resulting in network executive Dick Ebersol deciding to recruit Canadian writer-producer Lorne Michaels to develop an avant-garde comedy/variety program called NBC
    ’s Saturday Night, renamed Saturday Night Live in 1977. That program will never exist ITTL.

    [13] By this point IOTL, both Cavett and Griffin were largely disaffiliated with those respective networks; however, since NBC is spending more resources on other departments, this gives them an edge to remain just competitive enough to solidify their presence on the late-night lineup alongside Carson.

    [14] Most of these contractual arrangements were agreed upon in 1980 IOTL; however, Carson has to concede two key perks: his show still airs regular episodes five days a week (even if he is present for only four of them) and he is still on for ninety minutes as opposed to one hour.

    ---

    One of the quieter overview updates so far, but I like to think that what I
    ve given with one hand, I’ve now taken away with the other. I’ve said it before and now I’ll say it again: television is a zero-sum industry. And yes, as always, I’m laying the groundwork for future updates – indeed, in the very near future in some cases!
     
    Last edited:
    Olympics Fever
  • Olympics Fever

    Montreal Olympics.png
    The official logo of the Games of the XXI Olympiad. [1]

    One in every four years, they were inescapable. And each successive Olympiad seemed to be ever more ostentatious and elaborate than the last. The Summer and Winter Games taking place in the year 1976 were no exception. Both were celebrated in North America; the XII Olympic Winter Games, which took place first, in February, were held in Denver, Colorado, in the United States (the first American games since 1960). Thirty-seven countries participated. [2]

    US Vice-President Edmund Muskie officially opened the Denver Games, just as the incumbent Vice-President had done for the two previous Olympiads held in the United States. His opponents decried what they viewed as tantamount to an early campaign appearance (as he was running for President that year), but there was little alternative, as President Hubert H. Humphrey made relatively few public appearances during his final year in office (though Muskie would later reveal in his memoirs that Humphrey had very much wanted to open the Olympics, but decided against it on account of health concerns). The situation would echo that of then-Vice-President Richard Nixon, who had opened the Squaw Valley Olympics in 1960 (and, not surprisingly, Nixon was one of Muskie’s few defenders on the issue among the Republicans; what’s sauce for the goose
    ).

    Team Canada, for its part, won seven medals at Denver, including two golds, which was good for fifth in the overall standings. [3] It was an underwhelming performance for the Dominion (Prime Minister Robert Stanfield, whose government had invested heavily in sport and athletics, had confidently predicted a top-three finish overall for Canada), but the country did very well indeed in specific fields; particularly alpine skiing, where the “Crazy Canucks” won all three medals in contention for the Men’s Downhill Skiing event (American-born Ken Read took gold). [4] Kathy Kreiner also won the gold medal for Women’s Giant Slalom. Canadian athletes also performed respectably on ice: Toller Cranston won silver for Men’s Figure Skating (behind only the superlative British Olympian, John Curry), Cathy Priestner won bronze for Women’s 500-Metre Speed Skating; and 17-year-old Gaétan Boucher also took the bronze medal in Men’s 1,000-Metre Speed Skating, marking an auspicious debut to a very lengthy and successful career. However, due to disputes with regards to the status of amateur and professional eligibility differing among competitor nations, Canada did not compete in their national sport of ice hockey for the second consecutive Winter Olympiad. [5] Their bitter rivals, Soviet Russia, who had won both the 1972 and 1974 Summit Series against them, took the gold medal. [6]

    But in the end, the Winter Olympics had always been a mere sideshow to those held in the Summer. The Games of the XXI Olympiad were held in Montreal that July. The largest city in Canada, it had been awarded the Summer Games while still basking in the afterglow of the triumphant Expo ’67 and, perhaps as a result, it proved rather ill-equipped to handle the mounting costs to meet their sky-high ambitions; the province of Quebec and (in particular) the Dominion of Canada had to cover many of those costs when the city of Montreal found itself in over its head, going into debt to support the Games for the first time in Olympics history; a great deal of the federal money went to pay overtime, as many of the venues, including Olympic Stadium, completed construction only months or even just weeks ahead of the Opening Ceremonies. [7] 116 countries participated in these games, over triple the number of competing nations in the Winter Games. [8] HM Elizabeth II, in her capacity as Queen of Canada, was invited to open the Montreal Games – the first time that she did so in her nearly quarter-century-long reign (her consort, Prince Philip, had opened the 1956 games at Melbourne in her stead). There was some trepidation that militant Quebec separatists might commit acts of terror in protest, as they had done in the past, and perhaps taking inspiration from the PLO at Munich in 1972; but security was tight, and the Games proceeded without incident [9] – at least, of that particular variety, as a Soviet pentathlete was caught cheating with a rigged épée.

    The host country of Canada performed moderately well, winning 18 medals overall, including four golds. This was good enough to put the Dominion in tenth place at the final standings. Eleven of these eighteen medals were won in the field of swimming, including two golds, both won by the same man: Graham Smith, for the 100- and 200-Metre Backstroke. He would win four medals overall, the most of any Canadian Olympian (and was, accordingly, chosen as flag-bearer). Canada also won the gold medal for the High Jump (by Greg Joy) and the C-1 500-Metre Canoeing event (by John Wood). [10] In an upset victory, the Canadian basketball team also won the bronze medal over the Soviet team; though the game was invented by a Canadian (James Naismith), it still did not have the same significance or merit the same pride as the national sport of ice hockey. However, their success in basketball piqued the interest of those in far different places. And in the grand scheme of things, this surprising loss did little to deter the Soviets, who finished first overall in the medal standings for both the Summer and the Winter Games. Indeed, the upper reaches proved remarkably stable: East Germany finished second at both Games, the United States finished third, and West Germany finished fourth. [11] Canada was the only other country to finish within the Top 10 at both Games.

    tumblr_m99iwshzO61qlz9dno1_500.jpg

    Promotional poster for the Games of the XXI Olympiad, as aired in the United States.

    There were many reasons why the Olympics “mattered”, even though other sporting events, including those of similar scope, longevity, and variety, did not. The “ancient legacy” dating back to before the birth of Christ was among the least significant of these. Any connection was so utterly tenuous as to be virtually meaningless (as was the case with several events at the Olympics; including, most notably, Greco-Roman Wrestling). Surely, any faithful Olympic Games would feature only those events contested in Ancient Greece, with all-male contestants competing in the nude, awarded only herbal wreaths as prizes. But the modern Olympics were an international status symbol, and had been ever since Adolf Hitler had attempted to use them to promote the superiority of Nazi Germany in the 1936 Games, held in his capital of Berlin. For in order to use the Olympics to glorify his regime, the creative minds of his regime had to work to glorify the Olympics. And they would introduce many extravagances that had no precedence, but would forever become associated with the Games, even after they resumed once World War II ended (ironically enough, in London). The most significant legacy of the XI Olympiad, however, was undoubtedly the documentary film Olympia, directed by Leni Riefenstahl. Less controversial than Triumph of the Will (if only relatively speaking), and far more influential, the film would forever define future coverage of the Olympic Games (and sporting events in general), primarily through the use of innovative visual techniques.

    As might be expected to result from an aesthetic created by Nazi Germany, and pioneered on the big screen, Olympian athletes tended to be depicted as distant and iconic figures who were inherently great, for inscrutable reasons; this did not gel with more contemporary approaches to sports journalism, and one of the leading lights in that field, Roone Arledge, the President of ABC Sports, decided to do something about it. The Alphabet Network would air both the Winter Games in Denver and the Summer Games in Montreal, and given that both locales were in North America (and were connected by road to the two major television hubs of New York City and Los Angeles), this allowed Arledge the maximum saturation necessary to implement his bold new strategy. As far as he was concerned, what had been fatally lacking from Olympics coverage was the “human element”; the viewers watching at home needed to be able to relate to their athletes in order to root for them. Because if they rooted for them, they would naturally be more willing to watch them. He road-tested his theory in Denver (about a day’s drive from Los Angeles), making sure to interview all of the American athletes (especially those favoured for their respective events) in advance of the Games; any good “leads” would be followed-up as necessary. Arledge specifically sought out good stories, good drama, that he was sure would resonate with viewers at home. One of the newsmen that Denver would turn into a star was Max Rochelle, an African-American sports reporter brought in from KETV Omaha (much closer to Denver than LA), whose onscreen presence and rapport with interviewees meshed perfectly with Arledge’s vision for the Games.

    But Denver, though successful, was merely the dry-run for Montreal. Americans simply weren’t as interested in winter sports, despite much of its population continuing to live in cold-weather regions. Nonetheless, the focus on the
    “human element” did pay dividends, as the few gold-medal winners within the American delegation (including figure-skater Dorothy Hamill and downhill skier Cindy Nelson [12]) quickly became national celebrities. For his reporting, Rochelle was so well-received by audiences and network brass, that he soon found himself in the forefront of a massive media delegation that virtually swamped Montreal in July; indeed, local commentators would note that the swarm of ABC-TV cameras outnumbered those of all the Canadian networks and stations combined. And contrary to what might be expected, American Olympians weren’t the sole focus of their reporting (though they certainly got the lion’s share). Arledge was not one to let petty nationalism get in the way of a good story, good drama, which he would gladly take where he could get it. Not surprisingly, Canada proved an ample source of these. Even in Denver, the downhill skiing clean sweep by the “Crazy Canucks” proved surprisingly popular with American viewers, even though an American had finished fourth in that event (granted, gold-medalist Ken Read was American-born).

    In the Summer Olympics, Team Canada had done best in swimming, coming in third overall, and the Americans had finished first (East Germany came in second); four-time medalist Graham Smith still received almost as much positive coverage as the medals-laden USA Men
    ’s swim team. Praise was also heaped on bronze-medal winning archer Lucille Lemay and the bronze-winning Canada Men’s basketball team, despite the fact the USA had also won gold in those events. And as yet another indicator of détente, even Soviet athletes were given ample airtime. However, and without question, American Olympians were the undisputed stars of Olympics coverage on ABC. Four-time gold-medalist, swimmer John Nader, was the most successful athlete representing Team USA that year (and was accordingly chosen as flag-bearer), but other major celebrities produced by these games included pentathlete Bruce Jenner, and the USA Men’s boxing team, most prominently “Sugar” Ray Leonard; his ascent could be partly credited to his terrific rapport with Rochelle, and the two would be linked for the remainder of their careers, much as was already the case with Muhammad Ali and Howard Cosell before them (which resulted in much good-natured levity at ABC Sports, that Rochelle was the Eve Harrington to Cosell’s Margo Channing – a comparison that amused Arledge, so long as that doesn’t make me Addison DeWitt”). The success in turning Olympians into flesh-and-blood humans was a vindication for the embattled Arledge; having so spectacularly failed as a variety producer earlier that season, he had decided to play the game by his own rules, and in doing so made an indelible mark on popular perception of the Olympic Games

    ---

    [1] The logo is identical to that of OTL with one key difference: the lack of an acute accent (in French, l’accent aigu) over the
    “e” in Montreal. This is because, IOTL, that spelling was officially applied to the name of the city in English as well as in French; despite the fact that not only does English lack the acute accent (except in loanwords), but the accepted English pronunciation (Mon-tree-all) does not even employ the accent in the same way that the French language does! ITTL, as Canada is providing the vast majority of the funding, and Montreal continues to be recognized as a thoroughly bilingual city (coupled with the status of English as the global lingua franca), the English spelling prevails. And yes, there is widespread complaint about this; in fact, vandals commonly add the accents to signs displaying the logo wherever and whenever possible.

    [2] IOTL, the XII Winter Olympiad was held in Innsbruck, Austria (which had previously hosted the Winter Games in 1964), after Denver, which had won the games in 1970, was forced to withdraw from hosting two years later following a referendum, due largely to financial concerns which did not exist ITTL. Therefore, Denver hosts the games, and Colorado gets a head start on forming its reputation as the Florida of ski resorts.

    [3] Canada won three medals at the Games in Innsbruck IOTL: one gold (Kathy Kreiner), one silver (Cathy Priestner), and one bronze (Toller Cranston).

    [4] Read won the gold, Dave Irwin won the silver, and Jim Hunter won the bronze. Note that, IOTL, all three winners came from countries on the Alps, where the Games were being held (Austria naturally took the gold). ITTL, all three winners come from a country on the Rockies, where the Games are being held (American Andy Mill finishes fourth).

    [5] To make a long story short, Soviet semi-professionals were permitted to participate as
    “amateurs”, whereas Canadian semipros were not.

    [6] IOTL, Canada won the 1972 Summit Series, only to lose in 1974.

    [7] Montreal also went into debt to finance the Olympics IOTL, forcing the province of Quebec to cover them, though the city remained obliged to repay the province (and it would take them thirty years to do so in full). ITTL, the federal government shoulders most of the debt, and does not oblige Montreal to repay them, seeing the event as one that should promote federal unity and camaraderie; unsurprisingly, this endears many Montrealers to Prime Minister Stanfield and his government. All of the major Olympics venues are fully complete by July 1, 1976, ITTL (including the tower on Olympic Stadium), though (as IOTL) much of the transportation infrastructure (including the infamous
    “white elephant”, Mirabel International Airport, and the routes connecting it to Downtown Montreal) is still under construction as the Games are taking place. (For some OTL perspective, note that, although Montreal was the first city to go into debt over the Olympics, it was certainly not the last).

    [8] New Zealand, acting in concert with the United Kingdom, Canada, and Australia, officially extended a trade and cultural boycott against South Africa as part of the Commonwealth Trade Agreement, which extended to sporting events (thus butterflying the rugby match that would inspire the boycott conducted by 28 African nations).

    [9] Because of much poorer Canadian relations with Red China, they recognize Team Republic of China without hassle ITTL.

    [10] Canada won eleven medals IOTL, none of which were gold – the first and only time to date that a host country failed to win any at the Summer Games (it happened several times at the Winter Games, including to Canada – again – at Calgary 1988). Of those eleven medals, eight were in the field of swimming, including all six bronzes. The other three silver medals were awarded to Joy, Wood, and equestrian Michel Vaillancourt. Notably, Graham Smith failed to win any medals as an individual (placing 4th in several events); the Canadian basketball team also finished fourth, losing to none other than the Soviets in the bronze-medal game.

    [11] IOTL, West Germany finished fifth at the Winter Games as opposed to fourth (where Norway ranked instead), though it did finish fourth at the Summer Games.

    [12] Nelson received the bronze medal for the same event IOTL. Once again, the Olympians who finished ahead of her hailed from Alpine countries.

    ---

    Final Medal Count for the Dominion of Canada:


    1976 Denver
    (Winter): 2 Gold (Ken Read, Men’s Downhill Skiing; Kathy Kreiner, Women’s Giant Slalom); 2 Silver (Dave Irwin, Men’s Downhill Skiing; Toller Cranston, Men’s Figure Skating); 3 Bronze (Jim Hunter, Men’s Downhill Skiing; Kathy Priestner, Women’s 500-Metre Speed Skating; Gaétan Boucher, Men’s 1,000-Metre Speed Skating).

    1976 Montreal (Summer): 4 Gold (Graham Smith, Men’s 100m Breaststroke and 200m Breaststroke; Greg Joy, Men’s High Jump; John Wood, Men’s C-1 500-Metre Canoeing); 7 Silver (Michel Vaillancourt, Men’s Individual Jumping Equestrian; Ian Seale, Don Domansky, Leighton Hope, Brian Saunders, Men’s 4x400-Metre Relay; Graham Smith, Stephen Pickell, Clay Evans, Gary Macdonald, Men’s 4x100-Metre Medley Relay; Nancy Garapick, Women’s 100-Metre Backstroke and 200-Metre Backstroke; Cheryl Gibson, Women’s 400-Metre Individual Medley; Susan Sloan, Robin Corsiglia, Wendy Hogg, Anne Jardin, Women’s 4x400-Metre Medley Relay); 7 Bronze (Team Canada, Men’s Basketball; Lucille Lemay, Women’s Archery; Ian Clyde, Men’s Flyweight Boxing; Graham Smith, Men’s 400-Metre Individual Medley; Gail Amundrud, Women’s 200-Metre Freestyle; Becky Smith, Women’s 400-Metre Individual Medley; Gail Amundrud, Becky Smith, Barbara Clark, Anne Jardin, Women’s 4x100-Metre Freestyle Relay).


    ---

    Special thanks to Chipperback for his help and advice in the making of this update!

    My apologies for getting my Godwin in this timeline, but I felt that a few usually verboten terms would serve to emphasize the need to
    “humanize” the Olympic Games, as nothing quite evokes cold and sterile like the Third Reich. And since this is a popular culture timeline, addressing the impact thereupon by the works of Leni Riefenstahl, however abhorrent the regime venerated by her ouevre, is important. In short, she changed the Olympics; and so too did Roone Arledge, though obviously in very different respects.

    And yes, I only had the time and the energy to calculate an alternate medal count for Canada, which won a mere 14 medals at both games IOTL (increased to 25 ITTL). Compare the United States, which won 104 altogether, or the Soviet Union, which won a combined 152 medals. Why did Canada do so much better ITTL? I direct you to this previous update for some background on the situation. Most of the athletes performing are the same as IOTL, despite their youth at the time of the POD, because Olympians are trained from a very young age, and therefore they
    re more butterfly-resistant than others who achieved notoriety in their youth IOTL.

    I hope you all enjoyed reliving the thrill of the Olympics
    – either literally, if you can remember Montreal 1976, or metaphorically, in reference to London 2012, if you cannot. And if you can’t stand the Olympic Games – believe me, I sympathize. And look on the bright side! Back in this era, we only had to suffer through them one year in four, rather than every other year. So we won’t be dealing with them again for at least another twenty updates or so, and who knows how the geopolitical landscape will look by then?


    Montreal Olympics.png
     
    Last edited:
    Galactica
  • Galactica

    There are those who believe...that life here began out there, far across the Universe...with tribes of humans...who may have been the forefathers of the Egyptians...or the Toltecs...or the Mayans...that they may have been the architects of the Great Pyramids...or the lost civilizations of Lemuria...or Atlantis. Some believe that there may yet be brothers of man...who even now fight to survive--somewhere beyond the heavens!

    – The
    Opening Narration of Galactica

    In the wake of Moonshot Lunacy, and the success of
    Star Trek, in the late-1960s, many television writers and producers found themselves devising, and then pitching, science-fiction premises to network executives, eager to tap into the zeitgeist of the time. But very few of them saw lasting success; whether this was the result of inferior product or oversaturation, or perhaps a combination thereof, was difficult to determine. Copycat series, as was usually the case, tended to ape only the most superficial aspects of the pioneering success story, lacking both the thematic and allegorical cohesiveness of Star Trek, along with its emphasis on character development and interaction. Most of them also lacked the lavish budget of Star Trek, and therefore failed with even the basic and visceral accomplishment of creating an impressive or distinct look (and it certainly didn’t help that Desilu paid the best wages for propmasters, costume designers, background artists, and effects creators, and attracted commensurate talent in comparison to other studios). The only broadly science-fiction series to achieve a modicum of success were foreign imports (such as Doctor Who, which had been bolstered by American money, Desilu talent, and a crossover connection with Star Trek itself), and anthology series (including Desilu’s own The Night Gallery – which, although generally a horror series, often crossed that thin line into other genres of speculative fiction, and benefitted from recycled materials previously used in Star Trek). After Lost in Space had been cancelled in 1968, no American-made, serialized dramatic series other than Star Trek had managed to last for longer than one season.

    Enter Glen A. Larson, a former singer-songwriter who had transitioned into television production in the 1960s. He was one of the many people who had developed a pitch in the wake of
    Star Trek and Moonshot Lunacy, but never went anywhere with his idea; that said, he refused to give up on it. And when it became clear that those pitches that were developed into series were dropping like flies, it gave Larson the opportunity to refine his own pitch; to analyze what had gone wrong with them, and how he could be spared the same fate. He scored a major coup when, in 1971, he secured the assistance of none other than Gene L. Coon, former Co-Executive Producer and showrunner of Star Trek itself, whom he would consult on this project until his death in 1973. But even with Coon’s involvement, Larson still found that he could not sell his pitch, because by now the “curse” of science-fiction series had been firmly established – even Star Trek saw its ratings fall in its fifth and final season, though it had rebounded nicely in syndication – and even the lustre of Moonshot Lunacy was in decline by this point. Larson would have to wait for the next big break – but he wouldn’t have to wait for long.

    The breakthrough came from an unusual source:
    Moonraker, the latest James Bond film, very loosely adapted from the Ian Fleming novel of the same name, in order to capitalize on Moonshot Lunacy (which was in its death throes by the time the film itself would finally premiere in the summer of 1974). Moonraker was significant in many ways: it was a smash hit, and proved that science-fiction had “legs” beyond the circumstances of its recent rise in popularity. By this time, with the pedigree of Coon, and many years spent to refine his premise into a workable and desirable product, Larson was finally able to attract some substantive interest. MGM, who had plenty of studio space to build the vast number of sets required, not to mention an overall reasonably robust and profitable television division, agreed to produce the series. Coon would be credited as co-creator (as was the case with The Questor Tapes, though this was not challenged or resented as that decision was), with Larson alone receiving developer credit. [1]

    Larson, like Roddenberry, had used his personal beliefs to inform the fictional universe that he had created; Larson, a Mormon, took the more universally Judeo-Christian ideas of the Exodus story and of Noah’s Ark to furnish his plot, tailoring them to fit his outer-space setting (and thus providing the working title for his project,
    Adama’s Ark) and buttressed the society he had created with customs borrowed specifically from the theology of the Latter-day Saint movement. Though he was obviously motivated to pay homage to his faith, there was also a nicely pragmatic reason for him to make this creative decision: Mormonism was not within the “mainstream” (except in concentrated areas, such as Utah), and therefore its rites and rituals would appear sufficiently “alien” to the average viewer. This continued a time-honoured tradition in 20th-century speculative fiction of “lifting” and “adapting” real-world culture for world-building purposes. J.R.R. Tolkien, author of The Lord of the Rings, had pioneered this technique.

    The story of what had then been known as
    Adama’s Ark entailed the twelve colonies of a race explicitly established as human, though from a homeworld called “Kobol”. All twelve colonies were named for the signs of the Zodiac. [2] They formed a federated government called, simply, the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, and each colony had a single representative in a governing body called the Quorum of the Twelve (one of the more prominent Mormon trappings in the story). Each of these colonies represented an ancient tribe from the planet Kobol; there had actually been thirteen, but the last of these was said to have travelled to a distant planet called “Earth”, far from both Kobol and the Twelve Colonies. The Colonies had fought a centuries-long war with a roboticized opponent race known as the Cylons. After a long-term deadlock, the Cylons feigned a cease-fire, before double-crossing the Colonials and laying waste to their civilization, destroying their military and killing billions of inhabitants. The only people to escape were a “rag-tag” bunch of colonists, numbering in the tens of thousands (out of tens of billions), in only a few hundred spaceworthy ships of the former Colonial Fleet, seeking out the fabled “lost colony” of Earth. The flagship of this fleet was the line-of-battle starship (or battlestar) Galactica, which would eventually lend its name to the title of the series; executives had deemed Adama’s Ark far too clunky and on-the-nose, compared to the elegance and evocative power of, simply, Galactica. [3]

    Meanwhile, NBC had been planning on cancelling
    Doctor Who, whose ratings had continued to decline despite the resurgence of popular interest in science fiction; they finally pulled the plug in March of 1975, having already devised a plan for its replacement by then. Knowing that they needed a replacement “tentpole” series in the genre (as both Doctor Who and the preceding Star Trek had always done phenomenally well with younger viewers), they approached the studio and commissioned the pilot, though they balked at the price tag. $3 million for a three-hour pilot movie, or $1 million per hour, was over triple what had been spent on the grand finale of Star Trek, a proven property, not five years before. This endeavour would also consume an entire day in their primetime schedule. A compromise figure of $2.5 million soon emerged, and the pilot movie (airing in early 1975) would count as the “dry-run” toward any series, which if successful would then premiere in the 1975-76 season (and that initial investment would then be measured against it). Like Star Trek, many elements of tone and style were borrowed from World War II; indeed, the similarities were much stronger in Galactica, given the primary setting of what was essentially an aircraft carrier (the USS Enterprise, by comparison, had seemed utterly devoid of both fighter craft and space marines).

    Much of the budget for the
    Galactica pilot movie was devoted to filming special effects footage, which was farmed out to – where else? – Desilu Post-Production, whose parent studio fortunately had a good working relationship with MGM (even though Lucille Ball had worked for RKO). The idea was that as much footage as possible would be shot for the pilot movie, and would then be reused in the episodes proper, to keep costs down. Star Trek itself had often recycled effects in its earlier seasons (indeed, rising budgets in the later ones were devoted largely to the filming of new effects, along with raises in actor salaries). Ratings for the pilot were good, though critical opinions were mixed. It was still enough for NBC to green-light the show for a regular network berth. Surprisingly enough (though perhaps not so much, given the network’s history with science-fiction programming), Galactica emerged a solid performer, finishing in the Top 30 during its first season. However, it was hardly a smash, and the per-episode cost was over $500,000, making it the most expensive show in primetime. [4] But despite the obscene costs of production, the Peacock Network reluctantly consented to go forward on a second season, hoping that the show’s popularity with younger audiences would pay additional dividends, given the neck-and-neck three-way battle in the Nielsens…

    ---


    [1] IOTL,
    Battlestar Galactica was produced by Universal Television. (This may have been due to Coon, who joined Universal after leaving Star Trek, which he did not do ITTL.) Note also that Coon was not credited in any official capacity for his contributions to Battlestar Galactica IOTL, but is ITTL thanks to his (slightly) greater longevity and reputation. This, of course, means that two shows created by Coon premiered after his death. Believe it or not, this has happened IOTL, to someone very close to this timeline…

    [2] IOTL, the planet that should rightly have been named for Cancer was instead called “Orion”, because of the negative connotations of that word. ITTL, the word “Cancri” (the possessive or genitive form of the word “cancer”, used in naming stars within that constellation) is used instead.


    [3] As opposed to
    Battlestar Galactica, the OTL title, chosen because executives demanded that the word “star” be part of the title (given the twin successes of Star Trek and Star Wars). ITTL, aping Star Trek too closely has come to be seen as a problem by the mid-1970s, and therefore those in charge are more likely to avoid the word “star” (and the word “trek”, for that matter – except perhaps in South Africa, where television is only gradually being phased in at this time).

    [4] Famously,
    Battlestar Galactica was the first show to break the seven-figure threshold IOTL, though it did not do so consistently (the pilot – produced as part of the first season IOTL – cost far more than the rest of the season, and averages tend to chase extremes). Excluding the pilot, my figure is actually relatively close to reality.

    ---


    So now we know a little more about
    Galactica ITTL! It’s largely the same as the OTL version, though with a (slightly) different name, a different production company, a different network, and (most importantly) a second season! We’ll hear more about the show in future overview updates.
     
    I'm Gonna Git You Sucka
  • I’m Gonna Git You Sucka

    They say this cat Shaft is a baad mother – ”
    Shut your mouth!
    But I’m talkin’ ’bout Shaft!
    Then we can dig it!

    – The
    Theme from Shaft, written and performed by Isaac Hayes

    Blaxploitation, as a genre, was one of complex contradictions. For the first time, it allowed performers, filmmakers, and other creative people of colour to make movies on their own terms; at the same time, this movement met with resistance from within the black community, who denigrated themes common to the movement, advocating the production of more serious, meaningful, and artistic films, in the New Hollywood vein. This division was a microcosm of wider society in the early 1970s, as exploitation in general proliferated in this era, enjoying unprecedented success thanks to what had commonly been known as the “new freedom of the screen”; there was naturally criticism of this from moral watchdogs, but the movie-going public largely ignored them. Indeed, Blaxploitation proved to have remarkable appeal to mainstream society, for many reasons: the mystique of the outré culture being depicted; the curiosity of seeing life “on the other side”; the sense of solidarity with other minority groups or subcultures; and the appeal of common themes such as rebellion and retribution that always spoke so powerfully to the younger generation. The call for “legitimacy” never faded as the years went by, however. Nichelle Nichols, one of the biggest stars in the black community in the early 1970s, was a staunch opponent of exploitation and would have no part in it, despite many offers for her to do so. [1] She was later joined by another luminary, Bill Cosby, who was an early supporter of the movement (he had funded Sweet Sweetback’s Baadassss Song), but eventually came to appreciate what he saw as the need to depict the concrete benefits of his pet causes of education and the strong, traditional family unit. But criticism of Blaxploitation was just as controversial as Blaxploitation itself. It didn’t help that the definition of the genre (as is so often the case) was far more fluid than rigid; many people, particularly mainstream audiences, saw no substantive difference between the “exploitation” and the “serious films” that seemed to be polarizing the black community.

    Indeed, moviegoers in the 1970s, for the first time in history, were
    not wanting for variety when it came to films depicting the experiences of minorities. The “new freedom of the screen” was especially critical to their success, as many of them (even the “serious” films) were rated R or even X [2], and intended for adult audiences. A number of the early Blaxploitation films were so successful that they spawned franchises of their own; in some cases, numerous sequels would follow. The defining example of this was Shaft, which featured the adventures of the titular P.I. John Shaft, legendarily described in his immortal theme song (written by Isaac Hayes, who won an Oscar for his composition) as “the black private dick that’s the sex machine to all the chicks”. Richard Roundtree played the character in what – surprisingly – emerged as a smash hit for MGM in 1971, reaching the Top 10 and becoming their second-highest-grossing picture of the year, after Napoleon. It was the first time that MGM had two hits in the Top 10 since 1962, serving to vindicate the policies of studio chief Edgar Bronfman. [3] The sequel, Shaft’s Big Score, released the following year, also proved highly profitable, leading to Shaft in Africa. Though only lukewarmly received at the time (the next sequel, Shaft Undercover, performed better and was considered a welcome return to form [4]), it eventually came to be regarded as a key antecedent to the later sub-genre of films attempting to expose the brutal living conditions in sub-Saharan Africa, or “Brother against Brother in the Motherland”, in the parlance of the time; somewhat more paternalistically, it would also be referred to as “shedding light on the Dark Continent”.

    The role of women in Blaxploitation was strongly criticized, particularly by the rising feminist movement, as being little more than sex objects (the more puritanical and prudish societal critics would
    also object; hardly the first time that sexuality would make for such strange bedfellows). One of the major “responses” to this charge would result in the biggest female star within the black community, Pam Grier, starring in the Coffy series of movies (helmed by the white director, Jack Hill, with whom she worked frequently). Like Nichelle Nichols as Lt./Lt. Cmdr. Uhura on Star Trek before her, Grier blended unapologetic sexuality with a commanding screen presence in her portrayal of the competent professional character she played, in this case Coffy, who was a nurse (much like Julia, the first black female lead on television). The Coffy series (a trilogy: the 1973 original, 1974’s Burn, Coffy, Burn!, and 1975’s Cream ‘Em, Coffy! [5]) became known for its refusal to portray drug pushers and pimps in a positive light, unlike many other Blaxploitation films, along with its depiction of a strong, capable lead female. Perhaps Coffy had the greatest influence on mainstream culture of any property within the genre; however, this would not fully percolate until the later 1970s. But needless to say, its characterization of “tough and sexy” would define female action stars for the foreseeable future.

    Blaxploitation occasionally ventured into the territory of more “serious” black films through use of historical settings. A prime example was a trilogy of works produced according to this theme – often described as the
    Black Trilogy or the Charley Trilogy [6] – which starred former football star Fred Williamson as Charley, depicted in the first film (The Legend of Black Charley) as a fugitive slave, and in the second (The Soul of Black Charley) working to secure his newfound freedom after the Civil War. But when it came to these films, the most intriguing point of comparison was with Blazing Saddles, set in roughly the same period; the third and final installment in the series, The Black Boss, which was released in the following year, even had largely the same plot; with Charley in the role of Bart, though obviously the events were played straighter and lacked the comedic and satirical elements of that Oscar-winning smash-hit (indeed, critics often dismissed it as a traditional potboiler western, though from a novel perspective).

    Borrowing more from contemporary vigilante justice and revenge fantasies like
    Dirty Harry and Death Wish were films such as Finney, which starred the young actor Samuel L. Jackson as Lance Cpl. Ben Finney, a veteran of the recent unpleasantness in Southeast Asia, who had returned to his native Deep South only to continue to face discrimination, despite the civil rights breakthroughs of the previous decades. Unable to seek legal recourse, he decides to deal with these modern-day Klansmen in his own way. Finney was memorably described by Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel in their review of the film on Coming Attractions as “Birth of a Nation in reverse”; and the film did not shy away from controversy, as the central villain (a corrupt bureaucrat named, simply, “Wally”) was considered a transparent stand-in for Alabama Governor and American Party bigwig George Wallace. Jackson perhaps earned the most plaudits of any Blaxploitation actors for his dynamic, menacing performance as Lance Cpl. Finney; the film also saw benefit from an emerging cohort of young filmmakers of colour, eager to produce deliberately stylized content, as opposed to the cheap jury-rigging of traditional exploitation fare. This also held true for another period piece, Cooley High, often considered the “Blaxploitation American Graffiti”; a genuine retro nostalgia piece from that perspective, and a surprisingly fond look back at the ghetto life. Writer-producer Eric Monte was approached by network executives who invited him to adapt the film into a television series, partly as a response to Rock Around the Clock and breakout hit Welcome Back, Kotter. [7] The new show would premiere in the 1976-77 season, under the name What’s Going On!!.

    Deconstruction of the genre came hard and fast, of course. Underground comedian Rudy Ray Moore adapted his signature stage persona, Dolemite, into a film of the same name, released in 1975, which slyly parodied the genre (to the extent that the uninitiated would likely take the film at face value). Nichelle Nichols, for
    her part, decided to challenge Blaxploitation directly when she starred in Equality, released in 1974, and set during the 1950s and 1960s in the industrial Midwest. She portrayed a single mother – originally a divorcée as Nichols herself had been, before producer Bill Cosby instead asked that her husband die a dignified death, fighting in Korea – raising her son through menial labour (originally as a waitress), and then – after the Civil Rights movement began in earnest in the mid-1950s – putting herself through school and becoming a secretary. She fought hard to ensure that her son was educated, in turn (and thus avoided the draft in the mid-1960s due to his student status). Intended to embrace women’s rights as well as those of minorities, this small film became a sleeper hit, drawing audiences from those groups as well as – most lucratively – Trekkies. The film included many details from Nichols’ own life experiences which served to enrich the story; her character, in one scene, expresses annoyance at having to answer phones for a living, an obvious reference to her role on the Enterprise. “If Uhura had lived in that time and place, that might have been her fate,” Nichols later commented on the similarity. “But she is so much more than many other black exploitation films would have her be.” Nichols would be awarded for her performance with, among other accolades, an Academy Award nomination for Best Actress. Sadly, this one-off was the singular triumph of her film career, or indeed any of her screen performances that were not Penda Uhura; she and Cosby would star in a spiritual sequel, Progress, which depicted them as a married couple living in a mixed-race neighbourhood, but it sadly failed to make much of an impact beyond the art-houses. Apart from her continuing work with NASA, and remaining a mainstay on the convention circuit, she returned to the stage, which she described as her first love.

    The push toward “respectability” culminated in the production of several films in that most venerable and elaborate genre of the “talkie” era: the movie musical. Several contemporary black-oriented musicals were smash hits on Broadway:
    Purlie, Raisin, and The Wiz (all three of which had won the Tony Award for Best Musical). [8] That said, another hugely popular musical of the 1970s, the retro nostalgia landmark Greased Lightning, would also see the release of a film adaptation in the late-1970s. Though black-positive changes even leaked into that phenomenon, such as when the #1 series on television, Rock Around the Clock, began featuring more black characters in order to reflect their influx into Milwaukee in the 1950s, to work in the breweries. [9] (Indeed, the patriarch of one family is said to work as a foreman at “Shotz Brewery”, which produced the preferred libation of the Mash, with fast friendships formed a result). Blaxploitation even leaked into the latest James Bond film, Live and Let Die, which featured mainly American settings and “voodoo” trappings in its plot. Cast as the American counterpart to 007 was CIA Special Agent Cal Waters, played by Billy Dee Williams. Live and Let Die would also include the first significant Bond Girl of African extraction. [10] But the most immediately felt influence of black cinema of all stripes in the 1970s was musical: the proliferation of funk and its descendants were critical to defining the sound of the decade, for better and for worse…

    ---


    [1] Nichols has spoken at length about her distaste for Blaxploitation, and
    this video features her discussing her thoughts on the matter. IOTL, she did appear in one Blaxploitation film, Truck Turner, released in 1974, in which she played a Madam (as she herself sheepishly admits in the linked interview), but declined further participation.

    [2] ITTL, the X-rating was trademarked by the MPAA in 1972. From that point forward, many (though not all) pornographic films would either go unrated, or employ phony ratings such as “
    rated H for Hardcore”. Blaxploitation films, on the other hand, continued to submit to MPAA ratings to cement their “legitimacy”.

    [3] IOTL,
    Shaft finished with a $13 million gross, good for #13 overall in the 1971 box office. ITTL, the film does about half-again as well, with $20 million and in ninth place (notably, ahead of the more militant Sweet Sweetback, which finished at #10 both IOTL and ITTL). Napoleon is the highest-grossing film of the year, and the only one to reach nine figures (Fiddler on the Roof, which was #1 IOTL, comes in second), replacing A Clockwork Orange, which was naturally not produced ITTL (it came in at #8 IOTL).

    [4]
    Shaft was sold to television after the flop that was Shaft in Africa; ITTL, the film does well enough to keep MGM (which has better leadership ITTL anyway) to continue churning out sequels, confirming the Shaft series as the premier marque (such as it is) of the genre: the Black James Bond, for all intents and purposes.

    [5] IOTL, the 1974 film
    Foxy Brown, which also starred Grier and was directed by Jack Hill, was originally intended as a sequel to Coffy, under the title given. For whatever reason, this was changed in pre-production; ITTL, on the other hand, it is not, and the sequel does so well that a third (and final) film is produced.

    [6] Instead of the word “black”, you should read a certain
    synonym in the titles of those Fred Williamson films, which I will not repeat here.

    [7] Monte also co-created and produced for the series
    Good Times IOTL, which does not exist ITTL because co-creator Mike Evans does not have his “in” with Norman Lear due to his being cast as Lionel Jefferson on All in the Family. (After Lear and his partner Bud Yorkin parted ways, Yorkin produced What’s Happening!!, its OTL title.)

    [8] The Tony Award for Best Musical of 1970 went to
    Applause rather than Purlie IOTL, but Raisin and The Wiz both won the award (in 1974 and 1975, respectively).

    [9] Famously, this did
    not happen on Laverne & Shirley, whose titular characters worked in a Milwaukee brewery in the 1950s, IOTL.

    [10] The first black Bond Girl IOTL, just as ITTL, appeared in
    Live and Let Die, though that film was released in 1973 IOTL (as opposed to 1976 ITTL).

    ---


    Special thanks to
    Chipperback for his help and advice in the making of this update!

    So now we’ve learned more about one of the primary subcultures, genres, and styles of the early-to-mid-1970s! It’s always tricky to write a post about something that touches virtually all facets of this timeline, and I hope that you got the impression that some aspects of what I’ve been discussing reach
    far beyond what you see here. We’ll return to these subjects in due time, there should be no doubt about that. Especially since both Blaxploitation and funk will have legs into the later 1970s ITTL!
     
    Last edited:
    Appendix B, Part V: US Presidential Election, 1976
  • Appendix B, Part V: US Presidential Election, 1976

    You’re gonna get Ree-gan in 1976, wise guy!”

    Archie Bunker, Those Were the Days (in the episode “Richard’s Appendix”, originally aired December 2, 1972) [1]

    Of the twenty-two United States Congresses elected since the end of Republican Party dominance in 1932, the GOP had controlled only three: those elected in 1946 (the 80th); in 1952 (the 83rd); and the present 94th Congress, elected in 1974. In all three cases, they had seized control as the result of a backlash against the unpopular Democratic administration in power at the time; though on the first two occasions, the Democrats proved surprisingly resilient, and were able to make up for lost ground most effectively (by winning back Congress in the following term). However, as the nation celebrated the bicentennial year of the Declaration of Independence in 1976, it was becoming increasingly clear that in the elections to be held that November, the Republicans had become increasingly entrenched in both the House and the Senate, and stood an excellent chance of winning the Presidency as well – though, as always, that particular race would be the hardest to call, and not until well into the campaign…


    The lame-duck term of Hubert H. Humphrey’s Presidency continued to be dominated by the Oil Crisis and ensuing recession, and the many foreign adventures conducted by various government agencies, ranging from relatively benign (Ethiopia) to potentially as catastrophic as another Suez (Cyprus), though fortunately the only lasting damage done in
    that case was the relationship with Greece (earning the enmity of the not-insignificant Greek-American electorate). [2] However, and despite Humphrey’s own personal inclinations to the contrary, his administration would not recognize the PRC as the legitimate Chinese state during his Presidency or, therefore, during the lifetime of Chairman Mao (who died in 1976, less than two months before the election). And as for Humphrey, neither a young man nor in the best of health, he suffered a major personal setback in the summer of 1975, after a serious heart-attack rendered him unable to execute his duties for over a month. As a result, the first-ever invocation of Amendment XXV to the United States Constitution took place. Under section 3, his Vice-President, Edmund Muskie, became the first Acting President of the United States. [3] Though his tenure in the position before Humphrey had sufficiently recuperated to return to office was largely uneventful, it did provide him with a powerful edge in the campaign season that followed.

    A different amendment to the United States Constitution, XXII, prevented Humphrey from seeking a third term as President, though it was vanishingly unlikely that he would have sought one even if he
    could, given his own constitution, and his considerable unpopularity within certain corners of his own party, as well as with the broader electorate. However, Vice-President Muskie was perhaps the most singularly accomplished candidate in either party, and the only one with Presidential experience, so it was expected that he would have a clear path to the Democratic nomination in 1976. Unfortunately for him, that expectation did not coincide with reality. At the very least, the anti-Humphrey faction of the Democrats refused to let his coronation go unchallenged, particularly not with their own head, Sen. Scoop Jackson, harbouring Presidential aspirations of his own. No spring chicken himself, he knew that 1976 was his last real shot at the White House. Virtually the entire Democratic Party lined up behind one or the other (with many luminaries, in particular, sitting the fight out largely in exchange for promises of plum appointments by both sides): a Battle of the Titans was on. The Republicans, not to be outdone by their rivals, found themselves with a crowded nomination contest of their own, despite the presence of a strong frontrunner in former California Gov. Ronald Reagan.

    The GOP had, since the beginning of the 20th century, been polarized between its progressive and its conservative wings; these were embodied in recent decades by Nelson Rockefeller (and his “Rockefeller Republicans”) on the left, and Barry Goldwater on the right. Both then-General Eisenhower and Vice-President Nixon had secured the GOP nomination as unity candidates; Rockefeller was allowed to represent the party in 1972 largely because it did not appear likely that he would win, and his lengthy career as Governor of New York seemed ready to wind down (he would retire in 1974); previously, he had engaged in his
    own Battle of the Titans with Goldwater for the 1964 nomination (which Goldwater would win, for what little good that did him). Reagan was an active supporter and disciple of Goldwater, and was deemed the man to carry his torch into the 1970s and even the 1980s, despite his own advanced age. He had passed on 1972, correctly determining that Humphrey’s popularity at the time would carry him to a win – though one much narrower than he (or indeed, anyone else) could have predicted; and perhaps avoidable, had Reagan (a staunch conservative) been the Republican candidate, which would have attracted some of the votes that instead went to the far-right American Party, led by another Governor, George Wallace of Alabama.

    Other major Republican candidates included Maryland Senator Charles Mathias (eventually emerging as the champion of the liberal wing of the party), former Arkansas Governor Winthrop Rockefeller (attempting to carry the Rockefeller Republican torch, though many Republicans uncomfortable with his dynastic ties to his elder brother supported Mathias instead), Michigan Senator George Romney (in his third and final Presidential campaign – having entered the Senate specifically to gain foreign policy cachet for such a run), and Massachusetts Senator Edward Brooke, the first major African-American candidate for President (beating the Democrats to the punch). [4] Minor candidates included right-wing Rep. Sam Steiger of Arizona (who passed on the chance to run for Senate), former Illinois Governor Richard B. Ogilvie, and freshman Senator C.R. Lewis of Alaska. Meanwhile, Governor Spiro T. Agnew, who was under criminal investigation throughout his run (charges were filed in early 1977), and perennial candidate former Gov. Harold Stassen of Minnesota, running in his
    seventh campaign for that office (his first had been in 1944), were considered “joke” candidates. [5]

    Edward Brooke hit a major snag in his historic campaign when rumours quickly began circulating that he was having an extramarital affair with none other than Baba Wawa, host of the
    Today Show on NBC. [6] The interracial element to this affair felt positively timely (it coincided with the prime of the similarly-themed sitcom Moving on Up, and for extra piquancy, Brooke himself was also married to a white woman, whom he divorced as a result of the scandal), but it was difficult to assess the impact that it would have on his campaign. Some observers suggested that it boosted his public image and popular appeal, though others dismissed this out-of-hand. How could a sex scandal help a politician get elected? This trifling dalliance was fortunately diminished somewhat by the veritable wave of corruption scandals that engulfed Spiro T. Agnew, which capsized his candidacy before it had even begun in earnest. He would subsequently finish dead last among all of his fellow candidates, even after far-right freshman Senator C.R. Lewis and long-irrelevant perennial candidate Harold Stassen. And of the ten candidates for the Republican nomination, only five would carry any states: Reagan, Mathias, Brooke, Romney, and Rockefeller. Ogilvie lost Illinois to Reagan, just as Steiger lost Arizona, Lewis lost Alaska, and Stassen lost Minnesota; Agnew lost Maryland to Mathias (as it had also been his home state). Rockefeller won only his home state of Arkansas; Romney won only Michigan and Utah, just as he had done in the 1972 primaries. Brooke carried all six New England states, but lost New York (in which he had invested heavily) by splitting the liberal/moderate vote with Mathias and Rockefeller, allowing Reagan to come up the middle (and effectively secure the nomination). Reagan chose Mathias as his running-mate, in an effort to embrace the Republican Big Tent and bridge the gap between the Rockefeller and Goldwater wings of the party; Reagan personally would have preferred to choose someone more like Pennsylvania Sen. Richard Schweiker as his running-mate, but circumstances forced him to choose one of his liberal opponents. Romney was eliminated on account of his age; he was older than Reagan, himself already a senior citizen, and there was a desire to put someone on the ticket who was born after World War I. Brooke, an early favourite, was eliminated from contention not due to his race, but for his sex scandal; Reagan, a past divorcé, did not need a philanderer on his ticket as well, for that would not sit well with the family values types he needed to secure victory in November.

    The Republican National Convention, held in Kansas City, Missouri, was a star-studded affair. Morale was high, as the desire to remove the Democrats from the White House after four consecutive terms had been mounting to a fever pitch. Indeed, it helped to drive party unity in ways that no ideological compromise or personal friendships could have done. In the ultimate sign of “healing old divisions”, both Nelson Rockefeller and Barry Goldwater appeared on stage together at the convention as Reagan and Mathias accepted the nominations of their party (Rockefeller to Mathias’s left, and Goldwater to Reagan’s right), burying the hatchet from their own bitterly-fought contest in 1964. Richard Nixon, who had been nominated for the Presidency
    twice (in 1960 and 1968) as opposed to the one time apiece that the other two had been nominated, also appeared on stage with them, at centre, though upstage from Reagan and Mathias. (The nominees’ wives also flanked their husbands). Pictures taken of these elder statesmen, assembled on stage together for the first and last time, became known as the “Family Portrait”. [7] Nixon, who had largely stayed true to his most recent promise to remain in seclusion following his latest high-profile defeat (and, in doing so, had notably not appeared at the 1972 convention), appeared at this convention for two reasons: his friendship with Reagan, and his presentation of the Eisenhower tribute, the centrepiece of the GOP convention. Dwight D. Eisenhower, the only Republican President in the last forty years, was at this time undergoing a major historical re-evaluation that would eventually see him recognized as one of the greatest Presidents in the history of the Union. [8] Indeed, some have argued that this effort began on the floor of the RNC in Kansas City, though this was not the case. In any event, Nixon, an eloquent speaker, warmly commemorated his former running-mate, in addition to providing a stirring endorsement of Reagan, emerging as the real star at Kansas City. But Nixon, never one without a chip on his shoulder, responded to eager reporters hoping to interview him after such a tour de force with just one phrase: “Out of my way, vultures.” [9]

    Scoop Jackson, despite trenchant support within his faction of the Democratic Party (including from LA Councilman George Takei, who appeared in advertising with Jackson and helped him to narrowly carry California in the state primaries, just as he had helped Humphrey to win the Golden State in the previous Presidential election), soon found that he was unable to develop much traction with the grassroots of the Democratic Party. Though former U.S. Attorney General Ramsey Clark was the most prominent candidate running to the
    left of Muskie, in general the party’s liberal wing chose to support the Vice-President, largely in order to prevent Jackson from wresting the nomination from him. Clark, for his part, dropped out in order to run for the Congressional seat being vacated by Rep. Bella Abzug, who was in turn running for Senate against Conservative (and Republican) Sen. James L. Buckley. She would lose that contest, but Clark would win her seat. Still, Time magazine captured the impression of the nation when it memorably featured Reagan, Muskie, and Jackson sharing their front cover, indicating that one of them would be the next President of the United States. [10] However, what might have firmly put Jackson out of contention in the end was his seeming lack of confidence in his own campaign: he filed to run for re-election to Senate in his native Washington as well as for President, and increasingly focused on that campaign as the season wore on. Though Jackson swept the West Coast and Great Plains states, it wouldn’t be nearly enough. He conceded just weeks before the Democratic National Convention in August. Scoop Jackson was not the type to run on the bottom of any ticket, so being chosen as Muskie’s running-mate was out of the question; but rumours abounded that he had been promised the plum position of Secretary of State in exchange for rolling over and endorsing Muskie at the convention in New York City, which he did. Takei, one of Jackson’s most high-profile supporters, also spoke briefly at the convention – which fueled fleeting speculation that this municipal legislator might have been on the long-list for Vice-President; but Muskie made a far more sound strategic decision in Arkansas Sen. Dale Bumpers, one of the party’s very few rising stars in the formerly Solid South. The geographic composition of the ticket echoed Kennedy/Johnson, and evoking the image of Camelot was a recurring theme at the Democratic convention, as it had been throughout the Presidency of Hubert H. Humphrey – naturally, those outside of the party faithful had long since begun to tire of it. It also didn’t help that Humphrey, unsurprisingly given his poor health, was a no-show, in a direct contrast to the star-studded Republican convention.

    Meanwhile, what had rapidly become
    the third party in the United States, the American Party, faced something of a power vacuum of its own. Putative leader George Wallace declined to run for a third time for the exact same reason that Reagan passed on 1972, though in reverse; he knew that the Gipper would steal many of the votes that might otherwise head his way. However, he also knew that running three times (especially consecutively) was a sign of desperation. “You can get away with it if your name is Roosevelt,” as Wallace himself would later reflect on the situation, referring to Theodore (who ran for a third time in 1912, and would have run – and likely won – for a fourth in 1920, had he lived), and Franklin (who ran and won in 1940 and 1944, to become the longest-serving US President). For that reason, he passed the torch to his presumptive successor, Georgia Sen. Lester Maddox, leader of the tiny American caucus in the Senate, and senior-most AIP member in Congress. But as with both Reagan and Muskie, the path to nomination was not nearly as idyllic as it first seemed. Maddox, an old-school segregationist, was challenged by North Carolina Sen. Jesse Helms, who believed that the future of the party lay in an entirely different direction. Helms did surprisingly well in the primaries located outside of the South, where matters of desegregation were less of an issue than more the “universal” concerns of nativism and populism. However, and unsurprisingly, the primary system weighted Southern states more heavily – well, technically, “those states with representation by members of the American Party”, and though a few rogue AIP members found themselves on county commissions or even in the state house outside of their heartland, but that couldn’t possibly counteract the sheer volume of delegates in states like Georgia, Louisiana, and (of course) Alabama – all of which went heavily for Maddox. However, and inspired by Reagan, Maddox extended the olive branch to Helms, who joined him on the American Party ticket. Wallace, for his part, was not particularly thrilled with Maddox or Helms, but in forming the party, he had made his own bed, and now he had to sleep in it. Or so it would seem…

    The biggest scandal to break during the campaign was definitely a smear of the Republicans, a former aide to 1972 Vice-Presidential candidate Gov. Daniel J. Evans of Washington named Theodore Robert “Ted” Bundy – who had already caused a minor stir during
    that campaign by stalking and eavesdropping on Humphrey supporters – was arrested for the rape and murder of multiple young women. [11] His crimes were so gruesome, so numerous, and so deviously calculated, that a new term, “serial murderer”, was coined specifically to describe him. Evans was shut out of involvement with the Republican campaign, even in his native Washington, as Bundy had originally come to work as an aide to the 1972 GOP ticket through his own campaign apparatus. By contrast, once Jackson had conceded to Muskie, he campaigned heavily for his former rival in the Evergreen State, as letting bygones be bygones certainly wasn’t limited to Republicans. This rare combination gave the Democrats a much-needed edge in that part of the country. Bundy, for his part, became perhaps the most notorious cause celebre of the mid-to-late-1970s; the multitude of crime-fighting programs on the air would feel the shockwaves of an infamous criminal like Bundy for many years to come, as did the sensationalist “true-crime” tabloids, which made him their cover story in issue after issue.

    The Republicans made big gains in the Senate on Reagan’s coattails; 11 of the 16 freshman Senators to be elected were from the GOP, and only one Democrat defeated a Republican incumbent (Paul Sarbanes won over John Glenn Beall, Jr., in Maryland). Of those Republican freshmen, many were members of the lower house who had decided to make the leap to Senate, including George Bush of Texas (defeating his 1964 opponent, Sen. Ralph Yarborough, in a rematch) [12], William Cohen of Maine [13], Dick Cheney of Wyoming [14], and Barry Goldwater, Jr., of California [15], who in serving alongside his father became part of only the second father-and-son team in the Senate (following Henry Dodge of Wisconsin and Augustus Caesar Dodge of Iowa, over a century earlier). Sen. Hugh Scott, the Majority Leader of the upper chamber, had initially planned on retiring on 1976, but ran for re-election anyway in order to remain in his senior position. [16] Two of the most
    intriguing Senate contests, however, were a pair of four-way face-offs in the Old Confederacy. In Mississippi, hotshot AIP Rep. Trent Lott saw an excellent chance to win a seat from Democrat John C. Stennis. But so too did the Republicans, as the Magnolia State was far and away their strongest in the Deep South. However, the contest for the nomination proved tricky when the black candidate, Charles Evers, narrowly edged out his white opponent, who then ran as an independent. Evers, propelled largely by the African-American vote, then rose up the middle of the crowded field to become the first black Senator to represent the Deep South since Reconstruction. [17] (Interestingly, both Reconstruction-era Senators of colour were also Republicans from Mississippi). Meanwhile, in Virginia, independent Sen. Harry F. Byrd was defeated by Democrat Elmo Zumwalt (one of only two Democratic freshmen in the upper house to topple an incumbent); Zumwalt had also risen up the middle, over a prominent AIP candidate along with Republican Roger MacBride, who was from the party’s increasingly robust libertarian wing (and, therefore, a strong supporter of Ronald Reagan, helping him to carry the Old Dominion – which he did, overwhelmingly). [18] Meanwhile, the lower chamber saw relatively little movement, only slightly widening the already-significant Republican lead in the lower chamber. However, the American Party failed to gain a single seat from either of the two major parties in the election – considered a sure sign that the party had plateaued, as third parties so often did.

    TWR US 1976.png
    Map of Presidential election results. Blue denotes states won by Reagan/Mathias; Red denotes those won by Muskie/Bumpers; Gold denotes those won by Maddox/Helms.

    Turnout for the election was over 60%, or just above 90 million. [19] Reagan and Mathias carried 39 states out of 50, which translated to 450 electoral votes out of 538; Muskie and Bumpers won only nine states, and a mere 67 electoral votes. Maddox and Helms won the remaining two states and 21 electoral votes. Reagan won with the support of 45.8 million electors (for 50.81% of the vote), and in doing so headed the first ticket for the GOP to win the White House since Eisenhower/Nixon was re-elected in 1956; they also won a majority of the popular vote (the first for any candidate since “Landslide Lyndon” turned the trick in 1964). 37.1 million electors backed Muskie (for 41.16%), near rock bottom in terms of popular vote share, with their electoral vote tally the worst of any Democratic ticket in the twentieth century. However, the presence of Bumpers on the ticket allowed the Democrats to narrowly win his native Arkansas in a three-way race – it would be the only state won by the Democrats in the formerly Solid South, and the only one in the Union in which the Republicans would finish third (the GOP had not carried the state since Ulysses S. Grant had won it in 1872), proving truly vexing for the party. The mere 6.34 million votes (representing just over 7%) for Maddox was an absolute decline, even considering the lower turnout of the previous election. Miscellaneous small-party candidates received the remaining 1% of the vote, none of whom were notable enough to bear detailed mention. Bumpers was also the only VP candidate to carry his home state – Mathias would lose his native Maryland to Muskie (as Spiro T. Agnew, the running-mate to Richard Nixon in 1968, also lost Maryland, to Humphrey), and Helms would lose North Carolina to Reagan. This was less surprising, as the AIP had not carried the state in either of George Wallace’s runs for the White House.


    Meanwhile, in the Senate, the GOP won 62 seats, compared to 34 for the Democrats, 3 for the AIP, and only one remaining independent (John Sparkman of Alabama, who notionally still caucused with the Democratic Party). In the House, the GOP won 259 seats, the Democrats won 158, and the Americans held 18. 1977 would prove a decisive year for the Reagan administration. The 95th Congress had a three-fifth majority of Republicans in the Senate, and a House margin of 100 seats over the opposition Democrats. The Republicans had not held such absolute, unfettered control of government in nearly a half-century. Ronald Wilson Reagan (who, unlike his three predecessors, very rarely used his middle name, ending the trend of three-initial Presidents) was inaugurated as the 38th President of the United States on January 20, 1977. It was the last public event attended by his ailing predecessor, Hubert H. Humphrey, who was visibly infirm and barely able to stand at the inauguration ceremony. [20] He would die less than two months later, on March 16, and his state funeral would mark the first significant event of Reagan’s most tumultuous tenure in office…


    ---


    [1] Archie made the same prescient quip to the Meathead IOTL, though (obviously) referring to 1980 (in the episode “The Baby Contest”, originally aired December 11, 1976).


    [2] See
    this update for more details on the Ethiopian and Cypriot situations. In short, the deposal of Haile Selassie and (indirectly) the Turkish Invasion of Cyprus have both been butterflied, though not without some resentment within the international community at the American cloak-and-dagger operations that prevented them from happening.

    [3] By this stage IOTL, Amendment XXV had been invoked three times: to appoint Gerald Ford to the Vice-Presidency; to allow Ford to succeed Richard Nixon upon his resignation from the Presidency; and to appoint Nelson Rockefeller to the Vice-Presidency. However, Section 3 would not be invoked until 1985 IOTL.


    [4] Democratic Rep. Shirley Chisholm, who IOTL ran for President in 1972, and became the first major African-American candidate to do so, obviously declined to challenge the incumbent President Humphrey, and
    also declined to run in the Battle of the Titans that was 1976. Being a supporter of Humphrey, she thus supports Muskie by proxy. Sen. Brooke (the highest-ranking man of colour in Congress) runs hoping to use the still-formidable Yankee Republican base as a launching point for his campaign.

    [5] Agnew, having lost on the GOP Presidential ticket in 1968, ran for re-election as Governor of Maryland in 1970 and won comfortably due to his considerable popularity. Following Reagan’s lead, he declined to run for President in 1972, hoping to serve out his second term, but then became embroiled in corruption scandals, leaving office in disgrace. In running for the nomination in 1976, he is hoping to re-establish his good name; he will not prove successful. Stassen, meanwhile, famously sought the GOP nomination for President a whopping
    twelve times IOTL, helping to define the term “perennial candidate” in the process. By this stage ITTL, he has actually run once more than IOTL, as Stassen (with uncharacteristic insight) declined to challenge the incumbent President Nixon in 1972; but he had no such compunction challenging Rockefeller.

    [6] Oh yes, she’s
    back! And believe it or not, this is per OTL, or at least, so Wawa claims (Brooke has never commented either way).

    [7] The “Family Portrait” is loosely analogous with
    this picture taken at the OTL Republican National Convention.

    [8] As IOTL, more or less, though on a slightly accelerated scale, and with a certain zeal that was not present in our history. However, Eisenhower – as opposed to
    the object of Republican veneration IOTL, who is, fittingly enough, Ronald Reagan – will be widely admired even by Democrats, essentially a Harry S. Truman figure in reverse. However, by contrast, Truman himself (whose upstanding nature cannot be contrasted with the vile corruption of a President Nixon) and John F. Kennedy (whose Camelot legacy has been so thoroughly tapped by the Humphrey administration that it has become a spent force) are viewed less positively ITTL, even by Democrats.

    [9] The only living Republican Presidential candidate who does
    not appear in Kansas City ITTL is former Gov. Alf Landon (ironically, from Kansas), who was the hapless opponent to FDR in 1936. The discontinuity that his presence would create is undesirable for all involved, and though Landon is actually fairly well-known (at least, more so than any losing Presidential candidate from forty years ago has any right to be) as a touring speaker, he is not invited to attend. More than one editorial cartoonist would notice this discrepancy and make light of it: “What about me?” and “Nobody wants me – again” would both appear in newspaper captions following the convention.

    [10] Analogous to
    this OTL cover of Time magazine; Reagan appears alone, on the right, whereas Muskie and Jackson appear close together on the left.

    [11] Bundy was indeed fleetingly mentioned in
    the 1972 elections update, but his presence seems to have gone unnoticed. The stalking and eavesdropping was extrapolated from OTL events in which he worked for the Evans gubernatorial campaign in 1972 – he was quite active in Washington state politics in the early 1970s. Bundy was (of course) described by the term “serial killer” IOTL, but this precise term was not nailed down until after his “heyday”; murderer more accurately describes the nature of his crimes.

    [12] Bush ran for (and lost) that same Senate in 1970 IOTL, though not in a rematch with Yarborough, as Lloyd Bentsen wrested the party nomination from him. However, since Yarborough was a close Humphrey ally, this connection allowed him to hold on ITTL, only to lose to Rep. Bush (by then a member of the House leadership) in the following election. Replacing Bush in his House seat (TX-7, a suburban Houston district) is James Baker.


    [13] Replacing Democratic Sen. William Hathaway, who was appointed to replace Edmund Muskie in 1968, and then won a term in his own right in 1970.


    [14] Unable to work in the Nixon administration ITTL, Cheney moved to Cheyenne instead, running for the state’s lone Congressional seat in 1972 (defeating Democratic incumbent Teno Roncalio in the process). He then defeated incumbent Sen. Gale McGee (who lost to Malcolm Wallop IOTL; here, Wallop won Cheney’s vacated seat).


    [15] Goldwater, naturally, is a
    huge Reagan booster, which helped him to secure the Senate nomination for the GOP ITTL. The OTL nominee (and winner), S.I. Hayakawa, was elected to California’s 5th congressional district, which covers Marin County and parts of San Francisco, in 1974 ITTL (he was re-elected in 1976).

    [16] Scott, the Senate
    Minority Leader at this stage IOTL, with no possible hope for seeing the majority, retired in 1976 (alongside his rival, Majority Leader Mike Mansfield).

    [17] Lott joined the
    American Party, not the Republicans, in 1972 ITTL (again, due to the absence of Nixon). Evers, a Republican IOTL, ran for Senate as an independent in 1978; ITTL, he actually runs as a Republican, undeterred by any Southern Strategy (though there is still some friction within the party, leading to the split), and manages to win in the four-way (with less than a third of the vote). Note that Rep. Thad Cochran, his OTL opponent, is a member of the Republican Party.

    [18] And MacBride isn’t the only one - Rep. Ed Clark turfed Rep. Jeffery Cohelan in CA-8 in 1974, and Rep. Ron Paul won election to TX-22 that same year.


    [19] Turnout is obviously much higher ITTL because people have not lost faith in their government, and (in general) have three candidates they are genuinely excited about.


    [20] Humphrey lived until January 13, 1978 - ten months later - IOTL. Given how the Presidency tends to age its office-holders, it’s probably a bit of a stretch to keep him alive for an entire two terms, but we’ll assume that his “Happy Warrior” temperament (and a
    severe lightening of the load in the later years of his second term) got him through.

    ---


    Special thanks to vultan for his assistance and very helpful suggestions in the writing of this update!

    Thus concludes the 1975-76 cycle! I hope you all enjoyed that detailed coverage of the 1976 US elections! I decided to try to write this appendix in the style of my conventional updates, so I hope that none of you miss the red highlights. For those of you who dislike politics, I once again apologize for this intrusion; I can say with
    reasonable confidence that this will be the most explicitly and unabashedly political update in the entire timeline (though others may probably come close). For those of you who guessed that Reagan would be elected President (which is - oh yes, that’s right - all of you), my congratulations! You were right all along. No No-Prizes, though; I'm afraid we're all out :D

    TWR US 1976.png
     
    Last edited:
    1976-77: Reversal of Fortune
  • Reversal of Fortune (1976-77)

    May 3, 1976

    It was first thing Monday morning,
    and it was also the first day of filming in preparation for the upcoming season, barely more than three months away. Desilu studio chief Lucille Ball would not be anywhere other than at her desk, reading through preliminary budget figures, her tall mug of black coffee and cigarette close at hand. She took a long puff as she read the report from Rock Around the Clock – at least they were making good use of the backlot in Culver – and flicked the ashes into one of the twenty-five-year old “Johnny the Bellhop” complimentary ashtrays that Philip Morris had especially made for both she and Desi during the I Love Lucy days. Cigarette smoking had fallen in status a great deal since the 1950s, with everyone becoming increasingly aware of the seemingly endless health risks – even Johnny the Bellhop himself, a close personal friend of Ball, had essentially been forced to retire a couple of years before as a result of advertising bans. But none of that was going to be stopping her from lighting up as she pleased!

    She had just finished reviewing
    The Way of the Warrior when there was a knock at the door. “Come in, Herbie,” she said. Only her most trusted lieutenant, Herbert F. Solow, would disturb her this early in the morning; and sure enough, in came the SEVP and COO, though with somebody else in tow – young and eager, and definitely a morning person. Ball eyed him momentarily, before taking an extra big gulp of her coffee and setting her papers aside.

    “Lucy, allow me to introduce our new Vice-President of Production, Brandon Tartikoff,” Solow announced. “Brandon, this is Lucille Ball, President and CEO of Desilu.”

    “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Ball,” Tartikoff said as she rose to greet him. He reached over her desk and they shook hands. “I’ve been an admirer of your work ever since I was a little boy, watching
    Lucy on the old black-and-white 12-inch screen with my parents.”

    Ball nodded, having heard the same story from countless people in the industry. To her credit, she beamed, as if she had never heard it before. “Well thank you, Brandon, I’m touched – and please, call me Lucy, everybody else at this studio does. Even my husband.”

    She chuckled at that, as did Solow, obligingly.

    “Lucy,” Tartikoff corrected himself, as if saying the name for the first time. “Thank you so much for this opportunity.”

    “Don’t mention it,” she said breezily, as she sat back down in her chair and took another long drag of her cigarette. “Have a seat, Brandon.”

    “Thank you,” he replied as he did indeed sit down, though not before Solow hustled over to his usual chair and did the same. Ball opened one of her desk drawers, leafing through a series of folders before finding the one she liked. “Ah! Here it is,” she announced, pulling it out and opening it as she slammed the drawer shut with a pleasing
    thud. “You’re a young man, Brandon, 26 years old,” she remarked as she skimmed through the CV that Solow had assembled for her. “But Herbie recommended you highly. Says you’ve done great things in your career so far. And from what I see here it looks like he’s right.”

    “Well, thank you – ” Tartikoff said, but Ball refused to let him finish.

    “They have a name for kids like you.
    Wunderkind. German; those Germans always have a word for everything. But don’t think you’ll be getting any slack on account of your age. I started on I Love Lucy when I was 37 years old – ”

    “Forty, Lucy,” Solow chided, gently. [1]

    “Right, forty. Sorry, force of habit,” Ball replied, and continued. “I was a woman
    over forty on television. Not as much of a handicap back then as it is now, especially since Karl Freund was so good with the lighting and Max Factor was even better with the makeup. But age was working against me at least as much back then as it’s against you now, so I’m not going to let anyone use it to excuse your mistakes.”

    “No, of course not!” Tartikoff agreed, befuddled at being suddenly reminded of the sheer presence possessed by the
    real Lucille Ball. “This is a real opportunity for me, and I’m not going to slack off because I’m a fresh face. I could have done that on the East Coast, but I have big dreams, Lucy. And I could only make them come true in Hollywood.”

    Ball smiled. “I like that answer. And I like
    you, Brandon. I think we’ll work very well together. And I’d love to hear your ideas sometime real soon.”

    “Well, when I first came out here I was planning on working as a network executive. I had an interview lined up with ABC when Herb called me and asked me to come in. [2] What you’re having me do is basically the same thing from the other side of the aisle.”

    “You’re in luck there, because you’ll be seeing a
    lot of ABC anyway,” Solow added. “Thanks to our right-of-first-refusal agreement with them. In fact, you’ll probably even get to know Fred Silverman as if he were your own boss.”

    Ball guffawed at that. “He probably thinks he is. Thinks we
    all work for him. That’s what Hollywood bigwigs are like if they ever give you the slightest bit of money.” She took another drag at this, before letting out a long sigh of exasperation. But she quickly picked herself up again. “But enough about that – no need to think about them any more than we have to anyway! Go on back and unpack your things, Brandon. Once you’ve settled in, we’ll arrange a grand tour of this lot, and then after lunch we’ll stop by the others.”

    “Is it true you shot
    Star Trek on this lot?” Tartikoff asked, gazing out the window at the various studio buildings.

    “Stages 9 and 10,” Solow replied, without missing a beat. He and Ball exchanged knowing looks. “First stop on the grand tour.”

    “Well then, I better put everything in its place. Herb, thanks again for everything, and I’ll talk to you later,” Tartikoff said, as he rose from his seat. Solow nodded in response. “Lucy, it’s been a real pleasure to meet you in person; I think this is going to be the start of a
    beautiful relationship.”

    “And I
    know it is,” Ball said breezily, as he left, closing the door behind him. She turned to Solow. “Y’know, I’ve got a good feeling about him.”

    “What did I tell you?” Solow allowed himself a prideful smirk.

    “It’ll be hard to replace Bobby but I can tell he’ll be giving it the old college try. Which shouldn’t be hard, since he looks like he’s straight
    from there.” She glanced at his CV once more. “Can you believe it says he graduated in 1970?”

    Cum laude, Lucy,” Solow pointed out. “From Yale.”

    Ball grunted and took another swig of her coffee.

    “I’ve enclosed the forms you need to sign at the back of the folder – you’ll want to get them to Human Resources by four o’clock this afternoon,” Solow continued. “Did you want to take him on the tour at ten o’clock this morning?”

    He got a noncommittal murmur in response, as Ball was against taking a particularly pronounced puff of her cigarette. “Yeah, fine, the caffeine should be kicking in by then. God, I did
    not miss these early mornings when I was on vacation… were we ever that young, Herbie?”

    Solow, twenty years Ball’s junior, and himself only a few years older than Tartikoff when he had first joined Desilu in 1964, sagely did
    not respond to her query as he rose out of his chair. “See you at 10 o’clock,” he said, offering his usual, gentle smile at his boss as he left.

    And with that, she was alone again. After reaching over for one of her ballpoints, she signed the relevant paperwork confirming Brandon Tartikoff as the new Vice-President of Production for Desilu. “Who knows, maybe
    some of his ideas are bound to be good,” she muttered to herself. Closing his CV, she returned to her original stack of papers, picking up the one labelled The Questor Tapes. “Now let’s see how much more money Roddenberry wants outta my coffers this time around.”

    ---

    Shortly after the beginning of the 1976-77 season, on Friday, October 15th, the two-hour special extravaganza that marked the 25th Anniversary of
    I Love Lucy aired on CBS. Though network executives had expected solid ratings, they were stunned by a juggernaut that performed well above even the wildest expectations for it. “You’d think I was delivering Little Ricky all over again,” Lucille Ball joked at a press conference the following week. “And honey, that ain’t happening at my age.” Whether it was enduring love for the iconic 1950s sitcom, or whether ratings were buoyed by continuing retro nostalgia, or perhaps some combination of both, a hit was a hit. Those responsible for organizing the special felt that a continuing in-universe story would be inappropriate with the death of one of the core quartet (William “Fred Mertz” Frawley had passed in 1966); nevertheless, the three surviving actors (Ball, her ex-husband and former business partner Desi Arnaz, and her best friend Vivian Vance) got together on a re-creation of their mid-1950s living room set, in the same studio space where it had existed over twenty years before (the Desilu-Cahuenga Studios). Plenty of other key figures from the history of I Love Lucy appeared, including the aforementioned Keith “Little Ricky” Thibodeaux (credited during the original run of the series as “Richard Keith”); both of Lucy and Desi’s real-life children, Lucie and Desi Jr. (properly Desi IV, especially given that his son with Patty Duke was also named Desi) appeared to share their own fond memories of their childhood at Desilu. [3] Though Ball and her son had not been on the best of terms in the past several years, the reunion special provided them a chance to bury the hatchet – the same was true for the original writers, with whom Ball had feuded repeatedly during the early years of sequel series The Lucy Show before they eventually parted ways.

    Originally tapped to
    host the event was none other than Baba Wawa, a longtime admirer of Ball; despite being on a rival network’s news team, CBS was surprisingly game, as rumours had been circulating for quite some time that Wawa had been planning to leave NBC, and was fielding offers from the other two networks in order to do so. Despite widespread contention as to whether or not the style and content of her reporting was any good, she was one of the most visible female news anchors on television, and this was a decade in which women were aggressively staking their claims and boosting their visibility in professional society. CBS executives figured that they could hire Wawa to revamp the CBS Morning News in her own image; her name was even touted as a potential replacement for the venerable Walter Cronkite, who was due for retirement in a few years. Whatever arrangement might have been worked out, her hosting the 25th Anniversary Show would then become a condition of her hire. But that ended quickly when the scandal broke of the affair between herself and Sen. Edward Brooke of Massachusetts, who was running for President on the Republican ticket. Suddenly, she became “Baba Wawa the home wrecker”, and neither CBS nor ABC wanted anything to do with her. [4] She was forced to renegotiate terms with NBC, who kept her on the Today Show, gleefully declining to raise her salary or give her any further opportunities within their news division. But it created a problem for CBS, who now needed a new presenter for their Lucy special. Ball had suggested a figure from the 1950s, with fellow pioneer Steve Allen (who had created the late-night talk show format as the first host of the Tonight show) emerging as an early favourite. Eventually, Merv Griffin was tapped as host, after having lobbied hard for the part. He was a proven talent at moderating roundtable discussions with the surviving cast and crew, and leading them through their reminiscences. Subsequent critical reviews would single Griffin out as a highlight of the special, allowing him to strike a key blow against the less sincere and more smarmily intellectual Dick Cavett, in the race to emerge as the also-ran to Johnny Carson.

    The former Tandem Productions – Norman Lear, now on his own, seemed unable or unwilling to settle on a permanent name to replace it – was showing definite signs of distress. With the election of Ronald Reagan to the Presidency,
    Those Were the Days would have to do a complete 180 on its original “America is better than ever now thanks to the Great Society” perspective; however, the mild-mannered Prof. Richard Higgins – though he detested Reagan in that condescending fashion only an ivory-tower intellectual could muster – lacked the sheer passion or vitriol of an Archie Bunker, who had spent the last few years railing about the failings of “Herbert A. Hump-free”, only for – to the alarm of Lear and the bemusement of even the far more pragmatic Carroll O’Connor – the American people to seemingly agree with him. [5] Ratings for Those Were the Days took a big hit, falling out of the Top 30 for good. O’Connor, the highest-paid actor in television, knew that it was time to begin winding the series up and moving on. Then again, it sure beat the fate that befell Maude, which had been cancelled at the end of the 1975-76 season, after four years on the air. [6] Some of the cast and crew took this better than others – star Beatrice Arthur, who had appeared in the moderately successful film adaptation of Mame along with her stage co-star Angela Lansbury in 1974 [7], put her career on series television behind her without another thought, as she returned to the theatre – at least, for the time being. Whether by accident or by design, the two Norman Lear shows that were weathering societal changes the best were Sanford and Son and Moving On Up – both of which featured largely African-American casts (but remained popular with white audiences). Both were also increasingly apolitical – Sanford in particular. The single-motherhood sitcom One Day At A Time also remained within the Top 30.

    Desilu, meanwhile, continued to perform astonishingly well; better, in fact, than during their “House that Paladin Built” era. Their new Vice-President of Production, Brandon Tartikoff, could scarcely take any credit for this achievement, all of the foundations having been laid by his predecessor Robert H. Justman; but he
    did use it as a launching pad for his own bold, experimental ideas. Rock Around the Clock repeated as the #1 series on the air for the second consecutive year, with two other Desilu Productions also cracking the Top 10: The Muppet Show; and their new program, picked up mid-season, which proved to be such an unsuspecting smash hit that it surprised even Tartikoff (not to mention Fred Silverman, who had pitched the premise to the studio). The Questor Tapes and The Way of the Warrior also remained within the Top 30, but it was increasingly clear that action-adventure – once the studio’s bread and butter – would perhaps not have a place at Desilu for very much longer. Or at least, so it seemed at the time.

    This season also marked the last for
    The Mary Tyler Moore Show, which ended after seven years on the air. Both of the other original female characters on the show had since spun off onto their own sitcoms. Rhoda continued to be a massive hit, with viewers across the country continuing to identify with the ugly-duckling-turned-swan Rhoda Morgenstern Gerard, her dashing husband Joe, her stepson, and their young daughter together, who was named Mary in honour of her best friend back in Minneapolis. [8] The Bob Newhart Show also continued, though ratings were far less impressive on that front; with writers, producers, and network executives continuing to press its button-down star, Bob Newhart, to have his character Bob Hartley father a child with his lovely wife Emily (played by Suzanne Pleshette). Newhart had resisted all through the Mini-Boom, but the writers were undeterred, suggesting that the Hartleys adopt a child who was old enough to perform in front of a camera. But Newhart remained firm – when presented with a script to try to help convince him, he coolly replied with “Suzie and I have read your script and we both love it – but who are you going to get to play Bob?” [9] That was the end of the matter. Still, despite the occasional prima donna tendencies of Newhart, it beat the fate of Phyllis, the second spinoff of Mary Tyler Moore, which had premiered to a fairly strong showing in the previous season, but sank like a stone in the second, and would be cancelled in 1977. As with Desilu, Paramount Television found itself facing the end of an era. Realistic, character-driven sitcoms seemed to be on their way out. And so too did Grant Tinker – though that was delayed when it was decided to feature Moore in her own variety show (in a rather transparent aping of the tremendous success achieved by The Muppet Show). Meanwhile, the old stable of Paramount Television sitcom writers – headed by James L. Brooks – were allowed to develop one additional concept, to give their kind of writing a final kick at the can.

    ABC had the #1 show of the year overall with
    Rock Around the Clock, repeating its achievement from the previous season. [10] It was one of five shows on the network to reach the Top 10, giving them half of the entries on that most rarefied roster; three of those five were produced by Desilu, resulting in no small number of press conferences and public appearances jointly made by Lucille Ball and Fred Silverman, “the redhead and the silver fox”. NBC, on the other hand, retained all five other Top 10 slots, headed by Welcome Back, Kotter; CBS was therefore shut out from the 10 most-watched programs of the season for the first time in television history. Losing Silverman had gradually escalated from a mere flesh wound to an amputation for the network, which now had a mere eight entries in the Top 30 – the highest-rated of which was 60 Minutes, a newsmagazine program, of all things; and popular with the older demographic, which they had done so much to cast aside with the Rural Purge some years before. Silverman’s new base of operations, ABC was the undisputed Ratings King, with twelve shows in the Top 30; NBC was not too far behind, with ten. Things could have been far worse for the Peacock Network. [11]

    At the Emmy Awards that year,
    Mary Tyler Moore won Outstanding Comedy Series for the fourth and final consecutive time; Moore herself won Outstanding Lead Actress for the third time, with Ted Knight and Betty White winning for Supporting Actor and Actress, respectively. Milton Berle won for the third consecutive year for Chico and the Man (And now I’ve got one Emmy for each of the three networks that cast me aside thirty years ago,” Berle joked at the ceremony). The Rockford Files won Outstanding Drama Series, with its star James Garner taking the Emmy for Lead Actor. The Muppet Show won Outstanding Variety Series for the third consecutive season – if there was any lingering doubt that puppetry had “gone legit”, it would be eradicated by the sheer ubiquity of the Muppets, who even performed a show-stopping number at the Emmys ceremony. The I Love Lucy 25th Anniversary Special naturally won the Emmy for Outstanding Variety, Music, or Comedy Special, accepted by Robert H. Justman – in his first Emmy win since 1972 – along with Lucille Ball herself, who was met with a thunderous standing ovation as she took the stage. [12] But perhaps even more significant was the Emmy for Outstanding Miniseries, awarded to the one television landmark that dwarfed even the triumphant return of I Love Lucy in the 1976-77 season…

    ---

    [1] That Wacky Redhead was born in 1911, but her first husband, Desi Arnaz, was six years her junior. Both of them decided to split the difference and publicly claimed to be born in 1914, though they were (obviously) found out. However, old habits die hard,
    especially in an industry where women understate their age as a matter of course.

    [2] And yes, ABC is where Tartikoff wound up upon arriving in Hollywood in 1976 IOTL.

    [3] Much like his father, Desi Arnaz, Jr. seemed to have a fondness for older women in his youth – indeed, he and his girlfriend in the early 1970s, Oscar-winning actress Patty Duke, were six years apart, just like his parents. Their TTL son, Desiderio Alberto Arnaz V, is the half-brother of the OTL Sean Astin, born at around the same time; Astin had three potential fathers, who were the three men Duke was seeing at the time: Arnaz, John Astin (who later married Patty Duke and adopted Sean), and his actual biological father, Michael Tell. IOTL, That Wacky Redhead disapproved of her son dating Duke, and strong-armed him into breaking up with her; but it would be far easier for her to keep tabs on him as her co-star on
    Here’s Lucy than as a relatively distant “working mother”. Thus, ITTL, it is Arnaz who fathers her son, and the two marry shortly thereafter.

    [4] IOTL, Wawa left NBC at about this time to join ABC, where she has remained ever since. At first she was paired with Harry Reasoner on the
    ABC Evening News for two years, before joining her old Today co-host Hugh Downs on 20/20, and then becoming known for her now-infamous Oscar-night Baba Wawa Specials.

    [5] IOTL,
    All in the Family naturally followed the exact opposite trajectory; the Meathead railing against the injustices of the US government under Nixon (hitting a fever pitch in the aftermath of Watergate) gave way to defending the policies of his successor, though against a backdrop of declining focus on topicality.

    [6]
    Maude ran until 1978 IOTL, ending only because Beatrice Arthur wanted to move on to other projects; her inability to “settle” would later result in the premature end of The Golden Girls in 1992, and her refusal to make any long-term commitments thereafter (in addition to her advancing age).

    [7] Arthur appeared as Vera Charles in the film adaptation of
    Mame IOTL as well, though her co-star was not Lansbury, but rather, none other than That Wacky Redhead herself – who was, by all accounts, tragically miscast for the part. She was chosen over Lansbury IOTL because she was deemed a bigger “star” than her at the time, which may have been technically true, if a pretty close call. Fortunately, ITTL, she had been retired from acting for several years, and producers therefore “gambled” on Lansbury.

    [8] IOTL, by this time Rhoda and Joe Gerard were going through a divorce – not because their marriage was unpopular with the viewers, but with the
    writers. Ratings sank like a stone as a result of their (quite bitter) separation, and never fully recovered; this sadly somehow contributed to the misguided notion that bringing couples together was a bad idea, even though the evidence suggests the exact opposite. The notion of Rhoda naming her daughter “Mary” also comes from OTL; Mary had reciprocated in the naming of her daughter, and the four characters were intended to headline a revival sitcom that would premiere in the 1998-99 season; however, the network (ABC) hated the pilot and pulled the plug, only for it to morph into the 2000 telefilm Mary and Rhoda, which did see air but met with adverse critical and audience response.

    [9] He said this IOTL, as well.

    [10] IOTL, the analogous
    Happy Days reached #1 for the first and only time in the 1976-77 season.

    [11] During the 1976-77 season IOTL,
    ABC finished with seven shows in the Top 10 (including the #1, Happy Days, for only the second time in their history, after Marcus Welby in 1970-71) and a whopping eighteen shows in the Top 30 (in other words, they were doing even better IOTL, if you can believe it – and now you see how Silverman became so powerful in the 1970s); CBS finished with two shows in the Top 10 (with the ITTL-nonexistent M*A*S*H topping their roster at #4) and eight shows in the Top 30; and NBC came in dead last with only one show in the Top 10 (the mostly-forgotten The Big Event at #6), and a mere four in the Top 30.

    [12] Winning that award in place of the (obviously non-existent)
    I Love Lucy special IOTL was The Barry Manilow Special. Yes, really.

    ---

    Yes, I specifically waited until 1976 to get rid of Justman in order to introduce the
    ideal replacement: Brandon Tartikoff! Some of you may be unfamiliar with Tartikoff, but IOTL he worked for NBC in the 1980s as President of NBC, and head of programming. Along with his boss, Grant Tinker (a name you should definitely recognize), he turned the Peacock Network around, bringing it from third-place to first, and giving it the longest sustained reign at the top of the ratings of any network besides CBS in the long history of television. Tartikoff had an incredibly keen ability to sense the potential of story ideas and pitches that were sent his way – in his role ITTL, he merely sends out pitches instead of receiving them. We’ll be seeing quite a bit of young Mr. Tartikoff in this cycle, as he will prove largely responsible for bringing the studio into the 1980s – leaving “the House that Paladin Built” behind for good. You may have noticed more hooks than usual in the presentation of this update; they will be followed upon very soon, I can assure you.

    And remember, boys and girls: smoking is bad for your health, and can kill you. Don’t ever smoke, for any reason. That Wacky Redhead is a relic of a bygone era, who may have been savvy, but she certainly wasn’t perfect. And
    that, in the end, is what I hope you all derived from our little look at her management style, up-close and personal.

    Thus concludes the public service announcement portion of the timeline
    :D
     
    Last edited:
    Come and Knock on Our Door
  • Come And Knock On Our Door

    The 1970s were an era of great social change; that much was already painfully clear by the midpoint of the “Me Decade”. Popular culture existed to reflect the immediacy and specificity of these changes, and when it was successful, the resulting product was something along the lines of Man About the House. Timely, relatable, and yet deeply funny, much like Till Death Us Do Part and Steptoe and Son before it, this ITV sitcom (produced by its London affiliate, Thames Television) was created and written by Johnnie Mortimer and Brian Cooke. It depicted the lives of three roommates: a single man and two equally single women, none of whom were romantically entangled with each other. Platonic cohabitation was a new phenomenon at the time, and it did not pass without controversy. The farcical tone of the program – a classic comedy of errors, resulting from the male roommate, culinary student Robin Tripp (played by Richard O’Sullivan) lying to his new landlord, George Roper, that he was gay in order to remain living with his two female roommates – nevertheless proved greatly appealing: two spinoffs, one depicting the life of the newly-married Tripp and the other following his landlord and landlady seeking newer pastures, would be produced. Situation comedy also had a long and distinguished tradition in the United States, as did the practice of adaptation. Till Death Us Do Part had become Those Were the Days, and Steptoe and Son had become Sanford and Son – both of these programs reached #1 in the American ratings.

    It was Fred Silverman, the President of ABC, who was among the first executives stateside to become aware of
    Man About the House. The sexually risqué premise appealed to him, unsurprisingly given his track record with the iconic “jiggle show” The Alley Cats; a variation on the tried-and-tested cop show genre, it contained the added “twist” that all three women on this team of private detectives chose to go without bras. [1] Naturally, it was an instant hit, particularly with the younger male demographic. It made a star producer out of its showrunner, Aaron Spelling, who would use the cachet acquired from this and other, similar programs, to go on and enjoy a long and fruitful career in television, creating a recognizable “brand” in much the same vein as Norman Lear had done before him. But with regards to The Alley Cats specifically, Silverman very much wanted to replicate its demographic success, forever acutely aware of that audience. Even beforehand, he immediately saw the potential of Man About the House being adapted into a series along that similar vein. Like Those Were the Days before it, multiple pilots were shot, though the premises were reworked somewhat with each successive iteration. Surprisingly, each new overhaul brought the prospective series closer to its British inspiration, after starting out with a radical departure in the initial drafts.

    Involved almost from the beginning was Desilu Productions. [2] At first, it had been a matter of necessity –
    Night Gallery and Mannix were both ending, and the studio needed to put more projects into production to fill their now-vacant lots – but it quickly became clear that most plans for the nebulous series-to-be saw it taking a decidedly wacky direction. Indeed, none other than Lucille Ball herself, aware of her studio’s reputation for farcical comedy of this nature, took an active role in the production process. Her demand for final approval of casting, in particular, raised eyebrows with her right-hand man, Herb Solow, her new middleman Brandon Tartikoff, and Silverman, but the latter grudgingly consented to it. Whether or not Ball knew that her presence in the casting office would intimidate auditionees for the lead role – renamed Robby Tripper, as “Robin” was deemed too childlike or effeminate for American audiences (the most famous Robin in stateside popular culture being a pubescent boy in an elfin costume) [3] – was unknown, but Solow personally suspected as much. Ball always deferred any claims of talent or skill on her own part to her hand-picked associates – so it made perfect sense that she also had a knack for picking actors for the right parts. Accordingly, cast in the linchpin lead role was John Ritter, son of the late Golden Age actor-singer “Tex” Ritter, whose screen test had made Ball burst into raucous laughter (and wheezing, and coughing, and finally tears; a combination of laughter and shortness of breath). [4] Though Ritter was known at the time mostly for dramatic roles, all present agreed that he would be the ideal Robby Tripper. He would prove the glue that would hold the series – which had been given the name Three’s Company – together. The eventual production team that would handle the writing was the trio of Don Nicholl, Mickey Ross, and Bernie West, all of whom had previous experience on Those Were the Days (and later Moving On Up), and would be expected to apply the same due care to their handling of this program.

    The brunette character, Chrissy, was brought across the pond more or less wholesale, though the blonde, Jo, was renamed “Janice”, as “Jo” was deemed too reminiscent of Joanie Cunningham, who appeared on
    Rock Around the Clock, yet another ABC-Desilu production. [5] Mr. (George) Roper was renamed Arthur, and Mrs. (Mildred) Roper was renamed Eleanor. Mr. Roper was without sexual passion after his long marriage to the still-libidinous “dirty old woman”, Mrs. Roper, who in turn often sought the attentions of Robby Tripper in the classically passive-aggressive fashion. [6] Circumstances would contrive to keep Tripper rooming with Chrissy and Janice until such time as he had completed his education and training as a chef, and could afford to support himself financially. As was the standard for farce, the comedy derived from these contrivances and subsequent misunderstandings, and characters pretending to be what they were not, and then being forced to continue this deception to its breaking point. Given Ritter’s flair for physical comedy, pratfalling was prevalent. Running gags were dime-a-dozen on the show, as they were on all farces, but Robby Tripper could true to his name stumble over that living room couch every episode and make it look as if he had never done it before. His star quality easily outshone that of his castmates. [7]

    Perhaps what
    Three’s Company would become most famous for behind-the-scenes was the three-way tug-of-war on all sides. The hands-on producers, the studio, and the network all had very different ideas for what kind of show they should be making. It also functioned as a battle of the titans; all three sides had titanic successes to their names that prevented the other two factions from dismissing them out of hand. Silverman wanted to make Three’s Company as similar as possible to The Alley Cats. Sexually risqué content was the wave of the future, in his opinion. Nicholl, Ross, and West were not averse to this – they obviously had little insight into the attitudes of younger women – but Ball most certainly was. [8] I Love Lucy had been a sexless farce, and it remained phenomenally popular, up to and including young audiences. She was not necessarily opposed to sexuality, but surely there could be other ways to keep the audiences laughing. In her mind, the original Man About the House walked a fine line – but what was intended for the blonde bombshell character of Janice leapt over it headfirst. That facet of the debate marked another front in the continuing struggle facing women on television.

    Three’s Company
    , however, emerged as a smash success, and as the top-rated new ongoing series of the 1976-77 season, landing in the Top 10 overall. [9] Perhaps even more so than Rock Around the Clock, this was the show that helped Desilu shed the “House that Paladin Built” image, moving into sitcoms that adroitly blended the focus on character and continuity of the 1970s with the energy and enthusiasm of Classic TV. Silverman was so pleased by the strong ratings coming on that he immediately green lit production of a Ropers spinoff; however, these plans would be put on hold when most of the production team, including the higher-ups at Desilu, thought it would be better to let the originating program run its course before any talk of spinoffs. [10] Ball, who had heavily retooled The Lucy Show during its run, nevertheless balked at evicting the Ropers. “That would be like getting rid of Fred and Ethel after Little Ricky was born”, she remarked to Tartikoff when he informed her of the idea. Ball was never above calling back to Lucy as a means to settle an argument in the perpetual power struggle with her producers and the network, but it was a strategy with proven results…

    ---


    [1]
    The Alley Cats was known IOTL, of course, as Charlie’s Angels.

    [2] Why was Desilu involved? That Wacky Redhead IOTL became known as a vociferous defender of
    Three’s Company, and particularly Ritter (the two became good friends). Silverman was involved from the very beginning, and therefore the right-of-first-refusal agreement between them would bring this project to the table very early on.

    [3] Robin Tripp became Jack Tripper IOTL. “Tripper” was an obvious enough pun on Ritter’s pratfalling as the character, but the switch to “Jack” (a name about equally British and American) does not appear to have a clear explanation in the history books (though “Robin” probably would not have been accepted).


    [4] Because she didn’t do any of that in the previous update
    ;)

    [5] IOTL, Jo (renamed “Janet”) and Chrissy saw their hair colours and personalities switch places, due to the convoluted development process. ITTL, the two remain more closely aligned with their counterparts across the Pond. Janice is played by Susan Anton, and Chrissy by Pam Dawber.


    [6] IOTL, George became
    Stanley Roper, and Mildred became Helen. Norman Fell plays Mr. Roper ITTL (as IOTL), with Betty Garrett playing Mrs. Roper.

    [7] In contrast to OTL, where Suzanne Somers as (the blonde) Chrissy became the breakout star, though that ended rather badly.


    [8] As noted, That Wacky Redhead was a big fan of
    Three’s Company IOTL, so why does she interfere so heavily ITTL? Simple: she’s a studio chief, and she has social responsibilities. Her drive to focus on gender-neutral slapstick will probably serve to make the show age better in the long run, for however many arguments it starts.

    [9] It finished at #11 in the 1976-77 season IOTL.


    [10] IOTL,
    The Ropers, the American analogue to the British George and Mildred, was launched in the 1978-79 season, though actor Norman Fell, who played Mr. Roper, was resistant to this idea; he knew that he had a good thing with Three’s Company and was more than willing to ride it out before taking a chance on a potentially failed spinoff (an eminently sensible decision, given how risky the television industry can be). Sadly, The Ropers was cancelled after two seasons, and the Ropers were permanently replaced on their parent series by Don Knotts (another Desilu veteran, funnily enough) as Mr. Furley.

    ---

    So now we examine the origins of one of the most talked-about series of the late-1970s ITTL (and IOTL):
    Three’s Company! Fortunately, I was able to exploit the existing connections already in place to create a show that is largely similar to the OTL version (or unfortunately, as the case may be if youre not a fan, and many people arent). However, in the long run, this version is going to be a somewhat lessinsulting program than the one you might remember. And this feuding is going to be keeping That Wacky Redhead and her studio very busy in the years to come. It can’t all be sunshine and rainbows at Desilu, after all!
     
    Last edited:
    The Roots of the Miniseries
  • The Roots of the Mini-series

    At the dawn of television, in the established media of the time, two separate, yet equally important serial formats had achieved widespread popularity: the continuing series, imported from radio, and the limited serial, which was a product of the movies. Television would eradicate both of these formats as they existed in their native media: by the 1960s, dramatized productions of any sort were essentially absent from American radio, and virtually all films were stand-alone, any sequels being made on a discretionary basis. When it came to motion pictures, of course, film serials were far from the only format to be rendered obsolete by the rise of television. Newsreels and shorts were also a thing of the past, though many cartoon characters did find new lives on the small screen. From the very beginning, though, television seemed more interested in bringing over the production model from radio, wholesale (up to and including its entire stable of stars), with producers preferring longer, continuing series. In the 1950s, most programs ran for 39 episodes per season. This had declined to as little as 22 episodes per season, in some instances, by the late 1970s (though 26 remained the standard). Across the Pond, on the other hand, the tendency had always been to favour runs of shorter episodes, and indeed, many such programs were not picked up for additional seasons (or series) of production. Thus, the mini-series (as it would become known in American parlance) became a standard format there. The United States would not follow suit until the 1970s.

    The catalytic incentive was, unsurprisingly, also ultimately derived from other media.
    The “new freedom of the screen” that so defined the American motion picture industry in the 1970s – the “New Hollywood” era, as it were – did have an impact on television, though a more subtle and incremental one. But the desire to take more creative risks was certainly not limited to the movie studios – their television divisions, along with the networks, felt the urge to spread their creative wings as well. Television was as an ideal a medium for the adaptation of epic works of literature and histories as was possible. Though it lacked the sheer scale achievable in motion pictures, as well as the intimacy of the stage, it was also able to provide enough elements of each of these and avoid having to make tough sacrifices a classic “jack of all trades” situation which had paid great dividends in the past, and would by all appearances continue to do so in the future. In fact, it had been in the 1950s – the decade during which television market saturation increased from 8% to 87% (its growth rate was declining, to reach a plateau of 98% by the late 1970s) – that the cinema had attempted some rather brazen methods of audience retention in the face of the first real challenge to its supremacy. Some of these tactics, such as the wider screens, would be so well-received that they would become mainstays; others, like 3D, became highly dated and almost nostalgic fads, the likes of which would surely never be seen again [1]; and then there were the outright fiascoes, like “Smell-O-Vision”, about which the less is said, the better. But it was clear that, from the very beginning, television and motion pictures have been inexorably linked.

    Everything would finally come together in full force with Roots,
    the brainchild of Alex Haley, an African-American writer who had also collaborated with Malcolm X in the writing of his autobiography. Like many writers, he refused to let strict historical accuracy get in the way of a good story. Indeed, Haley even coined the term faction – a fusion of “fact” and “fiction”, to describe his work. However, Haley may have gone a bridge too far after it became apparent that he had plagiarized numerous passages from the 1967 novel The African, written by folklorist and anthropologist Harold Courlander, who had sought legal action against him for doing so (a settlement was eventually reached out-of-court).

    Roots
    , the novel, epitomized the proud tradition of the multi-generational historical familial epic; so too did the mini-series adapted from it cement the legacy of the lengthy, sprawling story which the strengths of television as a medium were uniquely suited to present. The story of Roots began with that of Kunta Kinte, a purported ancestor of Haley, who was born in West Africa in the mid-eighteenth century. As a youth, he was captured by white slavers, and was taken on the Middle Passage to what was then known as British North America, specifically the Thirteen Colonies thereof, eventually being purchased by a plantation owner in Virginia. After numerous escape attempts – culminating in the amputation of part of his right foot by his brutal taskmasters – he would eventually marry and start a family of his own, with the narrative then following the story of his daughter, who was in turn also said to be a direct ancestor of Haley, and her own children. The author claimed that the Kunta Kinte story was a long and cherished one passed down through the generations of his family; but between “borrowing” from The African, and actually traveling to The Gambia and claiming to speak with someone knowledgeable in the oral traditions of the area, this claim was highly dubious. This strong African connection perpetuated a dominant theme in black culture of “re-connecting with the Motherland”; interestingly, many black people in fact had longer lines of ancestry within the United States (as the slave trade had effectively ended by the turn of the 19th century) than many white people (who were descended from waves of immigration originating throughout Europe in the mid-to-late-19th century and beyond).

    The veracity of
    Roots, though it did not withstand even the slightest scrutiny, was considered important because of the Black History which it represented, as it was intended to symbolize and detail the entire struggle of the African-American people throughout the history of what would become the United States of America. There were plenty of real people whose lives painted the tapestry of triumph and tragedy that epitomized them; the use of these ahistorical characters was controversial, but in the grand scheme of things, it was the impact which Roots would have on popular culture which would cement its legacy. The mini-series was also timely – it came along at about the same time as low-budget Blaxploitation was giving way to more “stylistic” and “serious” black-interest pictures such as Finney and Progress, which represented a creative epiphany. The New Hollywood renaissance was breaking the colour barrier in grand fashion. Many mini-series prior to Roots had achieved considerable – even significant – popularity, but Roots saw unprecedented ratings, emerging as the highest-rated dramatic telecast of all time, beating the nearly six-year-old record held by the series finale of Star Trek (aired in July, 1971). [2] People of every creed and colour tuned in to watch Roots, marking the zenith of the mini-series as a genre of American television.

    Roots
    aired for eight consecutive nights in late January, 1977, with episodes varying in length between two hours (ninety minutes of content, plus commercials) and one hour (forty-five minutes of content). [3] Of the eight episodes, three matched or exceeded the 47 rating claimed by “These Were the Voyages” in 1971 – episodes five, six, and eight. The eighth episode, the grand finale, which featured Haley himself narrating in the closing moments as he traced the line of descent directly from Kunta Kinte to himself, scored a whopping 52 rating, with an estimated 37 million viewers. [4] At the 29th Emmy Awards that May, a mere few months later, Roots performed a clean sweep, winning all nine Emmys for which it had been nominated. [5] This shattered the five-Emmy record set by Rich Man, Poor Man, beating it in yet another regard.

    Rich Man, Poor Man, which had aired in the previous season, was a clear antecedent to the success that would be enjoyed by Roots, but it lacked those certain qualities which might have propelled it into the status of a true popular culture phenomenon akin to Roots. Nonetheless, it had finished at #2 overall in the 1975-76 season, behind only Rock Around the Clock. Like the later Roots, this mini-series placed a great deal of emphasis on family, though it chose to approach the concept from a distinctly different direction; likewise, it visited the concept of migration, though voluntary rather than involuntary, and from the New World back to the Old.
    However, the plot focus was more on sophisticated, literary themes, as opposed to the raw, primal, and more universal appeal of a historical fiction piece based on a very palpable struggle. Perhaps this lack of universality explained its lack of lasting impact when compared to the utter juggernaut that Roots had already become in the very short time since it was first broadcast.

    Nevertheless, the resultant sea change would prove a massive harbinger indeed for television and the movies. Prior to the late 1970s, the big money
    – and the big ratings – could be found in television broadcasts of Hollywood films. Less than a year prior to Roots, NBC had been the first network to air one of the most popular movies ever made: Gone with the Wind. Divided into two parts, given its great length, both of them had been a smash sensation, earning a cumulative 46 rating, just behind the series finale of Star Trek as the second-highest-rated telecast of the 1970s, up to that point. [6] However, this broadcast was met with considerable resistance on the part of the increasingly influential and vocal black community, who naturally objected to the finer details of that film (as they had done in 1939, at which time they were willfully ignored). Many critics and cultural observers saw Roots and its success as something of a “response” to GWTW (including a number of people who were actually involved with the production), but it would be a better fit to call one the end of an era in telefilms, and the other a new beginning. The motivations behind television deciding to abandon pre-made motion pictures in lieu of original telefilms would only become more clear as time went on, given the key technological breakthrough which would revolutionize viewing habits as nothing had done before[FONT=&quot]

    ---

    [1] Remember, in the late 1970s, there had only been one 3D wave: the original, in the early 1950s. IOTL, two would follow: the first revival of the early-to-mid-1980s, and the second (and sadly, ongoing) revival of the late-2000s onward. Note that all three of these waves are timed with major technological changes that have threatened the movie-going experience as the acme of entertainment: television, home video, and high-definition home viewing, respectively.

    [2] IOTL, that record was held by the two-part telecast of Gone with the Wind, on November 7-8, 1976 (less than three months before).

    [3] Note that the ratio of content-to-commercials has by now declined to a level more familiar to modern audiences (approximately 3:1), down from Classic TV levels (5:1).

    [4] Episodes five and six did not break the 47.0 threshold set ITTL by [/FONT]“These Were the Voyages” IOTL, but they did ITTL, largely because overall ratings for the mini-series were higher. This is also reflected in the rating for the final episode, up from 51.1 IOTL (which is still good for third-highest-rated telecast of all time, by the way).

    [5] IOTL, 1977 was the first year that the Emmys were moved to September (where they continue to reside IOTL); this has been butterflied ITTL.

    [6] Perhaps because the dissenting voices are slightly stronger, GWTW fares slightly worse than IOTL, just enough so to fall beneath the threshold set by Star Trek, meaning that only the final episode of Roots ranks above it in all-time ratings (up to this point).

    ---

    And now, we witness the arrival of that which finally dethroned
    “These Were the Voyages”: Roots! As IOTL, this mini-series became a landmark production that can be measured more in its impact than its content (which is what defines popular culture, after all). A reminder that a ratings point (a rating of 47 is also that many points) represents one percent of all television-owning households in the given market (always the United States for the purposes of this timeline, unless stated otherwise).
     
    Last edited:
    Everybody was Kung-Fu Fighting
  • Everybody Was Kung-Fu Fighting

    “Never tries to run away,
    dies and lives another day!


    Theme from Live and Let Die, written and performed by Stevie Wonder

    The mystique and allure of the Orient had gripped Western culture for millennia, dating all the way back to the Roman Empire, whose wealthy patricians greatly coveted the exotic goods produced under the contemporary Han Dynasty of Ancient China. In the many centuries following the Fall of Rome, no single Western civilization could rival the opulence and splendor of the Far Eastern dynasties until the eighteenth century, with the rise of the (European) Great Powers. But even before their decline began in the early 20th century, Orientalism had re-ignited, thanks in large part to rise of Imperial Japan as another Great Power. For better or for worse, it was that island nation which would come to be seen as the foremost representative of the region in the minds of Westerners, from that point forward. Even its status as the most bitter and hated enemy of the United States in World War II (and coming in a close second in British and French estimation, behind Nazi Germany) could not permanently extinguish such underlying curiosity.

    As soon after the war (which had very nearly destroyed Japan) as the 1950s, the Land of the Rising Sun was again making its mark on the Western popular consciousness. This drive was spearheaded by director Akira Kurosawa (fittingly seen by some of his colleagues in the Japanese film industry as “too Western”), who had crafted some of the most acclaimed and influential motion pictures ever made, including Rashomon, Ikiru, Seven Samurai, Throne of Blood, The Hidden Fortress, and Yojimbo. By the late 1970s, many of these had been adapted for overseas consumption, either with Kurosawa’s blessing (The Magnificent Seven) or without it (A Fistful of Dollars). That many of his films had themes associated with the Western genre was no accident; the director he idolized above all others was John Ford, a four-time Oscar-winning director from the Golden Age of Hollywood who had come to define the genre. Kurosawa, in turn, had attracted something of a fan club of his own, from the rising “New Hollywood” generation; members of which included Francis Ford Coppola, George Lucas, John Milius, Martin Scorsese, and Steven Spielberg. [1] It was largely through his inspiration to their development as filmmakers that he would achieve his greatest (though somewhat more indirect) impact in popular culture. Though his work was generally well-regarded in Japan, it was stateside that he met with his greatest plaudits; it echoed the situation of the previous generation, when Anglo-American director Alfred Hitchcock became the darling of the French nouvelle vague, which coined the “auteur theory” in order to describe him; it quickly spread to encompass both Kurosawa and many of his “New Hollywood” acolytes.

    The ease of the cultural translation from the Japanese jidai geki genre (set in the feudal period prior to the Meiji Restoration) to the American Western genre would also facilitate other cultural translations from elsewhere in the Orient, principally the products of Chinese culture. In the 1970s, most of the Western bloc had formalized relations with the People’s Republic of China, following the awarding of the permanent Security Council seat in the United Nations to that state (at which time it was revoked from the Republic of China, also known as Taiwan). Any relationship between Red China and the United States remained non-existent, however; among major US allies, only Israel had also declined to establish relations by the end of the decade. [2] However, and in marked contrast with Japan (and its short-lived empire), Chineseculture reached far beyond the borders of even the former Imperial state, at its territorial apex at the turn of the century. These outposts included several key strategic holdings formerly (Singapore) and currently (Hong Kong) held by the British, giving them direct access into the wider culture of the Anglosphere; the Chinese diaspora also included a large and entrenched population in the Americas, particularly the United States and Canada. This was also true of the Japanese diaspora, of course; but the Chinese were both more concentrated and far less assimilationist, having more in common structurally with a subculture (akin to, say, African-Americans). This allowed them to form the nexus of the Asian-American community, and it was not surprising, given their mutual second-class histories, that some solidarity could be found between Black and Asian minority populations).

    Naturally, the primary catalytic force behind the Orientalism of the 1970s was a Chinese-American, named Bruce Lee. Born in San Francisco, Lee’s parents were from Hong Kong; his father was full-blooded Cantonese, and an actor and opera singer; his mother, on the other hand, was the scion of an aristocratic family which was mixed-race – part-Cantonese, and part-British. The couple were in the United States because Mr. Lee was on tour with his performing company; they were gone almost as soon as they had arrived, back to Hong Kong … just in time for the Japanese to invade in World War II. After the war had ended, and the occupation had lifted, the young Bruce found himself routinely getting into fights with some punks who were up to no good, and started making trouble in his neighbourhood. After one too many fights, his parents got scared, and then they enrolled him into martial-arts classes. The need for self-defence quickly matured into a passion, and then a discipline, which would inform his entire life.

    Martial arts were generally regarded by Orientalists as central to Far Eastern philosophy and spirituality, which differed from the somewhat more rigid belief systems traditional in the West. Both China and Japan had long been dominated by syncretic religion, a combination of native rites (Confucianism and Taoism in China, and Shinto in Japan) with Buddhism, imported from the Indian subcontinent (which, indeed, took root far more strongly in the lands to which it had immigrated). The hippies and counter-culture of the 1960s had immediately embraced many of these ideas; not entirely shocking, given their epicentres in locations with large East Asian immigrant populations. Bruce Lee got the chance to disseminate his discipline among the lay population in the West when he returned to the United States to further his academic studies in 1959; he immediately began instructing anyone willing to learn, which would become his primary vocation throughout the 1960s. However, following in the footsteps of his father, he also attempted to break into acting; his most high-profile role in the era was that of Kato, sidekick to the Green Hornet in his short-lived eponymous series. It lasted for only one season – 1966-67 – and is best-remembered for its close association with the contemporary Batman series (whose own success had resulted in it being made in the first place), culminating in a crossover, wherein Lee (and his co-star, Van Williams) appear in Gotham City opposite the Caped Crusader and the Boy Wonder. However, Lee was unenthusiastic about his supporting role, believing himself to possess the chops – both as an actor and as a martial artist – to be able to carry a show on his own shoulders. At about the same time, he began to devise his own system of martial arts, which eventually became known as Jeet Kune Do. However, the general public continued to use many terms for Chinese martial arts, including wing chun, properly a single style which Lee himself had practiced prior to developing his own techniques; kung-fu, a Western neologism; and wushu, which was the standard Chinese term. [3] It was not to be confused with two other well-known Asian martial arts, karate and judo, both of which were Japanese in origin.

    But becoming a star stateside would not prove nearly as easy as developing a new martial art, which was limited only by his own talent and discipline, both of which he had in abundance. However, celebrity required shattering societal restrictions, and that required opportunity and influence. Fortunately for Lee, he had devised his own means of creating these for himself: a new television series, a star vehicle which would depict the life of a Chinese-American in the Wild West; it was a logical historical setting for a person of his ethnicity, and this character focus would put a new spin on quite possibly the hoariest of television genres. He approached a number of studios with the idea, including Warner Bros. [4] and Paramount, but only Desilu Productions, which had established a sterling reputation for racial progressivism in its already-existing series, was willing to make a show on his terms. The Way of the Warrior would begin airing in September of 1972, and would carry on the tradition set by previous series including Star Trek, Mission: Impossible, and Night Gallery, in not shying away from pressing social issues, though in this case it would do so in a strictly historical context. [5]

    Lee was a highly charismatic and attractive performer, and his series became an instant hit: it was “serious” and able to attract strong critical notices, but at the same time it had a massive popular appeal through the unique take on a time-worn setting, and spoke to an audience largely ignored by other programs. It was therefore only logical that the series entered the Top 30 immediately upon its debut and remained there throughout the entirety of its run. The key 18-49 demographic loved the show; young men loved the clever and stylistic action sequences, and young women loved the lithe, toned body of Bruce Lee, who would rarely pass on the opportunity to go shirtless for a scene, becoming one of the premiere male sex symbols of the 1970s. Most notably, The Way of the Warrior performed superbly in two key minority demographics: Asians (obviously) and Blacks, who as a proportion of the population were far more numerous than Asians, but nevertheless seemed to embrace Lee and his martial arts wholeheartedly. The emphasis on racial discrimination and bigotry constantly faced by his character on the show obviously struck a chord with them; his constant fighting with “the Man” (who, this being the Wild West, was merely the ringleader of whichever band of troublemakers happened to be riding through that day) appealed greatly to the Blaxploitation ethos. Indeed, martial arts in that genre of films quickly developed a more Oriental bent to them in general, even notwithstanding the budding sub-genre of “Blasian” fusion movies within Blaxploitation. Chinese-American choreographers became an integral part of this rising “Black New Hollywood” movement, making the name something of a misnomer. In addition, The Way of the Warrior became an overseas smash, and the most popular American program of the 1970s throughout the Orient, excluding Japan (though even there, it was very well-received). Needless to say, it became a veritable institution in Lee’s home turf of Hong Kong, inspiring a veritable flood of imitators within the native film industry. [6]

    By the 1976-77 season, Lee was beginning to feel that he had made the most of the creative opportunities availed to him by working on The Way of the Warrior, and wanted to transition into action movies, having already heard of the success of the many films that he had inspired back in Hong Kong (which, upon crossing the Pacific, were also doing surprisingly well at the American box-office). The major studios were well aware of how popular he was overseas, which bolstered him as it had done for other established foreign “name” actors in the past, such as the Mexican Ricardo Montalban, who had proven very popular with the Hispanophone audience in the 1950s. Desilu was already transitioning from dramatic, action-adventure series back toward the sitcoms for which they had first made their name in the 1950s and 1960s, so the studio had no major qualms with one of their two remaining dramatic hits coming to an end. Thus, the series concluded a five-season run of 120 episodes in the spring of 1977. [7]

    Meanwhile, that most internationalist of movie franchises, James Bond, found itself indulging in both Blaxploitation and Asian Martial Arts with the two films directed – appropriately enough – by the American Kurosawa acolyte, Steven Spielberg. Having made a name for himself with Jaws, the wildly successful film adaptation of the Peter Benchley novel of the same name, he was invited to fulfill what he had always stated to be a dream of his, ever since Dr. No: directing the latest adventures of 007. The next Bond film after the smash Moonraker was called Live and Let Die, and would premiere in 1976. [8] As they had done with Moonraker, the studio opted to tap into the zeitgeist, but their chosen exemplar – the Blaxploitation genre – had aged enough that it was already slightly dated by the time that the film actually reached theatres. However, this proved beneficial, as by 1976, many Blaxploitation films had grown increasingly sophisticated and creatively ambitious; thus, Live and Let Die fit that aesthetic in a way that it would not have done a few years before, when the genre lived up to its name, in terms of exploitative filmmaking techniques. Black audiences would also flock to see the film, which featured Billy Dee Williams an American CIA agent, the “Black James Bond”, as the media naturally described him. Talks of a spinoff film featuring the character ensued, though they quickly fizzled. Stevie Wonder, at the very height of his career, performed the popular theme song, which (as was typical in his lyrical content at the time) emphasized the possibilities of reincarnation and spiritual rebirth. The song reached the Top 40 in the United States (and was included on his Grammy-winning album, Songs in the Key of Life), but had a decidedly more lackluster response in the UK, finishing well behind “Moonraker” by Queen (who were emerging as major musical superstars). [9] Locations chosen for Live and Let Die included the Gulf Coast of the United States, and various islands in the Caribbean – a nod to both Moonraker and to the first Bond film, Dr. No.

    The Man With the Golden Gun followed, in 1978. As with Live and Let Die, it focused on an established fad of the era in which it was developed: the Oriental Martial Arts film. However, on this occasion, the producers were able to ride a wave, as opposed to hoping to revive one, as had been the case with Moonshot Lunacy in 1974, and Blaxploitation in 1976. Therefore, the film was naturally a massive success. Location filming was done in (among other places) Hong Kong, putting the substantial talent pool and industry resources available in the area to good use – and most of the people involved were happy to contribute to as venerable a franchise as James Bond. In an echo of the role held by Oddjob as chief henchman to the titular Goldfinger, the right-hand to the primary villain of the film, Scaramanga, was a skilled Chinese martial artist. He was played by stunt performer Jackie Chan, who won over casting agents with his charisma, along with the willingness to do two jobs for the price of one. [10] (He would also serve as a choreographer for many of the other Hong Kong performers, as he was well-regarded within the industry). Harold Sakata, who had played Oddjob, was sadly unable to capitalize on his exposure following Goldfinger; Chan, on the other hand, took the cachet from his appearance and would emerge by the turn of the next decade as the biggest male star in Hong Kong. It was to his credit that his turn in the Bond film was actually quite atypical of his later, more comedy-oriented career, owing more to Buster Keaton than even to Bruce Lee. Spielberg, for his part, declined to direct a third Bond film (tentatively planned as For Your Eyes Only), eager to move on to other films, and to other genres


    ---

    [1] And Robert Altman, though he is a nobody ITTL because his career stalled after M*A*S*H bombed at the box-office.

    [2] ITTL, the last major US ally to establish relations with Red China up to this point was Australia, which did so in late 1975; this is because the strongly pro-US Coalition government was successfully re-elected in 1972 (only to be defeated in the following election).

    [3] The term “kung-fu”, used near-universally IOTL to refer to Chinese martial arts (only the most ardent Sinophiles would instead use the native term wushu), was popularized (though not originated) by two OTL sources which do not exist ITTL: the series Kung Fu (1972-75), which here instead exists as The Way of the Warrior, and the Carl Douglas song “Kung-Fu Fighting”, released in 1974, as a direct result of the popularity of Hong Kong martial arts films, a wave which will not exist without Bruce Lee to head it.

    [4] Warner Bros. was the OTL studio to develop Kung-Fu, which (it has often been said) stole the idea from Bruce Lee without giving him credit or even casting him in the lead (instead choosing the white American David Carradine to play the half-Chinese Kwai Chang Caine).

    [5] IOTL, Kung-Fu would occasionally touch on these issues, though not with nearly the same depth or sincerity as The Way of the Warrior ITTL. Lee plays a full-blooded Chinese-American (as opposed to the “half-Chinese” character played by Carradine), and the show additionally dwells on the plight of what were then known as “Negroes”, many of whom were cowboys (continuing the idea of twisting a hoary genre inside-out). This naturally creates a cross-racial appeal for Lee from the very beginning.

    [6] The genre of films inspired by Lee was IOTL described as “Bruceploitation”, largely springing up after his death in 1973, contemporary with his rising popularity ITTL.

    [7] Kung Fu ended production after a mere three seasons in 1975, though a revival series (also starring Carradine) would air on the PTEN syndication package in the early 1990s.

    [8] More details on the timing, development, and production of Moonraker ITTL can be found in this update.

    [9] More elaborate “prog”-type songs in the Queen catalogue eventually give way to sheer bombast and virtuosity, as was also the case IOTL, though I obviously know better than to pin down such gifted creators and specify how similar their specific songs would be to OTL, given the dramatically different environment in which they are written.

    [10] IOTL, Chan worked as a stunt performer for Bruce Lee himself; ITTL, he gets his start in the later Bruce-less Bruceploitation films, only to have an earlier break.

    ---

    I hope you all enjoyed that look at East Asia! Contrary to popular belief, I did plan to focus on that region of the world; I merely wished to avoid one country (or two countries, depending on your reckoning, and the precise, chronological geopolitical situation) in particular. Also, I know that a number of you were asking after the martial arts situation ITTL, so I hope that this sheds some light on it for you. Yes, Bruce Lee lives as well, and the manner in which he inspires the Hong Kong film industry is rather more indirect than IOTL, though it does yield much the same results. Spielberg also has two more massive hits on his resume in the 1970s, though some of you may be wondering about some of his OTL works of the period. Your questions will be answered in due time, I assure you. (I still have to deal with that friend of his, too… the one with the flannel.)

    Special note: Please observe that I have used the sensitive term
    “Oriental” to refer only to regions or concepts, and not to people. Thank you :)
     
    Last edited:
    An All-New Way to Play
  • An All-New Way To Play

    Syzygy VCS.jpg
    The Syzygy Video Computer System (VCS), original 1977-era model. [1]

    Syzygy means
    “play”.
    Syzygy means “fun”.
    Syzygy means “games”.
    And the Syzygy Video Computer System brings playing fun games into the comfort of your own living room!

    – Commercial for the Syzygy Video Computer System (VCS), first aired on November 24, 1977

    One of the defining technological patterns of the 20th century was the development of a new medium for each successive generation. Film, which had been pioneered late in the previous century, developed gradually into full-colour, full-sound, “talkie” motion pictures by the 1930s; radio, by comparison, had a much shorter gestation period, emerging fully-formed perhaps a decade after it had been invented – though it had the advantage of building on the infrastructure laid down by the telegraph and the telephone, both of which had preceded it. Television, which also shared this infrastructure, nevertheless also took a great deal of time to perfect; the earliest prototypes had been invented in the 1920s, but the medium would not fully saturate the market until the 1950s. Perhaps it was because it also had the visual aspect in common with the movies; in any event, by the 1970s, another new medium, one that would alarm traditionalists just as all the others had done previously, was due to make itself known. And so it did, right on schedule.

    The
    video game was, as might be expected from its name – unlike all previous media (save, perhaps, for certain examples of avant-garde theatre), interactive. It was primarily focused on the visual experience – the sounds produced by the primitive machines on which these video games played were not a selling point, as they were produced by technology similar to – though even less sophisticated than – the synthesizers that were becoming increasingly popular in various genres of music. Therefore, like the other two dominant vehicles of visual media, films and television, video games had an extremely long development process. The technology which made their genesis possible had evolved from the computational revolution of World War II and the years that followed; perhaps not coincidentally, many of the earliest video games were combat simulators. This would remain true even into the 1970s, the decade that saw their major breakthrough into the popular consciousness. Tactics were simple, and easy to simulate; the wide variety of genres and themes endemic to every other medium, which entailed plot, characterization, literary devices, and use of visual and sound effects, were far beyond what the technology could deliver at the time. This lack of maturity was strikingly reminiscent of the growing pains felt by the nascent film industry at the turn of the century.

    Along with combat simulators, many of the earliest video games replicated traditional board games. No less a luminary in the field of computers than Alan Turing wrote the very first chess program in order to test his theories of artificial intelligence. The “Sport of Kings” was extremely popular in the Soviet Union, and computer engineers there were eventually tasked with creating the
    ultimate program to challenge the gaggle of Grandmasters who hailed from the region, particularly the World Chess Champion during the era in which video games would first make headlines: Viktor Korchnoi. [2] Meanwhile, another early video game sought to replicate table tennis, and would have a great deal more success; this pioneering experiment, in turn, would foresee the great success that a later entrepreneur would have with this idea…

    What is popularly credited as the “first video game” – though it was nothing of the kind – was the 1971 game
    Computer Space. [3] Just as had been the case with so many other alleged breakthroughs of the past, it was not actually the first – merely the last that could plausibly claim to be the first. Likewise, the game’s designer, Nolan Bushnell, was actually far better at self-promotion than he was at creating video games, or even coding or computing in general. Bushnell, like Thomas Edison and Ray Kroc before him, was able to build on the works of others and properly package them for mass consumption, and it was this crucial skill which made him – and the company which he would eventually helm, Syzygy [4] – synonymous with the burgeoning industry. Being in the right place at the right time certainly helped; it was easy to see why Computer Space had emerged as such a hit. It had been released in 1971, at the very peak of Moonshot Lunacy, and it was one of a great many space-related novelties released at the time. It had been based on the pioneering Spacewar!, released one decade earlier, and represented the culmination of a long period of attempts to bring a similar experience out of the computer science laboratories and into the marketplace. Computer Space, even if it were not the first video game, had been the first to become available to the general public, and (considering that it had been based on the penny-arcade model) was obviously the first to generate revenue and, consequently, turn a profit.

    As noted, video games were generally the province of laboratories prior to the 1970s, after which they finally became available to the general public. As with motion pictures, the earliest mass market video games first appeared in public venues, in this case called
    video arcades, a term co-opted from the midway games available at amusement parks. The term “arcade” was naturally used to refer to those public areas housing large numbers of game cabinets, similar to the turn-of-the-century moniker nickelodeon to refer to slideshows of five-cent moving pictures (which evolved into movies). The electronics which powered these new video games were housed in arcade cabinets, with only the audio/video output and the manual controls usable for direct operation by the external users. These were so named because they were coin-operated in the standard penny-arcade fashion, completely enclosing (or housing) the electronic circuitry upon which the games were programmed. Computer Space was sold to arcade operators in these very cabinets. Usually the player would be allowed to continue with the game until the allotted time elapsed, or he was judged to have “lost”, at which point more money would be required. As video games came equipped with battery-backed memory, high scores could be recorded, allowing for greater replay value, and competition with friends (or rivals).


    tumblr_mdpo4gTsV61qlz9dno1_400.jpg


    The Computer Space arcade cabinet.

    The success of
    Computer Space convinced Bushnell to strike it out with an entirely different game, Pong, based on the aforementioned table tennis games of yore. Even more simple than Computer Space, it was also, surprisingly, an even bigger hit – to the point that the entire video game industry was considered synonymous with the word “Pong” in the early 1970s. That Pong was the greater success is not considered surprising in retrospect; Computer Space may have been more ambitious, but this allowed it to become more dated, more quickly, in technological terms, along with (needless to say) cultural terms, as soon as Moonshot Lunacy began to decline the year after Pong was released. [5] It would only regain its popularity with the release of the home version in the mid-1970s, in the wake of examples in other media, such as Moonraker.

    Syzygy Incorporated, the gaming company which Bushnell co-founded with his fellow developers, would become the driving force of this nascent industry. It was the development of home versions for
    Computer Space and Pong that would gradually give way to a home “console”, which would be capable of playing both games, though only one at a time. Each of them, sold individually for home use, provided Syzygy with some of the valuable seed money they needed for expansion into this home market on a permanent, consistent basis. [6] Their double success in this arena was also very attractive to creditors, as they had now established a pattern. The initial public offering of Syzygy Inc., in 1975, was a modest success that, in the eyes of some analysts, was a sure sign of economic recovery beginning to take hold; the longer-term picture was somewhat less clear, as is always the case with the “dismal science”. [7] Whatever the indicators, this allowed Bushnell to consolidate control of his company with admirable efficiency.

    The Syzygy Video Computer System, or VCS, was
    also not the first console for home use; it followed the Magnavox Odyssey of 1972 (and was contemporary with the earliest home microcomputers). However, the Odyssey had been little more than a peculiar novelty; in order to “operate” it, graphical overlays (translucent sheets, in other words) needed to be placed over the television picture tube. Most “games” operated in a largely identical fashion, and even the programming allowed for little differentiation between them. Unsurprisingly, those who had become interested in the video gaming experience stuck to the public arcades, or continued to buy their “home games” one at a time (including both Computer Space and Pong), until the VCS. It was sold, in all places, at Sears, a mid-market department store, alongside radios and television sets, as opposed to toy stores or specialty shops. [8] Syzygy marketing naturally focused on the unusual name, with radio and television commercials for their product explaining how to pronounce it, and often juxtaposing it with simple, easy-to-understand words like “play”, “fun”, and “game”, for these were what “syzygy” really meant.

    The VCS, much like media appliances before it, was also intended as furniture as much as it was a telecommunications device, with (as was the aesthetic in the 1970s) muted colours, and (faux) wood-grain panelling. Unlike other devices, the VCS required the use of audio-visual feed into an
    existing medium – in this case, television – in order to function properly. Television would provide the visual and audio output necessary to provide an immersive and interactive experience that would attempt to replicate that of the arcades. However, the technology simply could not keep pace with the continuing breakthroughs made by the cabinet makers, which would remain a truism for many years to come. Not that it stopped Syzygy from trying. Operating the controls involved an analog stick, commonly described as a “joystick”, which allowed 360 degrees of motion within a two-dimensional plane. Depending on the game, this allowed complete freedom on a “map”-type layout, or forward and reverse motion on a simulated “track”, popular on driving simulators. Spaceships, perhaps the most popular vehicles in games of the 1970s, could alternate between these two formats, depending on the mechanics of the game in question. On arcade cabinets, the joystick was properly built-in; the Syzygy VCS, on the other hand, had the controls (prominently featuring the joystick) connected by a cord to an outlet on the main housing of the circuitry. Wireless technology that would be analogous to the remote control was far more complex and would require precision in receiver technology, which cost/benefit analysts deemed to be far beyond the comparatively slight boost in convenience that it would offer to consumers.

    Syzygy, though they had developed the VCS, did
    not have exclusive dominion over the games created for that system. For the VCS, in contrast to the arcade cabinets which each had individual games programmed for them, was obviously able to play many games using the same hardware and processing power. One could “plug” any number of game “cartridges” into the receiving port of the console, for a different playing experience; at least, as much as could be possible given the technical limitations of the VCS, in addition to the restrictions of using the single controller, which consisted of the joystick and two “action” buttons. Some clever programmers got around this by having the switches on the console itself, which ostensibly controlled audio and visual settings, tie into the gameplay. Several producers made games for the system even without the direct approval of the company. It was clear that the “house”, referred to in the parlance of the industry as the “first-party developer”, was not the only game in town, and this would have a devastating impact on Syzygy even during the years when they held a virtual monopoly on home video game consoles. And in the years that followed, all bets were off

    ---

    [1] The model pictured is (of course) one of the Atari VCS, exclusively made for Sears department stores (hence the term
    “Video Arcade” in lieu of the Atari logo). As I am not a graphic designer, you have my permission to imagine a Syzygy logo in its place. It obviously wont look like the OTL Atari logo.

    [2] IOTL, Korchnoi never became the World Chess Champion, though he did challenge for the title on several occasions. ITTL, after Boris Spassky was allowed to hold onto the title in 1972 once it became clear that Bobby Fischer would not challenge him (as detailed here), he was then challenged by Korchnoi in 1974; he would then lose to the man who, IOTL, has often been described as the greatest Grandmaster never to win the World Chess Championship.

    [3] Bushnell and his eventual business partner, Ted Dabney, designed this game and sold 1,500 copies, but it did not do very well at all IOTL. However, ITTL, a combination of various factors, not the least of which is Moonshot Lunacy (you didn
    t think we were finished with that old chestnut, did you?), result in the game becoming an unexpected smash hit, and it is therefore Computer Space, not Pong, that is remembered as “the first video game”.

    [4] Yes, Syzygy. That was Bushnell
    s first choice for his company name IOTL, but it was taken (possibly by hippies, no less), so he went with Atari instead.

    [5] Pong ITTL has less of an
    “out-of-nowhere” rise to success, having a clear antecedent in Computer Space, but the perception of it being more “universal” is still seen as critical at this (very) early juncture. As noted, it also ages better than Computer Space, because simpler games tend to be more addictive (as OTL has repeatedly shown).

    [6] Obviously, only Pong was sold for home use IOTL.

    [7] In addition to the pattern (as opposed to the OTL
    “fluke”); the economy is still in better absolute shape ITTL than IOTL, which gives investors the means and the motive to buy into an IPO of Syzygy Inc. It helps, of course, that the 1970s were a far less economically risk-averse era than the present day.

    [8]
    A famous TTL slogan for the VCS (and one that might as well have been, IOTL)? “Its not just a game; its a piece of furniture!

    ---

    Thanks to Electric Monk, and to my newest consultant, Andrew T, for their help and advice in the making of this update! This is just an introductory taste of the video gaming industry, which I hope to revisit quite often in the second half of this timeline. Obviously, this industry has seemingly limitless potential so early in its history!


    Syzygy VCS.jpg
     
    Last edited:
    Appendix A, Part VII: The Search for More Money
  • Appendix A, Part VII: The Search for More Money

    I KNOW THAT… CAPTAIN PIKE NEVER REALLY CARED FOR SERVING AS CAPTAIN OF THE ENTERPRISE… BUT I DON’T THINK I’D RATHER HAVE ANYTHING IN THE UNIVERSE OTHER THAN THE CONN OF THIS FINE SHIP, COMMANDING THIS FINE CREW I THINK I COULD GO ON DOING IT FOREVER, IF I COULD...

    – Captain James T. Kirk, in the September, 1976, tenth anniversary issue [1] (entitled “Time Warp!”) of the Gold Key Star Trek comic


    Keeping “The Show That Wouldn’t Die” alive was a far more exhaustive undertaking than the popular nickname for Star Trek might suggest. It remained a smash hit in syndication, even though every episode had been aired at least a dozen times by 1977; the die-hard Trekkies, of course, had seen them even more often, with the most popular shows proving ubiquitous at fan conventions. Syndication revenue was the crown jewel of the Star Trek financial windfall keeping Desilu Productions solvent during what might have otherwise been a difficult transition from the “House that Paladin Built” era into their period of higher-concept sitcoms… but it was far from their only source of income to be derived from that property. It was likely that no television program in the history of the medium had been as heavily merchandised as Star Trek by the late 1970s. [2]

    The oldest form of merchandising was the comic book tie-in, produced by Gold Key Comics. The first issue had been published in July, 1967, though the quality of the earliest comics was highly suspect. The writers did their best to be faithful to the concurrently-running Star Trek program, but the flaws were immediately evident – Gold Key was a much smaller company than the two titans of the industry, Marvel and DC, and obviously could not afford the same quality writers and artists. Nonetheless, as the oldest “official” source of stories set within the universe of the series, it immediately rode the wave that saw Star Trek emerge as one of the defining and all-encompassing hits of the late 1960s. Print after print, issue after issue, began selling out at newsstands across the country. Gold Key found themselves awash with cash, but at the same time, the rights to their star property were being threatened. Carmine Infantino at DC Comics (who had recently scored a major coup in luring the legendary Jack Kirby over to his company), and the inimitable Stan “The Man” Lee at Marvel Comics, both did their best to make overtures about buying out Gold Key itself, or at least their licence to produce Star Trek comics. [3] The higher-ups at the studio were conflicted – Lucille Ball was more familiar with the works of DC, unsurprisingly, given the popularity of the Superman series in the 1950s (whose star, George Reeves, had actually appeared on a famous episode of I Love Lucy), and the 1960s Batman series starring Adam West as the Caped Crusader. But the writers on the still-running Star Trek were resistant – they were trying to move away from the legacy of the flippant and woefully insincere Batman show, and (to their minds) putting the comics into the hands of DC would doom their cause. On the other hand, studio executives found Stan Lee and the overall corporate attitude at Marvel to be excessively juvenile and rather slavishly – almost embarrassingly aping the youth culture. [4] It seemed to suit everyone at Desilu and involved with Star Trek just fine that Gold Key hold onto the licence – it would be the primary interest of the fledgling company, as opposed to just another licenced property as far as either Marvel or DC would be concerned. Therefore, Gold Key would be willing to jump through whatever hoops Desilu would lay out in front of them to keep their cash cow, and so they did.

    Co-Producer David Gerrold was summarily chosen as the primary liaison between the producers of the show and the writing “staff”, such as it was, of the comic. His youth and established science-fiction fandom made him the only creative person involved with the show who was willing to give them the time of day; his producing duties kept him from more than a peripheral involvement during the show’s original run, so he was limited mostly to approving or rejecting story ideas. Inter-office memos between himself and his superiors, D.C. Fontana and Gene Coon, rarely included more than a passing mention of the adaptation he was tasked to oversee. But starting in 1971, he was able to devote far more time and energy to the job, and eventually came to relish the opportunity to do so. He was given the official position of Story Editor, and commenced an overhaul of the comics. An idea to carry on where the series finale had left off, following two separate crews on their two ships (and possibly result in two lines of Star Trek comic books) was immediately rejected by none other than Gene Roddenberry himself, in one of his few active creative decisions made during this period. He felt that continuing the story should not be spearheaded by as “low” a form of storytelling as mere comic books, and Desilu declined to countermand his directive. [5] The five-year mission would continue in perpetuity in the comics; Gerrold found the silver lining in the situation when he was able to adapt many of his story ideas that had been rejected for the series proper into issues of the comic. He also insisted on tighter issue-to-issue continuity, ending the tradition of stand-alone stories; stronger social and political allegory would also be introduced, carrying on an important legacy. Fittingly, the “Gerrold era” began with a two-part story in the autumn of 1971, which sold very well (despite, or perhaps because of, its parent series being out of first-run), and earned rave reviews. The revamp of the Star Trek comics coincided with a greater movement in the industry which would, retrospectively, be regarded as the transition from the Silver Age to the Bronze Age of Comic Books. The “old” Star Trek comics were emblematic of the Silver Age aesthetic – goofy, lighthearted, and fantastic to the point of being completely ridiculous. Likewise, the “new” comics were in keeping with the more “noble” ideals of the Bronze Age.

    Standing in marked contrast to the exploitation of established success with comics was the decision to take a chance in a whole new medium. In the wake of the smash success of the first video arcade game, Computer Space, its developer Nolan Bushnell, under the auspices of his newly formed Syzygy, Inc., approached Desilu in hopes of taking Star Trek – riding the wave of its incredibly successful series finale, and the very beginnings of its equally fruitful tenure in syndication – into the arcades. Many of the key figures involved in the show’s production were supportive of the notion; Herbert F. Solow and Robert H. Justman, both of whom were still a part of the Desilu hierarchy at the time, quite liked the idea of allowing the Trekkies to take a more active role in the universe of Star Trek. Roddenberry, who remained with the studio as a producer, wanted to move on to other projects, such as the failed Re-Genesis and, later, the more successful The Questor Tapes, and (apart from the incident with the comic books, which by this point he already saw as a thing of the past) paid little mind to spin-off projects from his prior creation. But at the end of the day, the only person whose word was absolute law with regard to the matter was the chief executrix of the studio, which controlled all copyrights and trademarks associated with Star Trek. And Lucille Ball was not wholly mercenary; she was well aware of the reputation that she had to maintain for herself and for Desilu. And though she obviously had little understanding of video games as a medium, she did have ample experience with new media as a whole; being a pioneer herself, in her meetings with Nolan Bushnell she could easily recognize that same spirit and drive in him. (As was typical of her, she would later compare the enterprising Bushnell to her ex-husband, Desi Arnaz, deferring any claims on her own part of working to build a media empire from nothing.) This first meeting, taking place in late 1972 shortly after Pong had exploded, was the auspicious start to an extremely profitable business relationship for both Ball and Bushnell (“sounds like a miracle tonic”, Ball was said to have quipped when she read their two names together in Variety).

    Star Trek for the arcade was released in 1973, becoming the third consecutive smash hit for Syzygy. The dying embers of Moonshot Lunacy did not make a dent on overall sales, helping to prove that the Trekkies had exceptional tenacity. [6] The game was a tactical shooter, from the perspective of the bridge of the Enterprise; the monitor on the arcade cabinet was intended to represent the main viewscreen. Two main enemy ships would engage the Enterprise: Klingon ships, which had weaker firepower but more hit points; and Romulan ships, which had stronger guns and could “blink” in and out of view (representing their cloaking technology), but were also something of a glass cannon, which could be destroyed with as little as one hit. Because Star Trek, the video game, proved very nearly as influential as the television series did; the two distinct types of enemies could be dispatched with two distinct weapons types: the phasers (which could be fired for prolonged periods by holding down the “phaser button” on the control console) or the torpedoes (which could only be fired one at a time), which was a revolutionary innovation. Though it was obviously much easier to score multiple hits against enemies using the phaser, it was much weaker than the torpedo, which, if aimed dead-centre at the Romulan bird of prey, would destroy it in a single hit. For aim was also an important consideration: fewer hit points were deducted for a glancing blow as opposed to a direct hit. Though other potential strategic variations could have included affecting maneuverability and ship’s sub-systems, this was beyond processor capacity when the game was first released; later versions did include some of these features. [7] But as for that first game, even the Enterprise did not recognize the difference between (recoverable) shield damage and hull damage, which did at least guarantee an eventual ending, however depressing the implications might have been – story details were extremely thin by necessity, but the obvious takeaway was that the Enterprise was the only ship defending some key strategic objective against waves and waves of allied Klingon-Romulan attackers, only to inevitably fall like the 300 or the Alamo. [8]

    This was the primary reason that there was some reservation among Trekkies with regards to the game. Most of them did appreciate it for what it was – a chance to fight the Klingons and the Romulans head-on – but in addition to the story implications (the definition of canon and plot continuity being an important issues in 1970s fandom), many bemoaned the lack of that which made Star Trek what it was – the iconic sets, the dazzling art design, the engaging storytelling, and above all else, the characterization. However enjoyable a diversion this arcade game might have been, it wasn’t really Star Trek. [9] Nolan Bushnell at Syzygy honestly couldn’t have cared less, for his game had succeeded in every other respect: it was a technological milestone, it sold like hotcakes, and it provided his company with one more exemplar of what was developing into a truly impressive portfolio. Lucille Ball, obviously, had to pay more heed to these dissenting voices, which were magnified by her lieutenants, Solow and Justman. Star Trek was a brand of quality, one that transcended the technological and conceptual limitations of its original medium, and the same would have to be true for adaptations into other new media. [10] This issue was raised by Ball in her subsequent discussions with Bushnell, who explained that – in contrast to television, which, as I Love Lucy demonstrated, was able to achieve its creative peak early in its history – video games were a medium that needed years, even decades, to fully mature. And long-term planning necessitated long-term funding. The Desilu coffers, needless to say, were practically full-to-bursting, something that could surely benefit the voracious appetite for cash inflows in the research and development department at Syzygy. Thus began a series of negotiations that would, by the time of the initial public offering of Syzygy shares, culminate in Lucille Ball becoming the single largest shareholder of the corporation, through Desilu. Though many of her fellows wanted to elect her to the Board of Directors (with the understanding that she would become Chair), she declined, citing the operation of Desilu as a full-time job, beyond which even a token presence on another company’s Board would be too great a commitment. (Ball was well-known for spending most of her free time touring the United States with her popular lecture circuits, and in reality likely did not want to cut back on those. [11]) In any event, Desilu’s controlling influence in Syzygy was tantamount to a permanent licencing agreement (which was, nevertheless, formally negotiated for the benefit of their legal team); the classic Star Trek game was “ported”, in the parlance of the industry, to the VCS as a launch title, and sold very well indeed…

    The problem that many Trekkies had with the Syzygy games and their failure to replicate what they say as the
    true, and far more ineffable, appeal of Star Trek was only logical considering their nature as the product of those dehumanizing, unfeeling computers which had manufactured them. A human touch was obviously needed in order to capture the humanist ideals with which the show was so closely intertwined. Never mind that, in fact, human programmers had written the code for those video games; this era was a period of ambivalence and alienation with regards to the mounting automation that was spreading beyond industry and into every aspect of work and play. This had been reflected even within Star Trek itself, in such episodes as “The Ultimate Computer”. [12] It was this movement – within wider society and among the Trekkies – which perhaps helped give rise to one of the more complex and intricate social pastimes of the 1970s, and one which needed little more than a pen, a piece of paper, and some dice: the role-playing game.

    The origins of role-playing games, in their modern, codified form, were just as complex as actually playing them. One of the pioneers of the genre was E. Gary Gygax, who had devised rules of play for use with miniature figurines. Given that this was, essentially, identical to little kids playing with their dolls or action figures, the role-playing element grew organically from this, and the rules of conduct formed the basis of a more holistic storytelling structure. Needless to say, there was no shortage of
    Star Trek action figures on the market in the mid-1970s; these were among the oldest and most reliably selling pieces of merchandise connected to the property. In many ways, it was almost inevitable that the role-playing game structure would quickly spread into Trekkie fandom; the presence of analogous “miniatures” were a key factor, but so too was the tradition of fan fiction and lore, which anchored the “storytelling” element. RPGs (as they were called) were not a market formally exploited by Desilu for quite some time, as they were considered highly niche. Even many Trekkies considered the genre a bridge too far, at least at first. Nonetheless, fan-created systems emerged and, by mid-decade, were being played at numerous conventions, even across the Pond. The problem, however, was one of intricacies; even the “simplest” games would need two systems, one for ship-bound combat and one for landing party combat. In addition, the question of how the characters, at their stations, would interact with the functioning, maintenance, and repair of the Enterprise proved an exceptionally sticky situation. A few particularly clever fans did their best to devise a workable concept, but considering the negligible size of this subset within another subset of the fandom, uniformity was necessary in order for any kind of RPG to achieve critical mass. Desilu was no help, happy to look the other way so long as money didn’t change hands, at which point their copyright lawyers would force them to get involved, and the only legal solution was not one which would please anybody. However, the continuing proliferation of role-playing games beyond Star Trek – the system created by Gygax, which had eventually been given the memorably alliterative name of Dungeons & Dragons, had been split into two lines: the basic line and the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, whose rules were even more comprehensive than the original. This key business decision, taking place in 1977, proved that the genre had “legs”, and further that there was a market for these products that could withstand some dilution. It was at about this time that marketers at Desilu decided that they could no longer simply ignore the situation, and would finally be well placed to exploit it…

    ---

    [1] As in, the tenth anniversary of the original airdate of Star Trek: September 8, 1966 (though the world premiere was on CTV, in Canada, two days before).

    [2] IOTL, merchandising for Star Trek was astonishingly piecemeal and haphazard prior to the release of The Motion Picture, surprising considering how heavily Paramount would rely on the inflow of syndication revenues to keep their other operations afloat. Then again, the history of neglect and mistreatment of the franchise by that studio is well-known and needs no further elaboration in this footnote. Suffice it to say that this unlikely merchandising juggernaut sets a truly intriguing precedent…


    [3] Tying into the point of how weakly Star Trek was merchandised in the 1970s IOTL, Gold Key held onto the comic licence until 1979 IOTL, maintaining the same barely-adequate level of quality throughout their tenure, with a mere 61 issues released in that twelve-year span; Marvel took the helm after that.

    [4] A concise – if somewhat unjust – representation of how the comics industry was viewed by the mainstream media at the end of the notorious Silver Age.

    [5] This TTL decision is analogous to the one made IOTL by Roddenberry to cease recognizing the animated series once he was given the chance to continue producing live-action material for Star Trek. And as with Desilu, Paramount respected his decision and made no attempt to overturn it – until the time came to release it on DVD, at which point (in order to promote it) they decided to poll the fanbase on the matter, and they voted strongly in favour of restoring its canonicity.

    [6] Along with the release of Moonraker in the following year, this cements science-fiction as truly the province of the mainstream, for better and for worse.

    [7] In contrast to (a little later on) IOTL, there is only the one Star Trek game throughout most of the 1970s, though it sees continual updated re-releases for a number of reasons, the most of important of which is that there are clear programming objectives with regards to potential new features, as already noted.

    [8] Virtually all arcade games in this era had no real ending; getting the high score was the only real “goal” worth achieving.

    [9] Yes, even ITTL, the concept of what is and is not Star Trek is a highly debatable issue.

    [10] You may be wondering why everyone at Desilu seems to be making such a big deal of the foray into video games in comparison to their surprisingly blasé attitude about the comic book adaptation. Well, as with most new technology, the video game industry (especially with an enterprising figure like Bushnell as its chief representative) is spending its formative years trying to be everything to everyone, and the studio feels that they have a lot to prove, getting in on the ground floor, and trying to diversify beyond television (note also that this is the era in which Desilu Post-Production is also trying to establish itself as a major creative force in Hollywood).

    [11] IOTL, this was That Wacky Redhead’s primary vocation once her final consecutive sitcom, Here’s Lucy, ended its run in 1974.

    [12] As counter-intuitive as Luddite and technophobe Trekkies might seem, there was an obvious subtext on the show, both IOTL and ITTL.

    ---

    February 7, 1977


    For once, it was a relatively quiet afternoon at Desilu Productions. Lucille Ball, the President and CEO, was enjoying a surprisingly relaxed “working lunch” with her new VP Production, Brandon Tartikoff; the pair were enjoying sandwiches from the delicatessen down the block, brought in by Ball’s husband, EVP and CFO Gary Morton (who, upon delivering the food, then wisely retreated to allow the grown-ups to carry on with their business).


    Ball was leafing through the trade papers as she ate. “Roots, Roots, Roots,” she remarked. “It’s still the only thing they’re talking about.”

    Tartikoff, who had been eating rather silently before, suddenly perked up, sensing an opportunity. “Well, it is a turning point for network programming.”

    “Yeah, I haven’t heard that one before,” Ball said dismissively, but Tartikoff held firm.

    “No, Lucy, listen – I think we’re looking at a real opportunity here, something we can take advantage of, and revisit some of our existing properties.”

    Ball, unsurprisingly, saw right through him. “You mean like Star Trek.”

    “Well, yeah, like Star Trek. Surely I don’t have to convince you of all people about there still being an audience for it!

    “I can’t argue with that!” she admitted, and laughed. “But you weren’t here back when things were winding down… there’s lots of bad blood there, and no love lost. I’m not sure enough time has passed for all those old wounds to heal yet.”

    “I think it has. A lot has changed in the last six years. I think, if we were to try, you’d be pleasantly surprised at who might sign on.”


    “Brandon, I like your enthusiasm. And hey, why not? It took another feature-length series finale to beat The Fugitive, so it just might take another miniseries to beat Roots.”

    To her surprise, Tartikoff immediately rose from his seat, abandoning his half-eaten lunch. “Great!” he exclaimed. “I’ll get back to my office and start sending out feelers for this idea. You won’t regret this!” With that, he gathered his effects and dashed out of the room, looking altogether far too giddy for a senior studio executive.

    “Yeah, we’ll just have to see how far this goes,” she said to herself. “Heh, imagine that – a Star Trek miniseries…”


    ---

    And thus concludes the 1976-77 cycle! Thanks for reading :D
     
    Last edited:
    1977-78: Shifting Gears
  • Shifting Gears (1977-78)

    I’m so glad we had this time together,
    Just to have a laugh or sing a song.
    Seems we just get started, and before you know it,
    Comes the time we have to say, so long.


    – The Charwoman (Carol Burnett), singing the sign-off theme from The Carol Burnett Show

    Television, being an industry dominated by serialized programming, unsurprisingly tended to operate in a cyclical fashion. The annual production seasons made this obvious, of course, but it was also true of overall themes and trends which became associated with the medium in popular culture. The upheaval in the industry at the beginning of the 1970s, with the Rural Purge and the end of the “Classic TV” Era, would lay the groundwork for the many shows which would come to define the decade… but even they would not last forever; and sure enough, by this time, many of them were now coming to an end. The most auspicious finale was that of Those Were the Days, whose ratings had long been in decline, and whose core tenets had been undermined by a seismic shift in the political environment since its début. One of the few constants had been the deteriorating image of New York City, dominated by rampant crime and homelessness, which had spread beyond the core of Manhattan into the suburbs. Thus, the series concluded with Richard and Gloria departing Astoria, Queens, along with their son Michael, to the sunnier pastures of California (as so many Americans before them had done); Richard had accepted tenure at a small liberal arts college in the Bay Area, and Gloria had already arranged for interviews in hoping to secure a new management position at one of any number of the retail establishments there. Archie and Edith, by contrast, were now left alone at 704 Hauser St. The poignant final shot of the series finale framed the two, having retreated to their iconic living room chairs after saying their final goodbyes, and gazing into nothingness, overcome with their emotions, as if thinking “Well, what now?” [1] A wonderfully evocative and ambiguous ending, it seemed to many observers a skewed homage to The Graduate, demonstrating the similarities of
    “Empty Nest syndrome”.

    Another person who might well have been asking “What now?” was producer Norman Lear. What had once been his defining triumph was now off the air, having barely clung to the bottom rungs of the Top 30 in its final season (bolstered, in fact, by the surprisingly strong ratings for the series finale, without which it likely would not have cleared said threshold). Lear, were he not exceptionally gifted at interpreting the course of events the way he wanted to see them, would probably have taken umbrage: Those Were the Days had been shepherded by its star, Carroll O
    ’Connor, who had a much more realistic view of the sociopolitical situation, despite his own biases; the show that once trumpeted the supremacy of the Great Society was even forced to acknowledge the upsides of that movement’s opposite and nemesis, Ronald Reagan, when Archie was able to buy into part-ownership of his local watering hole thanks to Ree-gan and his for-small-business initiations”. [2] With regards to the early years of the Gipper’s Presidency, the primary reactions were gloating on the part of Archie and bewilderment on the part of Richard, echoing much of the real-world intelligentsia (including, obviously, Lear himself). Beyond Those Were the Days, even Lear had trouble ignoring that shows reflecting his personal vision were failing to have much staying power. Maude had crashed and burned, and with Those Were the Days off the air, he was already beginning to be seen as something of an anachronism, of the crushing earnestness of the early 1970s. What had once seemed so sophisticated in comparison to the mindless drivel that had come before it was now, in turn, deemed hopelessly naïve.

    Meanwhile, Paramount Television found themselves in much the same boat as Lear, facing a mounting perception by outside observers that their time had also passed. It would be the final season for The Bob Newhart Show, which had always flown under the radar in comparison to the more “important” Mary Tyler Moore (not to mention that it did not star the wife of the network’s President). This season did see the launch of the final spinoff from that pioneering series, which (like its predecessors Rhoda and Phyllis) focused on a supporting member of the original cast: irascible workaholic Lou Grant (played by Ed Asner), who moved to Los Angeles with his wife, Edie [3] (played by Priscilla Morrill) to accept a position as City Editor of a (fictional) newspaper serving that area (Grant had been established as having formerly worked in the papers throughout his tenure at WJM-TV). The series was decidedly dramatic in tone, engaging in hard-hitting social commentary at the behest of its star, the very liberal Asner. It was a radical departure from its parent series and both of its sister series, to say the least. Speaking of which, though Phyllis had been cancelled, Rhoda continued to be a smash hit, with viewers dependably tuning in and identifying with the formerly dowdy, single gal made good with her attractive new family; but the producers detested having to take their beloved character – some of them had nurtured her growth ever since The Mary Tyler Moore Show – in that direction. [4] A great many of them would head elsewhere on the Paramount lot; for in addition to Lou Grant, the studio also saw the premiere of a new sitcom, in their traditional low-key, work-oriented, character-based vein: Taxi Drivers. [5]

    The 1977-78 season was also the last for The Carol Burnett Show, which had run for over a decade. The eponymous star, a former protégée of Lucille Ball, had chosen to appear in a variety show over the sitcom that she had been offered by the studio chief, and for the most part had been very successful in that endeavour, but her show’s last few seasons had been
    challenging. Two of her original castmates, Lyle Waggoner and then Harvey Korman, had departed the series in successive seasons: Waggoner left in 1974, having sought to rekindle his dramatic acting career (he was famously the runner-up for the role of Batman, and might have offered a more “straight” interpretation of the character, had he not lost out to Adam West); Korman inevitably followed in 1975, following his Academy Award win for Best Supporting Actor (which got plenty of mileage on the show proper; even the statuette itself frequently appeared in sketches). [6] 1974 also marked the premiere of The Muppet Show, which would eventually garner the acclaim and popularity necessary to challenge the older show’s supremacy. In the end, it was a classic case of death by a thousand cuts, despite attempts at regrouping by hiring Tim Conway on as a regular starting in 1974, followed by Dick Van Dyke in 1975 (his previous attempt at a comeback sitcom having ended with a whimper). An inspired Gone with the Wind parody (entitled “Went with the Wind”) was a highlight of this otherwise lackluster period for the show; a combination of increasingly poor ratings, and fatigue on the part of Burnett, finally brought about the end. Lucille Ball, returning the favour made by Burnett a decade earlier through her appearance in the series finale of The Lucy Show, was invited to appear as the last official guest of the series. Once Burnett was released from her contract with CBS, Ball immediately began courting her to appear in a sitcom for Desilu. “Honey, as far as I’m concerned, the original offer still stands,” she was quoted as saying. Desilu had reason to be eager to expand their roster of sitcoms, as their last action-adventure series, The Questor Tapes, had fallen out of the Top 30 after four seasons, and the next, its fifth, would almost certainly be the last. Gene Roddenberry, the series creator, was taking things surprisingly well, all things considered; and (perhaps being willfully ignorant of the changes taking place at his longtime studio) he was eager to move on and make new pitches, to the point that he had minimal involvement with the highly-anticipated Star Trek miniseries airing in this season.

    Variety shows were hardly limited to either Burnett or the Muppets in the 1970s, the final decade of their prime. An unlikely champion of the genre was Fred Silverman, who had killed off a number of rural-tinged extravaganzas on CBS, only to replace them with more “hip” and “relevant” substitutions, as was his wont wherever he went. One of his great “triumphs”, at least from his perspective, was Donny and Marie, starring two of the kids from the famous Osmond troupe, known for an abundance of teeth… and a modicum of talent. They were also known for their Mormonism, up to and including having supported their coreligionist, Sen. George Romney, in his 1976 Presidential campaign. [7] Detractors of the Osmonds and their white-bread music contrasted them against the Jackson 5, who came from poorer surroundings (the gritty steel mills of Gary, Indiana, as opposed to the squeaky-clean suburban tracts of Ogden, Utah), and yet had much greater talent, not to mention record sales
    – both courtesy of the Motown hit machine. But as would become common knowledge in the not-too-distant future, success in the record industry did not automatically translate into success in television. And Donny and Marie were nothing if not a hit – the second-most popular traditional variety show on any network save for The Muppet Show. Although the 1970s continued to see the racial divide breaking down in almost every facet of everyday life, music continued to prove an unusual sticking point. The traditional Soul Train vs. American Bandstand dichotomy endured, with “white music” (originally Prog, but later Punk and New Wave) and “black music” (various post-Funk genres, along with Disco [8]) continuing to stand apart, with attempts at creating a “fusion” genre usually – though not always foundering. Those rare crossover successes of the era would inevitably become major smash hits.

    But racial issues and variety television collided in a big way during the 1977-78 season, with the launch of The Richard Pryor Show, starring the controversial provocateur comedian of the same name. It aired on NBC, having followed a successful one-off variety special Pryor had previously done for that network. Obviously, Pryor would not be allowed to adapt his no-holds-barred stand-up comedy (with its notoriously ribald language) directly to the small screen, but he was mostly able to translate its essence, with the help of his writers. However, and just to be on the safe side, the program was aired after the newly-established (and increasingly tenuous) Family Viewing Hour, and started at 10:00 PM, on Tuesday nights. [9] Richard Pryor, like many new shows, initially had some difficulty finding its feet, but quickly settled on a largely sketch-based program, interspersed with stand-up “host” segments by Pryor (who would open and close every show with a monologue, sometimes as one of his regular characters, a technique borrowed from the late-night talkers). It was for this reason that the many aficionados of variety programming were disinclined to describe that series as a straight exemplar of that genre. [10] And indeed, the sketches, though typically hit-and-miss, proved the main draw – provocative, challenging, and prime water-cooler material. And most of the sketches were well-served to feature the superlative cast. In addition to Pryor, the breakout star was an anarchic, stream-of-consciousness style comedian named Robin Williams, who frequently ad-libbed and improvised his own material, often causing his cast-mates (including Pryor himself) to break up with laughter. [11] Between the two of them, they created an anarchic atmosphere where it seemed that anything could happen. It was an instant hit. [12]

    Though it was NBC that broadcast Richard Pryor, at the end of the day (or rather, the end of the season), ABC still had plenty to celebrate, even notwithstanding the Muppets or the Osmonds; Rock Around the Clock had repeated as the #1 series on television for the third year in a row. [13] It was helpful that the series had progressed into the late 1950s, and was thus finally able to live up to its title; the crowning achievement on this score was a licensing agreement between Desilu Productions and Elvis Presley, announced on August 16, 1977: the music of the King would feature prominently in several episodes, as the third season took place in the 1956-57 period, the very height of his commercial success. Tentative plans of an actual appearance by Elvis (perhaps even re-creating a concert tour stop in nearby Chicago on March 28, 1957) were quickly overruled due to his extensive actual worldwide touring schedule. (That Elvis was by now twenty years older than he had been at the time of his Chicago concert appearance was, strangely, not a factor.) The King was a busy man, and though his personal life was marred by his (amicable) divorce from his wife Priscilla (who had tired of staying home alone at Graceland with the children for months at a time), he was in many ways utterly revitalized after the doldrums of the early 1970s. [14]
    The season as a whole ended with ABC maintaining their perch atop the ratings heap, airing a lucky thirteen shows in the Top 30. Four of those were in the Top 10, including the #1 show on the air, Rock Around the Clock. NBC were comporting themselves nicely; though they had only nine shows in the Top 30 – less than the average of ten – they matched ABC in having four shows in the Top 10. This left CBS with a mere eight shows in the Top 30, and just two in the Top 10: Rhoda and the news-magazine program, 60 Minutes. [15]

    The Emmy Awards that year were the standard mix of shocking and predictable. Although The Carol Burnett Show was ending, the Emmys chose not to give it the going-away present of Outstanding Variety Series, and nor did the long-running favourite The Muppet Show repeat for the award; instead, The Richard Pryor Show took the award home, cementing the clout and influence of this breakthrough sketch comedy series. The Emmy for Outstanding Drama Series was awarded to Lou Grant, with Outstanding Lead Actor going to its star, perennial favourite Ed Asner. Outstanding Comedy Series went to Captain Miller, but
    Carroll O’Connor and Jean Stapleton of Those Were the Days won for Lead Actor and Actress, respectively. Supporting Actor was awarded to Abe Vigoda for Captain Miller, and Supporting Actress to Julie Kavner for Rhoda. [16] Though in contention for most of the conventional awards, the venerable Desilu went home empty-handed on that score; however, certain other Emmy categories would prove more generous…

    ---

    [1] This is exactly the same as the OTL season (not series) finale for All in the Family in 1978, called
    “The Stivics Go West”. It was originally intended as the series finale by Norman Lear (who had decided to move on to other projects), but the network, along with stars Carroll O’Connor and Jean Stapleton, convinced him that the show could go on without him – which it did, for one more season, before being re-tooled into Archie Bunker’s Place in 1979; that carried on for four more seasons before it was summarily cancelled in 1983, ending the twelve-year story of Archie Bunker without a definitive conclusion (Edith had died in 1980 after Stapleton chose to depart).

    [2] Archie bought into the bar IOTL as well (
    Archie Bunker’s Place is the name of the establishment in question), in a surprising contradiction to the show’s intended message: a blue-collar, working-class conservative (whom even O’Connor, an old-school socialist, would frequently describe as a “victim” of society), through dint of hard work, was able to pay off his mortgage and then leverage that into becoming a successful entrepreneur (and in a fairly difficult time and place economically, it must be said).

    [3] Lou and Edie Grant divorced IOTL, but ITTL they remained married (though they did still separate and seek marriage counseling) in the face of criticism from social commentators who denounced Paramount as
    “anti-marriage” and “anti-children” (as, at the time, even the young married couple on Barefoot in the Park was childless).

    [4] IOTL, the writers seemed to have a vision for Rhoda that was completely contrary to what audiences wanted. They believed that Rhoda simply was not funny as a happily married woman, and chafed at having to write her that way. In the first episode of the third season (in 1976), they had Rhoda and her husband Joe separate and, eventually, divorce. Ratings sank like a stone that season, with Rhoda going from a Top 10 series to falling out of the Top 30 entirely. It staged a modest recovery for the following season (1977-78, the one being depicted in this update), but it never regained its former glory, and was cancelled at the end of 1978. ITTL, on the other hand, the higher-ups at Paramount continue to be wary of the
    “anti-family” accusations being leveled at their shows, so they force the writers keep to the status quo. Note also that, for the same reasons, Rhoda and Joe had a daughter (named Mary, of course) in the second season, which also helps to mitigate the prospects of a separation, at least in the short term.

    [5] Known as simply Taxi IOTL; the name Taxi Driver was taken by a film which, effectively, does not exist ITTL. (And yes, I will explain further in a later update.)

    [6] Korman remained with Carol Burnett until 1977 IOTL, and it was he who appeared in the Rhett Butler role in the famous
    “Went with the Wind” parody. Dick Van Dyke, his replacement, lasted for only half of the final season IOTL, but ITTL he remains for the full three seasons, and it is he who plays the Rhett Butler role in Kormans stead.

    [7] So closely tied to the Latter-day Saint Movement in the popular consciousness were the Osmonds that Donny was actually officially permitted by the leaders of his Church to defer his missionary duties in lieu of continuing to serve as a representative of his religion to the general public (Osmond turned 19 in 1976, at the height of his career).

    [8] Disco remains only a modestly popular genre ITTL, because it not have the key mainstream breakthrough of a Saturday Night Fever. This will allow it to endure and form a clear continuity with its descendants (as opposed to the rather abrupt break of OTL), given the lack of an overwhelming backlash against it.

    [9] The Richard Pryor Show rather inexplicably aired at 8:00 PM IOTL, and (unsurprisingly) the network censors constantly feuded with Pryor. Given that this is still network television, Pryor won
    t have free rein, but his show will be allowed to be only slightly less risqué than Saturday Night Live was at about this time IOTL.

    [10] This is the same reason that, IOTL, Saturday Night Live is not generally considered a variety series, as most of the
    “true” variety series elements were expunged after the first season (though it, unlike Richard Pryor, does have musical guests). This technicality also allows The Muppet Show to be remembered as “the last great variety show”.

    [11] Williams appeared in The Richard Pryor Show IOTL, as well, and after it was cancelled he then appeared as Mork from Ork in Happy Days (and, later, Mork & Mindy).

    [12] The show lasted a grand total of four episodes IOTL, and was cancelled before the end of 1977
    – whereas, ITTL, it serves as the breakout hit of the season.

    [13] The (ITTL, non-existent) spinoff of Happy Days, Laverne & Shirley, finished at #1 for the first time this season IOTL, with Happy Days itself at #2.

    [14] Both their second child and the lack of a debilitating drug addiction on his part kept their marriage together for a few more years ITTL.

    [15] During the 1977-78 season IOTL, ABC finished with four shows in the Top 10 (and those four were the four highest-rated shows on television, including Laverne & Shirley at #1), as IOTL, but fifteen shows in the Top 30 (fully half, and again more than ITTL); CBS finished with a truly impressive five shows in the Top 10 (again, fully half), and a solid eleven in the Top 30. Finally, NBC maintained their track record from the previous season, with just one show in the Top 10 (Little House on the Prairie), and four in the Top 30. Though the Peacock Network isn
    ’t doing great ITTL, it’s leaps and bounds ahead of its OTL position (and, far more importantly, ahead of another network).

    [16] IOTL, All in the Family won the Emmy for Outstanding Comedy Series in 1978, Rob Reiner won Outstanding Supporting Actor, The Rockford Files won Outstanding Drama Series, and (ironically enough) The Muppet Show had its only win in Outstanding Variety Series at these awards. All other wins are as per OTL (or equivalent).

    ---

    Another transitional season! Appropriate that it happens seven years after the previous one (1970-71). Both of these were also transitional seasons IOTL as well, as was the one seven years hence (1984-85)
    … but I’m getting ahead of myself. A lot of you have asked after the show that will replace Saturday Night Live in the popular consciousness, and now you have (part of) your answer! (Richard Pryor won’t be the only game in town, of course). Please also note that the narrator is beginning to disparage these “dated” 1970s shows with just as much enthusiasm as he heaped praise upon them some years before. This, too, serves to demonstrate the cyclical nature of television.

    A few shows (and one miniseries, obviously) which had a significant impact on popular culture ITTL have intentionally been omitted in order to devote my full attentions to their development in future updates, so please bear that in mind. In fact, I
    ’ve already been working on the coming updates, and will be posting them very soon!
     
    Love in the Afternoon
  • Love in the Afternoon

    Confused? You won’t be, after this episode of… Soap!

    The Announcer for Soap, at the end of every episode’s teaser

    Daytime television had seemingly been the exclusive province of a few particular genres, through the late 1970s, and foremost among these was the soap opera. Their overall presentation (melodramatic, overtly romantic, serialized content and story structure) had largely existed only in the peripheries of popular culture – they had aired in the daytime hours ever since the glory days of old-time radio, and this had obviously continued with the transition to television. The analogous romance comics had initially thrived in the post-War years, but were spayed and neutered by the infamous Comics Code of 1954, and later rendered trivial and passé by the circumstances of the recent Sexual Revolution. Their sister comics in the funny pages were able to retain greater potency; but as the name implied, they were usually viewed as subservient to the comedic strips, such as Peanuts, which had emerged as a multimedia empire by the 1970s. The same could not be said of a Mary Worth or a Rex Morgan, M.D. Indeed, even on television, common sense reckoned that the primacy of the daytime soaps would soon come to an end; said Sexual Revolution had played havoc with their central conceit of a woman’s successes or failures being tied exclusively to romance, marriage, and family. The 1970s had also seen the core audience of housewives (or those who might have otherwise become housewives) entering the workforce, even in non-traditional vocations, in numbers not seen since World War II. The “Mini-Boom” of the early 1970s, which had died out by 1975, was seen as merely postponing the inevitable on that score, especially as some mothers of the resultant young children eventually sought gainful employment.

    However, what actually became of these audiences was rather contrary to these imperious sociological predictions. Viewership continued to rise (even relative to the growth in population) throughout the decade, and the corresponding demographics grew increasingly attractive.
    [1] In many ways, it was easy to see why soap operas were so popular; they offered a voyeuristic look into the lives of a wide variety of people (for soap operas were known for their large, ensemble casts), usually affluent and leading glamorous lifestyles, and always far more attractive than the average person (even by primetime standards); and the serialized storytelling encouraged the palpable desire to find out what happened next – several storylines were presented at once, typically in a “treadmill” fashion, with each new plot coming in just behind its predecessor in the overall story arc. Plotlines would be constantly interspersed throughout an episode, with entirely new scenes featuring unrelated characters constantly interrupting each other (typically, cutting away immediately after a dramatic, suspenseful question or declaration has been issued). With the conclusion of each one, yet another would be introduced, allowing for a constant narrative flow. The content was controversial and lascivious, featuring such topics as infidelity, sexual dysfunctions, familial discord, premarital sex, teenage pregnancy, and even abortion. The irony of the genre was that, despite being groundbreaking in confronting all of these taboos, it was all done in a very tentative, self-conscious fashion – everything was referred to in hushed tones and double entendres, which uniquely complemented the melodramatic acting style.

    On the technical side of production, this famous “laggard” genre did generally catch up with the times, ceasing to shoot live and switching from the clichéd organ soundtracks of yore to more sophisticated (if equally wretched) strings and pianos. Inversely, their pioneering use of videotape instead of film would be adopted by many primetime shows, as it was an easy way to save costs (always an overriding concern in a field with minimal revenue potential). Finally, the late 1970s saw the lengthening of many (though not all) soaps from half-hour to hour-long episodes; for some of them, this was their second such expansion, the first having been from fifteen to thirty minutes in the late 1960s. [2] As episodes increased in length, so too did their narrative focus increase in breadth; shows that formerly followed only a single character or family would now chronicle the travails of the whole small, fictional suburban towns in which soap operas were almost universally set. Though this was done by necessity, it had certain advantages in that it created a more immersive world, if not a more realistic one; and it required the audience to pay closer attention, which prompted more frequent viewing on their part.

    As noted, soap operas were a famously conservative business, changing as little as possible over time – but their aforementioned obligations to adapt their focus to suit their longer runtimes resulted in a new narrative strain that would have a massive impact on popular perceptions of the genre. Romances between specific characters, and audience investment in particular couplings, was a rising trend throughout the 1970s. The course of true love never did run smooth, and that was more evident in soap operas than anywhere else – even the most seemingly committed couples were constantly subjected to the most overwrought trials and tribulations, with the viewers eating them up and coming back for more. A pioneering example of this phenomenon was the relationship of Doug and Julie from Days of Our Lives, whose astounding chemistry was strong enough to rub off on the actors playing them, who married in 1974. When the news of this clandestine real-life coupling inevitably reached the fans, they became insistent on replicating those results on the screen as well, which (eventually) became a reality. The classic yarn of star-crossed lovers was an instant hit, and even propelled the couple to the cover of Time magazine. Soap operas were coming of age. People who had long ignored and dismissed them suddenly found themselves in rapt attention.

    To the extent that the popularity and influence of any phenomenon could be measured by its parodies, soap operas appeared to have come of age in the late 1970s. No less a visionary producer than Norman Lear attempted to confirm his clout with Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman – all things considered, a surprisingly affectionate parody of the genre, given the source. It starred Louise Lasser, an actress known for having been married to Woody Allen and (after divorcing him) appearing in many of his early films; she played the titular dowdy, small-town housewife living in the fictional Fernwood, Ohio [3], and her characterization was… highly peculiar. There was no doubt that everyone involved in the production considered Lasser the ideal choice for Mary Hartman, because she played the character in a profoundly stylized fashion, seeming constantly bewildered by her surroundings, though simultaneously bored and disaffected – about as direct an inversion of stereotypical “soap opera” acting as was possible. Perhaps to emphasize this, the other actors in the show behaved in a more naturalistic fashion, typical of (primetime) sitcoms of the era, the genre in which Lear had made his name. However, what the other characters may have lacked in affected acting styles, they made up for with their quirky personalities and highly skewed priorities. But the meat
    of the show was in eschewing the euphemisms of the daytime soaps and referring to everything using proper terminology. This “hyper-realistic” style was both jarring and unforgettable; indeed, despite being a parody, the show itself was memorably spoofed on The Carol Burnett Show, as “Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary”.

    Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman aired five nights a week in syndication – much as soap operas aired five days a week on the networks – for three seasons. The cancellation of the series came at the end of the 1977-78 season, alongside Lear’s far more famous creation, Those Were the Days. Louise Lasser, who had been roped into participating in a third season against her better judgement (but with the promise of more money for less work), declined to appear in a fourth, and the syndicators had no interest in continuing the show without her (as for better or for worse, she had become synonymous with the program) [4]. It was a major blow for Lear, who along with the show
    ’s writers had hoped to continue (under the title Forever Fernwood). Replacement plans, perhaps for some form of spinoff centred on a formerly peripheral character (the late-night timeslot inspired the writers to suggest a talk-show parody) were also rejected, which was further humiliation for the man who was once the hottest producer in television.

    Though perhaps not quite so ambitious as Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, the primetime parody called, simply, Soap was certainly far more widely-seen, generally more acclaimed, and had a much greater influence on popular culture beyond each show
    s respective cult audiences (whose passionate fervour charmingly echoed that of the fans of that which they parodied). Soap was also in many ways more conventional; it was very much a half-hour, once-weekly sitcom, complete with laugh track, and the actors committed fully to the outlandish plots featured in each episode (which, even in spoofing the genre, went way over the top, and included alien abduction, demonic possession, and a man living in a symbiotic relationship with his ventriloquist dummy). However, continuing storylines – a rarity in any genre other than soaps at the time – were very much in evidence. As such, the series employed a comedic announcer, voiced by Texan disc jockey Robert “Rod” Roddy, who narrated the opening titles, and introduced and closed each episode (reminding the audience of previous events and teasing about future ones) in a bizarre combination of deadpan and stentorian.

    Soap was the story of two sisters, Mary Graham [5] and Jessica Tate, both daughters of a character identified only as “the Major”, who had served in World War II and lived his life as if he were still fighting in it. Both Mary and Jessica were married, the former to a blue-collar professional, and the latter to a wealthy stockbroker; both husbands had far more foibles than their wives. The breakout roles, though, belonged to the show’s only two minority characters: Benson, the wisecracking African-American butler to the Tates, played by Robert Guillaume; and Mary’s gay son from a previous marriage, Joe Austin, played by newcomer Tom Hanks. [6] Although not the first recurring gay character on primetime, as with so many other pioneers on television, he was the first that mattered. Ironically, both characters were generally the “straight men” to the goings-on around them, though Hanks in particular mined his character for as much over-the-top comedy as he was able, up to and including some uncomfortably
    “stereotypical” gags, such as transvestism. Many of the women on the cast often wryly noted that none of them could pull off a dress quite like the “statuesque” Hanks did. Benson, meanwhile, was also decried as “stereotypical”, being regarded by racial advocacy groups as “falling back” into the “demeaning, subservient” characterizations of yesteryear; this despite the fact that Benson was defiant, self-assured, and ridiculously well-compensated (as nobody else was willing to work for the Tates). [7]

    At first, liberals and conservatives alike were united in their opposition to Soap; indignation could make for some strange bedfellows indeed. The liberals hated the stereotypical depictions of characters based on their race and sexuality, whereas conservatives hated the salacious storylines. (Soap prided itself on being an equal-opportunity offender). Unsurprisingly, the vast majority of complaints on all sides came before the show had even aired. Letter-writing campaigns were organized, with thousands of them flooding network offices. In its way, Soap was even more controversial than Mary Hartman, if only because it aired in primetime on a network, and therefore had to answer to Broadcast Standards & Practices. And the censors, true to form, had many
    “suggestions” for the writers, and the perennial dance of creative expression vs. public decency was on.

    Outcry on all sides naturally died down once Soap was actually airing, but
    – in accordance with the adage that any publicity is good publicity – ratings for the premiere and throughout the first season were a smash, making it the highest-rated new show on ABC, and yet another triumph for the Alphabet Network, continuing their hot streak in this era. [8] Both liberal and conservative special interest groups continued to be dissatisfied about certain aspects of the show (Joe Austin and his homosexuality remained a rare sticking point with both sides, though obviously the nature of any complaints varied dramatically depending on the source), but – their initial salvos having been adroitly evaded – these were mostly ignored by those in charge. Soap existed to satirize the conventions of the genre, embracing them as well only because they had potential far greater than how they were presently being employed. Perhaps Soap was also meaner and more detached from its characters than Mary Hartman, though it was the style of the time and place that even then, it had great difficulty maintaining this cynicism. This was almost wholly attributable to the superlative cast, who were widely praised even in negative reviews, and who would go on to be remembered as one of the all-time great sitcom ensembles, with a number of them achieving considerable success as individuals.

    One of the more interesting parallels in production details which linked soap operas and their parodies were the particulars of the personnel involved; namely, that women played a major creative role in all of them. Irma Phillips and her protégée, Agnes Nixon, were the two most significant writers in daytime television; two of the co-creators, and the two main scribes, of Mary Hartman Gail Parent and Ann Marcus [FONT=&quot]– were women as well; and the creator, showrunner, and principal writer of Soap, Susan Harris, was also a woman. Harris was sufficiently inspired by the legitimate work of Phillips and Nixon that she plotted out a five-season story arc for her series, with the added challenge of having to keep her planned labyrinthine storylines comedic, a far more exacting task than writing for melodrama. And then, of course, there was the matter of staying on the air for five years, which was a considerably greater challenge in primetime, even at only half an hour long. Could Soap remain a ratings hit? Would it keep running for all five seasons? Did Susan Harris have the talent and ability to keep up the pace of juggling storylines for that long? And which supporting character would get a spinoff?


    These questions, and many others, will be answered in the next episode of… Soap!

    [/FONT]The Announcer for Soap, reciting the last line of every episode.

    ---

    [1] ITTL, a larger proportion of young women remain housewives (or become housewives, as they graduate from school and marry) both because there are more children underfoot, and because the economy is much stronger in the early 1970s compared to OTL, allowing the single-income family to remain viable for a longer period. The societal changes taking place IOTL that drove women into the workforce still exist ITTL; their effects are simply not as immediate or as forceful earlier on. What this means for the purposes of daytime viewing is that absolute ratings are even better than they were in the 1970s IOTL, which further bolsters the soap opera.

    [2] The 1970s expansion naturally killed many of the other shows in the network daytime lineups, including some of the lower-rated soaps, and some game shows; IOTL and ITTL, one of the most notable casualties was Jeopardy!, which was cancelled in 1975. However, the (original) syndication version, which premiered in 1974, survives ITTL.

    [3] Though there is a Fernwood in Ohio, it is not an incorporated settlement; the town featured in the show was named for a street near the studio where it was taped.

    [4] Lasser left after only two seasons IOTL, and the show did indeed continue without her for another year as Forever Fernwood. Also not coming to fruition ITTL is the talk show parody Fernwood 2-Night (which itself was later retooled into America 2-Night), starring Martin Mull and Fred Willard.

    [5] IOTL, Mary Campbell; the network wanted to change the surname to avoid association with the Campbell Soup Company, and ITTL they won out.

    [6] Joe Austin was IOTL named Jodie Dallas, the first name being unisex (chosen for obvious reasons), and the last being available ITTL due to its disuse by any other character; he was played by Billy Crystal (who, ITTL, is chosen to play Curt Henderson on American Graffiti in lieu of Richard Dreyfuss, who stars as the Meathead on Those Were the Days in lieu of Rob Reiner). Hanks obviously has OTL experience with homosexual and transvestite characters, which influenced his selection for this role.

    [7] Benson is portrayed roughly as he was IOTL
    – and between Soap and later his own spinoff, Benson, he emerged as a wonderfully well-rounded, fully-realized character of his own, beyond the satire of black servile types he began life as, but ITTL, there are more complaints against the very notion of a black servant working for a wealthy white family, as a demonstration of the more earnest egalitarian tack many sides are working toward. (People ITTL complained about Florida in Maude for the same reason, helping to contribute to its downfall; even though – as on Soap Maudes hypocrisy about Florida is repeatedly the subject of ridicule on her own show).

    [8] IOTL, Soap (airing at 9:30 on Tuesdays) received a 22.0 rating for the 1977-78 season (translating to just over 16 million households), good for #13 overall. ITTL, airing in the same timeslot, it instead received a 23.0 rating (the competition didn
    t have M*A*S*H as a lead-in, because it didnt exist), good for #11 overall, just outside the Top 10.

    ---

    Thanks to Andrew T for his dynamite suggestion of Tom Hanks to replace Billy Crystal in the pivotal
    “Jodie” role on Soap!

    I apologize that this update may not have answered all your questions, but come now, seriously. You expected all of your questions to be answered right away in an update about soap operas? Surely you jest! We shall, of course, revisit these topics repeatedly in the future, with each post having a detailed recap at the beginning, and a thrilling cliffhanger at the end :p (Well, maybe not, but except to see more of soaps and of Soap in the coming cycles, as we
    re entering the peak period for both of them.)
     
    Last edited:
    The Good Old Hockey Game
  • The Good Old Hockey Game

    He shoots, he scores!

    – Originated by Foster Hewitt, whenever announcing a goal on Hockey Night in Canada, and continued by his successors

    Ice hockey, like many popular sports, was developed in the late 19th century, from a wide variety of antecedents. Among the many competing theories of its origins is descent from one of a wide variety of obscure European games, with some of these played in Iceland and still others in the Low Countries. But the most likely ancestors were the stick-and-ball games played by natives living in what is now known as Central Canada, or the provinces of Ontario and Quebec, where the game in its modern form was undoubtedly invented. (A more direct descendant of these games was the sport of lacrosse.) The cool, continental climates in the region, coupled with plentiful small bodies of water, ensured a steady supply of iced-over playing fields every winter. As the late nineteenth century was also a time of great advances in refrigeration technology, the game was soon enough brought indoors, into the arena or skating rink (from the Scottish, which was also the native ancestry of the plurality of Anglophone Canadians – it was no surprise that curling, which also required the use of ice rinks, caught on very quickly in their new homeland). The first such game was played in 1875, in Montreal, between students at McGill University, and the first amateur club would be founded a mere two years later, as part of the organized athletics teams established at that institution. [1]

    The game was so popular that it caught the attention of the Governor-General of the young Dominion, Lord Stanley of Preston (later the 16th Earl of Derby), in 1889. Two of his sons had become enraptured with the game, forming their own amateur team in Ottawa, and the fever quickly spread to their parents. Lord Stanley was such an enthusiastic supporter of the game that, in his capacity as Governor-General, he purchased and then bequeathed a trophy that was named for him, the Stanley Cup, in trust to be awarded to the finest amateur hockey team in Canada, and such teams would henceforth regularly challenge for it. It would later acquire perhaps the most colourful history of any competitive prize in the history of sport, though
    Lord Stanley’s Mug, as sportswriters could not resist labelling it, would soon enough be presented in an intent rather contrary to that of the man for whom it was named and within his own lifetime, at that; from 1906, professional teams would be allowed to compete for the Cup. For as had been the case with baseball before it, the popularity of hockey and the opportunity for fortunes to be made inevitably attracted the attention of entrepreneurs; and the finest players found themselves making a living in the new leagues forming throughout Canada and, eventually, spreading into the Northern United States.

    By the end of World War I, the premier hockey league in Canada was the National Hockey League. The charter members were the Montreal Wanderers (representing the city’s Anglophone community), the Montreal Canadiens (representing its Francophone community), the Ottawa Senators, and a then-unnamed club representing Toronto, which would eventually become known as the Maple Leafs (properly named for a regiment of soldiers who had served in the War, hence the seemingly-ungrammatical plural). Teams new and old came and went, including from other large cities in Central Canada (namely, Quebec City and Hamilton), but their first significant (and lasting) addition was also their first American team, the Boston Bruins, who joined the NHL in 1924. By this time, the Stanley Cup was open only to professional teams, at the culmination of an interleague contest between the NHL and the rival Western Canada Hockey League – an American club (
    the Seattle Metropolitans) from one of its precursor leagues was the first such team to win the Cup, in 1917. After the WCHL folded in 1926, the Cup became the exclusive province of the NHL, which it remains to this day. The Victoria Cougars had been the last team from outside that league to win it, doing so in 1925. The Bruins would win the Cup in 1929, by which time ten teams were playing in the league, including six American teams. By this time, all of the “Original Six” teams which would comprise the entire league from 1942 to 1967 were in place: Toronto, Boston, the Montreal Canadiens, the New York Rangers, the Chicago Black Hawks, and the Detroit Red Wings (though, at the time, they were the Cougars – in fact, by an intriguing coincidence, they were a continuation of the aforementioned Victoria Cougars). However, despite the machinations of professional play, there remained a place for amateurs on the hockey scene – in the Olympics, starting with Antwerp in 1920. As a superlative demonstration of Canadian dominance of the game in international competition during its early years, amateur teams (often of little or no distinction) would win gold medals representing the Dominion, even as the rest of Team Canada went home empty-handed. Of the first seven gold medals awarded for ice hockey, Canada won six and even in the seventh case (in 1936) still managed to take home the silver. It was, quite literally, a Golden Age for the sport in Canada.

    During the Great Depression – 1931, to be exact – hockey found itself a permanent fixture of the media environment, with the premiere of what would become known as Hockey Night in Canada, a pioneering live sporting event broadcast. NHL matches would go on over the air to Canadians – “and to hockey fans in the United States and Newfoundland”, as legendary announcer Foster Hewitt memorably put it [2] – on the public radio network, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (which was actually younger than HNiC, having assumed its present form in 1936). And American cities near enough to Canadian radio waves – including in all four NHL cities within the “Original Six” – would indeed listen to the program in droves, whenever their team faced Toronto or Montreal, and therefore warranted inclusion. Almost as soon as the CBC had expanded their operations into television, HNiC (and Hewitt) had followed them, broadcasting on Saturday nights throughout the NHL season; in transitioning to the medium, Hewitt was one of many radio personalities who were able to prove that success in the earlier of the two very often translated into success in the latter. That said, he continued to work in his beloved radio, and withdrew to the aging medium for good in 1963, by which time sports coverage remained one of the few viable programming choices available for it.

    Foster Hewitt’s departure was about as ominous a harbinger as could be imagined for the NHL; by the early 1960s, even the notoriously conservative Major League Baseball had quite famously expanded into California (at the expense of their hallowed New York teams, no less!), and the NHL, reduced to only their “Original Six” teams after contracting due to the Great Depression and then World War II, was by far the smallest of the major leagues. The possibility of new leagues forming to fill the very large gap was becoming an increasingly real threat. It had already happened in football, with the AFL, which had proven a surprisingly viable challenger to the far more entrenched NFL. The six owners did their best to delay the inevitable, but by 1967 an unprecedented expansion was in place, which would double the league in size to twelve teams – the largest it had ever been.


    In planning for the expansion, adding teams in other Canadian cities had seemed eminently logical – former WCHL cities such as Vancouver, Edmonton, and Calgary were all much larger by now than former NHL cities like Hamilton, Ottawa, and Quebec City had been when they had teams, even relative to Toronto and Montreal. Indeed, those Western Canadian cities would form a vital part of the Western Hockey League, considered the main potential challenger to the NHL in the 1960s. But despite a strong bid from Vancouver (the largest city on Canada’s West Coast, and the core of third-largest metropolitan area nationwide), it was not among the six new NHL teams that began play in the 1967-68 season – no Canadian team was. In fact, though the NHL did poach from the WHL, it was in California – borrowing from the MLB playbook in establishing two teams in the Golden State, one in the Southland, and the other in the Bay Area. The other four teams, granted, were in far more climatically appropriate locales: the Twin Cities of Minnesota; Philadelphia; Pittsburgh; and St. Louis – though the last of these was only chosen because of a connection with the owner in Chicago. Ironically, this expansionary phase – which continued through the 1970s, with the league numbering 18 teams by 1974 – could not prevent the rise of a competing major league in the World Hockey Association.

    Established in 1972, the WHA began play with a league of twelve teams. Four of these twelve played their first season in Canada, in the four untapped markets of Edmonton, Winnipeg, Ottawa, and Quebec City (the Vancouver Canucks, a former WHL team, had belatedly joined the NHL in that league
    ’s subsequent expansion in 1970, after the owners had been suitably chastened by the incredibly hostile reaction by Canadian fans, in yet another harbinger of events to come). It was unsurprisingly in the Great White North where the league met its greatest popularity – of those four original teams, three would remain in their original host cities for the entire existence of the WHA. The fourth, in Ottawa, folded after one year [3]; the league repeatedly attempted to expand to Calgary as well, but had no lasting success there. [4] WHA markets in the United States, on the other hand, were more haphazard in their selection, and accordingly saw more varied success. Right off the bat, the WHA found themselves with an overlapping presence in two markets – New York City and Chicago – and near to a third, Boston (the New England Whalers were based in Hartford, Connecticut). New York City was doubly problematic, as the New York Islanders, a second NHL team, began playing in 1972, the same year that the WHA debuted. However, the New England Whalers were one of the few consistent success stories the WHA would have stateside, lending credence to the popular assumption of professional hockey doing best in “natural” (read: cold-weather) markets for the sport. However, contradicting this truism were the Houston Aeros, who also began play in the inaugural WHA season, and enjoyed surprising popularity. Perhaps their highest-profile booster was Houston-area Rep. (later Sen.) George Bush (who hailed from New England). Nevertheless, Houston seemed to be the exception that proved the rule; high profile moves or expansions to other southerly cities, like Los Angeles, San Diego, Miami, and Phoenix would all ultimately fail. Expansions to the Midwest proved more lasting; the Indianapolis Racers and the nearby Cincinnati Stingers [5], both established in 1974, both became dependable moneymakers in the later WHA.

    Although their American successes were valuable to the WHA, and necessary to keep them competitive with the NHL as a major league, their primary orientation for revenue generation was and would remain Canada. To this end, the league worked out an arrangement with one of only two nationwide networks, CTV, in 1974, through their most influential affiliate, John Bassett, who owned CFTO (the flagship station) in Toronto. Importantly, Bassett had once been a part-owner of the Maple Leafs before he had been forced out by Harold Ballard, and there was certainly no love lost between the two men. He was more than happy to produce programming that would work to undermine his former league, even if the market his station served did not actually have a WHA team. [6] The newly revised Canadian Content broadcast regulations, devised by Prime Minister Robert Stanfield himself, were considered critical in influencing Bassett
    ’s decision. Given the name WHA Hockey Tonight, the resultant program was intended as a direct competitor to the established Hockey Night in Canada. CTV, which had largely struggled since its inception in the early 1960s, and by and large had a famously difficult time producing homegrown material, found themselves with a runaway hit in WHA Hockey Tonight (which became the subject of countless “Who’s On First” puns under its abbreviation WHAHT) which became the second-biggest Canadian-made hit on television (behind only the venerable HNiC). But most importantly, HNiC ratings were declining, even in regions with NHL teams. Many Francophones in Quebec supported the Nordiques over the Canadiens, as it was an easy way to personify the continuing linguistic divisions in the province; and British Columbians also tended to prefer WHAHT, as Canucks games were rarely broadcast on HNiC and they felt the need to show solidarity with their fellow Western teams in Edmonton or Winnipeg (as opposed to hated Toronto or Montreal). Beer, which along with hockey represented one of the two stereotypical passions of most Canadians, also had dogs in the fight: Carling O’Keefe, one of the largest brewers in the country, owned the Quebec Nordiques and was the principal sponsor of WHAHT (ironically, most games on the English-only broadcast featured Edmonton or Winnipeg, with Quebec consistently appearing only in matches against other Canadian teams, or in the playoffs). Meanwhile, Molson owned the Montreal Canadiens, and were a principal sponsor of HNiC. This distinction would prove critical in the coming years.

    But long-time viability, even despite the early successes for the WHA, was clearly the league’s greatest obstacle. In order to entice top-quality players, the league was forced to pay top-drawer salaries, which cut into their revenues. New York City and Chicago had both proven that they could not compete head-to-head with the NHL, leaving them with only mid-market cities as prospects for the future. It was clear that, in the long-term, the WHA (like the other second major leagues before it) was very likely doomed. Prime Minister Stanfield, a major sports booster, and someone who had campaigned on the primacy of Canadian hockey (with many pundits predicting that his rival, Pierre Trudeau, might have held on in 1972, had the Canadians defeated the Soviets at that year’s Summit Series) did support the WHA, but he was first and foremost an advocate of their merger with the NHL, to create a juggernaut that would properly represent Canadian prowess in the field. This tied into another long-term goal of his: Canadian hockey being properly restored to its rightful place on the world’s stage. Needless to say, the upstart league ruffled his feathers considerably with their decision to court European players in large numbers. This was a necessity of the talent pool being too small for the number of teams in both leagues; at their combined height, over 30 teams saw simultaneous play between them. [7] It also gave the otherwise Goliath “bad guys” in the NHL a valuable bargaining chip, but public opinion remained largely against them.

    The “glory days”, such as they were, of the NHL-WHA rivalry were briefer than most later sportswriters, mythologizing their “epic struggle”, would have it – for two seasons, from 1974 to 1976, ranging shots were fired, with both sides feigning invulnerability to the other, and seeming to have a certain edge that the other lacked. By 1976, cracks were appearing in the veneer of both leagues. The NHL was very nearly forced to contract – which it had not done in over thirty years – and the WHA did, shrinking to a mere twelve teams. This was a major morale booster for the NHL, and simultaneously a blow to the WHA. Merger talks, already happening behind the scenes in a low-key manner, escalated rapidly. By 1976, the AFL had merged into the NFL, and the ABA had merged into the NBA, so it seemed only logical to complete the hat-trick. [8]

    The Parliament
    of Canada – by this time, under the majority control of Stanfield’s Tories, and as actively interventionist as such a government could possibly be in this matter, especially in the post-Olympic afterglow went out of their way to promote merger talks [9], and it was a good thing too, as the owners of all three Canadian clubs opposed it (largely because they would have to share revenues from HNiC, which – even if they returned to pre-WHAHT highs – would be much lower split six ways than three). The WHA proposed importing six of their twelve teams to the NHL: all three extant Canadian teams at the time (Winnipeg, Edmonton, and Quebec) along with their three biggest stateside success stories: New England, Indianapolis, and Cincinnati. [10] Houston, though another overall successful team, was summarily rejected by both sides because of its extreme southerly location, which was deemed insufficiently conducive to ice hockey. In addition to the three Canadian owners, the Boston Bruins declined the deal, refusing to share New England with the Whalers; Cleveland, a struggling team, was loath to share even the populous state of Ohio with another club. [11] Because three-quarters of the owners had to support the merger, the five out of eighteen were enough to put a stop to them; a deal had been defeated by the slimmest of margins, or so it seemed[FONT=&quot]

    The sides in what subsequently became known as the “Beer Wars” (often pronounced [/FONT]bee-yur wars” to form a pun with the Boer Wars, in which Canadian troops had fought) were soon fully mobilized; outraged fans throughout Canada immediately called for a boycott of all Molson products. This played right into the hands of Carling O’Keefe, whose own sales saw a corresponding boost (as did that of third-party breweries, most notably Labatt). Molson, which also had an exclusivity agreement with the Vancouver Canucks, saw their sales plummet, which forced their hand. Montreal and Vancouver switched their votes to “yes”, bringing the total to 15 out of 18. The merger was approved, and would come into effect in the 1977-78 season. Those teams who were successful enough to be considered viable despite the lack of a continuing WHA were given parachute payments and offered positions in the Central Hockey League, a minor league controlled by the NHL, but only the Houston Aeros survived for more than one season. As a condition of the merger, all six WHA teams joined the league as part of a single division in the Clarence Campbell Conference. The other three divisions would each contain two “Original Six” teams, and one Canadian team. The addition of Cincinnati and Indianapolis to the NHL bolstered the league’s strong Midwestern presence, adding to the established clubs in Detroit, Chicago, Cleveland, St. Louis, and the Twin Cities. New England was redesignated “Hartford”, in order to prevent jurisdictional conflicts with Boston. [12]

    As with the NFL-AFL and NBA-ABA mergers, the former WHA teams and owners found themselves at a significant disadvantage when compared to the established teams of what had formerly been the rival league, but they did now represent one-quarter of the owners and of the players in the newly merged organization, forming a bloc that
    – especially in the early years – allowed their voices to be heard, and mollifying their concerns about being a school of small fish in a great big ocean, as opposed to being big fish in a small pond. The merger also coincided with the rise of a new generation of players, some of whom would forever change the face of the professional game[FONT=&quot]

    ---

    [1] Thus hockey, much like gridiron football, owes its present popularity to roots in collegiate play. (This is true also of Canadian football, at about the same time).

    [2] Newfoundland was a separate British Dominion from 1907 to 1949, after repeated talks for the colony to join Confederation in the 19th century failed; along with all the other pre-WWI Dominions (including Canada), it gained de facto independence as a sovereign state with the Statute of Westminster in 1931, but the Great Depression hit Newfoundland very hard indeed, to the point that a Royal Commission was formed, and recommended direct governance from the United Kingdom (effectively, a return to colonial status), which the legislature then supported (and therefore voted to suspend itself indefinitely). This remained the status quo until after World War II, at which time the Newfoundland economy improved, and a second Royal Commission suggested a referendum; at the last minute, an option to join Canada was added, and (after a run-off) this passed in 1948, with Newfoundland entering Confederation the following year. Up to that point, Newfoundland was never a part of Canada; hence Hewitt[/FONT]’s distinction.

    [3] The Ottawa Nationals moved to Toronto in 1973 IOTL, becoming known as the Toronto Toros. Surprisingly, they lasted for three years, despite being in direct competition with one of the most popular NHL teams, the Maple Leafs (they even shared an arena). This led to disputes with the notorious
    “Pal Hal” Ballard, sole owner of the Leafs from 1971, and the Toros finally departed for Birmingham, Alabama, in 1976 (changing their name to the Bulls to maintain the alliteration, and actually surviving to the end of the league in 1979). ITTL, no major league, not even a second-string one like the WHA, is going to go anywhere near Alabama in this era, for obvious reasons.

    [4] IOTL, one WHA team played out of Calgary: the Cowboys, from 1975 to 1977. An earlier team, the Calgary Broncos, were organized in 1972 but moved to Cleveland before playing a single match, where they remained until the Cleveland Barons of the NHL relocated from Oakland, California (where they played as the Golden Seals) in 1976.

    [5] The Cincinnati Stingers, though they were established in 1974 IOTL and ITTL, did not begin play until 1975 IOTL. Among later WHA teams, they were singularly successful; they were the only club established following the league
    ’s inaugural season to survive until the WHA merged with the NHL in 1979 (though they did not take part in it).

    [6] IOTL, Bassett was the one who purchased the Ottawa Nationals and brought them to Toronto as the Toros, for much the same reason as he is instead backing a separate national broadcast ITTL; to stick it to Pal Hal. As Stanfield is in charge from 1972 onward ITTL, this butterflies the finer particulars of the CanCon regulations, allowing an opportunity for Bassett to compete with Ballard in a fashion more compatible with the focus of this timeline.


    [7] Their OTL height was 18 teams in the NHL and 14 in the WHA, achieved in the 1974-75 and 1975-76 seasons (after which point both leagues contracted). This combined total, 32 teams, remains higher than the 30 maintained by the OTL NHL at present, despite an aggressive phase of expansion in the 1990s.

    [8] The circumstances of the merger between the ABA and the NBA were different ITTL, which will be discussed further in a later update.

    [9] Even IOTL, Parliament unanimously passed a motion urging the NHL to reconsider after their initial rejection of an NHL-WHA merger.

    [10] In the 1976-77 WHA season IOTL, the following twelve teams had ice time: Quebec, Cincinnati, Indianapolis, New England, Birmingham, Minnesota, Houston, Winnipeg, San Diego, Edmonton, Calgary, and Phoenix. Of these twelve, only eight would survive the season: Calgary, Phoenix, Indianapolis, and Minnesota all folded.

    [11] A moot point IOTL; though Cincinnati had lasted to 1979, Cleveland did not, folding in 1978, making it to date the last contraction in one of the major leagues.

    [12] IOTL, four WHA teams joined the NHL in 1979: Edmonton, Winnipeg, Quebec City, and New England (renamed Hartford, as ITTL).

    ---

    Teams in the National Hockey League, effective as of the 1977-78 season:

    Prince of Wales Conference

    Adams Division

    Toronto Maple Leafs
    Boston Bruins
    Minnesota North Stars
    St. Louis Blues
    Buffalo Sabres
    Atlanta Flames

    Norris Division

    Montreal Canadiens
    Detroit Red Wings
    Los Angeles Kings
    Pittsburgh Penguins
    Washington Capitals
    Colorado Rockies

    Clarence Campbell Conference

    Patrick Division

    New York Rangers
    Chicago Black Hawks

    Cleveland Barons
    Philadelphia Flyers

    Vancouver Canucks

    New York Islanders

    Smythe Division


    Edmonton Oilers
    Hartford Whalers
    Quebec Nordiques
    Winnipeg Jets
    Cincinnati Stingers
    Indianapolis Racers


    ---

    Merry Christmas, everyone! Allow me to present this gift to all of you, my wonderful readers. Thank you all so much for your gifts of reading and commenting! :)

    We haven
    ’t revisited Canadian culture in some time, and oddly, it always seems that when we do, it’s through the milieu of sporting events. Probably because Canadian popular culture, as a distinct force from American popular culture, is much more visible from that angle. Technically, of course, the NHL and the WHA did very important business in the United States, and I dont want to discount that; but it really wasn’t a matter of the same passionate intensity as it was in Canada, IOTL or ITTL. The narrator, perhaps for that reason, has some biases that he’s allowing to shine through. And, if you squint, you can definitely find some applicability to the current situation in North American professional hockey, to be sure. Mostly, though, I wanted to shed some light on how, as elsewhere, seemingly small, subtle changes can have a massive cumulative impact.

    Also, I
    ’m pretty sure I will never again start my discussion as far back as 1875 (still over a century in the past, even from our “present” vantage point). I apologize for those of you who are unaware of the rules and regulations of ice hockey that I did not elaborate on those in any fashion during this fairly long update, but the game and its variants (particularly field hockey) are popular worldwide, so I decided to take a calculated risk :) Thank you all for reading! I look forward to your responses, as always.
     
    Last edited:
    Television on Demand
  • Television On Demand

    You’re watching television. We’re watching SelectaVision.

    – From a television advertising campaign for the RCA SelectaVision CED Videodisc Player, 1977 [1]

    The defining technology of the modern music industry was the ability to record and playback performances. This key breakthrough was one of a succession of developments in media and communication during the late 19th century – though it was not without its growing pains. The originally dominant wax cylinders that were once known as “records” were phased out after World War I, replaced by the competing vinyl discs, which became known as such from that point forward. However, a critical advantage held by wax over vinyl was that their nature permitted overwriting, or re-recording, the information stored on them. This would have massive ramifications on the creation of future technologies and their intended uses. Magnetic tape, designed in the 1920s, would find significant usage in audio and video applications, though most of its early decades found it secondary to vinyl records and nitrate (later acetate) film respectively. What would become the most valuable application of magnetic tape – its use in video – was unsurprisingly implemented for a medium distinct from the established motion picture and radio industries, and one that also had antecedents dating to the 1920s: television.

    Capturing televised events on a permanent, reviewable basis was a very tenuous prospect in the early years of the medium. The most reliable method was the use of “kinescopes”, in which the footage captured by the live cameras would itself be filmed, mostly for archival purposes. But the possibility of people watching previously televised programming again seemed positively alien to the producers of the 1940s, and into the early 1950s; even though, by this time, the practice of theatrical re-releases was well-established in the motion picture industry. Walt Disney had kept his studio afloat during an otherwise desperate period by putting such classics as Snow White into new releases every seven years. The notion was that this had been a sufficiently long interval for the rise of a new generation of uninitiated children to enjoy his cartoons; however, plenty of people who had already seen them went to watch them again, as they had repeatedly done during the original release, and as they did for all hit movies.

    As was the case with so many other innovations devised for the new medium, effective change was the product of development for the pioneering sitcom, I Love Lucy, and the determination of its creator couple, Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz. At the time, most programming was broadcast from New York; this made sense, considering that they consisted largely of televised stage plays or vaudeville acts. Ball and Arnaz, however, insisted on filming in Hollywood, which would not be done live but would, in fact, be captured on film and then broadcast. The man in charge of CBS, William S. Paley, balked at this proposition, which would be a considerable investment on his part with no perceived return, so the couple agreed to carry the burden themselves (in exchange for these supposedly-non-existent revenues). Surprisingly, they had non-financial motives for doing so: “We figured we couldnt lose, Ball would remark, years later. “We’d ether make money off the deal, or at least wed have the best set of home movies in the world.” Needless to say, shortly after Ball’s pregnancy necessitated the creation of the rerun, Desilu Productions became one of the wealthiest studios in Hollywood. Ball deferred any claims of genius on her own part to her then-husband, even after their bitter divorce, claiming that at the time, all she did was act. However, it was clear that she always had a remarkable knack for aligning her interests with those of the general public; this, perhaps more than anything else, explained the runaway success enjoyed by her studio.

    Despite Lucy proving the viability of film, videotape largely became the standard format outside of primetime, where margins were so razor-thin that film was an unaffordable luxury; this, in turn, allowed for the act of wiping, in which the magnetic tapes would be reused, and the vintage programming formerly stored on them would be lost forever. Outcry against this practice eventually became so strong that it would come to an end by the 1970s, but not before thousands of hours of television were irretrievably destroyed. [2] At the same time, videotape also began to see wide use in primetime television production, for many of the same reasons that it was predominant in daytime and late night, along with local programming; it was much cheaper than film, and the washed-out lighting and colour palettes typical of the format came to be associated with the 1970s, a decade of muted colours and earth tones, especially when compared to the far more garish and psychedelic era that had preceded it – ironically, these new programs became ubiquitous at the time when a majority of home viewers finally had colour television sets with which to watch them, after aggressive campaigning on the part of networks and manufacturers alike much to their chagrin. In fact, Norman Lear had even proposed that Those Were the Days be broadcast in black-and-white, to emphasize the starkness of their situation; CBS naturally turned him down flat. [3] Reruns were the final piece in the puzzle that would serve as precursor to the rise of home video in the 1970s. Magnetic tape, as mentioned previously, came of age in this decade, thanks to its widespread commercialization. This occurred in audio and video format, in which the magnetic tape was stored in cassettes. [4] This technology would provide an opportunity to end consumers not widely available since the era of wax cylinders.

    The major breakthroughs in home video occurred separately, though near-simultaneously, in two different countries, using two distinct technologies, each of which yielded two separate formats; journalists (and later, historians) who followed the development of home video sometimes described this situation as “the two-by-two”. The two countries in question were, unsurprisingly, the foremost innovating nations of their time, especially in the field of electronics: the United States, and Japan. The Land of the Rising Sun, contrary to their later reputation, largely played it safe in shepherding magnetic tape to home video under the collective term of videotape recorders, or VTRs. [5] Sony Corporation, which had been established immediately after World War II, created the Betamax format, popularly known as simply “Beta”; a rival company, the older Victor Company of Japan (JVC), instead released a format known as the Video Home System (VHS). Though VHS was inferior to Beta in terms of quality, the corporate culture at JVC was more permissive than that at Sony, which was critical during the period when manufacturers in the United States and elsewhere were jockeying for position, not to mention those hoping to produce material for their respective formats. [6] This would become a decisive factor in their relative success in the years to come

    Meanwhile, across the Pacific in the United States, technological advances came in an entirely different form: optical discs (in much the same size and shape as vinyl records), as opposed to magnetic tape. This eliminated the possibility for end-user re-recording, likely a deliberate consideration by the developers, given their highly litigious society. Consequently, their formats instead made use of videodisc players, or VDPs. RCA, which owned NBC (largely as a vehicle for the sale of their radios and television sets), employed what was known as the Capacitance Electronic Disc (CED) system, under their brand name of SelectaVision. This technology, a very long time in coming, was finally released in 1977; patents had been issued in 1971, and the earliest demonstrations of the technology had been made by 1973. [7] The manufacturing process for the playback hardware had a lower cost than any of the other formats, allowing for lower selling prices with comparable video quality to the magnetic tape systems. The most drastic limitation on the part of the discs themselves was their length – in their initial release, they allowed only thirty minutes per side of footage (one hour total).

    In hopes of combating this potentially fatal weakness, RCA sought to head it off at the pass; SelectaVision would offer such a wide variety of programming that there would be no need for the end consumer to seek out videotape recorders. In fact, it made more business sense, in exploiting existing relationships; RCA didn’t own any movie studios, but they did own a television network, which had worked with every television studio in Hollywood – many of which were, in fact, owned by the movie studios; though, of course, one very important studio wasn’t. RCA made the decision to approach Desilu for a number of reasons: firstly, in testing their CED technology, they had used portions of an episode of Star Trek [8] (“The Immunity Syndrome”, which was judged to have a wide variety of visual and auditory cues); secondly, they were aware of the role of Desilu in inventing the rerun, and consequently, the syndication market; and, finally, they had effectively direct access to the senior management, in the person of Lucille Ball, without having to deal with the board of directors or shareholders at the other conglomerates. Their proposal was bold: they would convert the raw footage of television episodes into CED format, and sell them directly to consumers, allowing viewers to watch them on demand; though in this fashion, it would be done legally and above-board, in contrast to clandestine taping using the VTRs. Star Trek was at the heart of their pitch; reels of virtually every episode were known to exist in circulation at fan conventions, which had not diminished their popularity in syndication one iota. It was a small and rather skewed sample, but surely it would be enough to suggest that the idea was worth a shot.

    Desilu COO Herbert F. Solow was flabbergasted at the idea, considering it a waste of time and energy, given how lucrative their shows had been in syndication. VP Production Brandon Tartikoff was more optimistic about the idea, though even he admitted that it was a gamble. Lucille Ball herself personally found the proposal ridiculous, but she also remembered about how Bill Paley had thought the exact same thing of Desi’s ideas to capture I Love Lucy on film, and to rerun episodes during her maternity leave. That gave her pause. And so, a shrewd negotiator, she made a counter-proposal. She would agree, but on her terms. In addition to a flat fee for each series sold on SelectaVision, Desilu would also receive a large share of the profits from each copy sold of each episode. RCA agreed, so long as this percentage would be tied to sales prices, rendering it a licensing charge, to be treated as part of the larger selling expenses (similar to a sales commission); as opposed to adding it to the cost of goods sold, along with the other manufacturing costs. This ensured that series and episodes which did not sell would not prove prohibitively expensive to produce. Desilu also agreed to secure all third-party copyrights on their own behalf, to allow for sale on home video. For Star Trek, this amounted to the use of one song – the 1930s standard “Goodnight, Sweetheart”, which had appeared in the period piece “The City on the Edge of Forever”. It was thus not surprising that “The Best of Star Trek” was among the video series available with the launch of the SelectaVision in 1977. [9] One episode thereof, “The Trouble with Tribbles”, would prove the best-selling video for the system for the first several years of its existence. However, Desilu was just one of the several initial partners in the venture, including Columbia, Paramount, and MGM; this resulted in over 100 launch videos for the SelectaVision. Projected sales figures by the beginning of 1978 were 200,000, but they exceeded expectations, with over a quarter-million units shipped by New Year’s Day. [10]

    Standing in contrast to RCA and their SelectaVision CED, which came strong out of the gate, was the Music Corporation of America, or MCA, which had developed the laserdisc format, branded as DiscoVision, in 1978, making it the last of the four major formats to be introduced. It had a singular advantage over CEDs and both VTR formats, which was far superior video quality and fidelity. But in addition to the inherent lack of copying capabilities, it was far more expensive than any of the other formats, and despite the laserdiscs having much higher durability than the CEDs as compensation, it did not attract the attention of most American consumers (beyond technophiles) as anything more than a novelty. Although MCA owned a major studio (Universal), their library was otherwise quite limited, as most of the other studios backed RCA in the VDP front of the format war (largely because they would not be indirectly benefiting one of their rivals). Thus, when the DiscoVision went on the market in 1978, one of their few hit movies available at launch was Jaws (which had been in theatres just three years before); suggestions were floated to offer copies of the film free with the purchase of the DiscoVision system as a loss leader, but these were quickly nixed. [11] Ironically, the system did best in Japan, though even there it very much remained a niche product.

    VTRs and VDPs naturally appealed to similar but divergent markets, both of which came to blossom in the closing years of the decade. These were all known collectively as home video, a term so incredibly vague that it could be sufficiently all-encompassing. VTRs marketed themselves on providing the opportunity for recording broadcast television, allowing for the practice properly known as “time shifting”, which allowed home viewers to record programs they might have otherwise watched, and then see them again at a more convenient time. What was also happening – something that VTR manufacturers and distributors were obviously somewhat reluctant to acknowledge [12] – was that people were recording shows as they were watching them, and then keeping the tapes for indefinite re-viewing purposes (particularly for live, unscripted event programming like sports and specials). Naturally, the networks and studios caught wind of this, and took major steps to curb this behaviour, for what little good it did in the short-term. But that most American form of corrective action – the lawsuit – found itself moving swiftly through the courts, and would eventually arrive at its only logical destination

    ---

    Formats of the Home Video Wars (1978 - present):

    • Home Video
      • Videotape Recorders (VTRs), using re-recordable magnetic tape cassettes
        • Betamax, created by Sony Corporation
        • Video Home System (VHS), created by Victor Company of Japan (JVC)
      • Videodisc Players (VDPs), using unmodifiable optical discs
        • Capacitance Electronic Disc (CED), marketed as SelectaVision by RCA
        • Laserdisc, marketed as DiscoVision by MCA

    ---

    [1] A slogan used, IOTL, for the promotion of VCRs manufactured by RCA, also sold under that brand, as SelectaVision CEDs were not sold until 1981.

    [2] Wiping, the greatest crime against art ever committed by the television industry in the history of popular culture, happened on both sides of the Pond, IOTL and ITTL. Doctor Who, as previously mentioned, was spared this fate by the syndication deal made with Desilu, but this reprieve sadly did not extend to virtually anything else.

    [3] As IOTL, though this was frankly a pipe-dream that was only slightly more realistic than the rumoured desire by Gene Roddenberry to film Star Trek in Esperanto.

    [4] IOTL, they were thus known as cassette tapes and videocassettes, respectively, though the informal term “tapes” quickly came into use to refer to both of them.

    [5] As opposed to videocassette recorders, or VCRs, IOTL.

    [6] One important factor to note ITTL is that videotapes have a lower maximum length at this point ITTL than IOTL; the four hours touted in late-1970s RCA commercials were in fact insisted upon by that company as a condition for their introducing the format in the United States (which they will obviously not do ITTL), purportedly because that was the average length of a football game. Thus, two hours is the standard length for both VHS and Beta, not much longer than the VDP formats (eliminating a key OTL advantage).

    [7] IOTL, RCA did not have the SelectaVision ready until 1981, by which time videotape was dominant over videodiscs. This can be attributed, at least in part, to a changing of the guard; RCA was in rather dire straits in the mid-1970s, in large part due to the struggles of its largest division, NBC. So Robert Sarnoff, the Chairman of RCA (a position he inherited from his father), was ousted due to being perceived as too cavalier. His right-hand man, Anthony Conrad, was a major booster of SelectaVision and was promoted to his position – but the increased visibility forced him to take the fall when it was revealed that he had not filed his income taxes for a number of years. Oddly, he was never charged for this IOTL (the IRS had already been withholding his income, so they had nothing to lose by him failing to do so), so he likely would have remained in place had Sarnoff not been ousted. Conrad, upon resigning in 1977, was replaced by Edgar Griffiths, who failed to strike while the iron was hot, dooming the SelectaVision. Note that, ITTL, this means that RCA will not manufacture either format of VTR, whereas IOTL they played a major part in introducing both of them to North America.

    [8] IOTL, a portion of an episode of Get Smart (codenamed “Lum Fong”) was used instead.

    [9] In fact, a few episodes of Star Trek were available for CED at launch IOTL, as well, in 1981. This predates its official release on Laserdisc (in 1984) and on Beta (in 1985), though it appears that they were first released on VHS in 1980 (in the same best-of collection issue as ITTL), though the entire series would not be available on what ironically emerged as the victorious video format until the end of the decade. ITTL, the 1977 SelectaVision release (under the marque “RCA Presents Desilu”) is the first official, authorized home video release of not only Star Trek, but of any television series. Worth noting, and contrary to most OTL home video releases of the show in the 1980s, is that episodes are sold individually ITTL, and not two-to-a-package. (Remember: one CED disc can carry one half-hour of footage on each side.)

    [10] Only 100,000 units were sold in 1981 IOTL (which were half of those projected), and only 50 launch titles were available on the initial release that year.

    [11] Through the 1980s, IOTL, it did indeed take a very long time for theatrical releases to make it to video. Two or three years was considered perfectly reasonable. The idea of packaging one playable product with the hardware is generally regarded as an innovation of the video game industry, IOTL, most strongly associated with Nintendo in particular.

    [12] Marketers were considerably less reluctant IOTL – though every commercial prior to Sony v. Universal (which ended the ambiguity once and for all) included fine print disclaimers about how “time shifting” was very likely in violation of copyright. ITTL, RCA (who were among the most grievous offenders IOTL) will be foremost among those leading the charge against VTR technology, largely because doing so is in their best interest. Additional emphasis will also be placed on VTR manufacturers being Japanese, exploiting the time-honoured traditions of Yellow Peril and “Buy American” sentiment – though the results will remain to be seen (cf. the automotive industry).

    ---

    And thus ends 2012 with my very last update of That Wacky Redheadfor this year :p

    And welcome, one and all, to a major focus of the second half of this timeline: the Home Video Wars! They started at about this time IOTL, and they will, if anything, prove even more contentious ITTL. Some of you are probably old enough to remember the rise and fall of both audio and video cassette tapes (the 1980s marked their mutual apogee following their rise in the 1970s, before their slow decline in the 1990s, to compact discs and laserdiscs/DVDs respectively). Their narrative arc is going to be quite different ITTL, as you can see! For one thing, the term “video” is going to remain a much broader one, rather than coming to refer exclusively to magnetic tape cassettes (and later, specifically those of the VHS format). Most of you will be old enough to remember the early-2000s slogan “Rent the video, own the DVD”, heralding new home video releases; this is redundant, as the DVD is a video format – what do you think the “V” stands for? (A lot of you will say “versatile”, but this usage postdates the original digital videodisc and is not universally accepted). But speaking of DVD, one of that format’s defining content innovations actually had a number of false starts IOTL, so why not take advantage of that and work on shifting a certain paradigm about a quarter-century ahead of schedule? And coming before the Supreme Court has had a chance to rule on the matter

    Finally, I would like to thank vultan, phx1138, and Falkenburg, all of whom were kind enough to independently nominate That Wacky Redhead for the Turtledove Awards, in the category of Continuing Cold War Era Timeline! Looking at the other nominees so far, I can already tell that I’ll be facing some very tough competition – but I should expect nothing less, given the high calibre of timelines on this board. When the time comes, I’ll be sure to link you to the relevant category for voting, and you’ll see for yourselves! :)
     
    Appendix A, Part VIII: The Next Voyage
  • Appendix A, Part VIII: The Next Voyage

    Star Trek The Next Voyage.png
    The title card for all eight episodes of the mini-series.

    News of a planned Star Trek mini-series was first announced at the seventh annual “Summer of Star Trek” convention at Los Angeles in July, 1977; fittingly, at the inaugural event six years earlier, the crew of the Enterprise had appeared to promote the upcoming series finale, “These Were the Voyages”. Right up to the very moment of their grand reveal, the mini-series plans had been tightly guarded, and Desilu was not a leaky studio by nature; the news therefore came as a massive shock to the assembled fans, whose incredibly enthusiastic response left the executives who were representing both NBC and Desilu (including even VP Production Brandon Tartikoff, himself a self-proclaimed Trekkie) overwhelmed. By that time, pre-production had technically not even started – the studio and the network had only agreed to green-light the mini-series idea
    just prior to their convention appearance. As anticipated, rounding up the original cast and crew would prove the major challenge before principal photography was to commence. Creator Gene Roddenberry, still working on his other series, The Questor Tapes, gave the project his blessing, but had minimal involvement in its overall development; he would proffer the occasional suggestion, usually unaware of the bigger picture at any given time, and was consequently largely ignored by the producers. However, his knack for self-promotion was not in any way diminished by his general lack of interest in the mini-series; he arranged for a “Star Trek Created By” credit to appear at the beginning of each episode, and, of course, saw to it that he would be very well-compensated financially; he had honed that skill to perfection during the later run of the series proper. The credited co-creator of Questor, and the most significant creative force of Star Trek throughout its run, Gene L. Coon, was sadly deceased long before the mini-series idea ever got off the ground, which obviously precluded any involvement on his part; it was therefore decided to dedicate the mini-series to his memory.

    This left former Supervising Producer D.C. Fontana and Co-Producers David Gerrold and John Meredyth Lucas as the key creative personnel from the original series who would be ready, willing, and able to reprise their roles in much the same capacity.
    All three scribes would be given story credit for each and every one of the episodes in the mini-series, having extensively conferred on the matter until reaching the point of consensus; in writing the teleplays, they tended to divide responsibilities amongst themselves, each choosing to focus on their established strengths: the more convoluted plotting and exposition was mostly left to Fontana; dialogue-heavy and comedic scenes were the purview of Gerrold; and Lucas would handle the more visual or action-oriented scenes, which doubly suited him, as he was unique among the trio in being an experienced director as well as a writer. Robert H. Justman, a steadfast Roddenberry ally, and now an independent producer, once again returned, this time as the nominal “showrunner”; though both he and Fontana were created as Executive Producers. Along with Gerrold and Lucas, the “Little Five” (to contrast with the Big Five of the original series) was rounded out by Brandon Tartikoff, taking the role of Executive in Charge of Production previously held by Herbert F. Solow, whose duties prevented him from taking an active role in the filming. The “Little Five”, working in tandem, developed the subtitle The Next Voyage for the mini-series; it was a nod to the teaser trailers airing during the original run of the show on NBC; titles considered, but rejected, included The New Voyages and The Next Phase. [1] With a name in place, attentions quickly turned to reuniting the old cast

    It was fitting that William Shatner (who portrayed the iconic Captain, and now Commodore, James T. Kirk) had become immortalized during the run of the show (and, increasingly, in parodies) as a prima donna egotist who had insisted that everything was all about him; because the blame for the reluctance of many cast members to return to Star Trek could indeed be placed squarely on his shoulders. If any one thing could be said to have prevented a sixth season from coming to fruition, Shatner was the prime candidate. [2] In the years since the show had ended, he had been forced to subsist on plenty of humble pie. Like most of his castmates, he had been profoundly typecast; his
    “musical” career, which had yielded three albums during the original run of Star Trek, had quickly fizzled out, and was increasingly regarded as either a drug-fueled avant-garde experiment gone horribly wrong, or as the singular, wretched monument to his titanic ego. Shatner had initially accepted the role of Kirk because of a dearth of other offers; he had only postponed the inevitable, for the early 1970s had seen him facing a major career drought. The highlight of his career during this period had been a 1973 Planet of the Apes parody entitled Monkey World, directed by newcomer John Landis, with makeup by Rick Baker, marking the first collaboration between the two. [3] Shatner had been forced to accept scale wages in exchange for the Charlton Heston part. Naturally, reviewers tended to describe it as “Captain Kirk and the Monkeys”, but this incongruity and blending of the franchise parodies (many Star Trek elements were added into the script last-minute, or were otherwise improvised on-set), always at Shatner’s expense, added to the hilarity. But this sleeper “success” was an anomaly; that once gargantuan ego had withered from the sheer inundation of rejection and ridicule it was now facing. His castmates, whom he had so callously mistreated during his salad days, all loathed him, and simply didn’t want to become involved in any more Star Trek unless he were not involved. And the very notion of the return of Star Trek without the return of James T. Kirk was simply untenable, creating an impasse.

    The question of how to secure the presence of the entire cast was answered with the help of that universal incentive: money. By 1977, the original syndication revenues from the series proper, to which the performers had been contractually entitled had dried out, and the actors had never seen any of the income out of the vast merchandising derived from the property; due to Hollywood Accounting, Desilu had been able to claim all of their considerable gains from the sales of action figures depicting the actors’ likenesses against their “losses”. It was thus decided that each actor whose likeness was depicted in any and all merchandise sold after October 31, 1978, would receive a (very) small proportion of the gross sales revenues thereto. This concession – quite a minor one, in light of the massive, all-encompassing revenue streams available to the studio – was considered a shockingly benevolent gesture on their part, and it proved so irresistible that the entire regular cast signed up to return for The Next Voyage.

    It was a good thing, too, because Leonard Nimoy, one of the few co-stars of Shatner who did not despise him, nevertheless had little interest in returning to the role of Spock. “He was a great character, a wonderful character, and I love him dearly,” as he had initially explained to his former producers. “But that was an earlier chapter in the story of my life, and I’ve closed the book on that.” [4] More specifically, he had closed the book on acting; he now exclusively directed, including for Desilu itself, as well as for Paramount next-door. By 1977, he had been nominated for several Emmys in that discipline (in addition to the three that he had won as an actor, for the role of Mr. Spock). But Nimoy was
    – or at least, had been a true thespian, and the easiest way to lure him back to the role of Spock, beyond the already established perks (which, truth be told, were more than enough on their own), as well as the promise to have a chance to direct episodes of The Next Voyage along with acting in them, was a chance to look at his character from a different, novel perspective. And so, having come to terms with his origins, Captain Spock had married the closest thing he had to an established love interest, Nurse (and now Doctor) Christine Chapel, and the two had a young son (named Selek) together. Having repeatedly made clear during the original five-year mission that he had no desire to captain the Enterprise, his subsequent tenure doing just that, with the prospect for more, had fostered great ambivalence in him. The mini-series opened on Spock incredibly unsure about the direction of his future career; he was taking advantage of a leave of absence to contemplate this at the time the story begins.

    DeForest Kelley was largely retired, making only the occasional guest appearance in various television series, including returning to the genre where he had made his name, the Western; he appeared in The High Chaparral, which had famously once shared NBC Monday nights with Star Trek, during its last season in 1973. [5] Indeed, he was more often seen at conventions than anywhere else, despite his personal shyness and reclusiveness, due to his love of the fans – many of whom, by now, had entered, and then graduated from, medical school.
    Kelley was willing to appear even prior to being given the offer he couldn’t refuse, being on good terms with Shatner – and, indeed, with everybody in the cast. Ironically, he began the mini-series isolated from all of them: Dr. Leonard McCoy was working as a medical researcher at Starfleet Command (a slight retcon from the original series finale, in which he had left Starfleet entirely), having tired of front-line service and happy to remain close to his daughter, Joanna, who had by this time graduated from medical school (having enrolled at the end of the fourth-season episode “The Stars of Sargasso”). Their primary storyline entailed her deliberation as to whether to attend Starfleet Academy and join the service like her father, or to remain on Earth, as Bones himself had been planning to do before his bitter divorce from Joanna’s mother.

    James Doohan, like Kelley, had largely retired from acting, though he continued to serve as a presenter on educational programs such as The Final Frontier. Nichelle Nichols, for her part, had retreated largely to the stage (her
    “first love”), along with singing engagements, after the financial disappointment of her film Progress in 1976 (which had also led her co-star in that film, Bill Cosby, to similarly entrench himself into educational programming such as his Fat Albert cartoon series). Montgomery Scott, former Chief Engineering Officer of his beloved Enterprise (on which he had served for his entire career), had assumed the role of Acting Captain, pending the awaited career decision to be made by his ostensible superior and longtime crewmate, Captain Spock. He was very well-suited for the orders assigned to the Enterprise at the opening of the mini-series: the venerable old lady (described in the narrative as having been in active service for over a quarter of a century) had been scheduled for a refit, so as to further extend her useful life. Scotty was taking a direct role in supervising this undertaking, to ensure that the starbase technicians did not trifle with his “poor bairns”. His first officer, Commander Uhura, appeared together with Scotty quite frequently, providing the crew of the Enterprise (and, often, the viewing audience) with the necessary exposition, a natural result of her position as Communications Officer. Other characters who had remained with the Enterprise included Commander Ann Mulhall and Lieutenant Commander Angela Martine.

    George Takei had moved into politics, and was serving on the Los Angeles City Council, representing the 10th District. Having won the special election to replace the previous Councillor (now the Mayor), Tom Bradley, he went on to win the general election for the seat in 1975, and was midway through serving his first full term when he received a call from Desilu Productions. His political activity had become so well-known in the entertainment industry that numerous Star Trek parodies would occasionally lampoon Takei’s aspirations by assigning them to Mr. Sulu, whose character was canonically established as a serial hobbyist. “Well, I’ve always been a fan of…”, his catchphrase, was usually put to good use in these sketches; Takei himself had wryly remarked that Sulu was positively ripe for parody. [6] As for his character in The Next Voyage, since he could not commit to nearly as full a shooting schedule as his castmates given his responsibilities on the Council, Sulu had been promoted to the Captain of a third ship, the USS Artemis, allowing him to remain away from the action for large sections of the mini-series. He was the only former regular who did not eventually cross paths with the others in the flesh (which also allowed him to avoid direct contract with William Shatner, who remained his hated nemesis), though he did communicate with most of them over the viewscreen.

    John Winston, who had continued acting on both sides of the Atlantic (including in Doctor Who, making him the sole Star Trek alum to return to that program of his own volition), reprised his role as Commander Kyle, despite his reservations about the underdeveloped character. However, The Next Voyage finally gave him a first name, Norman (chosen by Winston himself, as he deemed it suitably evocative of his native Yorkshire), and established him as first officer of the Artemis. His presence in that position was twofold, for narrative purposes: it allowed Takei a recognizable co-star rather than being surrounded by strangers; and it allowed the Artemis to send a familiar representative to rendezvous with the crew of the Enterprise in person, in lieu of Captain Sulu. Lieutenant Commander Pavel Chekov, on the other hand, served on the Excelsior alongside Commodore Kirk; Walter Koenig was
    – much to his own surprise, being a fairly pessimistic individual by nature – surprisingly enthusiastic about the idea of taking part in the mini-series. The presence of Kirk and Chekov on the Excelsior as opposed to the Enterprise was, in fact, quickly remedied by the machinations of the plot; the Excelsior had sustained massive damage in an early episode, and that coupled with the completed refit of the Enterprise (and the lack of a permanent Captain for that ship) motivated Kirk to seize the opportunity, and switch back to the vessel of his first command, which he had naturally come to regard as akin to a first love.

    New characters, who had absolutely no connection to the original series, were relatively few and far between, and mostly limited to minor roles. In working to maintain the hard-earned reputation Star Trek had for breaking down boundaries, alien characters had more prominent roles in the crews aboard the various starships, including such aliens as the Tellarites, the Andorians, and the (previously-unseen) Saurians; among humans, a married interracial couple (a female security officer of European extraction, and a male scientist of African heritage), along with an openly gay character, Lieutenant Freeman, whose sexuality was largely downplayed, and mentioned only briefly, during a scene featuring the Orion slave girls (in which he disclaims interest despite the obvious enthusiasm of his crewmates, for this reason).
    In the most surprising of the cameo appearances in The Next Voyage, Lucille Ball herself appeared as the President of the United Federation of Planets in a few scenes, scattered throughout the mini-series. Though never addressed by name (only as “the President” or “Madam President”), a nameplate on the desk in her office identified her as “L. Carter”, with no doubt in anyone’s mind as to what the “L” might have stood for. [7] So as to not attract undue attention to herself and to make her appear more believable as an office-holder, she agreed to let her red dye wash out for the role, one of the very few times she appeared onscreen without the trademark red hair for which she was famous (having kept up the look for interviews and publicity appearances in her capacity as, ironically enough, President of Desilu). Her old sidekick, Vivian Vance, appeared in one scene as an (also unnamed) aide to the President; it would prove her last-ever appearance on television, as she was already ailing from cancer, and would pass on before the end of the decade. [8]

    However, and though great pains were assuredly taken to recreate the original look and feel of the series, there was also some desire to take advantage of advances in technology, many of which had been spearheaded by Desilu itself, particularly their post-production unit
    (which had, after all, been stocked by the technicians from the original series upon its conclusion in 1971). The opportunities that came with rebuilding destroyed sets (only the original bridge, displayed at the Smithsonian Institution, survived) and fabricating new models and props were also an important factor in the decision to try new things. Andorian, Tellarite, and Orion makeup was subtly revised; those in charge relishing the opportunity to implement an entirely new look for the Saurians. The Vulcans and the Romulans, on the other hand, were left alone for the most part; the Klingons also received a makeup overhaul, though the suggestion by Gene Roddenberry to add forehead ridges to the species was roundly mocked and easily dismissed. [9] Most of these designs were the work of John Chambers, who had created the original Vulcan makeup in 1964. The Enterprise refit was largely intended to introduce a more streamlined appearance for the ship, which was created (as the original design had been) by Matt Jefferies. [10] The Excelsior and the Artemis were intended to be distinguishable from the Enterprise on sight, but (befitting their joint status as Federation starships) were very similar in overall appearance. The interiors were kept largely intact, with the primary difference being a more muted colour scheme, to differentiate from the garish tones of the late 1960s (with muted palettes, in turn, coming to represent the 1970s).

    The era of the Star Trek universe was,
    for the first time, firmly dated, with the action taking place over the summer of 2176 including July 4th of that year, allowing for the perfunctory observance of the quadricentennial of the Declaration of Independence, and how its ideals remained relevant in the modern Federation; this retroactively dated the original five-year mission from 2165 to 2170. [11] The overarcing storyline entailed a dispute by the galactic power over a newly discovered planet, with the potential for great scientific development of an unspecified nature – in other words, a classic MacGuffin, not unlike the Maltese Falcon. The planet – named, with typical Star Trek subtlety, Gaia – was located on the border of expanding Federation, Klingon, and Romulan space. Most of the nearby worlds were resource-poor and (by necessity) forced to commit what limited materiel they did have to munitions and defences. All three sides were closely monitoring the planet, which inevitably resulted in a multi-party skirmish when hasty reconnaissance allegedly misinterpreted enemy signals. This battle was the centrepiece of the first episode, and many characters (including Spock, as well as the entire crew of the Enterprise, and the ship itself) were deliberately not introduced until the second episode as a blatant – and successful – attempt to further entice viewers. Captain Sulu and the Artemis would not make their first appearance until well into the third episode. The four central characters – Kirk, Spock, Bones, and Scotty – were, fittingly, not reunited on the bridge of the Enterprise until the fourth episode, nearly halfway through the mini-series. The lengthy round-up period, though impeccably constructed as a means of building tension and anticipation, still ate into the time that could have been spent on character interaction, the singular strength of the series proper.

    Kirk, in one of the classically allegorical scenes of The Next Voyage, lamented the situation to Spock in the fifth episode: “Just a few years ago, we signed a historic peace treaty, all three sides, promising that this sort of thing would never happen again. And yet, here we are. I just… don’t understand it, Spock.

    It is not unprecedented, Captain,” Spock replied, in one of his most famous speeches. “Even as the ink was drying on the peace treaties concluding your First World War – the so-called war to end all wars – many conflicts continued on, and threatened to engulf the rest of Europe, despite desperation, seemingly on all sides, for peace. And in the Second World War, after the surrender of Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan, the two emerging superpowers were ideologically opposed from the very beginning, with the omnipresent threat of a third to follow, fought with devastating weapons previously unknown to your science.

    But it never happened, Spock. They never went to war. In time, the two superpowers became friends.

    Indeed, Commodore. But that is not the inevitable option. It is clear that sentient beings are naturally warlike, despite the logic of peace; perhaps because the competitiveness of evolution drives them to become so. It seems that morality and enlightenment are necessary corrective measures to these essential behaviours.

    The question of stakes was a major one throughout the development of The Next Voyage. All of the regulars had returned, though there was some question as to whether they would want to continue returning on an infrequent basis for hypothetical future projects; Desilu had played a major trump card in luring them back this time, and they would not be able to turn the same trick again. By this time, George Takei was already considering a run for higher office, and was committed to a lifetime in public service, so his character was the obvious candidate for being killed off. “If I’m Governor or Senator Takei, a few years down the line, I don’t think I can sneak back to Desilu as easily as I can when I’m just on the City Council,” Takei explained. Thus, the USS Artemis was destroyed defending the Enterprise from a Romulan ship that had suddenly emerged from cloak in an attempt to ambush the Federation flagship, with all handsincluding both Captain Sulu and his first officer, Commander Kyle
    perishing, ending the seventh episode in a dramatic fashion; the Artemis was avenged in the climactic, decisive battle that ensued. The final episode ended with all sides agreeing to recognize Gaia as planeta nullius, with each galactic power sending a research delegation down to the planet so that all sides could partake in the opportunities for scientific breakthroughs mutually, and sustainably. The President announced that she would retire at the end of her term, endorsing none other than Ambassador Sarek as her successor. In turn, this created an opportunity for his son, Starfleet Captain Spock, to succeed him as Vulcan Ambassador to the Federation. Meanwhile, Commodore James T. Kirk was reassigned to his first command, the Enterprise, with Acting Captain Scott being given his official promotion but remaining on hand, nonetheless, as Chief Engineering Officer of the Enterprise. Commander Uhura, on the other hand, was offered, and accepted, a promotion to Captain for herself, and she took charge of the Excelsior in the stead of Commodore Kirk. Dr. McCoy had been invited to head the Federation research delegation on Gaia, but not before giving Joanna his blessing to pursue a career in Starfleet, which she did.

    Star Trek: The Next Voyage aired on eight consecutive nights in February, 1978, on NBC. Fan reaction, though generally positive, was not without reservations; though many were delighted to see their beloved characters once again, embarking on all-new adventures, the precise nature of these adventures became the subject of considerable dispute. As was typical of the mini-series format, each character had an individual, tightly focused storyline, given far more focus than the more subtle, gradual character development of the original series. Opponents of this storytelling decision labeled the result as “Star Trek: The Soap Opera” or (more to the point) “Soap Trek. It would become the rallying cry for the small, but increasingly vocal, minority of Trekkies who found every effort to keep the Star Trek property alive following the end of the show’s original run in 1971 to be sorely wanting. Their passionate fervour, their insistence on a strict definition of the canon, and their devotion to “the Kirk” earned them the derisive nickname of Puritans, which quickly stuck; fan lore ascribed the term to a possibly apocryphal remark credited, as such things so often were, to David Gerrold about their “puritanical ravings”. This imposed designation met with mixed reception amongst many of the so-called Puritans themselves, unsurprisingly based largely on their own religiosity.

    Trekkies in general, outside of the Puritan faction, were generally more positive; many criticisms noted that, overall, The Next Voyage seemed very much a direct continuation in terms of the emphasis on the visual aspects of the production over the plotting and storytelling elements, carrying over common complaints about the fifth season of the series proper. Nonetheless, praise was directed at the return of these beloved characters, who (in at least some situations) were able to exhibit that cherished chemistry with certain co-stars which had so endeared them to audiences. The interracial coupling, though not as “timely” several years after the premiere of Moving on Up, was still much obliged, as was the (more risky) openly gay, but non-stereotypical character of Lieutenant Freeman (a marked contrast to the far more cartoonish Joe Austin on Soap). [12] But recapturing that nebulous “magic” seemed just beyond the reach of the creators. It was akin to a family reunion, without quite the same joy as going back home for the holidays. The timeworn cliché was nevertheless clearly true: you can’t go home again, and neither could the crew of the Enterprise. Oddly, it was more casual fans, along with critics and the general viewing public at large, who seemed to take the mini-series best: it was good television, even if it was, perhaps, not the best possible Star Trek. Ratings were, as expected, phenomenal, and reviews were overall very positive; detachment from the finer nuances of fanon allowed the waves of nostalgia to be unhampered by niggling doubts and irritations. The final and top-rated episode scored a 54.1 rating and a 74 share, indicating a television audience of over 40 million households – in a quirk of the Nielsen metrics, the highest-rated episode of The Next Voyage managed a far higher rating than the 47 managed by “These Were the Voyages” in 1971 (and, in beating Roots, regained the all-time viewership crown for Star Trek and Desilu); however, the 74 share (representing the percentage of total television sets that were turned on at the time) was lower than the 75 share that program had managed seven years earlier; this was very likely because of the rise of both PBS and the VHF “superstations” in the intervening time, and the increasing variety of options available to home viewers would continue to proliferate in the years to come
    [FONT=&quot]

    Eight episodes obviously would not do well in syndication – and the lapse in production time, coupled with the visual changes and the substantially different tone to The Next Voyage as opposed to the original five seasons, came together to ensure that they would not be added to the existing syndication package of Star Trek. Even disregarding these concerns, adding eight episodes would cause the total count to no longer be divisible by five, which would necessitate restoring the absent two-parter crossover with Doctor Who, which in turn would create conflicts with the syndication package for that series. But Lucille Ball had arranged to have an ace up her sleeve, which was soon revealed as the home video deal with RCA. Star Trek: The Next Voyage would be released exclusively on CED at a future date to be determined. Both sides were inclined towards waiting for the technology to allow at least one hour (and, therefore, one full episode) worth of footage per side, and projections at the time pegged that happening by 1980-81 at the latest. Already, the Best of Star Trek CEDs were selling like hotcakes, to the point that Desilu had authorized the release of a second volume of episodes[/FONT][FONT=&quot].

    ---

    [1] IOTL, the planned (and eventually, aborted) sequel series to Star Trek was to be called Phase II.[/FONT]

    [2] As mentioned in earlier updates, Shatner was one of a number of major causes preventing the continuation of Star Trek past season five, including ballooning budget figures, and fatigue on the part of many producers (including Coon and Fontana) with working on the show, and a desire to move on; several cast members, primarily Leonard Nimoy, had personal concerns that were largely unconnected with
    Shatner’s titanic ego; however, and without question, his actions went a long way in making a sixth season unfeasible. Fans, as you might expect, were conflicted about their leading man; the fifth season, apart from a few highlights like “The Borderland” and “These Were the Voyages”, was universally considered the weakest, and many shared the behind-the-scenes opinion that the show was starting to run out of gas.

    [3] This film was never made IOTL, but represents the increased popularity ITTL of the Planet of the Apes franchise (remember one of the truisms of That Wacky Redhead: it isn
    ’t truly popular unless it has been properly parodied or lampooned). In terms of plotting and style, imagine the John Landis/ZAZ formula applied to Planet of the Apes.

    [4] Though not the book called I Am Not Spock, which was not written ITTL.

    [5] The High Chaparral had been cancelled in 1971, IOTL.

    [6] IOTL, of course, Sulu was such a stereotypical “straight-man” character that he was not effectively parodied at all; Saturday Night Live, which has frequently parodied Star Trek, made a running gag out of casting their longtime production designer to play him as an absolute non-entity. However, in the years since Takei has achieved internet notoriety, his character has far more frequently appeared in parodies, though as a transparent ripoff of Takei’s “campy” persona as opposed to Sulu himself (similar to how Kirk is always partly William Shatner as well). ITTL, Sulu has a more well-known personality which, fortunately, is equally conducive to the real-life exploits of his performer.

    [7] “Carter” was the surname of the character portrayed by That Wacky Redhead in Here’s Lucy from 1968 to 1974, a sitcom which does not exist ITTL (allowing her to use the name here instead; she had a thing about names with
    “AR” in them). That means there is a President Carter ITTL after all!

    [8] Vance died on August 17, 1979, IOTL, from bone cancer. Her final appearance with That Wacky Redhead was in the one-off television special Lucy Calls the President, which aired on November 21, 1977. Her last appearance of any kind was on the short-lived cop-dog crime drama series Sam, on the episode airing April 18, 1978.


    [9] The infamous ridges were added to the Klingons beginning with Star Trek: The Motion Picture (in the opening scenes, in fact, as a Klingon crew captained by none other than Marc Lenard are the first people to be seen). The Klingons and their swarthy, vaguely Asiatic appearances are deemed too “iconic” to be so heavily modified as they were IOTL, by people who have some respect for continuity (by contrast, the Tellarites appeared only a few times in the series proper). That said, Klingons in the mini-series do more universally have the Kor-style shoe-polish-and-Fu-Manchu look to them, in contrast to the original series, where many Klingons were quite obviously Caucasians with beards.

    [10] Jefferies also designed the
    “refit” Enterprise intended for use in Phase II (and later The Motion Picture); it was a far more conservative redesign than some of the radical proposals put forward by others. ITTL, the design actually hews closer to that of the original series, more akin to this design.

    [11] The five-year mission was dated from 2265 to 2270 IOTL, in 2001, though the general setting of the late-23rd century was established at a much earlier date (Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan established the approximate era to within a few years without pinning it down exactly). The reason why the show is set a century earlier than IOTL is because the space program
    – the primary determining factor in any forward projection – is far more advanced as of the late 1970s ITTL.

    [12] Notoriously, despite the reputation for social progressivism associated with Star Trek, none of the OTL series or films in the franchise featured a homosexual regular (occasional dalliances by regulars which could theoretically be called “bisexual” were done strictly for allegorical or, more crassly, titillation purposes). The original series is obviously given a pass for this, having aired in the 1960s (when homosexuality was still considered a mental disorder), and earnestly attempting to break other boundaries (primarily racial, and ITTL, sexual as well). However, later iterations which began airing in the 1980s have no such excuse. In my research on the subject, most sources appear (with various degrees of hedging) to put the blame on executive Rick Berman for this decision, which he stubbornly maintained despite mounting pressure to change it over the years. IOTL, one of the earliest attempts to address sexuality in the franchise was spearheaded by David Gerrold (who is himself gay), and it should come as no surprise that he (along with George Takei) encouraged the inclusion of a gay character in the mini-series; a timely decision in 1978, for reasons which will soon be made quite clear.

    ---

    Special thanks to e of pi, Thande, and vultan, whose overall suggestions (well, some of them, anyway) have been worked into this update!

    The big question is: how was the mini-series received? That depends on your perspective. Trekkies were generally receptive, save for the hardcore contingent, which (as I
    ’ve mentioned before) is smaller relative to the critical mass than IOTL (allowing for the “Puritan” nickname to stick). These people tend to dislike The Next Voyage, and are very vocal in their criticism. You may notice a roughly analogous response as to a rather recent production within the franchise IOTL, though the tone and style of this production is obviously much closer to the original, given the much closer chronological proximity, along with the active involvement of many members from the original production.

    Another question that I
    ’m sure many of you are now asking: Will there be more Star Trek ITTL? Well, now, that would be telling :cool:


    Star Trek The Next Voyage.png
     
    Last edited:
    Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!
  • Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!

    “Somewhere out in space, this may all be happening right now

    – From the trailer for Journey of the Force, 1977

    The life of George Lucas, a member of the cohort of New Hollywood auteurs, was one of seemingly soaring heights and profound depths, often at the same time. But his story was irrevocably linked to that of his wife, Marcia Lucas (née Griffin), whom he wed in 1969. When they had first met, George was a film student at the University of Southern California, and Marcia was working as an editing assistant for her mentor, Verna Fields, who had embraced many of the Young Turks of filmmaking who were emerging at the time. The seemingly unlikely couple had been paired to work together on projects for film libraries. Marcia was everything that George wasn’t: friendly, outgoing, and boisterous. She was also a working professional in the industry, whereas he was part of the first generation of students attending a degree-granting film school. Indeed, USC would go on to become one of the most prestigious such institutions in the country; this complemented their already sterling reputation in other professional fields, such as law.

    Risk-taking for the sake of achieving one’s artistic vision was a cornerstone of the nascent New Hollywood movement, and this naturally came with tough consequences. Robert Altman, a former rising star of this generation, was brutally cut down after the failure of his subversive, satirical war picture M*A*S*H, and even George himself slipped and faltered after his pet project, the futuristic dystopia THX-1138, had bombed. But the bold, stylistic projects which had ushered in the New Hollywood Era – Bonnie and Clyde, The Graduate, The Wild Bunch, The French Connection, and The Last Picture Show were but a few of the more prominent examples of these – nevertheless continued to serve as a beacon to guide those auteurs who would follow in their footsteps, to urge them to press on despite their occasional stumbles along the way. Marcia, for her part, was able to seize an opportunity for steady employment from an established Hollywood studio, Desilu Productions, when they created an autonomous post-production house. The work was inauspicious – her earliest job was editing Doctor Who for American broadcasts – but she insisted on taking the job and bringing in some steady income (for Marcia had grown up poor, which would prove a persistent motivator throughout her life), rather than following George to form an intellectual share circle with his USC buddies in San Francisco. [1] George had little choice but to remain in Hollywood, for Marcia refused to let him chase his far-fetched fantasies when they needed to put food on the table. She had work, and he just had his hare-brained ideas, so her needs won out on that occasion. George, to his credit, quickly landed on his feet by spurring the rising wave of retro nostalgia with American Graffiti, which saved his career and vindicated his artistic vision. It also served as one of the earliest major movie gigs for Desilu Post-Production, whose talent had been eager to branch out beyond the small screen; Marcia had served as assistant editor on the picture, with her superior, Donald R. Rode (a multiple Emmy-winning television editor, revered for his work on Star Trek) credited as the primary editor. Though there were obvious concerns of nepotism, Rode immediately rose to the defence of his protégée. Among those who were paying attention was Herbert F. Solow, their ultimate superior (excepting Lucille Ball herself), who summarily reorganized the editing division of Desilu Post-Production, placing Marcia and placed her in charge of her own unit, Unit B (with Rode remaining in charge of Unit A). This decision was driven as much by pragmatism as by technical merit, as the job offers soon came flooding in after the success of Graffiti, a film often described as having been “saved in editing”.

    Conversely, George wasn’t thrilled (creatively speaking) with Graffiti, which he had made largely to prove that he could work within the confines of the studio system, unlike some of his “rogue filmmaker” counterparts. The movie had done very well indeed, and the subject matter was close to him, but he made the movie as a crowd-pleaser, not a labour of love. He knew that people would embrace the movie, and he was right; for all his troubles connecting with his audience, he seemed to have a knack for understanding them. Marcia was much more the “heart-and-soul” sort of creator, yet another way in which the two complemented each other. The fruit of their labour, Grafitti, had been nominated for Best Picture, among a host of other Academy Awards, but it went home empty-handed. True to form, he brushed the whole thing off – hindsight had shown that the Academy had a thoroughly mixed record at best – but Marcia was quietly devastated, despite putting on a brave face. He did his best to console her – she, of course, was fiercely proud of her work on their film, and had wanted to win an Oscar to show for it, despite her acknowledgement of the award’s flaws. George, meanwhile, was already planning his next project in earnest. But Marcia would have her moment in the sun first. The massive grosses from Graffiti on top of the steady income stream from Desilu allowed her longtime desire to settle down and start a family to finally come to fruition. Unfortunately, as the couple tried to conceive, their doctors soon discovered that they would be unable to reproduce naturally; this led them to go ahead with adoption instead. They welcomed a daughter, whom they named Amber, into their home in 1974. [2]

    Amber was brought into the Lucas household at a seminal time in the industry, and during a very busy period for the Lucases. By the mid-1970s, the generation of “Movie Brats” to which Lucas belonged – informed by the artistic film movements of the previous decades, and the increased “freedom of the screen”, coupled with the death of the studio system – was firmly in evidence, no longer able to be dismissed as another passing fad. Along with George, his friends and fellow film school graduates, Steven Spielberg, Francis Ford Coppola, Martin Scorsese, and John Milius, formed this quintet of these Young Turks who were already making their mark in Hollywood. Marcia became an integral associate of the clique, in her capacity as head of her own editing unit at Desilu. Unit B worked on the editing for all of these Movie Brats and their films, not just those of her husband. In a way, her close collaboration, and the hard work of the vast assemblage of talent at Desilu Post-Production, tempered the auteur drive and philosophy which guided their passions. “I’m real lucky to be working with such talent – I think we make a great team,” she was quoted as saying, referring not only to herself, but to her entire unit at Desilu. And much like the head of that studio, Marcia had a tendency to defer credit and downplay her own gifts, which were numerous: she had a singular ability to bring footage to life, and communicate ideas and themes to audiences, with judicious cuts, shot selection, and scene placement. Her proverbial “fresh eye” often saw potential that had been missed by directors, stubbornly retaining their “big picture” outlook in an industry where the devil was in the details. Despite having never been formally trained, having mastered her craft strictly through on-the-job experience, Milius often remarked that she was a better editor than George, a sentiment shared by the other Movie Brats. [3]

    The mid-1970s were a phenomenally successful time for Desilu Productions as a studio, and for Marcia Lucas as an editor. Her personal breakthrough was, surprisingly enough, her assignment to supervise the editing for the “little shark movie”, Jaws, to be directed by Spielberg. Principal photography went far behind schedule and ridiculously over-budget [4], but Marcia – kept cloistered safely away from the hectic shoot and thus keeping her attention focused strictly on the incoming dailies – managed to take a lot of the clever, stylistic directorial choices made by Spielberg and bring them together (though the fine sculpting process that was the stock-in-trade of the editing profession) into a cohesive, engaging, and thrilling whole. Jaws became a smash-hit, the biggest film of 1975, dwarfing even Moonraker (also directed by Spielberg) from the year before. Always the least pretentious of the Movie Brats, Spielberg was more than willing to share the credit with his collaborators, particularly Marcia. In the highlight of her career to that point, and after the heartbreak of the near-miss for Graffiti, she would win the Academy Award for Best Film Editing for Jaws at the 48th Academy Awards, held on March 29, 1976. [5] That said, and although her collaboration with Spielberg had been fruitful, she received more steady work (which was, perhaps, more creatively fulfilling on a purely artistic level) from Martin Scorsese, whose work sadly seemed to be flying under-the-radar when compared to that his compatriots. [6]

    George, for his part, was not finding himself doing all that much better. Spielberg and Coppola were both establishing proven track records by this point, but Lucas had Graffiti and nothing else. His half-baked ideas weren’t coming any closer to fruition, forcing him to take time off and nurse his bruised ego in between working on various pet projects. Even Graffiti had owed much of its success to the good people at Desilu Post-Production, including but not limited to his wife, Marcia. In some ways a very traditional man with equally traditional ideas of a woman’s place in the household, George was deeply uncomfortable with his wife enjoying greater notoriety and acclaim than he was, in his profession. He could no longer ignore the suggestions of his friends, that Marcia was a better editor than he was; in fact, it seemed increasingly likely that she was a better at her job than he was at his. George had always wanted to be the provider, to take care of her, but he was obviously going to have to do it on her terms, and not on his alone. But he didn’t mind; he always loved a good challenge, and would surely find a way to rise to meet this one. Because George was an “idea man” and Marcia could bring ideas to life like nobody else in the business, he decided to put his nose to the grindstone with a renewed passion.

    His simplest, most straightforward idea was to make an adaptation of the classic, whiz-bang Flash Gordon action-adventure serials from his childhood. Having his youth inform his creative decisions had paid dividends with Graffiti, so it seemed a safe path for him going forward, and a good way to balance his interests with the potential for working with the suits once more. However, independent film producer Dino de Laurentiis had already purchased the rights to a Flash Gordon film in the wake of Moonshot Lunacy, and though George had attempted to come to terms with him (obviously seeing himself as the ideal director to helm such a project), tentative plans to pool their resources were quickly scuttled. [7] Lucas was forced to develop his own property, along somewhat similar lines. He had plenty of other avenues for inspiration; the 1970s trend of Orientalism was serendipitous for the Movie Brats, given their shared love of Akira Kurosawa, whose legacy was by now firmly entrenched. In particular, George drew inspiration from The Hidden Fortress, and its novel character perspective;the film focused largely on two lowly peasant farmers, as opposed to the hero or the princess or any other traditional protagonists. Lucas decided to use the same device for his potential film, which he felt an effective way to evoke the sense of “little people in a great big galaxy”. The basic narrative structure in place, Lucas then sought out particular themes and plotlines. In the end, these were found through a most unlikely source: The Hero with the Thousand Faces, a decades-old reference book about comparative mythology, written by Joseph Campbell. A classic Jungian work which dwelled heavily on universal character archetypes and their appeal with audiences, it informed George’s decisions about character development, interaction, and story arcs. Having already read this text in his days as a student in USC, he turned to it in his ennui, and it proved just what he needed to break his writer’s block. More importantly, it also helped him in presenting a more fleshed-out story outline to shop it around after Graffiti. [8] When it came to further input, he sought out his friends and fellow filmmakers for advice, expecting – and duly receiving – plenty of constructive criticism. At first, his wife Marcia was not involved in this process, but she would gradually become his primary adviser as he further developed his drafts.Her cachet would become increasingly important as pre-production commenced, though this would take time. Despite a strong textual foundation and a trial-by-fire through seeking advice from just about everyone he knew, George found relatively few parties interested in his draft, which told thestory of a farm-boy hero seeking his destiny by taking part in a rebellion against the evil empire controlling the galaxy. Originally titled Journal of the Whills, it was suggested that he change the name; indeed he did, to The Star Wars.

    One of the few who did express the slightest interest in George’s pitch was newly-installed Paramount executive Alan Ladd, Jr. [9] He had been hired to replace the notorious Robert Evans, who had finally departed the studio owned by his hated boss, Charles Bluhdorn. Ladd was eager to maintain the New Hollywood legacy at that studio, which had culminated in Chinatown – though, perhaps, with a slightly less self-consciously artistic and pretentious bent to their product. Lucas and his whiz-bang throwback action-adventure ideas appealed to him, more than anything else that was being brought to his attention. Paramount, being owned by the industrial conglomerate, Gulf+Western, was under the purview of the notorious miser Bluhdorn, who had bought the studio in 1966 and had seen very little in the way of substantive profits since then – though any given definition of “profit” was always suspect in Hollywood. Lucas was willing to work for scale rates wearing each and every one of his many hats, in exchange for some future concessions from the revenues of the film. Merchandising rights seemed an obvious compromise to him, but surprisingly, Bluhdorn immediately balked at this notion. “Are you kidding? After all the money Lucy made on the whiz-bang and starships and alien worlds? Money that could have been mine. That’s our insurance policy for when this movie flops.” [10] Lucas eventually agreed to accept a share of the profits – and accepted Bluhdorn’s insistence that the name of The Star Wars be changed again. Bluhdorn found that name highly derivative of Star Trek (which was obviously a sore spot for him). Lucas eventually settled on Journey of the Force, a nod to the “hero’s journey” delineated by Campbell; “journey” was also a synonym for “trek”, in a backhanded, devious way to continue to evoke Star Trek without raising the ire of Bluhdorn. “Force” was a nod to the mystical energy in his fictional universe which was akin to magic, though also with an element of destiny; characters who were sensitive to the Force were able to tap into it and use its power, but the passage of events were often said to be “the will of the force”. And so, production finally having been green-lit by Paramount, despite what reservations that studio’s chief continued to have about the project, it became time for George to assemble a team who could bring his ideas to reality on the screen, as sure as Marcia would be able to do so offscreen. For all that she might have been the most important member of the film crew, she was far from the only one. The creation of a fully-realized world required artistic and technical skill of all kinds: art direction, set decoration, makeup, costuming, visual effects, alien designs, and musical scoring.

    Being an “idea man”, Lucas had no plans as he was writing his treatments of what any of the characters and settings in his mind would actually look like in the flesh. He needed conceptual art, and he sought out one of the finest such talents in the field. Ralph McQuarrie was commissioned to provide illustrations for Lucas based on the very earliest drafts of his outline scripts. In doing so, he would fulfill much the same function that Walter “Matt” Jefferies had done for Gene Roddenberry in the planning stages of Star Trek, though his own works tended to lean more in the direction of epic fantasy, transposed into an interstellar setting; different from the “raygun gothic” aesthetic which had informed science-fiction from those halcyon days of the action-adventure serials like Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers, finally culminating with Star Trek. Instead, McQuarrie took inspiration from the visual style of 2001: A Space Odyssey,and later Moonraker,whichhad attempted to copy the actual look and feel of the modern space program as closely as possible; he could then elaborate that style as needed into more technologically advanced settings (despite Lucas borrowing from fairytales in setting the action “once upon a time, in a faraway galaxy” [11]). In particular, he seemed to favour taking dark, ominous castle chambers and narrow pathways flanked by bottomless chasms and making them somehow fit into the grand chambers of space stations or starbases. It was a truly unique look which was, because of its components, somehow very familiar; this was the chord that Lucas hoped to strike constantly in each and every aspect of his production. Now he simply had to bring McQuarrie’s drawings to life.

    Makeup, meanwhile, had quietly undergone a revolution in the past decade, thanks to two seminal films, both released in 1968: Planet of the Apes, with makeup by John Chambers; and 2001, with makeup by Stuart Freeborn. Chambers had been awarded a special Oscar in recognition of the makeup created for the film despite the more convincing work by Freeborn; 2001’s co-writer, Arthur C. Clarke, publicly mused about the Academy assuming that they had hired real ape-men for the famous “Dawn of Man” sequence (and given the control-freak reputation of the film’s director, Stanley Kubrick, it would not have surprised anyone). In the years since, both Chambers and Freeborn had cemented their reputations as trailblazers; both would work on subsequent instalments of the Planet of the Apes franchise, including the television series, which began its run in 1974. (A slightly modified version of the realistic Freeborn ape design had appeared in the 1973 film, Rise of the Planet of the Apes [12], in order to depict the less-advanced specimens of the Ape society in the midst of a civil war). Freeborn would supervise the makeup for Journey of the Force; Jim Henson, meanwhile, was secured to create the puppets. The line between makeup and puppetry was a very fine one indeed, and it continued to shrink with new innovations in both fields, so the two collaborated as needed.

    As with several of the other production duties, the visual effects were left to Desilu Post-Production, and this would certainly have been the case even if Marcia had not been in their employ. The studio maintained the Star Trek legacy (and many of the same personnel who had worked on the series, for that matter), and had secured a reputation as one of the best in the business. They were incredibly experienced with space-opera settings, having also worked on Doctor Who for a number of years in addition to Star Trek, as well as the Galactica and Planet of the Apes programs. A concern for George was whether their television-scale effects could be properly translated to the big screen, but he was pleasantly surprised on this score. Unencumbered by a television budget, and with proven experience stretching the slightest amount of money to the breaking point, the effects designers were able to exceed even the wildest expectations for them, proving the one unqualified triumph of production, in the eyes of both the studio and Lucas himself. The spaceships and interstellar objects were many and varied, but they were all realized with exceptional craft, as befitted a sprawling epic depicting an intergalactic civil war. This was particularly true when it came to the depiction of space battles, which had been inspired by footage from World War II-era dogfights (contemporary, appropriately enough, with the serials which had initially inspired Lucas). Although each model was filmed separately and composited into the frame, this was a seamless and entirely convincing process, which fooled all observers into believing that they were watching a clash of the titans unfold.

    With the “what” and the “how” addressed, the “where” would have to come next. There was no question that the scenes depicting the jungle planet would be filmed in the Dominican Republic, an area in which Bluhdorn had personally invested quite heavily, as his company owned a very large parcel of land there. Many previous films, such as The Godfather Part II, had already been filmed in the area by the time that Journey of the Force had started production. For Lucas, it was a cheaper, more easily controlled setting than the logical alternatives of Central America and the Philippines. [13] Those scenes depicting the desert planet, on the other hand, were filmed at the Algodones Sand Dunes in Imperial County, California, about two hours due east of San Diego along the I-8. The dunes were exceptional terrain for the United States, far more evocative of the endless tracts of the Sahara than anything in the New World, and would seem perfectly “alien” to American audiences. [14] Other desert landscapes, closer to Los Angeles, were also featured, including Death Valley. However, the well-known Vasquez Rocks, colloquially known as “Kirk’s Rock”, were avoided entirely for their association with Star Trek, as it would remind too many audience-goers of various episodes from that series (particularly the one with the Gorn); this was brought to George’s attention through Marcia, as “Kirk’s Rock” had become something of an in-joke at Desilu. Finally, Described as “a planetary fortress, hidden beneath the guise of a simple moon”, but looking for all the world like a heavily-fortified military base on an otherwise-dead celestial body, the “Death Star” outwardly very much resembled the moon bases which had been seen in 2001: A Space Odyssey, or (ironically enough) the famous Star Trek episode, “The Sleepers of Selene”. [15] The plot established that the relatively few and sparse installations poking above the surface were merely the tip of the iceberg; contained within was a vast network of underground facilities, including the engines, which had their only direct connection to the surface in the form of ventilation ducts. The base was “played” by a model, with all “location” shooting done on studio soundstages.

    But for all the exacting prep work that had been done in the run-up to production, the real magic of the big screen was in choosing the actors. They would play the characters with whom the audience was intended to relate, and many other movies had been enhanced – and even rescued – by performances which transcended their surroundings. Surely, Journey of the Force would be no exception on that score, and George screen-tested actors extensively, often with outdated versions of the continually evolving script. Marcia, being an editor, often watched the dailies of these screen-tests with George, as he tried to come to a decision. Despite the relatively low profile of the film, it had attracted no shortage of talent. The deciding factor, it would appear, was in casting for chemistry between the three young leads. After considerable deliberation, with George seeking opinions on a scale even greater than he had done as he was writing early drafts of the script, he finally had his core trio – two boys and a girl.

    Chosen to play the farm-boy hero, Annikin Starwalker, was newcomer William Katt, whose very 1970s hairdo (a long-haired perm) was one of the few contemporary styles allowed to remain largely intact within the film (“This is hardly the only time in history that men have worn their hair long like that,” George mused, whichever however accurate that statement might have been, definitely missed the point). [16] Annikin’s character arc involved him learning that he came from an ancestral line of Jedi-Bendu, an ancient knightly order who were scattered upon the rise of the Empire, and becoming accustomed to the ways of the Force with the help of one of the few surviving practitioners of the art, a wizened old sage. In writing Annikin, Lucas sought to portray the character with a gee-whiz attitude, but Katt hit on a more disillusioned, bitter, and well, rebellious note. The “angry young man” portrayal seemed more authentic to his generation – the contrast between the youth of the rebel characters and the age of the established Imperial ones was an obvious undercurrent throughout the film – and also couldn’t help but evoke the “new generation” feelings that had swept both the United States in general and Hollywood in particular in the previous decade.
    Fittingly, this allowed the character to start out as the proverbial “rebel without a cause”, only to actually find one.

    The devilish rogue, Han Solo, was played by the former child star, Kurt Russell. [17] Having aged into a charming, handsome, and cocksure young man since his days appearing in The One and Only, Genuine, Original Family Band, The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes,and other fluff Disney films of the 1960s, Russell played the character as being far more bark than bite, having a bluster that belied his internal insecurities. The character made an auspicious entry into the film; having been contracted to secure passage into space for Annikin and the sage, he steals a ship (with the help of a non-human crewman) from the boss of the criminal syndicate to which he belongs, finding himself the target of an enormous bounty. Both he and Annikin were very much attracted to Princess Leia, creating a classic love triangle; but his own personal loyalties, including whether or not he was associated with the Rebels, remained an open question throughout the film. In many ways, Solo and his arc resembled that of Rick Blaine, played by the legendary Humphrey Bogart, from the equally legendary film, Casablanca; perhaps no film of the Golden Age of Hollywood had captured the essence of Campbell better than that film.

    Finally, as the Princess Leia of Organa, Karen Allen was chosen for the role over many candidates, some as young as mid-adolescent. [18] Two of the leading child actresses of the day, Jamie Lee Curtis and Jodie Foster, were both under consideration for the role, but the decision was made to choose a twentysomething actress. All three leads – Katt, Russell, and Allen – had been born in 1951, helping them to form a rapport and friendship, on- and off-set. Allen played the Princess as spunky and defiant, completely capable in her role as leader of the rebellion, despite her relative youth, and not the slightest bit intimidated by the imposing old men representing the Empire whom she encountered throughout the film. Solo, clearly impressed by her, acutely notes her “spirit”. Angered at having been captured like a damsel in distress, she engineers their escape from the Death Star once Annikin and Solo are able to break into her cell. The jewelry prominently worn by Princess Leia was amber, in a blatant nod to Amber Lucas, and that eponymous gemstone was depicted throughout, including in the medals which she hands out at the end of the film.

    As Kurt, Russell, and Allen were all born in the same year and were therefore part of the same generation, and all three of their characters were portrayed with a uniform sense of rebellion against the Empire, an allegorical interpretation quickly emerged, and it dominated academic discussion of their characters forever after. It entailed the Baby Boomers and their parents, who had grown up during the Great Depression and then fought in World War II (either on the home front or on the battle front), seeing the United States emerge as a superpower – or an Empire – of its own, whose own actions in foreign politics had been debatable in the decades since. And closer to home, the characters also represented the Movie Brats, a cadre to which Lucas himself belonged; they were among the young turks who had worked to dismantle the last vestiges of the Hollywood Empire (the old studio system) in order to enjoy “the new freedom of the screen”. Just as the rebels hoped to liberate the galaxy, the New Hollywood generation hoped to forever change the filmmaking industry.
    And it was this seemingly innocuous connection, in future years, would easily come to dwarf the others

    Rounding old the core cast was Keye Luke as the wise old sage, who turned out to be knowledgeable in the ways of the Force due to having been a member of the ancient and noble order of Jedi-Bendu. Luke was in many ways an ideal compromise candidate. [19] Like George’s ideal choice, Toshiro Mifune, he was an old-school actor of Asian extraction; indeed, he had appeared in a key role in one of the many franchises (Charlie Chan) which Lucas had been hoping to evoke in his property. Luke was also a fluent English-speaker, which would prove a good deal less complicated than casting Mifune. Though most of the executives at Paramount were fairly reluctant to cast an actor whose glory days had been decades in the past, Hollywood was in the throes of Orientalism at the time, and Luke had kept active through appearances in television as a character actor, so he was “known” to modern audiences. This combination led those in charge to realize that Luke could be a box-office draw, despite his advanced age and minority status (a fatal combination in years past). In a controversial decision, the character was killed off at the end of the second act; Marcia had suggested this plot development to George, as a means of strengthening the dramatic tension and giving weight to the climax of the film (during which time his “ghost” reappears to further counsel Annikin).

    With the major characters recruited, Lucas finally had all of the pieces in place; one of the greatest behind-the-scenes assemblages ever gathered in film history. Production was ready to begin in earnest. He had largely deferred to the talents and suggestions of others up to this point, but now he had the reins. Even those advocates of the collaborativeview on filmmaking had to concede that the actual directing of the film was surely best left to the director, and that was George. Despite being “big picture”-oriented, he did his best to keep the sheer enormity of the situation out of his mind as he gave the order to roll camera. Principal photography began in the Death Valley, shooting location footage representing the desert planet of Utapau, the home of Annikin Starwalker, played by Katt (along with the Algodones Sand Dunes in Imperial County). The location props and practical effects proved finicky to keep in good working order under such dry, sandy conditions; and, indeed, they often failed, which made it hard to stay on schedule. The sheer heat of the California deserts were also not particularly kind to the cast and crew. And unfortunately, the problems only mounted as Lucas went further afield from the watchful eye of those at Paramount Studios. George was a man of pride, this much was obvious; he was hoping to make the movie he had envisioned in his head, but his actors were independent-minded and had ideas of their own. And his cast, much like his crew, had good ideas, which they rightly felt were worth bringing to the attention of their director. Marcia, who was usually on-set, particularly in California, found herself acting as a mediator, working to moderate communications between the two sides. Though she (and their daughter, Amber, who often accompanied them on-set) proved a calming and steady influence on George, she was also very helpful in convincing him that his actors (and cinematographers, and technical crew) were usually onto something good, and that he should try to integrate their suggestions into the shooting as best as possible. Most everyone had problems with the script; George may have been an “idea man”, but a great dialogue writer he most definitely was not. This was actually the principal factor in delays, necessitating retake after retake; lines were extensively re-written on-set, as the previous versions were deemed unmanageable by the actors who tried to deliver them. When coupled with the aforementioned difficulties in the props and effects, it was enough to try anyone’s patience.

    Charles Bluhdorn, who was in fact a man of very little patience, and even less generosity, continued to grow even more agitated at reports of continuing production difficulties on this little pet project of George’s. He was also becoming increasingly vexed at how Ladd had somehow convinced him to take this enormous gamble. But he was running into the same problem that had stymied L.B. Mayer, Jack Warner, and many other studio chiefs before him – his subordinates had just enough power and autonomy to subvert his ultimate authority. Ladd fought long and hard for George Lucas, for he saw great potential in his idea and even believed in it, a peculiar notion indeed for a Hollywood executive. But the negativity went beyond even Paramount Pictures, across the wall to Desilu Productions, which might as well have been co-producing the film, considering the amount of work various branches of the studio was doing for it. Herbert F. Solow, effective head of the post-production house which was being booked solid by Journey of the Force, expressed concern at his studio having been tied to a potential turkey of that magnitude. He brought these concerns to his boss, the face of Desilu, and the person who would wear any potential damage to her studio’s reputation personally: Lucille Ball. It was enough to raise eyebrows from even the notoriously unflappable studio chief, and she sought to discuss terms with her employee, Marcia Lucas, who for obvious reasons functioned as the nerve centre of production at Desilu.

    Ball had a gift for reading people, and Marcia had a gift at winning them over, so it was no surprise that the two got along handsomely. Marcia gently reminded Ball that she had assumed risks on behalf of Desilu before, and that she still had yet to let the studio down. She owed her workplace much, it having hired her when she couldn’t find much work elsewhere in Los Angeles, and she intended to pay it back in full. Ball no doubt saw something in Marcia that she recognized in herself from so many years ago, and from that point forward, she fought long and hard for Marcia Lucas. Still, working on the editing was a trying time. However hands-on Marcia’s role had been during production, she still had some difficulty fathoming all of what remained ahead of her in the editing suite, with nothing more than reels upon reels of film and her Moviola for company. It didn’t help that most of those reels were useless, since many extraneous scenes had been shot that would completely derail the narrative flow if they were to be included. The scenes that George wanted were also not ordered in the optimal fashion, leading Marcia to completely reorganize and restructure scene placement and shot selection, largely of her own accord, though she increasingly worked with George as his other post-production responsibilities were concluded. They would discuss their plans for the edited footage with other members of the production team, with the executives at Paramount, with their friends and fellow filmmakers, and with Marcia’s co-workers at Desilu, where the couple spent increasing amounts of their time – not that anybody saw that much of the couple in person. Their daughter Amber was usually left in the care of various Desilu staffers, most of them joking that they saw far more of Amber, and Amber far more of them, than anyone did George and Marcia! Such was the grueling process of editing, which, to be fair, allowed for instant gratification, and was very much its own reward.

    When the rough cut screening of the film finally took place, after having been delayed multiple times, reactions were all over the place. Most of the crew were very pleased with how the film was turning out, but some of the executives were horrified; only Ball, who had attended the rough cut screening by special invitation, seemed unambiguously pleased with the result, declaring “I liked it!”. Her lieutenant, Solow, was not nearly so enthusiastic. Ladd remained cautiously supportive, but Bluhdorn was livid. Having made his fortune in heavy industry, and being a native Germanophone, he was, granted, perhaps not the best-qualified person to judge the quality of American film. But he knew what he liked, and he did not like what he had seen on the big screen. But the film was largely “in the can” – small changes could be made, and indeed many were, but Bluhdorn knew that he and his studio would ultimately be wedded to what he saw as a sure-fire disaster. Hoping to recoup as much money as possible from this certain flop, he ordered a merchandising blitz from the summer of 1977 through to Christmas of that year. George and Marcia, meanwhile, along with a handful of other key production personnel, continued to work on the film until just days before the scheduled premiere (which would be followed by a limited release).

    By this time, the troubled production of Journey of the Force had become legend in the industry – not helped by the shameless gossip in the trade papers, including both The Hollywood Reporter and Variety, with some going so far as to call it “Lucas’s Folly” – and there was surprise as much as relief when the premiere turned out to be a smash. The limited release was no less exceptional, with word-of-mouth attracting ever-larger audiences, which in turn spurred ever-wider releases. Just in time for the Christmas season, Journey of the Force was playing all over the country. The stores couldn’t keep up with requests for Journey of the Forcetoys, which were flying off the shelves; in turn, the manufacturers couldn’t possibly fill their orders from retailers, creating a shortage which played havoc with the still-recovering economy. Paramount, which had been treading water for years, finally had a bona fide blockbuster to call its own. Charles Bluhdorn couldn’t be happier; his cash cow had finally come home, and thanks to the insidious Hollywood Accounting practices of the entertainment industry, Paramount – and, therefore, Gulf+Western – didn’t have to show a penny in profits. This was unfortunate for Lucas, who had only received scale wages from Paramount in exchange for profit participation, which would naturally never come. This was a truly meagre arrangement, considering the grosses that Journey of the Force was bringing in for Paramount. Once again, Marcia had been more successful than George, having been paid far more handsomely by Desilu for her part in the production (and was even given a very large bonus by Lucille Ball herself the following year). Both of the Lucases were enraged at the unfairness of this situation. Once more, the surprisingly resilient studio empires had managed to strike back at the filmmakers who were merely seeking to assert their independence and maintain their dignity and artistic vision. Much as the confrontation between the Rebellion and the Empire in the film had not ended in a total victory for either side, it was clear that George Lucas and Charles Bluhdorn would resume their dispute another day. However, in spite of his financial woes, George was vindicated; the critics continued to heap plaudits on the film and grosses continued to climb. No more was George Lucas a one-trick pony, and no more was he a mere studio hack. He was a real filmmaker. But he couldn’t have done any of it by himself. As much as certain aspects of the New Hollywood ideal had been justified, others – particularly the auteur theory, so hated by Marcia – had been utterly refuted.

    At the 50th Academy Awards, held on April 3, 1978, Journey of the Force was nominated for numerous awards, including Best Picture, Best Director, Best Original Screenplay, Best Film Editing, and Best Makeup. The continuing controversy over George Lucas and his lack of profit sharing from the film raged, and it didn’t help that Journey of the Force remained in wide release as of Oscar weekend, nearly a full year after it had premiered. An uneasy “truce” was being maintained, with all sides agreeing to play nice for the sake of keeping up the good image of the entertainment industry at this, their most self-congratulatory event; but there was little sign that it would continue beyond it, with Lucasfilm preparing to file litigation. The war between the Rebellion and the Empire had taken on a whole new dimension, indeed. Bob Hope, the Master of Ceremonies, did his best to crack his usual vaguely sarcastic jokes throughout the proceedings, but most presenters – especially those for categories in which Journey of the Force was nominated – were visibly nervous. But that didn’t stop the film from taking home ten Academy Awards, including Best Picture (accepted by Gary Kurtz, a close friend and associate of Lucas) and Best Director (won by Lucas himself). Marcia Lucas received her second Academy Award for Best Film Editing in three years, one of a number of the awards won by Desilu personnel that evening. [20] It was, without question, the triumphant exclamation point to conclude the entire saga that was the making of Journey of the Force. After the ceremonies had concluded, and as the couple departed the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, Marcia Lucas, clearly thrilled at her husband having won his first Academy Award, exclaimed “You did it!” in delight. In response, George Lucas simply smiled and replied “No. We did it.”

    ---

    [1] IOTL, they went to San Francisco, eventually settling in nearby Marin County.

    [2] IOTL, they did not attempt to conceive until much later, and found themselves facing an identical situation; in 1981, after much deliberation, they adopted a baby girl whom they named Amanda. After the divorce, Marcia conceived naturally with her second husband, and George adopted two additional children as the sole parent. ITTL, the “Mini-Boom” and the job security from Desilu encourages them to adopt much earlier in their lives.

    [3] Based from an OTL quote from Milius, believe it or not, which can be found right here.

    [4] As IOTL, more or less, but somewhat less so (it would be hard to make it more so!)

    [5] Verna Fields was credited as the sole editor for Jaws IOTL, and she duly won the Academy Award for Film Editing that year.

    [6] Marcia Lucas was the primary film editor for Martin Scorsese throughout the 1970s IOTL, having first worked with him on Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, to add authenticity to the making of this “woman’s film”. She also worked on Taxi Driver, which does not exist ITTL. Eventually, she was supplanted as his primary editor by another woman, Thelma Schoonmaker, who has won three Oscars in collaboration with him.

    [7] De Laurentiis owned the film rights IOTL, as well, and a Flash Gordon adaptation would not emerge until Star Wars made the market ripe for a ripoff.

    [8] IOTL, he did not revisit The Hero with a Thousand Faces until 1975, well after he had begun writing the early drafts of what would become Star Wars.

    [9] Ladd began working for 20th Century Fox in 1973, IOTL. In that capacity, he approved production of Star Wars.

    [10] IOTL, as everyone knows, George Lucas retained the merchandising rights to Star Wars, which made him a multi-millionaire, and, eventually, a billionaire.

    [11] As opposed to “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away”.

    [12] IOTL, the film was entitled Conquest of the Planet of the Apes.

    [13] The scenes depicting the rebel base orbiting Yavin were filmed in Tikal, Guatemala (a historic site of the Mayan civilization) IOTL.

    [14] The scenes depicting the planet Tatooine were filmed in Tunisia IOTL. However, the Algodones Sand Dunes stood in for Tunisia in the filming of Return of the Jedi.

    [15] This establishes the Death Star as a glorified moon base that acts like a very large vessel, as opposed to a very large vessel which resembles a moon.

    [16] The character of Luke Skywalker was instead portrayed by Mark Hamill IOTL. Katt was in the running for the part, however, and would achieve his most lasting fame appearing as the lead in The Greatest American Hero. Believe it or not!

    [17] As opposed to Harrison Ford, who got the part IOTL as the first step of his one-two punch at screen immortality. Ford does help with casting ITTL however, as he did IOTL. Let’s just assume that, for whatever reason, his greatness is simply muted and cannot shine through. (I told you I wasn’t writing a utopia!)

    [18] And Princess Leia Organa (not of Organa, as IOTL she hailed from the doomed planet of Alderaan) was played IOTL by Carrie Fisher.

    [19] Mifune was sought IOTL, but for whatever reason – sources variously claim that the studio refused to cast a non-English-speaking Asian actor in a major role when there were already so few stars in the film, or that Mifune himself was unavailable – Oscar-winning actor Alec Guinness accepted the role of Obi-Wan Kenobi, which he would regret for the rest of his life. Meanwhile, Luke had been cast as Master Po in Kung Fu, which does not exist ITTL (and he has no equivalent role in The Way of the Warrior).

    [20] Star Wars won seven competitive Academy Awards IOTL: Best Original Score, Best Costume Design, Best Sound Mixing, Best Sound Editing, Best Art Direction, Best Film Editing, and Best Visual Effects. ITTL, in addition to Best Picture and Best Director, the film also wins Best Makeup, an award that IOTL did not yet exist.

    ---

    Special thanks to e of pi, who was effectively the co-writer of this update, having provided suggestions, proofreading, and editing throughout its development. Not to mention the magnificently awful pun of a title! This is how you know you’ve picked a winning collaborator ;) Thanks also to vultan for his advice in the making of this update.

    I apologize for the extreme length of this update, which is much longer than my usual, but a story was rather desperately begging to be told here, and thus this post has emerged as something of a linchpin for the remaining years of this timeline. In writing this timeline, in addition to the help provided by my consultants, I would like to acknowledge two additional references. First of all, the germ of this entire running story is owed almost entirely to a chapter of The Secret History of Star Wars called “In Tribute to Marcia Lucas” , which struck a chord with both e of pi and myself in approaching the character of George Lucas (along with serendipitous RL events that have taken place concerning He with the Flannel and the Beard since I first began writing this timeline). For those of you who are rather more interested in the nitty-gritty plot and storyline details of an alternate Star Wars saga (deliberately left relatively vague here), I behoove you to read
    An Alternate Rise of the Blockbuster, an excellent timeline by ColeMercury.

    That said, if you ever wanted to see how Star Wars might have looked with William Katt and Kurt Russell, here is an excellent place to start.

    And thus concludes the 1977-78 cycle! :eek: Thank you all so much for reading and for commenting.
     
    Last edited:
    1978-79: Jockeying for Position
  • Jockeying For Position (1978-79)

    Every day, I thank God for my movie studio.

    – Charles Bluhdorn, Head of Gulf+Western Industries (owner of Paramount Pictures), April 4, 1978 [1]

    It had been a long time in coming, but the industry was still abuzz with the formal re-teaming of Lucille Ball and her one-time protégée, Carol Burnett. The latter’s variety show, a bulwark of the genre for over a decade, had come to an end in 1978. However, both she and her husband, Joe Hamilton, sought to land on their feet, and they were agreed that the ideal way to do so was to find a new vehicle for her many talents. By the end of the show’s run, a number of its sketches had become popular, but none more so than “The Family”, which starred Burnett as Eunice Harper Wilkins [2] and Vicki Lawrence as her grumpy, wisecracking “Mama”. In early sketches, prior to his departure from the series, Harvey Korman had played Ed Wilkins, Eunice’s husband; the two were subsequently divorced in the later sketches. Tim Conway and, later, Dick Van Dyke, generally played associates of Ed’s, but they were of lesser importance to the sketches, however much Conway in particular attempted to derail them with his raucous ad libbing. The other Harper children, particularly Roddy McDowall as Philip and Betty White as Ellen, appeared frequently, despite those actors having other regular series commitments at the time (with Planet of the Apes and Mary Tyler Moore, respectively). As the 1978-79 season commenced, both McDowall and White were out of work; their shows having also come to an end. The stars, it seemed, had truly aligned. The VP Production for Desilu, Brandon Tartikoff, seemed to like the idea of producing a
    “Family” spinoff. [3]

    The name of this prospective series was changed to Eunice, as “The Family” was deemed too similar to the contemporary domestic drama series, Family. Burnett, Lawrence, McDowall, and White were all tapped to star, with Korman agreeing to make occasional appearances – he would also direct for the series, alongside Desilu mainstay Leonard Nimoy, who appreciated the decision to continue with a stage-play approach to the material. Fred Silverman at ABC – who, per the agreement with the studio, was given right of first refusal over all Desilu projects – had no interest in the pilot; but it went over very well at NBC, where it was quickly sold and would premiere in the following season, just in time to replace The Questor Tapes on the studio roster. Gene Roddenberry, that show’s creator and executive producer, had naturally been given a fair shake at making another pitch, but his one half-baked idea was dismissed by Tartikoff as “ripping off an episode from The Twilight Zone, just with funnier-looking aliens”; the executive countered with a suggestion for a “Fort Apache in space” concept instead. [4] Roddenberry then spent the rest of the season working on it. Meanwhile, while her new show was in development, Burnett appeared on The Muppet Show; she had been a fan ever since it had first premiered. [5] Apart from Questor, Desilu continued to see remarkable success, with their three marquee shows (Rock Around the Clock, Three’s Company, and The Muppet Show) all remaining in the Top 10, lengthening a remarkable streak for the studio. However, Rock fell out of the #1 spot after three consecutive seasons, having been displaced by the nigh-unstoppable breakaway hit Richard Pryor Show.


    Pryor and the Muppets were the two highest-rated variety shows on American television, despite neither really being a proper example of the genre. However, the casts and crews of the two programs enjoyed a friendly rivalry that started during this season; The Muppet Show had cast the first stone when, after the raucous character of Animal engaged in some particularly outrageous antics during a sketch, Kermit the Frog memorably chastised him with “Who do you think you are, Robin Williams?” From that point forward, the game was afoot. Among the more prominent recurring characters on the second season of Pryor, created in response to this one-off gag, were a group of puppets described, variously, as the “Muffets”, the “Moppets”, and the “Mullets”; fittingly, their hairstyles were increasingly ridiculous (which doubled as a send-up of the notorious coifs which so defined late-1970s fashion); the Muppets in turn retaliated by featuring some particularly cheaply-made puppets, with the
    “real” Muppets behooving them to “get back to the Pryor show”. But it was no surprise that the Muppets had name-checked Williams specifically, despite Pryor quite literally being the nominal star of the show. The anarchic, hyperactive Williams was a natural attention-grabber, with only Pryor himself seeming able to match his intensity. It was more than likely that both of these gentlemen were only able to achieve their onscreen temperaments with… chemical assistance. The otherwise quite able supporting cast were largely left in the dust of the two male leads; most of them, to their credit, handled this sidelining with consummate professionalism, which was in many ways more than could be said for either Pryor or Williams.

    Paramount Television, much as had been the case at the dawn of the decade, was seeing most of its big premieres fly increasingly under the radar. Though not for lack of trying; the muse of the studio, Mary Tyler Moore, quite infamously attempted to make lightning strike twice when she branched into starring in an ill-fated variety program named Mary; her sweetness and wholesomeness stood out like a sore thumb against the mounting irreverence of the competition, and her show crashed and burned, becoming one of the signature flops of the season. More embarrassingly, on a personal note, it also served to end the practice of nicknaming Paramount Television “the House that Mary Built”, an obvious aping of the popular nickname for Desilu at the time (which was, itself, fading out of fashion as the dominance of those shows produced by Have Gun – Will Travel writers was coming to an end). Perhaps the relative anonymity secured by the other Paramount show to premiere in the 1978-79 season was more desirable for the studio. WMTM in Cincinnati [6] was devised by Hugh Wilson, who based the premise – a new station manager hired to run an over-the-hill radio station – on his own experiences working in that medium. The titular WMTM station played “beautiful music”, one of the defining popular genres of the 1970s, perhaps unfairly maligned in certain corners; however, the format was changed to rock-and-roll at the insistence of the new manager. This allowed the show to play hit songs of the genre, more-or-less on demand; in an uncharacteristic act of foresight, studio executives made sure to licence the rights to these songs in perpetuity, inspired by Desilu and their consistent track record in syndication and, more recently, in their pioneering CED venture with RCA. [7] WMTM failed to clear the Top 30 for the season, but ratings with those precious and valuable demographics who did watch were more just about sufficient to justify continued production; this despite the fact that many higher-ups at Paramount were not particularly fond of the series.

    Meanwhile, Taxi Drivers continued to draw critical plaudits on par with the most beloved exemplars from the studio’s roster of character sitcoms, despite just barely managing to place within the Top 30 for the season. As with WMTM, though, it was especially popular with the right kinds of viewers, despite its overall limited success. As far as established hits went, the irrepressible Rhoda remained in the Top 10, with Valerie Harper, the show’s star, becoming the highest-paid actor (male or female) on television. (It helped on that score that Carroll O’Connor, the previous record-holder for Those Were the Days, had seen his show end in the previous season). Her one-time Mary Tyler Moore co-star Ed Asner continued to hold down his own fort, with Lou Grant maintaining respectable ratings, much on par with those once held by its mother series. Despite their shared origins, the odds of a crossover happening between the two programs were virtually nil – it was hard to find two shows in the Paramount stable that were more divergent, despite their shared success. It wasn’t a whole lot, but it was all that Paramount Television had to offer. Tentative plans to air some form of continuation to Journey of the Force, perhaps in the form of a holiday special, were nixed by none other than George Lucas, who refused to condone such a blatant cash grab as long as none of said cash would be filling his coffers. Despite the triumphant example of the Star Trek miniseries in the previous season, Paramount could offer no rebuttal. Charles Bluhdorn wasn’t seen to mind too much, however, having largely written off his television division as unprofitable – quite literally, in fact. The Journey of the Force revenues had to be frittered away somewhere.

    Speaking of Carol Burnett and of Those Were the Days, Penny Marshall, who had played Gloria Bunker-Higgins in the latter show, had decided to start her own production company, Lucky Penny Productions. She used it to pitch her own sitcom – with the help of some scribes formerly in the employ of Tandem Productions, particularly their token woman writer, Linda Bloodworth [8] – which would feature Marshall as a blue-collar worker, a single, mature woman making an honest living in a traditionally male occupation. Marshall was particularly interested in directing for the series, as well as starring in it; she had never gotten the opportunity to do so on Those Were the Days, which she often derisively described as a “boys’ club”. Carroll O’Connor himself, in later years, would admit that they really had no idea what to make of women’s issues, choosing to focus on racial and class-based topics instead, and largely deferring to Marshall (and later Bloodworth). Her new show was due to premiere in the following season.

    The 1978-79 season largely saw the decline of variety programming outside of the (parodical) Muppet Show and (the sketch-comedy-oriented) Richard Pryor; “traditional” shows were virtually moribund, even notwithstanding the example of Mary. Donny and Marie, a breakout hit not two years before, would not see the end of the season; the heartthrob lead, Donny Osmond, had married young (as was the wont of Mormon faithful), which had catastrophic effects on the female viewing audience of his program. And just as a marriage had hobbled the success of one variety show, divorce had hobbled the success of another; in earlier years, The Sonny and Cher Show had proven utterly unable to survive the dissolution of the union between its stars, with abortive attempts at revivals (which Cher, rather than Sonny, headlined) going nowhere fast.

    It was fast becoming clear as the 1970s drew to a close that the one producer whose destiny would be firmly tied to (and, consequently, left behind in) that decade was Norman Lear. His Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman parody had gone off the air, leaving him with only two shows – Moving on Up and One Day at a Time – still running. Despite their topical premises – nouveau riche black family and single mother raising her children, respectively – the overall execution was generally apolitical; Moving on Up star Sherman Hemsley was increasingly disdainful of his character’s racism and felt that it should have faded after constant exposure to the mixed-race couple that were his son’s in-laws. Meanwhile, One Day at a Time found the cast hijacked by the presence of a kooky comic relief handyman character, who quickly became a breakout hit with the audience; the single mother was also sidelined by her attractive young daughters, who became very popular with young male viewers, for all the obvious reasons.

    Despite the ultimate failure of Mary Hartman, fellow soap opera parody Soap continued to remain in the Top 30. In fact, the genre was catching on so insidiously that producers began to develop serious soap operas to debut on primetime television in the coming seasons. Indeed, even those shows that were not explicitly melodramatic did not shy away from the frothy, the sublime, and the ridiculous. Muted realism was on the way out, much as it had driven the madcap, surreal, and escapist shows of the late-1960s out of the picture beforehand. In fact, it was not the least bit surprising that the more lighthearted programming of yesteryear could recapture the popular imagination, considering that so many 1960s classics remained on the airwaves, in syndication. Desilu SEVP Herbert F. Solow was heard to remark that, as far he was concerned, in many ways it was “still the 1960s” – Star Trek was ubiquitous in syndication, and Mission: Impossible was only rare by comparison with its sister series. The many shows produced at Desilu by other companies – The Andy Griffith Show, The Dick Van Dyke Show, and Hogan’s Heroes among them – were also mainstays of the airwaves.

    Overall, ABC remained the ratings champion once again in the 1978-79 season, with fifteen shows in the Top 30, good for fully half of the roster. The Alphabet Network also managed to pull off this feat within the Top 10, with five shows on that list. In second place was NBC, with an equitable ten shows in the Top 30; the Peacock Network also hit at par in the Top 10, with three shows there, including The Richard Pryor Show at #1. Finally, CBS continued to lag behind, this season falling to a precariously low position; only five of their shows appeared in the Top 30, though they repeated their feat from the previous season in securing two spots in the Top 10 – in fact, they were the very same shows
    : 60 Minutes and Rhoda. In fact, the Top 10 proved surprisingly static in general; not a single new show joined the upper echelon this season. [9]

    At the Emmy Awards that year, Taxi Drivers surprisingly won the Emmy for Outstanding Comedy Series; most observers had expected Captain Miller (which pulled in much better ratings, and was about as critically acclaimed) to repeat. Then again, the Emmys were known for their patronage of quality shows with problematic ratings; that ceremony, perhaps more than any other single source, had helped rescue Those Were the Days from oblivion in its infancy. Miller, meanwhile, was allowed a very fine consolation prize of Outstanding Lead Actor for its star, Hal Linden. Soap also won two acting Emmys: Lead Actress went to Katherine Helmond and Supporting Actor to Robert Guillaume. The two actors, who were good friends in real life, memorably embraced backstage as they held their awards; the picture would headline the entertainment section in most newspapers the following morning, with Baba Wawa on the Today Show describing it as “a heartwarming moment”. Outstanding Drama Series was awarded to Lou Grant, in a double-whammy for Paramount; the star, Ed Asner, won for Outstanding Lead Actor. Outstanding Variety Series, obviously, went to The Richard Pryor Show; Robin Williams also won an Emmy for his performance on the program. Williams, a notorious ad-libber, courted controversy when, accepting his award, he asked if the Academy was planning to give him one for his “writing” as well. (They weren’t.) [10] His remarks stirred their fair share of ire from the higher-ups, but in many ways, the studios had bigger fish to fry…

    ---

    [1] The night before, Journey of the Force won Best Picture, the second for the studio in the 1970s (after Chinatown). For contextual reference: Bluhdorn is quoted as saying this largely in response to the disappointing performance of the television division of his company, which, recall, he had to build from scratch.

    [2] The name “Higgins” was used IOTL for Michael and Gloria on Those Were the Days, another CBS show. Wilkins was chosen instead; it shared a similarity with that of another Burnett character, Mrs. Wiggins (as Higgins obviously did and does), while at the same time being different enough from the already-used name on the other show.

    [3] IOTL, “The Family” sketches did spin-off into a reasonably popular sitcom called Mama’s Family, though Vicki Lawrence’s character of “Mama” Thelma Harper was the star, and Carol Burnett’s Eunice appeared in only a handful of episodes (all before the show was initially cancelled, and later revived in first-run syndication); this was because of the acrimonious divorce taking place contemporaneously between Burnett and her then-husband, Joe Hamilton, who received the rights to the “Family” characters and situations. However, prior to the launch of Mama’s Family in 1982, Burnett had attempted to launch her own take on the characters, which was somewhat truer to the original sketches; this didn’t get any farther than a one-off special, entitled Eunice, which aired in 1981. As far as I know, this special was never repeated, nor released on home video – but fortunately, some enterprising viewer used one of his newfangled VTR machines to record the whole thing and, as of this writing, it is available on YouTube.

    [4] This half-baked idea would indeed develop into the first of Roddenberry’s two OTL posthumous series, Earth: Final Conflict. Meanwhile, “Fort Apache in space” was a term used (by analogy with the famous “Wagon Train to the Stars”) to describe an OTL spinoff of Star Trek which was set almost exclusively at a space station (later seasons did feature a starship on which some actual trekking was done); it may not surprise you to learn that Tartikoff himself was involved with the development of that series.

    [5] Burnett also appeared on an episode of The Muppet Show in 1980 IOTL, which won an Emmy for its writing.

    [6] IOTL, the show was known as WKRP in Cincinnati – MTM (named, of course, after Mary Tyler Moore) comes from name of the studio which produced it, which obviously does not exist ITTL, allowing those letters to be used here instead. For those who are unaware, the first letter, the W, is standard in all television and radio call signs in the United States, east of the Mississippi River (K is used west of it), though there are exceptions. Most stations use four letters, though a few have three instead.

    [7] Yes, this means that WMTM, and all future shows with a reliance on copyrighted music, will be able to retain the originally-used recordings on home video.

    [8] Bloodworth (later, Bloodworth-Thomason) got her big break IOTL writing for M*A*S*H, which never became a television series ITTL; therefore, she decided to hitch her wagon to the Tandem stable, fulfilling much the same role on the writing staff there that she did on M*A*S*H (avid fans of that show may notice a complete turnaround in the character of Hot-Lips; she is largely responsible). IOTL, she went on to create Designing Women, and her company produced several other programs of the early 1990s.

    [9] IOTL, ABC had a whopping 17 shows in the Top 30 (of which an even more impressive seven finished within the Top 10); CBS had nine shows in the Top 30, and the remaining three in the Top 10; and NBC managed to maintain a mere four slots in the Top 30. Their highest-rated show was Little House on the Prairie, at #14. The #1 show on the air was Laverne and Shirley, on ABC, for the second consecutive season.

    [10] Those wins IOTL which did match those of TTL were as follows: Carroll O’Connor won for Lead Actor in a Comedy Series (for All in the Family); Ruth Gordon won for Lead Actress in a Comedy Series (for Taxi); Ron Leibman won for
    Lead Actor in a Drama Series (for Kaz); Outstanding Variety Series went to Steve and Eydie Celebrate Irving Berlin (what can I say? The category was largely adrift by this point IOTL); and Individual Performance in a Variety or Music Program, which went to Robin Williams ITTL, was not awarded that year (nor until 1984, in fact) IOTL. Prior to 1979, the category was split according to gender, ITTL and IOTL.

    ---

    Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to our final full cycle of the 1970s! It seems that I describe virtually every season as one of transition – such is the case in a fluid medium like television. It may be hard to believe in our age of instant gratification and information moving at the speed of light, but once upon a time, television was the most topical medium available; with the technological advances that will make themselves known in the coming years, that will become even more apparent.

    These coming updates are going to be… denser than in cycles past, part of the reason why this overview seems far more laden with foreshadowing and tantalizing hints than usual. I must admit, it brings me a great deal of relief, because when I first started writing this timeline, lo those many moons ago, I was worried that I might run out of topics to discuss by the time we got here. On the contrary, now I’m hoping to find room for it all! But worry not; I’ll manage ;)
     
    Top