Ben Bova - The Starcrossed

And in Bernard Finger’s home in the exclusive Watts section of Greater Los Angeles, doctors shuttled in and out, like substitute players for the Honolulu Pineapples, manfully struggling to save the mogul of Titanic Productions from what appeared to be-from the symptoms—the world’s first case of manic convulsive paranoid cardiac insufficiency, with lockjaw on the side.

BARD SPINS AS “STARCROSSED” DRAGS

NEW THREE-DEE TECHNIQUE IS ONLY SOLID FEATURE OF “STARCROSSED”

CAPSULE REVIEW

By Gerrold Saul

“The Starcrossed,” which premiered last night on nationwide network three-dee, is undoubtedly the worst piece of alleged drama ever foisted on the viewers.

Despite the gorgeous good looks of Rita Yearling and the stubborn handsomeness of hockey star Frankie Dulake, the show has little to offer. Ron Gabriel’s script—even disguised under a whimsical penname—has all the life and bounce of the proverbial lead dirigible. While the sets were adequate and the costumes arresting, the story made no sense whatsoever. And the acting was nonexistent. Stalwart though he may be in the hockey rink, Dulaq’s idea of drama is to peer into the cameras and grimace.

The technical feat of producing really solid three-dimensional images was impressive. Titanic Productions’ new technique will probably be copied by all the other studios, because it makes everything else look pale and wan by comparison.

If only the script had been equal to the electronics!

TV GUIDE

America’s Oldest and Most Respected Television Magazine

Contents

“The Starcrossed:” Can a Science Fiction Show Succeed by Spoofing Science Fiction?

Technical Corner: New Three-Dee Projection Technique Heralds End of “Blinking Blues”

The New Lineups: Networks Unveil “Third Season” Shows, and Prepare for “Fourth Season” in Seven Weeks

A Psychologist Warns: Portraying Love in Three-Dee Could Confuse Teenagers

Nielsen Reports: “Mongo’s Mayhem” and “Shoot-Out” Still Lead in Popularity

MITCH WESTERLY, MYSTERY MAN OF TELEVISION

WHY RITA YEARLING CRIED WHEN SHE FLEW TO TORONTO

DULAQ NOT SCORING, CANADIAN MAPLE STARS NOT WINNING

CAN A GAY PORTRAY A STRAIGHT ON TV? AND IF SO, WHY?

NEW THREE-DEE PROJECTION SYSTEM FULLY SUCCESSFUL

Scintillation-Free Images Result from Picosecond Control Units Developed by Oxnard Laboratory in California

: : : : : :

Dr. Oxnard Claims System Can Be Adapted to ‘Animate’ Still Photos; Obviate Need for Actors in TV

Bill Oxnard grimaced with concentration as he maneuvered his new Electric TR into Ron Gabriel’s driveway. Ordinarily it would have been an easy task, but the late winter rainstorm made visibility practically nil and there was a fair-sized van parked at the curb directly in front of the driveway.

The front door of the house was open and a couple of burly men in coveralls were taking out the long sectional sofa that had curled around Gabriel’s living room. They grunted and swore under their breaths as they swung their burden around the Electric TR. The sofa was so big that if they had dropped it on the sportscar, they would have flattened it.

Brenda looked upset as she got out of the righthand seat. “They’re taking his furniture! ” She dashed into the house. Oxnard was a step behind her. It only took three long strides to get inside the foyer, but the rain was hard enough to soak him, even so.

There were no lights on inside the house. The furniture movers had left a hand torch glowing in the living room. Oxnard watched them reenter the house, trailing muddy footprints and dripping water, to grab the other chairs in the living room.

Brenda said, “Bill! And they’ve turned off his electricity!” She was very upset and Oxnard found himself feeling pleased with her concern, rather than jealous over it. She’s really a marvelous person , he told himself.

They looked around the darkened house for a few minutes and finally found Ron Gabriel sitting alone in the kitchen, in candlelight.

“Ron, why didn’t you tell us?” Brenda blurted.

Gabriel looked surprised and, in the flickering light of the lone candle, a bit annoyed.

“Tell you what?”

“We would have helped you, wouldn’t we, Bill?”

“Of course,” Oxnard said. “If you’re broke, Ron, or run out of credit…”

“What’re you talking about?” Gabriel pushed himself up from the table. He was wearing his old Bruce Lee robe.

“We’ve been following the reviews of ‘The Starcrossed,’” said Brenda. “We saw what a panning the scripts took. They’re blaming you for everything…”

“And when we saw them taking away your furniture…”

“And no electricity…”

A lithe young girl walked uncertainly into the kitchen, dressed in a robe identical to Gabriel’s. The candlelight threw coppery glints from her hair, which flowed like a cascade of molten red-gold over her slim shoulders.

With a you guys are crazy look , Gabriel introduced, “Cindy Steele, this is Brenda Impanema and Bill Oxnard, two of my loony friends.”

“Hello,” said Cindy, in a tiny little voice.

Brenda smiled at her and Oxnard nodded.

“We were going to have a quiet little candlelight dinner,” Gabriel said, “just the two of us. Before the Ding-Doug Furniture Company came in with my new gravity-defying float-chair. And the Salvation Army came by to pick up my old living room furniture, which I donated to them. And my friends started going spastic for fear that I was broke and starving.”

“Is that what…” Brenda didn’t quite believe it.

But Oxnard did. He started laughing. “I guess we jumped to the wrong conclusion Come on,” he held out a hand to Brenda, “we’ve got a candlelight dinner of our own to see to.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah? Really?” He came around the table and looked at the two of them closely. “Son of a gun.” He grinned.

They walked out to the foyer together, the four of them, Gabriel between Oxnard and Brenda, Cindy trailing slightly behind, twirling a curl of hair in one finger.

“Hey look,” Gabriel said. “Come on back after dinner. For dessert. Got a lot to tell you.”

“Oh, I don’t think…” Brenda began.

“We’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Oxnard said. “We’ve got a lot to tell you, too.”

“Great. Bring back some pie or something.”

“And give us at least three hours,” Cindy said, smiling and walking the fingers of one hand across the back of Gabriel’s shoulders. “I’m a slow cooker.”

It was just after midnight when Gabriel, Brenda and Oxnard tried out the new floatchairs. They were like an arrangement of airfoam cushions out of the Arabian Nights, except that they floated a dozen centimeters above coppery disks that rested on the floor.

“It’s like sitting on a cloud!” Brenda said, snuggling down on the cushions as they adjusted to fit her form.

“Takes a lot of electricity to maintain the field, doesn’t it?” Oxnard asked.

“You bet,” snapped Gabriel. “And you clowns thought they’d turned off my power.”

“Where’s Cindy?” asked Brenda.

Gabriel gave a tiny shrug. “Probably fell asleep in the whirlpool bath. She does that, sometimes. Nice kid, but not too bright.”

“So what’s your news?” Oxnard asked, anxious to tell his own.