by Jim Colucci
Written by: MARTIN WEISS & ROBERT BRUCE Directed by: TERRY HUGHES Original airdate: FEBRUARY 18, 1989
After the funeral for Sophia’s friend Edith Flannery, Dorothy becomes acutely aware of how little together time she and her mother may have left. So she decides to take Sophia away for a weekend of quality time. But once at Disney World, the two women turn out to have differing definitions of fun; while Sophia wants nothing more than to try out the park’s roller coaster, Space Mountain, Dorothy would rather reminisce than ride. Finally, Sophia has had enough of sifting through family snapshots, and attempts an escape, only to be foiled by a sudden thunderstorm.
Twenty-four hours later, Sophia does flee to the hotel bar. When Dorothy finds her there, Sophia explains that quality time can’t be forced, but has to come naturally in life’s little moments. And so, as the rain lets up on the day of their departure, Dorothy has just enough time for one last surprise: some spontaneous fun with Sophia as they scream together on Space Mountain.
Meanwhile, inspired by the fable of Toonder the Magnificent Tiger that Rose picked up in St. Olaf, Blanche whips up some illustrations of the feline magician, and proposes that the two of them team up to turn the tale into a children’s storybook. The collaboration starts out strong—until wordsmith Rose has the nerve to criticize Blanche’s artwork. In the end, their artistic differences are moot. Rose learns that the tale of Toonder was not created by her parents, as she’d thought, but indeed has already been published by St. Olaf’s most famous fabulist, Hans Christian Lockerhoeven.
COMMENTARY: In this episode, Dorothy worries about Sophia’s mortality—and as well she should. After all, how old is the woman, really? Here, she says Sophia is eighty-two. But considering that some of Sophia’s Sicily stories take place just after the turn of the twentieth century, perhaps she has shaved a few years off her age.
Or maybe it’s just the writing. After all, there’s a similar inconsistency to the age of Dorothy herself. In this episode, she unearths her baby photo from 1932. In season three’s “Nothing to Fear, But Fear Itself” we learn that Dorothy was conceived in 1931, and in season seven’s “Hey, Look Me Over,” she has already turned sixty by the fall of 1991. This would all make sense, pointing to a fall 1931 birth. But a few episodes from now, in “Till Death Do We Volley,” we’ll learn she was in the high school class of 1946—meaning that barring the skipping of any grades Dorothy was born in 1928. (To confuse things further, Bea Arthur herself was born far earlier, in 1922.)
Furthermore, none of Dorothy’s estimated birth dates really matches the ages of her children, Kate and Michael. Throughout the series, we hear about how Dorothy and Stan conceived their first child while on a high school date, and in the fifth-season episode “An Illegitimate Concern,” we learn that a pregnant Dorothy married Stan on June 1, 1949. But when her elder child, Kate, shows up in Miami in 1985, in the series’ fourth episode, “Guess Who’s Coming to the Wedding?,” she seems younger than her mid-thirties.
As the show’s producer Paul Witt admits, issues like this arose because, unlike on some series, like his own previous Soap, “on The Golden Girls we didn’t have a formal ‘show bible.’” Without access to such a holy reference document, which would contain the official biographies and histories of a show’s characters, the writers were allowed leeway to make up backstories as needed—often conflicting with what had been earlier established. “Some of our characters were planned, and some were accidents of creative convenience,” Paul explains. For example, he notes, “Did we know exactly how many children each character had? I’m not sure we ever did.” Only in the show’s latter seasons did its writers become more conscientious about such fine details—particularly with the hiring of Marc Cherry and Jamie Wooten: “We became the guys holding the bible, because we had already been fans and had seen everything,” Marc explains. “So I was correcting backstory: No, that’s not what Rose’s uncle in St. Olaf is named!”
This episode’s B plot was at least partly inspired by Rue McClanahan’s real-life artistic talents. As producers undoubtedly noticed, and as Rue’s longtime friend Michael J. LaRue explains, during the weekly table reads of each episode, the actress used to doodle her artwork all over the covers of her scripts.
BEA ARTHUR: This is an episode I fondly remember. Sophia sitting in the bar asking the piano player she calls Sam to play her favorite song—and then he plays “It’s a Small World.” That barrage of photos and memories Dorothy had planned for Sophia—it was so ludicrous! Had I been Sophia, I would have been out of there five minutes later!
BARRY FANARO: I got the idea for this episode from something my wife’s grandmother said to me. She told me before she died she wanted to go to Disneyland and get on Space Mountain. She was about ninety years old at the time—and they did take her.
ROBERT BRUCE: My one disappointment about this episode is the moment at the very end. [My writing partner] Marty [Weiss] and I had wanted a real shot of Bea and Estelle getting into one of the cars on Space Mountain, figuring because the show was produced by Touchstone, which is part of Disney, why can’t we take them to Disneyland? But for some reason we didn’t. We showed the lights of the ride, with Bea and Estelle’s lines in voice-over.
But overall, this was my favorite episode Marty and I wrote. The idea had come from the show’s executive producers, but it suited us well to write it. We always tended to write Dorothy stories, because we had more sarcastic things to say. And our B stories, then, tended to be about Rose and Blanche. As writers, we didn’t go much to the stage, particularly in the early years, when there was a stricter line of demarcation. During the week, we would be in the writers’ room.
But this particular week, I was there for a run-through, and was standing at the craft services table when Bea came over to me. You wouldn’t think it based on the characters she’s played and her size, but she was actually very shy. I could see that she was almost reticent. She asked me, “Robert, do you think I’m doing a good job?” Well, how do you answer her?! Of course I told her, “You’re doing a great job! Why do you ask?” She told me that the relationship that Dorothy had with Sophia was a lot like the relationship she’d had with her own mother, and so this episode meant a lot to her. It was touching to hear that from her. And so consequently, I like this episode the best.
EPISODE 92
YOU GOTTA HAVE HOPE
Written by: BARRY FANARO & MORT NATHAN Directed by: TERRY HUGHES Original airdate: FEBRUARY 25, 1989
The girls are stunned when their variety show truly does nab Bob Hope as its host.
Photo by ABC PHOTO ARHCIVES /ABC via GETTY IMAGES.
Things don’t start off well when Dorothy is placed in charge of the variety show for the Ladies’ Auxiliary. Ticket sales are slow, and other than the adorable trio Sophia is representing as an agent, the Donatello Triplets (the Del Rubio Triplets), all of the available acts stink. (Including Sophia’s other new client, her absentminded new boyfriend, Seymour [Douglas Seale, 1913–99], a.k.a. magician the Great Alfonso.)
After the show’s emcee drops out, Rose comes up with a cheery plan to get Bob Hope to host—because after all, he is her father. She explains that before being adopted by Gunter and Alma Lindstrom, she had spent her first eight years in the St. Olaf Orphanage, dreaming that Bob was her real dad. And throughout her life, in times of trouble, Rose had turned to the legendary actor/comedian, writing him a letter or just going to one of his movies. Because Bob has never let Rose down, she knows in her heart he’ll agree to show up for the Girls’ charity show.
After Rose gets the members of the Ladies’ Auxiliary all excited about Bob, the Girls have to make good on her premature promise. So they crash the men’s locker room—in male golfer drag, no less—of the local country club, hoping to grab a word with Bob as he plays in a local tournament. But they’re too late; they’ve just missed him.
The night of the show, as expected the Donatellos rock. But disastrously, Rose has forgotten to take Bob Hope’s name
off the program, and so she prepares to announce the error and offer the audience a refund. But then, a miracle happens. The Great Alfonso has put in a call to his old vaudeville partner, and after Sophia enters the magician’s magic cabinet, abracadabra! None other than Mr. Bob Hope steps out. As Bob does his stand-up routine for the crowd, Rose vows never again to get carried away with silly fantasies. But she can’t help muttering her gratitude to the man onstage: “Thanks, Dad.”
COMMENTARY: Rose, Blanche, and Dorothy turned out to be fans of the kitschy Del Rubio Triplets and their version of the Pointer Sisters’ “Neutron Dance,” and they weren’t alone. This episode’s coauthor, Mort Nathan, explains that he and Barry Fanaro had seen the three identical guitar-strumming ladies putting their own strange, unique spin on the pop tunes of the day, and decided to write them in to The Golden Girls. Because after all, like the Girls, here were three older ladies with a hip cult following. “In addition to mainstream stunt casting,” Mort explains, “we would also try to go with some more esoteric choices.”
Bob Hope (1903–2003), who makes a splashy cameo appearance here, had a career in movies, television, and onstage that spanned some seven decades. Throughout conflicts from World War II to the 1991 war in the Persian Gulf, the British-born, American-bred actor produced and hosted a traveling show for the USO, bringing Hollywood’s top talents to entertain our servicemen abroad. And perhaps he truly was Rose’s biological father, because it seems as if longevity must run in the family.
Here, in their attempt to beseech Bob personally to emcee their event, the Girls crash a local country club’s locker room—in male caddy getups that make them look, in Dorothy’s words, “like Sam Snead with a hormone problem.” As Dorothy and Blanche comfort their crying friend, they elicit stares from two men who approach, fresh from the shower. “That does it. We’ve got to get that antique dealer off the membership committee,” vows one homophobic duffer (Patrick Stack) to the other. Those are some pretty strong words, coming from two gents parading around in towels.
BARRY FANARO: We got to work with some huge guest stars who were all incredibly nice because they were fans of the show. For this episode, we first had the idea that Rose would have been an orphan, and knew that often kids without parents fantasize about being the children of famous people. We pitched Betty the whole idea, and told her: “We’re going to need a celebrity, old enough to play your father.” As we explained, the whole storyline really did hinge upon if we could get somebody.
The stage for the Girls’ variety show benefit.
Photo courtesy of the EDWARD S. STEPHENSON ARCHIVE at the ART DIRECTORS GUILD.
BETTY WHITE: Susan Harris called me and said, “I know you’re friends with Bob Hope. Would you take exception to calling him and asking him to do the show?” Well, I’m not good at that. I’ll show off, but when it comes down to actually confronting somebody, I’m no good. But I did call Bob, and he couldn’t have been sweeter. He said, “Sure, I’d love to.” Well, I felt like such a hero when I could go back and say, “Yes, we’ve got Bob Hope!”
MORT NATHAN: We asked Bob Hope how he wanted to be paid, which was whatever the minimum was at the time. I asked his manager, do you want us to donate it to charity? So the manager said, “That’s not all Bob wants. Bob wants jokes.” He informed us that Bob was performing at the Bob Hope Desert Classic golf tournament, which the president was going to be attending. “You guys are joke writers—so write him ten Ronald Reagan jokes, and he’ll do your show.” So we did, and Bob used some of them.
RICK COPP: This episode marked a personal victory for me. The four showrunners Kathy, Terry, Mort, and Barry—whom we all called the Beatles—had asked all the writers to come up with jokes for Bob Hope. And I was so excited because I had a joke in the episode that he delivered, and it made the cut. Ronald Reagan was just leaving office, and the joke was, “Nancy is upset about them moving back to California. She’s afraid Ron won’t have as much free time to spend with her anymore.” Stupid joke, but it made it!
BEA ARTHUR: I had worked with Bob Hope once on a variety show, and he had always been very complimentary to me. When he came to the set for this episode, he gave me the full set of “Road” movies that he had made with Bing Crosby. He was charming and seemed so thrilled to be working with us.
ROBERT BRUCE: For me, Bob Hope was the most memorable guest we ever had on the show. I remember walking on the Ren-Mar lot when all of a sudden we saw this Chrysler—Bob’s longtime sponsor—heading toward us with this little head behind the wheel. Everybody scrambled: “Bob Hope’s driving—get out of the way!” After all, the man was in his late eighties at the time.
Bob went to his dressing room, and I asked the other writers, “Has anybody gone over to visit the guy?” They all said they didn’t want to bother him. But I had brought in one of his books, and I thought, “What the hell. I’m going to go over and ask him to sign it.” When I entered his dressing room, there was no entourage. Just an old man sitting there, very un–Bob Hope looking, pale and with virtually no hair.
Sophia finds the perfect act in the Donatello Triplets (the Del Rubio Triplets).
Photo by ABC PHOTO ARCHIVES/ABC via GETTY IMAGES.
At the dress rehearsal, Bob didn’t really seem to get what he was supposed to do. He knew that the story was that Rose thought he was her father, and he would come out and do his Bob Hope bit. And amazingly, when he stepped out of the magician’s box, he had makeup on, and he had a tan, and I guess they’d shoe polished his hair in—and all of a sudden, this little old man had turned into the spry Bob Hope. He’d pulled himself together, and it was amazing to see the difference. But in that dress rehearsal show, instead of the Reagan jokes you see in the episode, he was doing jokes like “You know, the thing about these Golden Girls is . . .” He kept referring to them as the Golden Girls, within the show. We obviously couldn’t do that. By the second show, he got it. He had some new material, and he was good.
EPISODE 96
TILL DEATH DO WE VOLLEY
Written by: RICHARD VACZY & TRACY GAMBLE Directed by: TERRY HUGHES Original airdate: MARCH 18, 1989
Dorothy’s former tennis teammate Trudy McMann (Anne Francis, 1930–2011) comes to Miami for their high school reunion, reviving their old rivalry. But the visit turns tragic when Trudy suddenly dies on the tennis court, leading Dorothy to blame herself.
That night at the reunion—inexplicably being held in the Girls’ living room—Dorothy dreads relaying the news of Trudy’s demise. But then, just after she musters the courage and makes her big announcement, voilà! In marches a very-much-alive Trudy, gloating over having pulled her best practical joke of all time.
After facing her friends’ horrified reaction, Trudy barges in to Dorothy’s bedroom to apologize for her cruel trick—and finds her husband, Jack (Robert King), nestled in bed with her supposedly grieving friend. Trudy is outraged, and Dorothy vindicated; throwing off the covers, Dorothy reveals that she and Jack are fully clothed underneath. Dorothy is Sicilian, after all—and earlier, when she realized she’d been duped, she had set out to exact the perfect revenge. And once achieved, all is forgiven, with Dorothy proclaiming her long-lost frenemy has “made this one hell of a reunion.”
COMMENTARY: The late Anne Francis had been a sex symbol since her days as the sexy title character in the 1965–66 ABC detective series Honey West. Here, Anne traded in Honey’s pet ocelot for a tennis racket, but in faking her death-by-heart-attack on the tennis court, proved she still had the moves.
A child actress on the stage, Anne had gone on to land roles in noteworthy fifties films Bad Day at Black Rock and Blackboard Jungle in 1955, and camp classic Forbidden Planet in 1956. In 1960 she famously played a confused mannequincome-to-life, shopping for a gold thimble in the Twilight Zone episode “The After Hours.”
And yes, for some reason, Brooklynite Dorothy’s high school reunion—or possibly just the league champs of 1946 reunion, because it’s not clear—is being held in the Girls’ Mi
ami living room. Just go with it.
ANNE FRANCIS: When I got sent this script for The Golden Girls, I thought it was a fun role. They were all strong actresses, and I liked doing comedy very much, so I felt very comfortable. Working toe-to-toe with Bea was fun, too. I noticed during the shoot how Bea loves to be in bare feet. I did a TV movie with her around that same time, too, called My First Love, where again I played an old friend from school days. We shot on location, and I noticed Bea was running around on downtown streets barefoot as well, which I thought was relatively dangerous. But she really doesn’t like to wear shoes.
These bleachers provided the perfect vantage point for witnessing someone faking a heart attack.
Photo courtesy of the EDWARD S. STEPHENSON ARCHIVE at the ART DIRECTORS GUILD.
DAVID A. GOODMAN: When my writing partner, Rick Copp, and I joined the show in the fourth season, we quickly learned not to do something the writers had come to call “Dorothy bashing.” Obviously, it’s the character of Rose who is stupid, of Sophia who’s senile, of Blanche who’s a slut—and those are the types of jokes you’d write for those characters. But in the first couple of years, there were lots of jokes about how big and ugly Dorothy was. Bea started to feel very insecure about it, and so the writers had to take those jokes out of their scripts. As a young writer, that was a very good lesson to learn.
But in this episode, something interesting happened. There was a line where, in being competitive with Trudy, Dorothy reminds her about their upcoming tennis match: “I think you forget, Trudy, we have to wear tennis dresses.” The joke there being that you should be worried, Trudy, because you know what you look like in a tennis dress. The problem was Anne Francis was gorgeous, so the joke didn’t work at all. It made no sense, and never got a laugh at run-throughs or rehearsals. But Bea really liked the joke, because it essentially implied that it was now the other woman who would look less attractive. And when the writers suggested cutting the line, Bea would say, “No, no, I can make it work!” It was clear that it was very much a mission for her. I remember her really emphasizing the words, “Tennis. Dresses.” And the look on her face afterward would be like: “Are people not hearing me?!” It really was a fascinating moment to watch.
