Not I, but she         

Mary Worrell seems to have been a pseudonym used 
by Kathleen Hite when she did not wish to be credited, 
much as 'Alan Smithee' is used by directors 
when they do not want to be associated with a movie. 
It certainly allowed her not to be connected with the awful 
Gunsmoke color era when they perpetrated a horrible rehash 
of I Call Him Wonder.  But what about the other 
instances when Worrell stood short for Hite? 


SILENT NIGHT, DEADLY NIGHT 

The Monroes starred Michael Anderson, Jr., 
an actor of intense earnestness, 
and Barbara Hershey, toothy 1970s object of lust.  
There were also an infant sister and twin male brothers, 
but these lagged so far behind in charisma 
that they were almost invisible.  
Hite's—okay, Worrell's—one episode of The Monroes, 
'Silent Night, Deadly Night,'  begs for the pseudonym.  
The screen version dwells overly on the doltish doings 
of the Wales family, as if it makes for a pleasant time 
watching the obstinately stupid and obnoxious.  
Making hay of hillbillies and hinterland folk 
has always been good sport for tv, and there is never 
a shortage of actors willing to perpetrate the stereotypical 
open-mouthed breathing and grinning and drawling.  
The Wales brood centered on prairie paterfamilias 
Robert Middleton, who was so big and round 
that he indeed deserved being revolved around.  
Anybody who has seen the sort of patriarchs played 
by Middleton and Peter Whitney in Gunsmoke, 
already knows Barney Wales and his clannish family.  
One mystery is how the excellent Middleton speaks with a neutral accent 
in the middle of the plains, but manages to produce 
two droolin' & drawlin' sons--a young James Brolin who couldn't 
quite act yet, and Tim O'Kelly who could act but was cursed 
by a face that looked like Peter Noone's of Herman's Hermits, 
only with a wider and teethier jack o' lantern smile.  
This family from hayloft hell holds a feudy attitude 
towards the orphaned Monroes, who have nested in their valley, 
believing their father had staked a piece of it.  
The Wales were semi-regulars in this series, 
having clashed with the Monroes a couple of times before, 
and in this episode they capture Clayt 
for trying to poach a bear on their property.  
(For anybody who thinks the bear is a symbol of anything, 
Clayt bags and drags it home for winter meat.)  
So far, nothing here beyond conflict for drama, 
and not much to qualify it as a Hite-written episode; 
in other words, everything to justify the Worrell nom de praierie, 
especially when the director is just another mechanic 
phoning directions to the garage from his living room.  
However, in the midst of this desert of drama, 
something unexpected erupts—a character comes to life!  
It is Wales' daughter Lorna, played by actor Lisa Jak, 
who is so strikingly beautiful that she accomplishes the impossible 
feat of making you forget about Barbara Hershey.  
Lorna is part isolated female in the prairie, 
part Rima creature more comfortable with nature's critters, 
speechless because something traumatic had befallen her.  
(Remember that 'Silent Night, Deadly Night' aired in 1966, 
so we cannot automatically opt for an Oprah option.)  
The episode ends without any clues to Lorna's plight.  
Only one thing is certain--whatever happened to her 
at the hands of those who were supposed to realize 
Kathleen Hite's script, Lorna retreated into herself 
and Hite took refuge in the safe world of Worrell.  


January 1, 2006 


Copyright © 2006-2011 E. A. Villafranca, Jr.  
All Rights Reserved