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Welcome Aboard, Ally by Karen Lurie When it first premiered, Ally McBeal was somewhat unique, if over-hyped. Never had a show with a 12-year-old girl as a heroine taken place in a law firm before. Besides having the body of a preteen, Calista Flockhart imbued her mannered, twitching, stuttering, eye-darting, finger-fellating Ally with the self-absorbed petulance of a child, complete with doing little dances or falling down to bring focus back to her. She would sulk in the streets of Boston, despite her privileged life, like the anti-Mary Richards, defining herself, like so many preteen girls, by her lack of boyfriend, with the camera worshipping her doe-eyed malaise. Ally’s pouty raison d”tre — that she "believes in love," that she has a "romantic soul," that no one understands her lofty convictions — is as Preteen Girl as it gets. And yet somehow, the show was considered by many to be a provocative depiction of Today’s Woman. Then, Ally’s law firm seemed to start focusing solely on sexual harassment cases, when any law was being practiced at all, and Ally soon morphed from the story of a skinny, neurotic Boston lawyer into a raunchier retread of Three’s Company. Everyone leered at everyone: The John Cage character moved one step away from becoming Don "Mr. Furley" Knotts; old chestnuts like the "eavesdropping" gag were dragged out of the Komedy Kloset; the characters ended up the Regal Beagle-type bar every night; and the kisses were hers and hers and his — at least during sweeps periods. Last season, Ally started depending on a rotating roster of semi-regulars, such as Robert Downey Jr. and Anne Heche, and guest stars like Wayne Newton, Cheri Oteri, Christine Lahti and Sting. This season, with many of its regulars (Lucy Liu, Taye Diggs, Lisa Nicole Carson) either leaving or cutting down their airtime, we’ve already seen Elton John, Jacqueline Bisset and Mariah Carey, and Jon Bon Jovi recently joined the cast for a much-hyped nine-episode run. But even with all this stunt casting, Ally is stale and in big ratings trouble. It’s lost its buzz appeal, not to mention as much as one-fourth its audience since its season premiere. Industry experts are warning David E. Kelley to do something soon, or it could be curtains for Ally. But all Ally needs is to make a slight course correction and hit the decks, so to speak. Think about it: What other show featured wacky one-dimensional regulars, leering innuendo, weekly B-list star turns, leering innuendo, a tenuous balance of heavy-handed moralizing and comic relief, leering innuendo and obligatory musical numbers? Right. The Love Boat.
Yes, during much of the Reagan administration, if you were a B-, C-, or D-list celebrity who had gotten a little older, a little thicker, a little less relevant, you could set a course for adventure on the Pacific Princess. On The Love Boat, "stars" from the Landers sisters to Dick Van Patten to Andy Warhol could join together at the Captain’s table for a metaphorical chorus of "Don’t You Forget About Me." Careers in limbo, they must have been relieved to sample the cruise’s hefty buffet. You can (and should) relive the heady days of the original Love Boat on TVLand (the only place on TV besides the news channels where folks can be bald, fat and middle-aged), which takes a spangly cruise every weeknight at 8 p.m. Go ahead … it won’t hurt anymore. Today, the question marks of celebrity are stinking up the primetime game show circuit, sending that genre into the dumper faster than department stores can send Regis’ monochromatic ties back to the warehouses. These "TV personalities" need a new Lido Deck, and Ally McBeal is already on its way to becoming The Love Boat Mach II. If Kelley and Company would just go whole hog, it could save Ally’s bony ass before its ratings drop into oblivion.
It would be a smooth transition. Think of Kelley as the unseen, yet ubiquitous Captain. There’s Ally as Julie, your twitchy, too-thin cruise director (though not due to coke this time), Fish as the lecherous, sex-obsessed Doc, Cage as the goofy Gopher and Nelle as the prissy Vicki. All that’s left to do is change the name of the show to The Law Boat, set the characters adrift on the high seas, and give these new theme song lyrics to Vonda Shepherd for her lite-rock voice to tackle:
Law The Law Boat We like litigation Law It’s Law Karen Lurie is a writer living in New York City. She contributes to HoleCity, Modern Humorist and Flak Magazine.
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