ABC'S FRIDAY NIGHT
LINEUP OF DOOM

On a Friday night in January 1997, cable TV's Nick At Nite ran a recreation of ABC's legendary early seventies Friday night lineup. 1972, to quote their number. I actually watched that lineup of doom every Friday night back then, so I tuned in with great interest. What sort of wild echoes from my childhood might come slamming back at me? Sure, most of these shows have been around in reruns somewhere or other ever since their first-run days, but what would it be like to see them joined back together, crashing down like titanic dominoes -- a severely seventies tag team, complete with commercials from the same era? Here's how it went...

The Brady Bunch. I used to call them the Bratty Bunch. They made me ill when they were first-run and I was a kid. They still have the same effect. Obviously, the pop-cult fascination with this show doesn't quite carry through for me (although the movie version was sort of amusing -- I found the devotion of Marcia's unrequited girlfriend touching). The jokes are witless, but fail to reach the idiot savant genius of Ernie Bushmiller's Nancy comics. The storylines seem to have been set up by toddlers playing some sort of Sherwood Schwartz plot-generation board-game. This is the episode where Marcia gets Davy Jones to sing at her school's prom. Tough times for the designated cute Monkee. Jeepers, a gay joke... where'd this pop out from? Marcia's pretending to be a boy, and with Greg along for backup, manages to stalk her way into Davy's hotel room. When his manager spills the beans about the location of Davy's recording session, Marcia loses control and gives Greg a smooch as she runs off to intercept her hard up hero. This raises the eyebrows of the manager, while Greg mugs painfully. Meanwhile, that's a pretty cheap looking studio Davy's recording his latest single in, but I guess after the Monkees bit the banana he had to go with what he got, bless 'im (yeah, I'm muddling real and reel here -- see? these shows are already disorienting me). And of course, Marcia gets her way by the end, as the Brattys (sorry) Bradys always do. What else can I say? It's the Brady Bunch. Well, the instrumental version of the theme song under the closing credits is actually kind of cool.

The Partridge Family. Now this is far superior to the Bratty Bunch. There's some actual wit in the writing, better acting and guitars to look at. And young Master Bonaduce is a welcome cynical presence (especially in the wake of the preceding half hour). It also strikes me that the Partridge take on bubblegum music, with quasi-baroque flourishes a-plenty, is kind of interesting (I Think I Love You was arranged by Billy Strange -- along with many other credits in a long career, he was involved in most of Nancy Sinatra's prime singles). Funny thing, now that I'm older, Shirley Jones (in 1972) is looking better to me than Susan Dey -- whose mouth structure still scares me. Anyway, wow! This is an episode I actually remember enjoying a lot in first run. Their wacky manager, Reuben, gets them booked on a benefit for an Air Force Base (since when do they need benefit concerts?!?) and foists an awful gal singer on them for the occasion -- she's the radio station owner's daughter, you see (some twisted, nepotistic payola scam -- in reality, the Partridges would have fired Reuben long ago). But this girl's a real honey, so of course, Keith goes gaga over her and thinks she sings great. Farcical schemes cribbed from Shakespeare follow, and by the time the credits roll, we even manage a surprise ending. Plus, the Partridges perform the somewhat garagey tune, I Woke Up In Love This Morning (on the subtext level, a snappy ode to nocturnal emissions). Good fun.

Room 222. Wow! Haven't seen this in actual decades. Very groovy. A sort of dramedy, ten years before they came up with the term. Yes, this is the show with the white kid with the big red-headed afro. In another I'm getting old note, I find these sanitized hippy kids annoying and (some of) the teachers cool. Then again, I thought Lloyd Haynes (history teacher, Pete Dixon) was cool back when I was a kid, too. He's just plain cool. I wonder whatever happened to him? And hey! Sanitized hippy kids always were annoying, so forget that old stuff. The acoustic guitar and recorder-led opening theme has echoed in my head ever since those days. Hearing it again is...wicked. And how could I forget Karen Valentine? So what happens in this one? Slick operator, Herbie (played by young Bruno Kirby), is exploiting the school and fellow students with numerous quick-buck schemes. He finally goes too far and sees the light (sort of), after a girl takes the rap for a ticket scam he ran. What a jerk. We want more of the red afro boy!

The Odd Couple. Well, this is a whole other kettle of fish. This was the reliable grown-up anchor in a youth-oriented schedule. It also has an entirely different feel to what has gone before. With the proviso that this is mere grind-it-out sitcom stuff, there is a NYC wise-guy attitude to the writing, which never hurts. A lot of people hold this up as a real classic, but I'm not sure how far I can go with that, although I was a devoted viewer at the time. Whenever I see it now -- even though Klugman and Randall usually make it work with their punch-press performances -- it all feels a bit constricted. Oscar's a slob -- Felix is an obsessive-compulsive -- let's lock 'em in a room and watch 'em fight. Sort of a cock-fight with dialog by Neil Simon's assistant. I'm probably being a little unfair. This is not an especially hot episode: Felix finally has surgery on his honkin' septum, even though he's scared. Oscar snaps his Achilles' tendon and finds himself stuck in the same hospital room as Felix. Laughter ensues! Place your bets, gentlemen. And dig the snazzy jazz lounge organ cues on the soundtrack.

Love American Style. Now here's a real pop-cult blast for you. This watering hole for TV character actors is pure kitsch, right down to its set designs (dig the mod furniture!). And what actors they have on tap! This episode includes such luminaries as Paul Lynde, Agnes Moorehead, Richard Deacon, Van Johnson, Sue Ane Langdon and (reverently now) Bob Crane. Step back. And here's more theme music that engraved itself deeply into my defenseless, young brain cells. Ouch. There's the little filler gags that aren't really very funny. They seem like discards from Laugh-In. And what happens in the anthology stories on this one? Gosh, it's all a blur at this point. I see Paul Lynde as a guest who would not leave, haunting a newly married couple who want to get rid of him so they can... you know... light the lava lamp. Here's Bob Crane juggling two women in an outdoor cafe that looks like a leftover set from some fake-Europe kind of movie. I'm sure Bob would want us to remember him like this. Ook! I see Richard Deacon getting all groovy and stuff. Eek! I don't want to see any more.

The Commercials. Now this is the biggest kick of all. Other than many promos for Nick at Nite's TV Land cable channel (the entire evening is basically one big promo for it), all ads are vintage. Way out and fascinating. Some remembered standards (the "some spicy meatballs" Alka Seltzer ad and "Mikey won't eat it" Life cereal ad -- the ad that ruined my young life, I might add) and some superior obscurities. The most striking thing is that many of them have no music, except for a quick cue at the end, maybe. Very refreshing compared to today's ads which pound away at you from every possible direction -- every molecule of audio and visual space filled in. These ads take their time more, and the humor tends to be wittier than your current Gen-X-treme Menthos-moron ads. I really like the singing deli sandwiches. Now, they would be computer animated and dancing all over the kitchen, waggling their crusts to some fake whitebread hip-hop beat. In 1972, they just rig some sandwiches up with string and flap their yaps in a little puppet theatre. It's downright charming. And check out that animated nude Herbal Essence ad with the soft psychedelic music in the background. Yow! A little slice o' sensuous serenity.

So I made it through with no more damage than I had to begin with. Some things matched up with my memories, some played out differently. Even through this strange window, the early Seventies were an era more complex than they are portrayed today. Sure, the Partridge Family were doing their thing, but don't forget: Iggy and The Stooges were out there at the same time. I don't know if they had a bus with a pseudo-Mondrian paint job, but it’s a valid question.

© 1997 M.Ace

Kulture Links:

The Unofficial Brady Bunch Homepage seems to be chock-full of Brady baggage.
Encyclopedia Brady is a work in progress, but already has enough content to scare me.
The Brady Bunch: Internet Resources supplies even more Bradyness.
C'mon, Get Happy!, the "unofficial" Partridge Family page is way better than the "official" page.
It's Partridgemania!
A Cassidy emphasis at David Cassidy and The Partridge Family.
Right here at OOK -- Joe Jack Talcum's true-life tale of Meeting Danny Bonaduce.
Pages about Room 222 here, here, here and here.
The Odd Couple Homepage.
Jump The Shark debates when The Odd Couple did or didn't Jump The Shark.
Love American Style stuff.
The Cowsills sang the opening theme of Love American Style. Please make them stop.
Are you experienced? The Bob Crane Experience.
Advertising Age's History of TV Advertising includes the 70's (of course).
And here's a little tribute to Piet Mondrian.