Mike: "You're lucky if you've only got butterflies [in your stomach]. I've got flying saucers in mine."
Carol: "Why don't you take a tranquillizer?"
- Carol Brady's advice to her soon-to-be-husband on the morning of their wedding
The Brady Bunch: The Complete First Season DVD Review
By Kay Daly
How many of us can remember where we were on September 26, 1969? It's not a terribly momentous date. No one took a giant leap for mankind. No presidents were assassinated. But still, it sticks in my mind. That's the date my mother parked me in front of the television to watch a new kids' show. It was The Brady Bunch. And yes, I remember it.
What I didn't realize at the time, and didn't come to appreciate until much later, was the revolutionary nature of this simple little sitcom. Chronicling the adventures of a "blended family," The Brady Bunch rode the crest of a social wave. Seeking to reflect the new reality of family life in America, the show's producer, Sherwood Schwartz, invented the Bradys, an "instant family" formed in the wake of the marriage of Mike (Robert Reed) and Carol (Florence Henderson). Each spouse brings to the mix three children from a previous marriage. As the show's perky theme song explains, "This group must somehow form a family, that's the way they all became the Brady Bunch."
Revolutionary in concept? Perhaps. Adept in execution? Not so much. Critics and network bigwigs were unimpressed.
But in the socially chaotic late '60s and early '70s, The Brady Bunch filled a much-needed niche. The show focused on homespun family values and presented an image of normalcy and security in an otherwise tumultuous time. It also served as an anchor for Friday night kid-friendly programming, an evening of family fun completed by The Partridge Family and Nanny and the Professor. Throughout its five seasons, the show earned modest but respectable ratings and inspired an almost rabid cult following. Since its cancellation in 1974, the show has thrived in syndication, spawning a cartoon version, a variety hour spin-off, numerous "reunion shows" and a best-selling book (Growing Up Brady: I Was a Teenage Greg).
Given the Bradys' legacy in pop culture, coming to this show as an adult is a little like watching a home movie. The episodes aren't exactly masterpieces of cinema and dramaturgy, but if you grew up with them, they tend to have the kind of emotional pull you usually get only from that dirty rag that was once your first baby blanket. But as this DVD collection demonstrates, sentimental appeal can take you only so far.
The series pilot ("The Honeymoon") leaps right into the action by introducing the soon-to-be wed couple on the morning of the big day. Fearing the audience might not grasp the difficulty inherent in bringing together two existing families, Schwartz (who penned this episode) literalizes the dilemma by way of the family pets. The Brady boys have brought their dog, Tiger, to the ceremony. The soon-to-be Brady girls have a cat, Fluffy. Despite efforts to keep the animals apart during the wedding (which takes place at Carol's home), the two pets mix it up at the ceremony and fight like - surprise! - cats and dogs. Ah, subtlety, thy name is Sherwood.
In subsequent episodes, we're treated to stock morality tales liberally besprinkled with sage aphorisms and vaudevillian comedy. Plots adhere to a limited number of themes, typically revolving around stepchild angst, sibling rivalry, and the important life lessons that build a better Brady.
Episodes that focus on the challenges of blended family life crop up frequently throughout the first season. In "Dear Libby," oldest daughter Marcia (Maureen McCormick) suspects one of her parents has written a letter to a newspaper advice columnist complaining about a strangely familiar-sounding blended family. In "Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore," the Brady housekeeper (Ann B. Davis) suspects she's no longer needed in the new Brady household. And in the oddly titled "Every Boy Does It Once," youngest son Bobby (Mike Lookinland) suspects Carol may be an evil stepmother a la "Cinderella." Predictably, the suspicions are proven false, and each episode ends with Brady bliss restored.
Sibling rivalry is also a dominant theme, and typically takes the tiresome format of "girls vs. boys." Thus, in "A Clubhouse Is Not a Home," the girls attempt to usurp the boy's clubhouse, and in "Vote for Brady," Marcia and oldest brother Greg (Barry Williams) face off as candidates in the race for student body president. Why do these Brady kids so consistently mass themselves along gender lines? Perhaps they're simply taking a cue from the Brady parents who, in "The Grass Is Always Greener," trade parenting responsibilities in a doomed (and clichéd) attempt to prove who has the harder job.
And then, of course, there are the life lessons. In "Brace Yourself," Marcia learns that her inner beauty surpasses her horrific tin grin. In "The Big Sprain," the kids learn how to work together when Alice is sidelined by an injury. And in "The Hero," Peter (Christopher Knight) learns the perils of conceit after he reaps the rewards of heroic behavior.
So the plots are a bit threadbare and the dilemmas predictable. Still, deft execution could save any of the episodes. But sadly, execution largely fails. The biggest problems stem from the writing. Typically, signs of strain appear by way of the almost mind-numbing stupidity of the characters. The pattern tends to follow thusly: Sherwood has 25 minutes to fill. Sherwood comes up with a familial dilemma that could be solved in 10 minutes. To use up the extra time, Sherwood dictates that all characters must behave as if logic and direct communication are hopelessly foreign concepts.
Take, for instance, the episode entitled "Is There a Doctor in the House?" The Brady children - all six of them - have come down with measles. Since Mike and Carol apparently never speak to each other, they each put in a call to their preferred pediatricians unbeknownst to the other. Through some freakish twist of fate, the two doctors arrive minutes apart and are each shown upstairs without noticing the presence of the other. The boys' pediatrician, a male doctor, makes a beeline for the girls' room, while the girls' female pediatrician swoops in to examine the boys. Screams ensue. The boys don't want a female doctor. The girls don't want a male doctor. What, oh, what is to be done to solve this insoluble dilemma?
If you said, "Let each child see the doctor he or she prefers," you're light years ahead of the Brady clan. Nearly 20 minutes elapse before the Brady parents light on this elegant solution. "Why didn't I think of that before," the Brady father asks, figuratively smiting his brow. Why, indeed.
The same goes for this family's ability to communicate. A case in point is "Lost Locket, Found Locket." Middle daughter Jan (Eve Plumb) receives a locket in the mail with no card or return address. The Bradys are driven to near hysteria with the intrigue, and set about - en masse - to solve the riddle. To pad out the plot, Sherwood and company throw in a maddening subplot which sheds a rather dubious light on the Brady marriage. Mike suspects Carol has sent the locket, while Carol suspects the same of Mike. This leads to zany hijinx in which each parent tests the typewriter of the other to determine if the typeface matches the note. Yes, that's right. As opposed to just asking one another, they undertake surreptitious stenography.
A similar situation arises in "Dear Libby," though in a more sobering context. Troubled by the newspaper column in which a step-parent complains about their blended family, both Mike and Carol ask Alice if she thinks the other spouse could have written the letter. In the real world, Alice would figure out that if both Bradys ask for her opinion on whether the other has written the letter, chances are good that neither of them did. Alice never makes this logical leap, and never says, "Hey, you know, your wife asked me the same thing." More troublingly, Mike and Carol never think to simply ask each other directly.
These labored attempts to pad out the plot make some of the episodes nearly unbearable. The series holds other charms, of course - Carol's ever-changing wigs, the hip '70s décor, the strained and dated references to contemporary culture - but the plots are so clunky and frustrating, it's hard to watch for any length of time.
And then, of course, there's the complacent undertone of smug conservatism. The Brady world is a schematic one, in which boys are one way (brown-haired), girls are another (blond), and there's a comfortable order that any sane, logical person would innately uphold. The cultural unrest of the day - along with any attempts to change the world order - are brushed aside with the waving of the comedic hand:
Mike (reading the newspaper): I was right in the middle of a battle on a college campus.
Carol: Over what?
Mike: What's left? Probably demanding classroom credit for rioting.
Carol: Now, now, dear, your generation gap is showing.
Granted, no one comes to The Brady Bunch for social commentary, but there's a smug, "you kids these days" tone in response to anything that smacks of contemporary unrest that is strained and just a little grating.
And then, there are a few really strange, unaccountable moments where you begin to wonder if the writers aren't just pulling your leg. Consider, for instance, this snatch of dialogue between Alice and her butcher-swain, Sam:
Alice: I see you raised your tongue again. You oughta be arrested for charging prices that high for something that can't even talk.
Sam: You got a lot of nerve looking down your nose at my tongue. That's a good one, hah, Alice?
Alice: Is that supposed to be a New York cut? What race did it run in?
Sam: Hey, hey. Something's wrong. When you start to criticize Sam's meat, something's wrong.
A little something for the parents, I guess.
But enough of dramaturgical nitpicking. What of the Brady clan themselves?
It was, as my mother likes to say, a simpler time, and the acting styles exhibited on The Brady Bunch definitely hearken back to an earlier era. Stanislavski may have hit the Great White Way and the silver screen, but method acting had not yet found a place in TV land. Brady performances are all big and bouncy, from the wink-and-grin vaudevillian style of veteran Ann B. Davis to the unbearably perky gamboling of Florence Henderson. Robert Reed, a classically trained actor, was famously difficult on the set, regularly calling into question the stilted, mawkish scripts. Yet, Mr. Brady doesn't look out of place with this family; as bouncy and cartoonish as his wife appears, he is similarly mannered, harrumphing his way through many a sententious aphorism.
Interestingly, the relatively unschooled Brady kids fare much better. Even when the dialogue is the hopelessly contrived (and that's pretty frequently), there's a genuine chemistry among the children, and even some nicely authentic emotional moments. Take, for instance, a scene in "Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore" in which Peter and Greg fight over a catcher's mitt. It's a quick, throwaway scene, but the anger feels real. Luckily for Peter, Alice breaks it up before Greg blows a gasket. Or consider Marcia's anguish as she examines her new braces in "Brace Yourself." It's a very convincing image of world-ending, pre-teen sorrow.
Speaking of the actors, it's worthwhile to keep your eyes peeled for special guest stars. There are a few appearances by celebrities of the day - Desi Arnaz Jr., L.A. Dodger Wes Parker - but far more interesting are the cameos by yet-to-be-famous sitcom actors. The DVD calls out appearances by Marion Ross (Mrs. Cunningham from Happy Days) and Herbert Anderson (the father from Dennis the Menace) in "Is There a Doctor in the House?," but eagle-eyed viewers will also catch sight of Gordon Jump (Mr. Carlson from WKRP in Cincinnati) in "The Possible Dream." And bonus points go to anyone who can spot Brian Forster, who played the second Chris in The Partridge Family.
The 25 episodes of season one are collected on four discs packaged in two plastic keepcases housed in a slender box . A special prize should go to the designers of the cover art, which emulates the famous nine-box Hollywood Squares image from the show's opening credits. But here's the genius part: when you tilt the box, the Brady heads change poses! Just like in the show! Genius!
