Mary
I was a bit too young
to appreciate your capri pants in real time.
Some of my older peers regale me with tales of love for your Jackie O
doppelganger as the wife of a beleaguered TV comedy writer. Laura Petrie, indeed.
And I missed you
those first four years on the glorious Saturday night schedule on the Tiffany
network. You know, the one you shared
with Dur Bob Hartley, Archie Bunker, Carol Burnett and, for one season, the
4077th. By the time your best
friend Rhoda was married (which I caught because Monday was a weeknight—I duly
got my homework done in time for sitcoms), I finally discovered you on the
weekends when my family didn’t go out for barbeque at Goerke’s or burgers at the Ski Lodge.
When I did find you,
Mary Richards, it was like spending time at one of my parent’s cocktail
parties. Lots of mature adults sometimes
acting like kids. But not juvenile. Just human.
I wanted to move to Minneapolis…where it was cold. Those streets you walked on downtown were
very far from the dusty one-lanes of Guadalupe County. For some reason, Mary, I always watched those
bright and loud taped Norman Lear sitcoms.
I learned a lot from them but I wasn’t attuned to the nuance of soft,
filmed well-written comedy. And third
leg of the seventies sitcom stool…Garry Marshall…provided a lot of must-see TV
in Fred Silverman’s new bonanza with Fonz and Mork. Age appropriate you could say. (The Sweathogs and Chico too.) I had the T shirts. Much
as the cops in the 12th precinct, I never truly appreciated your
sense of humor until later in life.
When your show ended
and the reruns were syndicated in the afternoon, my afterschool specials
involved this young woman with long hair starting a new life. It was like you were a different person
altogether. I even thought Laura Petrie
was older. In the early 70’s you looked
like my babysitter! But by 1977 you were
so sophisticated and world weary…dealing with a preening idiot anchorman and a
sexpot homemaker. I discovered your arc,
Mary.
In 1978, I was old
enough to be embarrassed by your attempts at a variety show. You did introduce America to future
superstars and helped them get their start though. That same year, your creators started their
own company and moved to another network with a group of cabbies. The character comedy was just as
brilliant..but it wasn’t home. The
newsroom. The highrise you moved
into. It was a garage. In grimy New York.
After you got an Oscar
nomination for playing a brittle, wounded mother…I hardly saw you. My mother fell in love with your show when I
did, in reruns. She watched you with
Dudley Moore, over and over, in a film no one else saw. And I never watched your new sitcoms in the eighties
and your attempts to remake yourself in movies of the week and flashy dramas in
the 90s. But your saucy turn in an
independent comedy in the 90s was a nice surprise. You brought your naughty side to the fore
when you hosted SNL. But, dammit, you’re
Mary Richards…stop it!
But from 1970-1977,
you were my Mary…always. You and your
husband created the highest quality TV:
Bob Newhart Show, Rhoda, Phyllis, Tony Randall Show, Lou Grant, White
Shadow, Hill Street Blues, WKRP, St. Elsewhere and Newhart. Why does it trump today’s renaissance of
television? All the hoopla and binge
watching? Because, Mary, you brought
class to the small screen. No pratfalls,
no constant sexual innuendo, no crudity…your comedies were about humans and
humanity. Of course, there was sexual
tension between you and your boss…and when you didn’t get back by morning it
was subtle and not spelled out in gory detail.
The nymphomaniac you knew was middle-aged, not a co-ed and the workplace
buffoon showed traces of humility. Traces. Even the highest quality programming now,
Mary, inundates the audience with in-your- face dysfunction and crass
sensibility that actually informs our behavior rather than mocks it.
So I go to sleep at
night with your DVD on…or Bob….the comfort of friends. Quiet humor.
A studio audience in on the joke.
I tell as many young people as I can to watch your show to see how
comedy is done right. Many tried to copy
you. “Cheers” was too cruel. “Murphy Brown” too political. “Seinfeld” was too soulless. “Frasier” was full of itself. “Friends” set trends. Tina Fey decided to use your show as a
template…and the love showed through the wild parody. Because, like me, she knew you then.
Many will ruminate on
the sociological impact of your show. What
you did for women in enlightening the discussion and altering the landscape of
stale thought. I recognize that, but my
appreciation lies in your commitment to QUALITY.
Thanks, Mary, for
elevating sitcoms and entertainment in general.
No one has topped those seven years on Saturday night. No one.
You did make it, girl, after all!
