It's A Living Debuts with
Delicious, Hard Working Charm
by Kristin Battestella
The
thirteen episode 1980-81 debut of ABC's It's
A Living gets
right to the high rise scandalous situational comedy at the shiny
Above The Top Restaurant as virginal waitress Vicki Allen (Wendy
Schaal) braves the dating scene in the “Pilot” thanks to advice
from her lady colleagues – married Lois Adams (Susan Sullivan),
sultry Cassie Cranston (Ann Jillian), ditsy Dot Higgins (Gail
Edwards), and single mom Jan Hoffmeyer (Barrie Youngfellow). Stern
hostess Nancy Beebe (Marian Mercer), however, objects to the
coddling, making sure their service runs smoothly even when
everything goes awry.
It's
A Living introduces
everyone as they arrive to work, giving the audience a realistic
chance to meet each lady's troubles, sassy, or headstrong.
Immediately discussing sexual
topics and critical views on marriage, mistakes, and a woman's right
to say no establishes their tight knit relationships as well as our
endearment for the girls against their brash boss or pinching cheeks
patrons. Maybe sexual topics defining the women as mother, prude, or
easy generalities are old hat, but the plots are well balanced,
individual, and mature, not crass. When their families are away in
“The Intruder,” the ladies gather for a slumber party amid local
burglar scares and debates on if it's worth wearing pants a size too
small if you look good. It's
A Living shows
the women at home, however they aren't traditional television
homemakers – just women laughing over hair, nails, and being
juvenile. Sure it's contrived that they all have off to be together
at the same time, but it's a chance to address individual fears and
their united stance. Our dames object
to being called chicks because they are women who aren't helpless.
Unfortunately, home and work collide in “Fallen Idol” when
visiting dad Richard Schaal (The Mary Tyler Moore Show) has
a surprising dalliance. He's cool with the bordering on tart skimpy
uniforms, laughs at the generational jokes, and lends his bathrobe
the next morning. The then shameful shocks regarding consenting
adults may seem like an overreaction today, but it's delicious to see
our waitresses deduce the innuendo with great comedic timing and
punchlines. Despite perhaps too many innocent plots to start, the
series first utilizes its rooftop restaurant to the fullest in
“Up on the Roof” as problem tables and a fire in the hotel below
lead to customers who can't leave, slow service, cranky couples, and
bad music to keep them going. Our ladies must pull everyone together
amid evacuation waits, hysterics, fanatical ministers, and worried
employees who don't want to be last in the rooftop rescue. Rather
than regular sitcom standards, It's
A Living uses
its setting in a crisis to standout.
There are, however,
several dated hindrances on It's A Living – namely an
obnoxious laugh track and over-editing with an up close cut for every
comeback rather than any ensemble camera staging. On the other hand,
the cast is crowded this season with similar girls, generic sitcom
plots, and the occasional eighties grandiloquent child actor. It's
unrealistic when the waitresses are all in the back solving a problem
leaving no one to mind the restaurant, and at first, It's A Living
doesn't seem to know how to use
its dining establishment to its advantage. Today a series also
doesn't have the luxury of dragging on with early, basic stories
while we hang on for the banter and personality. Then again, the
rotating door of waitresses to come would be a contemporary excuse
for edgy, gritty issues and seedy, titillation drama. Fortunately,
there's no real clunker in this abbreviated start, and by the second
half It's A Living finds its
characters' strengths in “Our Man Barry” as two girls
become interested in the same man amid dieting plots, employers
weighing the girls, and their having to share, starve, and take it
for the highest paying waitress job in town. Friends, romance, red
dresses, and food cravings don't mix! The lighthearted conflict and
petty confrontations eventually remind the ladies that this guy can't
be a real catch if he wants to string both of them along, but our
mothers argue, too, when a porn magazine ends up in a daughter's
backpack in “Kids.” These days, it's downright hysterical how
they thought sex was everywhere in 1981 because it was so easy for a
kid to see a dirty magazine on the rack at the grocery store! Some
ladies are shocked, a few have a good look, others say it is time for
frank conversations with youth, and they all recall how their mothers
wouldn't even say it – just maybe spell it. None of them want kids
to learn the wrong way with jokes and rumors, but they also think
curious boys and dad's naughty sock drawer are to blame. Girls aren't
supposed to look at pornos! Will telling a ten year old too soon ruin
her attitude about sex? But porn certainly provides unrealistic
expectations, doesn't it? The women's perceptions of each other
change when their sexual ideas and child rearing clash, and it's
fascinating to study how this taboo is addressed then and now. Today,
a kid with smut on his computer is so ubiquitous, it can't even be a
heavy hitting plot device like the well done here.
Barrie
Youngfellow's (Barney
Miller)
divorced single mother Jan is also going back to school and doesn't
have time for crap from customers. She pulls an all nighter so she
can be free to take her daughter to an Andy Gibb concert, and the
only thing that would have made that sweeter would have been if we
had seen him! Jan vowed that her daughter wouldn't be denied anything
because she has one parent, and if her her priorities make her a
terrible waitress, that's too bad. Determined to pay for ballet
lessons in “Super-Mom,” Jan takes a second calligraphy job. Her
coworkers cover for her and help with the invitations while trying to
make Jan realize this is really about her doing it all. Jan has to
take the reprimands on the chin or lose her job, and It's
A Living shows
what it can do with the serious, single mom disappointment. Jan also
waits until the semester's end to accept her professor's overtures in
“Making the Grade,” but when she has a terrible time, he
nonetheless insists on more or he'll fail her. He doesn't want to be
psychoanalyzed for his ways, but she doesn't want to be assaulted –
and a teacher holding a sexual threat over a student is no different
than a guy with a gun in a parking lot. This story focuses on how the
women feel, dropping the insinuations, asking real questions, and
making better statements in 1981 than we do now. Ann Jillian's (Babes in Toyland)
risque Cassie, by contrast, is said to date anything once and wears
her skimpy waitress uniform on the street. Three weeks without makes
one a saint, and all agree with her expectation to die in bed. Cassie
objects to the other ladies' mother hen ways with surprising asides
and steamrolling zingers – a Ma West innuendo married with sharp,
under the radar writing and deadpan delivery. Though fresh and
selfish, Cassie isn't heartless, but she can't admit when she's
caught feelings for an exotic jet setter in “Cassie's Punctured
Romance.” She's tired of pedestrian boys, but she can't keep a
suave man when she's pretending to cook while the girls actually
prepare dinner. They think she should take a chance on taking it to
the next level, but Cassie fears something serious and hates women
who cry over a man. Likewise iron-fisted hostess Nancy Beebe demands
formality, and Marian Mercer's (Mary
Hartman, Mary Hartman)
dame is not willing to be fair. She dislikes children in the
restaurant and is always ready to fire anyone – although she can
apologize when she's wrong and has a begrudging respect for Jan's
moxie. Nancy enjoys insulting their looks, inspecting the ladies, and
demeaning their weight because she herself is the epitome of class
and respect. She's quite flirtatious, too, even with a firefighter
over the phone. While Nancy doesn't realize not everyone has made
this restaurant their lives, she is correct that there is always
something happening with these waitresses. She suspects they are late
to annoy her so she must keep them on their toes. Briefly, Nancy
wonders if she works them too hard, but realizes she doesn't care
because they are trying their best and that's what makes it tragic.
When Nancy claims the new boss has fired her in “You're Not Old,
You're Fired” because he is dissatisfied with her work, the
waitresses refuse to believe that could be the reason when she is
impeccable with the customers. They can't think of nice things to say
or good times they've had together, but it's clear the restaurant
can't run without Nancy. The girls find out she was fired for being
old, for men can have gray, lines, and experience but not women.
Dignified Nancy, however, stands up for being perfect in every way
but age – she's really forty-five not forty-two.
Top
billed Susan Sullivan (Falcon
Crest)
remains level headed as unofficial waitress leader Lois. She always
has the final word for the backhanded insults about being too old or
not being as old as she looks, but her headstrong is too similar to
Jan. Though played as friends, in real life they would be competitive
rather than besties. Lois wonders why everyone asks her advice, but
she readily tells one what they don't want to hear. Her marriage is
said to be perfect, but an old flame makes her wonder what she missed
in “The Lois Affair.” When he offers her his room key and a
nightcap, Lois insists it can be an innocent chat. Despite the
temptations, good old Lois won't give in to anything stupid, and
she's hurt when her daughter is embarrassed by her job in
“R-E-S-P-E-C-T.” Speaking at school career day, Lois realizes
there is nothing with a consistent job that puts food on the table –
especially when her husband's work has thin times. This is a great
entry showcasing the unnecessary inferior treatment of service
professions, yet it serves as a natural conclusion for Lois to hang
up her apron for her family. Wendy Schaal's ('the burbs)
Vicki is our ingenue – the innocent country girl who won't go away
for the weekend with a guy and is home by midnight once she
eventually goes out for dinner and dancing. Although it's odd to have
similar episodes back to back early, “Roomies” puts Vicki and
sassy Cassie under the same roof for wholesome opposites, wise
cracking two-handers, personality, and standing up for oneself. At
times, however, Vicki's dunce innocence is too much like Gail
Edwards' (Full
House)
habitually late wannabe actress Dot Higgins. Though best friends, Dot
often doesn't notice something amiss with Vicki, and her aloof
provides humorous side plots until a man comes between her and Vicki.
Perhaps Vicki was meant to be the youthful, relatable character, but
she matures by the end of the season, and her character's arc feels
closed by her final appearance at the end of the season. The ladies
turn to Bert Remsen (Dead Ringer)
as cranky chef Mario this season for war stories and advice, but he
has little else to do beyond hating food and complaining when they
are overwhelmed and overbooked or everything is behind and under
cooked. He takes the girls' side against Nancy, but his humor and
wisdom are too few and far between, and ultimately, the friendly old
man among the women is unnecessary in a series about ladies who can
handle themselves. Likewise, I don't recall Paul Kreppel's (That
70's Show)
piano playing Sonny Man being so obnoxious and annoying! He's not
that good with the music, changing the lyrics if a line can move in
on the ladies and clinging
to his piano jar during a fire evacuation.
It's bizarre to have bad singing for unnecessary comic relief – as
if the terrible man is supposed to be what's really
funny on It's
A Living, not
the stand up women.
Sonny
feigns colds, wants them to serve him tea, and bemoans how he never
gets compassion from the waitresses. When Dot does appreciate his
casual honestly after Sonny feels impotent over a few bad dates, he
responds by returning to his would be lothario ways, and Nancy says
he's just a clown in a cheap tuxedo. Ouch!
Sure
the video is flat, but there's something to be said for opening
credits that set the mood, and It's
A Living's intro
remains
memorable thanks to a brassy, catchy jingle and a shiny elevator
capturing the classy fun. Some openings are shorter than others –
perhaps new syndicated brevity – and fade in transitions may also
be edited shavings. Beyond outdoor stock footage and typical,
redressed domestic sets, most of the humor takes place between the
restaurant, kitchen, and dressing lounge. There's a pay phone for
personal calls, too, and the one-sided conversation acting is
bemusing rather than phoned in like today. The off the shoulder
peasant tops, frilly sweaters, overalls, wedges, wide belts, and
fringe would be a choice today, too – yet I like how the fashions
remind me of then. Tight jeans, barrettes, feathered hair, and choppy
bangs look so much older but have a pre-millennial innocence. Despite
the black and beige suave dining schemes, the clothes are bright and
colorful teals, purple, and pinks, and the four different waitress
uniforms range from stylish black formals to wench-like skirts and
sashes with each gal in a different color. Objections to the then
risque strappy dresses are a topic of conversation on It's
A Living, with
the ladies assuring they don't have to wear rubber bands to be
svelte. Enchanting though they are, compared to outrageous acrylic
nails and unrealistic perfectly coiffed stars; our
women look like waitresses – refreshingly normal people alongside
whose struggles, success, and humor we can enjoy. After toiling with
few reruns post syndication and no video releases most likely due to
song rights, It's
A Living feels
more obscure than it deserves. Thankfully new
streaming and retro over the air television options have brought It's
A Living to
a fresh audience. The ladies here
get on just fine without being defined by their relationship to a man
to tell us who they are, and there's something special about
nostalgic laughter and progressive sitcom charm for the whole family.
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