ENTERTAINMENT

giDG

Over Troubled Waters

CBS's new show, "Brooklyn Bridge," is a wondrous
salute to the past and to ourselves.

ARTHUR J. MAGIDA

Special to The Jewish News

A

s the TV networks
flounder and atrophy,
each hemorrhaging
scads of money and groping
for something resembling
creativity and originality, it is
especially pleasing to see a
show that has craft, wit and,
even, wisdom.
CBS's "Brooklyn Bridge"
may be the one show this
season which meets this
heady, elusive criteria.
Viewers will say that the
show is a return to the past,
to the Brooklyn of 1956:
when the Dodgers were not
kings, but at least con-
tenders; when the streets
were safe and kids could
walk to school (where there
were no "Drug Free Zone"
signs posted) and even to the
candy store on the way home
from a date; where families
were intact and loving, and
generations lived together, if
not in the same apartment,
then, at least, in the same
apartment building.
"Brooklyn Bridge" (pro-
duced by Gary David Gold-
berg, who also produced
"Family Ties") takes us
back to an earlier — and less
troubling — time. But it also
takes us back to a time when
we could be sure of catching
something of merit when
flipping on the TV, be it an
Edward R. Murrow docu-
mentary or a "Playhouse
90" drama or a truly funny,
sidesplitting Sid Caesar or
Ernie Kovacs comedy hour.
Because of the obvious
care and commitment that
went into making "Brooklyn
Bridge," the show is an echo
of times that were good, both
on the streets of Brooklyn
and on the small tubes of
DuMont and Zenith sets
across America. "Brooklyn
Bridge" catches the pace and
the rhythm, the look and the

sound of 1956 Brooklyn. If
technology allowed, I bet it
would also catch the smell of
that long-gone Brooklyn.
And it reminds us that tele-
vision, a medium on which
so many people have given
up, can still deliver. And
that when it does, the sky's
the limit.
In lesser hands, "Brooklyn
Bridge" — the continuing
saga of a 14-year-old boy
growing up in the New York
borough — could have been
another "Wonder Years" —
the continuing saga of a pre-
teen growing up in an un-
identified suburb in the late
1960s. Which is, to say, it
would have been darn good
television. But "Brooklyn
Bridge" is better than good.
It has greater texture and
greater attention to detail
than "Wonder Years." And
it dares to be specific:
Viewers know exactly
where Alan Silver is spen-
ding his wonder years, they
know exactly what year he is
going through his adolescent
travails, and they know he is
Jewish.
No anonymous suburban
melting pot for "Brooklyn
Bridge." This show grabs

the ethnic ball for all it's
worth — and scores a major
video touchdown with it.
Yiddish is spoken and even
read (Alan Silver's grand-
father reads The Forward
over breakfast), a large me-
norah is in the Silver's liv-
ing room, and a tough guy in
the school bathroom says to
young Silver and his friends,
"You guys Jewish? I don't
like Jews a lot and I don't
like you guys at all."
In "Brooklyn Bridge,"
Jews come out of the closet, a
rarity for TV and one that

"Brooklyn Bridge"
is better than
good. It has
greater texture
and greater
attention to detail
than "Wonder
Years."

Above, three generations of the
Silver family on "Brooklyn
Bridge." At left, the
grandparents played by Louis
Zorich and Marion Ross.

gave some CBS executives
the jitters.
The show has great
authenticity for anyone who
may have lived in an apart-
ment building in New York,
at least when New York was
still a decent and comforting
place. Downstairs from the
Silver's apartment are
Alan's matriarch of a
grandmother and his doting
grandfather. Down the hall
is Alan's best friend, Benny.
Bikes are parked in
hallways; a chute for gar-
bage (a byproduct of life
never shown on TV) is next
to the stairs. When Benny
and Alan have an argument
late at night in the hallway,
an upstairs neighbor yells,
"He forgives you already.
Now go to sleep."
This was life in New York,
and even though it's por-
trayed a bit too idyllic, it's
still more realistic than
some of Woody Allen's re-
cent paeans to the city of his
dreams. ❑