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TIME: Almanac 1995
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<text id=89TT0475>
<title>
Feb. 20, 1989: War As Family Entertainment
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1989
Feb. 20, 1989 Betrayal:Marine Spy Scandal
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
VIDEO, Page 84
War as Family Entertainment
</hdr><body>
<p>Two Vietnam shows tackle the issues but avoid the politics
</p>
<p>By Richard Zoglin
</p>
<p> War, being a pretty depressing human endeavor, has never
been a favorite subject for network entertainment. The Vietnam
War, being pretty depressing even as wars go, would seem to be
nearly untouchable. Not only was there too much R-rated action
(drug abuse, massacres of civilians) but the story had an
unhappy ending. Such recent movies as Platoon and Full Metal
Jacket could immerse their audience in the muck and moral
quicksand for a couple of hours and then let go. But TV series
must keep viewers coming back week after week, adhering to
standards of "family entertainment" along the way.
</p>
<p> The surprise, then, is that two weekly shows about Vietnam
have established themselves on the prime-time schedule. To be
sure, both of them -- CBS's Tour of Duty and ABC's China Beach
-- add plenty of TV fabric softener to the abrasive material.
Each fills its sound track with '60s pop songs, as if Vietnam
were just another trip down nostalgia lane, like high school
mixers and afternoons at the malt shop. Both have taken a
predominantly male experience and leavened it with female
characters and soap-opera story lines closer to Dallas than
Saigon.
</p>
<p> China Beach revolves around a hospital-and-entertainment
complex near Danang, and its protagonists range from a dedicated
nurse (Dana Delany) to a hard-bitten war profiteer (Marg
Helgenberger). Tour of Duty focuses on an all-male combat
platoon, but this season has added two prominent female
characters -- a wire-service reporter and a psychiatrist --
and, of course, a love interest for each.
</p>
<p> Yet credit is due: no other dramatic shows on TV deal with
such relentlessly uncheery subject matter. Tour of Duty is the
more conventional of the two, an L.A. Law-style mix of
characters, subplots and issues that are introduced and neatly
resolved by episode's end. The show's flaws are familiar:
characters who are too simplistic (the hotdogging helicopter
pilot, the streetwise black private), and plot twists that are
too patly "illuminating." When a battle-fatigued soldier is
sent back into combat before he is ready -- over the objections
of his sergeant and a psychiatrist -- you can bet that five
minutes into his first mission he will go berserk and get shot.
Still, the show has broached some touchy subjects, from officer
corruption to cowardice in battle, with honesty and dramatic
fluency.
</p>
<p> If Tour of Duty is the war genre's L.A. Law, China Beach is
its thirtysomething: narratively loose jointed, laced with
ironic dialogue and moody introspection. Created by John Sacret
Young (screenwriter of A Rumor of War) and former magazine
editor William Broyles Jr., the show lurches between the fey (a
macho war hero parachutes into camp and romances all the women)
and the loquaciously self-important, as if it were a sorority
bull session with grenade sound effects. But the writing is a
notch above standard-issue TV fare, and the show follows its
own adventurous, if sometimes bumpy, path.
</p>
<p> Both shows reflect the way dissent has become domesticated
in America; what were radical antiwar views in the '60s are now
mainstream TV attitudes. High-ranking officers and other
authority figures are mostly buffoons, insensitive martinets or
corrupt sleaze balls. Heroism, at least as the military tries to
market it, is usually a sham; public relations is the name of
the game. A lieutenant in Tour of Duty gets drunk in a bar and
empties the place by wildly firing his gun. A few seconds later,
a bomb explodes inside, and he is hailed as a hero. Notes a
smarmy major: "You're the first good publicity the command has
had since Tet."
</p>
<p> Most of all, there is disillusion and frustration. Sergeant
Zeke Anderson (Terence Knox), the sympathetic Everysoldier in
Tour of Duty, confides to his ex-wife his feelings about the
war: "It's just like everything you hear. It's death and
destruction, it's hell on earth, it's twisted limbs. I just
want it to be over." An injured grunt in China Beach expresses
his despair even more starkly: "Nobody here gets out alive.
Breathing maybe. Eating. Sleeping. You ride the bus to work,
cash a paycheck, wait. But your life is out there . . . always."
</p>
<p> These sentiments, however, are largely denuded of their
political context. Rarely are they linked to any specific
complaint about the conduct of the war -- a policy mistake or a
battlefield blunder. It's just the eternal tragedy of war. At
the same time, the angry pacifism once expounded by M*A*S*H (a
TV series about Vietnam that was set in Korea) has been
tempered by sympathy for the average grunt. There is still a
place, in TV's current view of Vietnam, for courage in battle,
duty and loyalty to buddies. At a champagne dinner for officers
in China Beach, a Red Cross worker blurts out a drunken toast
to the men in the field: "Out there, it's not your war. It's not
our war. It's their war." And it's their war that TV is finally
trying to tell.
</p>
</body></article>
</text>