It Can Be Great

The slim little light-foot guy with his gay, ageless grace had a good excuse for the jitters: this was the first time he had put on a TV show of his own. But aging (59) Dancing Master Fred Astaire needed only to walk into camera range to demonstrate that he is still attuned to his old rhythmic magic, still in charge of his old, easy charm.

By the time Astaire appeared on-screen last week, the networks were desolate from days of embarrassment. It should have been a great week, with no fewer than eight "specials" scheduled, costing a total of $1,500,000. Yet most of them were disappointing. On CBS, the musical version of Little Women was a dreary mistake; the miracle of Bernadette was a sugar-coated bomb. Even with French Clown Fernandel to help him, NBC's Bob Hope was merely routine; the mute, moving eloquence of Julie Harris in Johnny Belinda was all that was meaningful in a moldy melodrama. Ginger Rogers in her own special was fine when she danced, but she did not dance enough, giving way too often to bad comedy. It took the old newcomer Fred Astaire to remind the TV audience that--all too rarely--TV entertainment can be great.

This was no garden-variety variety show, for Fred Astaire is a professional perfectionist. He and his troupe sweated through seven weeks of rehearsal. Every step was planned; every word was carefully timed. And the end result was the essence of relaxation. Titian-haired young (23) Barrie Chase, Fred's new partner, fitted into his new routines as easily as Ginger Rogers or Cyd Charisse ever fitted into the old. Jonah Jones, a beaming barrel of a man, demonstrated that a trumpet can almost talk, especially if it has Astaire's tireless feet to talk back. Fred, singing a medley of songs from past triumphs, nudged two generations of fans to misty nostalgia. Every dance number showed that TV choreography need not be uniformly awful; every stage effect taught the cameras new tricks.

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