What can I say? I have this weird obsession with seventies variety specials. It was the last gasp of a type of entertainment you just don't see anymore. If anyone even tried this sort of thing now, it would be intentionally campy or drenched in irony. It wouldn't--couldn't--be so apparently sincere, and profoundly bad in a way that's almost charming. If only it weren't so painful. Here's an example--the awesome spectacle of Lynda Carter doing...whatever the hell she does.
Here's Hal Linden singing the lugubrious theme from The Goodbye Girl. Yeah, he's actually a good singer, but the material and the setting and...Well, take a look.
And--The horror! The horror!--Paul Lynde and Roz "Pinky Tuscadero" Kelly (as she's actually billed) and Florence Henderson and Billy Barty and...I can't go on. Just watch--if you dare. Scrub your eyes with lye soap after viewing this, and you may be able to erase it from your sight. But, oh, what of your soul?.
