TIME: Almanac 1990/1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso/time/101689/10168900.002

Text File | 1990-09-19 | 3.6 KB | 65 lines

VIDEO, Page 79

Reflections of a Real Grouch

Life Goes On sugarcoats the subject of mental retardation

By Richard Zoglin


    Television bears a heavy burden. Unlike movies or books or
plays, TV shows are expected to do more than just provide
entertainment. They are asked to be socially responsible as well.
Because they come into the home uninvited, network programs are
supposed to uphold proper moral values and teach life lessons:
drugs are bad, race discrimination is wrong, women should get
breast exams early and often. Sometimes the second task tends to
overwhelm the first: that is, a show is so busy doing good that no
one bothers to notice whether it is good. The new season's prime
example is ABC's Life Goes On.

    This much acclaimed drama focuses on a middle-class family in
which one of the three children, Corky, 18, is suffering from Down
syndrome. The show is a breakthrough because it stars a youngster,
Chris Burke, who has the disorder. Though he has a relatively mild
case of retardation, Burke's very presence on screen is eloquent
proof that such children can be capable, functioning members of
society.

    That laudable message has brought the show enthusiastic praise
from mental-health experts and TV critics alike. It takes a real
grouch to offer a dissent. But even nongrouches may squirm at the
sugarcoating this subject has received. Except for a few taunting
schoolmates, Corky is drenched in love and support. Life Goes On
may have the highest hug-a-minute ratio of any show in TV history.
His parents (Bill Smitrovich and Patti LuPone) are unfailingly wise
and patient. Only his blunt younger sister (Kellie Martin) worries
occasionally about being embarrassed by her brother in school.

    But who could be embarrassed by this wonderful kid? In the
opening episode Corky enters a "mainstream" high school for the
first time. By the second episode he is running for class
president. True, the campaign is launched as a joke by cruel
classmates, but Corky turns it into a rousing, and rather
implausible, plea for the handicapped. "We have a life, we have
dreams, we have hopes," runs his big speech at a school assembly.
"We laugh and cry, just like you. All we want is a chance to be
your friend." Result: a standing ovation and a narrow loss by 47
votes. Says Corky: "That's a lot of friends!"

    In another episode Corky gets a chance, over some parental
reservations, to baby-sit for a six-year-old boy. Again credibility
is dashed by melodramatic overkill. That night the fire department
has to evacuate the house because of a gas leak. When a neighbor
driving them to a nearby shelter gets lost, the little boy runs
away and winds up at the bottom of a ravine. Corky comes to the
rescue, lowering himself on a rope and climbing out with the boy
on his back in a climax worthy of The Great Escape.

    Perhaps good intentions can excuse hokey drama, but one wonders
whether even the good intentions are being fulfilled. Couldn't such
derring-do create unrealistic expectations among the parents of
retarded children? Mental-health authorities say, Not necessarily.
"Chris Burke is less unusual than people think," argues Lynn Nadel,
professor of psychology at the University of Arizona. "The show
gives parents real hope that their child can live a somewhat
productive life." Still, family drama does not have to be so sappy.
The pleasant shock of last summer's movie Parenthood was its
portrayal of parents facing problems -- among them, an emotionally
disturbed child -- that in many cases they were not able to handle.
No danger of that happening on Life Goes On; another hug and
everything will be fine.