Turner Classic Movies must be saved
Gregory Peck and Mary Badham in “To Kill A Mockingbird,” the movie version of Harper Lee’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel. Credit: Bettmann
For my family, the most anticipated part of every July Fourth isn't the fireworks or the many absurd concoctions of red, white and blue food.
It's the memorable opening drumroll that begins the overture of the movie version of "1776," shown every year on Turner Classic Movies. We always make sure we're watching as the opening credits fly across the sepia screen, and then, as the glorious voice of William Daniels, playing John Adams, intones a phrase that still resonates.
"I have come to the conclusion that one useless man is called a disgrace, that two are called a law firm, and that three or more become a Congress," Daniels declares. "And, by God, I have had this Congress."
Every year, those words — and the two-and-a-half hours of movie musical greatness that follow — bring me a particular joy, the joy that comes with experiencing something that's comfortably familiar and yet always new, a bit raw even, when seen through the lens of the current moment.
It's the joy many might feel when they flip the channel to TCM and find themselves engrossed in a psychological thriller like "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?" or a Father's Day double feature of "Fiddler on the Roof" and "To Kill a Mockingbird," or a slice of Americana on Independence Day.
I never would have imagined devoting a column to a cable channel. But TCM is a vital archive of culture and art, exhibits of great acting and cinematography, and moments in history. It's a record of how much time has changed us, and how little. Its brilliant programming, carefully curated to highlight holidays, specific actors and directors, or relevant themes, keeps viewers engaged, searching for old favorites and new classic films to love. And thanks to its platform's reach, that indispensable library is broadly accessible to generations, offering them everything from movie musical matinees on Saturday afternoons to silent features on Sunday nights, and so much inspired commentary in between.
Even so, a few hours with "Arsenic and Old Lace" or "North by Northwest" might not hold the same allure as bingeing the latest streaming series or going to the theater for summer blockbusters like "Barbie" or "Oppenheimer." So, it wasn't really surprising when last month TCM and its film repository seemed to come under fire, as Warner Bros. Discovery, TCM's relatively new parent, laid off or bought out five top TCM executives. It looked to fans like the beginning of the end.
Then something happened. Those fans mobilized. Top directors, including Steven Spielberg and Martin Scorsese, reached out to Warner Bros. Discovery chief executive David Zaslav. Actors and film buffs began a letter-writing campaign and took to social media, proclaiming their love for classic films and the station that protects and celebrates them. Even as the dust begins to settle a bit, fans still gather virtually, to watch and comment via social media on each film, a way of fighting to save the network that airs them.
The outcry, and the ensuing connections and conversations, illustrate how deeply our shared histories and experiences, even on screen, anchor us, how tightly they tie us together, and how we can respond when they might be severed. And they serve as a reminder that preserving such an archive as TCM's is like preserving a piece of our history, one that makes us laugh, cry, scream or sing — but one from which we also, always, can still learn.
Columnist Randi F. Marshall's opinions are her own.
Randi Marshall is a member of the Newsday editorial board.
