China Beach must have seemed crazy when it debuted in 1988. A TV show about war, but not a sitcom like MASH. Nope, Vietnam. Drama. And, oh, it’s focused on women. Nurses, singers, hookers, volunteers, donut dollies. Women.
I’d never seen the first season before last night; like people did in the 1980s, we read the newspaper in September for advice on what to watch, and fall 1989 suggested we check out this quirky show. Mind you, “quirky” was the catch-all for quality back then—China Beach and Northern Exposure are about as diametrically opposed as you get…
…but not the first season, which I binged last night on DVD (8 hours of time doesn’t feel so much when you’ve cut the cable cord).
The first season, which I just finished watching now that it is finally on DVD, is a souvenir of how TV used to be. A 2-hour pilot followed by a short episode order, and a real sense that they are trying to figure out the characters and the arcs on the fly. That’s not a bad thing—it’s what programming used to do (object lesson: watch the first season of Cheers and discover the intermittent characterization and writing, save Shelley Long, who had it down on Day One).
I imagine that they watched the dailies of the pilot, John Sacret Young, William Broyles, Carol Flint, and they realized they had something unique. So, they ran with it.
Look at the third episode, “Hot Spell.” Well before the Bechdel test informed how we watch women talk to each other, an overnight mortar shelling leaves five of the primary characters (Dana Delany’s nurse McMurphy, Nan Woods’ naïve volunteer Cherry, Concetta Tomei’s crusty Major Lila, Marg Helgenberger’s enigmatic “entrepreneur” K.C., and Chloe Webb’s brassy singer Laurette) stranded in a bunker, and as they wait out the attack, in various states of undress depicting women at night (Lila has a green goopy beauty mask on, while Laurette is in a towel), these women talk. And sure, talk does come back to men at points but what they talk about is their identities, and the one bond they all share: war.
Well, nearly all: Laurette brings everything back to men, and to wanting surfing studly lifeguard Boonie, who she inexplicably seems to nab at the end of the episode. Chloe Webb was the “name” get for this show (she even gets the Heather Locklear-style “Special Appearance” billing in the credits), but Laurette is the weak link. Watching this now, the show would not have survived one more season if they had kept Laurette a central focus (the performance of “Big Girls Don’t Cry” is horrid slapstick).
You can feel it, even in this one short season, that they’ve figured out that McMurphy’s weary nurse and Helgenberger’s seductive, playful hooker are the characters that we pay attention to. Lila and Cherry are not uninteresting, and Tomei is quite good (Woods is not a skilled actress, which fits the naïve character effectively, if occasionally leaving you startled at some of her green line readings). But, in the next episode (where a helicopter is shot down with Lila, Cherry, and Laurette), we see the schism most profoundly: Laurette is all bluster and line delivery, while the other two characters react, not poorly, but without intrigue. It’s paint-by-numbers acting (which isn’t helped by the cheap set design in those “jungle” scenes). Contrast back to the base, where K.C. and McMurphy are interacting, and though very little is happening in terms of (they are clearly the “B” plot), the tension is palpable, and you are transfixed wanting to get to know these characters. The show runners clearly felt this, too, and the show I remember from seasons 2-4 revolves around these two, to great acclaim and effect (and 3 Emmys between the powerhouse actors Delany and Helgenberger, both of whom need to get roles this juicy again, pronto).
But back to Laurette: I like Chloe Webb, and she always brings energy to the screen whenever I see her. But, wow, is she a ball of suck here! I get it: it’s the late 80s, you are proposing to do a war drama about Vietnam weekly on TV. You pitch it, and when you do, you emphasize, “There’s a young, pretty one! There’s a hooker! There’s a man-crazy singer who’s kooky, and we’ll get a name for that part!” The spectre of MASH seems to hang over her scenes, where you get the impression that she’s been directed to be outsized and boisterous, even as the scene (or the episode) might call for more shading. People have pointed this critique towards the Woods character—that she wasn’t talented enough an actress to have that central a role as Cherry. It’s not invalid, but it misses the point about screentime—Cherry really isn’t driving plot as much as reacting (and she is at her best when she is with Delany or Helgenberger). Meanwhile, Webb’s character manages to make McMurphy dull in their too-many scenes in their shared room, and her scenes with Wimmer and Michael Boatman (as the prickly coroner Beckett) are also among the least engaging (the most unengaging award goes to any scene with Tim Ryan, as McMurphy’s pilot love interest, who is all preppy looks and nothing beneath).
I’ll rewatch the whole series (I’m curious to see how time has treated the performances of Ricki Lake and Megan Gallagher, or to see whether Tomei or Boatman scowl in the background as their screentime dwindles while the show ceases being an ensemble and firmly becomes about McMurphy and K.C. in the subsequent seasons). But I caution readers to not judge this show (or any) by the first season: it often provides the blueprint to where a show goes, but rarely has the qualities we remember from the finest hours of subsequent seasons.
Watching this show’s first season, I find myself howling at the TV, “Shut up, Chloe Webb, and let Dana Delany keep talking. She’s the one to watch here!” Thankfully, the show would never keep Delany in that position again, and we are all the better for it.
Go watch China Beach (again).
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