LOS ANGELES
In the back lot at Universal Studios, past phony Western Town and pretend New York, beyond the old set of "Psycho" and the turgid lagoon where they shot "McHale's Navy," a visitor arrives at a picture-perfect cul-de-sac of white picket fence and fresh green lawn. It all looks so familiar. Why, there's the Beaver's old house.
But even a fake neighborhood can change.
"I think my love of this world comes through in the project," says show creator Marc Cherry of the top-rated series' seemingly serene setting.
(Kevork Djansezian -- Abc)
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Sordid or Silly, Shows That Pulled Us In
You watch. We know you watch. How can you not watch television's guilty pleasure shows that, for reasons obvious and mysterious, suck you back to the viewing couch each week.
Alas, tonight the TV gods have preempted that guiltiest of pleasures, "Desperate Housewives," in favor of the American Music Awards.
To help with the withdrawal symptoms, we indulge in some nostalgia for guilty pleasure shows of yore that lasted at least five seasons and made guilty (but satisfied) viewers of us all.
Peyton Place (premiered in 1964). It was the mid-1960s and Americans, judging by the show's audience size, were ready to delve into the lives of these New Englanders with their extramarital affairs, illegitimate children and philandering priests. Television's first successful prime-time soap opera also launched the careers of Mia Farrow and Ryan O'Neal.
Hawaii Five-O (1968). Hula dancers. A villain called Wo Fat. The catchy opening tune (by composer Mort Stevens, who also penned the "Gunsmoke" theme). Jack Lord's hair! Viewers indulged in this over-the-top cop drama for its fast pace and beautiful scenery (filmed on location), but who knew there was so much crime in this tropical paradise?
Dallas (1978). The masterpiece spawned a whole generation of prime-time dramas, including "Knots Landing," "Falcon Crest" and "Dynasty." J.R. became a household name and millions of children may have learned the facts of life from all that cavorting taking place at Southfork. We loved the series so much, we even forgave the producers for writing off Bobby's death (and the entire 1985-86 season) as just a dream.
Fantasy Island (1978). Who didn't want to be greeted by the happy islanders bearing fruity drinks and have Ricardo Montalban hand them their dreams? Viewers could empathize with the Average Joes with large problems getting off "da plane! da plane!," seeking answers from the wise and cunning Mr. Roarke.
Knight Rider (1982). Yeah, the car could talk; you got a problem with that? It could also reach speeds of 300 mph and defy gravity, and we all like to watch cars fly. Plus it seated one fabulously coiffed and blue-jeaned David Hasselhoff, whom a nation embraced. That nation is Germany, but he was pretty big in the United States as well.
The A-Team (1983). I pity the fool . . . who wasn't in the demographic and therefore missed out on this ragtag team of outlaws fighting injustice. We elevated Mr. T (B.A.) into a pop culture superstar, but the names Hannibal, Faceman and "Howling Mad" Murdock will always be ingrained in our memory.
MacGyver (1985). The ingenious secret agent could turn a turnip into a truck, a lollipop into a laser and a Danish into a dagger. Sure we made those up, but we tuned in for eight years to see what unbelievable concoction our hero could invent next.
Melrose Place (1992). We tuned in to see what tragedy would befall Allison next. We taped and rewinded to see Dr. Michael slowly transform from all-around nice guy to certified meanie. We rushed home to see cat fighting and attempted suicides and the Melrose Place apartment complex blow up. But mostly . . . we watched to see Heather Locklear.
Dawson's Creek (1998). The high school love affairs and the platonic, almost-love affairs. That's what drew us in every week as Dawson, Joey and Pacey sorted out their sordid affairs. Its downfall? That annoying Paula Cole theme song still -- a year after the show went off the air -- is stuck in our heads.
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Ward and June Cleaver have moved away, and now Wisteria Lane is home to a more modern cast of characters: the Ritalin-gobbling minivan mom; the Stepford wife channeling Martha Stewart; the randy former runway model and bored hausfrau with a thing for her 17-year-old lawn boy; the ditsy divorcee looking for love with . . . a plumber.
Ah, the burbs: so real, so unreal.
Today the lane is as freshly scrubbed as Disney's Main Street an hour before opening, and the neighborhood is as busy as a yard sale. On the street/set, the camera, makeup, wardrobe and sound crews are working on the 10th episode of "Desperate Housewives," the Sunday night soap opera that has saved ABC from its mortal slumber -- just as surely as the slightly subversive dramedy has jump-started the careers of its cast of talented but desperate actresses, most of whom had reached that age in Hollywood when the casting calls slow.
Saved, too, by the show was its creator, Marc Cherry, who confessed he couldn't get an interview for a writer's job in recent years, much less real work. (His spec script, he says, "was born of sheer desperation, if I can use the word.") How fickle the fates. One day Cherry is in his Studio City condo writing a teleplay nobody wanted (the four networks initially turned it down). Now he's a certifiable genius driving his new Lexus (license plate: DSP HSWV) right to his reserved parking spot.
But that's what 22 million viewers and the No. 1 new show on network television will do for a 42-year-old writer in this town. "I was starting to think I wasn't all that talented," Cherry says. "But these days my self-esteem is much better, thank you for asking."
The show is not only a smash with viewers, it is also (mostly) the critical darling of the fall season. "A triumph," writes David Bianculli of the New York Daily News. "Whips up saucy moments with the flair of a world-class chef," says Hal Boedeker of the Orlando Sentinel. From The Washington Post's Tom Shales: "In its visual style, witty language, borderline surrealism and overall mad attitude," the show "stands on a mountaintop all its own, the best new drama of the season and perhaps the best new comedy, too."
Such praise can go to a gal's head. The show's publicists have been barraged by media wanting an inside look at ABC's secret weapon. Getting onto the set of "Desperate Housewives" was like negotiating the SALT II Treaty. But finally, here is Marcia Cross playing the irresistible Bree Van De Kamp, in a retro print apron, holding a breakfast tray with a vase of cut roses, folded linen and fine china, awaiting her cue.
"And action!" Cross enters the set, Bree's living room, to parry with husband Rex (Steven Culp), with whom she has been waging a kind of "War of the Roses." Up close, before the camera, Cross is fascinating to watch: She pours tension into Bree, creating with her clenched hands, her Marine-erect posture and the starched flip of her red coif a woman so wound, so repressed, that a viewer is just waiting for her head to explode. (In an earlier episode Rex complains, "I just can't live in this detergent commercial anymore!")
In today's scene, the couple is fighting (we can't say over what exactly; the episode won't air for another month), but it shows the off-center sensibility that the actors and Cherry have brought to the series. "The advice that Marc Cherry gave us was to play the comedy really seriously and play the drama with a twinkle in your eye," says Culp.
It looks like a daytime soap. But the colors are too sunshiny. The dialogue sounds ordinary, networky, but then Bree suddenly erupts, almost hissing her lines, "Don't confuse my anal retentiveness" -- beat -- "for actual affection." And one thinks: Is it okay to laugh? Is this "Twin Peaks" or "Days of Our Lives"? (And also this: ohmigod, my own wife/girlfriend/partner actually said the same thing just the other day.)
After a few takes, Cross sits down, wraps herself in a blanket and relaxes. Her face suddenly seems softer, less domestic Medusa; the imaginary snakes slither away. "Mmmm, Hot Tamales!" she gushes, and digs into a box of candy. "Want one?" Her character is one of the more over-the-top on Wisteria Lane. "It is so tiring to play Bree," Cross says. "The tension. After a day on the set, I have to literally straighten out the kinks."
