Welcome to Late Night Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Mondays, I will be reviewing CHiPs, which ran on NBC from 1977 to 1983. The entire show is currently streaming on Prime!
This week, Ponch worries that he’s lost his touch.
Episode 5.13 “Breaking Point”
(Dir by Leslie H. Martinson, originally aired on January 3rd, 1982)
While pursuing a car thief, Ponch loses control of his motorcycle and crashes through the glass door of a jewelry store. He smashes into a display case and finds himself trapped underneath a shelf of jagged glass. One wrong move and he could lose his head!
Now, Baker and the other cops are able to rescue Ponch and move the display case. Still, the experience leaves Ponch so shaken that he starts to doubt himself. He starts to find excuses to not go out on his bike. He does paperwork back at headquarters. He claims that his bike has a vibration. The other members of the Highway Patrol start to whisper that Ponch is not pulling his weight. Getraer tells Ponch to take some vacation time and to get his head together.
Ponch’s sister, Patti (Maria O’Brien), is visiting. She’s a nurse but, like Ponch, she’s having doubts about her job. She would rather be a model, despite not being particularly attractive. Ponch isn’t happy about Patti giving up her career but he does arrange for Patti to spend some time with Jon’s model girlfriend, Christy (Mary Angela Young). While Patti and Christy are chatting, a man has a heart stroke and Patti saves his life. Patti realizes that her job is important and this leads to Ponch deciding that his job is important too.
I’m going to guess that this was designed to be Erik Estrada’s Emmy episode. Estrada does his best to capture Ponch’s uncertainty and his conflicted emotions but the thing with Erik Estrada is that you look at him and you just can’t believe he’s ever had a moment of self-doubt in his entire life. By the end of the episode, Ponch is back on his bike and flashing his big smile and there was never any doubt that he would be.
Even with Estrada hamming it up for the Emmy judges, this episode found room for two slo mo of doom accidents. How anyone could have survived the second accident, I have no idea. And yet, it appears that there weren’t any serious injuries. I guess we should be thankful for that!
Welcome to Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Mondays, I will be reviewing Miami Vice, which ran on NBC from 1984 to 1989. The entire show can be purchased on Prime!
This week, the Miracle Man arrives in Miami!
Episode 5.19 “Miracle Man”
(Dir by Alan Myerson, originally aired on June 21st, 1989)
Who is the Miracle Man?
The Miracle Man (played by Jose Perez) is an overweight, middle-aged man who sometimes wears an eye mask and a t-shirt with a big M on it. He rallies the good people of Miami to take back their neighborhoods from the drug dealers. He thwarts drug deals, even the ones that are actually a part of an undercover operation. He’s something of a pest. The cops wants to stop him. The criminals want to kill him. A news reporter (Zach Grenier) wants to make him a star.
In real life, he’s actually Gregory Esteban and he is Izzy’s cousin. A former junkie, he blames himself for the overdose death of his daughter and he’s now determined to launch a one-man war against crime. He’s also bipolar and running low on his meds, which makes him unpredictable. Switek and Tubbs eventually catch the Miracle Man but he still manages to escape from the safehouse. His actions lead to the death of this week’s drug dealers but they also lead to him getting killed as well. That’s not really a surprise. Guest stars almost always died on Miami Vice.
This episode didn’t work for me. The Miracle Man character was too over-the-top to be taken seriously and, as a result, his story and his death didn’t have the emotional impact that it should have. As well, the villains were forgettable and generic. Considering how surreal Miami Vice could be, one would be justified in expecting this episode to be much more stylized than it was. Unfortunately, it was just dull. The Miracle Man could not save it.
Don Johnson is only in this episode for the first two minutes. Edward James Olmos isn’t in it at all. (Crockett and Castillo are described as being absent to prepare for a trial.) The whole episode feels like filler. I can kind of understand why it wasn’t aired during season 5’s original run.
Welcome to Late Night Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Sunday, I will be reviewing the Canadian series, Degrassi: The Next Generation, which aired from 2001 to 2015! The series can be streamed on YouTube and Tubi.
Don’t watch this episode if you have a weak stomach.
Episode 2.9 “Mirror In The Bathroom”
(Dir by Paul Fox, originally aired on July 18th, 2003)
This is the one where Toby decides that the only way to get people to notice him in school is to join the wrestling team. However, when he discovers that he and Sean are in the same weight class (and there’s no way that Toby could ever beat Sean), Toby decides to lose a lot of weight in a very short amount of time.
Yep, this is the episode were Toby starts taking laxatives and throwing up his lunch.
Ugh. Yes, I know that eating disorders are serious. It’s nice that Degrassi did an episode about a guy doing something stupid instead of a girl. If there’s anything I get sick of, it’s the assumption that some people have that any woman who isn’t fat must have an eating disorder. Seriously, you can’t win. If you gain weight, you endanger your health. If you don’t gain weight, everyone assumes you’re throwing up everything you eat. This episode featured a guy struggling with body issues and I appreciated the change of pace.
That said …. ugh! Toby using laxatives! Ugh, ugh, ugh!
While Toby is losing weight, Terri is using her weight to get rich as a plus-sized model. Good for her, I guess. Terri’s kind of a boring character so, for now, it’s difficult to really care about her storylines. In season 3, she’ll start dating Rick Murray and everything will change. But we’ve still got a while to go.
Anyway, as always happens when someone gets an eating disorder, Toby ends up fainting in front of the entire school. He’s off the wrestling team but at least he’ll never take another laxative.
“To know the future is to be trapped by it.” — Leto II Atreides
Children of Dune is one of those sci-fi miniseries that feels a little rough around the edges, but still manages to hit with real ambition, atmosphere, and a lot more emotional weight than its modest TV budget might suggest. It is based on Frank Herbert’s Dune Messiah and Children of Dune, aired on the Sci Fi Channel in 2003 as a three-part miniseries, and it serves as a continuation of the 2000 Frank Herbert’s Dune adaptation.
What makes this version stand out is that it doesn’t just try to retell a story about desert politics and giant worms. It digs into legacy, prophecy, religious fanaticism, and the terrifying cost of being treated like a messiah. That sounds heavy, and it is, but the miniseries keeps moving with enough drama, betrayals, and strange mythic energy that it rarely feels static.
The opening section works especially well because it immediately reminds you that Paul Atreides’ victory was never a clean one. By the time the story gets going, his empire is already rotting from the inside, and the series makes a strong case that power on Arrakis is always poisoned by something, whether it is politics, faith, or the sand itself. The shift from Paul’s once-legendary rise to the unraveling of the world around his children gives the story a tragic tone that fits Herbert’s universe perfectly.
A big reason the miniseries works is that it understands Dune is not really about flashy action, even though it has some. It is about ideas, and this adaptation is willing to spend time on them. The show’s best material comes from the way it frames religion as both weapon and trap, especially once the myth of Muad’Dib starts consuming the people who worshiped him. That theme gives the whole thing a haunted feeling, like everyone is living inside a prophecy they do not fully understand.
The cast does a lot of heavy lifting, too. Alec Newman brings a wounded, exhausted quality to Paul that fits the role well, and his scenes carry real sadness because he feels like a man who has seen too far and cannot unsee it. Jessica Brooks, James McAvoy, and Julie Cox all help ground the family drama, while Susan Sarandon brings a cold intensity that gives the political side of the story some bite. Even when the dialogue gets stiff, the actors usually sell the material better than the script itself does.
One of the most interesting choices in Children of Dune is how it treats the twins, Leto II and Ghanima, as more than just plot devices. Their importance is obvious from the beginning, but the series gradually builds them into the real center of gravity. That works because the story is partly about inheritance, and these kids are inheriting not just a throne, but a nightmare of destiny, expectation, and manipulation. The series knows that the most dangerous thing in this universe is not a blade or a bomb, but a future someone insists is already written.
The production design is another area where the miniseries earns a lot of goodwill. It has that early-2000s TV look, sure, and some effects are clearly limited by the era, but the sets, costumes, and overall visual imagination give it a strong sense of place. Arrakis feels harsh and ceremonial at the same time, which is exactly what it should feel like. The costumes also help sell the political divide between factions, making the whole thing look more like a living empire than a generic sci-fi stage.
There are moments where the miniseries feels very theatrical, almost to a fault. Characters occasionally deliver lines with so much seriousness that the show risks sounding like it is declaring its themes instead of dramatizing them. That said, this is also part of the charm. Children of Dune is not embarrassed by its own scale or its own weirdness, and that confidence helps it pull off material that could easily have collapsed under a more self-conscious approach.
The pacing is mostly solid across the three parts, though it does have the usual miniseries issue of compressing a very large story into a limited runtime. Because it covers most of Dune Messiah in the first installment and then adapts Children of Dune in the later parts, some transitions feel abrupt and some developments move faster than they probably should. Still, the adaptation largely keeps its focus, and it is impressive how much story it packs in without turning into total chaos.
If there is a weakness here, it is that the miniseries can sometimes feel like it is working harder to explain the mythology than to make you feel it. Herbert’s world is notoriously dense, and this version does not always smooth that out for viewers who are not already familiar with the books. A newcomer could easily feel like they have been dropped into the middle of a dynastic collapse with very little hand-holding. But for a follow-up to Frank Herbert’s Dune, that density is more of a feature than a bug.
The best compliment I can give Children of Dune is that it respects the seriousness of its material without becoming completely lifeless. It has the courage to be grand, strange, and a little mournful all at once. Even when the execution is uneven, the miniseries understands that the heart of this saga is not a simple battle for power. It is the burden of seeing the future and realizing it may be worse than the present.
As a sequel, it improves on the sense of scale and emotional consequence from the earlier adaptation. It feels less like an introduction to a universe and more like the tragic fallout of one. That makes it a more satisfying watch for viewers who want Dune to feel like an epic family tragedy instead of just a sand-covered political thriller. The fact that it does this on TV, with all the limitations that implies, makes the achievement even more impressive.
In the end, Children of Dune is a flawed but memorable miniseries that succeeds because it commits to its own strange seriousness. It may not be sleek, and it may not always be easy to follow, but it has ideas, mood, and a genuine sense of doom that suits Herbert’s universe. For fans of the books, it is one of the more interesting screen adaptations because it is willing to lean into the philosophical and tragic side of the saga rather than sanding it down into something safer. For everyone else, it is still a fascinating piece of early-2000s sci-fi television that swings bigger than most shows of its era.
Welcome to Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Sundays, I will be reviewing Homicide: Life On The Street, which aired from 1993 to 1999, on NBC! It can be viewed on Peacock.
This week, we have one of Homicide’s best episodes.
Episode 5.3 “Prison Riot”
(Dir by Kenneth Fink, originally aired on October 18th, 1996)
At the Maryland State Prison, convicted murderer Claude Vetter (Mark Rogers) accidentally bumps into another murderer, James Douglas (Tim McAdams), in the cafeteria. James pulls a knife and stabs Vetter in the stomach. As Vetter collapses, a riot breaks out. By the time the guards have forcefully restored order, Vetter and James Douglas are dead. Everyone knows who killed Vetter. But who stabbed James in the back?
Lewis, Munch, Howard, Bayliss, Kellerman and Giardello head down to the scene. (Pembleton, who is still struggling with his up-coming shooting test, is left behind.) Munch and Lewis don’t care about solving Douglas’s murder. As far as they’re concerned, both Claude Vetter and James Douglas got what they deserved. Munch gets annoyed and returns to the station. Lewis sticks around to help Bayliss with a few interrogations before he also leaves. Bayliss, however, is determined to solve the murder of James Douglas and Kellerman, looking to make up all the ill will that has existed between him and Bayliss, does his best to help.
Bayliss is convinced that Elijah Sanborn (Charles S. Dutton) saw who killed James. Sanborn is serving a life sentence for shooting a drug dealer who previously shot and killed Elijah’s wife in drive-by. (Elijah’s wife was an innocent bystander.) Elijah has been in prison for 14 years. He’s never getting out and he sees no reason why he should help the police. However, when Elijah’s 14 year-old son is arrested for a petty theft, Bayliss offers a deal. If Elijah tells Bayliss who killed James Douglas, Elijah’s son will only do 6 months at a juvenile facility. If Elijah refuses to talk, his son will be charged as an adult.
Elijah is outraged that Bayliss would “use my own son against me!” It’s only after his estranged daughter (Heather Alicia Simms, giving a wonderful performance) visits that Elijah agrees to share what he knows. He has one condition. He wants to see his son. When Elijah’s son turns out to be a sullen and uncommunicative wannabe gangster who tells his father that he doesn’t care about him, Elijah announces, “I killed James Douglas.”
Bayliss knows that Elijah is lying but he also knows that Elijah’s confession is enough to send him to the gas chamber. With no prospects of ever walking free and having been rejected by both his daughter and his son, Elijah has decided to use the system to kill himself.
Fortunately — or unfortunately, depending on how you look at things, another prisoner, Tom Marans (Dean Winters), beats Trevor Douglas (John Epps) into a coma. Trevor was James’s cousin and Marans reveals that Trevor is also the one who killed James because he thought James had stolen a carton of cigarettes from him. Marans explains that he was James’s “wife” in prison.
As the episode ends, Giardello congratulates Bayliss before adding that it’ll only be a matter of time before Trevor’s people seek revenge and they all have to return to the prison to investigate the murder of Tom Marans.
This was a great episode. After spending the past few seasons as Pembleton’s sidekick, Bayliss finally got a chance to step up and show off his own abilities as a homicide detective. Kellerman assisting him turned out to be an inspired move, as it allowed Kellerman to finally be something more than just a kind of goofy frat boy detective. Working together, Kyle Secor and Reed Diamond had great comedic timing, which kept this rather grim episode from getting too dark. (Kellerman: “Do you want a hug?” Bayliss: “Do you and Lewis often hug?”)
One thing that made this episode interesting was that the victims, the suspects, and most of the witnesses were all murderers who were previously arrested on this show. It was interesting to see how prison had changed or, in some cases, not changed them. The once preppy Tom Marans now had bright yellow hair, scarred knuckles, and some really nasty facial sores. Meanwhile, James and Trevor Douglas were still the same punks that they were on the outside, when they used to film themselves committing murder.
Finally, what made this episode truly powerful was the performance of Charles S. Dutton. A Baltimore native who served time in prison before becoming an acclaimed stage actor, Dutton has not always been served well by television and the movies. He’s very much a theatrical actor and, when cast in the wrong role, he can come across as being a bit over-the-top. In this episode, though, Dutton is perfectly cast and he gives a truly moving performance of as an inherently decent man who does what he has to do in order to survive as a prisoner in a system that has been constructed specifically to break and destroy him. Elijah’s fury feels earned and deserved but, in the end, he’s ultimately just a father who wants things to be better for his son and his daughter. When Elijah’s son rejected him, it was one of Homicide’s most heart-breaking moments.
Prison Riot has a reputation for being one of Homicide’s best episodes. The reputation is very much deserved.
Welcome to Late Night Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Saturdays, I will be reviewing Saved By The Bell, which ran on NBC from 1989 to 1993. The entire show is currently streaming on Prime and Tubi!
It’s time to start the school year! Zack gets ready for his first day …. wait a minute, hasn’t school already started?
Episode 1.16 “King of the Hill”
(Dir by Gary Shimokawa, originally aired on December 9th, 1989)
I’ll never forget the day Slater showed up….
For the longest time, I believed that this was the first episode of Saved By The Bell. I mean, the episode features Zack meeting Slater for the first time, Slater meeting Kelly for the first time, and it introduces all of the regulars. We discover that Zack, somehow, has a life-sized cardboard cut-out of Kelly in his bedroom. That’s weird and kind of disturbing.
However, I have since learned that, while this was indeed the pilot for Saved By The Bell, it wasn’t actually aired until halfway through the first season. That’s why we hear an older sounding Zack say, “I’ll never forget the day Slater showed up….” We’re watching a flashback. But if it’s a flashback, why is Zack talking directly to the audience? I mean, if the audience was there when it happened the first time, why would Zack be telling them about it a second time? For that matter, why — if this is Zack’s first day as a high school freshman — is he already a legendary troublemaker at the school? Mr. Belding remembers him from Good Morning Ms. Bliss but that show was set in Junior High and in Indiana! And before anyone says that they’re two different shows, allow me to point out that the Ms. Bliss episode were later reshown in syndication as Saved By The Bell episodes, complete with Zack introducing them by saying, “Here’s a story that happened in junior high….”
My personal theory about all this? Saved By The Bell was a Peter Engel show and, like most Peter Engel shows, no one cared much about continuity. Ironically, that sloppiness is a huge part of the show’s continuing popularity. People like me are still trying to make some sort of logical sense out of how Ms. Bliss and Saved By The Bell could both exist in the same universe.
As for this pilot …. well, for the most part, it’s not very good. Of the young actors, only Mario Lopez really seems to have any idea as to who his character should be. Mark-Paul Gosselaar, who would develop into a very good actor, overacts a bit in the pilot. He, Dustin Diamond, and Lark Voorhees were all still giving the same performances that they gave in Ms. Bliss and they didn’t quite feel right for what would become Saved By The Bell. Really, the only scene that truly works is when Mr. Belding puts on a sweater and attempts to “understand” why Zack is acting out before finally snapping as Zack makes a mess of his office. From the start, Dennis Haskins and Mark-Paul Gosselaar made for a good comedy team.
One final note: This episode aired nearly 37 years ago. Mario Lopez has aged, at most, ten years since then. He has got to have a haunted painting in his attic.
Tubi showed me a random episode on Thursday. Arnold and his stupid friend Dudley took up smoking. Dudley’s father went to the hospital to have a lung removed. I think there was a message in there somewhere.
I watched two episodes of Nero Wolfe on Tuesday. These episodes featured Maury Chaykin as Nero Wolfe and Timothy Hutton as Archie Goodwin. Seymour Cassel was in one of the episodes. I enjoyed the episodes, even if I did have a hard time following the twists and turns of the mysteries.
Night Flight (NightFlight+)
On Saturday, I watched an episode of this old music video program. It was a countdown of the top music videos of 1983. I like the music of the 80s. It was very energetic.
“Mercy is a word I no longer understand.” — Paul Atreides
Frank Herbert’s Dune, the 2000 Syfy Channel miniseries, stands as a scrappy yet heartfelt attempt to tame the untamable beast that is Frank Herbert’s sprawling sci-fi epic Dune. Clocking in at nearly four hours across three parts, it doesn’t pretend to be the cinematic knockout punch of Denis Villeneuve’s Dune: Part One and Dune: Part Two, nor does it dive headfirst into the psychedelic rabbit hole of David Lynch’s notoriously bonkers 1984 film. Instead, it carves out its own lane as the faithful workhorse adaptation—the one that prioritizes stuffing in every major plot thread, faction rivalry, and philosophical nugget from the novel without apology. That dogged completeness earns it major points from book purists, even if the early-2000s TV production values leave it looking like a glorious mess next to today’s blockbuster standards. It’s the version you revisit when you want Dune’s full political chessboard laid bare, rough edges and all.
Right from the opening narration, you sense this miniseries is playing a different game. While Villeneuve hooks you with those thunderous sandworm roars and vast desert expanses that make Arrakis feel like a character unto itself, and Lynch blasts you with industrial-gothic sets and nose-plug close-ups that scream “weird,” the Syfy take eases in with expository voiceover and sweeping shots of Caladan’s misty nobility. The budget screams made-for-TV: thopters wobble like cheap models on strings, sandworms shimmer with dated CGI that wouldn’t pass muster even in 2000, and interstellar travel feels more like a quick fade than a hyperspace spectacle. Yet there’s charm in the earnestness—the ornate costumes drip with imperial excess, from House Atreides’ regal blues to the Harkonnens’ sickly pallor, capturing Herbert’s baroque universe better than Lynch’s fever-dream excess or Villeneuve’s minimalist severity. It’s alien and opulent without trying to reinvent the wheel visually, letting the story’s inherent strangeness do the heavy lifting.
What truly sets this adaptation apart is its unhurried commitment to Dune’s core as a tale of interstellar realpolitik, not just laser swords and monster chases. The miniseries luxuriates in the scheming: extended scenes of Bene Gesserit whispering manipulations across generations, Emperor Shaddam IV plotting from his golden throne, and the Spacing Guild’s monopoly stranglehold get room to breathe. Lynch crammed this into a frantic 137 minutes, resorting to on-screen crawls and “the spice must flow” explainers that border on parody, while Villeneuve elegantly implies much of it through mood and subtext, trimming for pace. Here, the trap closes deliberately—Duke Leto’s honorable doom unfolds with all its tragic inevitability, Paul’s Fremen transformation simmers with ecological and messianic tension, and the Baron’s depravity feels like a rotting empire’s symptom. It’s talkier, sure, but that density mirrors the novel’s heady mix of ecology, religion, and colonialism, making the good-vs-evil surface hide a much murkier power grab.
Faithfulness is the miniseries’ superpower, and stacking it against the films drives that home. Lynch’s Dune is a directorial fever dream—brilliant in bursts (those Guild Navigators floating in spice tanks are iconic), but it mangles the timeline, invents “weirding modules” and pain boxes that Herbert never dreamed of, and caps with a cheesy resurrection and empire-toppling finale that feels like fanfic. Villeneuve’s duology is a masterclass in restraint and awe: Part One builds unbearable dread through silence and scale, Part Two unleashes Paul’s holy war turn with chilling clarity, but both demand sequels and sacrifice chunks like Thufir Hawat’s full betrayal arc or the ecological long-view for runtime efficiency. The Syfy version? It hits about 90% of the book’s beats in one self-contained package—Paul drinks the Water of Life, rides the first worm, unites the tribes, all while fleshing out Yueh’s guilt, Gurney’s survival, and Irulan’s expanded role as a scheming narrator who spies on the action. Smart tweaks like inner-monologue voiceovers clarify the mental gymnastics without Lynch’s exposition overload.
The ensemble punches above the production’s weight, delivering performances that ground the sprawl. Alec Newman’s Paul Atreides evolves from callow youth to burdened Kwisatz Haderach with a steely intensity—more seasoned than Kyle MacLachlan’s wide-eyed innocent in Lynch’s film or Timothée Chalamet’s introspective minimalist in Villeneuve’s, but convincingly haunted by prescient visions. William Hurt’s Duke Leto radiates quiet nobility, a paternal rock that Oscar Isaac matches with fiercer charisma but less screen time. Saskia Reeves’ Lady Jessica is a coiled operative, mastering the Voice while Rebecca Ferguson brings feral maternal fire and Francesca Annis floats as an ethereal priestess. Ian McNeice’s Baron Harkonnen oozes grotesque glee, echoing Kenneth McMillan’s scenery-chewing blimp but with slyer malice; Stellan Skarsgård’s version chills as a tactical monster sans the floating fat-suit camp. Chani fares best as Barbora Kodetová’s fierce Fremen equal, outshining Lynch’s rushed Sean Young and edging Zendaya’s mythic close-ups with raw tribe loyalty. Even bit players like Robert Wisdom’s Idaho shine brighter than their film counterparts.
Directorial choices by John Harrison emphasize theatricality over cinema flair, turning court scenes into operatic standoffs that suit Dune’s ritualistic pomp. Princess Irulan’s upgrade—from bookend quotes to active imperial intriguer—adds a vital scheming perspective Lynch ignored and Villeneuve teases for later. The gom jabbar test throbs with intimate terror, Fremen sietches pulse with cultural depth, and the final duel crackles despite modest effects. Pacing lags in spots—the Atreides downfall stretches, subplots like Feyd-Rautha’s gladiatorial intro feel obligatory—but that thoroughness lets overlooked gems like the dinner-table tensions and spice-blow ecology lectures land fully. Brian Tyler’s score swells bombastically, aping Zimmer’s primal dread without the subtlety, yet it propels the saga forward.
Flaws glare under modern scrutiny: effects age like milk (those ornithopters!), editing chops unevenly between threads, and some line deliveries veer stagey next to Villeneuve’s hushed precision or Lynch’s unhinged energy. It lacks the 1984 film’s quotable weirdness (“The sleeper must awaken!”) or the recent epics’ IMAX transcendence, feeling more like a filmed audiobook than immersive event cinema. Still, that scrappiness fits Dune’s prickly soul—ornate yet precarious, cerebral yet visceral. Herbert crafted a warning about heroes and empires; this miniseries trusts you to unpack it, preserving the unsettling texture the smoother films sometimes polish away.
Revisiting after the others clarifies its niche perfectly. Lynch’s Dune is the cult oddity—fractured, visionary, endlessly memeable despite narrative chaos. Villeneuve’s saga is prestige sci-fi at its peak: disciplined, subversive, a slow-burn symphony begging Part Three. The Syfy miniseries? Your completist’s deep cut—comprehensive, unpretentious, ideal for dissecting the guilds, houses, and prophecies on a rainy weekend. Constraints hobble the spectacle, but the ambition to honor Herbert’s labyrinthine blueprint shines through.
Ultimately, Frank Herbert’s Dune miniseries claims no crowns as the ultimate adaptation—that debate rages between Lynch’s deranged heart, Villeneuve’s cool mastery, or the book itself. At around 1150 words, it’s a worthy underdog: earnest, exhaustive, and true to the novel’s tangled genius. Fire it up if you crave Dune’s unfiltered intrigue over heart-pounding visuals. It respects the spice’s full flow, worms and all.
Welcome to Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Saturdays, I will be reviewing Baywatch, which ran on NBC and then in syndication from 1989 to 2001. The entire show can be viewed on Tubi.
This week, Eddie’s incompetence continues.
Episode 1.17 “Eclipse”
(Dir by Paul Schneider, originally aired on February 23rd, 1990)
After Kirby (Lance Wilson-White), the lifeguard that Eddie was supposed to be training, mysteriously drowns, Eddie loses his job and is shunned by every lifeguard in California.
Well, that’s what should have happened. Instead, everyone tells Eddie that it wasn’t his fault and goes out of their way to make sure that Eddie isn’t beating himself up over one unfortunate death. We don’t actually see Mitch or Captain Thorpe calling up Kirby’s family to offer condolences. We don’t see Kirby’s funeral or Kirby getting the traditional fallen lifeguard salute. Kirby? Who’s Kirby?
Instead, Eddie meets with a psychiatrist (Dr. Joyce Brothers) and later admits that his sister drowned when he was a child and that’s why he feels so guilty about what happened to Kirby. Everyone is more upset about Eddie’s sister than they are Kirby.
Meanwhile, Eddie searches the beach for a ghostly woman in a white nightgown. Eddie and Craig’s wife, Gina (Holly Gagnier), speculate that the woman is the ghost of someone who burned down the lighthouse decades ago. Mitch theorizes that the woman is an escaped mental patient. The woman later turns up on the beach, dead from drowning. Again, nobody seems to be too upset. Aren’t these people supposed to be lifeguards?
While this is going on, Hobie discovers that his friend Katie (Hayley Carr) is going to have to euthanize her dog because it bit her family’s landlord. Katie runs away and Hobie hides both her and the dog at his house. Mitch is not happy about this but he does agree to adopt the dog so it won’t be killed. Yay!
This episode was dumb. Apparently, as long as Eddie’s feeling better, it doesn’t matter that two people drowned. Stay away from Malibu, folks.
Welcome to Late Night Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Fridays, I will be reviewing Freddy’s Nightmares, a horror anthology show which ran in syndication from 1988 to 1990. The entire series can be found on Tubi!
This week, a lottery ticket leads to misery.
Episode 2.6 “Lucky Stiff”
(Dir by William Malone, originally aired on November 12th, 1989)
After the lottery-obsessed Lenny Nordhoff (David L. Lander) has a heart attack and dies, his widow, Greta (Mary Crosby), marries her brutish boyfriend, Hank (Richard Eden). Haunted by nightmares of Lenny holding out his bloody heart and accusing her of having broken it, Greta is not happy with her new marriage. When she and Hank realize that Lenny was buried with a winning lottery ticket, they break into the mausoleum, open his coffin, and retrieve the ticket. Then, Greta pushes Hank into the coffin and seals him up.
Months later, Greta is wealthy but now she’s haunted by visions of Hank and threatening phone calls. Eventually, she is confronted by a gravedigger (Tracey Walter), who blackmails her into marrying him.
This episode’s only memorable moment was an outdoor scene that was apparently filmed on a windy day, resulting in Mary Crosby having to awkwardly reach down to keep her dress from blowing up. (I supposed it says something about the show’s budget and production schedule that, rather than reshoot this scene, they just went with it.) Crosby didn’t do a bad job in this episode. She had the right neurotic femme fatale look.
Otherwise, this episode was pretty forgettable. The first story featured Greta having nightmares about a dead man and marrying a loser. The second story featured Great having nightmares about a dead man and marrying a loser. Even Freddy, in his reduced host role, looked pretty bored with the whole thing.
This week, Ponch worries that he’s lost his touch.
Through the Shattered Lens 