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There’s Something About “Mary”, Part Three

TV Comedy

Part OnePart TwoPart Three • Part Four (Coming soon!)

Previously, we talked about the history of Mary Tyler Moore’s 1978 variety series Mary, and analysed a half-finished episode hanging around online which was never transmitted. You would think that the story surrounding this show is already complicated enough, and it couldn’t get any more confusing.

Allow me to dissuade you of that notion.

There is one more video of material which originated from Mary on YouTube. This one is named “‘Mary’ Episode (unaired?) – 1978”. I won’t keep you in suspense; comparing the contents of this video with what was billed in contemporary newspapers, I can confirm that it was indeed unaired.1

Unlike the previous unaired episode, this isn’t an unedited studio tape, but looks to be – mainly – completed. (I’ll be coming back to the “mainly” qualifier.) And more than that: unlike the other unaired material, we can actually come up with the date when this episode was supposed to have been broadcast: the 15th October 1978. A show which was supposed to air fourth in the run, and then was cancelled before transmission.

We don’t have to rely on guesswork when it comes to this. Plenty of contemporary newspaper coverage proves it beyond doubt. For instance, Cecil Smith reported the following in The Los Angeles Times on the 16th October:

“I wonder if CBS didn’t blow the whistle too early on “Mary,” which the network cancelled late last week. […] The show you didn’t see Sunday night was one of the brightest hours of the year. […]

I had dropped by the set of “Mary” to watch the show last month. At the time, they were working on their ninth show—they did 11. Unlike some of my colleagues, I was not too taken with the opening show on “Mary” — I thought it rather self-conscious and self-serving, despite the Ed Asner Dancers. They found another show for me to see – the Oct. 15 edition.

There were wonderful things in it. Mary revisited the set of the old Mary Tyler Moore Show, the newsroom of WJZ-TV in Minneapolis, where, as Mary Richards, she became a national institution. It seems the “atmosphere” – the extras who worked in the background while Mary, Lou, Murray and Ted occupied center stage – had never been told the series had ended. They were still at their desks, covered with cobwebs.

(“When I stepped on that set,” Mary told me later, “that was catch-in-the-throat time. There were tears.”)

In another marvellously funny sequence, she played Phyllis Marlowe, who had taken the place of her brother Philip, the private eye. The scene was choreographed hilariously to a narrator doing Raymond Chandler—it was beautiful parody down to the last elaborate metaphor.

And there was a number with Dick Shawn in which he languorously sang “Send in the Clowns” while a ballet of clowns came in and threw pies at him, tore his clothes off and generally did what clowns do.”

Yet again, this is an example of somebody who enjoyed Mary, despite most people treating it these days as something which was “obviously” terrible. And this is someone who hadn’t blindly loved the show – they disliked the first episode, and then were won round, albeit by (clearly flagged) unbroadcast material. I do realise I keep banging this drum, but it really is important to acknowledge that the way the show is usually talked about these days wasn’t a uniform opinion back in 1978, despite the poor audience figures.

Anyway, hopefully my main point is clear: every single sketch mentioned in Cecil Smith’s piece is in the video embedded at the top of this article. So case closed: this video really does contain the episode which was meant to air on the 15th October.

*   *   *

Back in 2017, the blog Tune in Tonight published a piece about Mary. It’s a piece which uses the video embedded at the top of this article as its main reference point. I have to be honest, I disagree with much of it – I could, for instance, put together a fair defence of the pushy date sketch as a very intentional piece of satire against awful men, rather than just bad jokes about date rape. But at least the article is trying to analyse specifics about the show, rather than just chucking around cliches.

Unfortunately, it also makes a bad mistake. Right at the end of the piece we are told:

Original airdate: September 24, 1978
Watch it here

And it quickly becomes clear that the writer has got confused about things entirely, and thinks that this video represents the first ever episode of Mary, and the first thing audiences in 1978 saw of the show. In reality, the only chance anybody outside the TV industry would have had a chance to see this material is if they, say, wrote for The Los Angeles Times.

Which means there’s a whole level of understanding regarding this material which Tune in Tonight is missing. As an example, it’s worth watching the striking sketch where Mary visits the WJM newsroom from The Mary Tyler Moore Show, from 2:04.2 Tune in Tonight has the following to say about it:

“Although one can assume that Moore was hoping audiences would see her as something other than Mary Richards, it’s not even three minutes into the episode before there’s a gag involving her returning to the old Mary Tyler Moore Show set, where extras are sitting covered in cobwebs, evidently awaiting her arrival. She looks around wistfully, and though it was likely unintentional, it puts a bummer edge on the show, as if she’s acknowledging that it’s a dud, and wants to be back in a familiar setting as much as her fans do.”

Here’s what I find fascinating about the sketch: the fact it wasn’t broadcast changes it significantly. It feels like it was intended to be a huge moment – a real talking point for the show. The fact that this attention-grabbing material never even made it to air in order to actually grab people’s attention is ten times more melancholy than anything Tune in Tonight identifies in the sketch itself.

As for the analysis regarding the end of the episode:

“The show closes with “whatever happened to” cards for each of the actors (even though the program would return the following week). In a gag that, even 24 hours after I watched it, I still don’t understand, Michael Keaton’s is left blank.”

Of course, the program didn’t return the following week. It didn’t even return “this week”. And as for why Michael Keaton’s still is left blank… I don’t think it’s a gag at all. I think this part of the show simply wasn’t quite completed, at least in the edit we have access to.

This is the problem when unfinished, unbroadcast TV shows are subjected to analysis by people who don’t understand how to interpret them. Special rules apply when dealing with programmes like this. Nothing about that video is how a real viewer experienced Mary back in 1978, and unless you understand this, it’s difficult to judge the show correctly or fairly.

*   *   *

The problem with Mary is that, wherever you turn, we run into problems similar to the above. And not just in YouTube videos, or in blog posts. In actual, professionally published books as well.

In the first part of this article, I mentioned that Mary and Lou and Rhoda and Ted (Simon & Schuster, 2013) has a brief and unflattering mention of Mary:

“The show faltered from the start, trying to combine sincere musical numbers with the “edgy” humor that made Saturday Night Live popular. To wit, one memorable number had Keaton and Letterman dressed up like characters from a scene in Deliverance, singing the Village People song ‘Macho Man.'”

I have to say, I would very much like to see Michael Keaton and David Letterman sing “Macho Man”. Sadly, it’s not online. And more to the point: I can’t find a single mention of such a routine appearing on the show in contemporary newspaper previews and reviews of Mary. Hmmmmmm.

So where is it mentioned? Well, it’s a story which has been repeatedly told by Merrill Markoe, a woman whose ludicrously influential career in comedy over many years is going to get completely ignored by me, in favour of her work on… hey, guess which show?

In the book And Here’s the Kicker (F+W, 20093) by Mike Sacks, Merrill tells us the following:

“Dave and I worked on a 1978 CBS variety show called Mary starring Mary Tyler Moore and featuring Michael Keaton… it was cancelled after three or four episodes, even though 60 Minutes was the lead-in and Mary Tyler Moore was America’s Sweetheart. The show was an uncomfortable combination of old showbiz-style variety mixed with a miscalculated attempt to include some of that wacky, absurdist comic sensibility that the kids liked so much from that new program Saturday Night Live.

For example, the Mary show did a parody of the Village People song “Macho Man” that had Dave and Michael Keaton dressed in L.L. Bean-catalog outfits, in a setting that was made to look like a scene from Deliverance. I forget where the comedy was supposed to be in all this. I do know the powers-that-be didn’t realize that “Macho Man” was a gay anthem. I also remember vividly that Dave was in real agony about this bit of levity.”

Colour me suspicious as to where Mary and Lou and Rhoda and Ted was getting its information from.

There is one earlier reference to the sequence I can find… on a Mary Tyler Moore interview on Letterman, broadcast on the 6th February 1986.

MARY: I saw this man dressed as a pirate…
DAVID: A pirate, a rat…
MARY: Doing “Macho Man”… no, you refused to do Macho, Macho Man…
DAVID: No, no, no…

This opens up the interesting possibility that Letterman didn’t actually take part in the completed “Macho Man” segment, at odds to other tellings of the tale. I guess we’ll never know unless we ever get hold of a copy.

Either way, you can all tell where I’m going with this one. I can find no contemporary proof that “Macho Man” ever aired on Mary – all I can find is people who worked on the show reacting to it with varying degrees of horror. Eleven episodes of Mary were made: three aired, eight were unbroadcast, and only two of those eight are online in some form or another. I would be willing to bet a substantial amount of money that the “Macho Man” segment was in one of those six unbroadcast episodes we haven’t seen. None of the primary sources here suggest that the segment aired; simply that it was shot.

The problem with all this is that Mary and Lou and Rhoda and Ted claims the “Macho Man” routine was a “memorable number”. In fact, it’s the only segment from Mary which the book specifically mentions. To which I say: memorable to who? Memorable to people who worked on the show, of course. But not memorable to anybody else seemingly, because I can’t find anybody else who mentioned it at the time. Most people these days just seem to be copying what Merrill has to say.

That just isn’t a fair way to treat the show. A far better example to use would be the Ed Asner dancers from the first episode, which attracted widespread comment from a variety of commentators at the time, both positive and negative. But hey, let’s grab a sketch which probably never aired, and use it to poke poor Mary with yet again, shall we?

*   *   *

Which leaves us just one final question. Why is it that Mary attracts so much negative comment today, with people falling over themselves to slag it off, unfairly or otherwise?

I have a few ideas. Join me next time for the EXCITING CONCLUSION.

With thanks to Tanya Jones.


  1. The Saturday Night Fever sketch contained within was mentioned by Mary Tyler Moore in pre-show interviews, and also briefly featured in CBS fall promos. While I still maintain that when discussing the sketch as a whole you need to flag it as unbroadcast, you can put together a credible argument that Mary must have been pleased with how it turned out. 

  2. It really looks like the real set from The Mary Tyler Moore Show rather than a recreation, which means that the real set was hanging around in storage over a year after the show ended. Which is interesting in itself. 

  3. First edition; it has since been re-released in an expanded form. 

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There’s Something About “Mary”, Part Two

TV Comedy

Part OnePart Two • Part Three Part Four (Coming soon!)

Last time, I left you all with something of a poser. Clips from three episodes of Mary are sitting on YouTube in various forms. Are these the same three episodes which were broadcast back in 1978?

Certainly, most people seem to have either assumed that they are, or are simply uninterested in whether they are or not. Let’s take a look again at the YouTube video “Why Mary Tyler Moore’s 1978 “Mary” Bombed Big Time”:

The narration certainly leaves us in no doubt about what they think about poor Mary:

“From what I saw, there were two things which caused this programme to nosedive and crash so quickly. The writing was bad. At times, really bad.”

We then get a clip of Mary talking to the studio audience: “Let’s talk about Canada!”. Followed inevitably by a song about Canada. Neither works very well in clip form, I will admit, although I could make the best show in the world look bad by slagging it off and then throwing in a few clips out-of-context.

We are then told:

“So much of the comedy I saw felt forced, and simply wasn’t funny.”

Followed by part of an unidentified sketch featuring Mary, Swoosie, and Judith sitting on a sofa:

SWOOSIE KURTZ: Without another person.
JUDITH KAHAN: Just you.
SWOOSIE KURTZ: Solo.
JUDITH KAHAN: Uno.
SWOOSIE KURTZ: Solitary.
JUDITH KAHAN: Like mouldy cheese.

If anything, there is even less context given to this clip, so it’s simply impossible to judge it fairly. So let’s do the donkeywork ourselves. Where do these clips come from?

The answer: another video on YouTube, worryingly titled “‘Mary’ unknown episode 1978”.

The above video includes both the Canada material, and the sketch with Judith and Swoosie on the sofa, called “Not A Married Woman”. I think all the material comes across much better when watched in context. But that’s not really the point.

Because something else immediately becomes clear while watching this video: we’re not looking at a finished programme here. This is a studio tape, featuring raw footage of a studio audience session for the programme, including retakes. It also isn’t even complete – it ends halfway through a sketch. And needless to say, the completed programme isn’t available anywhere else online.

So our question is now slightly different: does this studio tape represent something which became a finished programme which transmitted on CBS in 1978?

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There’s Something About “Mary”, Part One

TV Comedy

Part One • Part TwoPart Three Part Four (Coming soon!)

On the 24th September 1978, a brand new Mary Tyler Moore variety series premiered on CBS. Simply titled Mary1, there was a full season order in place; many reports at the time suggested at least 22 shows, with an option for two more.

After three shows aired, the show was pulled from the airwaves for good.

This article is partly the tale of what happened to poor Mary. But more importantly: it’s also about the pitfalls of judging a series nearly five decades later, when the detritus surrounding a show can be extremely difficult to interpret correctly.

*   *   *

There was an obvious format which Mary could have gone for: something akin to How to Survive the 70s from seven months earlier. Numerous guest stars, perhaps a different, fairly loose topic every week, job done. Instead, Mary seemed to go out of its way to make life difficult for itself.

Guest stars were mainly eschewed, aside from a brief appearance by Carl Reiner in the opening episode. Instead, they went for a repertory cast, some quite well known, others at the start of their career: James Hampton, Swoosie Kurtz, David Letterman, Michael Keaton, Judy Kahan, and – the most famous of the gang at the time – Dick Shawn. This, at least, had some precedence: surrounding Mary with a solid team was one of the things which made The Mary Tyler Moore Show such a success.

Mary herself described the series as the following at the time, which was widely quoted in the press:

“The show will be made up primarily of sketches which hopefully display wit and grown-up comedy. There will also be some music and dancing but most of the numbers will grown out of the preceding sketch. For instance, a disco sketch evolves into a disco number. It’s a new form for me and I just love it.”

Some clips from the first episode are on YouTube. Sadly, as it’s not the full show, it doesn’t really give a full sense of proceedings; oddly enough, it seems determined not to let us see much of the actual singing or dancing. But it does at least give some kind of idea of the kind of programme Mary was.

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  1. This is not Mary’s 1985 sitcom, also called Mary

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“A Failed Dancer”

TV Comedy

MARY RICHARDS: I think you had a dream. You dreamed that you started from nowhere, and you made it all the way to the top. Became rich, successful in every way, loved… and recently, you’ve begun to become aware that time is slipping away, and your life has turned out a little differently from the dream. In fact, compared to the dream, you think your life isn’t all that terrific. And it’s begun to bother you.

TED BAXTER: That’s amazing, Mary. How did you know that was my problem?

MARY RICHARDS: Ted, that’s everybody’s problem. I had a dream once. I dreamed of becoming a ballerina. Took so many classes, I practiced so hard. In the hopes one day I’d dance with the finest ballet company, and I’d win the cheers of audiences all over the world.

TED BAXTER: So you wanted to be a real famous dancer. And you wound up as the producer of a local news show.

MARY RICHARDS: That’s right.

TED BAXTER: Boy, you really blew it.

The Mary Tyler Moore Show, “Hail the Conquering Gordy”,
CBS TX: 5th February 1977

“I think I’ll always consider myself a failed dancer, not a successful actress.”

– Mary Tyler Moore, The Los Angeles Times, 20th December 1981

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An Utterly Worthless Experience

TV Comedy

I have to be honest: I’ve been feeling a little guilty over the past couple of weeks. When I fell in love with The Dick Van Dyke Show, I wrote something which tried to explain at least some of what I loved about it. With The Mary Tyler Moore Show, I leapt straight into stupid production minutiae. I feel like I’ve given poor Mary a bit of a bad rap.

So let’s try to redress things a little. I want to talk about one of my very favourite scenes in the show. No, it’s not from “Chuckles Bites the Dust”, which is clearly an amazing episode, but has been talked about far too much by this point. Instead, it’s the closing scene from “Mary and the Sexagenarian”, first broadcast by CBS on the 12th February 1977, and written by Glen and Les Charles.

The whole episode up to this point has been about the trials and tribulations of Mary dating a man 30 years older than her, a topic which could have been potentially queasy, but is dealt with in the show’s typical sensitive fashion. And then we get the final scene of the show. What have we learnt today?

And instead of answering that question, Mary Tyler Moore expertly skewers TV’s propensity for giving life lessons and issuing moral guidance.

LOU GRANT: You take two very different people. Different backgrounds.
MARY RICHARDS: Different outlooks.
LOU GRANT: Right, right. One more than 30 years older than the other. You bring them together. With all the odds against it. Even though the whole world ridicules it. It can still turn out to be… an utterly worthless experience.
MARY RICHARDS: Thank you.

There are so many reasons why I love this. Firstly, it was slightly surprising even to me to find a US sitcom from 1977 be quite so relentlessly cynical. This feels more like a gag from The Simpsons than anything else. Sorry Simpsons, Mary Tyler Moore already did it.1

Secondly, I adore Mary Tyler Moore’s performance in this scene. True, it’s a scene which is more about selling an abstract idea than an emotional beat. But the actors have to make that idea work within an emotional context, and they do a magnificent job. Mary looks so revolted and defeated as she leaves the office, and she never gets enough credit for just how good she is at those kind of scenes. The very opposite of “turning the world on with her smile”.

We dumb down Mary Tyler Moore into being merely a bright, smiling, all-American gal at our peril. When needed, she brought as much edge to that show as anyone.

But thirdly, and perhaps most importantly: the scene is a reminder to me that I truly love comedy with what I like to call “an evil, beating heart”. I sometimes worry that people misinterpret what I mean by this; that I’m specifically referring to, say, racist or homophobic gags, or at least material which goes into those kinds of areas. But that’s not what I mean at all.

Instead, it’s something a little more subtle: that I enjoy comedy which does not always have a pleasant meaning behind it. Here, it’s the idea that we can all go through painful experiences, and there truly is no real lesson we can learn from them. The pain has been for nothing.

It reminds me very much of one of my favourite jokes from Some Mothers Do ‘Ave ‘Em:

FRANK SPENCER: As my mother used to say – a trouble shared, is a trouble doubled.

A joke which, as friend of the site Mike Scott pointed out, is amusing because of the rhyming trouble/double; it just sounds funny. But what I love most about it is that it talks about a real truth which we would all prefer to ignore. Of course we should talk about our problems… and of course that has a bad side too. By sharing a problem, you literally are giving a piece of it to someone else.

And that’s life. Some troubles just have to be doubled. And sometimes, a relationship you had was an entire waste of time, and there’s nothing positive you can take from it. Sucks to be you.

But maybe comedy like this does have a message after all. It sucks to be all of us.

With thanks to Tanya Jones.


  1. The James L. Brooks connection is not lost on me. 

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We’ve Put It All Together

TV Comedy

The great thing about YouTube is that it’s full of unusual clips of TV programmes which used to be difficult or impossible to see any other way. The less great thing about YouTube: often, these clips are given little or no context.

With that in mind: what exactly is the following, ostensibly from The Mary Tyler Moore Show?

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The Mary Tyler Moore Show: Prod. #7001

TV Comedy

The problem with coming of age as an archive TV nerd through Red Dwarf DVDs is that you get thoroughly spoilt. You expect every single sitcom release to feature a copious selection of deleted scenes. Sometimes you hit lucky; the Seinfeld releases are absolutely incredible. But for older shows, you’re pretty much always going to be disappointed.

Luckily, we know how to make our own fun around here. Last time, we saw how the script for the first episode of The Mary Tyler Moore Show pointed towards a reshoot of a key scene. And in that script, there’s a fair amount of material from other scenes which was removed before the show was broadcast.

Audience ticket for the first episode of the Mary Tyler Moore Show

Let’s investigate. I haven’t noted every single minor change in dialogue phrasing, as that would be immensely tedious, but all significant differences are noted. Times given are from the Region 1 DVD release of the show.1

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  1. The DVDs of The Mary Tyler Moore Show contain the original broadcast versions of the programme – albeit with the odd edit – not the cut syndicated versions. So this article is definitely about material which was never broadcast. 

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“Aunt Rhoda’s Really a Lot of Fun”

TV Comedy

In 2025, I watched all of The Dick Van Dyke Show (1961-65) and its spiritual successor The Mary Tyler Moore Show (1970-77), with a chaser of Rhoda (1974-78). That’s such a concentrated burst of greatness that I feel like anything I watch this year will be a disappointment.

So while I scrabble around for something to replace the giant hole in my life – and no, spin-off Phyllis (1975-77) doesn’t quite cut it – I can at least throw myself into the usual behind-the-scenes books and documentaries. Very quickly, you learn all the standard tales which have come up over the years. And with The Mary Tyler Moore Show, one tale looms above all: the disastrous preliminary filming of the opening episode, three days before the real one.

This is probably most succinctly expressed in the book Mary and Lou and Rhoda and Ted (Simon & Schuster, 2013):

“The day of The Mary Tyler Moore Show’s first chance to perform in front of a studio audience began with news of a bomb threat on the lot… The threat was determined to be unfounded, and audience members were herded in. But the folks in the stands couldn’t see the actors over the cameras, which were twice as bulky as the standard kind, so they were forced to try to catch the action on small monitors instead. The air-conditioning broke down, so the two-hundred-member audience and the actors were left to swelter in 90-degree July temperatures while watching a practice run of a series already being promoted to viewers as if it were a done deal. The microphones didn’t work properly.”

The problems continue from there. At times, the stories about this recording take on an almost absurd tinge; everything that could have gone wrong, seemingly did. Showrunners James L. Brooks and Allan Burns did a dreadful job with the warm-up; the actors weren’t quite ready; the director hadn’t had enough time with the camera crew… the excuses just keep piling up. The dodgy aircon and sound system would surely be enough to kill a recording, let alone anything else.

And then there was Rhoda, a character which seemingly made a few people nervous. To be fair, she is set up initially as an antagonist to Mary, and spends the entire episode trying to nab her apartment. But also: never underestimate some people’s unpleasant reactions to a gobby Jewish woman.

Either way, she certainly didn’t test well with the studio audience that particular night. What to do? Back to Mary and Lou and Rhoda and Ted:

“Script supervisor Marge Mullen, who’d held the same job at The Dick Van Dyke Show, stopped by the producers’ office. She had an idea – maybe not the biggest one, but it was something. “People don’t seem to like Rhoda,” they remember her saying. “There’s this little girl who’s Phyllis’s daughter, and if the little girl likes Rhoda, it’ll give the audience the opportunity to love her, too.”

It was the only substantive idea for an improvement Brooks and Burns had heard all evening. They decided to take Mullen’s suggestion, cut a few other lines, and call it a night, putting their faith in what they’d written and the cast they’d hired. Many things had gone wrong with that first taping, but the words and the talent, they believed, were there.”

Come the second recording, three days later?

“The only major change to the script was pigtailed twelve-year-old Lisa Gerritsen as Phyllis’s daughter, Bess, saying, “Aunt Rhoda’s really a lot of fun,” as Mary opened the curtains in her new apartment to see a harried Rhoda on her balcony in the opening scene. Gerritsen was the granddaughter of child actor and later screenwriter True Eames Boardman, as well as the great-granddaughter of silent film actors, but she had now made her own showbiz history.

This time, the audience roared. Gerritsen’s new line seemed to indeed be the magic bullet.”

Unlike all the other problems with the first recording, which was a smorgasbord of failure, this at least is a nice, neat anecdote. One single line changed how the audience felt about Rhoda, Marge Mullen and Lisa Gerritsen save the day, job done.

The problem is, it’s not quite the full story.

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“I Don’t Own a Television Machine”

TV Comedy

Every so often, when struggling to analyse what I love about a TV show, I reach for the phrase “a complete comedy”. It’s a bit of a shitty, half-arsed idea. Let me at least try to explain what the hell I mean.

Some shows are built to do very specific things. Fawlty Towers is one of the best sitcoms ever made, but it’s essentially a wind-up engine for producing farce. Something like The Young Ones might look wild and anarchic and like it could do anything… but watch how the show immediately has to retreat once it brings up the death of Rick’s parents in “Summer Holiday”. There are some places the programme simply can’t go.

Then you have shows like Hi-de-Hi!, where it feels like they can go anywhere, and do anything. One episode might be a sadistic parody of light entertainment with Ted which would make Filthy, Rich & Catflap blush, the next could be another chapter in the touching Gladys/Jeffrey near-romance, then we’re headlong into a farcial plot about illicitly screening mucky movies.

An even better example is Frasier, a show which would seemingly mould and bend itself to take any kind of comedy the writers felt like doing. Oh, you want to do Mr. Bean this week, but with Niles? No problem.

Of course, it’s not a perfect categorisation. With any show, you’ll eventually bump into its boundaries and limitations; it’s just a question of how far you can wander first. It’s also not meant to be a criticism of shows which are more limited in scope; slagging off Fawlty Towers for not being something it’s not even trying to be would be completely ludicrous.

And yet I have to admit a certain fondness for those shows where you simply don’t know what kind of comedy you’ll be getting this time round. And The Dick Van Dyke Show, which aired on CBS between 1961-66, falls squarely into this category of a “complete comedy”.

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