TIME: Almanac 1995

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<text id=91TT2573> <title> Nov. 18, 1991: California:The Endangered Dream </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1991 Nov. 18, 1991 California:The Endangered Dream </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> SHOW BUSINESS, Page 93 How L.A. Captured Prime Time </hdr><body> ...and turned it into a platform for California's seductive themes At the age of 18, Darren Star surprised his large, tight- knit family in suburban Potomac, Md., by moving to far-out Los Angeles. Within a few years, he wrote and sold the script for Doin' Time on Planet Earth, a film about a teenager who thinks he's from outer space. Today, at 30, he draws a six-figure income as the creator of Beverly Hills, 90210, the Thursday-night melodrama that has captured the teen audience by portraying youthful angst and L.A. glitz. Star owns a house in the Hollywood Hills, drives a Porsche convertible, lifts weights and romps with his retriever at his Malibu beach hideaway. "I based 90201 on my experience coming out here," says Star. "What a different life- style! I mean I never saw so many Ferraris and Rolls-Royces. I guess I've adjusted to California life." The industry that Star works in has made the same transition. Once controlled by New York City-based advertisers and entertainment executives, prime-time television since the early 1970s--when strict limits on the networks' own production took effect--has become more and more a captive of Los Angeles. It is especially dominated by a small but powerful group of L.A.- based writer-producers who year after year create the lion's share of successful prime-time programs. Numbering no more than 150, they serve as the industry's permanent bureaucracy, remaining in place while studio chiefs and network honchos come and go. As a result, they have gained enormous influence over what is broadcast into America's living rooms. This group, says Elizabeth Thoman, executive director of the Center for Media and Values in Los Angeles, has replaced "the storytelling aunts and uncles we don't have anymore." Who belongs to this elite? Though they reside in the most ethnically mixed city in America, the most powerful writer- producers are no more diverse than the U.S. Senate. They are, on the average, 41 years old. Nine out of 10 are male, and 98% are white. Many easily earn $1 million a year or more. Most important, though the majority hail from the East and Midwest, they have steeped themselves in the gushy, vaguely countercultural sensibility that flourishes in some affluent precincts of Los Angeles. "A Republican is not unheard of--but rare," says Charles Slocum, an industry analyst with the Writers Guild in Hollywood. "Most are liberal Democrats and idealists. They have the baby boomers' we-can-change-the-world mentality of the '60s." In recent years this powerful clique of prime-time producers has responded to the challenge of cable programming by grasping for even bolder contemporary themes they hope will win the do-or- die ratings war--and there is no better source for such material than Southern California. Thus Los Angeles and its environs have been the setting for a steady stream of TV series--from The Beverly Hillbillies (1962-71) to Beverly Hills, 90210, as well as The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, Blossom, L.A. Law and Boywatch--in which the sunshine, free-floating wackiness and materialistic life-styles of Los Angeles are at least as important as any character. Says producer Paul Junger Witt, who has five shows on prime tine right now (including Golden Girls, Empty Nest and Nurses): "California and especially Los Angeles represent some sort of magical place to the rest of the world. It makes good business sense to plug into that fantasy. It's juicy stuff." The Los Angeles mentality also seeps into shows with no explicit California connection. "We California-ize everything, whether it's set in California or not," says TV and film writer Lew Hunter. That happens because the writer-producers almost invariably draw on their own experiences for their scripts--and many of them share the L.A. tendency to let it all hang out. The writer-producers' families provide grist for their creations, as do their divorces or memberships in the Alcoholics Anonymous-style self-help programs that are the rage in Los Angeles these days. In a recent episode of Anything but Love, Hannah and her boyfriend Marty frolicked under the sheets for nearly the whole half-hour. The concept "was entirely drawn out of my passionate relationship with my wife," says executive producer Peter Noah. "We have also had plenty of fights, and if I get my way, every one of them is going to end up on television." Don Reo, creator of Blossom, observes that many programs besides his own feature dysfunctional families headed by single fathers." "Most of them are created by guys who are divorced," says Reo, who for a time was a divorced father raising three children. He laughs. "The reason they do them must be wish fulfillment. They're subliminally trying to kill their ex-wives." Reo and others like to think their shows are pushing the boundaries of what is acceptable on TV by tackling serious issues such as teen drug addiction, "responsible" sex and menstruation. Some critics think they have pushed too far. Says Terry Rakolta, a Michigan mother of four who founded Americans for Responsible Television: "I don't know if it's `Californian' as such, but the entertainment community there knows sex and violence sell. They know it's low cost per thousand--cheap, fast and dirty." The writer-producers reply that their shows are merely reflecting, not inspiring, societal changes that are well under way. But many of the trends the programs reflect get started in L.A. "There is a distinctly `Hollywoodian' perspective layered on top of the `Californian' one on television," says David Stewart, a market-research psychologist at U.S.C. "It's novelty seeking, eccentric and nonconformist, as artists tend to be. It wants to reject traditional values. But that's one of the reasons the Hollywood people are here, after all. This was a place where they were welcomed, or at least tolerated." Even so, the prime-time producers themselves caution against taking their sitcoms too seriously. "Heard the one about the two brain surgeons?" asks Reo. "Their patient has just died, and one of them bursts into tears. `Take it easy,' the other surgeon consoles him. `We're not producing a sitcom!'" Come to think of it, the adventures of two bumbling brain surgeons could make a good gallows-humor sitcom--provided, of course, that it was set in L.A. -- With reporting by Erwin Washington/Los Angeles. WHAT CALIFORNIA'S BEAMIN' RACIAL TOLERANCE The racially mixed casts of L.A. Law, True Colors and Pros & Cons mirror Californians' claim that they are less prejudiced than other Americans. ENVIRONMENTALISM Doing the right thing for the environment is standard operating procedure for characters like Blossom, who was recently shown using the recycling bin in her kitchen, and the mother on Major Dad, who routinely wears a SAVE THE EARTH button. MAKING BABIES Traditional childbearing has virtually disappeared from the airwaves. Recently Murphy Brown became pregnant out of wedlock, Mary Jo of Designing Women decided to impregnate herself with a sperm-bank specimen she affectionately calls Bongo, and a male extraterrestrial gave birth on Alien Nation. SECULARISM California has one of the lowest percentages of regular churchgoers of any state. As a result, there is an almost complete absence of religious content on prime time. But there is plenty of sacrilege, as when Bart Simpson says grace: "Dear God, we paid for all this stuff ourselves, so thanks for nothing." MATERIALISM The BMWs on Beverly Hill, 90210, and Hilary's spoiled-brat fashions on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air underscore Californians' passion for high-priced possessions. SEXUALITY During the current season, at least six shows, from Roseanne to Doogie Howser, M.D., have dealt explicitly with teenage sex. As writer-producer Darren Star puts it, "L.A. is a very sexy place." </body></article> </text>