TV Guide looks at soap operas 1965
THE SOAPS —anything but 99 44/100 percent pure by Edith Efron
With daytime dramas sloshing around in human frailties, authorities contend they merely reflect America’s disintegrating morals.
Some months ago, the sleepy, Victorian world of daytime drama made news. The news was that it had ceased to be sleepy and Victorian. In fact, said the reports, the soap operas were doing something no one could quite believe: “peddling sex.”
Announced one astounded critic: “Folks squawking about cheap nighttime sex should harken to the sickly sexuality of daytime soap opera. Love of Life details frank affairs between married women and men; Search for Tomorrow has a single girl in an affair with a married man, result: pregnancy; The Secret Storm has another single girl expecting a married man's child.”
And, under the headlines “Era of Souped-Up Soapers” and “Torrid Days on TV Serial Front,” Variety, the weekly newspaper of the entertainment industry, reported that there was a daytime “race to dredge up the most lurid incidents in sex-based human wretchedness,” and cited “a torrid couch scene involving a housewife with gown cleaved to the navel who was sloshed to the gills on martinis, working her wiles on a husband (not hers). The fade to detergent blurb left little doubt as to the ensuing action.”
Even a superficial investigation of events in the soap-opera world confirms that these reports are true.
To understand this phenomenon, one must enter the total universe of the soap operas. And if one does, one soon discovers that the central source of drama is not what it used to be in the old days, when the brave housewife, with husband in wheel chair, struggled helplessly against adversity. The soaps have shifted drastically on their axes; the fundamental theme today is, as Roy Winsor, producer of Secret Storm, puts it: “the male-female relationship.”
More specifically, the theme of nine of the 10 daytime shows on the air when this study was launched* is the mating-marital-reproductive cycle set against a domestic background. The outer world is certainly present—one catches glimpses of hospitals, offices, courtrooms, business establishments—but the external events tend to be a foil for the more fundamental drama, which is rooted in the biological life cycle. Almost all dramatic tension and moral conflict emerge from three basic sources: mating, marriage and babies.
The mating process is the cornerstone of this trivalue system. The act of searching for a partner goes on constantly in the world of soap opera. Vacuous teen-age girls have no thought whatever in their heads except hunting for a man. Older women wander about, projecting their intense longing to link themselves to unattached males. Heavily made-up villainous “career women” prowl, relentlessly seeking and nabbing their prey: the married man. Sad, lonely divorcées hunt for new mates.
This all-consuming, single-minded search for a mate is an absolute good in the soap-opera syndrome. Morality —and dramatic conflict—emerge from how the search is conducted. Accordingly, there is sex as approached by “good” people, and sex as it is approached by villains.
“Good” people’s sex is a somewhat extraordinary phenomenon, which can best be described as “icky.” In The Doctors, Dr. Maggie confides, coyly, to her sister: “He kissed me.” Her sister asks, even more coyly: “Did you want him to kiss you?” Maggie wriggles, and says: “He says I did.” Then archly adds: “You know? I did.”
Maggie has already been married; her sister has had at least one lover. Coyness, not chastity, is the sign of their virtue.
“Good” people’s sex is also passive, diffident and apologetic. In The Doctors, Sam, after an unendurably long buildup, finally takes Dr. Althea, a troubled divorcée, in his arms, and kisses her once, gently, on the lips. He then looks rueful, says, “I’m sorry,’ and moves to look mournfully out the window. “I’m not,” murmurs Althea softly, and floats out of the room.
The “good” people act like saddened goldfish; the villains, on the other hand, are merely grotesque. One gets the impression that villains, both male and female, have read a lot of Ian Fleming, through several layers of cheesecloth.
To wit: a dinner between villainess Valerie Shaw and Dr. Matt in The Doctors in which Valerie leers, ogles and hints (“A smart woman judges a man by his mouth. Yours is strong and sensual. I’m glad I came to dinner”), announces she will be his “playmate” and boasts throatily, “I play hard and seriously—but not necessarily for keeps.”
And in Love of Life a sinister chap named Ace drinks in a bar with a teen-age girl who used to be his mistress. “We used to ignite,” he breathes insinuatingly. They exchange a kiss— presumably so inflammable that the camera nervously cuts the picture off beneath their chins. “Not bad, baby,” he gasps heavily.
This endless mating game, of course, has a purpose: It leads to marriage, the second arch-value in the soapopera universe. And the dominant view of marriage in the soaps is also worthy of mention. According to the “good” women, it consists of two ingredients: “love” and homemaking.
“Love,” in the soaps, tends to be a kind of hospitalization insurance, usually provided by females to male emotional cripples. In these plays, a woman rarely pledges herself to “honor and obey” her husband. She pledges to cure him of his alcoholism, to forgive his criminal record, paranoia, pathological lying, premarital affairs, etc—and, generally, to give him a shoulder to cry on.
An expression of love, or a marriage proposal, in the daytime shows, often sounds like a sobbing confession to a psychiatrist. In Search for Tomorrow Patti's father, a reformed drinker, took time out from brooding over his daughter’s illegitimate pregnancy to express his “love” for his wife. It consisted of a thorough—and convincing—rehash of his general worthlessness and former drinking habits. “I need you,’ he moaned. “That’s all I want,” she said.
In General Hospital Connie’s neurotic helplessness proved irresistible some weeks ago; Dr. Doug declared his love. They engaged in a weird verbal competition as to who was more helpless than whom, who was more scared than whom, who “needed” whom more than whom. Doug won. Connie would be his pillar of strength.
Homemaking, the second ingredient of a “good” woman’s marriage, is actually a symbolic expression of “love.” There is a fantastic amount of discussion of food on these shows, and it is all strangely full of marital meaning. On The Guiding Light the audience sat through a detailed preview of the plans for roasting a turkey (the stuffing has raisins in it), which somehow would help get separated Julie and Michael together again. On The Doctors one ham was cooked, eaten and remorselessly discussed for three days; it played a critical role in the romance of Sam and Dr. Althea.
If domesticity is a marital “good,” aversion to it is a serious evil. On Secret Storm a husband’s arrival from work was greeted by a violent outburst by his wife, who handed him a list of jobs he had not done around the house. His neglect of the curtain rods was a sure sign that he was in love with a temptress who works in his office. Conversely, if a wife neglects her house, the marriage is rocky.
After mating and marriage, the third crucial value in the soap-opera universe is reproduction. The perpetuation of the species is the ultimate goal toward which almost all “good” people strive. And “The Baby” is the household god.
“Good” people discuss pregnancy endlessly. Young wives are either longing to be pregnant, worried because they are not pregnant, getting pregnant or fighting heroically “not to lose the baby.” And at whatever stage of this process they happen to be, it justifies their being inept, irritable, hysterical and irrational.
“Good” men, needless to say, are unfailingly sympathetic to the reproductive process and are apparently fascinated by every detail of it. In The Doctors you knew one chap was a “good” husband because he referred to himself as “an expectant father” and earnestly discussed his wife’s “whoopsing” with his friends.
The superlative value of “The Baby” is best revealed when he makes his appearance without benefit of a marriage license. He is usually brought into the world by a blank-faced little girl who has been taught to believe that the only valid goal in life is to mate, marry and reproduce, and who has jumped the gun. The social problem caused by this error in timing is solved in different ways. The girl has an abortion (Patricia, Another World); she loses the baby in an accident (Patti, Search for Tomorrow); she gives the baby up for adoption (Ellen, As the World Turns) ; she has the baby and marries its father (Julie, Guiding Light); she has the baby and marries someone else (Amy, Secret Storm).
The attitude of the baby-worshipping “good” people to this omnipresent social catastrophe is strangely mixed. The girl is viewed as a helpless victim of male villainy: “She loved the fellow too much,” said Angie’s father sadly in General Hospital. Of course, she has acquired the baby “the wrong way” and must—and does— suffer endlessly because of it. Nonetheless, she is having “The Baby.” Thus she receives an enormous amount of sympathy, guidance and help from “good” people.
It seems almost unnecessary to say that only “bad” people in soap operas are anti-baby. The fastest bit of characterization ever accomplished in the history of drama was achieved on Secret Storm, when Kip’s father recently arrived on the scene. He said: “I can’t stand all this talk about babies.” This instantly established him as a black-hearted villain.
The worst people of all, in the soaps, however, are the “career women,” unnatural creatures who actually enjoy some activity other than reproducing the species with the single exception of The Doctors, which features two “good” career women, Drs. Maggie and Althea, even the feeblest flicker of a desire for a career is a symptom of villainy in a woman who has a man to support her. Some weeks ago, we could predict that Ann Reynolds, in The Young Marrieds,was heading for dire trouble. She was miserable over her lost career, she had no babies, and she said those most evil of words: “I want a purpose in life.’
It is hardly surprising to discover that even when the female characters achieve their stated ideal, they are almost invariably miserable. A man to support them, an empty house to sit in, no mentally demanding work to do and an endless vista of future pregnancies do not seem to satisfy the younger soap-opera ladies. They are chronically bored and hysterical.
They also live in dread of the everpresent threat of adultery, because their husbands go outside every day and meet wicked “career women.” They also agonize frequently over the clash between their “needs as a woman” and their “needs as a mother.”
The male denizens of this universe are equally miserable for parallel reasons. They suffer quite a bit from unrequited love. They are often sick with jealousy, tortured by their wives’ jealousy of their careers and outer-world existence. They, too, have a remarkable amount of trouble reconciling their “needs as men” with their “needs as fathers.” So we find, amid all the gloom in Sudsville, a lot of drinking, epidemic infidelity, and countless cases of acute neurosis, criminality, psychotic breakdowns and postmaternal psychosis.
And this, dear reader, is the “sex” that the soap operas are “peddling” these days. It is a soggy, dreary spectacle of human misery, and is unworthy of all those “torrid” headlines. In fact, if one wants to be soured forever on the male-female relationship, the fastest way to achieve this state is to watch daytime drama.
The real question is not “where did all the sex come from?” but where did this depressing view of the male-female relationship come from?
Hardened observers of TV’s manners and mores have claimed that sex is being stressed in the soaps because it “sells.” But the producers of soaps retort hotly that this has nothing to do with it. Their story lines, they insist, simply reflect social reality.
Says Frank Dodge, producer of Search for Tomorrow: “We always try to do shows that are identifiable to the public. These shows are a recognition of existing emotions and problems. It’s not collusion, but a logical coincidence that adultery, illegitimate children and abortions are appearing on many shows. If you read the papers about what’s going on in the suburbs—well, it’s more startling than what’s shown on the air.”
“The moral fiber has been shattered in this Nation, and nothing has replaced it,” says Roy Winsor, producer of Secret Storm. “There’s a clammy cynicism about life in general. It deeply infects the young. It leads to a generation that sits, passively, and watches the world go by. The major interest is the male-female relationship. That’s the direction the daytime shows are going in. Some of the contemporary sickness has rubbed off onto TV.”
A consultation with some authorities on feminine and family psychology seems to support these gentlemen's contentions about the soap operas.
“They’re realistic,” says Dr. Harold Greenwald, training analyst of the National Psychological Association for Psychoanalysis and supervising psychologist of the Community Guidance Service in New York. “I think they’re more realistic than many of the evening shows. They’re reflecting the changes taking place in our society. There are fewer taboos. The age of sexual activity in the middle classes has dropped and it has increased in frequency. There is more infidelity. These plays reflect these problems.”
Dr. William Menaker, professor of clinical psychology at New York University, says: “The theater, the novel, and the film have always reflected people's concern with the sexual life; and in this sense, what’s on the air reflects these realities of life. Increasing frankness in dealing with these problems isn’t a symptom of moral decay but rather reflects the confused values of a transitional period of sociosexual change.
“Unfortunately, the vision of sex that seems to emerge on these shows is mechanical and adolescent, immature. The ‘love’ seems equally childish; it is interacting dependency, rather than a mutual relating between two autonomous adults. As for anti-intellectualism of these shows, it is actually antifeminine. It shows the resistance of both writers and audience to the development of the total feminine personality. There is no doubt that these shows are a partial reflection of some existing trends in our society; it is not a healthy picture.”
Finally, Betty Friedan, author of “The Feminine Mystique,” says: “The image of woman that emerges in these soap operas is precisely what I’ve called ‘The Feminine Mystique.’ The women are childish and dependent; the men are degraded because they relate to women who are childish and dependent; and the view of sex that emerges is sick.
“These plays reflect an image built up out of the sickest, most dependent, most immature women in our society. They do not reflect all women. In reality there are many who are independent, mature, and who possess identity. The soaps are reflecting the sickest aspect of women.”
On the basis of these comments, one can certainly conclude that all this “sex-based human wretchedness” is on the air because it exists in society. And the producers’ claims that this is dramatic “realism” appear to have some validity.
But does the fact that a phenomenon exists justify its incessant exploration by the daytime dramas? Two of the three experts consulted actively refrain from making moral judgments. Betty Friedan, however, does not hesitate to condemn the soap operas. “The fact that immature, sick, dependent women exist in our society is no justification for these plays,” she says. “The soap operas are playing to this sickness. They are feeding it. They are helping to keep women in this helpless, dependent state.”
~ Edge of Night, the 10th, is not a “‘soap opera’; it is a serialized melodrama whose hero is a criminal lawyer, and its events bear little resemblance to those described in this article. The two newest daytime dramas, Flame in the Wind and Moment of Truth, have not been on the air long enough to permit extensive study and are not included in this analysis.
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