Back in the Saddle, Again

Just went you thought it was safe to turn on the television, Dallas is back.

I was not an early adopter of the classic Dallas show from 1978.  I was in college, leaving me with no time to hitch my life to a weekly television serial.  Not until everyone was asking “Who shot J.R.?” did I finally surrender, joining the millions who were captivated by the loathsome scum who had once been the lovable master to everyone’s favorite Jeannie.  I spent the summer after my graduation catching up on the characters and plot lines in re-runs, just in time for Larry Hagman to get the raise he wanted and for writers to keep him alive.  

Dallas defined the late night soap format that dominated the 80s and 90s.  We never tired of gorgeous women making dramatic wardrobe changes every 30 seconds.  Or the convoluted intrigue that would disrupt the Cattleman’s Ball, or the Oil Baron’s ball, or lunch at The Club, or breakfast.  Nor could we wait to discover the next manner of double-cross to be engineered by J.R.’s hands.   No matter how devoid of morals J.R. acted, he and the producers never drew public ire for glamorizing evil.  (Perhaps Murphy Brown would have been hailed for her "indiscretion" had she lived in Texas.)

Then there was the viewer whiplash that came from watching a show that went on longer than its actors’ abilities to play their roles.  Ms. Ellie was Barbara BelGeddes and then Donna Read and then Barbara BelGeddes again.  Priscilla Presley played Jenna Wade, but only after Morgan Fairchild had a crack at the character in an earlier episode.  Jim Davis’ untimely death put Jock Ewing to rest; thankfully, they did not replace the actor.  Instead, they brought in Howard Keel to play the only age-appropriate person in Texas so that Miss Ellie would have someone on her arm.

It was quite a dilemma for me whether or not to tune in to the latest installment of Dallas.  On the one hand, it seemed best to let dead villains lie.  On the other hand, I was curious to see whether today’s television producers and the more lax standards of a cable network could reheat the old cliché into a fresh new recipe.    What I have discovered is both exciting and distressing.   It is nice to see the handsome Patrick Duffy back on television, along with the others who have not graced our screens since 1991.  But, since the more recent invention of reality TV, our standards for malevolence have plummeted.  To register on our modern evil-meter, J.R. must sink to depths that border on inconceivable.  We have already seen him swindle and spy on his own son and then twist it into fatherly love in one well-orchestrated stroke of the pen.  If the first two episodes are any barometer, things in Dallas will get a lot worse before they get a lot worse.

I think I will tune in tonight and give the writers one more chance to convince me that I should care about what happens to J.R. and his progeny.  Or maybe I will wake up to discover that this whole latter-day incarnation of Dallas has just been a dream.

Tomorrow's blog:  To Find Your Opinion, Turn to Page Six