The Nielsens: September 2-8, 1985

These days, pretty much everyone walks around with a TV in their pocket, and there are so many viewing options that pretty much every show — no matter how popular it might be in the current definition of the term — is broadcast for a niche audience. But for decades, the small number of networks and the relative lack of options for rewatching anything meant that Americans watched a lot of the same stuff at the same time — and even programs that have largely been forgotten today drew what would now be considered massive ratings. In this recurring column, we take a fond and often somewhat mystified look back at the Nielsen ratings from long ago.

The Gambler: The Adventure Continues, Part 1
This is straight up wild to me. Not that a Kenny Rogers television movie inspired by a Kenny Rogers song would score big ratings in 1985, mind you, but that what was evidently a repeat airing of a Kenny Rogers television movie that was originally broadcast in 1983 would be good for a No. 6 placement. Granted, the fall television season hadn't officially kicked off yet, but still. Sixth place? An 18.7 share? Good on you, Kenny. No wonder you had enough money to start a whole-ass fast food chain.

Hell Town
What we have here is a repeat airing of the Hell Town pilot, which perplexingly aired way the hell back in March before being trotted out again as the lead-in to Hell Town Season 1 in the fall. If you don't remember the show, well, no jury would convict you; it was off the air by December. But what a show it was: Robert Blake starred as Noah "Hardstep" Rivers, a priest who grew up in the hardscrabble East L.A. neighborhood where he preached. Basically, Rivers was the only kind of priest Blake could ever be asked to play, which is to say that he was also an ex-con and a pool shark. This all sounds entertaining enough as a premise, I suppose, but you have to wonder — especially in 1985 — who the hell it was for. (The answer turned out to be "not nearly enough viewers," but for at least one week, it was a Top 10 hit.) Dig that theme song, courtesy of Sammy Davis. Jr.!

MacGruder and Loud
The highest of high-concept shows, this short-lived wonder imagined a world in which two married cops had to keep their union a secret from everyone on the force because of a strict anti-fraternization rule — and they kept it so far undercover that they lived in a duplex that was connected by a secret door hidden behind a goddamn grandfather clock. (It was, of course, an Aaron Spelling production.) The first and only season premiered in January of 1985; by April, ABC had pulled the plug. It's an indication of how dire the late-summer TV landscape was in those days that some random repeat episode of this unloved, weird-ass series placed 22nd in the ratings in early September. The key fact to remember here is probably that its cancellation freed up Tuesdays at 9 for Moonlighting, where the show flourished throughout its soon-to-begin imperial era.

Margin for Murder
There's plenty to be said for the current year-round TV model, but I really do miss the days of drifting through several months of castoffs and repeats while waiting for my favorite shows to get back to business. Anticipation is a good thing, especially when it's being shared by the general population, and we don't really get to do that as often anymore. Also, those barren summer months led to programming decisions like this one, which exhumed a failed attempt to get a Mike Hammer TV show off the ground — doubly funny, since it aired on CBS, and at the time, Stacy Keach was netting impressive ratings for his portrayal of Hammer over on ABC. For those keeping track at home, Margin for Murder originally aired in 1981, and starred Kojak vet Kevin Dobson as Hammer. As a final comical touch, enjoy this Russian-dubbed version of the show, which is the only one I could find on YouTube.

OceanQuest
I'd never heard of this thing before writing about it today, but I probably should have; although PBS' An American Family often gets the credit for paving the way for our current reality TV model, this bonkers-ass docudrama deserves to be part of the conversation as well. The basic gist, if there could be said to be one, is that former Miss Universe Shawn Weatherly signed up to learn how to deep-sea dive at the behest of underwater photographer Al Giddings, who placed an ad seeking an, ahem, ''bright attractive woman'' who knew nothing about diving but was willing to take the plunge.

It sounds ridiculous, and it surely was, but OceanQuest earned essentially positive reviews. It makes sense, especially in the context of summer viewing in 1985 — who could complain about this type of ostensibly factual entertainment, especially led by a woman who'd been making a living based on how she looked in a swimsuit? And did I mention Fidel Castro made an appearance?

Fuck streaming, man. We need to bring this type of thing back.

Hometown
Two years after The Big Chill made baby boomers feel important and reminded everyone how bitchin' Motown music always was, CBS slipped this loose adaptation of the movie into the summer schedule. The idea was to screw the competition by launching the series before anyone else had their fall programming ready to air, and for a little while, it worked — but when everyone else's season premieres really started to air, ratings fell off a cliff, and Hometown was gone by October. It's chiefly (albeit barely) remembered now for giving us brief peeks of Jane Kaczmarek and Daniel Stern before they were famous.

I Had Three Wives
This was a brutal year for CBS. Even more short-lived than Hometown, the absurdly high-concept I Had Three Wives imagined future Alias Emmy winner Victor Garber as a private eye who enlists his trio of former spouses to help him solve cases. Like Hometown, it was supposed to net massive ratings by getting the jump on the competition; also like Hometown, only more so, it failed miserably. On the other hand, aside from giving you a glimpse of a much younger Garber, the show also employed future stars Teri Polo and David Faustino, so it's at least interesting from an archaeological perspective.

West 57th
I actually do think I remember West 57th, although I suspect this must be a false memory, considering I was 11 years old and not remotely interested in the behind-the-scenes battles behind news shows. Launched as a sort of slicker alternative to 60 Minutes, the show didn't do amazingly well (this particular week found it at a dismal 47th out of 61 broadcasts), but it was reportedly still perceived as enough of a threat by its established counterpart that a number of 60 Minutes employees actively campaigned against it, both in front of and behind the scenes. It lasted less than five years, but still left a legacy — correspondents Meredith Vieira and Steve Kroft, both of whom are probably well known to you, shifted from West 57th to 60 Minutes after the former's cancellation, and it launched several other long-running media careers as well.

Off the Rack
Ed Asner played Lou Grant from 1970 to 1982, so it should come as no surprise that his next TV venture ended in the blink of an eye. I mean, on one hand, typecasting; on the other, no one gets that lucky forever. Off the Rack starred Asner as the co-owner of a garment company who's forced to work with his partner's wife (Eileen Brennan) after he passes away. The pilot episode scored decent ratings, so ABC ordered six more episodes... and then scheduled them opposite ratings juggernaut Dallas, which quickly doomed the series to cancellation. Asner later accused the network of intentionally murdering Off the Rack in its crib, which never made a ton of sense; in retrospect, perhaps he should have been grateful to see it exit the airwaves as quickly as it did.

Our Time
Quick question: Can you think of anything more insufferable than a 1985 television docuseries dedicated to the fondest memories of the baby boomer generation? If you answered "Yes, a 1985 television docuseries dedicated to to the fondest memories of the baby boomer generation with a fucking laugh track," then congratulations, you have "won." The obnoxiously titled Our Time, hosted by Night Court's Harry Anderson and former Room 222 star Karen Valentine, cobbled together a series of "remember when?" clips that ran the nostalgic gamut from the Beatles to Batman, rounding up a passel of out-of-work talking heads to fill the gaps between. The only good thing that can be said about this dreck is that the intended audience didn't bother to show up for it.