ROD SERLING'S LIFE HEADED TO FILM

Andrew Meieran and his Bureau of Moving Pictures has acquired rights to make a movie about Rod Serling, the Twilight Zone creator who left behind a remarkable legacy of sci-fi and fantasy work. Stanley Weiser, who wrote Wall Street with Oliver Stone, will script the movie. Serling's widow Carol Serling will be a producer along with Meieran.

Before he became an iconic TV figure, Serling had a life of struggle that included a stint as a paratrooper and member of the demolition squad in the Army during WWII. Stationed in the Philippines, he saw more than his share of death as the US battled the Japanese, and his experiences would inform much of what he would write later. He worked his way into radio and then became a TV writer who found his niche with the CBS series Twilight Zone, a series that elevated scripted television with thought-provoking science fiction tales, each with a great and unexpected plot twist. The segments have influenced a legion of TV and feature writers to this day. If you don't understand the reference "It's a cook book!," you could do worse than go back and watch the original episodes.

Serling hatched another memorable TV anthology series a decade later in Night Gallery. Movies were made from both series, there's a lively Tower Of Terror theme-park ride that incorporates Serling and a haunted hotel, and Serling also co-wrote with Michael Wilson the script for the 1968 sci-fi classic Planet of the Apes, based on the Pierre Boull novel. Serling died at 50, from complications stemming from chain-smoking cigarettes his entire adult life.

"Rod Serling was one of the true visionaries in television history," Meieran said. "He single-handedly broke the mold and established television as a powerful artistic medium capable of changing the world when used wisely." Meieran, who comes from a real estate investment background, (the Edison in downtown LA is his, and he's acquired Clifton's Cafeteria and is restoring it), has wrapped his directing debut. Highland Park stars Danny Glover, Parker Posey and Billy Burke in a drama about a group of lifelong friends whose jobs fall victim to budget cuts. The film's in post-production.

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RIP: JAMES ARNESS

James Arness, who burnished the legend of America’s epic West as Marshal Matt Dillon, the laconic peacemaker of Dodge City on “Gunsmoke,” one of the longest-running dramatic series in television history, died on Friday at his home in Los Angeles. He was 88.

A family spokeswoman, Ginny Fazer, confirmed the death. Mr. Arness was terribly shy and had almost no training as an actor. A wartime leg wound made it painful for him to mount a horse. But he became the best-known tin star of his era, portraying the towering, weathered marshal for 20 years, from 1955 to 1975. He also made some 50 films and television movies, mostly westerns, in a career that stretched across five decades.

To a generation of television viewers, Mr. Arness and “Gunsmoke” embodied a new, more adult vision of the mythic Old West: a quiet, vulnerable lawman facing not stereotyped villains and clichéd situations but a chaotic frontier freighted with moral judgments and occasional failure. He might be too late to stop a killing. He could save a girl from kidnappers, but not from her father’s brutality.

Audiences had long been accustomed to Western heroes who never were, having been sanitized by the trail songs of Gene Autry and Roy Rogers and the righteous gunplay of the Lone Ranger and Hopalong Cassidy. But Marshal Dillon never got the girl, did not love his horse, wore only one gun and fired it reluctantly, usually drawing last but shooting straightest in dusty street duels. Over the years, the marshal was shot 30 times.

Mr. Arness was ideal for the part, a 6-foot-7 giant whose stoic personality was remarkably like his character’s. He had been reared in a family of Norwegian descent in Minnesota, an outdoorsman who loved fishing and hunting. He came home from World War II a wounded, decorated and aimless veteran. He worked menial jobs, tried radio and was collecting veterans’ benefits when he drifted to Hollywood.

He developed slowly, appearing in 30 movies before his mentor, John Wayne, rejected the Dillon role and recommended him instead. “Gunsmoke,” which began in 1952 as a radio show with William Conrad, landed on the CBS television network as a half-hour black-and-white drama set in a raw Kansas town in 1873.

In the tone-setting premiere, Marshal Dillon faced a gunslinger who had killed an unarmed man. The outlaw insists on a showdown, and the marshal, always a moral touchstone, must accommodate him.

“He’s a gunman, Doc,” Dillon says. “He has got to be eliminated.”

The supporting cast was a snug, Platonic family, stock but multilayered characters who spent much time talking: the beer-drinking philosopher, Doc Adams (Milburn Stone); the careworn Long Branch saloonkeeper, Miss Kitty (Amanda Blake), her love unrequited; and the lame sidekick, Chester Goode (Dennis Weaver). Characters and actors came and went in tales that often focused on travelers passing through on their way west.

“Gunsmoke” was not an instant success. But from 1957 to 1961, when it became a one-hour program, it was the top-rated show on television, seen every week by 40 million Americans and millions more in Britain, where it was called “Gun Law.” It bred dozens of copycats, including “Have Gun, Will Travel,” “Wagon Train,” “Rawhide,” “The Rifleman” and “Bonanza.”

The ratings declined until 1967, when color and a new time slot sent it back into the Top 10 until the 1973-74 season. It was still in the Top 30 when it was canceled in 1975. In its 20-year run, there had been 635 episodes. Mr. Arness had been in the saddle for all of them, and would ride again through decades of reruns and sequels.

He was born James King Aurness in Minneapolis on May 26, 1923, one of two sons of Rolf Aurness, who sold medical supplies, and the former Ruth Duesler. (His parents divorced in the 1940s.)

THE GENUIS OF ERNIE KOVACS

A DVD set celebrates the TV genius of Ernie Kovacs
By FRAZIER MOORE, AP Television Writer

NEW YORK – If you have ever laughed at, say, David Letterman or "Monty Python's Flying Circus" or "Laugh-In" or "Saturday Night Live" or Steve Allen or Craig Ferguson, then you owe a debt to Ernie Kovacs. After more than 50 years, he remains the wellspring of TV as an instrument of humor and delighted innovation.

Sadly, much of Kovacs' work is gone. In the 1950s, most shows weren't preserved after airing. Prerecorded shows were routinely erased so the tape could be reused for the next thing.

But a new six-disk boxed set, "The Ernie Kovacs Collection," curates surviving treasures from Kovacs' prodigious TV output stretching from 1951 through his untimely death in 1962. (Distributed by Shout! Factory, it will be released April 19, listed at $54.99.)

These precious samples, lovingly recovered and restored, provide startling glimpses of the birth of television — even TV as we watch it today, rejiggered and recycled by Kovacs' disciples long after his passing. Kovacs marks where TV started, and he has never been eclipsed as a TV visionary.

A native of Trenton, N.J., he was an aspiring-actor-turned-radio-personality when, in 1950, he landed a job at a local Philadelphia TV station. There he hosted wacky fashion and cooking programs, as well as the first-ever TV wake-up show (an unwitting prototype of NBC's "Today," which would debut nationally in 1952).

No recordings exist of these earliest efforts, but they gave Kovacs his providential entry to a video wonderland where, to him, the creative possibilities must have seemed limitless.

"The Ernie Kovacs Collection" kicks off with a March 7, 1951, edition of "It's Time for Ernie," a live, local afternoon show.

Radiating buoyancy, amusement, his signature mustache and cigar, Kovacs is clearly in synch with his TV playground. He is as adept at freeform foolishness as at masterminding a meticulously crafted gag. And he never shrinks from the offbeat or conceptual. In the midst of his riffing he throws open the studio doors to take a leisurely stroll down a long corridor into the distance, for a sip from a water fountain. Then he makes his way back into the studio and continues where he left off.

In another off-the-cuff moment, he begins dusting his props-cluttered set, then, moving offstage, turns his attention to a TV camera, whose lens he scrubs with his dust cloth.

"You're putting on weight," he chuckles at the viewer through the lens.

TV had hardly begun, and already Kovacs was giving viewers a peek behind TV's artifice, inviting the audience to join him on the inside.

Instinctively, Kovacs understood what none of his TV contemporaries had guessed, and what few in the business acknowledge today: TV isn't an extension of radio, cinema, vaudeville or theater. As a writer-producer-performer, Kovacs knew that TV begged to be something unique. His happy job was to figure out what.

To do it, Kovacs surrounded himself with an evolving troupe of fellow players (often including his wife, the singer-actress Edie Adams), and, as his budget allowed, musicians, dancers and fancier production. But some things never changed: From his first days on TV he claimed the ragtime-y "Oriental Blues" as his lifelong theme song.

The collection includes five half-hour prime-time specials Kovacs produced for ABC in 1961. (The last aired in January 1962, just 10 days after he died at age 42 in a car crash near his home in Beverly Hills, Calif.)

There are moments in these shows whose level of invention and avant-garde abandon not only holds up today, but may have never been excelled on TV since they were taped. In one sketch, a fellow grows increasingly annoyed by a kids TV host, "Freddy the Friendly Fireman." Finally the viewer raises a pistol and fires. Pan to the TV: Freddy, shot dead, is draped out of the TV screen into the viewer's living room. In one of Kovacs' music videos (an art form he apparently pioneered) a high-stakes poker game is set to the beginning of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony.

Kovacs loved music, but also experimented with silent bits. He was sophisticated, but loved to show things unexpectedly crashing through the floor. He would stage extended pieces or quick visual puns. He loved when things went wrong.

His taste for the absurd was reflected in a bit that may remain his best-known: the Nairobi Trio. Three people costumed in gorilla suits, bowlers and long overcoats mechanically mime to a tune like wind-up toys, with one of them (played by Kovacs) repeatedly thwacked on the head with a timpani mallet by a fellow gorilla.

It was delightfully low-tech. But Kovacs was also ever on the lookout for ways to make TV, however primitive in those days, do extraordinary things. He came up with a simple device that allowed the picture to tilt or even spin, which served some of his comedy bits. He introduced an early form of the "green screen" effect, enabling a married man's "invisible girlfriend" to conveniently vanish from sight after taking off her clothes.

By today's standards, the TV equipment of the 1950s, and even early 1960s, was cumbersome and confining. But not for Kovacs, whose imagination made TV soar. To watch him at any phase of his career is to see a man at play. At times his care is painstaking, but there's no pain. He finds joy in every idea. For him, TV was too important to be serious about it.

As surveyed by this DVD collection, Kovacs' career spanned little more than a decade, with his many shows popping up on numerous networks at every hour until, a half-century ago, it was cut short, denying him the measure of stardom he deserved.

He did TV his way for a cult of Kovacs-worshippers, and left an imprint on TV that continues to be recognized by people who don't even know his name.
But oddly enough, there has been little acceptance or inspiration for advancing the cause he championed: broadcast video as an art form. This DVD treasury celebrates Kovacs as TV's first video auteur — and, thus far, arguably its last.

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BORN ON THIS DAY: EDGAR BUCHANAN

Edgar Buchanan may not be a name that you know offhand, but if you are a fan of 1960s sitcoms, you have probably seen him somewhere. Born William Edgar Buchanan in Humansville, Missouri on March 20, 1903, Edgar moved with his family to Oregon when he was young.

Like his father before him, he was a successful dentist. He and his wife Mildred were married in 1928. In 1939, they moved from Eugene, Oregon, to Altadena, California. He joined the Pasadena Playhouse as an actor. He appeared in his first film in 1939, at the age of thirty-six, after which he turned his dentistry practice over to his wife. He was a member of Theta Chi Fraternity and a Freemason.

Buchanan appeared in more than 100 movies, including Penny Serenade (1941) with Cary Grant, Tombstone, the Town Too Tough to Die (1942), The Talk of the Town (1942) with Ronald Colman and Jean Arthur, The Man from Colorado (1948), Cheaper by the Dozen (1950), She Couldn't Say No (1954), Ride the High Country (1962) with Randolph Scott and Joel McCrea, McLintock! (1963) with John Wayne, Move Over, Darling (1963) with Doris Day and James Garner, and Benji (1974).

Television series in which he appeared included Hopalong Cassidy, Judge Roy Bean (in which he played the lead, Texas Justice of the Peace Judge Roy Bean), the "Duel at Sundown" episode of Maverick with James Garner and Clint Eastwood, Leave It To Beaver (as both "Uncle Billy" and "Captain Jack"), The Twilight Zone, Gunsmoke, Bringing Up Buddy, The Californians, Bus Stop, The Lloyd Bridges Show, Cade's County and The Rifleman. He appeared in all 222 episodes of Petticoat Junction, 17 episodes of Green Acres, and 3 episodes of The Beverly Hillbillies, always as the character Uncle Joe Carson. From 1960-1962, he appeared four times as Cletus McBain on the NBC western series Laramie, with John Smith and Robert Fuller.

Buchanan and another star from Petticoat Junction appeared together in the movie Benji -The other "star" being Higgins, the unnamed "dog" from the sitcom, who portrayed the title role in the film. Higgins had been found in an animal shelter and trained by Frank Inn, who also trained Arnold Ziffel (the pig) and all the other animals used on the Beverly Hillbillies, Petticoat Junction, and Green Acres sitcoms.

Buchanan died from a stroke complicated by pneumonia in Palm Desert, California, and was interred in the Forest Lawn - Hollywood Hills Cemetery in Los Angeles.

FIVE BEST TWILIGHT ZONE EPISODES

The Twilight Zone was such a groundbreaking series that it influenced our popular culture to a level many of us don’t even realize. From Rod Serling’s silky and smoke-filled introductions, to the inevitable twist ending, the Twilight Zone’s black and white years were doubtless its best. While many of the twists have become so well known in the ensuing years as to lost much of their sting, if you can imagine watching these broadcasts in the 60s on an old black and white set, you might just get a feel for how revolutionary it was. Here, in my humble opinion, are five of the best episodes of this series...

5. "Living Doll" - Even with a menacing Telly Savalas in the cast, make no mistake, the star is Talky Tina. The atmosphere is tense with parental conflict, and then little Christie receives a doll playmate from mom, and things get downright edgy. Too much money, claims Savalas' character, Erich. Talky Tina is a doll with an agenda, though, as she immediately understands that Erich is self-absorbed and abusive. The denouement is the last scene, in which Tina somehow is deftly positioned (or positions herself) at the top of the stairs in direct path of Erich as he investigates a noise in the middle of the night. Stepping on Tina, he loses his balance and falls down the stairs to his death. (airdate: November 11, 1963)

4. "The Monster Are Due On Maple Street" - Another prime example of tapping into Cold War paranoia, about a street in a small town that turns on its own when the power goes out, and talk of an alien invasion starts to surface. This story became so iconic, that it was used in classrooms as a perfect example of insular paranoia and auto-cannibalizing mistrust. The neighborhood dissolves under its own hatred and inability to trust people they’ve known their entire lives, and an angry mob forms, swiftly turning to murder and rioting. So where’s the twist in this story of small town hatred? The power fluctuations and general spookiness were caused by aliens, who plan to spread paranoia in order to take over the planet “one Maple street at a time”. The episode stars great character actors like Claude Akins and Jack Weston. (airdate: March 4, 1960)

3. "The Masks" - See this episode for one of the final roles in the long career of Robert Keith (father of Brian Keith). A dying millionaire (Keith) meets with his family on his death bed — and on the eve of Mardis Gras he forces them to done masks while they discuss his will. His daughter, her husband and their two children are all horrible people, and he makes each of them put on masks caricaturing their personality: a sniveling coward to his daughter Emily, a miserable miser to her husband Wilfred, a twisted buffoon to the grandson Wilfred Jr., and a self-obsessed narcissist to the granddaughter Paula. As the ailing Jason dons a skull mask, he charges them all to leave the masks on until midnight, or receive nothing of the substantial will. Suffering under the uncomfortable masks, they all plea to take them off as the night progresses, as their patriarch rails against their shortcomings, eventually exclaiming “without your masks, you’re caricatures!”, before dying. The four pull of the uncomfortable masks in relief, only to find their faces are now permanently stuck in that shape. (airdate: March 20, 1964)

2. "Nightmare At 20,000 Feet" - Long before he was helming the Enterprise, William Shatner was a legitimate actor. Not yet turned to King of ham-acting, he had two leads in Twilight Zone pieces. Shatner was great as the man recovering from a mental breakdown, insisting he sees a gremlin on the wings of an airplane, which no-one else notices. It’s a segment that’s been parodied widely, by everyone from The Simpsons to SNL. It’s also hilarious to watch it and compare flying in the 60s to now — everyone wearing suits, smoking cigarettes, and in seats with ample legroom. Ah, a golden age! (airdate: October 20,1963)

1. "Time Enough At Last" - This episode is penned by Rod Serling and stars Twilight Zone regular Burgess Meredith. As with many other Twilight Zone episodes, the specter of nuclear holocaust-based fear hangs heavily over the proceedings with Mr. Meredith surviving the blast in a bank vault. He ultimately breaks his reading glasses, though, before he has a chance to settle down with his long sought-after dream, the interruption-less task of scouring beloved volumes of literature, found fortuitously among the rubble that was the nearby library. (airdate: November 20, 1959)

RIP: DAVID NELSON

The last member of the popular 50s and 60s comedy sitcom 'The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet' died Tuesday, January 11, 2011, in Century City, California. David Nelson, who was and portrayed the elder son of Ozzie and Harriet died from complications from colon cancer. He was 74.

Although the series started on radio in 1944 with the husband and wife and two unrelated child actors, 12-year-old David and 8-year-old Ricky stepped in 1949. Three years later, the long running television version got its debut on ABC. The series racked up some 435 episodes and built what David would later describe as a fantasy family, based on all the happy conclusions. When the series ended in 1966, it had become the longest-running family situation comedy in TV history — as well as serving as the launch pad and showcase for teen idol Rick's singing career.

"We would keep up the front of this totally problem less, happy-go-lucky group," David told an Esquire magazine reporter in 1971. "There might have been a tremendous battle in our home, but if someone from outside came in, it would be as if the director yelled, 'Roll 'em,' We'd fall right into our stage roles. It's an awfully big load to carry, to be everyone's fantasy family."

David was born October 24, 1936, in New York City, when Ozzie and Harriet were in their big-band heyday. Rick was born in 1940, the year before the Nelsons moved permanently to Hollywood.

Their path to replace the original child actors got a boost when Bing CrosbyBing Crosby brought his son Lindsay on the show for a guest appearance. Lindsay and the boys were already friends. David and Rick begged their parents to let them appear on radio as well.

Harriet told The Times in 1981: "You're not anxious to put your career in the hands of kids. They just opened their mouths and you never heard such laughs. Ricky sounded like a pipsqueak."

From the start, Ricky was given most of the funny lines and, as a result, he received most of the attention. But there wasn't really any rivalry between himself and his younger brother, Nelson said in a 1987 Associated Press interview.
"We were 3 1/2 years apart," David said. "So when Rick was funny, I laughed with everyone else. And when he became a popular singer, I rooted for him."

Ozzie Nelson died of liver cancer in 1975. Rick Nelson died with six others in a plane crash on New Year's Eve 1985. And in 1994, Harriet Nelson died of congestive heart failure.

Nelson is survived by his wife, Yvonne; sons John, Eric, James and Danny; daughter Teri; and seven grandchildren.