A pre-WALTONS Will Geer shines brightly as Senator Homer Wydell, a combustible and cantankerous "old coot" who verbally wrangles and mangles the star of our show, Senator Hays Stowe. It's immovable object meets irresistible force, and somethin's gotta give.
THE PLOT. Wydell, a quarter-century veteran politician dating to the FDR era, has climbed the senate ranks and amassed considerable control, holding pivotal positions in several key committees. A formidable power broker, he also serves as self-appointed gatekeeper to what bills are brought to the Senate floor. Stowe's bill ensuring government workers a right to privacy is one Wydell has decreed be left out in the cold.
After an especially bruising verbal tirade in a committee meeting, Stowe visits Wydell's office to seek a truce and avoid a "clash of personalities" that would overshadow the important work of the committee. What Stowe gets instead is a front-row seat to the unhinging of a senator. Wydell's mind leaps like a monkey from one subject to another. He is one moment enraged and the next grinning warmly and sharing fond memories of Stowe's father.
But it isn't until Stowe turns to leave that he witnesses Wydell clutching his curtains, entranced, and spilling a sensitive security secret about a hidden military base in Turkey while giving unfiltered voice to the demons that haunt his mind.
Is Wydell merely eccentric ... or mentally ill? Stowe suspects the latter, and the program is primarily about his negotiating this political minefield. Jordan Boyle warns him that pursuing his concerns could be political suicide. But Stowe is primarily concerned about national security and safety. Wydell is slated to attend an international arms treaty conference where a loose cannon could result in catastrophe.
What settles the matter for Stowe is an embassy ball where Sen. Bevan furtively verifies the "problem" and suggests Stowe speak with the majority leader, Sen. Brown. Instead of being grateful, however, Stowe shames his colleague for lacking the courage to raise the issue himself. The older and wiser Bevan tosses it right back at Stowe, saying this is an undertaking for a man with presidential ambitions. As if on cue, Wydell begins slipping cogs when holding court before embarrassed onlookers. Frustrated that he can't recall the name of the Frenchman who toured America in 1824, he storms off to a telephone, yelling into the receiver for an outside line. Wydell is calling for a lifeline thirty years too soon, wanting to awaken a friend to get that elusive answer (Alexis de Tocqueville, as I suspect those enjoying this political drama would know).
Beholding this meltdown is Stowe, who catches the eye of a mortified with embarrassment Mrs. Wydell. The aging senator also indulges his singular obsession with an ornate crystal chandelier that hangs in the embassy, and he demands in no uncertain terms that the only other one like it be hung in his office.
I winced at the next scene. Stowe, displaying characteristic fools-rush-in hubris, gambles on a decidedly undiplomatic intervention. He visits Mrs. Wydell at her home while she's puttering in her greenhouse. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, he boxes her in verbally (as her husband has done to Stowe), tries to cajole her into being his ally in the secret they share: Homer Wydell is "sick" psychiatrically. Stowe's manipulative speech to a lone woman amongst all that foliage evoked a modern-day serpent in the garden trying to woo into betrayal a latter-day Eve.
But Jean Wydell had been married to Homer long enough to have learned some effective verbal jousting herself. She admits nothing and feigns shocked outrage at the mere implication of sickness. It was a tense scene played so well by Holbrook and veteran actress Ann Doran. My stomach was in a knot as it unfolded, imagining the horror of being told an uncomfortable truth about one's spouse from a political enemy with the unspoken implication that he'll make it public or (mis)use it for political leverage.
Stowe's grandstand play comes in the following scene where he implores Majority Leader Thad Brown to sit in on a committee meeting and witness for himself Wydell's tenuous grip on sanity. And just like how your car won't make that funny noise when you bring it to the garage, Wydell is the epitome of civility and sanity. Brown stands to leave, throwing Stowe a contemptuous look. High-roller Stowe has only moments to up his ante and he put it all down on his ability to goad Wydell into flipping his wig. It was wince-worthy seeing Stowe sink to the level of a workplace bully, and for a moment I felt sorry for Wydell... but only for a moment.
MY TWO CENTS. As the show unfolded Wydell brought to mind several past and present high-ranking and powerful political leaders whose sanity was and is suspect. How do you rout those unfit to serve when, as in Wydell's case, his constituents keep reelecting him and he has five more years in his current term?
Kevin Hagen as gadfly investigative reporter Jasper Lick rightly notes that those in this privileged club close ranks around one of their own. And Stowe disappointingly lends credence to that charge in this closing scene where the heroic "Mr. Smith" we admired behind the scenes becomes another mealy-mouthed politician giving evasive and vague political responses, heaping praise upon the political enemy he brought down and reproving the reporter for raising inconvenient questions. That exchange was so deflating--and sobering!
Hey, I get it. Stowe can't afford to gloat and make enemies, or to reveal there are cracks (and crackpots) on Capitol Hill, but the preceding 40 minutes showed us the danger of just "getting along to get along," as Sen. Brown phrased it.
What frustrates me about this show is also among the reasons why I am enjoying it thoroughly. The endings leave me vexed and unsettled, but also thinking through the pointed questions the stories pose. And also despairing that the problems plaguing Washington and our nation in 1970 are still with us lo this half-century later (and with no sign of relief in sight).
Foreshadowing the next episode is a framed photo of Stowe's dad, retired Senator Holden Stowe. Hey, waitaminnit, that ain't E. G. Marshall! No, it's ubiquitous character actor Jon Lormer.
After Will Geer's show-stealing performance, the MVP award goes to Kevin Hagen. The two scenes featuring his pitbull reporter Jasper Lick bookend the episode. I was hoping he would become a recurring character, but alas this was his sole series appearance. The cast boasts many familiar faces for TV enthusiasts to recognize (and a voice; that of Regis Cordic, who played Sen. Tomlinson).
Stowe's daughter Norma is MIA, but his wife Erin appears briefly in the French Embassy party scene. She casually mentions that some famed musician is about to play, but a moody Stowe wants to go home, so she dutifully agrees to fetch her cape. That line struck me as funny (who is she, Batgirl?). Some humor, even if strained, was desperately sought out by my stretched-taut brain. Also eliciting a smile was the misfired attempt by the producers to appeal to younger viewers by showing some cleavage-baring youth dancing to generic psychedelic music. All in vain, I fear, as I am confident that elusive demographic was on this Sunday evening enjoying "The Tim Conway Comedy Hour" on CBS or the second half of Raquel Welch's fur-bikini epic "One Million B. C." on ABC.
"Does this review contain spoilers?" asks IMDb. No, it does not. And neither does the misleading title of this episode (oops--was that a spoiler?).
THE PLOT. Wydell, a quarter-century veteran politician dating to the FDR era, has climbed the senate ranks and amassed considerable control, holding pivotal positions in several key committees. A formidable power broker, he also serves as self-appointed gatekeeper to what bills are brought to the Senate floor. Stowe's bill ensuring government workers a right to privacy is one Wydell has decreed be left out in the cold.
After an especially bruising verbal tirade in a committee meeting, Stowe visits Wydell's office to seek a truce and avoid a "clash of personalities" that would overshadow the important work of the committee. What Stowe gets instead is a front-row seat to the unhinging of a senator. Wydell's mind leaps like a monkey from one subject to another. He is one moment enraged and the next grinning warmly and sharing fond memories of Stowe's father.
But it isn't until Stowe turns to leave that he witnesses Wydell clutching his curtains, entranced, and spilling a sensitive security secret about a hidden military base in Turkey while giving unfiltered voice to the demons that haunt his mind.
Is Wydell merely eccentric ... or mentally ill? Stowe suspects the latter, and the program is primarily about his negotiating this political minefield. Jordan Boyle warns him that pursuing his concerns could be political suicide. But Stowe is primarily concerned about national security and safety. Wydell is slated to attend an international arms treaty conference where a loose cannon could result in catastrophe.
What settles the matter for Stowe is an embassy ball where Sen. Bevan furtively verifies the "problem" and suggests Stowe speak with the majority leader, Sen. Brown. Instead of being grateful, however, Stowe shames his colleague for lacking the courage to raise the issue himself. The older and wiser Bevan tosses it right back at Stowe, saying this is an undertaking for a man with presidential ambitions. As if on cue, Wydell begins slipping cogs when holding court before embarrassed onlookers. Frustrated that he can't recall the name of the Frenchman who toured America in 1824, he storms off to a telephone, yelling into the receiver for an outside line. Wydell is calling for a lifeline thirty years too soon, wanting to awaken a friend to get that elusive answer (Alexis de Tocqueville, as I suspect those enjoying this political drama would know).
Beholding this meltdown is Stowe, who catches the eye of a mortified with embarrassment Mrs. Wydell. The aging senator also indulges his singular obsession with an ornate crystal chandelier that hangs in the embassy, and he demands in no uncertain terms that the only other one like it be hung in his office.
I winced at the next scene. Stowe, displaying characteristic fools-rush-in hubris, gambles on a decidedly undiplomatic intervention. He visits Mrs. Wydell at her home while she's puttering in her greenhouse. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, he boxes her in verbally (as her husband has done to Stowe), tries to cajole her into being his ally in the secret they share: Homer Wydell is "sick" psychiatrically. Stowe's manipulative speech to a lone woman amongst all that foliage evoked a modern-day serpent in the garden trying to woo into betrayal a latter-day Eve.
But Jean Wydell had been married to Homer long enough to have learned some effective verbal jousting herself. She admits nothing and feigns shocked outrage at the mere implication of sickness. It was a tense scene played so well by Holbrook and veteran actress Ann Doran. My stomach was in a knot as it unfolded, imagining the horror of being told an uncomfortable truth about one's spouse from a political enemy with the unspoken implication that he'll make it public or (mis)use it for political leverage.
Stowe's grandstand play comes in the following scene where he implores Majority Leader Thad Brown to sit in on a committee meeting and witness for himself Wydell's tenuous grip on sanity. And just like how your car won't make that funny noise when you bring it to the garage, Wydell is the epitome of civility and sanity. Brown stands to leave, throwing Stowe a contemptuous look. High-roller Stowe has only moments to up his ante and he put it all down on his ability to goad Wydell into flipping his wig. It was wince-worthy seeing Stowe sink to the level of a workplace bully, and for a moment I felt sorry for Wydell... but only for a moment.
MY TWO CENTS. As the show unfolded Wydell brought to mind several past and present high-ranking and powerful political leaders whose sanity was and is suspect. How do you rout those unfit to serve when, as in Wydell's case, his constituents keep reelecting him and he has five more years in his current term?
Kevin Hagen as gadfly investigative reporter Jasper Lick rightly notes that those in this privileged club close ranks around one of their own. And Stowe disappointingly lends credence to that charge in this closing scene where the heroic "Mr. Smith" we admired behind the scenes becomes another mealy-mouthed politician giving evasive and vague political responses, heaping praise upon the political enemy he brought down and reproving the reporter for raising inconvenient questions. That exchange was so deflating--and sobering!
Hey, I get it. Stowe can't afford to gloat and make enemies, or to reveal there are cracks (and crackpots) on Capitol Hill, but the preceding 40 minutes showed us the danger of just "getting along to get along," as Sen. Brown phrased it.
What frustrates me about this show is also among the reasons why I am enjoying it thoroughly. The endings leave me vexed and unsettled, but also thinking through the pointed questions the stories pose. And also despairing that the problems plaguing Washington and our nation in 1970 are still with us lo this half-century later (and with no sign of relief in sight).
Foreshadowing the next episode is a framed photo of Stowe's dad, retired Senator Holden Stowe. Hey, waitaminnit, that ain't E. G. Marshall! No, it's ubiquitous character actor Jon Lormer.
After Will Geer's show-stealing performance, the MVP award goes to Kevin Hagen. The two scenes featuring his pitbull reporter Jasper Lick bookend the episode. I was hoping he would become a recurring character, but alas this was his sole series appearance. The cast boasts many familiar faces for TV enthusiasts to recognize (and a voice; that of Regis Cordic, who played Sen. Tomlinson).
Stowe's daughter Norma is MIA, but his wife Erin appears briefly in the French Embassy party scene. She casually mentions that some famed musician is about to play, but a moody Stowe wants to go home, so she dutifully agrees to fetch her cape. That line struck me as funny (who is she, Batgirl?). Some humor, even if strained, was desperately sought out by my stretched-taut brain. Also eliciting a smile was the misfired attempt by the producers to appeal to younger viewers by showing some cleavage-baring youth dancing to generic psychedelic music. All in vain, I fear, as I am confident that elusive demographic was on this Sunday evening enjoying "The Tim Conway Comedy Hour" on CBS or the second half of Raquel Welch's fur-bikini epic "One Million B. C." on ABC.
"Does this review contain spoilers?" asks IMDb. No, it does not. And neither does the misleading title of this episode (oops--was that a spoiler?).