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All these ambiguities are catnip to critics, especially those with a sociological bent. Many observe that the show is a kind of barge to float all the garbage of American culture out to sea. Yale English Professor David Thorburn, who uses the show in one of his courses, has called the Hartman family "an American house of Atreus," although there has been no slaughter so far. Several enthusiasts have compared the show with Ingmar Bergman's film, Scenes from a Marriage—to Bergman's disparagement. Perhaps because he wears a warm-up jacket, Tom has been likened to John Updike's puzzled hero, Rabbit Angstrom. Commentators have noted, almost with reverence, that the characters are "human" and that Mary is "vulnerable," as if these qualities were very rare. With tough, raucous programs like All in the Family dominating prime time, perhaps they are.
Norman Lear, who gave Archie Bunker to the world, is now in love with Mary Hartman, an idea he thought up seven years ago. He does not see Mary as a soap satire; it is a way "to show humanity and comedy true to life in society—but perceived through a bent glass." He spends more time on the show than on any other project. In fact Lear may even be Mary. Says Chief Scriptwriter Ann Marcus: "If Mary sees an article in a magazine, that usually means Norman saw the article in a magazine." But despite suggestions from Lear and virtually everyone else on the set, Marcus finds the pace leaves hardly any "time to work out where the story is going." The original 60-page "bible" that traced planned story lines was expected to last at least six months. Restless Mary consumed it in three weeks. At the moment the writers are only a harrowing eight scripts ahead of each day's taping.
Crude News. Like any good producer, Lear loves the controversy that has surrounded the show. Mini-campaigns have broken out across the country to get it banned or at least limited to a time when the kids are not around. But only in Richmond, Va., where Mary played at 3:30 p.m., was the reaction of worried parents enough to get the show canned. Suburban Seattle Housewife Christine Matkovick has been calling executives of companies whose products are pitched on Mary, at 5 p.m. locally, and at least half a dozen sponsors have pulled out. But with youngsters deserting the competition—Leave It to Beaver reruns—the Seattle station is so far standing pat.
Still, Mary Hartman's most fitting habitat does seem to be opposite the late news. Chicago Sun-Times Columnist Bob Greene thinks that time slot lets viewers avoid "the merely hesitatingly slapstick news shows and instead enjoy genuine entertainment in the classic Chicago tradition: crude, snickering, dirty and easy to follow." Greene may be right. Mary is doing fine late at night. For a show with a soap-opera format, it is quite contrary. Quite contrary.