The pop culture phenomenon that is M*A*S*H was invented in 1968 when an unknown writer named Richard Hornberger, writing under the pseudonym Richard Hooker, saw the publication of his debut novel, MASH: A Novel About Three Army Doctors. The book was an instant smash, thus launching what would prove to be one of the most enduring franchises in the history of show business in America. Unfortunately for the author, when approached to adapt the book into a Hollywood movie, he sold the film rights for a few hundred bucks. I said, for a few. Hundred. Bucks.
Richard Hooker's lack of business acumen, however, was not the concern of a then-obscure television director named Robert Altman. Handed a shot at the big-time, Altman knew exactly what the hell to do with it. Discussing the production of the film in interviews over the years, Altman would claim that the studio responsible for the film, 20th Century Fox, was so preoccupied with the other war picture they were putting out that year, PATTON, that Altman wound up with virtual free reign to put the movie together however he wished. Consequently, MASH , based (pretty) loosely on an adaptation by Ring Lardner Jr set a new standard for satire in American cinema, as "subversive" a work from that period as anything that catchall term could ever apply to. A story about medical personnel posted at a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital during the Korean War, a 1970s audience would have immediately understood the picture as a thinly disguised referendum on the Vietnam War. Arguably the biggest box office hit of 1970, grossing an ungodly amount of money for its time, Altman's career and reputation as one of Hollywood's top filmmaking talents was assured. Several of the film's principal cast became major stars as well, enjoying long, successful careers in film and television.
But the ride was hardly over. Obviously not having made enough money, 20th Century Fox's television division gave the go-ahead to adapt the movie for the small screen. Developed by veteran comedy jokesmith and playwright Larry Gelbart, M*A*S*H debuted on the ABC television network in 1972. It somehow failed to attract an audience (!) initially, and was promptly snapped up by CBS after ABC dropped it. Of course, the rest is history. At its new home, the show quickly established itself as one of the highest rated series on network television, missing the top ten ONCE in ten years. The final episode was the most watched television program in the history of American television, a record which stood for nearly 27 years.
Clearly both the movie and the TV show were of the highest quality, but I must confess that I have always been partial to the Robert Altman film. If CITIZEN KANE had been the hit that MASH was, Orson Welles more than likely would have been the original Robert Altman: nothing spells "clout" in Hollywood like a movie that is given license to print currency. Like Welles' best work, this film bears the unmistakable signature of its director through and through. Muddled dialogue, rapid-fire editing, ludicrous voice overdubs, eccentric to its core, beloved Altman stylistic flourishes. It functions as a war picture, and as a satire of war pictures, all the more ironic in light of the "serious", Oscar-winning PATTON released that same year. The film also holds up exceptionally well to repeated viewing. Most "counterculture" works from the Woodstock generation have a tendency to date pretty badly; MASH, on the other hand, is timeless.
This is not to say that I disliked the TV series. The show was equally brilliant in its own medium (despite that damned laugh track), and could also deliver belly laughs in equal measure. The only problem with the series is that it clearly--I mean, CLEARLY--overstayed its welcome. Timing is everything in comedy, and the cardinal rule might well be to know when to move on to the next bit. Instead, the show suffered a myriad of personnel changes as the years piled up, and with that came a tangible shift in tone. Truth be told, M*A*S*H kinda sucked after they killed off Henry, replaced Trapper with B.J., and replaced Frank with Charles. And then Radar just up and left altogether. And they got all nice to Hot Lips. They were still dedicated alcoholics to the very end, but by then, what was the point? For my money, M*A*S*H was always on its most solid footing when it served as an effective note-for-note rip-off of the Altman film. Good, bad, or indifferent, the gags trumped all else those first two or three seasons. And they were damned funny gags, too, even more outrageous on some level than the movie. But that more than anything reflected the influence of Larry Gelbart, who cut his teeth in the business writing material for Sid Caesar on YOUR SHOW OF SHOWS, one of the most over-the-top zany sketch comedy parodies ever seen on American television. Alan Alda has stated in interviews that he felt the movie displayed a certain callousness towards its characters. Well, so did the WAR, Alan. As Alda assumed greater creative control of the show, that point of view would manifest itself in no uncertain terms.
But be that as it may, the series surpassed the movie in one key respect. It marked the last time that the folly and horror of warfare was dealt with in any meaningful way on prime-time American network television. When the movie premiered, the war in Vietnam was openly covered and broadcast into America's living rooms every night. In a major way, that fact contributed to the country's overwhelming disapproval of that war. When the series debuted, a sitcom about an ugly war was practically an afterthought, so inundated were the viewers to having witnessed the real thing for nearly a decade. By the time the show ended, the Reagan Revolution was in full swing, and with perhaps the notable exception of Oliver Stone, Hollywood was mostly attempting to rewrite the Vietnam experience for the dawn of the teenage multiplex crowd and its short attention span video game mentality. And one need look no further than today's evening news to notice a BIG difference between the way wars are covered today versus forty years ago. When Phil Donahue had the temerity to question the war in Iraq in 2002, his comeback bid was cut short by MSNBC when they abruptly axed his show despite good ratings. The frankness of both the movie and the TV series seem naive by today's standards; no doubt they both would be ordered to "tone it down" by the current crop of studio and network executives.
So in the final analysis, who's to say which version is the more worthwhile? The Larry Gelbart Gene Reynolds Burt Metcalfe Alan Alda confection certainly has its adherents, as well it should. It was a hit for a reason. But I think it would be a lot more fun to tie one on with The Pros From Dover.
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