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July 29, 2014

Here's the story, of a man named Brady, who hated the show's scripts

by Bob Sassone, posted Dec 30th 2007 3:03PM

The Brady BunchIf you've read any of the 200 books written about The Brady Bunch or seen any of the TV movies or "behind the scenes" exposes, you know that Robert Reed wasn't a big fan of the show's scripts. In fact, he had battles with the producers on the show many times and even refused to be in a couple of episodes because of the plot and/or his arguments with the people in charge of the show.

And it wasn't just verbal arguments. Reed actually took the time to send memos to the producers explaining why a certain plot point/line/scene didn't make sense. Reed was a veteran TV (The Defenders) and stage actor and often referred to Shakespeare in his memos. This site has one of the memos, and after the jump is the full text of the memo (it's about the classic episode where Greg's hair turns green because of some shampoo Bobby sold him).

To Sherwood Schwartz et al.

Notes: Robert Reed

There is a fundamental difference in theatre between:

1.Melodrama
2.Drama
3.Comedy
4.Farce
5.Slapstick
6.Satire &
7.Fantasy

They require not only a difference in terms of construction, but also in presentation and, most explicitly, styles of acting. Their dramatis peronsae are noninterchangable. For example, Hamlet, archtypical of the dramatic character, could not be written into Midsummer Night's Dream and still retain his identity. Ophelia could not play a scene with Titania; Richard II could not be found in Twelfth Night. In other words, a character indigenous to one style of the theatre cannot function in any of the other styles. Obviously, the precept holds true for any period. Andy Hardy could not suddenly appear in Citizen Kane, or even closer in style, Andy Hardy could not appear in a Laurel and Hardy film. Andy Hardy is a "comedic" character, Laurel and Hardy are of the purest slapstick. The boundaries are rigid, and within the confines of one theatric piece the style must remain constant.

Why? It is a long since proven theorem in the theatre that an audience will adjust its suspension of belief to the degree that the opening of the presentation leads them. When a curtain rises on two French maids in a farce set discussing the peccadilloes of their master, the audience is now set for an evening of theatre in a certain style, and are prepared to accept having excluded certain levels of reality. And that is the price difference in the styles of theatre, both for the actor and the writer--the degree of reality inherent. Pure drama and comedy are closest to core realism, slapstick and fantasy the farthest removed. It is also part of that theorem that one cannot change styles midstream. How often do we read damning critical reviews of, let's say, a drama in which a character has "hammed" or in stricter terms become melodramatic. How often have we criticized the "mumble and scratch" approach to Shakespearean melodrama, because ultra-realism is out of place when another style is required. And yet, any of these attacks could draw plaudits when played in the appropriate genre.

Television falls under exactly the same principle. What the networks in their oversimplification call "sitcoms" actually are quite diverse styles except where bastardized by careless writing or performing. For instance:

M*A*S*H....comedy
The Paul Lynde Show....Farce
Beverly Hillbillies.....Slapstick
Batman......Satire
I dream of Jeannie....Fantasy

And the same rules hold just as true. Imagine a scene in M*A*S*H in which Arthur Hill appears playing his "Owen Marshall" role, or Archie Bunker suddenly landing on "Gilligan's Island" , or Dom Deluise and his mother in " Mannix." Of course, any of these actors could play in any of the series in different roles predicated on the appropriate style of acting. But the maxim implicit in all this is: when the first-act curtain rises on a comedy, the second act curtain has to rise on the same thing, with the actors playing in commensurate styles.

If it isn't already clear, not only does the audience accept a certain level of belief, but so must the actor in order to function at all. His consciousness opens like an iris to allow the proper amount of reality into his acting subtext. And all of the actors in the same piece must deal with the same level, or the audience will not know to whom to adjust and will often empathize with the character with the most credibility--total reality eliciting the most complete empathic response. Example: We are in the operating room in M*A*S*H, with the usual pan shot across a myriad of operating tables filled with surgical teams at work. The leads are sweating away at their work, and at the same time engaged in banter with the head nurse. Suddenly, the doors fly open and Batman appears! Now the scene cannot go on. The M*A*S*H characters, dealing with their own level of quasi-comic reality, having subtext pertinent to the scene, cannot accept as real in their own terms this other character. Oh yes, they could make fast adjustments. He is a deranged member of some battle-fatigued platoon and somehow came upon a Batman suit. But the Batman character cannot then play his intended character true to his own series. Even if it were possible to mix both styles, it would have to be dealt with by the characters, not just abruptly accepted. Meanwhile, the audience will stick with that level of reality to which they have been introduced, and unless the added character quickly adjusts, will reject him.

The most generic problem to date in "The Brady Bunch" has been this almost constant scripted inner transposition of styles.

1. A pie-throwing sequence tacked unceremoniously onto the end of a weak script.
2. The youngest daughter in a matter of a few unexplained hours managing to look and dance like Shirley Temple.
3. The middle boy happening to run into a look-alike in the halls of his school, with so exact a resemblance he fools his parents [Rowe: what that's never happened to you?].

And the list goes on.

Once again, we are infused with the slapstick. The oldest boy's hair turns bright orange in a twinkling of the writer's eye, having been doused with a non-FDA-approved hair tonic. (Why any boy of Bobby's age, or any age, would be investing in something as outmoded and unidentifiable as "hair tonic" remains to be explained. As any kid on the show could tell the writer, the old hair-tonic routine is right out of "Our Gang." Let's face it, we're long since past the "little dab'll do ya" era.)

Without belaboring the inequities of the script, which are varied and numerous, the major point to all this is: Once an actor has geared himself to play a given style with its prescribed level of belief, he cannot react to or accept within the same confines of the piece, a different style.

When the kid's hair turns red, it is Batman in the operating room.

I can't play it.

I particularly like how he gets in digs about the plots of other episodes too (I was amazed Peter had an exact double at his school as well). I wonder if Reed ever wrote a note asking the producers why Mike Brady, a talented architect, would design a bathroom that had no toilet, or make the living room the size of a football field but the kitchen and other rooms really small.

Here is some more info about about memos by Reed about other episodes.

[via Boing Boing]

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Katie

Thats someone that dug a little much into a sappy 70s tv show.

January 03 2008 at 7:45 PM Report abuse rate up rate down Reply
Jennifer

I love the pay phone and the eggs thing in this. Hi-larious!

P.S. It's January 2, OF COURSE IT'S A SLOW NEWS DAY!

January 02 2008 at 5:10 PM Report abuse rate up rate down Reply
Jason Blosser

Oh, let it go. Reed is worm food, and who really cares? Slow news day?

January 02 2008 at 4:19 PM Report abuse rate up rate down Reply
GerryofNorVA

If he was so much trouble and so dissatisfied why didn't they just substitute him like the Darrin Stephens character on "Bewitched" ? Find a look alike actor and swap him out in between seasons, problem solved.

January 02 2008 at 1:41 PM Report abuse rate up rate down Reply
Gig

I love this quote from the article...

"Reed also balked when the script called for him to slip on some eggs that fell out of the refrigerator. ``Robert said, 'The truth of the matter is, contrary to popular belief, when your shoes hit eggs, they're sticky. You don't slide at all.' This one cost $150,000. I told him, let's rehearse the scene and get to your point later. So he opens the refrigerator, the eggs fall out, and he just by accident steps on them and falls on his ass. So I'm standing there, looking down at him, and he's wagging his finger in my face, saying, 'That doesn't prove a thing!' '' "

December 31 2007 at 3:00 PM Report abuse rate up rate down Reply
Nathaniel

Anyone else find it weird he didn't use the kids' names? As if he didn't even know them?

December 31 2007 at 2:24 PM Report abuse rate up rate down Reply
Derek

The writers already knew the difference between MASH and Batman - they had simply run out of ideas for new plots.

December 31 2007 at 1:41 PM Report abuse rate up rate down Reply
Dave

Is it just me or does that sound like a speech Andy Millman would be giving on Extras?

December 31 2007 at 12:28 PM Report abuse rate up rate down Reply
Kathleen Harris

At one time we had 7 people in our house using one bathroom, and getting ready for work and school, was next to impossible. Modesty goes out the window.

I would like to have seen the reality of all the kids trying to get ready for school at the same time, in one bathroom.

i always wanted to know where the biological parents were. Like Robert Reed, I am too literal, and applauded him for trying to make the plots at least a little plausable.

December 31 2007 at 12:23 PM Report abuse rate up rate down Reply
Gig

Well the show has lasted longer than he did.

December 31 2007 at 12:00 PM Report abuse rate up rate down Reply

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