Show Business: Viewpoints

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PORTRAIT: THE WOMAN I LOVE. ABC.

Sunday, Dec. 17, 9-10 p.m. E.S.T.

A dashing young king gives up his throne for a woman while half the world breathlessly watches and listens. The courtship of Edward VIII and Wallis Simpson may be the romance of the century; but to the producers of this dramatized recreation, it is just another soap opera, with Windsor Castle taking the place of General Hospital, Edward standing in for the handsome doctor on rounds, and poor Wally playing the inevitable "other woman."

Unfortunately, as ABC is presenting it, the show is not even good soap opera. The backgrounds are beautiful and authentic looking—despite the fact that the film was shot in California—but the producers seem to find the atmosphere of 1936 as alien as 1066. Nor are they helped by the actors. Faye Dunaway (Simpson) flutters her eyes a lot, but she is not a woman for whom a king would give up his crown—or even a good night's sleep. Richard Chamberlain looks remarkably like old photographs of Edward, but he seems to think that the way a king shows his regality is to affect a look of condescension and constantly crinkle his brow and nose as if he had just smelled something bad but was too polite to say so—or as if he had just read the script.

GHOST STORY. NBC. Friday, 9-10 p.m.

E.S.T.

It seems that there is a little problem with one of the English profs down at old Siwash U. He has his eye on the pretty coeds, and he, well, he takes advantage of them. Not that the poor fellow (Hal Linden) can help himself. He, like any other vampire, cannot be held responsible for what happens when the sun goes down. NBC, however, can be held responsible for the episode, titled Elegy for a Vampire, and for all the other stories in this series. They are consistently dreadful, substituting the chill of boredom for the thrill of suspense. Week after week, this is perhaps the silliest of all the silly hours on TV.

COLUMBO. NBC. Every fourth Sunday,

8:30-10 p.m. E.S.T.

During the first 15 minutes of every episode, a seemingly perfect murder. Then, for more than an hour, Los Angeles Police Lieutenant Columbo tries to figure out what the viewer already knows. Looking and acting more like a befuddled sheep dog than a crafty bloodhound, Columbo (Peter Falk) sets to work. The viewer works with him, wincing, sighing and occasionally sitting up in excitement as Columbo stumbles step by step to the tiny flaw that will unravel the murder's protective coat.

The show is probably the best detective series on TV. Unfortunately, it is not quite good enough. Though Falk is a delight to watch in one of the medium's meatiest roles, the writers frequently fail to support him with plausible scripts or the final surprise that their formula demands. Beyond that, the producers have made the mistake this season of sometimes running the show for two hours rather than the usual hour-and-a-half. It is a burden that not even Falk can carry. Enough is enough. Like an English pubkeeper at the closing hour, someone should shout "Time, gentlemen!"

—Gerald Clarke