JAlanRuss72
01-15-2010, 10:33 PM
Not sure if everyone has read this write-up before, but thought I would post it as I found it an interesting read. Be warned, it's a bit long. (I noticed that all the episodes they discuss are from season 5):
====================THE BOB NEWHART SHOW============
MRS. BAKERMAN: Dr. Hartley, if you're looking for a new member for our group, I know a nice schizophrenic.
MR. PETERSON: Or how about a manic-depressive? At least you know they'll be fun half the time.
On paper, all sitcoms look alike: the wacky neighbor, the bumbling husband, the sensible wife, the man-hungry secretary, the nutty clients. The token weddings, misunderstandings, mistaken identities, sight gags, and the substandard jokes. But somehow The Bob Newhart Show took an unexpected turn and created human beings, not beanbrains, and people who, season after season after season after season after season after season (six of them in all), we grew to care about. Care about. Not the way we tuned in to to Bilko or the Beaver, but a different way: to visit our buddies. Bob Newhart's characters were so real, so lifelike, that, when they weren't on, we found ourselves thinking about them during the week, wondering how Bob and Emily were doing.
Bob and Emily Hartley, that is. He: a successful psychologist who bordered on the ineffectual (but was always human and humane). She: a successful person (also school teacher), who was most often effectual, plus kind, warm, funny, understanding. They: lived in a Chicago high-rise apartment, loved each other----no, no----loved each other (many of the scenes took place in their king-sized bed). And they argued---not the pulsating, pounding Edith/Archie, Maude/Walter kind of argument. Quieter arguments. But for real. But more often than argue, they were TV's first couple to be stubbornly hostile. They jabbed each other, but---because they loved each other---never punctured the skin.
BOB: Your mother wore black to our wedding.
EMILY: That wasn't black, Bob, that was dark gray. Only her armband was black, Bob.
BOB: It rained on our wedding day. Your mother called it an omen.
And once, after looking at photos of them when they were younger:
EMILY: Whoever thought that two ugly ducklings would turn into a swan---and a flabby psychologist.
It's not certain that Bob was flabby (we trusted enough to take Emily's word for it), but he certainly was a psychologist. Nothing fancy, mind you. Just the plain, old, simple ordinary kind. He had respect for his patients, and sometimes they even had respect for him. The premise of the show was that Bob was a whiz at solving his patients' problems but a dud when it came to handling his own. That was the first season. As the years went on, the two---whiz and dud--- were interchangeable. Oftentimes we weren't sure if the patients were crazier than the people at home.
Actually, it was daring for television to tackle a sitcom about neurotic people. Who in a sitcom isn't a little bit dizzy? (Okay, okay, maybe not Robert Young or June Cleaver---but they could have used some therapy to loosen up a little and stop being so . . . so perfect.) But in the history of sitcoms, everyone's crazy. If Lucy Ricardo were loose in your neighborhood, mightn't you at least suggest a little professional counseling? And what about a guy who talks to horses, or who talks to his mother, the car? So how do you differentiate the Crazies from the crazies? The producers were smart: they didn't make the patients much different from the nonpatients. They were the same. The patients just weren't as well adjusted. Often, Bob's friends and family seemed to have far worse problems than his patients, but---true to sitcom form---everything worked out within the last seven minutes of each episode. Tune in next week for new problems, new solutions, new entertainment.
Of course it all had to do with Bob Newhart, who transplanted his first name (as so many well-known actors have done) to his character, and added a close sounding last name: Hartley.
His Bob Hartley was one of the nicest, mildest fellows since Robinson Peepers. The Bob Newhart Show was, well, amiable, and so was Bob Newhart/Hartley. One of the producers described Newhart as "a reactor. He listens funny." Said another: "Strange thing about Bob---he works small but gets those big laughs. They come more out of attitude than lines."
Newhart first came to national attention as a stand-up comic of the Mort Sahl and Shelley Berman era. His LP, The Button-Down Mind of Bob Newhart, sold 1,500,000 copies (a lot for the early sixties), and made him a sudden star. His routines consisted mainly of monologues on the telephone, with Newhart ending conversations "Same to you, fella" (the telephone also figured somewhat into his sitcom ten years later). Fame brought him a first Bob Newhart Show---this one of the variety-variety in 1961---and each telecast opened with Newhart on the phone, talking to an unseen and unheard adversary. There were no regulars on the show, but a group of semiregular guests---Mickey Manners, Joe Flynn, Kay Westfall---who showed up once in a while. The show won an Emmy. But the show also won low ratings. It went off the air in June of 1962. "It was like trying to fly a plane without knowing what makes it go," Newhart said about the first show. "I had this hang-up about perfection. But I knew nothing about my craft. I was raw funny, not polished funny. Deep down I guess I didn't feel entitled to all that success."
Between The Bob Newhart Show and The Bob Newhart Show, he recorded more albums, appeared in nightclubs, and made several movies, including Cool Millions, Catch-22, On a Clear Day You Can See Forever, and Cold Turkey, among others.
Then The Mary Tyler Moore Show people---who were scoring big with Mary, Rhoda, Phyllis, Ted, Lou, and the rest of the gang---approached Newhart about trying his hand---and his humor---at sitcom. It would be intelligent, they promised. It would be witty. It would be Him. "We're not trying to do Archie Bunker," the producers told him. "We're selling class and wit and charm." Good, Newhart said, "because I don't want to do Father Knows Best or daddy's-the-dummy-but-we-love-him."
He got what he wanted. According to one of the early reviews: "The characters are credible, each having an identity, each contributing to the overall comedy effect of the show. And one also finds a constant play between normalcy and idiosyncrasy. There are conversations between the psychologist Bob and his patients in the inimitable Newhart style. And the supporting characters include so many recognizable traits that we can easily identify with their feelings and actions."
Like Mr. Carlin. He was one of Bob's patients---in group therapy, in solo sessions, any way he could get it. Carlin was a professional neurotic. For example, listen to this exchange between Bob's sassy secretary and Mr. Carlin:
CAROL: Hi, Mr. Carlin. How's the real estate business?
CARLIN: Couldn't be better.
CAROL: And how are you?
CARLIN: Couldn't be worse.
CAROL: Then everything's normal.
In one session with Bob, Mr. Carlin had a breakthrough:
CARLIN: I think I'm overcoming my agoraphobia.
BOB: I didn't know you had a fear of open places.
CARLIN: I thought it was a fear of agricultural products. Anyway, wheat doesn't scare me anymore.
One of Bob's other patients---not a paying patient at all, just someone he has to have an inordinate amount of patience with---is the Hartley's across-the-hall neighbor, Howard Borden. He's someone you have to hear to believe.
BOB: What do you say we take some orphans camping?
HOWARD: It's okay with me if it's okay with their parents.
Or:
EMILY: Bob and I are giving a Fourth of July party---would you like to come?
HOWARD: Oh, great! When is it?
Howard---a grown man, an airline pilot who often brought Bob and Emily teeny-tiny bottles of liquor, as souvenirs of his travels---is the Hartley's child. And with him around, they don't need kids of their own. He's an innocent, much like his cousin on the TV dial, Ted Baxter, on The Mary Tyler Moore Show. But he doesn't have the inflated ego Ted Baxter does, so we laugh at him in a different way.
BOB (walks in and sees Emily sewing a button on Howard's shirt): Why are you sewing Howard's shirt?
EMILY: Howard says he's all thumbs when it comes to sewing.
BOB: Howard's all thumbs when it comes to living.
The show's hundreds of episodes developed the characters, something that differentiated the seventies sitcoms from those in the sixties. Carol, the husband-hungry secretary, satisfied her appetite when she got married in 1975. For a season or so, Bob's sister moved in with him and Emily, and even had an affair---no, a relationship---with Howard. But what stayed the same was Bob's regular group therapy meeting, before which he would drop the plaque on the outside of the door that said "In Session."
Once, the "core group"---made up of Mr. Carlin; squeaky-voiced, ineffectual Mr. Peterson; Mrs. Bakerman, a dizzy grocery clerk who's constantly knitting; overweight and lonely Michelle Nardo---is looking for a new member---"a mild neurotic with compulsive tendencies" would fit in fine, Bob thought. "Where's the new loon?" Mr. Carlin asks, and in walks the new member, who turns out to be a homosexual. Everyone is stunned. Except Mrs. Bakerman, who pauses and says, "Then maybe you know my nephew Kenny." The group is upset and they all quit until Bob talks them into tolerance.
In another episode, Howard, who's very dependent on the Hartleys (he has most of his meals there, and even slept in their bed with them when the heat went out) goes to a therapist to become more independent.
Bob has found him a psychologist, an old friend of Bob's who has new-fangled treatments of intensive in-house therapy.
DOCTOR: Why do you keep working in an office, Bob?
BOB: It's either work here or out of my car.
DOCTOR: The trouble with psychologists is that we're stuck in a rut. All we do is repeat ourselves.
BOB: Repeat ourselves?
DOCTOR: Repeat ourselves.
BOB: How?
DOCTOR: How?
BOB: Yeah---how?
DOCTOR: By using the same old methods, over and over and over again and again and again and again.
BOB: I see what you mean.
Bob and Emily are going on a vacation, and Howard's very upset: "Ten days? My plants will die in ten days. Who's going to water them? You always water my plants. You know I have a tendency to drown things. That's why I don't have any pets. How could you do this to me? I'll be all alone. Don't leave me."
They leave Howard with the fast-working psychologist. And when they return, Howard is transformed into a competent, responsible---boring---person. Upon entering their apartment, Bob and Emily notice that their sofa is piled with things---vacuum cleaners, golf clubs, clothing.
EMILY: Maybe we've been burglarized.
BOB: Emily, burglars don't deliver.
Howard knocks on the door. He's cold, stodgy. Just like his therapist. He now watches William Buckley on television. "Thanks to the doctor," he tells them, "I'm not myself---I'm me."
Bob goes to talk to the doctor: "Howard used to have his own personality. Now he's got yours." The doctor says that he has "processed" Howard and plans to take him on a national tour with him. "Who's going to be your opening act---Jerry Vale?" Bob asks.
The Hartleys can't stand the new Howard. He won't even stay for dinner. Emily tries to bait him with roast beef, mashed potatoes, and broccoli.
HOWARD: I don't know what's going on here. First you want me to be independent. Then you want me to borrow things and stay for dinner.
BOB: Howard, are you happy?
HOWARD: No.
BOB: Are you hungry?
HOWARD: Yes.
He'll stay for dinner---"But can we have asparagus tips instead of broccoli?"---and then reborrows all the things he's returned. The old Howard is back.
Goofy Jerry, the dentist in Bob's office and Bob's best friend, is off to Mexico, staying at the Hotel Smith, "where anybody caught stealing a towel will be forced to drink the water." He's staying in the Jose Rivera Memorial Suite, named for a guy named Jose Rivera who was executed in your very own room." (When Howard hears that Jerry's staying at his old haunt, the Hotel Smith, he tells him: "They'll name a suite after you, but it's not worth it.")
JERRY: What do you want me to bring you back from south of the border, Bob?
BOB: Oh, one of those sombreros with the fringe . . .
JERRY: What color?
BOB: Oh, something that'll go with more than one suit.
JERRY: How about you, Howard- you want anything from south of the border?
HOWARD: Some pant-and-coat hangers.
JERRY: Pant-and coat hangers? You can get them right here.
HOWARD: I don't care where you get them---just get them!
When Bob is taking the orphans camping---"You don't have to worry about me, Emily. Just wind the compass"---he is afraid he won't be able to find a vacant campsite. "I'll just tip a bear and he'll let me in." Instead, however, he ends up taking the two boys camping in a parking lot.
BOB: Look up there---that's the North Star.
BOY: Nah, that's the Wrigley Building.
BOB: Hmmm . . . so it is . . .
Once Bob and Emily try to throw a Bicentennial party.
BOB: I invited Mr. Carlin.
EMILY: Why?
BOB: He says he gets lonely every Bicentennial.
While looking for their punch bowl, Emily locks them in the storage locker in the building's basement by mistake.
EMILY: Look, Bob---your barbells. You haven't lifted these in a long time.
BOB: Yeah . . . well, you know, it, uh, it got to the point where it was too easy.
EMILY: Yeah, I remember the day Jerry and Howard helped you carry them down here . . .
Later:
BOB: I can't even tell if it's day or night. I'm totally disoriented. How long have we been trapped down here?
EMILY: Fifteen minutes.
BOB: It seems more like twenty.
To pass the time:
BOB: Wanna tell jokes?
EMILY: Yeah, sure.
BOB: Here's a good one---why did the moron lock herself and her husband in the storage locker?
EMILY: Come off it, will you, Bob?
They begin to get a little philosophical.
EMILY: Do you think we're going to die?
BOB: Probably.
EMILY: That's a damn shame. Say, Bob, did you ever make a will?
BOB: I left everything to you.
EMILY: That's no good if we're both done for . . . but, Bob, if I die---would you remarry?
BOB: Sure.
EMILY: Really? Well . . . what kind of woman would you look for?
BOB: Someone different from you--- someone big enough to break through that door over there. (pause) Emily, I would never remarry.
And he probably wouldn't. Although Bob's not very articulate about his affection for Emily---
EMILY: Bob, do you love me?
BOB: Sure.
EMILY: Why?
BOB: Why not?
---it's obvious that he's totally devoted to her. And that she's devoted to him.
Emily was cool. So was Suzanne Pleshette, the deep-voiced, dark-haired beauty who played the part. And perhaps it was no part at all. "At first," Pleshette said, "the writers were afraid to inject 'Suzannisms' into the scripts, but now I can pretty much play myself." Over the years, Emily changed slightly. In the beginning, she was purely a domestic, with little concern for her career, teaching school. Later on, they showed her in action with her students, and even promoted her to vice-principal. The producers, however, had the good sense (and the good taste) not to promote her to Mother.
Oh, there were times when Emily and Bob talked about having children, as in this exchange:
EMILY: Bob, do you ever wish we had kids?
BOB: Yeah, once in a while. Sometimes I wish we had a little girl.
EMILY: I think about a little boy. You know, that's nice---a girl for you, a boy for me . . .
But they had to content themselves with Howard. Anyway, Bob Newhart insisted they remain childless. He didn't want to turn the show into a domestic comedy. And so it wasn't. And that was fine with Pleshette too.
She loved her role: "Bob is just like my husband, Tommy, letting me go bumbling and stumbling through life. And the way it's written, the part is me. There's the stream of non sequiturs by which I live. There are fights. I'm allowed to be demonstrative."
She was lucky to get the part. "Actresses with dark hair and deep voices are always cast as the bad girl or the bad-good girl. I rarely got the man in the end of the movie. Or if I did, he died in my arms."
In 1977, Newhart announced that he was going to quit the series. He wanted to get back to nightclub work and, frankly, he's had enough. But suddenly there was another announcement: he would film a final year. How come the switch? "Both MTM and CBS were so darned nice to me. I got to thinking, why not go ahead with another year? What's so tough about it? People were already starting to say that I was quitting because I wouldn't have The Mary Tyler Moore Show as a lead-in anymore." (Newhart always followed Mary, which was a wonderful security blanket for any show.) "So I said, hell, why not. One more year won't be so bad. So I said yes. And you wouldn't believe the number of people who bothered to sit down and write. People who said thank you for giving us so many good times and things like that. It almost made me cry."
It almost made a lot of people cry when, a year later, Bob Hartley---and that other Bob---left the air. In the last episode, Bob gave up his Chicago psychology practice and became a professor at a small college in Oregon.
Said Newhart: "I could see what was coming in situation comedy, and I didn't want to be a part of it. If we'd gone another year, they'd have had a guy and two girls living in the apartment above us; a Martian living on the same floor next door to three girl detectives. That way we'd have had all the elements of what passes for a hit sitcom this year."
Is that really why he quit? "Well, I saw a slight slackening in the writing, which scared me a little bit. I didn't want to limp off the air with a show that didn't measure up to what it had been a few years earlier."
And so Newhart quit. Millions of Americans went through sudden withdrawal---after all, their psychologist had left town without a forwarding address or the number of a service to call in case of an anxiety attack that needed a shot of Bob and Emily.
And, what do you know, just as we were getting used to Bob's being gone---just as we were learning to go it alone---The Bob Newhart Show came back as reruns.
That means we still get to hear Bob's wonderful stories---those convoluted tales of his childhood, told to make a point, but rambling tales that lead nowhere.
BOB: Have I told you this story before?
EMILY: On our wedding night. You were stalling.
BOB: I wasn't stalling. (Newhart pause) I just didn't want to come on like an animal.
====================THE BOB NEWHART SHOW============
MRS. BAKERMAN: Dr. Hartley, if you're looking for a new member for our group, I know a nice schizophrenic.
MR. PETERSON: Or how about a manic-depressive? At least you know they'll be fun half the time.
On paper, all sitcoms look alike: the wacky neighbor, the bumbling husband, the sensible wife, the man-hungry secretary, the nutty clients. The token weddings, misunderstandings, mistaken identities, sight gags, and the substandard jokes. But somehow The Bob Newhart Show took an unexpected turn and created human beings, not beanbrains, and people who, season after season after season after season after season after season (six of them in all), we grew to care about. Care about. Not the way we tuned in to to Bilko or the Beaver, but a different way: to visit our buddies. Bob Newhart's characters were so real, so lifelike, that, when they weren't on, we found ourselves thinking about them during the week, wondering how Bob and Emily were doing.
Bob and Emily Hartley, that is. He: a successful psychologist who bordered on the ineffectual (but was always human and humane). She: a successful person (also school teacher), who was most often effectual, plus kind, warm, funny, understanding. They: lived in a Chicago high-rise apartment, loved each other----no, no----loved each other (many of the scenes took place in their king-sized bed). And they argued---not the pulsating, pounding Edith/Archie, Maude/Walter kind of argument. Quieter arguments. But for real. But more often than argue, they were TV's first couple to be stubbornly hostile. They jabbed each other, but---because they loved each other---never punctured the skin.
BOB: Your mother wore black to our wedding.
EMILY: That wasn't black, Bob, that was dark gray. Only her armband was black, Bob.
BOB: It rained on our wedding day. Your mother called it an omen.
And once, after looking at photos of them when they were younger:
EMILY: Whoever thought that two ugly ducklings would turn into a swan---and a flabby psychologist.
It's not certain that Bob was flabby (we trusted enough to take Emily's word for it), but he certainly was a psychologist. Nothing fancy, mind you. Just the plain, old, simple ordinary kind. He had respect for his patients, and sometimes they even had respect for him. The premise of the show was that Bob was a whiz at solving his patients' problems but a dud when it came to handling his own. That was the first season. As the years went on, the two---whiz and dud--- were interchangeable. Oftentimes we weren't sure if the patients were crazier than the people at home.
Actually, it was daring for television to tackle a sitcom about neurotic people. Who in a sitcom isn't a little bit dizzy? (Okay, okay, maybe not Robert Young or June Cleaver---but they could have used some therapy to loosen up a little and stop being so . . . so perfect.) But in the history of sitcoms, everyone's crazy. If Lucy Ricardo were loose in your neighborhood, mightn't you at least suggest a little professional counseling? And what about a guy who talks to horses, or who talks to his mother, the car? So how do you differentiate the Crazies from the crazies? The producers were smart: they didn't make the patients much different from the nonpatients. They were the same. The patients just weren't as well adjusted. Often, Bob's friends and family seemed to have far worse problems than his patients, but---true to sitcom form---everything worked out within the last seven minutes of each episode. Tune in next week for new problems, new solutions, new entertainment.
Of course it all had to do with Bob Newhart, who transplanted his first name (as so many well-known actors have done) to his character, and added a close sounding last name: Hartley.
His Bob Hartley was one of the nicest, mildest fellows since Robinson Peepers. The Bob Newhart Show was, well, amiable, and so was Bob Newhart/Hartley. One of the producers described Newhart as "a reactor. He listens funny." Said another: "Strange thing about Bob---he works small but gets those big laughs. They come more out of attitude than lines."
Newhart first came to national attention as a stand-up comic of the Mort Sahl and Shelley Berman era. His LP, The Button-Down Mind of Bob Newhart, sold 1,500,000 copies (a lot for the early sixties), and made him a sudden star. His routines consisted mainly of monologues on the telephone, with Newhart ending conversations "Same to you, fella" (the telephone also figured somewhat into his sitcom ten years later). Fame brought him a first Bob Newhart Show---this one of the variety-variety in 1961---and each telecast opened with Newhart on the phone, talking to an unseen and unheard adversary. There were no regulars on the show, but a group of semiregular guests---Mickey Manners, Joe Flynn, Kay Westfall---who showed up once in a while. The show won an Emmy. But the show also won low ratings. It went off the air in June of 1962. "It was like trying to fly a plane without knowing what makes it go," Newhart said about the first show. "I had this hang-up about perfection. But I knew nothing about my craft. I was raw funny, not polished funny. Deep down I guess I didn't feel entitled to all that success."
Between The Bob Newhart Show and The Bob Newhart Show, he recorded more albums, appeared in nightclubs, and made several movies, including Cool Millions, Catch-22, On a Clear Day You Can See Forever, and Cold Turkey, among others.
Then The Mary Tyler Moore Show people---who were scoring big with Mary, Rhoda, Phyllis, Ted, Lou, and the rest of the gang---approached Newhart about trying his hand---and his humor---at sitcom. It would be intelligent, they promised. It would be witty. It would be Him. "We're not trying to do Archie Bunker," the producers told him. "We're selling class and wit and charm." Good, Newhart said, "because I don't want to do Father Knows Best or daddy's-the-dummy-but-we-love-him."
He got what he wanted. According to one of the early reviews: "The characters are credible, each having an identity, each contributing to the overall comedy effect of the show. And one also finds a constant play between normalcy and idiosyncrasy. There are conversations between the psychologist Bob and his patients in the inimitable Newhart style. And the supporting characters include so many recognizable traits that we can easily identify with their feelings and actions."
Like Mr. Carlin. He was one of Bob's patients---in group therapy, in solo sessions, any way he could get it. Carlin was a professional neurotic. For example, listen to this exchange between Bob's sassy secretary and Mr. Carlin:
CAROL: Hi, Mr. Carlin. How's the real estate business?
CARLIN: Couldn't be better.
CAROL: And how are you?
CARLIN: Couldn't be worse.
CAROL: Then everything's normal.
In one session with Bob, Mr. Carlin had a breakthrough:
CARLIN: I think I'm overcoming my agoraphobia.
BOB: I didn't know you had a fear of open places.
CARLIN: I thought it was a fear of agricultural products. Anyway, wheat doesn't scare me anymore.
One of Bob's other patients---not a paying patient at all, just someone he has to have an inordinate amount of patience with---is the Hartley's across-the-hall neighbor, Howard Borden. He's someone you have to hear to believe.
BOB: What do you say we take some orphans camping?
HOWARD: It's okay with me if it's okay with their parents.
Or:
EMILY: Bob and I are giving a Fourth of July party---would you like to come?
HOWARD: Oh, great! When is it?
Howard---a grown man, an airline pilot who often brought Bob and Emily teeny-tiny bottles of liquor, as souvenirs of his travels---is the Hartley's child. And with him around, they don't need kids of their own. He's an innocent, much like his cousin on the TV dial, Ted Baxter, on The Mary Tyler Moore Show. But he doesn't have the inflated ego Ted Baxter does, so we laugh at him in a different way.
BOB (walks in and sees Emily sewing a button on Howard's shirt): Why are you sewing Howard's shirt?
EMILY: Howard says he's all thumbs when it comes to sewing.
BOB: Howard's all thumbs when it comes to living.
The show's hundreds of episodes developed the characters, something that differentiated the seventies sitcoms from those in the sixties. Carol, the husband-hungry secretary, satisfied her appetite when she got married in 1975. For a season or so, Bob's sister moved in with him and Emily, and even had an affair---no, a relationship---with Howard. But what stayed the same was Bob's regular group therapy meeting, before which he would drop the plaque on the outside of the door that said "In Session."
Once, the "core group"---made up of Mr. Carlin; squeaky-voiced, ineffectual Mr. Peterson; Mrs. Bakerman, a dizzy grocery clerk who's constantly knitting; overweight and lonely Michelle Nardo---is looking for a new member---"a mild neurotic with compulsive tendencies" would fit in fine, Bob thought. "Where's the new loon?" Mr. Carlin asks, and in walks the new member, who turns out to be a homosexual. Everyone is stunned. Except Mrs. Bakerman, who pauses and says, "Then maybe you know my nephew Kenny." The group is upset and they all quit until Bob talks them into tolerance.
In another episode, Howard, who's very dependent on the Hartleys (he has most of his meals there, and even slept in their bed with them when the heat went out) goes to a therapist to become more independent.
Bob has found him a psychologist, an old friend of Bob's who has new-fangled treatments of intensive in-house therapy.
DOCTOR: Why do you keep working in an office, Bob?
BOB: It's either work here or out of my car.
DOCTOR: The trouble with psychologists is that we're stuck in a rut. All we do is repeat ourselves.
BOB: Repeat ourselves?
DOCTOR: Repeat ourselves.
BOB: How?
DOCTOR: How?
BOB: Yeah---how?
DOCTOR: By using the same old methods, over and over and over again and again and again and again.
BOB: I see what you mean.
Bob and Emily are going on a vacation, and Howard's very upset: "Ten days? My plants will die in ten days. Who's going to water them? You always water my plants. You know I have a tendency to drown things. That's why I don't have any pets. How could you do this to me? I'll be all alone. Don't leave me."
They leave Howard with the fast-working psychologist. And when they return, Howard is transformed into a competent, responsible---boring---person. Upon entering their apartment, Bob and Emily notice that their sofa is piled with things---vacuum cleaners, golf clubs, clothing.
EMILY: Maybe we've been burglarized.
BOB: Emily, burglars don't deliver.
Howard knocks on the door. He's cold, stodgy. Just like his therapist. He now watches William Buckley on television. "Thanks to the doctor," he tells them, "I'm not myself---I'm me."
Bob goes to talk to the doctor: "Howard used to have his own personality. Now he's got yours." The doctor says that he has "processed" Howard and plans to take him on a national tour with him. "Who's going to be your opening act---Jerry Vale?" Bob asks.
The Hartleys can't stand the new Howard. He won't even stay for dinner. Emily tries to bait him with roast beef, mashed potatoes, and broccoli.
HOWARD: I don't know what's going on here. First you want me to be independent. Then you want me to borrow things and stay for dinner.
BOB: Howard, are you happy?
HOWARD: No.
BOB: Are you hungry?
HOWARD: Yes.
He'll stay for dinner---"But can we have asparagus tips instead of broccoli?"---and then reborrows all the things he's returned. The old Howard is back.
Goofy Jerry, the dentist in Bob's office and Bob's best friend, is off to Mexico, staying at the Hotel Smith, "where anybody caught stealing a towel will be forced to drink the water." He's staying in the Jose Rivera Memorial Suite, named for a guy named Jose Rivera who was executed in your very own room." (When Howard hears that Jerry's staying at his old haunt, the Hotel Smith, he tells him: "They'll name a suite after you, but it's not worth it.")
JERRY: What do you want me to bring you back from south of the border, Bob?
BOB: Oh, one of those sombreros with the fringe . . .
JERRY: What color?
BOB: Oh, something that'll go with more than one suit.
JERRY: How about you, Howard- you want anything from south of the border?
HOWARD: Some pant-and-coat hangers.
JERRY: Pant-and coat hangers? You can get them right here.
HOWARD: I don't care where you get them---just get them!
When Bob is taking the orphans camping---"You don't have to worry about me, Emily. Just wind the compass"---he is afraid he won't be able to find a vacant campsite. "I'll just tip a bear and he'll let me in." Instead, however, he ends up taking the two boys camping in a parking lot.
BOB: Look up there---that's the North Star.
BOY: Nah, that's the Wrigley Building.
BOB: Hmmm . . . so it is . . .
Once Bob and Emily try to throw a Bicentennial party.
BOB: I invited Mr. Carlin.
EMILY: Why?
BOB: He says he gets lonely every Bicentennial.
While looking for their punch bowl, Emily locks them in the storage locker in the building's basement by mistake.
EMILY: Look, Bob---your barbells. You haven't lifted these in a long time.
BOB: Yeah . . . well, you know, it, uh, it got to the point where it was too easy.
EMILY: Yeah, I remember the day Jerry and Howard helped you carry them down here . . .
Later:
BOB: I can't even tell if it's day or night. I'm totally disoriented. How long have we been trapped down here?
EMILY: Fifteen minutes.
BOB: It seems more like twenty.
To pass the time:
BOB: Wanna tell jokes?
EMILY: Yeah, sure.
BOB: Here's a good one---why did the moron lock herself and her husband in the storage locker?
EMILY: Come off it, will you, Bob?
They begin to get a little philosophical.
EMILY: Do you think we're going to die?
BOB: Probably.
EMILY: That's a damn shame. Say, Bob, did you ever make a will?
BOB: I left everything to you.
EMILY: That's no good if we're both done for . . . but, Bob, if I die---would you remarry?
BOB: Sure.
EMILY: Really? Well . . . what kind of woman would you look for?
BOB: Someone different from you--- someone big enough to break through that door over there. (pause) Emily, I would never remarry.
And he probably wouldn't. Although Bob's not very articulate about his affection for Emily---
EMILY: Bob, do you love me?
BOB: Sure.
EMILY: Why?
BOB: Why not?
---it's obvious that he's totally devoted to her. And that she's devoted to him.
Emily was cool. So was Suzanne Pleshette, the deep-voiced, dark-haired beauty who played the part. And perhaps it was no part at all. "At first," Pleshette said, "the writers were afraid to inject 'Suzannisms' into the scripts, but now I can pretty much play myself." Over the years, Emily changed slightly. In the beginning, she was purely a domestic, with little concern for her career, teaching school. Later on, they showed her in action with her students, and even promoted her to vice-principal. The producers, however, had the good sense (and the good taste) not to promote her to Mother.
Oh, there were times when Emily and Bob talked about having children, as in this exchange:
EMILY: Bob, do you ever wish we had kids?
BOB: Yeah, once in a while. Sometimes I wish we had a little girl.
EMILY: I think about a little boy. You know, that's nice---a girl for you, a boy for me . . .
But they had to content themselves with Howard. Anyway, Bob Newhart insisted they remain childless. He didn't want to turn the show into a domestic comedy. And so it wasn't. And that was fine with Pleshette too.
She loved her role: "Bob is just like my husband, Tommy, letting me go bumbling and stumbling through life. And the way it's written, the part is me. There's the stream of non sequiturs by which I live. There are fights. I'm allowed to be demonstrative."
She was lucky to get the part. "Actresses with dark hair and deep voices are always cast as the bad girl or the bad-good girl. I rarely got the man in the end of the movie. Or if I did, he died in my arms."
In 1977, Newhart announced that he was going to quit the series. He wanted to get back to nightclub work and, frankly, he's had enough. But suddenly there was another announcement: he would film a final year. How come the switch? "Both MTM and CBS were so darned nice to me. I got to thinking, why not go ahead with another year? What's so tough about it? People were already starting to say that I was quitting because I wouldn't have The Mary Tyler Moore Show as a lead-in anymore." (Newhart always followed Mary, which was a wonderful security blanket for any show.) "So I said, hell, why not. One more year won't be so bad. So I said yes. And you wouldn't believe the number of people who bothered to sit down and write. People who said thank you for giving us so many good times and things like that. It almost made me cry."
It almost made a lot of people cry when, a year later, Bob Hartley---and that other Bob---left the air. In the last episode, Bob gave up his Chicago psychology practice and became a professor at a small college in Oregon.
Said Newhart: "I could see what was coming in situation comedy, and I didn't want to be a part of it. If we'd gone another year, they'd have had a guy and two girls living in the apartment above us; a Martian living on the same floor next door to three girl detectives. That way we'd have had all the elements of what passes for a hit sitcom this year."
Is that really why he quit? "Well, I saw a slight slackening in the writing, which scared me a little bit. I didn't want to limp off the air with a show that didn't measure up to what it had been a few years earlier."
And so Newhart quit. Millions of Americans went through sudden withdrawal---after all, their psychologist had left town without a forwarding address or the number of a service to call in case of an anxiety attack that needed a shot of Bob and Emily.
And, what do you know, just as we were getting used to Bob's being gone---just as we were learning to go it alone---The Bob Newhart Show came back as reruns.
That means we still get to hear Bob's wonderful stories---those convoluted tales of his childhood, told to make a point, but rambling tales that lead nowhere.
BOB: Have I told you this story before?
EMILY: On our wedding night. You were stalling.
BOB: I wasn't stalling. (Newhart pause) I just didn't want to come on like an animal.