'Laugh-In' DVDs underline genius of revolutionary show
By Terry Lawson
Knight Ridder News Service
"You bet your sweet bippy." "Here come da judge." "Sock it to me."
"V-e-r-r-r-r-y interesting." "The Flying Fickle Finger of Fate."
With the possible exception of "Seinfeld," no TV series introduced more — or more annoying — catch phrases into the popular lexicon than "Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In." When first broadcast as a replacement series in January 1968, "Laugh-In" seemed revolutionary.
But to anyone who wasn't there, "The Best of Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In" (Rhino Home Video) might seem archaic, a vaudeville throwback repainted in Day-Glo colors. But trust someone who was there: We got the joke, especially in the first three seasons, from which the programs in this three-disc set are taken.
"Laugh-In" was hosted by two middle-aged guys in tuxes and was one of the hippest things seen on network television. It combined the blackout business of burlesque comedy with the absurdity of experimental theater.
If "Laugh-In" had done nothing more than introduce Lily Tomlin to a national audience, it would have been historic. But it also turned into a kind of neutral zone where the emerging counterculture and those who thought hippies were more amusing than dangerous could get together and agree on how good Goldie Hawn looked in an itty-bitty bikini with body paint.
As with "Saturday Night Live" — on which it would have an enormous influence — its breakout stars began to break loose after the first few successful seasons. But the six episodes collected here showcase the original cast — Hawn, wacky Ruth Buzzi, sexy imp Judy Carne, straight-faced Gary Owens, chitlin-circuit comic Pigmeat Markham, brassy Jo Anne Worley and the ever-underrated Alan Sues.
The collection includes, as well, guest appearances by people who found the concept liberating, such as Johnny Carson and Jack Lemmon and Carl Reiner, and by people who saw the show as a way to tap into youth culture, such as Liberace, Tiny Tim, Sammy Davis Jr. and, most famously, Richard Nixon. If the gags are hit-and-miss, hey, that was the idea; sometimes the world is hilarious, sometimes it just falls on its face.
'Nikita' intrigue in a box
The week's other much-anticipated TV box is "La Femme Nikita — The Complete First Season" (Warner Home Video), which collects all 22 episodes of the first season of the syndicated series based on Luc Besson's stylish, sexy film about a government assassin.
Australian actress Peta Wilson took the role of a street urchin who is recruited — i.e., blackmailed — by a mysterious agency called Section One to take out terrorists and other dangers to society. If the show's ambiguous debates about right and wrong and the concept of innocent until proven guilty seem similar to those in "24," they should; it was created by the same producers.
Even if you're not a baseball fan, you could find yourself enjoying "MLB: All Access Sounds" (Q Video), a collection of miked moments that allow us to hear what's being said inside the dugout and in those first-base conversations. This being officially sanctioned by Major League Baseball, anything stronger than "aw, heck" has been edited out, but Cal Ripken Jr., Ken Griffey Jr. and Tommy Lasorda, who never let a thought go unsaid, can be heard talking like humans instead of quote machines.
Streisand speaks — sort of
Babs speaks! The surprise on "The Barbra Streisand Gift Box" (Warner) is that Streisand deigns to add a few minutes of commentary to the set's four discs. Included are the 1987 drama "Nuts," in which she played a call girl accused of murdering a client; the odd 1972 comedy "Up the Sandbox," about a young New York mother who regularly escapes into fantasy; 1979's "The Main Event," a misconceived comedy with Ryan O'Neal as a washed-up boxer; and 1972's "What's Up, Doc?" in which director Peter Bogdanovich exploited Streisand's comic potential.
Alas, Streisand's scene-specific comments, accessible only from the menus, are less than revealing. Of "What's Up, Doc?" she recalls that she liked shooting in San Francisco because she "loves Chinatown."
Fortunately, Bogdanovich is his usual loquacious self, and his full-length commentary on "Doc" is so entertaining you might play it more than once. The movie itself is the only attempt to modernize '30s screwball comedy that captured the essence of the originals, in which sophisticated dialogue and slapstick co-existed in hilarious harmony.
Directors have their say
There's commentary aplenty on the week's two recent theatrical releases, and, in the case of the high-concept "Phone Booth" (20th Century Fox), starring Colin Farrell as an obnoxious New York publicist who finds himself trapped in phone booth by a sniper, it's better than the film.
Director Joel Schumacher takes us through the making of a movie that at various points was seen as a vehicle for Tom Cruise and Jim Carrey. He also addresses how the film was delayed in the wake of the Washington, D.C., sniper killings, and has a choice word or two to say about party boy Farrell, whom Schumacher first put on screen in his drama "Tigerland."
Meanwhile, John McTiernan has a lot to say about "Basic" (Columbia Tri-Star), in which John Travolta plays a military investigator attempting to unravel the truth behind an Army training exercise in Panama that led to the death of a hard-line sergeant (Samuel L. Jackson).
McTiernan makes the inevitable comparisons to "Rashomon" but never addresses how the script had to be dramatically altered after Travolta hired on, rendering it senseless. And here I thought these commentaries were supposed to illuminate, not obfuscate: Silly me.
