A Plethora of Angles

AN ANCIENT RELATION of mine insists from out there in her dotage that the shadows on the television screen can see her (e.g., “Why, there’s Les Crane! I haven’t seen him in years—I wonder if he remembers me?”). For the time being, at least, she’s mistaken—although the network executives think they can hear us—chortling, chuckling, tittering, gasping, groaning, snoring and otherwise reacting to their nightly fare. My own position on The Ratings is one of surly churlishness: I keep wishing they’d call me, that I might spoil their pretty curves. But, stay! Those mysterious charts have sent the programmers into frenzies hitherto undreamed of. This year’s “second season,” which will be underway by the time this reaches print, is blessed by the absence of such ratings-chart losers as Roger Miller (dumbness!), that painful Garry Moore hour, the execrable Run, Buddy, Run and 12 O’Clock High, which should have been permitted a dignified death at the close of the 1965-66 season. My own nominee for the absolutely worst show of the season, Its About Time (these two astronauts get stranded in this prehistoric era, see, and there’s all these funny cavemen, see, and one of them is Imogene Coca, see . . .) is faring badly in the ratings and will probably not be renewed in 1967-68. To be sure, the replacements include what promises to be the usual share of pap—including The Invaders, yet another unscience-fiction effort; a revival of Dragnet (why is television so necrophilic?), a bundle of cheapie game shows and two spoofish super-heroes of the comic book persuasion, Mr. Terrific and Captain Nice. But the last-mentioned could be sleepers, similar to that secretly-for-grownups daytime cartoon, Roger Ramjet. CBS gives the Smothers Brothers another chance in an hour variety format which, hopefully, will display them to better advantage than did last year’s constricting situation comedy. And best of all, The Avengers, a British import which was the surprise rage of the summer replacements, will return to ABC Friday nights—because, the network confesses with unwonted candor, of pressure from viewers. From this early vantage point, the second half of this TV season looks like more of the same, with an occasional bright spot.

ON CLOSER EXAMINATION, this season’s midway shakeup turns out to be the most extensive in recent years, with 25 of the 49 prime-time half-hour slots affected by replacements or time shifts. Of the 33 new series launched last September, fully a dozen have been axed—a record mortality rate. Of those new series, a i es Se a Aee | aesads alalhs lal = sre een eps ma —— — ——3 mere three emerged on top of the ratings in their time periods: Iron Horse, Family Affair, and Tarzan. ABC, the network which committed itself most heavily to new shows last fall, has since run a consistent poor third in the Nielsens; NBC and CBS, which relied on old standbys and movies instead of new material, have been far ahead, fighting for first place. Of course, statistics can be used to prove anything—witness the three networks’ public clamorings—but it should be noted that in the first three months of this season, network specials earned an average Nielsen of 22.4 (whatever in the world that’s supposed to mean), telecast movies rated 20.7 and conventional series, only 17.5. It may be grasping at straws, but maybe, just possibly, a number of people enjoy watching something other than episodic infant formula. Anyway, whatever the occult significance of the three-way horserace may be, the “second season” shuffle indicates that television once again seeks a New Angle. In this connection, viewers with obstinately long memories will recall that the 1966-67 season was supposed to mark the coming of Serious Drama to video. That was in another land, folks, and the wench is dead: NBC and Xerox have dropped the six Theater Festival specials scheduled for this spring; CBS Playhouse premieres in February and bows out in March after a stunning total of two appearances; The Glass Menagerie ran in December; Ivanov will be aired in June, and the less said about ABC’s Stage 67, the better. Drama seems -to be out; if the networks manage to escape from the serial ratrace, they will succeed only in hanging themselves up on some other hook: perhaps movies or perhaps . . . worse. Movies on television are all very well, but the networks, with their sad penchant for overdoing, now offer them six nights a week with the recent addition of ABC’s Wednesday night film. So insatiable has the programmers’ lust for movies become, that films are now being made expressly for network airing, with the hope that high production costs can be recouped through subsequent screening in theaters abroad and, perhaps, here. The first such product of the present season, Fame is the Name of the Game, did dandily in the ratings last November: NBC will air eight more such this year, and has a long-range contract for thirty. Can the momentum be sustained? One suspects that too heavy a diet of films will soon pall, and new alarms will be heard in the networks’ offices as yet another New Angle is sought—because who dares to hope that television will ever. settle down enough to offer an agreeably various array of refreshing material?

CS

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C. H. Simonds

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AN ANCIENT RELATION of mine insists from out there in her dotage that the shadows on the television screen can see her (e.g., “Why, there’s Les Crane! I haven’t seen him in years—I wonder if he remembers me?”). For the time being, at least, she’s mistaken—although the network executives think they can hear us—chortling, chuckling, tittering, gasping, groaning, snoring and otherwise reacting to their nightly fare. My own position on The Ratings is one of surly churlishness: I keep wishing they’d call me, that I might spoil their pretty curves. But, stay! Those mysterious charts have sent the programmers into frenzies hitherto undreamed of. This year’s “second season,” which will be underway by the time this reaches print, is blessed by the absence of such ratings-chart losers as Roger Miller (dumbness!), that painful Garry Moore hour, the execrable Run, Buddy, Run and 12 O’Clock High, which should have been permitted a dignified death at the close of the 1965-66 season. My own nominee for the absolutely worst show of the season, Its About Time (these two astronauts get stranded in this prehistoric era, see, and there’s all these funny cavemen, see, and one of them is Imogene Coca, see . . .) is faring badly in the ratings and will probably not be renewed in 1967-68. To be sure, the replacements include what promises to be the usual share of pap—including The Invaders, yet another unscience-fiction effort; a revival of Dragnet (why is television so necrophilic?), a bundle of cheapie game shows and two spoofish super-heroes of the comic book persuasion, Mr. Terrific and Captain Nice. But the last-mentioned could be sleepers, similar to that secretly-for-grownups daytime cartoon, Roger Ramjet. CBS gives the Smothers Brothers another chance in an hour variety format which, hopefully, will display them to better advantage than did last year’s constricting situation comedy. And best of all, The Avengers, a British import which was the surprise rage of the summer replacements, will return to ABC Friday nights—because, the network confesses with unwonted candor, of pressure from viewers. From this early vantage point, the second half of this TV season looks like more of the same, with an occasional bright spot.

ON CLOSER EXAMINATION, this season’s midway shakeup turns out to be the most extensive in recent years, with 25 of the 49 prime-time half-hour slots affected by replacements or time shifts. Of the 33 new series launched last September, fully a dozen have been axed—a record mortality rate. Of those new series, a i es Se a Aee | aesads alalhs lal = sre een eps ma —— — ——3 mere three emerged on top of the ratings in their time periods: Iron Horse, Family Affair, and Tarzan. ABC, the network which committed itself most heavily to new shows last fall, has since run a consistent poor third in the Nielsens; NBC and CBS, which relied on old standbys and movies instead of new material, have been far ahead, fighting for first place. Of course, statistics can be used to prove anything—witness the three networks’ public clamorings—but it should be noted that in the first three months of this season, network specials earned an average Nielsen of 22.4 (whatever in the world that’s supposed to mean), telecast movies rated 20.7 and conventional series, only 17.5. It may be grasping at straws, but maybe, just possibly, a number of people enjoy watching something other than episodic infant formula. Anyway, whatever the occult significance of the three-way horserace may be, the “second season” shuffle indicates that television once again seeks a New Angle. In this connection, viewers with obstinately long memories will recall that the 1966-67 season was supposed to mark the coming of Serious Drama to video. That was in another land, folks, and the wench is dead: NBC and Xerox have dropped the six Theater Festival specials scheduled for this spring; CBS Playhouse premieres in February and bows out in March after a stunning total of two appearances; The Glass Menagerie ran in December; Ivanov will be aired in June, and the less said about ABC’s Stage 67, the better. Drama seems -to be out; if the networks manage to escape from the serial ratrace, they will succeed only in hanging themselves up on some other hook: perhaps movies or perhaps . . . worse. Movies on television are all very well, but the networks, with their sad penchant for overdoing, now offer them six nights a week with the recent addition of ABC’s Wednesday night film. So insatiable has the programmers’ lust for movies become, that films are now being made expressly for network airing, with the hope that high production costs can be recouped through subsequent screening in theaters abroad and, perhaps, here. The first such product of the present season, Fame is the Name of the Game, did dandily in the ratings last November: NBC will air eight more such this year, and has a long-range contract for thirty. Can the momentum be sustained? One suspects that too heavy a diet of films will soon pall, and new alarms will be heard in the networks’ offices as yet another New Angle is sought—because who dares to hope that television will ever. settle down enough to offer an agreeably various array of refreshing material?