Sitting in the Maple Syrup

By Richard Zoglin

"Life is such a sweet insanity," warbles the banal theme song for NBC's new comedy series Valerie. TV sitcoms have spent more than three decades trying to prove that adage, but never more aggressively than now. Eight sitcoms are debuting this month for midseason tryouts. One reason for the onslaught: NBC's The Cosby Show sets a new ratings record virtually every week, and several other comedies, including Family Ties, Cheers, Who's the Boss and Golden Girls, frequently finish in the Nielsen Top Ten.

Ratings, however, are not the only explanation for the sitcom's resurgence. Half-hour comedies are becoming more attractive to the networks because of a dispute with Hollywood producers over the rising costs of hour-long action- adventure shows. Network payments do not fully cover the cost of making these series; production companies recoup their money by selling the reruns later in syndication. But hour series are not doing well on the rerun market, and some major studios are threatening to bow out of making them unless the networks pick up more of the cost.

Sitcoms, on the other hand, are cheaper to produce and almost always do well in reruns. The trouble with most of the newcomers is that they look like reruns already. You Again (Jack Klugman as a divorced father) and Tough Cookies (Robby Benson as a Chicago police detective) are about as dumb and hackneyed as the genre gets. CBS's Fast Times, though based on a smart, funny movie about high school life, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, is nearly as lame. The problems start with the casting. As Spicoli, the spaced-out surfer played hilariously in the film by Sean Penn, Dean Cameron projects nothing more than a 5-o'clock shadow; a baby-faced Sean Penn lookalike, Patrick Dempsey, plays Damone, the school's cool con artist. Bummer.

Valerie Harper, once TV's best-known neurotic single, is back in sitcomland as a housewife and mother of three boys in Valerie. Unfortunately, she spends more time milking gag lines than paying attention to the details of motherhood. When a youngster spills maple syrup all over the breakfast table, Mom yells convincingly but makes no move toward the table. Is there a mother on earth who would not be there with a sponge in two seconds flat? Of course, the gooey mess must stay in place so 16-year-old David (Jason Bateman) can sit in it, so Mom will have to clean his pants later on, so she will find a note in the pocket written by his new 24-year-old girlfriend, so they can have a fight over his dating an "older woman" and provide a reason for the episode. But no good reason for watching Valerie.

The spring, however, is not without hope. The most promising seedling on the midseason schedule is NBC's All Is Forgiven, created by Glen and Les Charles and James Burrows, the team responsible for Cheers. Last week's initial segment, though jam-packed with jokes and characters, sweated less than most sitcom pilots. Bess Armstrong stars as Paula, a career woman who gets married and stumbles into a job as producer of a TV soap opera on the same day. The series will apparently shuttle between conflicts at home (her husband Matt has a punkish daughter who resents her) and at work, where the gallery of nuts ranges from a brash receptionist to an effusive, Southern-fried head writer, played attractively by Carol Kane.

The last thing TV needs is another series about TV people, but the show-biz jokes in All Is Forgiven are knowing and often funny. "We disagreed about the content of the show," says Kane after the first producer quits. "I thought it should have some." Armstrong is a good comedian in the Valerie Harper mode, but gets the same effects with less work. Paula is nervous about meeting Matt's daughter for the first time but is unaware that the girl has not been told of their relationship. The daughter knows only that Paula is "somebody important." "So," she asks ingenuously, "how are you important? Are you a business partner?" Paula's smile fixes like cement. A pause, then through gritted teeth a voice of sweet urgency: "Matt . . .?" From small moments like these do mighty sitcoms grow.