You could, if you wished, spend 8 p.m. Sundays (formerly known as the "family hour") watching the whiny cops of "10-8" solve a grisly murder. Or you could watch the emotionally sterile cops of "Cold Case" solve an old murder. Bah! Why? If I want to see murder, I'll wait till another night when I can spin the network roulette wheel of crime programs and see all the blood I want. No, Sunday nights at 8 are reserved, for me, by the magnificent show known as "American Dreams." American Dreams is not a television show. It is an imposter. It is, in actuality, a verrrrrry long theatrical film that was cut into about 44 parts. I know, because it doesn't behave like a tv show. The characters don't talk like they're on tv. They talk like real people, dealing with real problems and using realistic solutions. They are not cute, they are not cloying. Their issues are not resolved in 42 minutes; they must deal with them over time, painfully and with much thought. And when it happens, it is sometimes done in an undramatic, almost subtle way, that many weaker viewers will not understand. In that, American Dreams is almost the television antithesis of such dreck as "Touched by an Angel." I come away from each episode with my intelligence uninsulted--embarrassment-free, as if I'd done a good thing by spending my precious hour in front of the box. May the show last seven years--long enough for the writers to put the Pryors through the rest of the 60s. I want to see how they deal with it.
Review of American Dreams
