Ready for Prime Time

Television as a media outlet has long been a source of controversy, and a thorn in the side of many an enlightened observer for as long as its relatively short existence. In 1961, FCC chairman Newton Minnow famously called it "a vast wasteland". Frank Lloyd Wright quipped it was "chewing gum for the eyes". The slang term "boob tube" was coined in the halcyon days of TV; author John Updike may have coined the term "idiot box" in his seminal work Rabbit, Run in 1960.

True, the medium is flawed and somewhat limited. Yes, there's a lot of junk on the tube, and its inherent corruption at the hands of undue corporate influence makes for pretty stinging satire in Paddy Chayefsky's Network. And who could forget that as of this writing, Jay Leno is the permanent host of The Tonight Show? But criticism aside, TV is always known to have its moments in spite of itself. So with that ringing endorsement, in today's column we will discuss some of our picks for GREATEST TV EPISODES OF ALL TIME. By all means, feel free to amend this list however you like. 

The Twilight Zone "The Four of Us Are Dying" (1960)
This would be the first episode of the classic series that made a lasting impression on me. Rod Serling's memorable sci-fi and suspense anthology, often imitated but never duplicated, was still in search of its audience when this installment aired during the show's first season. This story about the duplicitous nature of the human character, and perhaps that of life in general, may have done much to help the new program carve out a niche for itself in its initial phase. This episode features many of the hallmarks that would make The Twilight Zone such a huge cult favorite with the passage of time; the way it seamlessly blends the best elements of classic film noir by way of a breezy, jazzy score by noted film composer Jerry Goldsmith certainly makes it one of the series' easiest chapters to watch. Now, while there are some rather obvious flaws in the logic of the story, about an exceedingly unscrupulous fellow who possesses the ability to re-arrange the contour of his own face to duplicate that of any other face he comes across, literal point A to point B storytelling was never all that huge a concern for The Twilight Zone's creative team, or for that matter, its audience. The episode is all the more memorable in that it showcases early screen appearances of such popular actors as Ross Martin, Beverly Garland, and Don Gordon, all of whom went on to enjoy stalwart careers in film and television.

Alfred Hitchcock Presents "The Man from the South" (1960)
Not only is this metaphor about the evils of gambling one of my personal favorites, it is justifiably one of the most famous episodes of this classic series, if for no other reason than the stunt casting showcase of Steve McQueen versus Peter Lorre. Quentin Tarantino's post-modern spin on this oldie but goodie was pretty much the only highlight of his disastrous collaborative experiment Four Rooms, but interestingly, that is only one of a handful of adaptations of the noted short story by Roald Dahl over the years. As fate would have it, this story was first broadcast two days after the "The Four Of Us Are Dying", appropriate in light of the way these two film noir-oriented, suspense-driven TV series tended to compliment each other. McQueen was a relative unknown at the time, and his work in this show was part of his ongoing effort to build enough of a resume in television to propel him into the major movie superstardom that he would enjoy as the sixties unfolded. Peter Lorre, on the other hand, had essentially realized a major film career in his own right, starring in several fine Hitchcock films from the 1930s and 40s, as well as other noteworthy crime films like The Maltese Falcon. "The Man from the South" resembles something like a changing of the guard as it were, as two of the Silver Screen's most easily recognizable figures pull every scene-stealing trick in the book to try to upstage each other in the short space of a mere twenty-odd minutes' worth of screen time.

Saturday Night Live hosted by Desi Arnaz (1976)
During the inaugural season of that timeworn TV staple known as SNL, Desi Arnaz, the guy who played Ricky Ricardo on I Love Lucy, published his memoirs with the provocative title, A Book. In the ensuing promotional tour, the opportunity arose for Desi to host the brand-new late-night sketch comedy series, and Desi accepted. The subsequent broadcast, while not the most "famous" installment in the program's history, is certainly one of its very best and most entertaining. The program was especially fitting as Desi Arnaz was himself one of the most famous television pioneers who ever lived, and the format of this newfangled show for (mostly) young people harkened back to TV's salad days. In that spirit, the show manages to simultaneously pay tribute to and lampoon Desi, to consistently charming effect. The handful of folks who were tuned in that Saturday night were treated to well-written spoofs of such venerable Desilu fare as The Untouchables (Dan Ayckroyd as Elliot Ness, who else?) and of course the aforementioned classic sitcom, this time featuring Gilda Radner as Lucy. The show wraps with my hands-down pick for that program's most  memorable segment in its history: silver-haired Desi Arnaz, evidently tired out from a long night's work, takes center stage with his son Desi Jr, to lead the cast and studio audience in a rousing rendition of Desi's signature tune "Babalu". It ran so long, they had to cut in for commercial as Desi led the entire SNL cast in a spirited conga line around the SNL studio, finally rolling the closing credits over the still-pulsating rhythm. The show should have just ended right there, and spared us the succeeding three decades.

Seinfeld "The Invitations" (1996)
I choose to disregard the train wreck that was the final episode of arguably the greatest sitcom in television history; instead, here is what maybe should have been that program's true finale. It was the final broadcast written by series co-creator and head writer Larry David, and one has the sense that David knew he was at the end of the line when he wrote it. The story rather neatly encapsulates the various tenets of the show, putting on display some of the most wicked modes of black comedy ever witnessed in prime time. David even took the extra step of killing off the Susan character, played by Heidi Swedberg, and that death ends up being the focus of much of the show's most cringe-inducing yet humorous moments. Swedberg has since publicly stated that she got a kick out of having her character croak in such a darkly comic manner, while Jason Alexander (aka George) has claimed that Susan's death is only one of two instances when the show's audience turned on him or his character (the one where George eats the pastry out of the garbage being the other). The notion that George was, whether intentionally or not, responsible for the Susan character's death was a bit much for even this show's loyal following; the possibility, however remote, that George may have even murdered her character bordered on sacrilege. And Jerry, Elaine, Kramer and George behaving as though they didn't really give a damn, some people found especially crass. Yeah, crass but funny.

The Sopranos "Blue Comet" (2007)
Also known as the next-to-last episode of this hugely popular contemporary mafia series, I think writer-producer David Chase probably should have just called it a day right here. Like the Seinfeld "Invitations" episode, this story neatly tied up much of the program's central themes and protagonists in a manner that would have made a fitting end for the long-running crime drama, but...wasn't. All of the intrigues and complex story lines that had unfolded over the duration of The Sopranos' run actually came to a head in this chapter, not the largely superfluous finale of record. Like that final episode, "Comet" has an ending that is rather ambiguous, but the picture of Tony Soprano curled up alone in bed with a shotgun, fearing for his life, would have made the perfect image for the series to fade out with, and also would have still left the door open for the often-discussed but apparently unlikely big-screen adaptation "Sopranos" sequel. In this episode, we see a vulnerability in the Tony Soprano character that was rarely seen for the duration of the series' evolution, juxtaposed with the irony of Peter Bogdanovich driving a stake through Tony's heart by convincing the Lorraine Bracco character to dump Tony as a psychotherapy patient. The way Chase and company weave that narrative seems cruel and heartless, at first. That is, until you consider that mob boss Tony is a hundred times MORE cruel and heartless, even on his best day.