Norman Lear, Sitcom King Who Changed TV -- And America

 Norman Lear appears during the "American Masters: Norman Lear" panel at the PBS Summer TCA Tour on Aug. 1, 2015, in Beverly Hills, Calif. (AP)
Norman Lear appears during the "American Masters: Norman Lear" panel at the PBS Summer TCA Tour on Aug. 1, 2015, in Beverly Hills, Calif. (AP)
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Norman Lear, Sitcom King Who Changed TV -- And America

 Norman Lear appears during the "American Masters: Norman Lear" panel at the PBS Summer TCA Tour on Aug. 1, 2015, in Beverly Hills, Calif. (AP)
Norman Lear appears during the "American Masters: Norman Lear" panel at the PBS Summer TCA Tour on Aug. 1, 2015, in Beverly Hills, Calif. (AP)

Norman Lear was television's prolific genius whose trailblazing sitcoms in the 1970s and 1980s revolutionized US entertainment -- and helped change the way a nation saw itself.

With boundary-breaking shows like "All In the Family" and "The Jeffersons," Lear -- who has died aged 101 -- helped millions of viewers confront their deepest fears, frailties and prejudices, as well as their aspirations, with humor and humanity.

Among his milestones was creating the first African American nuclear family regularly appearing on television: the Evans clan on "Good Times," beginning in 1974.

He injected the sensitive subjects of race, class, inequality and politics like the anti-war movement into his work, breaking the sitcom mold and beaming modern visions of family life into millions of US households.

Lear abandoned the idealistic representation of American families seen on shows like "Leave It to Beaver" (1957-1963) and adopted a more real-world depiction -- and in so doing, he changed the face of television.

"What was new was that we were engaging in reality," the famed creator said in the 2016 documentary "Norman Lear: Just Another Version of You."

Fellow comedy star Mel Brooks hailed Lear as "the bravest television writer, director and producer of all time."

Lear's family, in announcing his death, said Wednesday their patriarch wrote about real life, "not a glossy ideal."

"At first, his ideas were met with closed doors and misunderstanding. However, he stuck to his conviction that the 'foolishness of the human condition' made great television, and eventually he was heard."

In the mid-1970s, at the height of his eight-decade career, Lear had five sitcoms airing in prime time -- an era before cable or streaming, when Americans watched television collectively.

Broadcaster CBS estimated at the time that a staggering 120 million Americans watched Lear programming each week.

The six-time Emmy Award winner wrote, produced, created or developed roughly 100 specials and shows including 1980s mega-hit "The Facts of Life" and the long-running "One Day at a Time."

His revolutionary comedy also earned him a spot on President Richard Nixon's so-called enemies list.

Blue-collar comedy

Lear's most explosive creation was "All In the Family," a blue-collar comedy so audacious that its first episode, in 1971, came with a disclaimer.

The half-hour show featured abrasive patriarch Archie Bunker, lovably irascible but bigoted, narrow-minded and clashing with his liberal relatives.

It marked a TV paradigm shift.

"Television can be broken into two parts, BN and AN: Before Norman and After Norman," writer and producer Phil Rosenthal said in the 2016 documentary.

Lear, donning his trademark porkpie hat, also produced or funded such big-screen classics as "The Princess Bride" and "This is Spinal Tap."

But television was his magic medium.

Never far from the surface in Lear's shows were the issues gnawing at American society: misogyny, racism, women's rights and political division.

He dug deep into the exigencies of Black life. And while "Good Times" was intended as a white audience's window into Black America, "The Jeffersons" represented the American Dream for Black people.

Over 253 episodes from 1975 to 1985, "The Jeffersons" portrayed African American success through an unapologetically Black couple "movin' on up" in New York society.

'Enemy' of the family?

Norman Milton Lear was born on July 27, 1922, into a Jewish family in New Haven, Connecticut.

His mother emigrated from Russia, and his father was a salesman who served time in jail and had a bigoted streak that embarrassed his son -- but also served as source material.

Lear attended Emerson College in Boston but dropped out to enlist in the US Army, flying 37 World War II bombing sorties as a radio operator and gunner.

By 1949 he moved to Los Angeles, where he found success writing for TV variety shows.

He also produced films including 1963's "Come Blow Your Horn" starring Frank Sinatra, and in 1967 received an Academy Award nomination for best screenplay for "Divorce American Style."

With "All In the Family" and the TV shows that followed, Lear's influence skyrocketed.

So did his concern about the mix of politics and religion.

Criticism from conservative circles poured in, with televangelist Jerry Falwell calling Lear "the number one enemy of the American family."

Lear pushed back against the burgeoning religious right, and in 1981 founded People For the American Way, a group promoting civic engagement and freedom of expression and religion.

Lear's work ethic was legendary. After his 100th birthday, he collaborated with TV host Jimmy Kimmel on "Live in Front of a Studio Audience!" specials in which star-studded casts performed remakes of classic Lear shows.

A pioneer on multiple fronts, Lear's portrayal of true-to-life traumas sealed his reputation.

In a watershed 1972 episode of "Maude," the title character agonizes over terminating her pregnancy, a plotline that brought the abortion fight to prime time one year before the Supreme Court guaranteed the right to abortion.

Half a century later, Lear -- who married three times and had six children -- told "E! Insider" the issues his sitcoms addressed carry equal resonance today.

"The culture has shifted and changed... but the way families experience life is pretty much the same," he said.



Movie Review: 'Eddington' Is a Satire About Our Broken Brains That Might Re-Break Your Brain

 This image released by A24 shows Joaquin Phoenix, left, and Pedro Pascal in a scene from "Eddington." (A24 via AP)
This image released by A24 shows Joaquin Phoenix, left, and Pedro Pascal in a scene from "Eddington." (A24 via AP)
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Movie Review: 'Eddington' Is a Satire About Our Broken Brains That Might Re-Break Your Brain

 This image released by A24 shows Joaquin Phoenix, left, and Pedro Pascal in a scene from "Eddington." (A24 via AP)
This image released by A24 shows Joaquin Phoenix, left, and Pedro Pascal in a scene from "Eddington." (A24 via AP)

You might need to lie down for a bit after "Eddington." Preferably in a dark room with no screens and no talking. "Eddington," Ari Aster's latest nightmare vision, is sure to divide but there is one thing I think everyone will be able to agree on: It is an experience that will leave you asking "WHAT?" The movie opens on the aggravated ramblings of an unhoused man and doesn't get much more coherent from there. Approach with caution.

We talk a lot about movies as an escape from the stresses of the world. "Eddington," in which a small, fictional town in New Mexico becomes a microcosm of life in the misinformation age, and more specifically during the pandemic and the Black Lives Matter protests, is very much the opposite of that. It is an anti-escapist symphony of masking debates, conspiracy theories, YouTube prophets, TikTok trends and third-rail topics in which no side is spared. Most everyone looks insane and ridiculous by the end, from the white teenage girl (Amélie Hoeferle) telling a Black cop (Michael Ward) to join the movement, to the grammatical errors of the truthers, as the town spirals into chaos and gruesome violence.

Joaquin Phoenix plays the town sheriff, a soft-spoken wife guy named Joe Cross, who we meet out in the desert one night watching YouTube videos about how to convince your wife to have a baby. He's interrupted by cops from the neighboring town, who demand he put on a mask since he's technically crossed the border.

It is May 2020, and everyone is a little on edge. Joe, frustrated by the hysterical commitment to mandates from nowhere, finds himself the unofficial spokesperson for the right to go unmasked. He pits himself against the slick local mayor Ted Garcia (Pedro Pascal), who is up for reelection, in the pocket of big tech and ready to exploit his single fatherhood for political gain. At home, Joe's mother-in-law Dawn (Deirdre O'Connell) spends all day consuming internet conspiracy theories, while his wife Louise (a criminally underused Emma Stone) works on crafts and nurses unspoken traumas.

Joe's eagerness to take on Ted isn't just about masking. Years ago, Ted dated his now-wife, a story that will be twisted into rape and grooming accusations. Caricatures and stereotypes are everywhere in "Eddington," but in this world it feels like the women are especially underwritten - they are kooks, victims, zealots and the ones who push fragile men to the brink. But in "Eddington," all the conspiracies are real and ordinary people are all susceptible to the madness.

In fact, insanity is just an inevitability no matter how well-intentioned one starts out, whether that's the woke-curious teen rattled by rejection, or the loyal deputy Guy (Luke Grimes) who is suddenly more than happy to accuse a colleague of murder. Louise will also be swayed by a floppy-haired internet guru, a cult-like leader played with perfect swagger by Austin Butler.

The problem with an anarchic satire like "Eddington," in theaters Friday, is that any criticism could easily be dismissed with a "that's the point" counterargument. And yet there is very little to be learned in this silo of provocations that, like all Aster movies, escalates until the movie is over.

There are moments of humor and wit, too, as well as expertly built tension and release. "Eddington" is not incompetently done or unwatchable (the cast and the director kind of guarantee that); it just doesn't feel a whole of anything other than a cinematic expression of broken brains.

Five years after we just went through (at least a lot of) this, "Eddington" somehow seems both too late and too soon, especially when it offers so little wisdom or insight beyond a vision of hopelessness. I wonder what world Aster thought he'd be releasing this film into. Maybe one that was better, not cosmically worse.

It's possible "Eddington" will age well. Perhaps it's the kind of movie that future Gen Alpha cinephiles will point to as being ahead of its time, a work that was woefully misunderstood by head-in-the-sand critics who didn't see that it was 2025's answer to the prescient paranoia cinema of the 1970s.

Not to sound like the studio boss in "Sullivan's Travels," trying to get the filmmaker with big issues on the mind to make a dumb comedy, but right now, "Eddington" feels like the last thing any of us need.