"What Would Have Happened Today?"

A speculative question, since, being no longer involved, I do not personally know.  But having heard about it from others, I offer this hearsay assessment. 

Now that the networks own their own shows, the interference, which I have been told is ubiquitous, is no longer “meddling.”  It is your boss telling you, “Do it.”

The difference between “Now, and then” is delineated in this story, as experienced by yours truly, before networks owned their own shows and had unchallengeable control.

Here was the deal back then, which everyone knew going in.

We knew that, since networks did not own the shows, they could not tell us to do anything.  We, however, also knew these were the same people who’d decide if our show made their upcoming schedule, or was permanently designated to “Nowheresville.” 

A screaming inducement to do what they wanted, but still.  You don’t have to do what they wanted.  But if you don’t, your show is destined for “Nowheresville.”  Which, if no other network picked it up, is the echoing “End of the Line.”

“”Hello-o-o-o-o?  Can anyone see us?”

“No-o-o-o-o-o.”

Okay, so there’s that.  We had freedom, if not ultimate control.

Cut To:  Major Dad.  (My personalized example of how things once worked.)

Major Dad is a show I am attached to because its creators lack sitcom experience.  I have agreed to that attachment.  No pressure.  If I had said, “No”, it would have been “No.” (Note:  You can only say “No” so many times before your studio “Development Deal” goes “Bye-bye”, along with subsidized naps on your comfortable office couch.)   

I could tell you stuff here.

I could tell you how ABC where we pitched the original idea – “A widowed Marine father with three children” – laughed us out of the building.  (After that meeting, ABC’s “V.P. of Development”, knowing it was not my idea, called and asked, “Is he kidding with this thing?”, “he” being the show’s co-creator, and series star, if it went.)

I could tell you that CBS where we went next – and, at the suggestion of a CBS executive, to whom I owe appreciation and gratitude, the premise was changed to “a Marine marries a woman with three daughters” – agreed to bankroll the pilot.

I could tell you how they resisted my pilot story idea – a surprise marriage proposal in the show’s opening episode.  (They wanted a more typical episode, conventionally called “Episode Six.”  I explained to them that in order to sell them the series I had to do my best story idea, and that “surprise marriage proposal” was it.)

What I am saying is:  Major Dad as a series?

A gynormous long shot, right from the beginning.

Such is the context for the tale I am about to impart.

One of the perks of having a star/slash/executive producer is their active participation in the casting process, a big help, revealing how – or if – the co-starring couple will mesh.  After a lengthy winnowing-down process, the star came in, reading the “audition scene” with the contenders for the show’s “Female Lead” role

The reading with the show’s eventual winner sent sparks of “great chemistry” flying around the room.  Not the biggest of names, nor a great track record in comedy, but “Hands down” – whatever that means; shouldn’t it actually be “Hands up”? – she was the right person for the part.

And everyone, including my financial partners, Universal Studios, unanimously – which is redundant since I already said “everyone” but I retain it for emphasis – agreed. 

I now jump to the last runthrough before Major Dad would be filmed in front of a live studio audience, a final tune-up before the dice-rolling “Big Night.”

The final runthrough went smoothly.  Not great – the actors “saving themselves” for the actual show – but well enough to think we were in confidently good shape. 

Watching that runthrough from the bleachers was CBS’s then “President of Television.”  (I can hear hissing in my head.)  When the runthrough was over, rather than a boostering, “Looks good, guys.  See you tomorrow”, we instead heard,

“I can’t tell you what to do.  But if I were you, I would close down production, and recast the “Female Lead.”

“Thud!” went our sensitive spirits.  And our slim chances of making the schedule.   (Which this guy determined!)

Here’s how I maturely handled his suggestion.

I got up from the bleachers and went down to the stage, plopping myself onto the “living-room set” couch, stubbornly refusing to participate further.  At the urging behest of my Universal Studios business partners, I finally relented, my returning rebuttal being, “We’re done.”  Meaning, “We have made our decisions, and we are ready to proceed.” 

The next night, the filming went more spectacularly than we could have possibly imagined.  Major Dad made the CBS schedule, running successfully for four seasons. 

Now – and by contrast –

Today, with the controlling marbles in the hands of the networks, the CBS president would have fired the “Female Lead” on the spot.  In fact, he’d have stopped us from hiring her in the first place, when we brought in three “preferred candidates”, as shows were required to do at the time.

Then, after firing the “Female Lead”, the CBS president would have certainly fired me.  In fact, I’d have been canned earlier, fighting for my unusual pilot story idea. 

NETWORK EXECUTIVE:  “No.  And good-bye.”

The Result:  Major Dad suffers the consequences, and we do not have a swimming pool in our backyard.  Or perhaps even a backyard. 

That’s the difference.  Back then, they could make your life miserable, with their clueless “sidelines suggestions.”  But in the end, you could do what you wanted.

Today, everyone would be gone.

Do we miss anything with this unbalanced arrangement?

I don’t know.  (Because you can’t miss what you don’t see.)

But from what the networks are offering,

I am guessing a lot.