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Just a Little Respect: Murphy Brown Lives!
Years ago, before everyone overshared on Facebook, I called my (late) partner at her office, a non-profit advocacy group for blind people. Not knowing that her phone had been accidentally placed on
"speaker," I shouted from our home, "I need chocolate now!!!! I have PMS!"
Later, Anne, through a translator, explained PMS to five bemused male scholars from China visiting the United States. "They seemed more nervous about periods than about blind people," Anne wryly
observed to me after chastising me for "broadcasting my personal stuff to the world."
Why am I oversharing this with you now? Because recently, while channel surfing, I caught a clip of "Murphy Brown," the engaging, funny, often moving, spot-on sit-com about feminism, politics and
other hot button issues of the day sitcom which aired on CBS from 1988 to 1998. The show, set in Washington, D.C., whose stories often incorporated real-life headlines and news anchors, was created by Diane English. Its
writers were superb and its cast, led by Candice Bergen, as Murphy Brown, the tough-as-nails with a deeply hidden heart, anchor of the fictional TV news magazine, "FYI," was stellar. In the scene that I saw the other day,
Miles, the producer of "FYI," is reprimanding Murphy for not listening to him. Never one to care about if she's offended a powerful news source, Murphy has, yet again, broken the rules. After saying she wouldn't ask "the
question," Murphy's asked a gentleman, if he's had an affair with a married women, who's a (fictional) vice-presidential candidate. "I had to," she tells Miles, "I had to be me and I have PMS!"
Why do I relate to "Murphy Brown," which first aired just over twenty-five years ago? Because of the show's unsentimental, yet poignant honesty. When we first meet Murphy, she's 40, single,
and just coming back to "FYI," after spending a month in rehab at the Betty Ford Center. Murphy's worried not only about continuing her recovery from alcohol and smoking: she's scared that she's lost her mojo. No wonder,
over the next ten years, we saw her so often sucking on no. 2 pencils. (She had to have something to take the place of her cigarettes!)
Even today, women still have it harder than men in the TV news business. Unlike their male counterparts, they have to worry continually about their looks – are they getting too old (over
40–let alone over 50!) – to be on air? Just a few years ago, they weren't taken as seriously as male anchors. One reason why so many news hounds swooned over "Murphy Brown" was its accuracy. The show's
creators regularly consulted with women news anchors from Diane Sawyer to Linda Ellerbee (who Murphy was partly based on). During the "Murphy" years, women news anchors had to fight hard –for air time – to be
treated equally with the boys.
Newsrooms are some of the most dysfunctional, energetic, productive, and in a warped way, caring places on earth. "Murphy Brown" captured the manic intensity of newsrooms and the warm friendships
that develop among eccentric, talented, often koo-koo, newsies, who bond under deadlines and pressure. "I hate it that I like you," Murphy confesses to Miles, after the producer receives a death threat from a source.
Murphy and her colleague Frank discuss the possibility of Frank becoming a sperm donor– so she, a single woman, can have a child. She warns Corky, a former Miss America, who's been hired to up
"FYI's" ratings, not to ever wear the same dress or upstage her on air again. (Corky has read the intro to Murphy's ground-breaking investigative report – forcing Murphy to introduce a report about pet spas.) "If you
do that again, I'll get a hit man," Murphy tells Corky, "that's not an exaggeration. I know people!"
"She thinks Camus is a bar of soap," Murphy snaps to her colleagues about Corky.
Yet, despite herself, Murphy can't keep from being helpful to Corky, or to Miles (who, at 25, has just become "FYI's" producer). "Don't let it get around," she admonishes him.
Then there's the music for the show. Eschewing a theme song, "Murphy Brown," opened every episode with a fab Motown song. From the moment you heard "Respect" in the pilot, you were drawn into
the show. Like Newton and the apple, English, driving her car, got the idea for "Murphy Brown" while listening to "Respect" – the great Aretha classic.
Respect. R.e.s.p.e.c.t! It's what women have been fighting for through the ages. Everyone – women, men or anyone who's been marginialized can identify with Murphy. Along
with Aretha's voice (a wonder of the world!), the beat propels even the most klutzy to dance and to fight not only on Murphy's behalf, but for him or herself – for respect.
Today, in this age of noir – where being despicable is lauded – it's hard to find anyone to like on TV. Perhaps it's more apt to say that it's difficult to find a moral compass in most
people on TV. Unless you turn to a Hallmark special in which case you'll find not so much of a moral compass – as a preachy sappiness. Murphy Brown was egotistical, grouchy, often selfish, brash, ruthless –
yet we loved her. Because she cared. Murphy, who came of age in the 1960's and 1970's, was a good reporter: she wanted to speak truth to power. At times, Murphy was vulnerable and lonely.
Yet, she didn't sink into self-pity. Sisterhood on Murphy Brown was comical. "I realize running my own country is unrealistic," Murphy says to Miles about working to set new goals for her life, "I think I'll just try to
get a date on Saturday night."
"Murphy Brown" was an Emmy-award winning sit-com. Yet it became part of the 1992 presidential campaign when Dan Quayle chided Murphy for raising her son Avery as a single mom. Prior to the
baby's birth, she noted, "several people do not want me to have the baby. Pat Robertson, Phyllis Schlaffy, half of Utah!"
After Quayle criticized Murphy for "ignoring the importance of fathers by bearing the child alone," the show did an episode highlighting the new modern American family. No wonder, Bergen thanked
Quayle when she won one of her Emmy awards! Of course, as English says in a commentary on the DVD of the show's first season, "Murphy Brown" was a fictional character and the program was a comedy. Personally,
"nobody agreed with Dan Quayle {about the need for fathers} more than I did," Bergen said in a 2002 interview.
As English and other "Murphy," cast members observe on the DVD, names, hair styles and clothes change, but many of the issues stay the same. We're still talking about women's reproductive freedom,
feminism and post feminism. Last month, a report on women and poverty, co-written by Maria Shriver and the Center for American Progress, was released. According to the study, 48 million women and 28 million of their
dependent children live in poverty. "These are not women who are wondering if they can 'have it all,'" Shriver writes in the report's preface, "These are women who are already doing it all – working hard, providing,
parenting, and care-giving...yet they and their families can't prosper..."
Times are hard for women and men. No TV show, poem or other art form can vanquish poverty or sexism. Yet "Murphy Brown," with its moral compass (buried under fabulous comedy), encourages us to
forge ahead.
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