As she imagines Bree, "on the outside, she's like a sculpture, and I have to fill in the interior." Yes, she is repressed. "But we all are, only Bree more so. I think she has a huge terror of abandonment."
One of the things that makes "Desperate Housewives" unique is the fact that the show is propelled by women, by their relationships, their points of view. The women are the suns; the male characters revolve around them like planets. Since prime-time network television is driven by female audience (60 percent), this seems like an obvious choice. But flip through the TV guide: Male-led sitcoms, macho reality games and endless "procedurals" (the "CSI" clones) dominate the airwaves.
"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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"What could be more interesting than the lives of four women?" Cross says. On TV, "there are always roles for wives, but they're never fleshed out." She understands that the shorthand description for the Bree character is a Martha Stewart type off her meds. "But you'll see. Her vulnerability seeps out." Sure, Bree is obsessive-compulsive. "But I think she is in love with her husband and terrified of losing him."
"Women can relate," Eva Longoria says by phone from a New York greenroom, minutes before her guest spot on the Conan O'Brien show. Longoria plays Gabrielle Solis, the vixeny, materialistic ex-model bored with her empty marriage (hence the tryst with the high school jock).
"These women feel modern. They're divorced, married, kids, no kids," Longoria says. "I've heard women say they feel like each character. I've heard men say that, too, about their wives."
As for Gabrielle (Longoria at 29 is the youngest of the lead actresses; the others are in their forties), the actress and former Miss Corpus Christi says, "She provides an outlet for frustrations. Gabrielle has no moral boundaries, no kids. She's not a very good wife. I think there are a lot of Gabrielles out there. Unhappy. Having affairs. Or wanting to."
Says Longoria, "It works because the show is sad, dark, scary, weird and funny."
It is, of course, important not to take all this too seriously (nobody is out there searching for the deeper meaning of middle-age male sexuality in "Everybody Loves Raymond"). But the show has sparked a little flame of controversy.
The American Family Association has complained about the peekaboo of lingerie and promiscuity (after all, Gabrielle would be prosecutable for statutory rape in several states) and convinced a couple of advertisers to pull their spots.
Some conservatives say the premise mocks the all-American goodness of Mom and apple pie. (In a scene from an earlier episode, Felicity Huffman's character, the overstressed minivan mom Lynette Scavo, finally cracks and temporarily abandons her brats a few blocks from Wisteria Lane. Bad mommy!)
From another quarter, the show has been cited as evidence of a backlash against women.
Creator Cherry takes this in stride. "I was stunned, well, just a little stunned," he says, sitting in his barren office on the Universal lot, a boyish and burly man dressed in sweats and sneakers, taking an hour out of his marathon seven-day-a-week writing schedule.
"There was this scathing reviewer who thought I was writing these 1961 portraits of women. Calling them housewives. How dare I? And the fact that a lot of their personal unhappiness revolved around men in their lives." Cherry pauses. "I thought, have you met any women? A lot of the women I know, that's what they're complaining about -- either the man in their life or the lack of a man in their life."
He explains, "Now, if I'd written a show called 'Gabrielle,' I can understand how I might have gotten into trouble." But with the four characters as archetypes, "I'm safe."
