The Donna Reed Show: "A Very Merry Christmas"

Season One, Episode Fourteen

HO, HO, HO!

It’s that special time of year again, kids! The halls of your favorite television homes are festooned with tinsel and mistletoe. Merriment abounds. And you can rest assured that there’ll be a heartfelt lesson to go along with all the fun and festivities.

Top off your glass of eggnog. We’re watching The Donna Reed Show!

The title sequence of The Donna Reed Show proves that Donna Stone (played by the lovely Donna Reed) is an ideal housewife and mother. As the theme plays, Donna quickly dashes down the stairs to answer the ringing telephone. After all, she wouldn't want that noisy racket to disturb or inconvenience the man of the house! He's busy in his adjacent office, attending to his important, manly business. Donna continues to fulfill her duties by passing out homemade lunches to her squeaky-clean children as they trot off to school. And then, most importantly, she gives her hubby a big ol' peck on the cheek and hands him his leather man-bag as he leaves for work.

Wait a minute. I thought Mr. Stone's office was adjacent to their house. Where exactly is he going? Oh, never mind.

As the episode officially begins, Donna is furiously decorating her home for Christmas. Her attire immediately suggests that she’s in the midst of some heavy-duty labor. She’s not adorned in the frilly party dress that she normally wears while cooking and cleaning and bussing her kids all over town. Instead, she’s sporting capri pants and a baseball cap. Oh, and she’s wielding an enormous hammer. Boy, Donna sure takes this Christmas business seriously.

Mr. Stone eventually emerges from his office and calmly demands that Donna drop everything and purchase a gift for his head nurse. She obediently agrees and takes copious notes. What a good little wife!

Their conversation is interrupted by the neighborhood paper boy. In return for his prompt and reliable delivery service, Donna gives him a Christmas fruitcake. He immediately looks sullen and displeased.

As I watch the paper boy's grin disintegrate into a frown, I can't help but wonder if this might be the beginning of a lame recurring joke. The only thing more undesirable than a fruitcake is a running gag about fruitcake.

Ding-dong! Someone else is at the door. It’s the neighborhood dry cleaner with a special delivery for the man of the house. (Can you imagine? Regular delivery service for dry cleaning? Mr. Wong down the block can barely locate my clothes, let alone deliver them.) He gives Mary and her hubby a strangely inappropriate holiday gift...a girlie calender that's jam-packed with photos of semi-nude bathing beauties. Nothing says Merry Christmas quite like a visual feast of cleavage, apparently.

Mr. Stone feverishly begins to leaf through the calender while his eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. Apparently, girlie calenders are the perfect gift for the man who has everything.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that Donna gives the dry cleaner a completely undesirable holiday fruitcake in return. Brace yourselves, kids. It's a running gag.

As Mr. Stone continues to eyeball the lovely ladies in his new calendar, Donna slumps down in an exhausted heap. She attempts to have a serious discussion about the immeasurable stress and strain that the holidays are causing her, but Mr. Stone is too entranced by the girls in his calender to really care. After all, boys will be boys! Am I right, ladies?

I can't help but think that if Donna ever wants her husband's undivided attention again, she'll need to slip back into her party dress and her 18-hour, conical bra.

Ding-dong! It’s the mailman! I’ll give you one guess as to which disappointing gift he receives from Donna. Here's a hint: it starts with F and ends in cake. It wasn’t funny the first or second time and it’s even less funny now.

Dear Lord, will this fruitcake gag ever end?

Later that day, a harried Donna is suffering through some serious retail hysteria. Dozens of cackling women are tossing and clutching and clawing up last-minute gifts. I must point out that there isn’t a single man in the entire department store. Men have more important things to take care of…like their libidos.

As if she's not exhausted enough, Donna decides to spread some Christmas cheer to the pathetic, sickly children in her neighborhood hospital. Clearly, Donna has her sight set on sainthood.

I cannot tell a lie. The children in the hospital scene are adorable, but they can't act for SHIT. In fact, I'd categorize each of them as tragically atrocious actors. As they each recite their lines in a tiresome robotic monotone, I can’t help but wonder which kid is the spawn of the director and which is the offspring of the producer. Talent was obviously not at play in this situation, and these kids are still about ten years away from the casting couch...although by Hollywood standards, you never really know. (Hello Roman Polanski. I'm talking to you.)

Before we continue, dear readers, I want you to take a good long look at this little pumpkin-eater:

And this one:

And take a gander at this scrappy duo:

Do yourself a favor. Memorize their faces. And if you ever happen to see any of them on cable television late at night, TURN OFF YOUR TV AND RUN! Their collective acting is so abysmal that it makes Pia Zadora seem Oscar-worthy.

With the grace of Mother Teresa, Donna suffers the painful acting gladly, and patiently listens to each of the children as they wax poetic about their grave misfortunes. Donna quickly realizes that Christmas in the hospital is going to be almost as abominable as rock-n-roll or hula-hoops. Something must be done!

Donna embarks on a full-fledged investigation and discovers that Charley the janitor (played by the unmistakable Buster Keaton) is struggling to provide Christmas gifts for the ailing kiddies. (Might I suggest giving each of them a copy of Uta Hagan’s Respect For Acting?) Donna decides to pitch in and launch a full-on Christmas party extravaganza! She even enlists good ol' Charley to play Santa.

Fast forward to a fully festooned hospital room and even more abhorrent acting. Donna instructs each of the feeble children to close their eyes so that Santa, played by Charley, can burst through the door with feverish gusto and surprise them.

Charley passes out gifts to each of the little ankle-biters. The tots instantaneously unwrap their packages and discover dolls and plush toys inside. There isn’t a single acting theory book to be found. Too bad for them. And, more importantly, too bad for us.

In their first selfless act of the episode, Donna’s family arrives with toys for the tots in the hospital. They've opted to surrender their cozy Christmas Eve at home in favor of helping out good ol' Mom. Apparently, they’ve learned a thing or two about the true meaning of Christmas after all. Golly! Isn't that swell?

The cast begins to sing Silent Night. The festive carol eventually transitions into a full-on choral rendition sung by an unseen choir. As the music builds to a climax, the camera suddenly cuts to a close-up of our old pal Charley as Santa:

AHHHHH! HE'S TERRIFYING! It's not just me, is it? Charley is staring at the children in what is supposed to be the emotional apex of the episode. Yet there's something about the glassy look in Charley's dark, sunken eyes that makes me want to call the police or maybe even Stone Phillips and his “To Catch A Predator” team. Pronto.

The camera abruptly cuts away from Charley to an unsettling shot of Mr. Stone and his faithful wife gazing back at him:

AHHHHH! Still scary, right? Donna looks as angelic as always, but Mr. Stone's steely eyes seem to be cutting straight through Charley's soul. What's going on here? When did this festive sitcom turn into a chilling Hitchcock thriller?

Donna smiles politely. A miniature Christmas tree twirls. The music continues to swell. And that, my friends, is the end of the episode. I don’t know about you, but I’ll probably be going to bed with visions of upsetting Santa eyes dancing in my head.

That’s a wrap!

Crimes of Fashion: Blanche Devereaux

During our formative years, my sisters and I had unlimited access when it came to our television viewing. Our parents set no boundaries, which probably seemed perfectly safe and acceptable back when we only had a dozen channels to choose from.

But then one day, a miracle occurred. A magical device called a cable box arrived, and our options suddenly skyrocketed from a handful of networks to hundreds of them. Using my kid radar, I quickly found the family-friendly bounty that Nickelodeon had to offer...back when it was GOOD, with shows like You Can't Do That On Television and Double Dare.

And then there were those other channels...the ones with slightly more adult themes. In particular, HBO provided quite an education when it came to four letter words and female anatomy. I'll never forget landing on the cult 80's skin-flick Hardbodies and learning a thing or two.

And my parents? They were nowhere to be found.

Despite our seemingly limitless boob-tube boundaries, there was a fine line drawn when it came to one specific program. The Golden Girls was a show that was strictly off limits. I was told that the main characters were "dirty old ladies" and that I wasn't allowed to even think of watching their deviant antics.

The sexiest character of them all was undoubtedly Blanche Elizabeth Devereaux. (Yes, that's right...her initials spelled BED.) She was the original southern cougar. And it's in her titillating honor that I proudly present some of her most notorious 80's fashion faux pas moments.

Who said that the over sixty set shouldn't wear something naughty in the boudoir? Blanche knew that nothing lured men into her bedroom faster than libidinous lingerie. But instead of taking the obvious "less is more" route with her nighties, Blanche occasionally opted to go for the pioneer woman look:

And on those chilly Miami nights, Blanche would add a bit of shabby chic flair to her bedroom attire by sporting a vomitrocious, muumuu-like robe paired with a bulky, colorless thrift store scarf. Most people think Kurt Cobain introduced the grunge look to America, but Blanche was obviously one step ahead of him:

In the 80's, jazzercise and Jane Fonda's low-impact aerobics were very popular with the seniors. Blanche kept her cottage cheese ass in check while attempting to remain fashion-forward. She knew that nothing complimented a leotard and tights better than a sunshine yellow blouse cinched soundly at the naval:


For a swank evening out on the prowl, Blanche sometimes ended up looking startlingly like Shrek's lumpy, lumbering grandmother. In those instances, she was clever enough to grab the nearest old lady and use her as camouflage:

As most fashion-minded individuals do, Blanche occasionally looked to others for guidance. In this particular ensemble, she used Tweety Bird and the head quarterback of the Miami Dolphins as inspiration:

Sometimes, however, enormous shoulder pads and head-to-toe lemon yellow threads would make way for other sassy evening trends. Blanche was clearly not afraid of cowboy couture. Fringe was not to be feared:

When all else failed, Blanche would truck on down to K-Mart and load up on "blue light special" chiffon scarves. Dorothy and Rose were incapable of competing with Blanche's layered look:

Finally, showing off a bit of geriatric cleavage was Blanche's fool-proof way of rescuing any age inappropriate fashion disaster. When you've got it, flaunt it:

And there you have it, kids! What was learned from this provocative journey through Blanche's tawdry 80's couture? Clearly, more is more. Shoulder pads are always a good idea. Sixty is sexy. And you're never too old to be young.

Right Blanche?

That's a wrap!

ALF: "Keepin' the Faith"

Season One, Episode Seven

Max Wright was no shrinking violet when it came to discussing his patriarchal role on the television series ALF. He harbored great disdain for the tension-filled studio and endless hours that it took to shoot the technically daunting show. When asked about his on-set experience, Wright said that he was "hugely eager to have ALF over with.”

I share his sentiment completely.

Lock up your house cats! ALF has just crash-landed.


ALF's theme song contains a montage of the Tanner family's top-secret alien houseguest irritating and harassing everybody...one by one. He shoves a video camera into the bewildered face of Willie, the dad, as he stumbles in the front door. He barges into the bathroom while Kate, the mom, is half naked. He also manages to interrupt a private phone conversation and disrupt homework time...all in less than a minute.

In my opinion, ALF has just provided the Tanners with more than enough reason to haul his ass out to Area 51 and dump him off indefinitely. But they don't. They're suckers for punishment, I guess.

As the episode officially gets underway, the Tanner clan is in the midst of a heated family meeting to discuss their financial woes. Willie reveals that, like Pam Anderson's boobs, their phone and grocery bills have inflated to epic proportions.



Within moments, ALF barges in and rudely interrupts the discussion. While shoving fistfuls of potato chips into his mouth, he bitterly accuses the entire Tanner family of shutting him out and demands to know the reason why.



By his own admission in this scene, ALF is a nuisance, makes pointless suggestions, interrupts everybody and never lets anyone get a word in edgewise. So yeah…they’re shutting him out. Wouldn’t you?

Duh.

And therein lays the basis for all one hundred and two episodes. The Tanners have to suffer gladly while an obnoxious hairball accosts them and disrupts their otherwise happy lives…all for the sake of comedy. Problem is, by the seventh episode it’s just not funny anymore.

While devouring a second bag of potato chips, ALF admits that the outrageous phone bill is the result of a long-distance call he placed to Germany. As he waxes poetic about why he felt a need to converse auf Deutsch, ALF gobbles down an entire plate of Kate’s freshly baked cookies. He's too busy pigging out to notice that the entire family is giving him the stink-eye.

At this point, not even PETA would fault the Tanners for stuffing ALF and mounting him over the fireplace.

Later that night, ALF is in full-on martyr mode. And what’s a lonely martyr to do in the wee hours of the morning? Why, bang on the piano until someone wakes up, of course! Kate emerges from her bedroom, looking as tired and haggard as a preoperative Joan Rivers. ALF whines to Kate that his feelings are hurt because the family thinks he's a freeloader and a parasite...which are qualities that he openly admitted to possessing earlier in the episode, but never mind. And get this: Kate APOLOGIZES to the little varmint.

ALF wants to prove his worth, but doesn't know how. After giving it exactly six seconds of thoughtful consideration, he does what any rational person would do...he decides to go into the beauty supply business! I'm not joking. From hereon out, it’s an unfunny comedy of Mary Kay-style errors.

ALF calls a cosmetics company and charges a thousand dollars worth of beauty products to Willie's credit card:

ALF gives Lynn a failed makeover:

ALF gives Brian a failed makeover:

ALF throws a makeover party for the entire neighborhood and forces Kate and Willie to host it:

It’s a laugh riot, isn’t it?

As the episode grinds to an anti-climactic conclusion, the Tanners discover that they've earned just enough cash from cosmetic sales to eliminate the debt that ALF selfishly racked up. I can't help but think, though, that no amount of money will ever be enough to cover the therapy that this family is going to require. Gutting ALF and turning him into throw rug would be a much more cost-effective solution, wouldn't you say?

Watch your back, fuzzy face.

That’s a wrap!

My Two Dads: "SoHo's By You"

Season One, Episode Two

Wolverine Dad and Uptight Dad are peering lovingly at their sleeping daughter. Wolverine Dad, with his neatly groomed beard and shag carpet-like chest hair, is grinning wildly. He’s very happy about being a father. So is Uptight Dad. Love is all around.

Is your stomach turning? Well toss back a shot of Pepto-Bismol. We’re watching My Two Dads!


As the saxophone-ridden theme song begins to wail, little Nicole is being led by her two fathers through an animated world that is so 80’s it makes Pac-Man seem contemporary. Neon abounds as the main lyrical content repeats over and over again:

“You can count on me! No matter what you do! You can count on me! No matter where you go! You can count on me!”

We can count on you. Got it. Moving on.

The doorbell rings. Who could it be? Ah, yes. It’s the judge who recently awarded joint custody of Nicole to Wolverine Dad and Uptight Dad. You see, Nicole’s mother passed away without knowing who the bio daddy truly was…hence, multiple fathers. It's very Maury Povich. And if the plot sounds familiar, it should. Throw in a few Abba songs and you’ve got Mamma Mia.

The judge has arrived with a brand new social worker to oversee Nicole’s home life. Immediately, Wolverine Dad emerges from the bathroom…half naked…clad to the navel in acid-washed jeans. Unlike before, however, he’s proudly displaying every last inch of his nappy body hair from the waist up. Something about it makes me feel slightly uncomfortable...in a Dateline predator of the week sort of way.

I must pause to point out that the 80’s were a different time. Manscaping was non-existent. Rather, men seemed to delight in being furrier than the Snuffleupagas. Don’t believe me? Just ask Tom Selleck or Jon Bon Jovi. The woolly mammoth look was trés chic.

It becomes immediately apparent that Wolverine Dad has laid more pipe in town than the New York City sewer department. Because of his previous “relations” with the new social worker, the judge quickly dismisses her from the case. The social worker understands…and then she immediately invites Wolverine Dad over for another booty call.

Uhhhh, and this is supposed to be a show for kids?

Uptight Dad enters, spewing more anxieties than Woody Allen during that ugly Soon-Yi fiasco. He doesn’t enjoy commuting to Wolverine Dad’s artsy-fartsy loft every day. He suggests that Nicole move with him into his fancy-schmancy downtown high-rise.

What’s a girl to do?

Fast forward to Uptight Dad giving Nicole a tour of HIS place. The problem is that the design of his apartment is so cheap and shoddy that it’s obviously a very temporary set. Consider for a moment:

Uptight Dad's bare-bones, poorly-lit nook:

Wolverine Dad's expansive, swingin' pad:

Where do YOU think all three seasons are going to take place? It’s a no-brainer. The next ten minutes of arguing and tug-of-war have just been rendered totally pointless.

Fast forward to a parental meeting at Nicole’s school. She carefully and skillfully explains to her daddy duo why she doesn’t want to be split between two different homes. Her speech is poised and mature and confident. Considering the fact that her mother just kicked the bucket, Nicole is incredibly well-adjusted. My sister cried for an entire week just because she lost her retainer…but never mind.

Several extended arguments and melodramatic speeches later...and SURPRISE...Nicole gets to live in the neon-encrusted artsy-fartsy loft after all! And Uptight Dad is going to join ‘em, which should provide him with plenty of fodder for comedic tirades over the next sixty episodes.

The cherry on top of the cake is that the judge, due to Wolverine Dad being a complete man-whore, is going to personally oversee Nicole’s new parental situation. And why shouldn't she? It's not as if she has a whole courtroom full of child welfare cases to attend to. Pish. That can wait. This particular trio is clearly worth obsessing over.

Additionally, in an effort to be even closer to the gang, the judge bought the building they're now living in. Wolverine Dad and Uptight Dad are going to have to suffer her stalker-like interruptions gladly...morning, noon and night.

The whole situation seems tiresomely co-dependent...almost in a Fatal Attraction sort of way, except without Glenn Close and that horrific bathtub scene. Fun-loving Wolverine Dad looks particularly depressed. The ancient, disapproving judge is totally going to cut down on his womanizing and bedroom escapades.

If that isn't a buzz kill, I don't know what is.

That’s a wrap!