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Watching syndicated reruns of classic TV is always an exercise in nostalgia, but WKRP in Cincinnati provides a particular dilemma: the usage rights for a great deal of its background, incidental and occasionally plot-specific music evaporated, and rather than pay royalties, many of the episodes had sections redubbed, occasionally awfully, at least a few times to incomprehensibility. (This is the only reason I don't own the show on DVD; I thought the show was entertaining and implausible until I lived through it a few times.)
So I thought I'd catch up on some old friends, catch a few episodes this weekend, see how the redubs and the simple passage of time have left these almost thirty-year-old relics.
"The Americanization of Ivan" comes out on the short end of the stick in many respects -- the Russians' collective difficulty with English is milked for all sorts of laughs, implausibly when you consider they're holding press conferences (albeit sparsely-populated), and Ivan's intelligence takes a few knocks for cheap humor. That said, Les Nessman's anti-communist hysteria seems to have come back into vogue, and Michael Pataki playing Ivan gets one or two chances to actually be subtle (but not many). The references to "Tiny Dancer" are excised and replaced with...you know, I don't even know, they were indistinguishable. They also removed (or garbled) the first word of Andy's fantastic ending line "Damn, I was kinda lookin' forward to goin' to Cleveland." (Tell you what: watch the whole thing here, let me know what you think. And this blog might be my favorite site right now.)
"In Concert" faces a daunting task -- its two acts are only related by a plot thread, thematically opposite. And for those in the moment, the clues are all there, mentioning Riverfront Coliseum, the December 1979 calendar prominently on display, and Johnny's last line of the first act is almost an off-stage gunshot to those familiar with the event (as most viewers of the show's original airing would be). I'm not sure the second act works as well as it should -- there are a few nice moments, particularly Bailey and Les (which I don't remember from the original syndication) and Venus and Mr. Carlson's final scene, but the moralizing comes off a bit heavy. (And as proud as the show is of Cincinnati's decision to ban festival seating, would it kill the mood to mention the ban was repealed four years ago?) That said, the aqua mask is one of the funniest prop gags in the show's run.... (See it.)
"The Doctor's Daughter"'s second-biggest success is casting a woman who looks plausibly like the offspring of Howard Hesseman. Laurie's boyfriend graduates from stoner loser to rebellious punk loser pretty quickly, and I guess in a half-hour show you need to expedite the plot a touch, but that was still unpleasantly abrupt. But easily the best part of the episode is Andy, pleading with Johnny ("Play one of the songs on the playlist. Play part of one of the songs on the playlist."), becoming more than a little unhinged by show's end. Though I always enjoy the staple gun that can shoot through concrete. And the ending music -- The Eagles' "The Long Run" -- remains the same, though Laurie's letter (and the music before the Eagles?) is redubbed, in the first recorded instance that I miss a laugh track over the bit where Johnny backtracks -- that bit always gets me. (Watch it.)
"Les' Groupie" is interesting because it makes Darlene -- who has Les firmly in her sights -- a nonentity from the beginning. Of course the DJs encourage Les, extolling the virtues of the groupie-hook-up, but she goes from "unseen" to "domineering harpy" in no time flat. Again, another convention of 21 minutes of storytelling, I s'pose, and it's good to see Richard Sanders get a bit of time to flex (his roleplaying argument with Jennifer is strangely enjoyable). For some reason, his record collection gives me the biggest laugh of the entire episode, though it's good to see a side of Les that isn't framed by his professional incompetence. (Whole episode here. Glee!)
Okay. I know what I'm doing this afternoon.
So I thought I'd catch up on some old friends, catch a few episodes this weekend, see how the redubs and the simple passage of time have left these almost thirty-year-old relics.
"The Americanization of Ivan" comes out on the short end of the stick in many respects -- the Russians' collective difficulty with English is milked for all sorts of laughs, implausibly when you consider they're holding press conferences (albeit sparsely-populated), and Ivan's intelligence takes a few knocks for cheap humor. That said, Les Nessman's anti-communist hysteria seems to have come back into vogue, and Michael Pataki playing Ivan gets one or two chances to actually be subtle (but not many). The references to "Tiny Dancer" are excised and replaced with...you know, I don't even know, they were indistinguishable. They also removed (or garbled) the first word of Andy's fantastic ending line "Damn, I was kinda lookin' forward to goin' to Cleveland." (Tell you what: watch the whole thing here, let me know what you think. And this blog might be my favorite site right now.)
"In Concert" faces a daunting task -- its two acts are only related by a plot thread, thematically opposite. And for those in the moment, the clues are all there, mentioning Riverfront Coliseum, the December 1979 calendar prominently on display, and Johnny's last line of the first act is almost an off-stage gunshot to those familiar with the event (as most viewers of the show's original airing would be). I'm not sure the second act works as well as it should -- there are a few nice moments, particularly Bailey and Les (which I don't remember from the original syndication) and Venus and Mr. Carlson's final scene, but the moralizing comes off a bit heavy. (And as proud as the show is of Cincinnati's decision to ban festival seating, would it kill the mood to mention the ban was repealed four years ago?) That said, the aqua mask is one of the funniest prop gags in the show's run.... (See it.)
"The Doctor's Daughter"'s second-biggest success is casting a woman who looks plausibly like the offspring of Howard Hesseman. Laurie's boyfriend graduates from stoner loser to rebellious punk loser pretty quickly, and I guess in a half-hour show you need to expedite the plot a touch, but that was still unpleasantly abrupt. But easily the best part of the episode is Andy, pleading with Johnny ("Play one of the songs on the playlist. Play part of one of the songs on the playlist."), becoming more than a little unhinged by show's end. Though I always enjoy the staple gun that can shoot through concrete. And the ending music -- The Eagles' "The Long Run" -- remains the same, though Laurie's letter (and the music before the Eagles?) is redubbed, in the first recorded instance that I miss a laugh track over the bit where Johnny backtracks -- that bit always gets me. (Watch it.)
"Les' Groupie" is interesting because it makes Darlene -- who has Les firmly in her sights -- a nonentity from the beginning. Of course the DJs encourage Les, extolling the virtues of the groupie-hook-up, but she goes from "unseen" to "domineering harpy" in no time flat. Again, another convention of 21 minutes of storytelling, I s'pose, and it's good to see Richard Sanders get a bit of time to flex (his roleplaying argument with Jennifer is strangely enjoyable). For some reason, his record collection gives me the biggest laugh of the entire episode, though it's good to see a side of Les that isn't framed by his professional incompetence. (Whole episode here. Glee!)
Okay. I know what I'm doing this afternoon.
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