get the breaks." The plagiarist
moaned: "I'm ruined-won't be
able to sell another word." So he
murdered the Editor right then
and there and the half-hour ended
with him brokenly dictating orig–
inal prose to his wife, who typed.
They both collapsed in tears over
the typewriter, and that was when
Minipoo took over.
Like TV writers, many char–
acters in TV dramas experience
difficult problems of adjustment.
On "Captain Video"-a space–
ship, Tom Swift type program for
the young-the villain recently
browbeat a reluctant accomplice
into line with the cutting remark:
"Must you always be a misfit?"
On "Search for Tomorrow" the
interior monologue reigns, quasi
Strange Interlude)
and everybody
suffers, expressing such private
thoughts as "This situation is a
nightmare." (The sponsor of the
situation was Joy, a detergent.)
Since an atmosphere of free
disassociation usually runs riot on
television, any efforts to bring a
commercial and a program into a
direct relation deserve notice.
During the telecast of the St.
Patrick's Day parade, sponsored by
Coca-Cola, the microphone car–
ried by the roving announcer was
in the shape of a Coca-Cola bottle.
Every person interviewed talked
into the bottle.
The Auto-Lite firm did even
better the night Boris Karloff
("the hero of horror" ) appeared
as Rasputin on "Suspense." Al-
591
though Rasputin drank and ate
the poison put out by the Czar's
nobles in the first five minutes,
it was soon clear that he was go–
ing to take the whole half-hour
to die. That was the suspense. At
the end of ten minutes he had
consumed enough poison to kill
ten men but was hardly even tipsy.
(You were watching him through
the fireplace. TV cameras love to
hide out in fireplaces.) But when
the fifteen-minute mark approach–
ed he gave a lurch and hurled his
wine glass into the fireplace. At
the moment you ducked and the
glass broke the magic words
AUTO-LITE flashed across the
screen. The timing was perfect.
After the commercial, Rasputin
went on drinking poison and dy–
ing for fifteen more minutes. In
the end they had to shoot him.
Three times. It was first-rate melo–
drama.
Almost everybody on television
is terribly sincere but most espec–
ially on the quiz shows and "give–
away" programs (America's lot–
tery---conformism is the ticket).
The announcers and guests are
dazzlingly infatuated with each
other. Artlessness steps forward and
is richly rewarded for bein' there
and tryin' so hard. A thrill of
vicarious high-school rapture rip–
ples through the adult audience.
Sometimes it all seems a plot to
prove to the viewer that the world
is no larger than his cozy, 21-
square-inch horizon, and television
then confirms ignorance in the
