I don’t think there’s been an episode of Lou Grant that made me feel the gulf in years between then and now more than this week. The Trib is facing running at a loss within a year and Mrs Pynchon is looking at ways to turning the situation around. The way is automation, of the presses, but at the cost of 200 jobs. The Union won’t agree one. The result is a strike. Lou Grant, as a lifelong Union man, is torn because, as Management, he has to be on the other side of the divide.
It was a very odd experience to watch this. It was so completely reflective of its era, and it was a sign of how far I’ve absorbed the present era management-dictated situation that I so easily accepted the management position. It was easy to see, from the perspective of 2020, that the Union were on the wrong side of history, that they were fighting against improvement, against efficiency, against better ways of doing things. They wanted to keep things in the past.
Yet they were also fighting for people, men and women with families dependent upon their wage. The paper was bending over backwards to accommodate those who would be affected, but there was a strong element of people not wanting to change. The old line about jobs guaranteed for life was used.
Of course, based on the Bitish experience of Print Unions, which were notorious for featherbedding, I couldn’t help but query how mny of those 200 people had real jobs: that was something the episode didn’t go near. There was Management’s line, represented by hotshot business advisor Bart Franklin (a young and not altogether recognisable Ray Wise), and there was the Union line and neither was subjected to any external, and potentially objective line.
The resolution came after at least three weeks of a near all-out strike when Mrs Pynchon forced Franklin off the negotiations; after all, as Lou had already seen, his goal was to crush the Union and hers to save the paper for as many as was possible. The compromise was a sixteen-strong composers room, which was quite a way down from twenty-five, suggesting what I said about featherbedding.
Of course, the episode also involved itself in the animosity between the two sides during the strike but as every scintilla of that will have never happened by next week, I don’t see any reason why I should go into it.
It was truly looking back into times that are gone and maybe need to be resurrected, to protect workers from the incessant desire of management to have absolute, and therefore capricious control over the people they employ. I have never felt the programme to be so far away than today.
With the exception of a no-better-then-middling B story about Lou discovering an excellent, out-of-the-way Italian restaurant that is almost destroyed by publicity, this was a gentle, indeed sweet episode, bucking the trend of most of this season.
Search was about junior Trib photographer Lisa Carruthers (Alley Mills), who was introduced working alongside Joe Rossi on a story of a mother-daughter Jewish family, separated in the concentration camps and rediscovering each other after thirty-seven years. Brief, avoiding histrionics, and genuinely moving, two extras in a role not directly related to the story hitting the mark with precision.
This served to lead us to Lisaherself, an adopted girl aged 25 who confesses that, though she loves the parents who brought her up and in particular the mother with whom she lives, she has always wanted to know about her natural mother.
So Rossi, treating this as a journalistic investigation, gets on the case for her, roping in Billie and Donovan, though against the approval of Lou, who plainly thinks no good will come of it.
The episode, without being slow or dull, seemed to run for far longer than its 43 minutes, taking each step, its successes and reversals, slowly and thoroughly. It was never dry, because at the heart of it was the anxious yet hopeful Lisa, fearful and yearning over what she might find.
Such as the fact that she was born in November 1955 (her fictional birthdate exactly ten days after my real one, and what’s so bad about being a Scorpio anyway?) yet her father named on her birth certificate was killed in Korea three years previously.
And there was Roissi, playing an unusual role for him, full of the usual tenacity and drive but tempered by the fact that he was doing this for somebody, a real person, who was a sweet, natural young woman who he liked.
Nevertheless, the show couldn’t resist the expected arc. Lisa – or Alexandra Hart as she was originally named – discovered her mother in the South. Fearful of the shock it might cause someone apparently in ill-health, she wrote first to her newly-discovered older half-sister, Bess Gresham, who welcomed her with open arms, with delight and all the love you could wish for.
But mother Augusta was cold and rejecting. Lisa was a mistake, a child born to a widow. She had only ever wanted to bury that mistake, to exclude it from her life and never be reminded of it again, and she rejected Lisa a second time.
Though disappointed, and fated never to know anything about her natural father, Lisa took things well. She has Bess, whose welcome was heartfelt, and, in the episode’s only relapse into twee, she reasoned that she had found her real mother, Margaret Carruthers.
This was Alley Mills# only appearance. She’d not long since come off a starring role in the unsuccessful but short-lived legal sitcom, The Associates (which I’d almost forgotten and which I’d enjoyed back then) and she would have been ideal for a recurring role, in relation to Rossi. But the show missed the mark on that possibility. Nevertheless, her story was a bright spot in this weak season, and I am grateful to her.
After last week’s serious and concentrated effort, there was another fallback on Lou Grant, a neatly constructed but somehow blurred effort on a crusading subject that needed to spice itself up with an intertwined theme that stood out just a little bit too much as irrigation of a dry subject.
The episode’s title came over as misleading, given the subject matter, and it was explained only at the end. A more appropriate title would have been ‘dumping’, but whereas we in Britain regard this as a fairly innocuous word, I was surprised to learn, several years ago, that in America it was a direct and immediate connotation with shit.
Our topic for today was the concerning one of American companies producing such things as pesticides, medicines and birth control devices that fail to meet requisite standards, being banned in the USA but then being exported to Third World countries where the danger to people is of far less concern than the recovery of the profit.
Our lead-in was melodramatic, a middle-aged man being rushed into hospital in a Central American country with a close-up on a respirator. The man is the Trib’s veteran foreign affairs correspondent, Hedley Freeman and he dies of a heart attack because the respirator failed. It is a defective product made by an LA company, banned in America.
It was an important story on a socio-liberal scale, and even more so in an age that was only rapidly learning to be cynical, and it rapidly put out tendrils to demonstrate that such behaviour was pretty common, though not universal. There were interviews that showed the companies glossing over their actions by claiming they were serving the greater good, such as combatting overpopulation, some of it coming over as zealous, some of it as self-serving. The American Government was drawn into the cycle, ordering goods it wouldn’t allow to be used on its own people, to ‘assist’ other countries.
But this was a documentary subject that couldn’t afford a human element to exemplify the importance of the topic without either narrowing the focus or minimising the effect, so it was overlaid with an in-house human element in the form of Sydney Kovac, guest star Michael Constantine.
Kovac is a guest columnist, a veteran reporter, a successful book writer and a contemporary of Lou, who isn’t quite as pleased to see him as you might think, which is a sovereign clue that wearen’t meant to treat him as a goody. Kovac likes the dumping story. He practically takes it over, driving it forward, usurping Lou’s prerogative as City Editor and directing a hyper-enthused Rossi and Billie, together with other reporters, in hot pursuit.
Lou doesn’t like it. Some of it is personal: he, not Kovac is the editor, but a lot of it is not having all the tenable facts, and he winds up being sent to Coventry over his insistence his reporters do all their assignments, not just this fun one. Kovac keeps wanting to go with it, now, but Lou demands a proper job.
And a very proper job is done and ready to print. Except that Kovac isn’t just guest columning at the Trib, and he steals the story and gets it into print, with non-credit for Rossi and Billie, before the Trib can. That’s our human drama, confected to make the medicine go down, and it’s just not worthy of it. Kovac turns out to be a slimeball, all ends up, just as he was signalled to be.
As for ‘Boomerang’, it falls to Mrs Pynchon to coin it, unable to drink coffee whose beans, grown overseas, may carry the residue of the deadly pesticides banned in the USA. America dumps its poison on Third World countries and, just like the boomerang, it comes back to the hand, in the form of imports. A cycle, a self-destructive cycle.
With this episode, I’m exactly half way through season 4. It’s clearly a weak season as the past several episodes have shown. I’m way beyond any point I watched to first time round, and the big question is, slump or decline? Either way, I’ve come this far so I’ll continue to the end, which means another 34 weeks, but I suspect that the show has probably passed its peak. I’ll have a conclusion on this in another eight month’s time.
With a subject like that, this week’s Lou Grant HAD to be good, and not just good enough. After watching the episode, with a hypercritical mind after the last three failures, I was perhaps too detached but on balance the show managed to end on the right side of the line.
The central character was new reporter Sharon McNeil, played to perfection by Lynne Moody. Sharon’s a confident, intelligent, attractive black woman, working a story alongside Joe Rossi, not merely holding her own but balancing him out nicely, and liking him too. The story, investigating an alleged slush fund run by a fast food burger company, is a vehicle: it’s not earth-shattering, but it’s handled seriously and runs through the episode, and is intelligently used to frame the main story.
Rossi drops Sharon off at her apartment, to get her laundry in and then go on to the paper. She doesn’t get there: she’s attacked in her apartment by a creepy guy armed with a big knife, slapped around the face, her wrists tied together behind her. The intruder is played by Jonathan Banks, a familiar face (he’s already had two previous Lou Grant appearances and I’d see him again in Hill Street Blues). Banks is a specialist in playing villains and creepy bastards, and here he’s on edge from the start, slightly creepy, slightly disfunctional, someone not quite on the same plane as everyone else. He’s there to rob, perhaps he’s an addict, that’s not mentioned but it’s inferable from his slight spaceiness.
Sharon’s terrified but she stays calm, at least on the surface, tries to talk to him, act sensible, persuade him to leave without hurting her. Gradually, there being insufficient things worth robbing, the intruder slides towards rape. Sharon says it first, a subtle point later pixcked up upon by the Police, one of them acting as if that’s a mitigating factor in the intruder’s favour: you see, she put the idea in his head…
This goes on for over half the episode, intercut with things going as normal at the paper. The intruder has Sharon once, then again, with instructions to her to act like she’s enjoying it this time, a sick-making point that further emphasised that rape is not about sex but about power: I’m going to fuck you and not only can you do nothing to stop me but even as you’re hating every second of it, you will pretend to me that you’re loving it…
And when he’s gone, Sharon immediately locks every door, eveey window, and turns on the shower. Then she comes into work and everybody’s chewing her out for being late and not communicating. It takes Rossi, Rossi the self-centred sod, the ego-on-legs, the guy who’s interested in the story and nothing else, but who likes and respects Sharon, to be gentle enough to have her unburden herself to him.
And immediately he is the most immense support of all, gentle, kind, instinctively understanding the boundary between closeness and distance. The writing is sufficiently intelligent to open up about him being in part driven by guilt: he was with her only minutes earlier, he didn’t go inside with her, he knew she was coming in, he didn’t chase up her absence. All of it borrowed guilt, the instinctive impulse, paternalistic and chauvinistic in its way, that if only I’d done something, I could have prevented this.
Yet from Rossi it doesn’t come over as either of these things. It’s the concern of a friend who, yes, was close enough to have diverted it if he’d just done one thing marginally different. But the show had already foreshadowed this: Sharon had said a man was calling for her very shortly and the intruder had just said he would kill him.
The aftermath was handled neatly. Sharon didn’t want to be defined by having been raped, was carrying on as normal, putting it behind her, whilst evidently on the edge of cracking up. Everyone’s sympathy, their walking on eggshells around her, was making it worse.
This was further emphasised by the tertiary story, in which Art Donovan is seeing female tennis player Carol (Linda Carlson). Carol’s being a bit less eager abut going off for a cabin weekend with our in-house lothario, and this turns out to be because she too has been raped. There’s a scene with Mrs Pynchon expressing anger at this epidemic of rapes and the Trib’s inadequate coverage of the problem where she’s shaking in anger and once again we infer a personal element.
Carol though was raped two years ago and still isn’t over it. And once Art knows, he starts treating her differently. She accuses him of seeing her as tainted, but he explains that he’s having to second-guess himself over touching her or holding her because he doesn’t know if he’s helping and comforting or forcing himself on her in a way that disgusts her. Even so, he still falls into the trap of seeming to blame her for ‘asking for it’, which in context – and bearing in mind the diminished sensitivity to rape even now, let alone forty years ago – demonstrated very economically that even the good guys can be fucking thick.
Sharon’s going to snap, it’s just a question of when, and it comes when some middle-aged, smug, mildly creepy executive takes her arm unasked, and she screams at him.
It’s not catharsis, but it is the beginning of the healing. In a powerful scene that could, in lesser hands, have nose-dived into being didactic, Sharon explains what this has done to her, laying bare the fears of every woman, brought up to believe that their sexuality is a delight and a gift, to be shared with those for whom she cares, but now seeing that it, and them, and everything they are or want to be is at the mercy of a man, any man, who decides he will take it and will force it from her. It’s powerful in itself and more so as delivered by Moody, and I find it hard to believe that this was written by a male writer, not a woman.
There is no real end to this story because the programme has too much respect for the subject to suggest it can be wrapped up in 46 minutes. Sharon takes leave of absence to return to her mother in Kansas City and we get a surrogate ending from Carol, suggesting Art take her away for a cabin weekend: another stage in her journey back from what happened to her, and one we hope will be successful.
I think, after thinking about the episode at length, that I should revise my opinion and say that this WAS good. The writing covered an immense amount of ground without ever once seeming impersonal or didactic, and it was plotted with great economy. Everything that needed to be said was said naturally, without anyone hammering you over the head or being preachy, and the performances were pitched perfectly, especially that of Lynne Moody. It may only be once, but she will appear again, in season 5, and I look forward to it.
Lou Grant‘s fourth season is proving to be a difficult one, this latest episode being the third in a row to have problems. There was a decent, entertaining and personal story in there, but it got lost amid a confusion of purpose and the shackles of a secondary story whose principal note was paranoia (justified paranoia, it seemed) that was entirely uncomplimentary.
The main story started off suggesting the series’ usual approach to societal stories, though its apparent peg was hardly earth-shattering. The tenants of a well-maintained, stylish apartment building are protesting its conversion into a condominium that no-one could afford: dry as dust and far too technical a story, especially for British eyes and ears.
But this is our McGuffin, quickly set-up and pretty much to be abandoned since it’s prpose is to ring together Billie Newman, reporter, and Ted McCovey (Cliff Potts, excellent and friendly), third string baseball catcher.
The way it worked was that Billie’s investigating the company that’s forcning through the condo conversion, being stonewalled, discovering its major investors to be baseball players, three massive stars and Ted, the only one she can approach. And Ted is likeable from the off, an intelligent man with a finely-tuned sense of his real status as a ball-player, someone who’s been in love with the sport all his life, aware he’s got maybe a season left.
Billie, despite all her ignorance of and indifference to, the sport (it’s so slow…) falls for the obviously honest and open-hearted Ted, who’s gotten into the rapidly-receding condo story because his pals cut him in and he trusted them implicitly, because they were his pals. Ted was someone who placed a high value upon friendship and trust: when he retires, an old schoolpal will cut him in as a partner in his appliance store, no contract, just a word of trust.
You couldn’t help but like Ted. Billie certainly did. She tried to back out of the story but did so so half-heartedly, Lou wouldn’t let her. And the expected happened: the story drove a wedge between them, the relationship dead before it was born.
Except that Ted then rang Billie to correct a mistake in her story. As of two minutes ago, he’s no longer a Major League Baseball player, he’s been let go. Ted’s in obvious shock and though Billie immediately goes to see him, she just compounds things, trying to get him to consider another job in baseball. Yes, she’s aware of his love for the game, but Ted’s in shock, he’s set on a clean break, and her well-meaning efforts are only making it worse. One great line that could apply to any sport: ‘for fourteen years they’ve treated me like a child and now they tell me I’m an old man’. Strike two.
There was a nice little touch added. Billie once had a brief affair with Art Donovan, who’s looking at her again with that look in his eyes. Billie tells her troubles to Art, who points out she has plenty of friends out there: he’s the last one she should be unloading herself to.
Then, in a lovely little moment, Ted turns up in the City Room. He wants Billie’s opinion, her approval, which will come pre-loaded, making this a moment of connection, the last hurdle to cross before they become the couple they’re going to be. He’s been offered a job as a scout. The pay’s lousy, the driving’s murderous, he’ll have no time for himself, the chance of coaching might not come for years. And she says it sounds terrific and they kiss.
This is the story that could have made this into a good episode, if it hadn’t been bogged down in the McGuffin that gave the story a blurred feel for so much of its length and was left so conspicuously hanging.
I’ve excluded mention of the B story because it was so conspicuously unsuited to pair with Billie’s romance, but this was Rossi’s story, along with Adam Wilson and a guest appearance from Robert Hirshfield as the Trib’s IT manager, just a year before becoming a regular in Hill Street Blues. Rossi’s paranoid about the paper’s VTU’s (i.e., their word processors/computers). Unreliability, the medical risk, all the things people were concerned about forty years ago, before we let the personal computer in all its myriad forms into our lives and hearts.
It’s paranoia writ large, of a kind that would have been more effective then, but it’s allied to a security issue. Adam loses all his notes on a major story because he’d stored them all in the computer and they vanished. It turns out that a company working for the Trib in respect of their IT is also the holding company for the one about which Adam was writing. Having breached the Trib’s security to get Adam’s access code, they hacked the system and deleted the notes.
So, there you go. It is hard to recapture the atmosphere of 1980, especially when I’ve had a PC or a laptop of my own for nearly thirty years by now, which diffused the strength of the story, if it really had any to begin with. But primarly it was an intrusion into the episode, a contrast too deep to ever cohere, which contributed largely to the eoisode’s inadequacies.
Looking ahead, next week’s episode has a very serious theme, as the title alone will establish. I will be hyper-critical of that if they blow it for a fourth week in succession.
For entirely different reasons, this was another poor episode, failing on its lack of anything but an earnest liberal concern about its topic, which was the Ghetto.
It began with two deaths. A white police officer stops a loose-limbed, cool-jiving black man that he knows, after saving him from being knocked down in the street. Thee black guy runs, the white officer gives chase. They run round a corner, out of sight, we hear shots, the officer is dead. The Police corner Benny Jordan in a tenement building, he tries to shoot his way out, he gets killed.
It’s the set-up for a cliched story about Police racism, but to give the show credit it aimed 180 degrees away. The officer was a good guy, straight, popular, well-liked in the ghetto. Jordan was a screw-up, a doper, an ex-pimp, but two thousand people turned up at his funeral, as opposed to the hundred or so for Officer Stewart.
That’s your story. But it’s not a story, it’s a study. This is your Ghetto, and the episode rigidly avoided anything amounting to judgement and adhered solely to representing both sides of the story side-by-side – literally in terms of the paper’s eventual coverage – and walking away softly to allow you to make up your mind as to exactly where the wrongs and the rights stood.
Forty years ago, I’d like to think there was a chance that a substantial part of the audience would have taken the array of opinions to heart and tried to apply a balancing act. In 2020, I fear only that the udiences minds would see only what they had conditioned itself to see.
For that wishy-washiness alone the episode was always going to fail, but it compounded its failings by introducing two other story elements that served only to confuse the issue beyond hope of being taken seriously. Firstly, Rossi is assigned to Officer Stewart’s story and he takes guest star Carl Franklin, as black report Milt Chamberlain, along with him. The two take opposing viewpoints: Rossi is his usual jerk self, using Milt as hisshielld to get to the potentially more extreme members of the community, whilst Milt feels he’s just atoken, and that Rossi just isn’t getting it.
It may have been intended to reflect the black-white conflict in miniature but all it did was get in the way of the story’s real points by reducing it to a personal squabble, which could and of course did get resolved with improbable speed the moment the two participants realised they were both on the side of the story: I may plotz.
Of even more peripheral concern was Charlie Hume’s return from the latest newspaper seminar, burbling about demographics and interfaces and launching a new News-Lite section called Tempo to plumb depths in shallownesspreviously uncovered. Lou objects in his crusty manner. Charlie doesn’t want three reporters and a photographer working on a depressing but relevant story the readers don’t want to hear about.
But of course he reverses himself completely in an instant, without any explanation except the implied one of being won over by the power of the story, just in time for the end. Cue feeble joke and feeeze-frame to close on, and forget, permanently if you’re lucky.
The show can still pull out strong episodes, even in its fourth season, and whilst it’s a very long time since I last saw something I remembered from so far back, I never saw either of the last two seasons so there won’t be any more of those. I’m taking on trust that it will go back to doing better: don’t let me down.
I cannot believe how bad this episode was. In fact, in my eyes it doesn’t even qualify as an episode, given its structure as the first half of a two-part story which then never produced its second part. The story just vanishes up itself on a procedural point and stops abruptly with every plate left spinning in mid-air.
The episode is about exposing the National Enquirer for what it is, namely a supermarket scandal sheet devoted to exaggeration, distortion and lies to sell sensationalist stories about the rich and famous. Does this sound in any way familiar? Of course it does (it even has the cheek at one point to suggest the blame belongs to Britain).
The point of the story is that this is 1980, and the National Spectator (as the paper in the episode is named, as minimalist cover) is the only paper doing this, and very successful it is. We enter the story via popular and successful married couple tennis star Eddie Daniels (James van Patten) and fashion model Monica Daniels (Irena Ferris, a genuinely gorgeous woman with the most modern look I’ve yet seen in the whole series). Monica discovers a front-page banner headline story claiming the baby she’s carrying is not Eddie’s but rather that of a photographer, one of many with whom she’s sleeping around. The stress and upset leads to a car accident in which she loses the baby. Sent to interview Eddie, Billie Newman is berated by him just for being a reporter.
That’s the entree, though Eddie also crops up later, provoked into giving the Spectator a sensationalist photo. From here, Lou Grant decides to do a piece on the Spectator as a disgrace to the entire newspaper business.
The story was oddly dull, or perhaps that was just because nothing in it shocked or surprised the way it was hoped to do in 1980. Even then, the Spectator was not the (massively successful) outlier that the programme clearly hoped it was, but the forerunner as newspapers in general were dragged – completely willingly – into its wake until that is the norm these days, even among the so-called quality press.
The story spent a lot of time pursuing its target and exposing to the unsuspecting audience the tactics. There was a warning line early on when Joe Rossi interviewed the Publisher, George Lester (Alan Oppenheimer), a waistcoated, sleek, smooth, confident man who was clearly far cleverer than anyone on the Trib. Lester’s eager to show off his paper’s humanitarian awards for re-uniting families, exposing health scandals, but the moment Rossi starts creeping up on the scandals he’s accused of having come with pre-conceived notions, intent only on a hatchet job, and the interview is over. The funny thing is, Lester is spot on.
I’ll mention the British angle briefly. This is ex-Spectator editor Claude Whitcomb, who you know is British because he’s called Claude, he’s played by Bernard Fox (who once played Dr Bombay on Bewitched) with a fruity voice, Whitcomb’s an import from the London Daily Mirror – The Sun would have been a better example though the Mirror, which I used to get in my pre-Guardian days, wasn’t off the mark – and cheerfully outlined the tactics the tabloids used to get their stories, including lies. Fox also got to drape his arm across Linda Kelsey’s shoulders for an unconscionably long time without her kicking him in the nuts which was a bit of a character-breaking detail. Whitcomb even contrasted the Mirror and it’s fun appeal to a tired worker in the evening with the serious and off-putting stories of the ‘Manchester Guardian‘ which was a seriously outdated reference to the roots the paper had long since abandoned even then. Ok, that wasn’t all that brief a mention.
All of this is set-up for the immediate response of the Spectator, which is to sue the Trib for $60,000,000 for malicious intent and irreperable harm to reputation (manifesting itself in increased cirulation, hah!). The rest of the half-episode was all about the legal aspects of handling such a serious case, culminating in Lou exploding in deposition and refusing to answer questions about his state of mind, his doubts, etc., when editing the story.
It was a matter of principle, a refusal to let outsiders into his head, on behalf of editors everywhere. It would cripple journalism. It even had Adam Wilson second-guessing and self-censoring himself. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a legal defence. Lou ended up being fined $100 a day until he agreed to answer these questions, and the paper not paying for him.
So, after five days and $500 he couldn’t afford, Lou backed down, told the paper’s legal representative that he’d testify, but under protest, slammed down the phone and it was fade-out, closing theme music, end of episode and an immense feeling of being cheated. I checked: the story does not continue next week.
All the issues the story raised, and in particular a lawsuit that could close the Trib for good if it were won, not to mention confirm that the bad guys win (as indeed they have done in real life), vanished like that, never to be resolved or mentioned again.
Whatever possessed the show to imagine that this was in any way a satisfactory story, I have no idea. The best I can think of is that it was planned as a two-parter but the National Enquirer got wind of it and threatened, the perfect irony, a massive libel suit if the second half, in which they got chopped down, was made. That would explain an episode that, on any kind of artistic or even professional level, is incomplete, badly-structured and just plain inadequate.
Seriously, if anyone’s following this series and watching the episodes for themselves on YouTube, don’t bother with this one.
Let’s face it, you’re on an uphill struggle trying to sell an episode with the title of ‘Goop’, and the more so with a light-hearted – here being a word that means trying to be funny but not being – open about a bubble of earth appearing overnight in the backyard of a property in a smell-ridden town called Sackett. As a twist, we had word processor lettering crossing the screen representing the story writing itself.
Nevertheless, there was a serious story to be had from this unfortunate scenario.As well as the bubble, and the all-pervading stink (reminding me of the day my family and I visited Halifax, when there was some sort of massive sewer problem), there was a tarry, black goop seeping through someone’s basement wall. When analysed, it was shown to contain the highly toxic substance, C84, a petrochemical by-product responsible for brain-tumours, birth defects and cancer.
The nearest possible source of this was Diller Chamicals, in Alta Mira, but tht was more than 100 miles away. And according to their Press Officer, to Rossi, they had a neutralising plant on site, and complied diligently with industry Regulations.
But then there’s the truck found abandoned on the highway, full of drums of pure C84, one of which was leaking (hence the abandonment). And the ones pouring the goop directly into streams a hundred miles from Alta Mira. No, the show didn’t allow doubt as to Diller’s guilt to creep into the mind.
Where it made its mistake was in conflating this straightforward story with another issue, that of misrepresentation. To get the story, Billie applies for and gets a job at Diller, in the office. She does it under her real name, and with the LA Tribune as her previous employer, but nevertheless there is much earnest argument about the ethics of getting a story – any story – by deception.
As a side issue, it was not of itself a bad move. Lou’s all in favour. Charlie Hume has concerns about the issue in principal, and Mrs Pyynchon is dead set against it and wants Billie recalling, but is persuaded otherwise by Charlie’s insistence that these matters have to be dealt with on a case-by-case basis, and this story is too important to be ignored.
Billie, naturally, gets the story. Rossie confronts the Press Officer, who blusters weakly that the public want the luxuries that the petrochemical industries bring, that the Press is trying to harrass the industry out of existence, but doesn’t deny the charge, a fact duly noted in the word processor screen type.
But Billie is conscience-stricken throughout. Everyoine at Diller’s so nice to her. They like her, and she likes them. It makes her feel rotten, fooling them like this. and the episode loses its head and shoves the issue of toxic waste threatening people, land, livestock and birds into the corner to symbolise this in the form of work programme student Teri Wilk (Dominique Dunne), a sweet-faced, quasi-confident young woman, who likes Billie immensely, confides in her her interest in a truck-driving hunk and, you couldn’t have guessed this, has a downer on reporters.
Teri’s devastated by Billie’s betrayal. Her uncle might lose his job, her would be boyfriend drove the truck that Rossi and Animal follow and report on, and she is deeply wounded by being used, by Billie pretending to like her to get her story. she can’t accept that Billie did like her, does like her, and somewhat obtusely hopes to stay friends.
And that’s precisely where the episode veered off course, by making Billie’s relationship with Teri the focus, instead of the more important toxic waste story. It was a failure of moral imagination on the show’s part.
Overall, the issue of misrepresentation was one of those matters that pointed up the gulf between 1980 and 2020. There was, as I said, weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth over Billie going overcover, gentile protestations that the ‘deception’ had to be made explicit in the story, proclamations that doing so automatically made the reporter the focus of the story, not the fact. Yeah, I know, the irony, right?
Forty years later, nobody would blink. I certainly didn’t. To me it’s obvious: when the story is as important as this, going undercover to get it as not merely acceptable but practically mandatory, and to have it discussed as virtually a greater moral wrong than fly-tipping poison was eye-rolling.
One other point. I’ve only mentioned Dominique Dunne among this week’s guest stars because she was central to the story and the other guests were interchangeable. There was something familiar about the name, but it was not what I expected to see when I googled her. Ms Dunne appeared as a significant guest star in an episode of Hill Street Blues, broadcast two years to the month after this appearance in Lou Grant. It was her final appearance and it was posthumous: two weeks earlier she had been killed by an abusive boyfriend. The bruises in Hill Street were not make-up.
Sometimes the real stories are worse than the fictions.
I’m at a loss to decide whether my general lack of interest in this week’s Lou Grant is down to me and feeling incredibly dull,or to the story being slight at the best, and uninvolving.
The plot attempts to be complex but is actually very simple.Fed-up of a two-hour freeway drive to work each day, Charlie Hume moves himself and his wife Marion into an apartment in town that’s 15 minutes away by bus and rents his house out to a ‘Mr and Mrs Thatcher’. The Thatchers make extensive changes, have visitors all of the time and generally act suspiciously.
Instead of being crooks, they turn out to be Law Enforcement. Charlie’s house has been fitted out with elaborate, concealed but comprehensive surveillance and is being used to offer bribes to City Councillors and Zoning Commissioners to vote a certain way over prestigious undeveloped land.
There’s a degree of confusion over the truth of this, necessary only to extending the story to last 46 minutes and doing little to puzzle the audience over what to actually believe (or, in at least one case, interest the audience enough to care all that much), but ‘Thatcher’ is not ‘Thatcher’, nor is he ‘Dylan’, as he claims to be when he shows the upset Charlie and Lou what they’ve done to keep Charlie from voiding the Lease, he’s actually Collins of the State’s Attorney-general’s Office, not LAPD as he let them assume.
Lou Grant being Lou Grant, it had to have it’s liberal viewpoint, here represented by Rossi, angry over the whole concept of Police entrapment. It’s a valid point: on the one hand, Law enforcement believes these people are dirty and willing to go on the take, and are setting out to get hard evidence of that, on the other these people have only committed bribes because Law enforcement has offered them the money. Would the crime exist if the ‘Police’ hadn’t sought it out?
You’re not going to get answers here, and it’s infuriating to have a question like that, which is a serious issue in a modern society, being raised in such a wishy-washy fashion, with one simplistic argument on each side and withdrawing with a determination to to reach a conclusion.
The show does try to hint at where its instincts lie but in an oblique manner that doesn’t begin to work. at the top of the episode, Rossi is sent out to Hollywood Boulevard after a sighting of a missing woman. Trying to get information, he speaks to a long-legged, blonde-haired, short-dressed woman who’s actually an undercover Policewoman. So he’s sensitive to the appearance of malfeasance that might not actually be malfeasance, but rather be unfortunate circummstances.
Which is then echoed, ineffectually, at the bottom of the episode when Rossi interviews the soon-to-be-indicted Councilman Garvey, who presents his intended defence as his having heard of corruption and been conducting his own investigation, taking the money to help iidentify who is behind this. It’s ineffectual because we see Rossi fall into the sting innocently, but Garvey only comes up with this excuse after he’s denied things utterly, and John Considine plays him as shifty.
Speaking of actors, Thatcher was played by Larry Linville. I very rarely recognise guest stars’ in the credits but Larry Linville played Major Frank Burns in the early series of M*A*S*H*, so it was nice to see him again.
So, no, not for me this time. And I think it was the episode that’s at fault, not the blogger.
Ladies and gentlemen, our subject for today is the sexual harrasment of women in the workplace, 1980 style. We will examine it from several angles, both by direct reportage and indirect depiction, showing it as both conscious and unconscious, we will show its effects on the two reporters dealing with the issue and along the way we will fail to bring everything together as a cohesive story. And, though a subtle conclusion will be depicted, the only actual outcome we will show is a failure. However, in not ‘solving’ the problem we will at least be true to life.
I’m not really sure how much detail I need to go into about this episode of Lou Grant: the somewhat didactic paragraph above basically says it all. The episode began with the quasi-comic scenario of a guy in a pick-up running over garbage cans to frighten the man putting his out but crashing into a car and getting badly injured.
This was Warren, over-emotional, heavily jealous, defending his wife Lorraine (who was not quite the beauty she was in his eyes), who’d been fired by her boss for ‘developing a bad attitude’, the bad attitude including resenting said boss grabbing her breast.
Rossi’s on that side of the story, taking seriously the aspect of the effect on the husband of a sexually harrassed wife, growing to hate the story because of what he’s learning about his fellow man.
Closer to home, the rest of the episode revolved around the Trib itself. The new reporter – actually an old one returning after leaving to have kids – is Catherine Marks (Lynn Carlin). At first Lou resents her for Charlie hiring her over his choice, but her no-nonsense attitude and obvious ability wins him over and they start dating, until the sexual harrassent story gets in the way and both are forced to confront the extent to which the boss-employee relationship may influence them: didacticism 101.
Then there’s Heidi. Heidi (Cassandra Foster) is the City Room hottie, whose desk must always be kept within sight, and who the men, Lou included, get up to watch leave in her tight pants, bending over.
Of more importance is Karen (Marilyn Jones), a fresh faced, blonde girl with a hint of a young Laura Dern, newly employed in advertising under boss Lloyd Bracken (David Spielberg). Lloyd’s your basic sleazebag boss. Karen’s obviously been employed for her looks and the expectation she’ll sleep with him. He’s full of suggestiveness, touchy-feely hands on shoulders or hugs. Karen hates it, but can’t break the cycle because she’s one of the many many women who go through this thing feeling helpless: unable to protest, unwilling to fight, to create the hassle.
Billie’s on her part of the story. Billie is intially cool. Billie doesn’t stand for foolishness, she striks back immediately, and she has a lack of empathy for why other women don’t/can’t do what she does that’s surprising in a reporter. but Billie is seeing Karen’s story at close range, trying to be supportive, but not quite gettng why Karen puts up with it.
There’s no ending to a story like this, no credible way of saying we’ve won over this kind of male-domain privilege and entitlement. The Trib runs the story. Mrs Pynchon sets up a Grievance Comittee where Karen and her ilk can raise complaints. Karen won’t use it though, Karen’s quitting, in the hope (no doubt vain) that she can find a job where her looks won’t count against being allowed to get on and work.
Rossi, given the chance to quite legitimately get his hands on Heidi, passes it up and even averts his gaze from her raised-to-his-eye-level bum.
The only end we get is Billie getting exasperated at Lloyd’s win and shopping him to Lou, who, now he knows what he wanted to know no longer wants to know it. But Lloyd’s after a reporter to assist in designing an a. It’s pretty clear where his thoughts lie as he names Heidi first (I need her for something), then Susie (she’s busy). Then Lou gets that sneaky look on his face and offers Billie, who Lloyd accepts. We’re being offered the offscreen solution that Lloyd will try it on with her and wind up out on his ear as Billie will not back away from a complaint, but it’s a weak ending that hopes we’ll overlook all the reasonable objections Lloyd would be able to mount.
No, not an episode that works, for all that it bravely Shows instead of Telling. It was defeated by the complexity of the subject, even though the subject is devastatingly simple: it’s Wrong, all of it. And somehow that basic point, the wood, if you like, was not really visible for all the trees.