Terry-Thomas and His Tragic Final Days

The great eccentric British comedian Terry-Thomas (Thomas Terry Hoar Stevens, 1911-1990) was born on July 10. It may shock you (or perhaps not) to know that this quintessential caricature of an upper-crust Englishman was a working class kid, the son of a butcher who was into amateur theatricals. As a teenager, Young Tom Stevens began to cultivate his accent, basing his speech on that of an actor named Owen Nares, and began dressing nattily in imitation of his favorite movie stars. He was endowed by nature with the gapped teeth; the cigarette holder, tailored suits, mustache, spats, bowler hat and so forth would all be added later, as would the unique hyphenated professional name. As a young man he held menial jobs (clerkships and so forth), while simultaneously playing ukulele in jazz bands, working as a movie extra and developing a cabaret act. During World War II, he traveled with a unit that entertained the troops, and this increased his confidence and his visibility.

It wasn’t until after the war, at age 36, that his star began to rise. He performed in a sketch revue called Picadilly Hayride that was a smash success in the West End, running close to 800 performances. This led to his becoming the first British comedy tv star in 1949 on a show called How Do You View? He was a star of British comedy film throughout the 1950s (Tom Thumb, 1958, and I’m Alright, Jack, 1959 might be best known to Americans.) In the ’60s his stardom went international. La Grande Vadrouille (1966) was the most successful film in France in terms of box office dollars until 2004, and still ranks third. Americans know him from several popular Hollywood pictures made during the 60s, in which lampooned the stereotypical Brit for our benefit, though not always. He’s in The Wonderful Wold of the Brothers Grimm (1962), It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World (1963), The Mouse on the Moon (1963), How to Murder Your Wife (1965), Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines (1965), Munster Go Home (1966), Jules Verne’s Rocket to the Moon (1967), The Perils of Pauline (1967), Don’t Raise the Bridge Lower the River with Jerry Lewis (1968), Where Were You When the Lights Went Out? and How Sweet It Is, both made with Doris Day in 1968, the Dr. Phibes films with Vincent Price (1971 and 1972), and the voice of the snake in Walt Disney’s Robin Hood (1973).

Unfortunately, in 1971 he learned that he had Parkinson’s Disease, and thus began a slow, painful descent that lasted nearly two decades. Throughout the ’70s he continued to act, although the roles got smaller, fewer, slower and more feeble. Here is in the 1977 version of The Hound of the Baskervilles with starred Peter Cook and Dudley Moore:

His last screen credit was in 1980. Throughout the ’80s he was forced to live off his savings to live and pay for his medical treatments, and withdrew from public life. Towards the end he had sold all of his property and was discovered living with his wife in a charity flat. At that point his condition was publicized, an all-star charity concert was held, and thousands of pounds were raised. Look at the screen shot below. For the final indignity, they left out the hyphen in the lower third caption! Terry-Thomas died a few months after the celebrity concert, in 1990.

Doodles Weaver: A Kook in Multiple Media

I discovered Doodles Weaver (1911-1983) by a path that might confound his long time fans. But then, his was a most confounding life and career. I noticed him in the 1971 low budget exploitation horror film The Zodiac Killer. He played a goofy neighbor, and like I often do, I semi-recognized him. I went, “That’s gotta be somebody! Who is that?” But remember the surroundings: this was a Grade Z cheapie of a movie; like a lot of similar low budget movies of the time, it literally looks like a home movie. 95% of the cast are amateur non-actors.

Weaver in “The Zodiac Killer”

Reasons why it’s odd to find him in such surroundings: 1) he was of wealthy family and very old American WASP stock; and 2) he wasn’t a nobody, he had a certain measure of mainstream fame.

And yet a reason why it wasn’t so odd to find him in this movie: he kind of showed up everywhere and did everything; this was true throughout his career.

Of his family: his full name was Winstead Sheffield Glenndenning Dixon Weaver. “Doodles” is one of those humiliating WASP nicknames. I’ve known Trips, Crickets, Corkys, Bunnys, etc. He was one of those. His older brother was Pat Weaver, President of NBC, and the creator of The Today Show, among much else. Pat’s daughter Sigourney Weaver achieved fame after Doodles had passed away.

Doodles went to Stanford, where he wrote for the campus humor magazine. In the ’30s, he seems to show up immediately on radio, without the usual early formative period in vaudeville and night clubs. This was probably through the help and influence of Pat, who was already producing Fred Allen’s Town Hall Tonight by the mid-30s. Doodle was a semi-regular guest on Rudy Vallee’s show and Kraft Music Hall. At the same time, he was getting bit parts in Hal Roach and Columbia comedies, supporting such comedians as Laurel and Hardy and The Three Stooges. From the mid to late 1940s, he was a star of Spike Jones band and radio show, achieving even greater fame.

Spoke Jones, left, Weaver. center

1951 was probably the peak of his career, when he had his own television comedy variety show The Doodles Weaver Show, which made full use of Doodles’ mugging and face pulling abilities. It’s both anomalous and delightful. This educated, well-off man, whose sensibilities were so unpretentious and low-brow. During these same years he wrote for Mad magazine!

“A Day with Doodles”

He continued to be a frequent presence on tv after his show went off the air, on Spike Jones show, Batman, The Monkees. In 1965 he starred in a series of kiddie show segments called A Day with Doodles (1965). In 1966 he released a parody version of “Eleanor Rigby”!

And he continued to play bit parts in movies. I had seen him in films countless times prior to The Zodiac Killer, which is clearly why I recognized him. He played the hardware store owner in It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World (1963). He’s the boat operator in The Birds (1963). He’s in Jerry Lewis’s The Nutty Professor (1963) and Which Way to the Front (1970)! He’s in Kitten with a Whip (1964)!  He’s in William Castle’s The Spirit is Willing (1967). He’s in Bob Hope’s last movie Cancel My Reservation (1972)!

So how he wound up in The Zodiac Killer is both confusing and not confusing. On the one hand, he didn’t have to. He was famous and clearly had famous friends who were happy to showcase him. Did he lose a bet? Was he doing someone a favor? On the OTHER hand, he sort of did everything. His career was a bit of “throwing spaghetti at the wall.”

He’s still doing his usual sort of turns throughout the 70s. He’s in movies like Banjo Hackett (1976) and Won Ton Ton, The Dog That Saved Hollywood (1976). He’s on Starsky and Hutch and Fantasy Island. His last film was the independent science fiction film Earthbound (1981), starring Burl Ives.

Then, in 1983, Weaver’s sad and shocking death by suicide. Apparently despondent over ill health, he shot himself twice in the chest. His body was discovered by his son. It’s a Hollywood ending not out-of-step with the tone of The Zodiac Killer. 

Bob Hastings: From Christmasland to Character Man

Well, here’s a wonderful surprise: familiar character actor Bob Hastings (1925-2014) had an old school show biz background as a kiddie performer.

First: you recognize him, right? The first place I can be sure I saw him was in The Poseidon Adventure (1972). He has a small but memorable and highly visible part as the master of ceremonies of the New Year’s Party — he’s the guy who leads the count-down to midnight.

But he also played Lt. Carpenter on McHale’s Navy (1962-1966), which I watched in re-runs as a kid.

And he was also Kelsey the bartender, a recurring role, on All in the Family (1971-1976). These were pretty much his peak visibility years. He was also in several films during these years, like Disney’s The Boatniks (1970) and the Don Knotts movies The Love God (1969) and How to Frame a Figg (1971).

So I totally know who that guy is!  But then he turns up in a 1938 Vitaphone musical short called Toyland Casino as 13 year old Bobby Hastings in rustic highland clothes and sings “In the Gloaming”!

Hastings had started out on NBC children’s radio program Coast to Coast on a Bus with such fellow stars as Ann Blyth, Walter Tetley, and Jackie Kelk. After bomber service in World War II, he returned to radio, and perhaps his greatest stardom in the part of Archie in the radio version of Archie comics, which ran from 1945 to 1953.

Publicity still: Hastings as Archie

One of his first recurring tv roles was on Sgt. Bilko, establishing a recurring theme in his career: his characters were frequently in uniform. After the 1980s, most of his acting gigs were voice-overs for animated cartoon series. For example he voiced Batman’s Commissioner Gordon in the 1990s:

Bob Hastings passed away just a couple of years ago! Today is his birthday.

To find out more about vaudeville history, consult No Applause, Just Throw Money: The Book That Made Vaudeville Famous, available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and wherever nutty books are sold. For more on early  film please see my new book Chain of Fools: Silent Comedy and Its Legacies from Nickelodeons to Youtube, just released by Bear Manor Media, also available from amazon.com etc etc etc

Señor Wences: S’Alright

Born today in 1896 in Salamanca, Spain: the great ventriloquist Wenceslao Moreno, better known to American audiences as Señor Wences. After having written about a couple of thousand variety artists, actors and other performers over the past 8 years, it seems a shocking lapse that I haven’t written a proper post about this key 20th century performer until today. He fell through the cracks! I had initially made a very cursory post (he arrived in the U.S too late for American vaudeville, my initial focus here), and then afterwards I kept assuming I had done one, but I hadn’t yet. Today we redress the lapse.

Señor Wences was nearly 40 years old and a well-polished veteran of the music halls, cabarets and night clubs of Europe prior to his first arrival in the U.S. in the mid 1930s to perform at New York’s Club Chico. By this time, the American vaudeville circuits were dead, so the word “vaudevillian” when applied to him, while accurate, is true only in the broader sense. He played night clubs and resorts in the U.S.in his early years.

His best known character, Johnny (above) was created by drawing a face on his hand, and then attaching a body below it. A lot of humor was generated by the fast interchanges between himself and the character, as well as by his thick Spanish accent, and his treating of Johnny, with his falsetto voice, as a mischievous young child. In 1936 he created his second best known character, Pedro, essentially just a head in a box, when one of his dummies was destroyed on the way to a gig:

Another favorite bit had him answering a telephone and providing the voice at the other end. As you can see, his act was very original — he had great fun using all manner of offbeat props and “partners” that were quite different from the typical ventriloquism dummies, which probably becoming quite tiresome and “old hat” to audiences by the mid-20th century. He also did juggling and plate spinning.

His great boon was the advent of television in the late 1940s, and he started to become a familiar and regular sight on all the variety shows and talk shows: Milton Berle, Ed Sullivan, and Jack Paar all had him as a guest, and his catchphrase: “S’alright? S’alright!” become universally known. He was still popular on tv in my own time, and I saw him places like The Mike Douglas Show, The Muppet Show, Late Night with David Letterman, and a very popular series of Parkay Margarine commercials.

Señor Wences was still performing well in the 1980s, and passed away in 1999 at the age of 103.

To find out more about vaudeville history and performers like Senor Wences, consult No Applause, Just Throw Money: The Book That Made Vaudeville Famous, available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and wherever nutty books are sold. For more on early  film please see my new book Chain of Fools: Silent Comedy and Its Legacies from Nickelodeons to Youtube, just released by Bear Manor Media, also available from amazon.com etc etc etc

Gene Carroll

The career of Gene Carroll (born this day in 1897) is a really good illustration of what happened to the average working vaudevillian after vaudeville went away. The younger brother of Broadway performer Albert Carroll, he was originally from Chicago, where he dropped out of school to participate in amateur nights. He partnered with Jack Grady in a Chicago based song and dance act in 1924.

Gene and Glenn

When Grady fell in 1929, Carroll teamed up with Cleveland based Glenn Rowell. Gene and Glenn performed in local vaudeville and on Cleveland radio through 1935. Their characters Jake and Lena were so popular that the show went national in 1934 and the team performed throughout the Northeast and Midwest through their breakup in 1943. Rowell left to do war related work; Carroll became a regular on Fibber McGee and Molly. 

In 1948, Carroll returned to Cleveland, where he was a staple of local television until his death in 1972, on such programs as Uncle Jake’s House, The Giant Tiger Amateur Hour and The Gene Carroll Show. He also ran a talent school. Carroll’s tv show ran posthumously until 1982, hosted by his widow. At one time, it was the longest running show on television.

To find out more about vaudeville history, consult No Applause, Just Throw Money: The Book That Made Vaudeville Famous, available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and wherever nutty books are sold. For more on early  film please see my new book Chain of Fools: Silent Comedy and Its Legacies from Nickelodeons to Youtube, just released by Bear Manor Media, also available from amazon.com etc etc etc

Letterman: The Last Giant of Late Night

David Letterman’s birthday is today. We wrote a couple of earlier posts with some thoughts about this influential show biz figure (here and here), so today, I thought I’d plug Jason Zinoman’s must-read new book Letterman: The Last Giant of Late Night. We much enjoyed his earlier book Shock Value (reviewed it here) as do we particularly relish his comedy coverage for the New York Times. The marriage of author and subject promises to be nothing but fortunate in this case, and we can’t wait to sink our teeth into it. It was released yesterday.

The Crazy Craft of Sid and Marty Krofft

Happy Birthday, Marty Krofft, the younger of the duo invariably known by their trade-name Sid and Marty Krofft. While these amazing television creators downright dominated the entirety of my childhood, coinciding almost exactly with the entire decade of the 1970s, it has been interesting to learn that they never ceased to be a going concern, even down to the present day, although Sid is now 87 and Marty now 79. They just were a tad less en vogue in ensuing decades, when entertainment began to get less weird — and I always mean “less weird” in a bad way.

For a country often thought of by Americans as dry, understated, calm, and sensible, Canada certainly has produced a lot of exceptionally trippy, spacey family entertainment: Doug Henning was from Winnipeg; the Kroffts and Cirque du Soleil come from Montreal. What’s the deal, eh? Been smoking the maple leaves?

Henning and Cirque have never been my cup of tea but the off-the-wall products of Sid and Marty Krofft have ALWAYS rung my bell. A good measure of the impact the team has had on my lives is the fact that I have ALREADY blogged about most of their shows and their stars (just follow the links for more). But, man, running down the full list of them is wild — since they average a show a year, it’s almost like scanning a list of all your childhood schoolteachers, grade by grade. To wit:

The Banana Splits (1968-70)

The Kroffts did not produce this groundbreaking and memorable series (it was Hanna-Barbera), but they did design the costumed characters (Fleegle, Blingo, Drooper and Snorky). The idea was that that they were a rock band quartet like the Beatles (who hadn’t yet broken up) but designed especially for young children (a concept not unlike the much later Teletubbies).  The show was also a natural refinement of the concept of The Monkees, which was aimed at older kids and ran from 1966 to 1968. In format, the show also borrowed a lot from Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In, lots of short black out sketches, songs and other segments, with rapid cross-cutting from one to the other — and a laugh-track. The voices were provided by Paul Winchell, Daws Butler, and Allan Melville (Snorky the elephant, much like Harpo Marx, didn’t speak but merely blew his trunk, which sounded like a bicycle horn). The monster success of this show is what allowed the Kroffts (who’d previously been known for their live shows at theme parks, world’s fairs, etc.) to begin producing on their own.

H.R. Pufnstuf (1969)

The show that started it all. A psychedelic feast in which young Jimmy (Jack Wild, from the recent hit Oliver!) gets blown off course in his little skiff in a storm and winds up on a magical island presided over by the titular character, the Mayor, who is clearly inspired by the song “Puff, the Magic Dragon”.  He was voiced by Lennie Weinrib. The villain of the piece is one Witchiepoo (Billie Hayes), clearly inspired by the Wizard of Oz’s Wicked Witch of the West, but funnier, who wants to steal Jimmy’s talking magical flute, Freddy. Meanwhile, everything on this Living Island (e.g., the trees) talks. Most of them talk in the form of impersonations of class Hollywood stars like Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, John Wayne and Mae West.

I believe the Kroffts when they insist that drugs played no role in this show’s creation. Only someone stupid, literal-minded and lacking in imagination can’t conceive that it was created otherwise. I might say that certainly drugs played a role in the popular aesthetics of the times and thus may have exerted an indirect influence. But something else to think about (the elephant in the room, really) was that color television was still a relatively new toy. What would be more natural in the early days for producers to test its limits with EXPLOSIONS of color?

H.R. Pufnstuf was so popular that in 1970 McDonald’s emulated it by introducing its full range of McDonaldland characters in commercials, most notoriously Mayor McCheese, an obvious rip-off of the title character in Pufnstuf. This was easily my first introduction to the concept of a lawsuit, as all tongues wagged about it at the time. As it happens, Paul Simon also sued the producers for stealing a portion of The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy) for the show’s theme song — but that’s really just petty. It’s really just a couple of bars of a very simple melody which any child might invent at random on the kindergarten playground — it’s not exactly Mozart. But Simon won and apparently now gets official credit as one of the theme’s creators.

The Bugaloos (1970)

Speaking of theme songs, try and get the one to THIS show out of your head once you’ve heard it! I challenge you! The Bugaloos tends to fall through the cracks of people’s memories, I think the only recognizable star was the villainess, played by Martha Raye. The main characters were an English quartet of flying insects who were also a rock band — kind of a LITERAL “Beetles”, if you will. They lived inside a juke box! The visual effect of the Bugaloos flying through the air unavoidably evokes ancient cultural memories of storybook fairies. The Kroffts were the KINGS of visual symbolism and power in this way, very much plugged into fairy tales, but making them current.

Lidsville (1971)

Lidsville has wound up being almost as well remembered as Pufnstuf , I think because of its stars and because it went back to a formula more like the original. In this one, a now teenage Butch Patrick (who had played Eddie Munster) gets whisked away to a magical land of talking hats, ruled over by an evil magician named Hoodoo (Charles Nelson Reilly) who bore more than a slight resemblance to the popular Witchiepoo. The show had several memorable green screen effects sequences, including the magician’s growing top hat (which the boy falls in and down, in just the same way Alice had fallen down the Rabbit Hole into Wonderland), and the giant flying top hat Hoodoo flies around in, saucer style.

Sigmund and the Sea Monsters (1973-1974)

Two full seasons of Sigmund and the Sea Monsters were produced, and it aired even longer. In conception, it represents a slight “sea change” if you will, from the earlier shows. It was less “psychedelic” than the previous ones, though it still had lots of humor. It was very much similar in conception to the typical tween literature of the time. Two brothers (Johnny Whitaker from Family Affair and Scott Kolden) have a secret clubhouse where they stow the ultimate secret — the existence of their friend, the good hearted sea monster Sigmund, played by little person Billy Barty in a typical Krofftian costume. The scenario has much in common with magical sit-coms of the ’60s like Mr. Ed, My Favorite Martian, My Mother the Car etc. The heroes have something exceptionally weird going on in their lives that no one else is privy to, necessitating lots of quick-thinking and fast-talking to devise explanations. Dogging their steps are Sigmund’s mean family — this element seems borrowed from Caspar the Friendly Ghost (Sigmund is nice; his family like to do pranks). The show would have been my first exposure to the perennial Mary Wickes, as a grouchy housekeeper. Margaret Hamilton played a nosey neighbor (conceptually similar to Bewitched’s Mrs. Kravitz). And Rip Taylor played Sigmund’s bumbling magical uncle, another concept seemingly borrowed from Bewitched. 

L-R, Will, Chaka, Holly

Land of the Lost (1974)

Another slight divergence for the team, Land of the Lost was an excursion into straight-up sci-fi fantasy, although still aimed at kids. It was a variation on the old Hollywood “Lost World” subgenre, where a small group of characters find themselves trapped in a “Land That Time Forgot” — full of dinosaurs. Will, Holly and their dad are white water rafting and somehow find themselves in this unknown pocket of the planet. They pass through a narrow gate of rocks, in a concept not unlike the path to Shangri La in Lost Horizon. But with the added twist that it is also a dimensional door — the family is clearly in some other part of the universe. (By the way, several top science fiction writers wrote for, or advised on the series). True to the genre, but not to paleontology, the dinosaurs here live side by side with humanoids as well as completely ahistorical creatures — in this case, the terrifying lizard-men the Sleeztaks. I never met anyone who wasn’t genuinely scared of these creatures as a child. I have no idea why, but it worked. They were nightmare stuff: full of vague malevolence, and nonverbal (aside from hissing) which put that at an even further distance. Another frequent antagonist was a Tyrannosarus Rex which would periodically attack the family’s cave, which was conveniently located at Tyrannosaurus mouth height. They repelled the beast with a log with one sharpened end, which they called “the fly swatter”. As you can glean perhaps, unlike the previous Krofft productions, humor shtick was non-existent on Land of the Lost. The one gentle element is the family’s friend/pet, a talking ape-boy named Cha-Ka. The girl who played Holly (Kathy Coleman) resembled Kim Richards, star of Disney movies like Escape to Witch Mountain in a general way; my memory has tended to lump them together. As I’m sure you’re aware, an obligatory ironic reboot feature film came out in 2009, starring Will Ferrell. 

The Lost Saucer (1975)

Yet another mini-subgenre, The Lost Saucer, Far-Out Space Nuts (below), and Filmation’s The Ghost Busters were all kid’s shows that briefly resurrected the careers of tv comedy stars. In this one, Gomer Pyle’s Jim Nabors and Laugh-In’s Ruth Buzzi are a couple of bumbling space aliens trying to find their way home, much like the family in Lost in Space, with the added inconvenience of an inadvertent child abduction in the mix.

Far Out Space Nuts (1975)

In this one, almost like a book end to The Lost Saucer, Gilligan’s Island’s Bob Denver and kid’s entertainer Chuck McCann are a couple of bumbling janitors who accidentally press a button and wind up in outer space. It’s almost like a different draft of the Lost Saucer idea and they just decided to them both.

The Krofft Super Show and The Krofft Superstar Hour (1976-1979)

At this stage it was almost like the Kroffts decided to go for broke and do every remaining kid’s show idea at the same time. The Krofft Super Show was a kind of anthology program consisting of separate 15 minute long mini-shows, hosted by the fictional glam rock band  Kaptain Kool and the Kongs (led by Michael Lembeck, son of Harvey Lembeck from the Frankie and Annette beach party movies). It seems at least partially inspired by The Hudson Brothers Razzle Dazzle Show, which had premiered in 1974.

Kaptain Kool, Kongs

Later, when it became the Superstar Hour, Kaptain Kool and the Kongs were replaced with the Bay City Rollers, which was very good timing for the bubble gum band, as they’d only recently stopped having hit records. At a certain point, it was renamed yet again to The Bay City Rollers Hour. 

Bay City Rollers

At any rate this monster-mega-multi-show had several mini shows, to wit:

Electra Woman and Dyna Girl

Old school superheroes were very much back in during the 1970s, I think ultimately due to the syndicated success of the 60s show Batman with children. Hanna-Barbera launched Super Friends in 1973; Filmation launched Shazam! in 1974; the prime time Wonder Woman premiered on ABC in 1975. Electra Woman and Dyna Girl owed the most to the latter show; the title characters (played by Days of Our Lives‘ Deidre Hall and Judy Strangis of Room 222) were lady reporters by day; high voltage superheroes when duty called. There was a reboot feature in 2016.

Dr. Shrinker

Damn, how I loved and LOVE this show. Jay Robinson played a mad scientist who (much like the villains in films like Dr. Cyclops and Attack of the Puppet People) shrinks a group of friends to the size of dolls for his evil experiments (a simple green screen effect). The leader of the kids was Ted Eccles — when I look at pictures of him, I’m like “Where do I know him from?” But the answer I think turns out to be,”From THIS! I know him from THIS!” Best of all (besides Robinson’s delicious over-the-top performance) is Dr. Shinker’s henchman, played by little person Billy Barty, who’d also played Sigmund the Sea Monster, now unobscured by the extravagant costume.

Wonderbug

Wow, this one was a fun one to unpack…so much had gotten mixed together in my memory. First the live action Wonderbug so much resembles Hanna-Barbera’s 1973 animated Speed Buggy ( a sort of Scooby Doo knock-off), which in turn one can’t help mixing up with the 1967 Japanese anime Speed Racer, which has quite a different concept but a very similar name. Of course the live action sentient bug car concept can be traced to Disney’s 1968 The Love Bug. Here, it’s a dune buggy nicknamed the Shlepcar. But when its magic horn is honked, it can do everything, including fly.

Bigfoot and Wildboy

This segment didn’t premiere until 1977 and I can’t help deducing that it owes its existence to the legendary Six Million Dollar Man episodes we wrote about here. Bigfoot was not only in the air, he was on the ground, on call, to help strangers in trouble. Wildboy was a kid he found and raised in the forest. Essentially, this was every kid’s fantasy — to be raised in the forest by Bigfoot. In reality, that would probably not be so great. Can you imagine? The irony…if you were raised in the forest, you couldn’t watch Saturday morning children’s television!

Magic Mongo

This one had a little bit of this, a little bit of that. Kids find a genie in a bottle, not unlike the concept of I Dream of Jeanie, but also similar to Sigmund and the Sea Monsters. The genie was played by Lennie Weinrib (who’d also played Pufnstuf) in some very uncool brown make-up.

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A major shift in the priorities of Sid and Marty Krofft occurred in 1976, but I was was just the right age to stay right with ’em. Essentially, they transitioned from producing children’s entertainment with puppetry and costumes, to family oriented prime time variety shows. The transition was initially very smart; they latched onto performers with heavy name recognition among their kid audience. In essence, they could build an audience that included both kids and adults. These included:

Donny and Marie (1976-79)

My sister and I were crazy about this show, which, after all starred a famous brother and sister. The entire Osmond family had been a constant presence on TV throughout the 1960s. They started scoring pop hits in the early 70s, with Donny, and later sister Marie branching off and having successful singles on their own. The songs were familiar to everybody, but of more moment to kids, Rankin-Bass had starred the Osmonds in their own animated series in 1972. This new show was very much modeled on Sonny and Cher, with songs and comedy skits, and one of the regular cast members was Paul Lynde. 

The Brady Hour (1977)

This one seemed savvier on paper than it actually played out. Like The Osmonds, the fictional Brady Kids had had their own animated kids series, which was produced by Filmation and ran from 1972 to 1973. And the original family sit com The Brady Bunch (1969-1974) was still in syndication and popular with kids. Furthermore that show had occasionally showcased the stars in comedy skits and musical numbers. So there is something logical in a producing sort of way about the creation of the show. In practice though, it seemed unfortunate. It seemed both desperate and desperately unhip — and I was only 12 at the time. They weren’t an actual musical group, nor were they comedians, nor were they even an actual family named Brady. What the fuck were they? What was this? Characteristically, Eve Plumb (Jan) was the only one with the dignity and class to sit this project out, spending these years pursuing real roles in tv movies and such. So in addition to everything else wrong with the show, there was the affront of being presented with Geri Reischl, a.k.a. “Fake Jan”, which was like getting a glass of Royal Crown Cola instead of Coke. We were like, “What do you take us for??? That ain’t Jan!” Cut us some slack, we were children. On the other hand, we are also the audience, and we took our attention elsewhere.

Pink Lady and Jeff (1980)

I wrote about this show in No Applause as “the ignominious death of the tv variety show”. “Comedian Jeff Altman and the Japanese singing duo Pink Lady (who didn’t speak English) were the theoretical draws to this program, which was memorably (even infamously) weird, but it wasn’t precisely “good”, even if it was fairly representative of its times.

Barbara Mandrell and the Mandrell Sisters (1980)

This was just about where I was tuning out. These lovely country singers had their following, but this show was hardly calculated to appeal to the widest possible swath of the American public.  Grownups in my family liked it, but I had no use for it, and I doubt any other young people did either. Further, the Mandrells weren’t actors and comedians. Hardly a small point when it comes to carrying a tv variety series.

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They Kroffts had clearly been sliding for a couple of years but this is about where the magic appears to have definitively evaporated and they were no long clicking either with audiences or getting green lights from networks. Their last variety outing during this phase was a 1981 variety special starring Anson Williams (Potsy from Happy Days) and his wife.

This is the end of the Sid and Marty Krofft I grew up with. By the time they returned in the mid ’80s I was an adult and fairly uninterested in anything they were coming back with, although I was vaguely aware of some of it. For example, there was Pryor’s Place (1984), a children’s show starring Richard Pryor! From a certain perspective, in conception it’s not too different from Bill Cosby’s earlier show Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids. But Pryor is SO associated with profanity, I never thought of the concept as anything other than a punchline.It’s like having a stripper jump out of the cake at a kid’s 8th birthday party.

But mostly the Kroffts seemed to have lost their voice at this stage; there wasn’t much focus to the things they were trying. There was a rock and wrestling show for kids in 1985; a variety special with Patti LaBelle that same year; and a syndicated political satire sketch show starring Fred Willard and a bunch of puppets called D.C. Follies (1987-1989).

In more recent years there have been the re-boot of Land of the Lost (2009) with Will Ferrell, a new series called Mutt and Stuff (2015) and the reboot of Electra Woman and Dyna Girl (2016)!