Review of the First TV Show

[Yhtapmys]

New York Herald-Tribune radio columnist John Crosby seems to have written about Jack several times a year. Jack even guest-columned for him in the TV years and there was one column in the '40s containing part of Jack's criticism of radio columnists in a self-written piece originally for Variety. A collection of them makes for interesting reading; I'm trying to find a column from about 1947 where Crosby complains there's been no evolution in years of radio since Jack established a basic format.

Crosby reviewed Jack's first TV show and that's what I'm posting here. He's got a little bit about Cantor at the end which I've left in.

RADIO IN REVIEW
By JOHN CROSBY
NEW YORK, Nov. 14.—Jack Benny’s television debut, about which I’m awfully late in commenting due to circumstances completely within my control, was a personal triumph for Benny but not much of a triumph for television. Benny carried the 45-minute program on his own capable shoulders—without the assistance of Mary Livingston, Dennis Day or Phil Harris—his formidable radio team.
He did have the help of Rochester, rather minor assistance from Don Wilson, and a leg-up from his old friend Mr. Kitzel (“Meester Benny”.) Just how he managed to get through 45 minutes with such scant clothing is beyond my comprehension. But he did. The show was sort of a cross between what Benny has been doing on the radio these many years and what he does annually at the Paramount.
‘PERSONAL APPEARANCE’
In short, it was an exploitation of the Benny radio character, personal experience, and sort of an exhibition of Benny’s very real ability to hold the center of the stage. It opened with a sight gag—Benny’s violin case flailing about the inside of a bus as he attempts to get off—and got under way with Benny himself in front of a curtain discussing his stinginess. As a concession to television, the bulk of the show was set in a living room, where Mr. B. displayed his tightness successively to Rochester, Mr. Kitzel and to his guest, Dinah Shore.
That doesn’t sound like much of a framework for 45 minutes of television, but it hung together remarkably well, Benny’s character has now been so well established that you anticipate the cigaret vending machine, and the pay phone in the living room, the laundromat he operates out back. Benny his become in millions of homes a sort of eccentric uncle whose curiosities are eagerly awaited by the rest of the family when he comes to dinner.
SHREWD WRITERS
Benny’s writers, a very shrewd bunch, know all about this anticipatory glee; they hold the gag back as long as possible, then Mr. B. says: “Well!” And the joint explodes. I’m not altogether happy about these attempts to reconcile a radio format with television but I must admit that, if I were in Benny’s shoes, I'd do the same.
A certain genuflection has been made in the general direction of visibility. The Benny radio show was always noted for the skilled use of sound effects—footsteps, nickels clinking in Benny’s palm doors slamming. On television these have been replaced by sight gags—Benny employing a long, long look where he once used long, long pauses. Still, if you’d never heard Benny on radio you’d wonder what the devil he was doing onstage, what all the fuss was shout, and why everyone was laughing so hard.
Incidentally, Mr. B. brought the Sportsmen along and their singing commercial is still clever enough to be legitimate entertainment. I wish I could say the same for all the other singing commercials.
CANTOR PERFORMS
After Eddie Cantor’s opening show, I recall complaining that he dwelt a little too extensively on the glories of his own past that this form of autobiography, while instructive, could not be continued indefinitely under the heading of entertainment. I’m happy to report that Cantor on subsequent shows has thrown away his memoirs for the time being and proved what a redoubtable entertainer he can be when he wants to be.
He appears to have made a permanent thing out of a characterization called Maxie, the Taxi [driver], one of the most exasperated and entertaining cabbies in my memory. Maxie’s philosophy is pure spearmint, an underestimated form of Americanism and Mr. C is very good at it. Cantor can still light into a song with enormous gusto and when he isn’t on stage center, a large roster of talent is carrying on on his behalf. My sole objection—an occasional one—is that Cantor’s taste is not always of the highest.

transcribed by yhtapmys