Spooky Owl!
Telly Talk Supreme
When DALLAS was new, the show had a decidedly New Rich, rednecks-made-good working class vibe, what with the '70s earth-tones and plaid bell-bottoms and white wicker furniture and porcelain dogs and a much-repeated off-the-rack wardrobe, to say nothing of those dentists' offices in the sky which housed Ewing Oil's chief executives. (We laughed about it even before DYNASTY was on the horizon). One got the impression that Miss Ellie may have had a couple of semesters of Ivy League learnin' back east as a young girl, but that brief spate of highfalutin edjumication couldn't counteract the earthy impulses and vulgar Lone Star sensibilities of the Ewings of Southfork.
Oddly, as the show rose and persevered beyond the hype and global hysteria of "Who Shot JR?" in 1980, the DALLAS saga gradually began to morph into a vaguely more Old Rich thing, with a sense of stateliness, time and history, the ranch house like an alabaster tombstone towering over a sea of yellow green grass with the sordid mysteries of Texas contained somewhere within. (The closing campy years notwithstanding).
Sort of.
Over on that overdressed rival knock-off show, DYNASTY, it started out with more of an Old Rich vibe in its first season, the tiny family unit of Blake and Fallon and Steven, alone in that huge brick edifice in the shadow of the Colorado Rockies, the corrupt yellow sunlight streaming in through those inadequate windows like a mausoleum; the prodigal mother, rarely-referred to, her memory quietly haunting her children and ex-husband for more than a decade and a half... Literary references, allusions of ancient political scandal, whispers of high society gossip. Even the new wife, Krystle, despite being raised in relative poverty in rural Ohio, manifested an effortlessly natural sense of grace and elegance as if she were to the manor born, the oil baron's relatives and house staff largely disapproving of her meager beginnings nonetheless.
Someone once described Season 1 of DYNASTY as being "all dark chocolates and cabernet and mahogany." And while that may be a slight exaggeration (the middle class Blaisdels provided the needed contrast) there was more of a feeling that the Carringtons had a rarefied and evocative background --- a shrouded legacy still resonant in the collective memories of the on-screen characters. And who knows what that entailed.
When Blake asserted that he could make a South American country's government fall with a single phone call, you believed it. Just as you assumed Jock (and probably JR) knew who ordered the contract on Kennedy -- even if THE EARLY YEARS prequel insists the Ewing patriarch didn't condone it.
But after that ex-wife, Alexis, emerged and remained in Denver, rising quickly in corporate power and social influence, DYNASTY seemed to drift towards a feeling of nouveau riche -- the bitch slaps, the catfights, the ad hominem non-sequitur insults, the garish designer outfits, the ruthless re-castings and the indiscriminate bedhopping, the sea of white overstuffed furniture against yet another white wall, the program took on a splashy but decidedly down-market countenance that reflected the old axiom that all the money in the world can't buy an ounce of class.
Blake was no longer an intimidating figure, his perplexing blend of coldness and warmth soon reduced to ineffectual paternal bluster; poetically soulful Krystle's head injuries rendering her squeaky and newly vacant; Alexis' pathological vindictiveness for the ages, a well-bred and beautiful woman scorned and banished, soon replaced by her yelling at people to "get out!" of her office and guzzling diet ginger ale in a champagne flute.
Even the failed THE COLBYS spin-off never felt quite as tacky.
How much of these shifts were constructive for their respective shows, and how much were mistakes?
Oddly, as the show rose and persevered beyond the hype and global hysteria of "Who Shot JR?" in 1980, the DALLAS saga gradually began to morph into a vaguely more Old Rich thing, with a sense of stateliness, time and history, the ranch house like an alabaster tombstone towering over a sea of yellow green grass with the sordid mysteries of Texas contained somewhere within. (The closing campy years notwithstanding).
Sort of.
Over on that overdressed rival knock-off show, DYNASTY, it started out with more of an Old Rich vibe in its first season, the tiny family unit of Blake and Fallon and Steven, alone in that huge brick edifice in the shadow of the Colorado Rockies, the corrupt yellow sunlight streaming in through those inadequate windows like a mausoleum; the prodigal mother, rarely-referred to, her memory quietly haunting her children and ex-husband for more than a decade and a half... Literary references, allusions of ancient political scandal, whispers of high society gossip. Even the new wife, Krystle, despite being raised in relative poverty in rural Ohio, manifested an effortlessly natural sense of grace and elegance as if she were to the manor born, the oil baron's relatives and house staff largely disapproving of her meager beginnings nonetheless.
Someone once described Season 1 of DYNASTY as being "all dark chocolates and cabernet and mahogany." And while that may be a slight exaggeration (the middle class Blaisdels provided the needed contrast) there was more of a feeling that the Carringtons had a rarefied and evocative background --- a shrouded legacy still resonant in the collective memories of the on-screen characters. And who knows what that entailed.
When Blake asserted that he could make a South American country's government fall with a single phone call, you believed it. Just as you assumed Jock (and probably JR) knew who ordered the contract on Kennedy -- even if THE EARLY YEARS prequel insists the Ewing patriarch didn't condone it.
But after that ex-wife, Alexis, emerged and remained in Denver, rising quickly in corporate power and social influence, DYNASTY seemed to drift towards a feeling of nouveau riche -- the bitch slaps, the catfights, the ad hominem non-sequitur insults, the garish designer outfits, the ruthless re-castings and the indiscriminate bedhopping, the sea of white overstuffed furniture against yet another white wall, the program took on a splashy but decidedly down-market countenance that reflected the old axiom that all the money in the world can't buy an ounce of class.
Blake was no longer an intimidating figure, his perplexing blend of coldness and warmth soon reduced to ineffectual paternal bluster; poetically soulful Krystle's head injuries rendering her squeaky and newly vacant; Alexis' pathological vindictiveness for the ages, a well-bred and beautiful woman scorned and banished, soon replaced by her yelling at people to "get out!" of her office and guzzling diet ginger ale in a champagne flute.
Even the failed THE COLBYS spin-off never felt quite as tacky.
How much of these shifts were constructive for their respective shows, and how much were mistakes?
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