Angels soar, but did the devil steal the plot?
In 1976, I was a fat Polish kid in Chicago. I wore a retainer, had a dysfunctional family and was oddly drawn to Farrah Fawcett. (I figured out the true meaning of that in therapy, but let’s move onto … more about me.)
Charlie’s Angels was the most popular TV series on the tube at the time and I was a pop culture junkie. I created a scrapbook of the Angels, and chronicled the publicity that the actresses, and the show, received over the next five years in a flimsy paper-filled 11 by 17 scrapbook I bought at the local five and dime: Farrah left, Cheryl Ladd came in, Kate Jackson left, Shelley Hack came in—I never thought the producer’s should have dumped Hack, but what can you do?—and after Hack, along came Tanya Roberts. Most everyone seemed drawn to the show and the Angels mystique and mindless appeal. It was purely escapist fare and my scrapbook was a bloated three-volumed beast.
Flashforward to 2000: suddenly ...