Off the Cyber Shelf

Television mourns the loss of one of it's great producers today, perhaps one of the greatest producers in the history of the medium. Aaron Spelling (83) died this past day in Los Angelas after suffering a stroke the previous week. Spelling is most known for charting some of the greatest prime time dramas in television history: The Mod Squad, Charlie's Angels, The Love Boat, Fantasy Island and 90210, to name a few.

It was Spelling who helped form many of the trends and icons that helped form the American image, not just how we, but how the world preceives life between the two coasts. His impact gave three generations something to do on Friday or Sunday nights, entertaining millions as Hollywood, sunshine, and bikinis took control over American drama, tilting the American perspective west of the Mississippi. Prior to his vast empire of tv drama, America stood more along the streets of Madison ave. in New York, or Madison street in Chicago. Hollywood had well been established. But Spelling helped move it from Western cowboy stories, to the stories of average Americans, placed in tough situations that everday viewers could relate to from the comfort of their own living room sofas. Even more dramatic were his tells of the rich, who seemed to have it all (ie: Dynasty, 90210, fantasy Island), but how their lives were riddled with pain and hardship.

The power of Spelling spelled itself out for me the other night, this past Thursday. The night was hot, one of those city nights that takes your breath away. A job opportunity came up, where I could simply sit in the basement of St. brigid's catholic School in the Lower east Side and make sure everything was safe and sound while a film crew shot a number of scenes for an upcoming television drama on NBC this fall. The basement of the school, which is where they house the cafateria and a large multi-purpose room, has several large fans to cool the room. There's no air conditioning. There's hardly such gifts anywhere in the City. The fans, however, do quite well, their large black blades looking like propts from a world War II bomber. They stand about seven feet off the ground, their blades a good two to three feet in diameter. If their massive push of air doesn't keep you cool, the calming sound of their whirl will definitely put you into a hypnotic trans, forgetting about the swet that pools on your brow.

The large room, for the most part, stayed empty for most the night. It filled up quite a bit during the lunch rush, which was from 7:30--8:30 pm. Filming on location is a long and tedious process that on this night went well into the morning. Experiencing that made more sense as to why they would be having lunch at 8 pm in the evening.

three actors seemed to occupy the space of the room for most of that evening, sitting patiently while the scenes and background were set up in a bar and along the park just in front of the school. The actors seemed standard fare for the drama being filmed, another in the many series of shows dealing with crime solving in New York city. The two men and one woman looked as though they were ready to go out and solve crimes on their own in the East Village. I had walked in on them while they were reading through lines from a script losely bound in one of those black Kinkos folders with the blue transparent front. At first, I didn't know if they were actually conversing or if they were rehersing their lines, as comfortable as they were in reading through the pages.

One of the actors had a familiar voice, the kind that you might here in any of the many crime dramas that are set in New York. It was tough and confident; witty and sharp; but rough enough to sound like it grew up in the streets of Bayone or brooklyn.

I can't say that the actors, from what I could tell, were worthy of celebrity status. They were, as with most tv actors, artisons of a particular character. And it was the characters they crafted that came into my mind throughout that evening. I felt that I had been sitting next to New York's finest, their toughest, those who went out day to day and looked crime in the eyes and told it to bugger off. They had crafted the perfect image of a detective for the NYPD.

The image they crafted is what made me think of the power of television as one of them walked in front of me and started whistling a tune from Les Mis. As the night progressed, their conversasions became more and more fixed on the finer points of stage life. I was expecting to here stories of busting the Gambinos or Jimmi the Chin. Instead, I heard of brush ups with other more famous actors, of memories of past great Tony moments, and of the hardships in trying to stay in good standing with the screen Actors Guild (SAG).

Through their well formed wardrobe and make-up, behind their sculpted hair and seasoned voices, I saw a life that wasn't so much tough on crime, but rather how acting was tough on them. They were all middle aged, had all paid their dues, and were all happy to get even the smallest role. Their life of glamor and fame probably didn't pay as much as the characters they were portraying, not milti-millionaires in Beverly Hills or San Francisco, but hard working men and women in blue.

Television has a strong power in the way that it forms how we see the world. Spelling helped form that world for us for over forty years. Those who have worked on television or film sets will say that glamor is hard to find. Ninty-eight percent of the people who bring us entertainment, probably art of any sort, struggle just to get by with the rent money. We see them as romantics, as the real thing that they portray. Superman is really Superman. TV cops are really cops. Gangsters are really gangsters. Spend time on a movie set, and you'll see that they are, if anything, all unified into one agreement. They might not be real cops, but they're all glad that they're not the guy standing out in the sun on the street corner; the guy who comes up to you and says," I'm sorry guys, but we're filming a tv show up the street. You'll have to please walk on the other side of the street." Those are the guys with stars in their eyes, volunteering on their first movie set, in hopes that soemday they'll be rich and famous, signing the letterhead on their envelopes with the five digit code, 90120.