A Powerful and Unsettling Vision

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Dr. Landowska (George Petrie): There is a rumor that they are evacuating Moscow. There are people even leaving Kansas City because of the missile base. Now I ask you: To where does one go from Kansas City? The Yukon? Tahiti? We are not talking about Hiroshima anymore. Hiroshima was peanuts.

Dr. Oakes (Jason Robards): What's going on? Do you have any idea what's going on in this world?

Dr. Landowska: Yeah. Stupidity. It has a habit of getting its way.

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It's been 30 years since "The Day After."

And when ABC concluded the initial showing of the two–hour–plus made–for–TV movie on this night in 1983, my guess is that the 100 million or so viewers probably felt more than a bit uneasy.

The imagery was powerful — very powerful, in fact, given the context of the times.

Tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union had never been higher in my memory — less than three months earlier, the world teetered on the brink of disaster when the Russians shot down a commercial Korean airliner after it drifted into Soviet airspace — and what TV viewers saw on their screens that evening seemed entirely plausible.

In fact, articles prior to the broadcast warned that, if anything, the depictions of nuclear explosions and their effects were milder than they almost certainly would be in reality. But, sanitized though they might be, they were still very unsettling, and I recall that, after the movie ended, Ted Koppel told viewers reassuringly to look out their windows. "It's all still there," he said.

Then Koppel moderated a debate featuring, among others, scientist Carl Sagan, who likened the escalation of global nuclear tensions to a room filled with gasoline and two bitter enemies on either side, one with 7,000 matches and the other with 9,000 matches.

It wasn't an uplifting evening.

The movie was so unsettling because it was so real. It followed the normal, everyday activities of people in Kansas and Missouri — college students preparing for a new semester, a farm family making arrangements for a wedding, that sort of thing.

In the background were TV and radio news reports detailing escalating tensions half a world away.

Some people took the reports seriously. Most were indifferent to events on the other side of the globe, oblivious to pacts between nations — as, I fear, most people would be today. But some people took the reports seriously enough to begin making preparations for when the missiles began to go off.

It's true that things are more complicated today than they were 30 years ago. In 1983, the perceived threat really only came from one source, the Soviet Union. Well, OK, I guess you could include China, but the attention was on Russia and its satellites.

Today, it seems just as likely — if not more likely — that a nuclear strike would originate from a terrorist group or a third–world country, not a superpower. They don't work together or follow the same sets of orders.

That would make for a much more complex story if "The Day After" was remade in the 21st century.

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As I say, the story was told primarily through these reports — perhaps inspired by Orson Welles and his radio broadcast of "War of the Worlds" 45 years earlier — and, given the times, it was reasonable to believe that the catalyst for a nuclear exchange would come in Germany. One thing led to another, and that was easy to believe, that events could escalate to the point where they were rapidly spinning out of man's control.

The Soviets tried to intimidate the United States into backing down in Berlin, and, when that didn't succeed, the Russians sent armored divisions to the border between East and West Germany.

From that point, one thing built upon another. In America, people went about their daily lives, still not heeding the warning signs.

Until the missiles started going off.

I thought then — and I still think — that most Americans would be in denial up to the last minute. I thought that point in the movie was prophetic. (I doubt that I will ever be able to prove it, though.)

Jason Robards was magnificent, as always, as a doctor/adjunct medical professor. Perhaps his moist poignant moment, the one that lingered in memory long after the movie was over, was of Robards weeping among the ashes of what once was his home.

Jobeth Williams played a nurse in a role that really wasn't as demanding of her as I expected, coming as it did after her performances in "Poltergeist" and "The Big Chill." They were probably the most recognizable stars in the movie. Others in the cast enjoyed varying degrees of popularity in the years to come.

It was a hard–hitting movie, a rare made–for–TV flick in that it took a cinematic stand and never gave viewers wiggle room. If this happens, the movie warned, all will be guilty and all will pay. There will be no innocent bystanders.

The scenes from the initial strike were horrific enough, but the scenes of the aftermath were downright terrifying — a nuclear wasteland where anything that wasn't already dead was dying. It made me wish that, if it did happen, I would go quickly. In fact, I remember deciding, as I watched the movie, that if I ever faced a situation where I knew a nuclear strike was coming, I would not seek shelter. I would go outside and wait for it.

Even though it was toned down, "The Day After" was a powerful and unsettling vision.

The story was rich with ironic opportunities that could so easily have been exploited — such as the farmer's wife who ignored the evidence of the unfolding disaster and continued to focus on preparations for the scheduled wedding of her daughter until the very last minute. But it seemed to me that, though the scenes of the nuclear attack were horrific, they were understated.

Nevertheless, the subject matter was so disturbing that many of the TV stations that aired the movie provided teams of counselors to help anxious viewers when it was over.

In spite of the self–serving rhetoric that is frequently heard these days, it's hard to imagine any modern–day network being that socially responsible.

'The Stand' Against Evil

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Thirty–five years ago this month, Stephen King published his lengthy novel, "The Stand," which was almost immediately proclaimed, by just about everyone I knew, to be his best.

I'll grant you, the list of his published works wasn't too long in 1978. "The Stand" was his fifth novel — the last count I heard indicated he has now published 50. Obviously, there is a lot more competition now than there was.

But, even 35 years later, I still hear people say it is his best. I haven't read all of his books, but I've read quite a few, and I, too, say — as I have been saying for 35 years — that it is his best.

Of course, what I read 35 years ago was the abridged version. In 1990, he published the original, uncut edition. I read that one, too.

The plot was deceptively simple. At an Army base, a deadly strain of the flu that has been created to be used as a weapon gets loose. Most of the people who become infected will die — but a handful will prove to be immune to it.

The survivors migrate into two camps — one dedicated to evil, the other mostly dedicated to good — and an apocalyptic confrontation is inevitable.

I remember thinking when the book came out — as I always do when I read a Stephen King book — that it would make a splendid movie.

And, eventually, it did. It was a four–part TV movie in 1994.

But the problem always has been that King's narratives seem to spend a lot of time inside the characters' heads.

The plot of "The Stand" was easy enough to follow. The American military had developed a weaponized strain of the flu, which was informally known as Captain Trips. It was released accidentally, causing an epidemic that killed more than 99% of the world's population.

The few who survived — and usually showed no symptoms — gravitated to two camps in the Western United States, and the story evolved into a battle between good and evil.

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All of which set up a final confrontation between the two sides.

The first version I read ended on a suitably ambiguous note. A baby was born to two of the survivors who lived in the good camp. One asked if humanity had learned from its experience. The other replied, "I don't know."

The longer version had a different ending, much darker. The antagonist, who somehow survived the apocalyptic battle, awakened with a case of amnesia and began to recruit new followers among an illiterate race of people who treated him like a god.

The clear implication was that another stand would be necessary.

The TV movie was pretty faithful to the story, but there were a few differences. If you've only seen the TV movie, you owe it to yourself to read the book.

Blonde Ambition

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The tragic story of Marilyn Monroe has been told many times and in many ways in nearly half a century since her death.

But, to my knowledge, it was never told quite the way it was told in an HBO movie that made its debut on this day 15 years ago.

I was an HBO subscriber in those days, and I remember watching the film the first night it was televised. Reviews were mixed, but I was impressed.

In the movie, Norma Jean (Ashley Judd) and Marilyn (Mira Sorvino) were treated as two distinct parts of the same person, waging battles with each other at critical moments in Monroe's life.

I never thought the movie was telling the story of a split personality, but I did feel it was the story of someone who was haunted by her past. At times, there were parallel stories that were told in flashback form, creating the impression that Marilyn repeated the same errors in judgment.

That, of course, is all speculation — albeit, at times, convincing speculation.

Norma Jean, of course, was her identity before she became a star, the name she went by as a child, and much of her childhood was spent in foster homes, some of which were abusive.

Marilyn was her persona after she achieved stardom — but the premise of the film was that she never gained the things that mattered most to her.

The title hinted at the internal conflict that may well have gnawed at her throughout her life — and, in the end, may have been responsible for her death.

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You probably have heard all of the tragic angles of Monroe's life — her unpleasant childhood, the simultaneously liberating and smothering stardom she found as an adult, the relationships that failed.

(If ever there was a poster girl for the old adage "Be careful what you wish for ...")

But no one knows of her struggles with her inner self. That will always be a source for speculation.

As I say, it is intriguing speculation, speculation that can never be challenged — at least not successfully.

Marilyn has been dead for nearly half a century. She can't dispute anything that anyone says about the wars that were fought within.

The story that was told on HBO 15 years ago tonight may or may not have been true — substantially.

But it is true — and it will always be true — that Marilyn died far too young — and perhaps for reasons we will never know, that only she could ever know.

Whatever the truth behind her death may have been, it died with her in August 1962. For nearly 49 years now, we have been left with speculation.

Over the years, I have heard some people say her death was an accident. Others have said it was a suicide. Still others have said it was a homicide.

The coroner's office ruled it a "probable suicide," but the fact is that all three arguments can be persuasive — and none has proved convincing enough to be regarded as the definitive account of what happened.

I suspect that it is a case that will always be a lot like Marilyn herself — mystifying, perplexing, tantalizing, exasperating, promising much but, ultimately, delivering little.

Return to Mayberry

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Some reunions should never happen.

I came to that conclusion when my high school class held its first reunion — five years after graduation.

I thought it was too soon for a reunion. Those of us who had gone to college were just barely out of school at that point.

On this day 25 years ago, most of the surviving members of the cast of The Andy Griffith Show appeared in a much–anticipated reunion movie on a Sunday night in mid–April of 1986 — and proved, beyond any doubt, that some reunions should never take place — no matter how much time has gone by.

In reality, the show had been off the air for about 18 years. In the late 1960s, when Griffith decided he had had enough, the show continued for a few years as Mayberry R.F.D., but it wasn't really the same.

And the passage of time, of course, changes everything. By 1986, some of the cast members were deceased, which is an inevitable development that comes to some casts sooner than others. Thus, regulars like Floyd and Clara and Emmett the Fix–It Guy weren't around. I'm not sure if they were even mentioned in the reunion movie.

Some of the cast members were still living — but chose, for one reason or another, not to participate. Frances Bavier, the actress who played Aunt Bee, was ailing (and, in fact, passed away a few years later). Reportedly, she did consider doing a kind of voiceover in a scene in which Andy visited Aunt Bee's grave, but my understanding is that another actress delivered the lines.

The actress who played Ellie Walker and the actor who played Warren, the deputy who replaced Barney Fife, chose not to participate in the film. In hindsight, it might have been hard to work them in to the story gracefully.

But, as it was, it was hard to work in some of the other characters gracefully — or, at least, consistently with the viewers' memories.

Gomer Pyle, for example, had starred in his own TV series in the late 1960s — and his character had a steady girlfriend, LuAnn, most of the time that program was on the air. But in the Mayberry reunion, Gomer was back in Mayberry — and still a bachelor. No mention was made of LuAnn that I can recall.

Speaking of relationships, Barney and his long–term girlfriend, Thelma Lou, got back together in the reunion movie, even though devotees of the series had known for 20 years that Thelma Lou had married someone else and left Mayberry after Barney left the series. Consequently, when Barney and Thelma Lou tied the knot in the reunion movie, Andy had to mention that Thelma Lou's first marriage failed — supposedly for continuity's sake but it was really for propriety's.

Perhaps the most egregious change from the TV series to the reunion movie occurred with Otis the town drunk. In the final years of The Andy Griffith Show, the sponsors apparently grew more and more nervous about what appeared to be jokes about alcoholism, and Otis was not a character in any of the plots in the last 1½ years the program was on the air.

But Otis was back for the reunion — and drinking was no longer an issue. Otis, now a reformed drinker, may have been a pioneer in shifting public attention to childhood obesity in that movie. He was gainfully employed — as Mayberry's ice cream man.

It may have been a good excuse to get the gang together one more time — and many of the cast members have passed away in the quarter century since the film aired — but that's about all it was. There wasn't anything particularly memorable about the plot.

In fact, for a TV movie that reunited the cast of a show with a whole bunch of memorable catchphrases, the dialogue was rather bland.

Without a drunk Otis to silence, for example, Barney couldn't admonish him: "Pipe down, Otis. Will you just pipe down?"

I guess they did the best they could with the convoluted plot.

And, as implausible as the story was, I must admit that it was nice to see the gang together one more time.