Season Four: Feeding the Beast Twice a Week

The pinnacle achievement in season four of the Movie of the Week (MOW), as well as a milestone in the history of television and American culture, was the November 1, 1973, broadcast of That Certain Summer. This contemporary drama was the first made-for-television film to deal honestly with the issue of male homosexuality. The plot of this film is particularly sensitive subject matter, as it centers on a father revealing his sexuality to his 14-year-old son. As was the case with many MOWs, That Certain Summer was a large issue presented in a small story. Hal Holbrook stars as Doug Salter, a divorced building contractor who lives with his partner, Gary McClain (played by Martin Sheen), a sound engineer, in a well equipped and decorated home near San Francisco. Doug has kept his sexuality a secret from his son, Nick (Scott Jacoby); however, his son is coming to San Francisco for a summer vacation, requiring Gary to temporarily move out to conceal the secret. Nick becomes suspicious when Gary, presented as a friend, seems to be spending an excessive amount of time with father and son. After finding several “clues” about his father’s friendship with Gary, Nick runs away from the father’s home; it is an unspoken and angry accusation about the true nature of the relationship. When Nick returns home, Doug tactfully admits he and Gary are lovers, and tries to define or explain homosexuality to his son. Nick reacts with anger and hostility, deciding to immediately leave his father’s house, returning to Los Angeles with his mother (Hope Lange). Doug’s ex-wife tells him to have patience with their son, suggesting his love for his father will mitigate his short-term anger. Nonetheless, the movie ends on a somber note, as Nick leaves his father’s home without saying goodbye. The movie closes with Doug looking tortured and broken-hearted as tears stream down his face.^[1]

Because it was the first TV movie to deal seriously with this taboo topic, the path to production and broadcast was exasperating and uncertain. In fact, the production process was similar to most other MOWs; however, That Certain Summer faced obstacles, opposition, and questions other MOWs did not. The driving force behind the film was the writer–producer duo of Richard Levinson and William Link. Having a preexisting relationship, the partners originally pitched their concept to the National Broadcasting Company (NBC); in response, an NBC executive proclaimed, “We wouldn’t touch something like that with a ten foot pole.” The next logical step was the American Broadcasting Company (ABC), specifically Barry Diller. Much to their surprise, after a fifteen-minute description of the story, Diller gave them the approval to write the full-length script, with an assurance he would manage the expected corporate resistance. Once the script was completed, it would be submitted to ABC’s Department of Standards and Practices. As were all MOW scripts, it would be reviewed and a series of changes would be requested. Typically, the notes included requests to obscure brand names on household products, or to exchange a “darn” for a “damn” or a “heck” for a “hell.”

However, the subject matter of That Certain Summer produced a detailed review, focusing on any issues that might even slightly hint at homosexual sex. In their book, Stay Tuned, Levinson and Link offer examples of the notes they received:

Although not happy about it, Levinson and Link compromised with the censor, altering portions of the script. Casting the role of Doug proved to be somewhat difficult because it was agreed an actor with a strong résumé and name recognition would be required to draw an audience and legitimize the film. Unfortunately, most actors with strong credits and a thriving career would not take a chance on a controversial role that might hurt them professionally with a mainstream audience. According to Levinson and Link, when they casually mentioned the role to actor Cliff Robertson, he said, “I’d rather play Hitler.” Ultimately, Hal Holbrook, an actor who filled the criteria, took a professional risk and flourished in the role. The producers even had a difficult time finding homes in which to shoot the film, because many people, including gay men, did not want their homes associated with the subject matter.^[3]

Having gone out on a professional limb to support the film, Barry Diller wanted to ensure its success. To achieve this goal, ABC engaged in an aggressive promotional campaign preceding the broadcast. In addition to the standard MOW promotional tools of 30- and 60-second trailers, press kits with plot summary and actor biographies, and newspaper ads and interviews, there was also a widespread prescreening campaign targeting television critics. Not only were industry insiders a focus, but according to Levinson and Link, there were screenings for unique “word of mouth groups” such as members of the American Civil Liberties Union, California government officials, foreign reporters, and clergymen. There were even closed-circuit screenings for select groups at ABC affiliates across the nation. The result of this promotional blitz was a large volume of national publicity in advance of the broadcast. Equally important was the tenor of the prebroadcast publicity; most critics established the film as serious, balanced, nonexploitative, and—equally important for many—not prohomosexuality. The consequence of the campaign was the forestalling of prebroadcast criticism or organized efforts against the film.^[4]

The response to That Certain Summer was predictably varied. The ratings were average for the MOW, meaning it was a widely watched movie, but not near the strong numbers of lesser-quality films in the series. ABC received a large volume of viewer mail, including positive and negative feedback, as did newspaper and periodical editors across the nation. One group that was particularly angry about the depictions in the film was the increasingly militant and media-conscious gay rights activists of the era. Members in that community were angered by the absence of any realistic physical affection between Gary and Doug. This aspect was a small part of the original script, but never made it past Standards and Practices. The other episode that deeply offended some in the gay community was Doug’s explanation of homosexuality, in which he says, “A lot of people—most people I guess—think it’s wrong. . . . They say it’s a sickness. . . . They say that it has to be cured.” Doug goes on to assert, “Maybe they’re right, I don’t know. . . . I do know that it isn’t easy. If I had a choice it’s not something I’d pick for myself.” The last line was deeply insulting for many in the gay community, and may have tainted an otherwise generally positive portrayal of homosexuality circa 1972. That line was another compromise on the part of Levinson and Link, one they would immediately regret, and continue to regret for decades.^[5]

Any cursory examination of That Certain Summer reveals it to be a trailblazing milestone in American culture. Nonetheless, it does not have the same cultural legacy of Brian’s Song, The Night Stalker, Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark, or Trilogy of Terror. It is difficult to pinpoint why this is the case. It may be an aversion to the subject matter felt by many in the American public; it may be that it is not truly inspirational, nor does it have a happy ending. It may be that the increasing volume of later films dealing with the same material in a more realistic and explicit way has obscured the true groundbreaking nature of the film. Although the wider legacy of That Certain Summer may pale in comparison with other films in the MOW canon, the quality and pioneering nature of the work merits inclusion in the list of the most significant and culturally reflective films of the series, the MOW Hall of Fame, if you will.

Another Hall of Fame–worthy film from season four is Go Ask Alice (January 24, 1973). This film also dealt with sensitive subject matter, although unlike That Certain Summer, the topic of this film, teenage drug use, was a widely discussed and deepening issue in American life. The title is clearly a transparent reference to the famed Jefferson Airplane drug anthem of the late 1960s. The movie was based on the allegedly true story of a fifteen-year-old girl named Alice (Jaime Smith Jackson), and her rapid fall from quiet, studious virgin to homeless, drug-addicted prostitute. The transformation of Alice begins when she is invited to a party thrown by a clique of high school hippies, where her drink is spiked with LSD. With seeming alacrity, Alice is transformed into a hippie chick with an “old man.” She is depicted fighting with her parents (William Shatner and Julie Adams) about her hair and clothing, as well as having sex while tripping out on a variety of drugs. With Alice as occasional narrator, her philosophy changes as she falls deeper into the abyss. She is remarkably prodrug early in the movie; after trying cocaine she declares, “I wish all the straight kids could turn on to see what they are missing.” Throughout her decline, Alice’s educated, progressive parents range from unbelievable ignorance, to annoying understanding and acceptance. In one scene, Alice has a family birthday attended by her friends; her parents are unaware that all of the kids are stoned.

At its midpoint, the movie slides into sensationalist melodrama that appears designed to terrify parents and possibly younger children. Eventually, Alice’s boyfriend gets her to take part in his drug-dealing operation. Her first deal occurs at the local junior high school; when her youthful customer arrives, she says “I thought you’d be older,” to which he replies “are you kidding? I’m pushing this at the grade school.” Inevitably, Alice has a falling out with her boyfriend, which leads her to run away from home. Unfortunately, she is fully addicted to drugs by this point, and her boyfriend is her sole supplier; this lack of supply pushes her into street prostitution and homelessness. There are some harrowing scenes in which Alice and a friend are picking through garbage for discarded food, and one scene in which Alice has been taken in by a much older couple, with the implication she is being sexually exploited by them in a dark, unusual manner. Eventually, Alice stumbles onto a shelter for dead-end hippies and drug addicts operated by a local priest (Andy Griffith). The priest takes a special interest in her, almost forcing her to begin the drug recovery process. This interaction helps her go back home, where she struggles with acid flashbacks and assimilating into school life. In the eyes of the “straight” kids, Alice has been tainted by her slide into degradation and dependence, and of course her former drug-using friends want nothing to do with her, nor would an association with them help her recovery. In essence, the only friends Alice has are her fellow recovering drug addicts, leaving her in a painful limbo. However, the movie appears set to end on a positive note, with Alice clean and sober, waving to her mother as she walks into school. As the frame freezes on Alice’s smiling face, the mother, in a voice over, tells the audience that Alice would die of a drug overdose six weeks later. This was an unusually downbeat ending for a TV movie, no doubt designed to reinforce a strong antidrug message.^[6]

Go Ask Alice produced reasonably good ratings, ranking fifteenth for the week, and a good deal of discussion on the topic of drug use in American schools. When two prominent television critics, Percy Shain from the Boston Globe and John J. O’Conner of the New York Times, published reviews that questioned the veracity of the high school drug culture as depicted in the film, they received a heavy volume of letters confirming its accuracy. The letters came from parents, educators, and, most prominently, current and recent high school students. For these parents, educators, and students, Go Ask Alice became a potent antidrug anthem. The St. Louis Globe Democrat called it “the finest anti-drug drama ever presented by TV.” ABC was inundated with requests for copies of the film from schools, church groups, and community organizations, many of which were granted. On the Internet message boards of 1970s nostalgia sites and movie sites like IMDB, page after page of comments cite this film as a jolting, if not life-altering, experience for many of those who watched it as a young person, either when it first aired on ABC, or when presented by a school or some other community-based organization. It is a rare accomplishment for a film of any kind to leave such a visceral mark on the mind of so many viewers, even to the point of guiding the direction of some viewer’s lives.^[7]

In a variety of ways, Go Ask Alice can be viewed as a sequel to earlier MOWs such as Tribes, Maybe I ’ ll Come Home in the Spring, and In Search of America. Those films were designed to represent or explain the counterculture at its zenith. However, by 1973, the movement was in recession, primarily because many of those who had been swept up in the fad of the counterculture had grown up or moved on to the next cultural wave. There had also been an exodus of committed activists who had become disheartened that the original ideals had dissipated. In an effort to explain the decline, some observers have attached blame to specific events, including a deadly Rolling Stones concert in Altamont, California, or the deaths of such seminal figures as Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and Jim Morrison. For many, the Charles Manson murders and subsequent trial were a stake in the heart of the counterculture that was particularly damaging to the public opinion of its principles and practitioners. Whatever the cause, the phenomenon was clearly over. The demise of the movement was encapsulated ruefully by Hunter S. Thompson in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, in which he says, “So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high water mark—that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.”^[8] As the social wave of the counterculture receded, it left behind the detritus of any high tide. Gone were the ideals of peace, love, and understanding; remaining was the devastation of social dysfunction in the form of rampant casual drug use, unrestrained sexual promiscuity, a collection of domestic terrorists, and an outbreak of extreme religious fundamentalism and cultish activity. The ABC MOW had already and would continue to mine these cultural quagmires for entertainment value, and occasionally social relevance.

On a much lighter note—or a darker one, depending on one’s perspective—the MOW brought back the muckraking tabloid reporter Carl Kolchak in a sequel to the hugely successful The Night Stalker. In the second episode, titled The Night Strangler, Kolchak (Darren McGavin), along with his testy editor, Tony Vincenzo (Simon Oakland), land in Seattle after having been run out of Las Vegas. The Richard Matheson script, under the direction of Dan Curtis, once again has Kolchak running into a series of unsolved murders. This time there have been six mysterious murders committed in the dark corners of downtown Seattle. Because several of the victims have been young belly dancers, a TV euphemism for a stripper, Kolchak trolls the bars, clubs, and coffee houses of seedy Seattle, along the way enlisting a dancer (Jo Ann Pflug) to help investigate. The turning point in the case occurs when he meets his newspaper’s nebbish archivist (Wally Cox) who reveals a pattern of similar murders occurring with regularity every 21 years since 1889. Leaping headlong into the world of the supernatural, Kolchak becomes convinced the killer is a Civil War–era doctor who is still alive in 1973 because he drains the blood from his victims for use in an “elixir of life” to keep him youthful.

Yet again, the local police refuse to believe Kolchak, and Vincenzo will not risk another job on one of Kolchak’s crazy ideas. To find the killer, Kolchak will descend into “Old Seattle,” a portion of the city that has been buried underground since 1889. Enhancing the actual Seattle underground environment, the set design and art direction of the subterranean city is very effective, producing a creepy atmospheric netherworld in which Kolchak and the doctor have a climactic battle. Kolchak engages the doctor in a struggle in which he denies him the last treatment of his elixir, causing the killer to show his true 144 years as he desiccates in front of Kolchak and the police who show up at the last moment. Despite being the hero once again, the police will not recognize his evidence, and his newspaper, owned by a devotee of the socially prominent but murderous doctor, will not publish nor further employ Kolchak or Vincenzo. The Night Strangler closes in familiar fashion with Kolchak and his belongings stuffed into a broken-down car, this time with Vincenzo and the belly dancer along for the ride. As they leave the city, the camera settles on a highway sign saying “New York,” presumably their destination and the location for the next installment in the Kolchak saga. Despite strong ratings and very positive reviews, there would be no third Kolchak movie; rather, in the fall of 1974 the movies would morph into a regular series. Despite the short-lived nature of the series, the Kolchak character retains iconic, or at least cult status for decades into the future.^[9]

If any other character could challenge, if not surpass, Carl Kolchak for the designation as the most legendary character from the MOW series, it would be Steve Austin, also known as The Six Million Dollar Man (March 7, 1973). This sci-fi adventure opens with astronaut and test pilot Steve Austin (Lee Majors) experiencing a devastating crash as he tests a top-secret government aircraft. Austin survives, but he is near death, with his body ravaged. With nothing to lose, a government doctor steps in and performs a highly experimental operation. Austin will have his damaged body parts (an arm, two legs, and an eye) reconstructed with bionic technology. These highly advanced mechanical body parts will give Austin superstrength in his arm, allow him to run sixty miles per hour, and see great distances with precision. Much of the film is consumed by the operation, rehabilitation, and training, as well as Austin’s struggle to come to terms with his new powers. Ultimately, Austin will accept a dangerous mission from a shadowy figure named Oliver Spencer (Darren McGavin), who works for the Office of Scientific Intelligence (OSI). This top-secret mission gives Austin an opportunity to test his new powers against an enemy of the United States. Although still somewhat conflicted at the end of the film, Steve Austin seems prepared, if not obligated, to continue his work for the OSI. Although the premise of the film seems somewhat outlandish, the final product is reasonably believable. The opening crash is actual NASA footage of one of their craft going down; although the real crash was horrific, the real pilot survived as well. In the scenes where Austin uses his bionic powers, especially lifting or running, a slow-motion effect is used to establish the scale of his speed and strength, along with a sound effect that appears to represent the mechanical action of his body parts. Any alternative efforts to speed up the film, or have Austin lift obviously lightweight objects would not have worked consistently.^[10]

Given the solid premise for a continuing series and a strong ratings performance, it was inevitable that Steve Austin would go on more missions. Initially, The Six Million Dollar Man appeared in two new TV movies aired as part of a separate ABC movie series titled The ABC Suspense Movie during the 1973–1974 season. Eventually, in January 1974, The Six Million Dollar Man transitioned into a regular series that ran from 1974 to 1978. The success of the original character spawned a female version of bionic power in The Bonic Woman (1976). Once the regular series began, The Six Million Dollar Man became a cultural phenomenon. The merchandizing opportunities were lucrative, as lunch boxes, action figures, trading cards, and clothing became coveted items for youngsters (mostly boys) during the mid-1970s. Countless people of all ages reenacted some feat of Austin strength in slow-motion fashion while emitting the series’ sci-fi sound effects; and almost everyone, even those who did not watch the show, knew the opening narration of each episode, “Steve Austin . . . Astronaut . . . A man barely alive . . . We can rebuild him. We have the technology. We can make him better than he was. Better . . . Stronger . . . Faster.”^[11]

The Six Million Dollar Man ran consistently in U.S. and international syndication for almost twenty years, with three reunion movies made in the 1990s. Even in 2012, the bionic legacy continues, as Lee Majors is a big draw at sci-fi conventions and the 1970s merchandize is now worth hundreds if not thousands of dollars to collectors. The sound effects and mantra of The Six Million Dollar Man are still used to sell products to baby boomers and Gen-Xers who fondly remember Steve Austin. Of course it is the regular series that cemented The Six Million Dollar Man forever in American popular culture, but its origins are in the MOW, making it one of a handful of legendary films in the series.

The Three S’s Become Four: A Staple

Season four has another strong slate of films in the triple-headed hybrid genre of suspense, sci-fi, and supernatural horror. In the horror realm, a standout film that is widely remembered is the demonic thriller titled The Devil’s Daughter (January 9, 1973). Belinda Montgomery stars as Diane Shaw, a twenty-one-year-old woman who returns home from school after her mother’s apparent suicide. At the funeral, Diane is approached by a mysterious woman, Lilith Malone (Shelley Winters), who introduces herself as an old friend of her mother. In short order, Lilith convinces Diane to move into her large Victorian home until she can find an apartment. After a few days Diane begins to feel uncomfortable in the house, quickly moving out, although not without enraging Lilith with her departure. As it turns out, Lilith’s interest in Diane is not pure, for she reveals herself to be a member of a satanic order in which her mother was also a member. What Diane does not know is that her mother gave her to the Devil when she was an infant, making her literally the Devil’s daughter. At a party where she was to be ordained, Lilith informs Diane she must marry a demon spirit named Endor. The young woman flees the party and the assembled collection of creepy cult members.

Diane tries to get on with her life, but terrible things begin happening to people close to her, including the death of her roommate and a serious injury to a kindly old lawyer (Joseph Cotton) whom she befriended. Eventually, Diane meets a young man named Steve Stone (Robert Foxworth) with whom she quickly falls in love. The couple’s rapid advance toward marriage produces a traumatic ending. Moments after taking their vows, Diane turns around to see the church filled with the sinister cult members. As she turns to her new husband for support, she looks into his face, only to see his eyes engulfed in fire; Diane had been duped into marrying the demon of Endor. As the movie closes, the Satanists surround her and repeatedly chant “Hail Princess Diane,” and the kindly old lawyer is revealed to be the Devil, who plans to take the young married couple back to hell with him for eternity. The Devil’s Daughter is one of the rare films, TV or feature, that has the Devil winning in the end. Many TV critics and no doubt viewers recognized the similarity between The Devil’s Daughter and the feature film Rosemary’s Baby (1968), both thematically and cinematically. As Howard Thompson of the New York Times noted, “Subtract the baby from Rosemary’s Baby, transplant those strange Manhattan cliff dwellers to sunny California and you have The Devil’s Daughter, one of the better made-for-TV movies.”^[12]

Although The Devil’s Daughter and Rosemary’s Baby seem a bit outlandish to many, it was part of flourishing subgenre of films, both TV and theatrical, dealing with satanic cults, demonic possession, and the personification of the Devil and his power. The MOW certainly delves into the topic, as did some major and minor motion pictures of the era, including The Mephisto Waltz (1971), The Exorcist (1973), The Devil’s Rain (1975), The Omen (1976), and a string of B movies on the topic. Whether these films mirror a trend in society or inspired one is a worthy topic of debate, but the trend was real. In June 1972, Time Magazine published a cover story titled “The Occult Revival: Satan Returns,” featuring a hooded figure with a pentagram emblazoned on the hood. The full story discussed the rise of local satanic organizations and cults, composed largely of everyday citizens, very similar to those featured in The Devil’s Daughter and others.^[13]

Moon of the Wolf (September 26, 1972) offers a rich mix of Southern folklore combined with a classic werewolf story. This intersection of lycanthropy and local spiritualism is set in the Louisiana bayou community of Marsh Island, where Sheriff Aaron Whitaker (David Janssen) is investigating the grisly murder of a young woman. The woman’s body is discovered ripped to pieces, with obvious bite mark wounds. The initial autopsy indicates the woman was torn apart by wild dogs, but only after a heavy blow to the head. What starts out as a seemingly typical small-town murder mystery, replete with dark secrets and personal conflict, morphs into a supernatural investigation. In talking with an elderly resident, Whitaker discovers the local legend of “Loup-Garou,” a werewolf-like creature. After two more mutilated bodies are found, the sheriff’s investigation is complicated by a terrified populous infused with a vigilante bloodlust. The sheriff ultimately identifies the werewolf as a local patrician, Andrew Rodante (Bradford Dillman). The wealthy scion has been able to conceal his affliction for several years, but has now lost control of his mind and body. The movie ends with the werewolf being shot and killed by his sister, with “blessed bullets.” As one would expect, the werewolf murders are committed off camera, with no real gore or bloodshed. The makeup for the werewolf looked like it had not advanced in any way since the 1940s when Lon Chaney Jr. was terrorizing audiences as a fully dressed werewolf with hairy gloves and a black dog nose. Much more effective was the Southern folklore and the location filming in rural Louisiana, including scenes deep in the bayou and in large antebellum mansions.^[14]

An exotic locale was the set piece for another supernatural mystery, The Haunts of the Very Rich, broadcast on September 20, 1972. This MOW features an all-star ensemble, including Lloyd Bridges, Cloris Leachman, Ed Asner, Anne Francis, Donna Mills, Tony Bill, Robert Reed, and Moses Gunn. The movie is centered on seven “specially selected” people chosen to receive a luxury vacation at the mysterious Portals of Eden island resort. Among the characters selected for this specialized vacation are an aging playboy, a middle-aged woman teetering on spinsterhood, a business man who thought he was on a flight to Dallas, a married woman on a break from her family responsibilities, a young newlywed couple, and a minister who has lost his faith. The movie opens with the passengers on a plane; the passengers don’t know the location of the resort. At arrival, the guests discover a paradise that has been engineered to each of their individual sensibilities. After an initial night of enjoyment, events begin turning sour when a massive storm knocks out the power and telephone, leaving them stranded on the island. With no air conditioning and limited fresh water and food, the conditions deteriorate quickly, causing the vacationers to grow more desperate and frazzled. As the hours tick by and they get to know each other, the guests learn they have all had recent near-death experiences. Eventually, they realize that the Portals of Eden is not a paradise; rather, they are all dead and deposited in their own personal hell. Their torment is to spend eternity on the island being tempted with an escape that will never come, knowing their pain and sadness will never end. The Haunts of the Very Rich has no fiery demons nor macabre imagery, but it does an effective job of creating an unsettling atmosphere and illustrating the eternal desperation and hopelessness of the condemned.^[15]

Fear and isolation of a different origin can be found in A Cold Night’s Death (January 30, 1973). This claustrophobic thriller is set deep in the Arctic winter at the Tower Mountain Research Center. The movie begins with two researchers, Dr. Robert Jones (Robert Culp) and Dr. Frank Enari (Eli Wallach), heading toward the research center to replace a fellow scientist who, after becoming increasingly irrational, has now broken off communication. When they arrive, they find the laboratories in disarray and the experimental chimpanzees near death. They also find the scientist they were to replace frozen solid in front of his radio set. The men settle down to complete the experiments, but over several weeks they are plagued by unexpected occurrences and acts of sabotage. Because they are the only two people on the base, their suspicions turn toward each other. As their paranoia increases, the men become adversaries. The end of the movie has an interesting twist, as the scientists realize too late that the cause of the sabotage and other events are the experimental chimpanzees. Everything done to the chimps was subtly being done to the scientists. The chimps were denied food, and the scientists somehow had their food stocks destroyed; the chimps were exposed to extreme cold, and the center’s windows were left open and the heat generator vandalized; fear was induced in the chimps, and within weeks the men were filled with fear and paranoia. In a climactic scene, the desperate scientists struggle over a gun, with Dr. Jones being killed. The last scene of the film has Dr. Enari being locked in a freezing room from the outside; as the camera assumes the doctor’s point of view, a chimp’s face slowly appears in a glass partition on the other side of the locked door. Enari will freeze to death in the same way as the man they came to replace. Although there are only two actors in the cast, the isolated setting and the use of the chimpanzees produces an effectively moody and suspenseful film. A Cold Night’s Death, although not an extraterrestrial driven film, is similar in a variety of ways to the original The Thing from Another World (1951) and its two remakes in 1982 and 2011.^[16]

As was the case in previous seasons, the suspense film was well represented in season four. The most unique of the suspense tales was Beg, Borrow . . . Or Steal (March 20, 1973). This MOW is a fairly typical heist film, with one notable exception: the three burglars are all physically disabled. This trio of disabled thieves includes Vic Cummings (Mike Conners), who is confined to a wheelchair; Cliff Norris (Michael Cole), a man with two prosthetic hands; and Lester Yates (Kent McCord), a blind man. These three men are having trouble finding and holding jobs due in large part to discrimination or insensitivity. The men decide to open a laundromat; unfortunately, they need $5000 to open the business, but they cannot get a bank or anyone else to lend them the startup capital. The trio reluctantly concludes their only chance to get the money is to steal a gold statue from a museum. Because Vic was a security engineer at the museum before he was fired, they feel like they have a good chance of succeeding. In adroit fashion, the three men overcome their disabilities to circumvent the museum’s high-tech security array. In classic heist film fashion, the men have several close calls during the theft, but they do get away with their loot. What the men did not know was their crime was observed by a museum security guard who followed them home. The guard confronts the men, asserting he has the authority of local law enforcement and the museum to offer them a deal. If the trio will turn the stolen goods over to him immediately, they will not be prosecuted. He goes even further and agrees to cosign a loan for $5000, the amount of money needed to open the laundromat. The men agree to the offer and go on to start their business; however, the guard in reality represented nobody but himself, taking the stolen goods and disappearing.

The casting of the film was a curious slice of the 1970s television landscape; all three of the lead criminals were well known for starring as crime fighters in their own series: Michael Cole (The Mod Squad), Mike Conners (Mannix), and Kent McCord (Adam-12). It is also worth noting that all three actors had their shows on three different networks. The MOW did not limit itself to exclusively using ABC talent; actors from other networks regularly appeared during the series. Beg, Borrow . . . Or Steal stands out for its generally positive depiction of the disabled. Almost twenty years before the Americans with Disabilities Act was enacted, in an era where many depictions of the disabled featured enfeebled, needy characters, the stars of this movie are empowered and ambitious. Although their personal character is in question, given their criminal proclivities, they do not let their disabilities hold them back.^[17]

Home for the Holidays, broadcast on November 28, 1972, presents a curious fusion of family reunion and murder mystery. Family patriarch Benjamin Morgan (Walter Brennan) has called home his four daughters for Christmas after years of estrangement. The daughters are angry with their father because they blame him for their mother’s suicide. After the daughters arrive, Ben reveals his real reason for assembling them. He thinks his second wife, Elizabeth (Julie Harris), is trying to kill him by poisoning his food. The four sisters, Alex (Eleanor Parker), Chris (Sally Field), Frederica (Jessica Walter), and Jo (Jill Haworth), are skeptical, but reluctantly agree to stay. Initially, the plot guides the viewer’s focus toward the second wife as she acts suspiciously, but is never seen in the act of poisoning. About one third of the way in, the story takes an unexpected turn when daughter Jo gets fed up with her family and decides to leave in a torrential downpour. Before she can drive away, she is brutally killed with a pitchfork. It now becomes clear a deranged killer is in the house. Eventually two more family members, Ben and Frederica, are killed. In the film’s climax, the youngest daughter, Chris, barely avoids being killed by the murderer, who turns out to be her sister Alex. The oldest of the daughters, Alex had never been married and resented having to care for her father and younger sisters after the death of her mother; killing her family would have made her “free.”^[18]

Home for the Holidays had a few frightful scenes, some suspenseful moments, and even a little mystery, but it was not the best the MOW had to offer. Television critics were not impressed. Howard Thompson of the New York Times remarked, “It’s called Home for the Holidays and you never saw a grislier, wetter, and flatter yuletide meatball in the guise of a thriller.”^[19] These critics may have been just in their remarks, but this type of escapist, cheap-thrills fare was very popular with TV audiences, as it had been with drive-in moviegoers or the readers of dime novels and detective magazines in an earlier age. Home for the Holidays was also typical of the type and quality of film populating the later seasons of the MOW. This dearth of quality films to air every Tuesday and Wednesday night was understandable given the industry-wide demand created by the production of over one hundred TV movies every season; there just were not enough first-rate scripts to fill the need. For every Night Strangler or That Certain Summer, there are two or three Home for the Holidays or Playmates. Nevertheless, as long as the viewers still tuned in, and they did in season four, the ABC executives were happy, and the MOW was guaranteed continued life.

One of the best suspense films of the season was Pursuit, broadcast on December 12, 1972. Based on a novel by Michael Crichton, and directed by the author, the film is a political thriller infused with action and crime drama themes. At the heart of the story is a cat-and-mouse battle of wits between political extremist James Wright (EG Marshall), and government agent Steven Graves (Ben Gazzara). Wright is the founder and financier of an organization called Americans for a Better Nation. As the leader of this organization, Wright promotes an ideology suggesting the U.S. political system is flawed at its core, and must be changed with “The help of God and by any means available.” Those means include stealing a container of nerve gas from the U.S. government. A presidential nominating convention in San Diego provides the backdrop as agent Graves shadows Wright to see how he plans to disrupt the convention. When the theft of the nerve gas is discovered, Wright’s plot becomes clear; he plans to use the gas to kill more than one million people, including the president, to facilitate widespread political change. Thus begins the cat-and-mouse game between Wright and Graves, in which the agent has to figure out where and how the gas will be dispersed.

Circumstances become more complicated when Wright is killed in an auto accident while trying to escape the authorities, leaving Graves to disarm the complicated gas delivery system. In the film’s climax, with an onscreen clock ticking down, Graves dismantles the original system, only to discover a backup explosive device set to deploy the gas. Somewhat predictably, the backup device is rendered ineffectual by throwing it out of a window, but a measure of suspense is still maintained. Although one million lives have been saved, and the convention is uninterrupted, one of the national defense experts offers a chilling caution. When asked how a private citizen could have obtained nerve gas, the expert asserts that any clever person with enough time, money, and determination could possibly do the same, or even obtain nuclear weapons. When asked what could be done about it, the man says he is not sure, but he knows what he will do: “Worry.” Crichton is delivering an unambiguous cautionary message, and if the message is not clear enough, viewers who watch until the very end of the credits are greeted with a narrative voice speaking one word: “Worry.” Although clearly intended for Cold War sensibilities, the final message would ring hauntingly true for modern viewers as well.^[20]

In his directorial debut, Michael Crichton does a quality job of maintaining suspense throughout, giving the film a greater size and scope than the TV movie budget generally allows. In addition to on-location shooting in San Diego, the film creates an air of realism by incorporating actual film footage from recent political conventions, although the party affiliation is not named in the film.^[21] The film also benefits from a driving contemporary score created by award-winning composer Jerry Goldsmith. Pursuit was developed by ABC Circle Films, the network’s in-house production company for TV films. Although originally created to produce films to be shown primarily outside of the MOW series, in the 1972–1973 season, ABC Circle began to turn out quite a few movies for the series. The ratings for Pursuit were representative for the season, but not spectacular. This was due in large part to effective counterprogramming by the rival networks in which CBS broadcast a Carol Burnett special, Once Upon a Mattress, and NBC broadcast a repeat of the Emmy Award–winning TV movie The Snow Goose. With a stronger ratings performance, Pursuit might have made more of a cultural impact, and may have entered into that select group of Hall of Fame MOW. However, while falling short of this stratum, it remains one of the highest quality and most compelling films of season four.

1970s Relevance Rolls On

Season four continued the pattern of the MOW delving into issues of contemporary relevance, both serious and frivolous. In 1972, the American economy was in the process of sliding into deep distress, manifest in debilitating inflation and rising unemployment. It is within that national milieu that A Great American Tragedy (October 18, 1972) establishes a painful relevance. The film pivots around the burgeoning economic problems of Brad Wilkes (George Kennedy), a fifty-five-year-old man who has just lost his $35,000 a year job as an aerospace engineer. After twenty years with his company, he is shocked to have been laid off, and, even more distressful, he cannot find a new job. When interviewing for jobs he is continually told he is overqualified, although he suspects his age and salary history are really the determining factors. The story follows Brad as he tries to adjust to extended unemployment, as well as his wife, Gloria (Vera Miles), as she tries to be supportive of her husband as they slide deeper into economic distress.

The film veers into melodrama, with Brad wallowing in his insecurity and having an extramarital affair, while Gloria has to adjust her lifestyle downward, including going to work for the first time in her married life. Brad and Gloria try to cut costs as much as possible, canceling vacations, country club memberships, and denying their teen daughter items she had become accustomed to receiving. Brad will eventually find a new job, although it is less prestigious and lower paying, essentially swallowing his pride to provide for his family. Admittedly, the Wilkes’s lifestyle is more affluent than most Americans, but the unsettling aspect of the film is the thought that if the Wilkes can find themselves in such dire straits, then anyone could be susceptible; clearly, many Americans in 1972 would have been able to relate on some level. The initial influence of the film was muted because the film aired opposite game three of the 1972 World Series, yet the production and performances were favorably reviewed in a number of major newspapers.^[22]

Season four also addressed the hottest of hot-button issues with the February 20, 1973, broadcast of A Brand New Life. Cloris Leachman and Martin Balsam star as Victoria and Jim Douglass, a couple happily married for eighteen years with no children. Assuming they are not able to have children, the couple is shocked to discover Victoria’s pregnancy. Their initial response is mixed; Jim is excited about the prospect of being a father, while Victoria has immediate concerns. Will a child disturb a happy marriage? What will happen to her career? At forty-one, is she physically too old to produce a healthy child? Does she really want to be a mother? Eventually, Victoria’s concerns will be shared by Jim, and they begin a serious dialogue about the option of an abortion. Victoria seeks the counsel of friends, family, and medical professionals, all of whom offer contradictory opinions, with varying degrees of encouragement and disdain. Victoria delays her decision, even going to child birth classes where she meets a young unwed mother who helps shape her decision. The struggle with their choice consumes most of the movie, and then somewhat abruptly at the end of the movie, Jim and Victoria decide to have the baby, opting for a brand new life. The film closes with a collage of still photos featuring the happy parents and the healthy baby.^[23]

The issue of abortion was at the fore of national discourse in 1972 and 1973. In January 1973, the United States Supreme Court issued the landmark Roe v. Wade decision, essentially legalizing abortion throughout the nation. In November of 1972, the CBS series Maude aired a two-part episode in which the forty-seven-year-old character becomes unexpectedly pregnant. After some comically infused agony, Maude decides to have an abortion, which at the time was legal in the New York setting of the series. The initial airing of the episode sparked little controversy; however, when the episode was to be rebroadcast in the summer of 1973, there was major controversy. Of course, the second airing of the abortion episode came after the Roe v. Wade decision; thus, many Americans’ views on the issues may have been crystallized in the interim. A Brand New Life aired between these two events and did not produce equivalent controversy almost assuredly because of Victoria’s decision to have the baby. The movie was perfectly crafted in the sense that Victoria seriously considers an abortion, and has the choice to have one, thus satisfying the prochoice audience; yet because she has the baby, the antiabortion audience is satisfied as well. A Brand New Life performed well in the ratings, receiving largely positive reviews from national TV critics, while earning two Emmy nominations, including a win for Cloris Leachman as Outstanding Lead Actress.^[24]

Another emerging social issue of the early 1970s was what many considered to be the alarming rise in the number of divorces in the United States. Of course, media representations of divorce were not unique, and the most prominent MOW offering on this topic was not intended to be groundbreaking; rather, it was to be an artistic vehicle for what were arguably the biggest stars to ever appear in a made-for-TV movie up to that point, Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. By 1972, Taylor and Burton were viewed by many as fading stars who had no place in the increasingly youth-dominated theatrical film world. Concurrent with the decline in star power was a decline in salary for two of the highest paid actors of the 1960s. Also running parallel to their acting careers was their often tempestuous, tabloid-fodder marriage. Taylor and Burton had been teamed in a number of prominent films in the 1960s, including Butterfield 8 (1960), Cleopatra (1963), and Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf (1966). In addition to their star legacy, their real-life marriage seemed to provide an unavoidably appealing draw for Divorce His and Divorce Hers (February 6 and 7, 1973). For the first and only time in the MOW series, a film was shown over two nights; part one, Divorce His, aired on Tuesday night, and Divorce Hers aired on Wednesday night.

The film is a bifurcated view of the crumbling eighteen-year marriage of Martin and Jane Reynolds. As the prebroadcast publicity suggested, the film was “a drama about a modern marriage corroded by the pressures of his work and the ache of separation in her life.” The movie is set in Rome, with glamorous locations, luxurious costuming by Hollywood legend Edith Head, and featuring Elizabeth Taylor bathed in sparkling diamonds. Part one focuses on Martin’s recollections of the early years in the marriage, his career, and his efforts to balance both. Part two explores the perspective of Jane, particularly her feelings of abandonment and her difficulties handling their children with little help from Martin. The film deals with the standard litany of marital strife, including mutual infidelity, economic pressures, the anger and sadness of the children, and even domestic violence. As the film ends, the couple finally decides to officially divorce after a lengthy separation, with Martin moving to Africa to pursue business interests. Divorce His and Divorce Hers was not well received; television critics noted the victory of style over substance evident in the film. John J. O’Conner from the New York Times was not subtle in his critique: “The American Broadcasting Company is being struck by disaster not once, but twice this week.” He continued, “The film can claim one unusual distinction, both parts are equally and excruciatingly boring.” This was typical of many of the major reviews. The Nielsen ratings offered no consolation, as they were dismal by MOW standards.^[25]

The 1972–1973 season presented two films addressing the swirling winds of racial discrimination and antagonism that roiled American society in the early 1970s. The first of these was Trouble Comes to Town (January 10, 1973), a contemporary drama set in the American South. Lloyd Bridges stars as Porter Murdoch, the sheriff of a seemingly tranquil town. Murdock’s life is upended when Stacy Garrett (Thomas Evans), a young black teen from Chicago, arrives on his doorstep. Stacy’s father has sent the teen to live with the sheriff. Twenty years earlier, Stacy’s father had saved Murdock’s life during the Korean War; now the debt is being redeemed. The teen’s father is ill and unable to keep his son from falling into trouble on the tough streets of Chicago. Murdock feels compelled to take the teen into his home over the objections of his wife (Sheree North) and with heavy criticism from both the black and white communities. Initially, things are uneventful for Stacy and his adoptive family, but Stacy’s confident manner and his unfamiliarity with local sensibilities turns some in the town against him. When a series of local thefts is blamed on Stacy, Murdock is placed in an impossible position with both the white and black community that is quite likely to cost him his job. Murdock eventually finds the real culprits, two white locals, thereby exonerating Stacy and producing an ambiguously happy ending. Trouble Comes to Town is anachronistic in a variety of ways; it has the stereotypical white characters, some foaming at the mouth with hatred, while the black community is depicted as largely suffering in noble silence. The white anger appears somewhat incongruous, as the town has a black deputy sheriff who just missed being elected sheriff. While there were undoubtedly still communities in the South with those stereotypical characteristics, the plot feels like narrative from movies made fifteen or twenty years earlier.^[26]

Although Trouble Comes to Town was a contemporary drama, it did not feel like one. The same could not be said of the other racially charged film aired during season four, Firehouse (January 2, 1973). Richard Roundtree stars as Shelly Forsythe, a black probationary firefighter reporting for his first day on the job at an inner-city firehouse. Although the firehouse is located in what appears to be a predominantly black and Latino neighborhood, the men who work in the firehouse are exclusively white. Not only will Forsythe be the first black firefighter to work in this company, he is replacing a well-liked veteran firefighter who was killed in an arson fire, believed by the firefighters to have been set by local black youths. The typical hazing and training Forsythe endures from his housemates clearly crosses the line. His main antagonist, Spike Ryerson (Vince Edwards), is particularly venomous. The mutual racial antagonism is palpable throughout the first two-thirds of the film, especially after the white firefighters come to believe Forsythe has willfully failed to help apprehend the suspected arsonist. Forsythe wants to quit the job—in fact he never wanted to show up on the first day—but his wife (Sheila Frazier) threatened to leave him if he gave up the opportunity. In due course, Forsythe wins the respect of the men with an act of heroism that would have killed him had he not been given mouth-to-mouth resuscitation by his nemesis, Spike. The film ends with a grudging mutual respect and acceptance between Forsythe and his fellow firefighters.

Though somewhat cliché-ridden, Firehouse is laudable for attempting to illustrate the pressing social concerns of racial animosity and the worsening urban crisis. You can sense the uneasy and often unwelcome transition as predominantly white institutions such as the fire department are reluctantly integrated. You can also see mutual antagonism as the racial and ethnic minorities who predominate in the inner cities grow increasingly resentful of white city officials, many of whom live outside the city. Firehouse utilizes documentary footage of genuine urban firefighting, highlighting the pernicious issue of inner-city arson and the corrosive effect on block after block of major American cities. In January 1974, Firehouse was retooled and recast as a short-lived regular series, which moved away from racial issues toward more conventional action-drama themes.^[27]

The decaying urban landscape also presented a backdrop for a contemporary medical drama titled Say Goodbye, Maggie Cole (September 27, 1972). Susan Hayward stars as Dr. Maggie Cole, a recently windowed medical researcher who accepts an offer from Dr. Lou Grazzo (Darren McGavin) to work in his inner-city Chicago clinic. Having lost her husband, Maggie is looking for a new start to her life. However, after fifteen years in the antiseptic world of research, she has difficulty adjusting to the practice of “real” medicine again, not to mention the hectic, occasionally dangerous working environment in the clinic. Quite literally, the moment she first opens the door to the clinic, she encounters a knife-wielding “acid freak.” It takes a few days and several missteps before she can transition into a “street doctor.” Maggie has a more difficult time dealing with the emotions associated with her patients’ illnesses, particularly that of a young girl named Lisa (Michele Nichols) who is diagnosed with terminal leukemia. Having developed a close, personal relationship with the girl, Maggie is devastated when the girl dies. On the verge of going back to her old life, the gruff Dr. Grazzo prods her into dealing with Lisa’s death as well as her husband’s. By the end of the movie, Maggie has said goodbye to Lisa, her husband, and her old life, as she decides to stay at the clinic. There are a number of tear-jerking scenes that transform the film into more of a melodrama than a social-issue drama, but the problems of the inner city do permeate. Say Goodbye, Maggie Cole was designed to be a pilot for a future medical series, akin to Marcus Welby, but Susan Hayward’s health declined, preventing her from pursuing the series.^[28]

Another social drama featuring a strong female character was The Weekend Nun, broadcast on December 20, 1972. This film is based on the real-life experiences of former nun Joyce Duco, with Joanna Pettet starring as Sister Damian, a young nun trying to reconcile her spiritual commitment with her desire to work in the secular world. As part of an experimental program, Sister Damian works as an urban probation officer for youthful offenders. Because her status as a nun might inhibit her interaction, Sister Damian conceals her identity by using the name Marjorie Walker. The daily requirements of her work place her in some dangerous situations with a criminal element, and in uncomfortable environments such as drug dens and topless bars. Marjorie’s naiveté evaporates as she becomes more engrossed in her growing caseload. At the center of the plot, Sister Damian becomes emotionally attached to a drug-addicted young prostitute whose life is spiraling out of control. Sister Damian returns to the convent at night and on weekends, but finds it increasingly difficult to fulfill her spiritual responsibilities. When her true identity is ultimately revealed to co-workers, and even some of her clients, the Sister feels compelled to make a choice between her spiritual and secular lives. Receiving little support from her religious order, Sister Damian decides to give up her life as a nun and dedicate herself to more directly serving the material world. Although the title is a bit frivolous, and some of the scenes appear designed to elicit sensationalism, some serious issues are addressed. Teenage crime, drug use, and prostitution pervade the film. There is also the question of the role religious figures and institutions could and should play in the prominent issues of the day.^[29]

Another contemporary drama framed by the issue of troubled teens is The Girls of Huntington House (February 14, 1973). The titular girls are unwed mothers who attend a boarding school while awaiting the birth of their babies. Into this environment enters Anne Baldwin (Shirley Jones), a newly hired English teacher who is burying herself in work to salve the wounds of a recent romantic disappointment. Anne is initially determined to avoid emotional entanglement with the diverse set of issues experienced by the young women at the school. The girls come from a variety of backgrounds: Sara (Sissy Spacek) is a hippie who ran away from a middle class home to follow her boyfriend on the road; Gail (Pamela Sue Martin) is a product of the upper class; Mary Lou (Debbie Dozier) is afraid her boyfriend has deserted her; and Marilyn (Barbara Mallory) is unsophisticated, misunderstood, and desperate for acceptance. Despite great effort, Anne finds it impossible not to become enmeshed in the lives of her students. Just as she starts to open her heart and settle into what would be a long-term commitment, her own romantic life is reborn, overtly complicating her future at the house. While The Girls from Huntington House is heavy on soap opera melodrama, it does engage the increasing, and for many, disconcerting nationwide epidemic of teenage pregnancy. For the modern viewer, the film illustrates how dramatically the public acceptance and treatment of unwed motherhood has evolved in American culture. ^[30]

Much like earlier seasons, there were several films exploring the raging sexual revolution and increasingly complicated gender roles evolving in the early 1970s. Exemplifying this largely light-hearted fare is Every Man Needs One (December 12, 1973), a battle of the sexes between a male chauvinist and a “women’s libber.” David Chase (Ken Berry) is a successful architect whose expanding business requires hiring an additional architect. The most qualified candidate is Beth Walden, a beautiful, self-assured “modern woman.” Unfortunately, David is an old-fashioned man with little faith in or desire to employ a female architect. Beth knows she is the best candidate; she demands the job or threatens to sue on the grounds of gender discrimination. David agrees to a thirty-day trial period, during which Beth continually irritates him with her liberal ideals, not to mention her obvious self-confident architectural skills. Not surprisingly, David and Beth begin to fall in love, even though they continue to battle.^[31]

A woman entering the workforce was also a plot point in The Couple Takes a Wife (December 5, 1972). When Barbara Hamilton (Paula Prentiss) goes back to her career in public relations after eight years as a homemaker, she and her husband, Jeff (Bill Bixby), decide to hire a live-in housekeeper to care for the house and their two children. The woman they hire is Jennifer Allen (Valerie Perrine), a beautiful, voluptuous young woman who also happens to be very skilled and dedicated to her job. Initially, the couple is happy with their new domestic setup, considering Jennifer to be a “second wife,” marriage contract included. However, in short order, the standard narrative entanglements ensue, with Barbara being romantically pursued by an actor (Robert Goulet) who happens to be a client of her firm, and an increasingly close relationship between Jennifer and Jeff. Mutual jealousy and the whispers of friends and family enflame the situation, but it is played mostly for laughs. The ending is slightly predictable, with Jenny leaving the house for a happier life, Barbara turning down a promotion in favor of shorter working hours, and Jeff agreeing to be more helpful around the house and considerate of his wife’s needs. The film’s title is a bit of a salacious tease for those with a swinging seventies consciousness, but the content is fairly tame. Although somewhat frivolous, the Couple Takes a Wife did engage a progressively salient issue for many women and families in the early 1970s. The film is infused throughout with the trendy, somewhat simplified rhetoric of women’s liberation. Early in the film Barbara compares her husband with the United States, and posits herself as “some small emerging nation struggling for survival,” adding, “I don’t have time to care for you and pick up your socks.” Later she jabs at her husband by saying, “I’m not a wife anymore. . . . That role playing we’ve been doing, well that’s out; my career is just as important to me now as yours is to you.” There’s no real anger in her tone, with Jeff taking the benign barbs with aplomb, and his brand of male chauvinism is delivered with a smile and little bite behind it. However, it is not difficult to imagine there being much more heated disagreements between husbands and wives around the nation as more and more women made a place for themselves in the professional world.^[32]

One other proliferating social cohort was the divorced, single-and-looking archetype. Playmates (October 3, 1972) was a decidedly comic take on divorce and its discontents, coupled with some dysfunctional ex-mate swapping. Marshall Burnett (Alan Alda) and Kermit Holvey (Doug McClure) are two divorced fathers who forge a friendship when they encounter each other as they share visitation days with their sons. The friendship appears socially mismatched, as Marshall is an upper-class, culturally refined attorney, while Kermit is a blue-collar welder with lower brow interests. Yet the men bond over mutual concerns about their sons and a shared contempt for their ex-wives. After hearing so many horror stories, the men decide to meet each other’s exes, primarily to see if they can be that bad. Marshall’s ex, Lois (Barbara Feldon), who is intelligent and artistic, felt as though she was “unfulfilled as a human being” during her marriage. Kermt’s ex, Patti (Connie Stevens), is portrayed as a “dumb blonde” sexpot, of whom he had grown tired. In describing his marriage, Kermit says, “If we didn’t have to see each other in the daylight, we wouldn’t have gotten a divorce.” Not surprisingly, after meeting the women, the men fall in love with the other’s exes. Marshall is drawn by Patti’s beauty and “simplicity,” while Kermit gets swept up in Lois’s net after she makes a pass at him. To spare the other’s feelings, the men initially keep their romances a secret. When the mutual affairs are revealed, the men react with anger and jealousy, ultimately resulting in a comic barroom brawl. Apparently, both men are reconsidering their divorces; however, in the end, while Kermit returns to Patti, Marshall cannot return to Lois, and ends up looking for a new male friend and female companion.^[33]

Greater Jeopardy

As referenced in earlier chapters, the women-in-jeopardy subgenre grew more prolific over the life of the MOW. In the 1972–1973 season, almost 25 percent of the entire slate of films could be included in this category. Though many women-in-jeopardy films rely heavily on unrealistic, over-the-top danger, the season opened with an unfortunately true account of a young woman in peril, The Longest Night (September 12, 1972). The prebroadcast newspaper ads summed up the plot succinctly: “A young girl lies buried alive for four agonizing days, while her parents make frantic attempts to contact her abductors. The headlines reported it. She lived it. Tonight, you’ll be chilled by it.” Based largely on the well-publicized 1968 kidnapping of Barbara Jane Mackle, the suspense begins when kidnappers John Danbury (James Farentino) and Ellen Gunther (Skye Aubrey) burst into a hotel room and abduct young co-ed Karen Chambers (Sallie Shockley) after chloroforming her mother, Norma (Phyllis Thaxter). Karen is taken to a secluded forested region where Danbury has equipped an ingenious subterranean chamber to hold the girl while the ransom is procured. Karen is buried in a coffin that has been rigged with an oxygen supply and stocked with food, water, and a dim light. Her life-support system can last a week at the most, but less if she does not manage the resources.

The suspense in the film stems from the request of a $500,000 ransom, and the efforts of the girl’s father, Alan (David Janssen), to deliver the money before his daughter dies. Alan follows Danbury’s instructions explicitly; however, while he is delivering the ransom, the inadvertent appearance of a police officer spooks the kidnappers before they pick up the ransom. With Karen buried for four days, Alan is now forced to try again to locate his daughter, with the help of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), before her life-support system expires. The scenes of Alan’s efforts are interspersed with images of Karen in her coffin as she grows weaker and more desperate while the days tick off. With determination, ingenuity, and the help of an FBI agent (Mike Farrell), Karen is pulled from her grave seemingly moments before her death. Given the well-publicized nature of the real life story, the end was never really in doubt; it was widely known that the girl was recovered and the kidnappers imprisoned. Nonetheless, the film does sustain the suspense throughout, and was able to draw a good-sized audience, as it finished as the sixteenth ranked show in the weekly Nielsen ratings. The film has an interesting postscript, as the producers had apparently based their production heavily on a book titled 83 Hours ‘Til Dawn, written by Gene Miller of the Miami Herald in collaboration with Barbara Jane Mackle. Miller contended the producers had used his work without permission, and ultimately brought legal action against the production company. It took several years to resolve the case in the producers’ favor, but as a result the film has not aired again on network television. Miller’s book was later turned into another TV movie titled 83 Hours ‘Til Dawn (1990).^[34]

Kidnapping plots are a staple of the women-in-jeopardy film, and the MOW was an active contributor to this collection. Snatched (January 31, 1973) featured a triple kidnapping plot in which the wives of three successful business partners are taken for ransom of $3 million. When the demands are presented to the husbands, one of the men refuses to pay because he believes his much younger wife has been unfaithful. The danger for the women is kept at a fever pitch as they are held at an isolated lighthouse with an implicit threat of rape by their abductors hanging in the air. Adding to the suspense, one of the women is a diabetic in desperate need of insulin. The plot shifts back and forth between the women’s plight, and the police working with the husbands, who ultimately agreed to pay the full ransom. The film follows a seemingly predictable formula, with the women making a desperate escape attempt and one of the husbands sent on a frantic chase to deliver the ransom. However, there are some unexpected plot twists, such as the diabetic wife dying, and the revelation that one of the wives had actually been involved in planning the kidnapping. In fact, she planned it with her lover, who turns out to be a close family friend and the lead police officer who was allegedly trying to find the wives. In addition to the intriguing inside-job plot twist, the acting in the film is what would be expected, featuring a good deal of yelling, crying, and menacing threats from kidnappers, pulled off with some success by veteran actors like Howard Duff, Leslie Nielsen, Sheree North, Robert Reed, John Saxon, and Anthony Zerbe.^[35]

Another of the staple plot devices in the women-in-jeopardy film is the notion that danger can find women any time, any place, and often from unexpected sources. In Night of Terror (October 10, 1972), two young women, Lindy (Donna Mills) and Celeste (Catherine Burns), have death land on their doorstep when they witness a murder outside their apartment. The police believe the man who was killed belonged to an organized crime syndicate, and was likely looking for something inside the women’s apartment. The authorities also suggest the man’s killers may want the same item, and likely will return. Several days later, someone breaks into their apartment, ransacking it and leaving Celeste battered and bruised. A little later the women are driving when Celeste recognizes the man who assaulted her; in a panic she swerves erratically and causes an accident that takes her life and leaves Lindy severely injured and confined to a wheelchair. At that point Lindy is placed in protective custody under the guard of a private detective (Martin Balsam). Unfortunately, Lindy accidentally leaves a clue to her whereabouts for the killer (Chuck Connors) to find. In a tense climactic scene, a paralyzed Lindy has to fight off the killer all by herself, until the private detective can come to her aid just as she is about to be killed. In addition to an effectively menacing villain in Chuck Connors, Night of Terror had the typically contrived danger and a good deal of shrieking and crying, but it also has an essential element for many women-in-jeopardy films. The women in question cannot be eternal victims; at some point in the film they must display some courage and or ingenuity to escape the danger. There must be some redeeming pay-off for the audience, many of whom were women who would want to see the heroine narrowly escape.^[36]

An additional example of this formula is the pointedly titled The Victim (November 14, 1972). Elizabeth Montgomery stars as Katherine Wainwright, a wealthy woman braving a violent California rainstorm to check on her sister at a secluded estate. Katherine’s concern for her sister stems from a phone conversation in which the sister reveals her intention to seek a divorce. When she arrives at the large estate home, Katherine finds no trace of her sister, Susan, or her sister’s husband, Ben (George Maharis). All she can learn from the soon-to-be-discharged and antagonistic housekeeper (Eileen Heckart) is that Susan has not been home all day. In fact, the viewer knows that Susan has already been killed by an unknown assailant, and her body secreted in a wicker basket in the basement. As Katherine searches the house, lightning and thunder rages outside, knocking out the phone and electricity. After the lights go out, Ben mysteriously returns from a business trip, claiming that he hopes to reconcile with Susan. For the viewers, and ultimately for Katherine, it is clear Ben is the killer. Before Katherine arrives, Ben has been waiting for an opportunity to dispose of the body, but now he will have to produce a second victim before he can cover up the first. The closing stages of the film feature Ben trying to control and manipulate an increasingly suspicious and fearful Katherine. As the film ends, Katherine breaks away from Ben to reach her car, only to find her sister’s body in the back seat. Now hysterical, Susan runs her car into Ben as he tries to prevent her from leaving, crushing him against a tree. The atmospheric thunder and lightning, combined with creaking floors, slamming doors, and the loss of lights, create some genuine suspense and frights for viewers. There is also a quirky and creepy performance by Eileen Heckart as the suspicious, possibly murderous housekeeper. The prebroadcast promotional material touted The Victim as Elizabeth Montgomery’s first dramatic TV role in nine years. She had spent most of these years as the star of the light comedy series Bewitched, but the MOW provided her with an opportunity to break from type. Montgomery went on to great success in a variety of TV movies such as A Case of Rape (1974), The Legend of Lizzie Borden (1975), and The Awakening Land (1978). As the number of TV movies produced each season was exceeding one hundred, it became more common for established TV stars to perform in one or more TV films while on a hiatus from their regular series. For some stars it was an entirely separate career, possibly with an entirely different audience from those who watched their regular series.^[37]

Not all women-in-jeopardy films require unwitting, helpless victims; there are films in which the women willingly expose themselves to danger. The Bait, broadcast on March 13, 1973, was one such film. This police drama stars Donna Mills, in her fourth MOW role in season four, as Tracy Fleming, a police woman who goes undercover to catch a killer. Tracy’s husband, also a police officer, was killed in the line of duty, leaving her to raise their young son, but also creating a strong desire to continue her service on the force. After five women have been raped and murdered, Tracy volunteers to act as bait to draw out the killer. Tracy will patrol the killer’s hunting grounds wearing his preferred style of clothing and a perfume called “Misty Night,” which was a common link among the victims. As Tracy moves in and around the neighborhood, a series of potential suspects emerge, but none makes a move toward her. When a young woman with whom Tracy develops a friendship becomes the sixth victim, she is devastated, and begins to take chances that put her life in greater danger. Approximately half way through the movie the identity of the killer is revealed only to the viewer as local bus driver Earl Stokey (William Devane). Having made herself an unmistakable target, Tracy begins to receive the telltale premurder indicator of threatening phone calls in which the killer calls her a “good girl” and expresses his love. Unfortunately, the killer discovers where Tracy lives and sets an ambush for her, with her son and mother-in-law in the home. Tracy is able to get her family out of the home, and she and the killer have a “dinner date” in her home. During the dinner he reveals the source of his anger and frustration, while she plays along, pretending to be interested. In an appealing plot twist, Tracy is saved by her son’s knowledge of police radio calls, which alerts her fellow officers to burst in and shoot the killer just before he kills Tracy. The Bait was designed to be a pilot for a police drama starring Donna Mills, but neither the ratings nor the critical response was enough to warrant the series.^[38]

Lt. Schuster’s Wife (October 11, 1972) is also a police drama featuring a police widow, although she is not on the force herself. As the film opens we are introduced to Lou and Ellie Schuster (Paul Burke and Lee Grant), a happily married couple whose lives are being strained by threatening phone calls the lieutenant is receiving in relation to a case he is working. When Lou gets a call from an informant, he goes to meet his contact alone, where he is killed. After Lou’s body is discovered, a large amount of money is found in his car, leading the police department to assume he was accepting bribes from the mob. Of course, Ellie refuses to believe her husband was on the take, and sets out to prove her husband’s innocence. In the process, Ellie delves deep into the underworld of New York City, placing herself in the crosshairs of the man who killed her husband. While she is actively trying to find her husband’s killers, she also has to deal with her grief, which leaves the film straddling the genres of adult drama and crime drama. Ultimately, through her courage and ingenuity, Ellie discovers the true villain is her husband’s partner and best friend, who was working for the crime syndicate Lou was investigating. The film concludes in an action-packed flourish as Ellie flees through the city from the gun-toting perfidious cop, culminating in his death when he is run over by an oncoming subway car.^[39] Lt. Schuster’s Wife is at its core a creative vehicle for Emmy- and Academy Award–winning actress Lee Grant. Grant is an example of an actress who found a career refuge in TV movies as her feature film career wound down. She was also a woman at a difficult age in Hollywood terms; she was no longer the youthful beauty that could thrive in feature films, but she was not yet old enough to play matronly roles. Unfortunately, there were not a lot of those in-between roles for women, particularly ones that would make them the lead in a film; it was more likely that they would be secondary characters. It should also be noted that much of the female audience would have been in or around that in-between age of 35–55.

An additional example of a strong leading role for a slightly older actress is And No One Could Save Her (February 21, 1973), starring Lee Remick in her first TV movie. Fern O’Neil is a wealthy heiress who has recently married her somewhat younger Irish-born husband, Sam (Frank Grimes). One day Sam receives a call summoning him home to Dublin to care for his dying father. Sam promises to call his wife once he arrives, but the call never comes. Being anxiety prone, if not mentally unstable, Fern fears the worst and begins to investigate. At the airport she learns her husband’s flight landed safely, but there was no Sam O’Neil on the plane. She visits her husband’s job at a bank and discovers he was not an executive as he said, but rather a messenger boy. When she returns to their home, all the photos of Sam have disappeared. The viewer is left with a slight doubt as to whether Fern is engineering these events in her mind. In a panic, she flies to Dublin in an effort to locate her husband. Once in Dublin she encounters an eccentric citizenry who offers little help in her search, with the exception of a local lawyer (Milo O’Shea). A mysterious note left for Fern has her unadvisedly traveling alone to a deserted building in a remote part of the city. It becomes clear there is a plot afoot to eliminate Fern and gain control of her estate. The Dublin locations present a unique setting for a MOW, but the story was so clumsily crafted that there is little genuine suspense or mystery.

Despite a few critical and ratings failures, the women-in-jeopardy genre was enough of an audience draw to ensure it would continue to be a staple for the MOW and the TV movie in general well into the future.^[40]

Yet again, the MOW franchise was one of the few bright spots for ABC. The Tuesday Night Movie of the Week finished as the seventeenth most watched show for the season. However, in an alarming trend, that rating was twelve spots lower than the previous season’s performance, due in large part to direct competition from Hawaii Five-O, which finished as the third rated show for the season. The Wednesday Night Movie of the Week came in as the 25th-rated show for the season. ABC’s strategy of bolstering a failing Wednesday schedule by programming a TV movie had worked, as the evening’s ratings were appreciably better. The critics and the entertainment industry also continued to further embrace the MOW, as evidenced by three Emmy Awards, with an additional eleven nominations and the unique distinction of having That Certain Summer named as one of the top-ten films (feature or TV) of the year by the New York Times. The MOW also continued to produce regular series, specifically The Six Million Dollar Man, The Night Stalker, and Firehouse. As a result of the success in using a TV movie to boost a flagging ratings evening, ABC decided to try it again on Saturday nights in the 1973–1974 season. The network’s Saturday schedule had faltered in the 1972–1973 season, almost exclusively because of the power of the Columbia Broadcasting System’s offerings that night. Just from 8 to 10 p.m., ABC was up against the number one show on television, All in the Family, as well as Bridget Loves Bernie (number five), The Mary Tyler Moore Show (number seven), and The Bob Newhart Show (number sixteen). To counter this block, ABC created a new made-for-TV anthology series titled The ABC Suspense Movie. ABC was now even more invested in and dependent on TV movies, often airing six hours per week. Of course, ABC was not alone; the three networks combined aired over 120 TV movies in the upcoming season. Nonetheless, ABC still had the biggest commitment to made-for-TV movies; they accounted for 25 percent of their primetime programming and anchored three nights of the week. Season five proved to be a critical barometer for continued viability of the multiweekly, ninety-minute movie formula.^[41]

Notes

Gerald Clarke, “That Certain Summer,” Time, 6 November 1972, 125; Norman Dresser, “Tonight’s ABC Movie Is Recommended,” Toledo Blade, 1 November 1972, 47; Barbara Holsopple, “Holbrook Movie Brings Sensitive Topic to TV,” Pittsburgh Press, 1 November 1972, 83; Percy Shain, “PBS’s Epitaph for a Fine Old Trumpet Player,” Boston Globe, 31 October 1972, 49; Charles Champlin, “Homosexuality faced in ‘Certain Summer,’” Los Angeles Times, 1 November 1972, F16.

Richard Levinson and William Link, Stay Tuned: An Inside Look at the Making of Prime-Time Television (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1981), 117–118.

Merle Miller, “A Man Who Tried to Play It Straight,” New York Times, 5 November 1972, D19; Link and Levinson, Stay Tuned, 112; “William Link Archive Interview Part 6 of 8,” Archive of American Television, http://www.emmytvlegends.org/interviews/people/william-link# (30 October 2012).

Link and Levinson, Stay Tuned, 126–127; “William Link Archive Interview Part 6 of 8,” Archive of American Television, http://www.emmytvlegends.org/interviews/people/william-link# (30 October 2012).

Charles Isherwood, “Changing Channels,” Advocate, 18 February 1997, 24–29; Link and Levinson, Stay Tuned, 134–135.

Cecil Smith, “Tragic Life, Death of a Young Addict,” Los Angeles Times, 24 January 1973, G15; Percy Shain, “Diary of a Drug Addict Frightening,” Boston Globe, 25 January 1973, 65; John J. O’Conner, “Diary of a Schoolgirl En Route to Death,” New York Times, 11 February 1973, 147.

Percy Shain, “‘Go Ask Alice’ Drug Movie Gets Youthful Raves,” Boston Globe, 5 February 1973, 35; “Lawrence Loses Ratings Scramble,” Los Angeles Times, 10 February 1973, B7; “More on Paar,” New York Times, 4 March 1973, 137.

Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (New York: Random House, 1998), 64.

Howard Thompson, “TV: A.B.C.’s Yeasty ‘Night Strangler,’” New York Times, 16 January 1973, 79; Kevin Thomas, “ABC Swaps Vampire for Aged Strangler,” Los Angeles Times, 16 January 1973, D12; Cecil Smith, “Dan Curtis Becomes New Pied Piper of Monster Tales,” Los Angeles Times, 14 January 1973, N2.

10.

Kevin Thomas, “A Man Becomes Machine,” Los Angeles Times, 7 March 1973, F16; Jean Crosby, “TV Scout’s Best Bets,” Pittsburgh Press, 7 March 1973, 49.

11.

Thomas Vinciguerra, “On DVD, Better . . . Stronger. . . Faster,” New York Times, 12 December 2010, AR 21.

12.

Howard Thompson, “TV: Devil’s Daughter,” New York Times, 9 January 1973, 79; Percy Shain, “Trouble Came to Town, But Lacking Realism,” Boston Globe, 11 January 1973, 31; Mary Murphy, “Scare Tactics in ‘Devils Daughter,’” Los Angeles Times, 9 January 1973 F 11.

13.

“The Occult Revival: A Substitute Faith,” Time Magazine, 19 June 1972, 68.

14.

Percy Shain, “Few Viewers Elated Over Network’s New Shows,” Boston Globe, 27 September 1972, 69; Jean Crosby, “TV Scout’s Best Bets,” Pittsburgh Press, 7 March 1973, 49.

15.

Percy Shain, “Widmark Lends Touch of Realism to ‘Madigan,’” Boston Globe, 21 September 1972, 93.

16.

Don Page, “Mystery Surrounds Snowbound Scientists,” Los Angeles Times, 30 January 1973, G14; Percy Shain, “Boston Actor Stars in Television Series,” Boston Globe, 31 January 1973, 61.

17.

Kevin Thomas, “3 Crime Fighters on Other End of Heist,” Los Angeles Times, 20 March 1973, F14; Percy Shain, “NBC Premiere Gives Realistic View of Police Role,” Boston Globe, 21 March 1973, 31.

18.

Percy Shain, “Preposterous Murder Plot,” Boston Globe, 29 November 1972, 38; “Aging Man Fears Wife Poisons Him,” Schenectady Gazette, 25 November 1972, 21.

19.

Howard Thompson, “A.B.C. Whodunit Film Focuses on Sisters,” New York Times, 28 November 1972, 90.

20.

Cecil Smith, “Prime Rib—If Not Preempted,” Los Angeles Times, 12 December 1972, E 25; Percy Shain, “‘Once On a Mattress’ Proves to be Downright Lumpy,” Boston Globe, 13 December 1972, 80.

21.

The 1972 Republican National Convention was originally scheduled to be in San Diego, thus making the location of the film more relevant and realistic. However, in May 1972, the Convention was pulled from the city based on concerns about its ability to manage the crowds that would descend on the city. Both the Democratic and Republican Conventions were held in Miami in 1972.

22.

Kevin Thomas, “A Tragedy to Identify With,” Los Angeles Times, 18 October 1972, B22; Howard Thompson, “A.B.C. Recounts ‘Great American Tragedy,’” New York Times, 18 October 1972, 95; Percy Shain, “‘American Tragedy’: A Portrait of Real Problems,” Boston Globe, 19 October 1972, 80.

23.

Howard Thompson, “‘Brand New Life’ Proves a Compliment to A.B.C. Viewers,” New York Times, 20 February 1973, 66; Norman Dresser, “‘Brand New Life’ A Fine Film,” Toledo Blade, 22 February 1973, 42; Cecil Smith, “‘New Life’ for Cloris Leachman,” Los Angeles Times, 20 February 1973, F11.

24.

“Bunkers and Sandfords Top Nielsens,” Los Angeles Times, 7 March 1973, F18; “Norman Lear Archive Interview Part 5 of 10,” Archive of American Television, http://www.emmytvlegends.org/interviews/people/norman-lear (5 November 2012).

25.

John J. O’Conner, “Burton-Taylor 2-Part Movie Begins Tonight,” New York Times, 6 February 1973, 75; Percy Shain, “‘Divorce His, Hers’ No Showcase for Burtons,” Boston Globe, 53; Cecil Smith, “‘Divorce’ Doubly Disappointing,” Los Angeles Times, 6 February 1973, F14.

26.

Howard Thompson, “Southern ‘Trouble’,” New York Times, 10 January 1973, 83; Percy Shain, “Trouble Came to Town, But Lacking Realism,” Boston Globe, 11 January 1973, 31; Kevin Thomas, “Black Youth Makes Waves in ‘Trouble’,” Los Angeles Times, 10 January 1973, G16.

27.

Kevin Thomas, “Edwards, Roundtree Clash in ‘Firehouse,’” Los Angeles Times, 2 January 1973, F14; Percy Shain, “Film about Bigotry Not Very Convincing,” Boston Globe, 3 January 1973, 50; Howard Thompson, “Racial Drama on A.B.C. Is Set in Firehouse,” New York Times, 2 January 1973, 71.

28.

Mary Murphy, “Dr. Cole as a Vehicle for Susan,” Los Angeles Times, 27 September 1972, E20; Percy Shain, “Hayward, McGavin Pair Up in Conventional MD Drama,” Boston Globe, 28 September 1972, 64.

29.

John J. O’Conner, “Flirtations With Reality . . . in Various Aspects,” New York Times, 27 December 1972, 79; Kevin Thomas, “Secular World in ‘The Weekend Nun,’” Los Angeles Times, 20 December 1972, C28.

30.

Gregg Kilday, “English Teacher vs. Some Unwed Mothers,” Los Angeles Times, 14 February 1973, G18.

31.

Judy Bachrach, “Male Chauvinist Has ‘It’ During Lunch Hour,” Baltimore Sun, 14 December 1972, B4.

32.

Kevin Thomas, “Menage a Trois vs. Traditional Marriage,” Los Angeles Times, 5 December 1972, C19; Howard Thompson, “Young Marrieds,” New York Times, 5 December 1972, 95; Percy Shain, “Movie, Feliciano and Como All Make 3 Stars,” Boston Globe, 6 December 1972, 73.

33.

Mary Murphy, “‘Playmates’ a Comedy of Divorce,” Los Angeles Times, 3 October 1972, D 14; Percy Shain, “Film about Matrimonial Losers Is—a Loser,” Boston Globe, 4 October 1972, 57; Joel Solkoff, “Stuck Too Far behind the Lines,” Village Voice, 8 March 1973, 40.

34.

Percy Shain, “Maude Kicks Off New TV Season with High-Stepping Effort,” Boston Globe, 13 September 1972, 72; “Display Ad 74,” New York Times, 12 September 1972, 90; “Longest Night Opens ABC Season,” Los Angeles Times, 12 September 1972 D14; “Girl in the Box,” Time Magazine, 27 December 1968, 47.

35.

Kevin Thomas, “Country Club Wives Victims of Kidnapper,” Los Angeles Times, 31 January 1973, G18; Percy Shain, “Triple Kidnap Fails to Succeed as TV Movie,” Boston Globe, 1 February 1973, 61.

36.

Percy Shain, “PBS Plan May Satisfy Nixon But Lead to Upheaval,” Boston Globe, 11 October 1972, 55; Kevin Thomas, “Lady in Distress in ‘Night of Terror,’” Los Angeles Times, 10 October 1972, D18; “‘Night of Terror’ Thriller with Big Cast Airs Tuesday on ABC,” Ocala Star-Banner, 6 October 1972, 16.

37.

Cecil Smith, “Plays about Troubled People,” Los Angeles Times, 14 November 1972, D16; Percy Shain, “Alistair Cooke’s ‘America’: Fascinating Voyage,” Boston Globe, 15 November 1972, 85; “Elizabeth Montgomery in Suspense Chiller,” Schenectady Gazette, 11 November 1972, TV 8

38.

Percy Shain, “‘Bait’ Too Predictable to Catch Many Viewers,” Boston Globe, 14 March 1973, 61; Kevin Thomas, “‘The Bait’ Presents Fresh Plot Treatment,” Los Angeles Times, 13 March 1973, E16.

39.

Kevin Thomas, “Lee Grant Confronts Grief as Cop’s ‘Wife,’” Los Angeles Times, 11 October 1972, E17; Percy Shain, “‘Visions’ May Be Too Much of Good Thing,” Boston Globe, 12 October 1972, 56; “Lee Grant Plays Slain Cop’s Wife,” Schenectady Gazette, 7 October 1972, 21.

40.

Howard Thompson, “Slack Suspense,” New York Times, 21 February 1973, 87; Kevin Thomas, “Lee Remick Plays a Lady in Distress,” Los Angeles Times, 22 February 1973, G 22; “Lee Remick in Drama of Suspense in Dublin,” Schenectady Gazette, 17 February 1973, 31.

41.

Cecil Smith, “ABC Announces New Lineup,” Los Angeles Times, 7 April 1973, B 3; Cecil Smith, “The Script Reads ‘Fall TV Assured,’” Los Angeles Times, 4 July 1973, D 1; Cecil Smith, “New Season: 25th Anniversary,” Los Angeles Times, 10 September 1972, P 2; “ABC Movie of the Week Tuesday, Wednesday,” Schenectady Gazette, 19 August 1972, 30; “ABC in Bid for Saturday Ratings,” Times-Union, 29 September 1973, 12.