What’s the Story, Wishbone? On PBS

The mid 1990s were a golden era for Jack Russell Terriers. There was Eddie (played by Moose) on Fraser and Milo (played by Max) in the movie The Mask. However, Wishbone (played by Soccer) was the star of his own show. As a bonus, it was also educational. Frankly, it was exactly the sort of programing PBS was supposed to produce, but they mismanaged it. Nevertheless, Wishbone and the late, great Soccer remain beloved by cast, crew, and fans, who fondly remember the dog and his show in Joey Stewart’s documentary What’s the Story, Wishbone, which starts airing tomorrow on participating PBS stations.

Rick Duffield started with a vague notion to produce an educational TV program in the Dallas area that evolved into a pitch-kit that PBS greenlighted for a five-episode trial, much to everyone’s surprise. Yet, being a crew outside of LA, they could quickly adapt. Somehow, they started turning out their initial order, which were so well received, PBS came back with a full season order of 40 episodes. Again, they were shocked, but again, the cast and crew knuckled down and cranked out episodes.

It helped that everyone believed in the show and generally loved Wishbone/Soccer. In fact, it seems like there were almost no personality conflicts, judging from the extensive interviews Stewart incorporates throughout the film. Consequently, anyone hoping to learn about Wishbone’s dirty secrets will be bitterly disappointed.

Of course, everyone loves Wishbone. To prove the point, Stewart opens with tributes from Pres. George W. Bush and his sworn enemy, Dan Rather. It is easy to see why. Soccer was enormously photogenic and cinematic. He was also surprisingly easy to work with. According to the series cinematographer, Soccer consistently hit his marks (perhaps with better reliability than some human actors we could think of). The canine performer was also unusually cooperative when it came to wearing his period costumes.

Watching Stewart’s doc gives viewers a fuller understanding of the craftsmanship that went into each episode, including the special effects supervised by ILM alumnus Caris Palm Turpen. However, PBS was determined to “a strip it,” but that required a constant flow of new daily Monday-Friday episodes, which the economics of the show simply could not accommodate. However, Showtime helped finance the show’s big send-off, Wishbone’s Dog Days of the West.

The Count of Monte Cristo, on PBS

Many people say living well is the best revenge. Edmond Dantes is not one of them. That is too bad for him, because he could live quite nicely on his newfound fortune. It is also too bad for the three French rats who did him dirty. Dantes will have his revenge, served as cold as possible. Unlike the recent French film, series director Billie August and adaptation co-writers Sandro Petraglia & Greg Latter lean more into the novel’s tragedy than its swashbuckling throughout the eight episodes of the new The Count of Monte Cristo, which premieres tomorrow night on PBS.

Dantes is blessed with a beautiful fiancée, Mercedes Herrera, and a supporting boss, Pierre Morel, the owner of his merchant vessel. Unfortunately, he is also cursed with two scummy rivals. Fernand Mondego, the future Count de Morcerf, covets Herrera’s hand in marriage, while Danglars resents Morel promoting Dantes above him. Out of spite, they falsely denounce Dantes as a Bonapartist agent. Initially, the local prosecutor, Gerard Villefort sees through their deception. However, he consigns innocent Dantes to the notorious Chateau d’If prison to coverup his late captain’s involvement Villefort’s Bonapartist father.

During his fifteen years of confinement, Dantes is erroneously reported dead to the outside world. Subsequently, Herrera reluctantly marries Mondego, who ascends to the French senate after a checkered military career. Danglars also finds wealth and a title in Parisian finance, while Villefort becomes one of the top national prosecutors.

Dantes also stays busy, befriending the heretical Abbe Faria, who schools the sailor on all the social graces a proper gentleman should know, as they painstakingly prepare their escape. He also informs Dantes of the location of a fabulous cache of secret treasure hidden on the uninhabited isle of Monte Cristo.

Petraglia and Latter follow Dumas reasonably closely, but their adaptation takes explicit inspiration from the Chinese proverb: “those who seek revenge, should first dig two graves.” In fact, they paraphrase it on multiple occasions. Not surprisingly, that gives this Monte Cristo a distinctly dark hue.

Unlike Pierre Niney in the recent French film, Sam Claflin never crosses swords with any of his sworn enemies. However, he broods harder than a diamond. Weirdly, the tall, bearded Claflin also bears an ironically distracting resemblance to Joel McHale. However, the facial hair helps explain why nobody recognizes Dantes, at least to an extent.

Regardless, you have to respect the sheer seething bile Claflin projects throughout the series. Michele Riondino and Lino Guanciale are also both roguishly charismatic as Dantes’ allies, Jacopo the fisherman and Vampa, the former bandit. Plus, the great Jeremy Irons perfectly personifies the Abbe’s learned fatalism.

American Masters: Sun Ra, on PBS

Forget Madonna. No artist ever reinvented themselves more thoroughly and profoundly than Herman “Sonny” Blount. The relatively successful regional big bandleader declared himself an angel from the planet Saturn—and people believed him. In the process, he became a jazz legend and arguably the most significant figure in Afro-Futurism. He definitely had multitudes, as viewers will quickly pick up from Christine Turner’s Sun Ra: Do the Impossible, which premieres tomorrow as part of the current season of PBS’s American Masters.

Sun Ra’s rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” is a shrewd choice to introduce to the musician-composer-bandleader to viewers, because it is free in an exploratory avant-garde sense, yet also barrelhouse bluesy. In fact, Sun Ra’s accessibility is the one aspect of his music Turner’s experts largely underplay. They make much of his experimentation with sonic distortion and Moog synthesizers. However, he always remained a big bandleader, who idolized Fletcher Henderson.

As Sun Ra, Blount incorporated elaborate space-age costume and concepts into his stage show, as well as ancient Egyptian imagery. In an effort to create a mythology for Black America, Sun Ra developed his own personal mythology, which he lived every day. Aptly, one of Turner’s commentators describes his life as an extended work of performance art. Yet, bassist Alex Blake also reluctantly (and with all due respect) likens the experience of being a member of Sun Ra’s communal Arkestra to being in a cult. That shows a rare critical evenhandedness that elevates Do the Impossible above most PBS profiles.

Notably, Turner features commentary from several longtime band-members, including Blake, John Gilmore, and stalwart Marshall Allen, the 101-year-old reed player, who succeeded Sun Ra as leader of the Arkestra. Last year, at the age of 100, Allen released his first session as a solo-leader. He has also been honored as an NEA Jazz Master, which should put the Arkestra’s musical significance in proper perspective.

Bookish, on PBS

Believe it or not, you can find a lot of helpful information in books. This wasn’t such a shocking statement in 1946, back when people were smarter. Gabriel Book would have been considered intelligent during any era, but being a second-hand bookseller sounds like an unlikely background for an amateur detective to many post-War observers. However, Book has connections that help him investigate unusual cases, whether the police like it or not (spoiler alert: they usually don’t). It all seems particularly strange to his new assistant, especially since he has no idea why Book hired him in creator-star Mark Gatiss’s six-episode Bookish, which premieres tomorrow on PBS.

Jack Blunt doesn’t know anything about bookselling. However, he knows a little about crime, having just been released from prison. Regardless, he does not know Book from Adam, so he has no idea why he was hired sight-unseen. Clearly, the Books (Gabriel and Trottie) have some kind of connection to the moody (but essentially decent) young man. Of course, Gatiss takes his time revealing their secret histories, until around the end of episode four.

In the meantime, there will be mysteries to solve, like the suicide of Harkup, the grouchy old pharmacist, which isn’t really a suicide in the first two-parter, “Slightly Foxed.” Arguably, these episodes best capitalize on the post-War setting, because the murder somehow also involves the discovery of an ancient plague pit, unearthed beneath the rubble of a London Blitz bomb-site.

“Deadly Nitrate” evokes the spirit of vintage 1940s-Cecil Beaton British movie glamor, without actually depicting any real-life stars. Instead, a fan dies from poisoned chocolates intended for either Stewart Howard or Sandra Dare, the fictional reigning sweethearts of the screen. Part one starts strong, but part two bogs down in a frustrating preoccupation with Book’s sexuality, which starts to sabotage the cozy mystery vibe.

Unfortunately, both parts of “Such Devoted Sisters” take these identity themes even further. Having temporarily fallen out with Book, Blunt accepts a position as a bodyguard for expatriate Balkan princesses dispossessed by the Communist regime. It seems their persons really did need guarding, when a caddish playboy war vet suddenly croaks after drinking a cocktail mixed for one of the princesses. However, Gatiss and co-writers Matthew Sweet and Tim Morris have far less sympathy for the refugee royals then they do for Eadie Rattle, a stridently Marxist hotel maid—even though by this time, the Soviet horrors were already coming to light.

A show like Bookish is at its best when it is light and frothy. Generally, that is how Gatiss plays Book too, emphasizing his erudition. Yet, he and the series are undermined by the intrusive class warfare and sexual orientation politics. Indeed, the concluding two-parter gets downright lectury, whereas the only social issue Bookish should fixate on is literacy.

The Great Escaper: Sir Michael Caine’s Final Role

One of the most incredible things about “The Greatest Generation” is that they never really knew how great they were. Yet, with every passing year, it becomes increasingly apparent to the rest of us (especially Gen X’ers, who have seen who came after). Indeed, at the advanced age of 90, the late Bernard Jordan realized he probably would not live to see the 75^th anniversary of the Normandy landing, so he was determined to attend the 70^th, even if he had to “escape” from his nursing home, which is essentially what he did. Give thanks to the Allied veterans like Jordan who truly saved civilization by watching Oliver Parker’s The Great Escaper, now available on the PBS app.

If this sounds familiar, maybe you already watched Terry Loane’s The Last Rifleman, starring Pierce Brosnan. It also happens to be a worthy film. Both follow similar story arcs, but Parker and screenwriter William Ivory specifically identify their protag as Jordan, a Royal Navy vet, while Brosnan’s Artie Crawford served with the Royal Ulster Rifles.

At 90, Jordan is understandably feeling his age, but not as much as his beloved but ailing wife Irene. She needs the care-giver staff close at hand, but he is sufficiently ambulatory to consider traveling to France. Unfortunately, the home director wasn’t adequately organized to book him into a tour package, if she even tried, so he simply ambles off on his own.

Of course, his service opens many doors and forges an immediate rapport with Arthur Howard-Johnson, a veteran of the RAF. In fact, both Jordan and Howard-Johnson unjustly carry guilt over wartime tragedies beyond their control. Hopefully, their pilgrimage will help them come to terms with their lingering ghosts.

Frankly, both Michael Caine and Brosnan did Jordan equal justice with their performances. It would be hard to favor one over the other. Nevertheless, thematically, Jordan seems like a fitting role for Caine to end his career on (having announced his retirement at an early screening of this film). However, Parker and the special effects team to a vastly superior job of recreating the war during flashback sequences than Loane and his colleagues.

John Standing (who served in WWII and whose ancestor built Bletchley Park) is also truly outstanding as Howard-Johnson. Arguably, his portrayal is even more conflicted and vulnerable than Caine’s work. (Yet, The Last Rifleman similarly boasts John Amos’s moving final screen appearance, as a somewhat analogous character).

American Heart in WWI, on PBS

There were more American casualties during the Meuse-Argonne than in any other battle, in any other war. Yet, most Americans rarely think about WWI, despite its drastic geopolitical consequences. “The Great War” also inspired celebrated literature and enduring songs, all of which historian John Monsky incorporated into the remarkable concert presentation American Heart in WWI: A Carnegie Hall Tribute, which premieres tonight on PBS.

Encompassing multimedia, staged readings, and a full symphony orchestra, Monsky and five Broadway performers present WWI through the eyes of three soldiers and two women who mourned them. James Reese Europe was a self-made Harlem bandleader, whose Harlem Hellfighters developed a fierce reputation fighting alongside the French, because their white countrymen did not want them. In contrast, Quentin Roosvelt led a privileged life as TR’s son. Monsky frequently compares New York lawyer Charles Whittlesey to Fitzgerald’s Jay Gatsby, who becomes a recurring motif of the staged concert (even though Fitzgerald never saw any direct action).

Vera Brittain chronicled her service as a military nurse in her bestselling memoir Testament of Youth, as well as her grief for her lover, brother, and friends. Likewise, Flora Payne Whitney also hailed from an elite family, but her romance with Roosevelt would be tragically cut short.

There is a good deal of syncopation in the Carnegie Hall concert thanks to Europe. Arguably, he was the biggest bandleader of the late 1910s, who could have been even more significant than Ellington had he lived longer. It is nice to see him get his due in Carnegie Hall, where he played historic concerts with his own orchestra, particularly since his surviving family were there to witness the moment.

In addition to Europe, there is music from many of the Great American Songbook composers, like Jerome Kern, whose “No, We’ll Never Tell” is poignantly expressive of Monsky’s themes. Many of the arrangements are surprisingly sensitive and inventive especially George M. Cohan’s typically martial-sounding “Over There,” which is elegiacally transformed.

Fittingly, there are several selections by Irving Berlin, including tunes he wrote for a revue staged at Camp Upton. There is also a stirring rendition of a tune he cut from the show, but eventually premiered during WWII: “God Bless America.”

Throughout the staging, Monsky skillfully brings his themes full circle. His text undeniably celebrates veterans and America. He also addresses his own family connections in ways that convey the War’s lingering influence rather than shoehorning himself into the narrative.

The Last 600 Meters: The Battles of Najaf and Fallujah, on PBS

“I think we left too soon.” That is not a so-called “neocon” from the Bush administration speaking. It was current Democrat congressman and Iraq War veteran Seth Mouton discussing the decision to pull out of Najaf. As he and many of his fellow veterans remember the battle, they were on the verge of scoring a decisive victory over the Mahdi Militia, when the politicians agreed to a cease-fire. Unfortunately, political considerations overruling battlefield realities are a recurring theme in Michael Pack’s documentary The Last 600 Meters: The Battles of Najaf and Fallujah, which premieres this Monday on PBS.

Although it premieres tomorrow, Pack’s film consists of interviews that were recorded in 2007, while memories were still fresh (and the participates were clearly inclined towards candor). Fallujah and Najaf ae still considered the American military’s largest battles since the Vietnam War, but there is little understanding of what actually happened, making Pack’s film quite valuable and even necessary viewing.

Time and again, the Marines and Army were forced to pull back just right when they were on the brink of a dealing a crippling blow to the Daesh-adjacent insurgents. In the case of the First Battle of Fallujah, this was particularly galling to the interviewed veterans, because the battle was initially ignited by the humiliating Black Hawk Down-inspired display of the bodies of three murdered American contractors.

However, there were some lessons learned. For weeks, Al-Jazeera broadcast propaganda claiming American forces were intentionally damaging the Fallujah hospital, inflaming the local population against coalition forces (sounds familiar, right?). Consequently, securing the hospital became the first objective of the final big push into Fallujah to silence the disinformation.

In a way, the American military applied those lessons in Najaf when Muqtada al-Sadr occupied the sacred Imam Ali Shrine. Rules of engagement were devised that prevented damage to the mosque, yet still ultimately “squeezed out” the insurgents. At least it seemed to be working until DC agreed to another frustrating cease fire.

Clearly, there are a lot of lessons learned about house-to-house fighting. Again, the Army and Marines developed largely successful techniques that pushed insurgents from densely populated areas to more open industrial districts. Hopefully, these battles will remain in the services’ institutional memories and find a way into the academies’ curriculum.

Brian and Maggie, on PBS

When he was in Parliament, Brian Walden was sort of like Labour’s Joe Manchin. He grew up culturally identifying with the Party, but became increasingly uncomfortable with its socialist extremists. As a result, when he joined the media as a long-form interviewer, Thatcher identified him as someone she could “do business” with. She was right, up until 1989. That fateful interview gets the Frost-Nixon treatment in the two-part Brian and Maggie, directed by Stephen Frears, which premieres tonight on PBS.

But seriously, shouldn’t it be called, Maggie and Brian? Thatcher remains a towering figure of 20^th Century history, but who remembers Walden, beyond British Gen X’ers (and older viewers)? Regardless, he was a prominent fixture of the early 1980s media landscape. Much to his London Weekend Television colleagues’ frustration, Walden developed a cordial relationship with Thatcher during her rise to power and the early years of her administration.

In fact, the first episode is surprisingly fair to Thatcher, essentially admitting, via Walden, that the UK was stagnating under socialism and desperately needed economic liberalization to spur competitiveness. Frears and screenwriter James Graham also show how Thatcher and Walden bonded through their similar lower economic backgrounds and commitment to meritocracy for all. In fact, the acknowledgement of the sexism the future Baroness Thatcher faced, even within her party, leads to Walden’s understanding why she can never admit weakness, which he exploits in the second episode.

Essentially, Thatcher’s downfall comes because she refuses to cop to any mistakes leading up to the resignation of her Chancellor, Nigel Lawson. Tell the truth, when was the last time you thought about Nigel Lawson? As presented by Graham, their key bone of contention was Thatcher’s close professional relationship with economic advisor Alan Walters, but the underlying issue was how tightly the exchange rate for the pound should be tied to Europe.

Lawson wanted to peg the Pound to the then Deutschmark at a rate of one to three, while Thatcher and Walters opposed exchange rate controls. Given Brexit and the austerity forced on many EU nations after relinquishing their ability to set national monetary policy, Thatcher’s skepticism of tying the Pound to Europe seems entirely vindicated. Consequently, it is hard to believe Walden’s interview could be so damaging—yet it was at the time.

Maigret, on PBS

A quick afternoon drink can still help fight crime. However, smoking a pipe is now frowned upon, but Chief Inspector Jules Maigret still carries his late father’s unlit pipe, as something to fiddle with to help him think. Georges Simenon’s famous slath is still an unusually cerebral copper, but this time around, he is younger and dramatically less jowly. Benjamin Wainwright joins the fraternity of Charles Laughton, Jean Gabin, Rupert Davies, and Gerard Depardieu (whose 2022 Maigret movie suddenly became far less commercial, thanks to his bro-mance with Putin), conspicuously standing out from fellow Maigrets. Regardless, the titular police inspector remains as incisive and intuitive as ever in creator-lead writer Patrick Harbinson’s six-episode Maigret, which premieres tomorrow on PBS.

As season one opens, Maigret has only just been promoted to Chief Inspector of “Le Crim” (a.k.a. the “Criminal Brigade,” much like the Major Case Squad in Law & Order: Criminal Intent), but he is already under tremendous pressure from Prosecutor Mathilde Kernavel to catch a gang of sophisticated armed robbers. Yet, much to her frustration, he is more interested in investigating the untimely death of Honore Cuendet, a refined cat burglar, whose philosophy of stealing, combining elements of elitism and egalitarianism, always amused Maigret.

Unfortunately, his seemingly questionable priorities offer an opportunity for Inspector Cavre, the rival Maigret was promoted over, to undermine his authority with the prosecutor. The rest of the Squad is solidly Team Maigret, particularly Sgt. Lucas (who is now a woman). “The Lazy Burglar” establishes Harbinson’s template, combining a classic, titular Simenon novel, with a second original, more contemporary mystery. He still spruces up the classic case, turning Maigret’s prime murder suspect into grotesquely wealthy Syrian wheeler-dealer, closely connected to the current regime.

The initial two-parter also introduces us to Madame Louise Maigret, the Chief Inspector’s beloved wife, who is also quite a bit younger than usual, but their close partnership represents the most important consistency with the previous Maigret productions fans know and love. In fact, this might be the most heartfelt, touching marriage currently depicted on television.

Maigret and Kernavel are initially on the same page at the start of “Maigret’s Failure,” investigating the disappearance of a popular influencer. Unfortunately, the Ministry insists Maigret take time out to protect Fumal, a widely despised, but powerful captain of industry. Ironically, Fumal personally requested Maigret, his old childhood nemesis, whom he now hoped to have as his new bodyguard. Instead, Maigret deduces Fumal fabricated the threats, so he cancels the protection detail. Super awkwardly, Fumal is murdered shortly after.

Although Harbinson takes a lot of liberties with Simenon’s stories, episodes three and four are good exampless of how he captures a good deal of the darkness Maigret often confronts in the novels. “Failure” also nicely leads into the next two-fer mystery, “Maigret Comes Home,” by establishing Maigret’s thorny relationship with the Countess de Saint-Fiacre, his father’s former employer. Unfortunately, the Countess becomes the victim in the two-part conclusion. Sadly, Maigret couldn’t return in time to save her, but he stays long enough crack the case, even though he is supposed to be in Paris tracking down a random psych killer.

Professor T: Overboard

After three seasons of therapy sessions, you would think Prof. Jasper Tempest would have made some progress overcoming his OCD quirks. Unfortunately, he started making headway by the third season, but then the murder of his former student and primary police contact Lisa Donckers sent him spiraling backwards. Tempest’s shrink, Dr. Helena Goldberg, initially recommends a return to crime-solving as therapy, but she will also request his consulting detective expertise for personal reasons in “Overboard,” which launches the fourth season of Professor T, premiering tonight on PBS.

A death on a cruise ship is a premise worthy of Dame Agatha. However, initially only rookie DS Chloe Highsmith suspects foul play in the presumed drowning of Ophelia McQueen. To be fair, DS (and acting DI) Dan Winters might be a bit distracted mourning Donckers, with whom he had a rather complicated relationship. However, revelations of some nasty texts and further suspicious circumstances prompt a more pointed investigation.

It turns out, Dr. Goldberg is an old friend of McQueen’s mother, so she would like Tempest to apply his anti-social genius to the case. Of course, Tempest is incapable of responding with grace, but eventually he starts his own investigation, with all the prickliness of his first season self. At this point, the only person of his limited social circle willing to help happens to be his free-spirited Aunt Zelda Radclyffe, who agreed to visit while Tempest’s mother tours Europe. Frankly, she really came more for the dog, but she can drive.

Fortunately, this will be a case Tempest can solve like Nero Wolfe, without access to the crime scene. Yet, he still gets himself into trouble. Regardless, writer Stephen Brady pens some clever parsing of witness statements. Still, it seems like this episode fails to capitalize on a promising crime scene. However, it accomplishes its primary goal: getting Tempest back in the game.

Renaissance: The Blood and the Beauty, on PBS

Michelangelo is often called a “Renaissance Man,” but he lived well into the Reformation. Fittingly, some of the talking heads dub his The Last Judgement a great work of Reformation art, because it is all about sinners burning you know where. Maybe even Savonarola would have approved—but probably not. Of course, Savonarola was very much a part of the Renaissance Era, if not its spirit. Indeed, the violence he unleashed fits right in with dual themes of director-producer Emma Frank’s three-part Renaissance: The Blood and the Beauty, which premieres tomorrow on PBS.

Poor Botticelli and Donatello might feel left out, because Frank largely focuses on Michelangelo’s professional rivalries with Da Vinci and Raphael. Clearly, Frank favors Team Michelangelo, since she incorporates dramatic monologues performed by Charles Dance, in the persona and costume of Michelangelo, adapted from the artist’s own writings. Indeed, Michelangelo had to compete against Da Vinci’s lofty reputation and Raphael’s political acumen, but he outlasted them both.

Frank and company frequently remind viewers of the dangers that came with living in the late 1400s, but that should not come as a great revelation to anyone who watched CW’s Leonardo. After all, both Da Vinci and Michelangelo secured good paying patronage work designing arms and fortifications.

Although wider in scope, The Blood and the Beauty feels a lot like Ken Burns’ Leonardo da Vinci, but with less impressive experts. Weirdly, Frank assembles a number of filmmakers and a “sex historian” (spare us, please) to compliment usual suspects like Walter Isaacson. (Burns’ film also features more distinctive music and narration, thanks to the contributions of Keth David and Caroline Shaw.)

Blue, on PBS

His iconic canine reportedly lent his name to the so-called “Blue Dog Coalition” of [mostly] Southern centrist Democrats that hardly exists anymore (ten and dwindling). More fittingly, George Rodrigue’s popular character has been pictured with many of New Orleans’ favorite sons, such as Louis Armstrong and Al Hirt. He has become a symbol of Louisiana, but before the Blue Dog, Rodrigue also preserved evocative images of his Cajun heritage. Sean O’Malley chronicles his life and work in Blue: The Life and Art of George Rodrigue, which premieres this Thursday on participating PBS stations.

Everyone knows the Blue Dog from national ad campaigns commissioned by the likes of Xerox and Absolut. He also hangs in major museums, but establishment acceptance took quite a while. Blue Dog just seemed like too much fun to be serious art. Yet, those big eyes have a haunting vibe.

Regardless, O’Malley and company rightfully take considerable time establishing the importance of his earlier work, depicting the everyday life of Cajuns, as well as their folklore. In fact, the Blue Dog originally came out of his folkloric output, originating as a depiction of the loup-garou for a book of spooky tales.

Arguably, the portrait that emerges of Rodrigue most likely conforms to the expectations of viewers and admirers. He came from modest means and overcame considerable adversity to become one of America’s most recognizable artists. He had a passion for life and New Orleans Saints football, but Hurricane Katrina’s tragic impact on his community sent Rodrigue into a deep depression.

American Experience: Mr. Polaroid, on PBS

He made the original selfies possible. His company’s instant photography provided immediate gratification, but their photos were still developed on film, so people generally saved it for moments that meant something. His company gave Kodak a run for its money and remains fondly remembered. The entrepreneurial career of Edwin Land and the rise and fall of the company he created are chronicled in director-writer Gene Tempest’s Mr. Polaroid, which airs this Monday as part of the current season of American Experience on PBS.

Tempest almost immediately likens Land, a Harvard drop-out, to some of the tech titans who followed his example, like Jobs and Gates. The comparison is apt. Land started his company developing a polarization technique to minimize car headlight glare. Detroit was not interested, so he ap[plied his technology to other uses, including gun-sights, which led to major defense contracts during WWII. Of course, he knew (and hoped) the war would not last forever, so he started R&D on his instant photography concept.

Eventually, Land launched Polaroid’s first instant camera at a media event that had serious Steve Jobs vibes. At the time, it was big and bulky, but the news photographers were still dazzled. However, it took years before Polaroid refined the process into a handheld device. He also pioneered the more laidback corporate culture that continues to be associated with the tech sector. Yet, Tempest still found plenty of former employees to complain about Land’s policies.

Ironically, Land was unusually progressive for his time, especially in his efforts to hire and promote women and black recruits. Nevertheless, some employees were apparently resentful that Land did not completely adopt every single one of their political positions. Yet, he clearly had a greater social conscience than many of his contemporaries, while also serving as unofficial technical advisor to the U.S. government on aerial surveillance photography.

Now Hear This: Rachmaninoff Reborn, on PBS

Sergei Rachmaninoff reinvented himself more profoundly than Madonna ever has. Shortly after the Bolshevik revolution, the Rachmaninoff family was exiled with the only the contents of their luggage to their name (but it was a good name). Due to the economics of music publishing at the time, Rachmaninoff could not viably support his family as composer in America, so he launched a second career as a concert pianist, from basically nothing. Of course, he still had his reputation—and his freedom. Violinist Scott Yoo and his guests celebrate Rachmaninoff’s second life in America (and his summers on Lake Lucerne) in Rachmaninoff Reborn, the latest episode of the Great Performances sub-series, Now Hear This, which airs this Friday on PBS.

While they do not belabor the horrors of Communism, Yoo and company clearly assert a Romantic composer like Rachmaninoff could never meaningfully create under the rigid Socialist Realist aesthetics mandated by the new regime. He was lucky to get out while the getting was good. Indeed, Russian-born, British-naturalized pianist draws painful parallels between Rachmaninoff’s expatriation and the experiences of contemporary Russian artists forced into exile under Putin.

At the age of 44, Rachmaninoff essentially launched his concert career, quickly becoming one of the world’s most popular performers. Yoo and his experts argue Rachmaninoff succeeded because he had the talent. He was also one of the earliest musicians with the recorded legacy to prove it, including early 78s and a vintage player-piano roll, which are presented during special listening sessions.

As Ukrainian-American photographer explains, Rachmaninoff was also an early adopter of technology, so he left a wealth of photographs documenting his family during casual moments. Frankly, it is remarkable how well documented his life was, entirely because the traditional old Russian aristocrat was so receptive to the fruits of modernism, even including psychoanalysis.

Simon Schama: The Holocaust, 80 Years On, on PBS

Simon Schama became one of the unlikeliest bestsellers of 1989, when Citizens, his nearly thousand-page history of the French Revolution hit the NY Times list. He subsequently became one of the leading chroniclers of the Jewish people. However, he always tried to avoid presenting their history as a “march” towards the Holocaust. Nevertheless, at some point, the enormity of it becomes inescapable. The eighty-year-old historian explains the tragic history of the Holocaust, from the places where it happened in Simon Schama: The Holocaust, 80 Years On, directed by Hugo Macgregor, which airs this Tuesday on PBS.

Schama begins with some grim statistics that explain why this program is so needed: “nearly a quarter of young Americans believe the holocaust did not happen, or has been exaggerated,” that would be the student “activists” turning campuses into cauldrons of hate, and “one in twenty Britons think the Holocaust never happened.”

As you can see from the art provided, Schama eventually takes viewers to Auschwitz-Birkenau, but he starts in Kaunas, Lithuania, which he identifies as the first major city occupied by the Germans, where the locals voluntarily and enthusiastically massacred their fellow Jewish citizens, under the watchful, approving eyes of the National Socialists. The killing was not as systematized and industrialized as it was in concentration camps, but it would be impossible for the local populace to deny their culpability.

Yes, dreadfully, pogroms were not uncommon throughout Eastern Europe during the decades and even centuries preceding WWII. That is why Schama emphasizes the case of the Netherlands, which was considered a haven of tolerance, much like Britain across the North Sea. Yet, despite initial acts of solidarity, Dutch Jewry suffered the highest mortality rate of any Western European nation during the Holocaust—a grim 75%.

The example of the Netherlands seems particularly applicable to our current times. Nobody thought something like that could happen there, but it did. Do you really think it couldn’t happen here, when the Jewish Governor of Pennsylvania and his family are targeted in an explicit act of political terror, with practically no media outrage once the motives were uncovered?

American Masters: Art Spiegelman Disaster is My Muse

Art Spiegelman helped force the world to remember some of its darkest history, with his Pulitzer-Prize-winning graphic novel, Maus. Essentially, he adapted his parents’ tragic real-life experiences during the Holocaust, but he anthropomorphized the Jews as mice and the National Socialists as cats. Yet, this film has a weirdly selective relationship with recent history. It ends before the October 7^th terror attacks that are widely recognized as the largest mass-killing of Jews since the Holocaust. However, the filmmakers managed to find time to edit out Neil Gaiman’s appearance, which caused some consternation when the film screened at festivals, presumably due to assault allegations against the English author. Regardless, there is an inescapable feeling of prematureness to Molly Bernstein & Philip Dolin’s Art Spiegelman: Disaster is My Muse, which airs tomorrow on PBS, as part of the current season of American Masters.

The first forty-five minutes or so of Disaster is quite strong, because it really focuses on the past, without attempting to score political points in the present. Spiegelman retraces his career, starting with an internship at Topps collector cards that led to a long-standing freelance relationship. He became one of the stars of the underground comix movement, along with his late friend, R. Crumb, whom we see attending a dinner party at Spiegelman’s.

For over a decade, Spiegelman worked on the two-volume Maus, continually interviewing and re-interviewing his father, since his mother had died under painful circumstances during his childhood. Spiegelman is the first to admit he was shocked by the reception, including best-seller lists and the Pulitzer Prize. Arguably, the timing was just right since publication of the two volumes in 1986 and 1991, releasing between Claude Lanzmann’s Shoah (1985) and Spielberg’s Schindler’s List (1993), a period when mainstream readers really started educating themselves on the full implications of the Shoah.

The second half of Disaster largely focuses on Spiegelman coming to terms with his unexpected success and figuring out what to do next. Arguably, his lack of focus was detrimental to Bernstein & Dolin’s profile as well. Eventually, they present him as an impassioned warrior against censorship, but such terms are somewhat disingenuous. There are no laws against reading any books in Texas or Florida (the two states primarily mentioned). Certain school boards have, ill-advisedly, decided certain titles are not appropriate for young readers. The fact that Maus was one such title is foolish irony that discredits their entire judgement—yet, the fact remains school boards make these kind of decisions everyday, in one direction or another, because space and acquisition budgets are limited.

Independent Lens: We Want the Funk

It is not a coincidence bass players are so well represented in this documentary. Funk would not be funk without those funky bass lines, so naturally bassists like Marcus Miller, Christian McBride, Michael Veal, and Carlos Alomar are happy to talk about the groovy music. McBride is best known for jazz and Miller has played just about everything, but they were all influenced by funk greats like Larry Graham and Bootsy Collins. Of course, everyone was also influenced by James Brown, who continues to shape music, particularly hip hop, as the most sampled recording artist of all-time (unless you count Clyde Stubblefield, the actual drummer on Brown’s “Funky Drummer” track). Regardless, filmmakers Stanley Nelson & Nicole London chronicle the incredibly danceable music in “We Want the Funk,” which airs tomorrow on PBS, as part of the current season of Independent Lens.

As the battery of bassists explain, funk was built on a deceptively simple sounding groove. However, really locking into the rhythmic patterns required a lot of rehearsal. Alomar would know, because he was hired (and fired) by James Brown. Funk decidedly contrasted with the more “genteel” and scrupulously non-political Motown, as the somewhat polemical opening explains. (However, nobody mentions James Brown’s later endorsement of Richard Nixon).

Nelson, London, and their cast of expert musicians do a nice job explaining how innovators like George Clinton of Parliament-Funkadelic and Sly Stone developed the sounds that became funk, while the messages of James Brown’s anthems such as “Say It Loud” captured the zeitgeist of their era. Brown also became an international sensation, who was beloved throughout the newly independent African nations.

Similarly, Nelson and London explain how African artists like Fela Kuti and Manu Dibango (who also sounded pretty “jazzy”) synthesized American funk, fused it with their Afrobeat and “Makossa” styles, and then successfully re-imported their funk back to American listeners. There is also some nice coverage of Afrofuturistic expressions in funk, which references the great avant-garde jazz bandleader (and self-proclaimed Saturn resident) Sun Ra.

American Masters: The Disappearance of Miss Scott, on PBS

Hazel Scott led a working trio that featured genuine jazz legends as sidemen: Max Roach on drums and Charles Mingus on bass. They even released a classic LP on the Debut Records label, which was founded by Mingus and Roach. In the 1930s and 1940s, she was one of the most famous jazz musicians in American, but the public largely forgot her during her expatriate period in France. Director-producer Nicole London and Scott’s admirers (as well as her son) take stock of her life and legacy in The Disappearance of Miss Scott, which airs this Friday on PBS as part of the current season of American Masters.

Scott was a true prodigy, whose notoriety grew steadily since she first performed professionally as a young child. However, her friend Billie Holiday boasted her to a new level when she arranged for Scott to replace her as the headliner at Barney Josephson’s Café Society. At the height of her fame, Scott had the clout to demand integrated audiences, even when she toured the deep south. She also attracted the eye of Congressman Adam Clayton Powell.

At the time, they were a way more glamorous political and entertainment power couple than Cheryl Hines and RFK Jr. ever were. However, they drifted apart, especially when her tour of France turned into an extended residency.

Rightfully, London’s cast of commentators make a big deal out of Scott’s weekly television show, which did indeed predate Nat King Cole’s by several years. She definitely deserved recognition as TV’s first weekly Black primetime host. However, they somewhat misleadingly make it sound like it was an act of vindictiveness when all tapes of her show were trashed. Tragically, that happened to almost every single episode of original programming that was broadcast on the defunct Dumont Television Network, also sadly including The Gallery of Madame Liu-Tsong, starring Anna Mae Wong, which was the first dramatic series starring an Asian American woman as the lead character.

Fortunately, the talking heads better understand musical history, particularly Jason Moran, who has become a PBS go-to. Scott herself would probably enjoy watching him demonstrate stride and boogie-woogie, both of which she was more proficient in.

Chautauqua at 150: Wynton Marsalis’ All Rise, on PBS

In the late 1990’s, Marsalis was at the peak of his prestige and influence. He already received the Pulitzer Prize for Blood on the Fields. With the turn of the Millennium approaching, Columbia released nine ambitious albums from Marsalis, under the banner of “Swinging into the 21^st.” None was more ambitious than All Rise, commissioned by Kurt Masur, of the New York Philharmonic, in memory of his schoolboy days under the Nazi and East German Communist regimes. Yet, it would have its concert debut shortly after 9/11. Nearly a quarter century later, Marsalis staged a concert performance at Chautauqua, during the reflective season following the brutal attack on Salman Rushdie. It also happened to be one of those big round number anniversaries. Chautauqua takes stock of itself while listening to Marsalis in Chautauqua at 150: Wynton Marsalis’ All Rise, which airs this Tuesday on PBS.

Founded in 1874, the Chautauqua Institute was a product of the Lyceum movement that survived to this day, thanks to its pleasant location and the prominent faculty and presenters it attracts. Several staffers boast the Institute fosters dialogue that encourages understanding among partisans of each other’s positions. Everyone says they learn so much, but nobody actually explains how they changed mind after listening to the other side at Chautauqua. Of course, there is a multi-faith program that talks about phobias and isms rather than human rights and freedoms. Then, on August 22, 2022, Rushdie was attacked so brutally, he spent days on a ventilator and ultimately lost an eye.

To its credit, Chautauqua at 150 spends considerable time covering the attack and its aftermath, but it declines to mention the Institution deliberately refused to implement recommended security measures for Rushdie’s address, because they thought they would “create a divide between the speakers and the audience,” as two sources explained to CNN. Frankly, Chautauqua should probably reflect even further on this incident and what it really means.

Fortunately, jazz has healing powers, so it is frustrating Chautauqua at 150 often has interview subjects talking over the music. However, the backstory of the extended suite and its post-9/11 premiere deserve the time devoted to them. It also speaks to longevity of the Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestras membership since many musicians, including saxophonist Ted Nash and trumpeter Marcus Printup were with the band back in 2001 (in fact, there were with J@LC well before that). As a result, they obviously have seamless cohesion as a band and probably intuitively understand what their leader Marsalis is looking for.

Journey to America, on PBS

People forget, but no president was more supportive of immigration than Ronald Reagan—legal immigration, that is. Former Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich and his wife Callista present portraits of notable American [legal] immigrants very much in the Reaganesque tradition in Journey to America with Newt and Callista Gingrich, which airs this Tuesday night on PBS.

It might seem like a blindingly obvious point, but Prof. Susan Hanssen helpfully points out legal immigration is good, because it allows those who follow the law coming here can fully benefit from the rule of law as a recognized member of society. Conversely, illegal immigration is bad for the same reason. Indeed, all of the Gingrichs’ subjects came to America legally, duly taking citizenship over time.

This is quite a starry lineup, including Golden Age movie star Hedy Lamarr, whose contributions as an inventor and scientist are also cogently explained. In fact, the Gingrichs largely cover the same territory as Bombshell: The Hedy Lamarr Story, but with greater economy. As you would expect from the Catholic Gingrichs, their coverage of Saint Frances Xavier Cabrini, the first American citizen beautified into Sainthood, is also quite strong. It also reminds potential visitors the Cabrini Shrine in upper Manhattan is lovely often overlooked attraction.

Perhaps the most controversial segment focuses on the late Henry Kissinger, reminding viewers the future Secretary of State came to America with his Jewish family, as penniless refugees from National Socialist Germany. It makes you wonder why the hard left likes to smear Kissinger (a diplomat), who happens to be Jewish, as a “war criminal,” instead of Robert McNamara, Dean Rusk, or William Rogers, but not really.