The Week in Review

Throughout most of the U.S. last week, the weather was fair and clear, but on television it snowed steadily. To TVmen, a Christmas without snow would be nearly as bad as one without mistletoe, carols, or Santa Clauses. In Manhattan alone, the four networks used enough artificial snowflakes to fill three railroad boxcars. After each winter scene, the snow was carefully swept up (it can cause serious trouble if it gets into TV cameras) and sometimes used again on the next program.

James Glenn, NBC's man for special effects, imported three varieties of snow for Christmas week: 1) confetti, for stage-trained comics who see no reason for changing a theater convention that dates back to Uncle Tom's Cabin; 2) modern, featherweight plastic snow that measures about twice the size of nature's flakes and is used mostly on dramatic shows, where it is scattered over a scene from "snow drops" (rotary drums) that are suspended over the set; and 3) a foamy snow spray, also plastic, that is released from an aerosol bomb by a stagehand standing on a ladder, and is used for commercials and other short sequences.

Beer & Epsom Salts. For snow that is supposed to be already on the ground, somewhat different techniques are used. Snowdrifts on TV are actually masses of plastic flakes in solid form; snowy window sills are shaped from a coarse dairy salt, then sprayed with water to give it a smooth, rounded look. To simulate frost on a windowpane. the technicians brew a mixture of beer and Epsom salts and paint it on the glass.

Glenn reports that one problem is still baffling the special-effects experts: how to make an actor's breath look frosty in an outdoor winter scene. Glenn thought he had solved it by wrapping a piece of dry ice in a sponge and placing it in the actor's mouth: "It worked fine. The actor looked like an express locomotive huffing and puffing on an upgrade." But. regretfully, the idea had to be abandoned because "there was too much danger of the actor's burning his mouth on the dry ice."

Without Commercials. Dickens' A Christmas Carol was the broadcasters' favorite holiday show. Radio had at least four versions, including one starring the late Lionel Barrymore as Scrooge. For CBS-TV, Playwright Maxwell Anderson and Composer Bernard Herrmann teamed up to produce a musical Christmas Carol. Fredric March harrumphed and hammed as Scrooge, Basil Rathbone clanked and groaned as Marley's ghost and, although there were occasional tuneful moments, most Dickens' fanciers recoiled from the sight of the Spirit-of-Christmas-Present (Ray Middleton) bursting into operetta-like arias. In Manhattan, no viewer had an excuse for missing Scrooge since an excellent 1951 British film, starring Alistair Sim, was shown 16 times during the week over WOR-TV. On Christmas Day, the film's eight sponsors graciously let it be shown three times without one interruption for commercials.

The week's dramatic standout, Class of '58, was written by Louis Peterson, a talented, 32-year-old Negro playwright whose drama of adolescence, Take a Giant Step, was a critical success on Broadway last year but a financial failure. Presented on NBC's Goodyear TV Playhouse and ably directed by Jeffrey Hayden, Class of '58 was another perceptive study of adolescent misery, this time dealing with a college freshman who has been expelled from school on the eve of the Christmas holidays. Jack Mullaney, as the boy stuffed to the ears with juvenile insolence and intolerance, struck occasional notes of bleak despair that were very moving. The ending was a shade too pat and Christmasy, but for most of its 60 minutes, Class of '58 made an absorbing play.

There were some small disasters. On NBC's Your Hit Parade, Singer Snooky Lanson missed his cue, and O Holy Night was well into midchorus before Snooky caught on; U.S. Steel Hour, over ABC, wasted some talented actors--including Japan's top starlet, Shirley Yamaguchi--on a play called Presento, which proved an embarrassing parody on the hit musical, Teahouse of the August Moon. Medic took a firm stand against office Christmas parties by showing what happens when the boss, his secretary, alcohol and an auto are all mixed up together.

There were also some outstanding examples of brotherly love induced by Christmastide: in Detroit, on the Pabst Blue Ribbon fights, light heavyweights Harold Johnson and Marty Marshall pawed gently at each other for ten rounds, except for one brutal, and perhaps accidental, blow in the ninth. In Manhattan, Milton Berle and Ruth Gilbert announced their happy reconciliation. Last month they were quarreling because Ruth, who plays Max, the secretary, on the Berle show, was afraid she was going to be dropped after leaving the program to have a real-life baby (TIME, Nov. 15).

She has now been promised that she may return to TV one month after she becomes a mother.

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