by the Arts Staff of The Varsity
reprinted by Canadian University
Press

The Yuppies got the Big Chill:
Motown and Three Dog Night, activ-
ism and cheap drugs. Our generation,
following the law of diminishing
returns that characterizes the dying
days of the 20th century, got toe socks
and Peter Frampton. Waves of nostal-
gia for the fifties and sixties have
been hyped in film and song. But the
seventies? Not a word. Some may

ew

 

The Tube

You’re so busy working your calcu-
lator, exploring medieval architecture,
and learning how to speak a language
you'll never use that you don’t have
time to watch television anymore.
Well, it doesn’t matter, because Alex
Trebek and Karen Valentine (the
Kind and Queen of the Seventies)
have vanished too. Billy Van’s still
around, but he doesn’t seem to have,
shall we say, the same youthful nerve
he used to.

Let’s not beat around the bush - I'll
get right to the point, and state that
the eighth decade of this century was
probably the most scintillating ten
years man has ever spent, being as
how, right in the middle of them,
Briget loves Bernie was_ invented.
Network taboo-busting at its most
daring, that was: interfaith passion,
the heights of which were so glorious-
ly scaled by David Birney and his
beauteous wife Meredith that they

 

 

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claim that the dark era between
Richard Nixon and Sid Vicious was
one vast, scary wasteland. The kind of
thing you’d prefer to stay buried in
the closet next to the Bay City Roller
posters.

We beg to differ. In the time-
honoured tradition of pop journalists
everywhere, we’re telling you about a
trend before you’d ever heard of it:
The Seventies Revival. Relive the
glory days of seventh grade: grab a
skateboard and a scratch n’ sniff
t-shirt, and check out the following,
truly excellent stuff:

were usually the favourites on Tattle-
tales, until that particular show
bought the farm. They were, how-
ever, upstaged there by the debonair
Burt Convy - but then, who wouldn’t
be.

Game shows in the Seventies.
Things of beauty, joys forever. Re-
member Battle of the Network Stars?
And then there were the Canadian
game shows. Let’s turn our attention
to the true unsung hereos of our
national culture. Why you only had to
win thirty rounds on What's the Good
Word and they lavished upon you two
whole Roger Whittaker albums!
Either that, or enough Kentucky
Fried Chicken to serve an entire Grey
party! Headline Hunters and Eye Bet
were even better, because there they
gave you enough wall covering to
decorate an entire rumpus room. Did
they win anything on This is the Law?
| think not; but paychecks and kind
words from Austin Willis would be
enough for anybody.

 

Reviving toe socks,

| think the reason the police are
getting such a bad deal these days is
that they aren’t well enough repre-
sented on TV anymore. Take Streets

of San Francisco. If Michael Douglas:

said ‘‘Hey punk, drop that stolen
merchandise!’’ | bet you would, even
if it wasn’t stolen... and | always wish
the fuzz could be more like they were
on S.W.A.T., especially the one who
played witty young officer deluca,
who later turned up a designer-jeaned
regular on Barnaby Jones. Some
people preferred Petrocelli or Toma,
but | figured they were too intel-
lectual. Give me the sweat, muscle
and surplus hair of Paul Michael
Glaser or Robert Blake. But if you
really want to talk about crime
fighters, let’s get into Parker
Stevenson and Shaun Cassidy, the
Hardy Brothers - lean, mean and
utterly keen.

| have reason to believe that
somewhere in southern: California,
they’ve established the Church of
David Cassidy, so named after
Shaun’s demigod of an older brother.
This neither surprises nor infuriates
me. In fact | can’t really understand
those who express no interest in
worshipping at the feet of the former
Keith Partridge, the most masculine
creature alive. | remember discover-
ing the meaning of the word cocaine
when | watched him snort a few lines
on the pilot episode of David Cassidy,
Man Undercover, and now I’m an
irreversible addict of the stuff. How |
love him.

Flicks

The Seventies... hold on days for
the film industry... a time when
Badness and Funkiness reigned joint-
ly... a time when dudes were dudes
and fine looking mamas were glad of
it. Name me a director working today,
just try, who can match the grace and
power of, say, a Clint Eastwood
(Breezy - probably the greates Ameri-
can film of all time) or a Nancy
Walker (Can’t stop the Music:
warmth, strength, sensitivity and the
Village People too!) Find me an
actress as devastating talented and -
well, beautiful too - as sex leopard
Linda Blair, who proved to us once
and for all with Roller Boogie that she
could rollerskate as well as puke pea
soup! And let us not forget Sara T.,
Portrait of a Teenage Alcoholic, which
led all the girls on this writer’s block
to grow their hair down to their knees

  

ps wah

and start pouring lemon gin on t
cornflakes. The more sadistic a
you may prefer the imprisoned Li
(Born Innocent) or the bedevi
Linda (Exorcist II - indubitably
finest moment).

But hmmm. Should we be so h
in designating Linda as Actress of
Decade? Aren’t we forgetting
colossal talents of that timeless
gedienne, Miss Farrah Fawc
Majors, who favoured us with t
oughly excellent performances in s
delights as Sunburn and the provd
tive Logan’s Run? Perhaps you pr
Donna Summer «in Thank God
Friday, Helen Reddy - as the Sing
Nun, of course - in Airport ‘75, ma
even Raquel in Mother, Jugs

bac

 

Speed... but whatever your favou
you’ ve got to agree that the Seve’
were a time of strong and posi
roles for women.

And men. Who among us ©
forget the tender splendour of
Leif Garrett in Skateboard, or thal
Yul Brynner in Westworld? Admi
you too dropped your popcorn in
lap when Peter Frampton burst ¢
the screen in Sergeant Pepp
Lonely Hearts Club Band; and Ro
Benson, godlike magical Ro
Benson, who proved with Walk Pri
that anyone can play a Hispanoa
can gangleader if they really want
So much talent in only ten yea
Richard Roundtree (Shaft), Joe {
Baker (Walking Tall), Scott Bai
whose Skatetown U.S.A. was posit
ly European in its subtlety - |
someone whose name escapes mé

 

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