In 1975, New York City was
on the verge of financial and moral ruin. Criminals ran rampant in the
streets and terrorized the weary riders of the graffiti-drenched subways.
Times Square was bursting with X-rated peep shows and drug-addicted
hustlers. The city’s plea for Federal help resulted in one of the most
famous headlines of all time (“Ford to City: Drop Dead!”). This, of course,
showed the world that The Big Apple may have been a little rotten at its
core, but it had not yet lost its winesappy sense of humor.
In fact, “New York As
Urban Hell” became a popular genre of 1970s entertainment. For the first
time in modern history, New York became something to be sniffed at — not
aspired to; it came to be painted as a broken dream, a Sodom and Gomorrah
which provoked both snickers and gasps from everyday, ordinary folk. Long
before the “I Love New York” campaign, Americans kept away from the city in
droves, clutching their purses and gripping their wallets close to their
persons.
Hollywood found this slimy
underbelly of the culture irresistible. Americans may have been tightening
their belts due to inflation, but the box office never suffered even one
day. Gritty, reality-driven dramas like Serpico, The Taking of
Pelham 1-2-3, Dog Day Afternoon, and Death Wish showcased
the new New York in all its pitiful, decaying horror and apathetic
hopelessness. Suburban moviegoers could watch from a safe distance, feeling
“in the know” about the wicked city without having to actually be cowering
on the wrong end of a gun.
Similarly, on television,
Americans were only just getting used to loudmouths like Archie Bunker and
Maude, after being conditioned to years of good-natured countrified kinfolk
like the Clampetts and Gomer Pyle. The new pastime of groaning at the lives
of brash but scared New Yorkers became the smart, sophisticated thing to do
on television, just as Saturday Night Live was getting its legs,
Rhoda Morgenstern was getting married, and Kotter was being welcomed back.
However, it was Barney
Miller that hit the bull's eye. No other show of its era whittled the fine
art of New York bashing down to a smooth, shiny bullet. Amazingly, the
series hit the ground running, as if America had responded to it with a
collective “where have you been?” Served up as a mid-season replacement on
ABC, its first thirteen episodes (now available on DVD) was an immediate hit
with critics and audiences. Amazingly as well, little fine-tuning was needed
— the show found its footing and its tone almost immediately.
Set in the 12th
Precinct of Manhattan at its eccentric worst/best, the show was a godsend
for good actors who were born to be a part of television’s new jones for
anything urban. The obligatory gang of ethnic oddballs, which was required
casting for post-Bunker television, won the day because of the subtle twist
in each stereotype: the captain of the squad is capable and sober, like any
other detective since TV’s first broadcast day, but in this case he is not
WASPy but Jewish and sensitive, with the patience of a saint; the “Afro
American” is an aspiring novelist; the “Oriental” is self-deprecating; the
“Dumb Pollock” is perhaps only playing it dumb;
the Hispanic goes off on rampages in Spanish a la Ricky Ricardo, but
in language that is not as adorable; and “The Old Man” is all-too aware that
he is an old man. Brilliant. Racist, ageist and sexist, but brilliant.
The dialogue is almost
dangerously understated, with very little yelling or boring-ass hugging –
just quick wit, which is broiled down to almost a mumble. Zingy back and
forths exchanged between real adults was still new to TV, and yet it told
light years more than what was being said.
Hal Linden as Barney
Miller plays the straight man and the rock, although one may wonder if
Miller is playing patient with his wacky crew or just being a bit
patronizing in order to get the job done. Abe Vigoda, straight off The
Godfather, easily channels ancient, creaky Detective Phil Fish as if he
had waited fifty years to sink his false teeth into a role like this, and he
probably had. Nobody plays “old” with more intelligence and wit – nobody.
The ingenious Jack Soo is
Nick Yemana, cursed with a gambling problem and chronic constipation, and
not afraid to make a wicked comment about the shape of his eyes before
someone else does. Gregory Sierra is the earnest, hard-working Chano, who
beat Kurt Cobain by fifteen years by making flannel shirts look hip. Ron
Glass plays Ron Harris, avoiding the expected shucking and jiving for the
more refreshing ultra-intellectual and extremely articulate. And finally,
there is Max Gail as gum-chomping Detective Wojciehowicz (“Wojo”), an ox of
a guy who plays by the book and “tells it like it is,” in the persona of a
man-child.
The ties are wide, the
pants are tight, the hair is unkempt, the mustaches are bushy and the shoes
are platformed, but the writing is timeless and the laughs are still fresh.
The series was created by
Danny Arnold, who was involved with fantasy-driven sitcoms like Bewitched
and That Girl, which, suddenly seemed embarrassingly old world. You
can practically sense his rush of relief as he, at last, tastes the
bittersweet flavor of the new Big Apple. Overseeing the development of
flesh-and-blood characters who talk real, act real, and even go to the
bathroom must have felt like a precious gift from the Muse.
Of course, not everything
works: one of history’s mysteries is the fact that the whiny, annoying
Barbara Barrie (as Miller’s clinging wife) received second billing in the
opening credits and yet barely appeared on the show, while Jack Soo (with
perfect attendance on every one of the first thirteen episodes) was
mentioned only in the closing credits. What was quickly realized is that
this is a show for and about men, and that softening it up with women didn’t
quite work. The first season’s weakest episode featured Linda Lavin (later
to become TV’s Alice) as the liberated cop who yearned to be treated
with the same respect as her male counterparts. Very nice, but even by 1975,
this obligatory storyline had become tiresome.
Still, Barney Miller
served up a showcase for TV’s strongest character actors, featuring an
offbeat parade of lovable loonies (nary a Charles Manson or a Son of Sam
among them – the precinct booked nothing worse than pickpockets, flashers,
minor psychos and midnight tokers). Watch a very young Todd Bridges foretell
his fate as a troubled youth and the terrific Jack DeLeon as the gay
kleptomaniac who was as “out” as anybody could be on TV in the mid-70s. We
also get an early look at the wonderfully wishy-washy Mrs. Fish (Florence
Stanley), who joined Abe Vigoda in the short-lived spin-off, Fish, a
few years later (pray for this little series to make it to DVD! The
executives at ABC who cancelled this gem should be brought in on criminal
charges.).
Barney Miller
ran comfortably and confidently until 1982, and by then, the world of
television had figured out the secret and had caught up. However, this first
season is an amazing example of how art reflects culture, and pushes it
right back in your face.
Ronald Sklar
Copyright ©2004 PopEntertainment.com. All rights reserved.
