46 I CHRONICLESn”spoof” of the Iran-contra hearings.nDon’t ask.nI now have watched “comedy” fornhours and feel starved for laughs. Atnthis point I would convert from whitento whole grain bread and give upnCoca-Cola if I could just see CarynGrant and Katharine Hepburn in ThenPhiladelphia Story. They never madenjokes about premenstrual syndrome.nFRIDAY —The time: the 50’s.nThe place: Hollywood. The show:nPrivate Eye. A strong-jawed privatendetective is hired by a movie star to tailnher mobster lover. “You don’t knownwhat it’s like to be a woman,” thenmovie star tells the P.I. Looking comatose,nthe P.I. grunts, “There’s nevernany winners.” All women here arencalled “doll,” and everyone smokesnlike a chimney. A little slow aboutnthese things, I assume the show is anput-on. My mistake. It’s being donenstraight. I give it 20 minutes and I’mngone.nSATURDAY —T/ze Golden Girls.nThis, according to an ad in TV Guide,nis the “hilarious season premiere” of anhit series about three older women — anditz, a loudmouth, and a man-crazynvamp — who live together, along withnthe elderly mother of the loudmouth.nMom, approximately 80 years old, sitsnon the boardwalk a lot because shenlikes “to watch the guys rearrangingnthemselves after they come out of thenwater.” On one of her jaunts to thenbeach she makes a friend, an elderlynman, and together they watch for mennwho “just peed in the ocean.” Back atnthe house, the vamp has mistakenlyngiven away the treasured teddy bear ofnthe ditz. I’m sure there is a way tonmake funny the idea of a grownnwoman losing her teddy bear. This,nhowever, is not it. To add to thenhilarity. Mom’s gentleman friend hasnAlzheimer’s disease.nMama’s Boy. The widowed mothernof a Manhattan columnist moves innwith her son. She is obnoxious —npushy, meddlesome, rude — so naturallynhe loves her. He is a hotshotnbachelor, so naturally he is embarrassednto be living with Mom. Henresolves his conflict by “redefiningnwhat a real man is.” He . . . But whyngo on? I think a hug is coming.nSUNDAY —The bad news is, thenEmmy Awards are on tonight. ThenEmmys, TV’s highest honor, are givennfor excellence in television programming.nI see in my trusty TV Guide thatnall three of the Golden Girls, alongnwith their series, are nominated fornawards. (And I will see in tomorrow’snnewspaper that The Golden Girls winsnfor best comedy series, and the vampnwins for best actress in a comedy series.nWhat? No prize for Highway to Heaven?)nThe good news is, I don’t have tonwatch the Emmy Awards, or anythingnelse except the Bengals game, becausenthis is Sunday, and my week is up. I’mnoff duty.nThere. One week, more or less, ofnprime-time television — and I stillnhaven’t seen Dallas or Moonlightingnor Family Ties. But based on what I didnsee, I can say this: The TV haters arenwrong. Television does make younthink. It makes you think things like,n”This is the dumbest stuff I have evernseen; I can’t believe I’m watching it; Incan’t believe anyone is watching it.”nMy sampling was limited and haphazard,nand it is possible I missed somenabsolute gems. I hope so. Otherwise,nthe evidence suggests that standardntelevision fare is simply awful.nTelevision as a form, with its fixedntime frames and regular commercialninterruptions, does not lend itself easilynto effective storytelling. And obviouslynit is difficult to produce “quality” creativenproducts on a weekly schedule.nBut none of this explains the mostnstriking feature of series television: itsnoverwhelming bluntness — as if viewersncould never be trusted to get thenpoint, the joke, or the message. Thesenshows reek of self-consciousness. Theynhaven’t been created as entertainment;nthey’ve been created as television.nWorst of all are the family-centeredncomedies. It is acceptable — often it’snrequired — to approach comedy with annnsense of suspended disbelief. But thesenseries, most of them, are meant to benseen as only slightly exaggerated reflectionsnof “real life.” Since they mustnalso be what real life frequently isnnot—funny — they end up a hopelessncombination of strained “significance”nand cheap laughs. When The GoldennGirls, a program billed as a comedy,ntakes as its subject Alzheimer’s disease,nit is attempting the rankest kind ofnemotional manipulation, and the resultnis both self-congratulatory and superficial.nWhen that same program fills itsnlaugh quota by having an old womanntalk about “peeing in the ocean,” thenresult is grotesque.nTelevision reaches its nadir in itsnportrayal of children and the elderly.nChildren are depicted on TV as allknowingncreatures or smartmouthsnmeant to be seen as adorable. Thenelderly are depicted on TV as allknowingncreatures or smartmouthsnmeant to be seen as adorable. After all,n”old folks are nothing but kids withnwrinkles.” Series television embracesnthis idea with a vengeance, turningnchildren into philosophers (or sex experts)nand old people into bathroomnhumorists.nThe constant question about television—nabout all popular entertainment—nis whether it creates publicntaste or reflects it. I lean toward thenlatter theory. The Golden Girls is nownin its third season on television. Highwaynto Heaven its sixth. People getnwhat they want. As for my originalnquestion about network programmingn— why do millions of Americansnenjoy what so many critics despise? — Inhave only half an answer. That is, Innow understand why critics despise it,nbut I have no idea why millions ofnAmericans enjoy it.nThe mind and the body are onenorganism. After a week in front of thentelevision set, I see that idea in anclearer light. I mean, I would nevernagain subject my mind to Highway tonHeaven, and I’m thinking of sparingnmy body any more hot dogs. All lifeninvolves some risk. Hey, I’ll buy that.nSo, let’s see how the organism handlesna football game and a bag of potatonchips.nJanet Scott Barlow covers popularnculture from her home in Cincinnati,nOhio.n