A Salute To `Dr. Quinn' - And Perhaps A Kiss, Too

One of the maddening paradoxes of modern-day existence and modern-day television can be summarized as an evening university lecture: "Sex - Is it a Big Deal or What?"

From "Friends" to "Melrose Place" to any daytime soap, the speed with which TV characters tumble into bed together is rivaled nowadays only by the hand-wringing and endless script fodder attendant to the act. This post-amour blabbery is meant to signal something profound has taken place. But such plainly gratuitous nods to '90s sensibilities only make a viewer want to shout at the screen, "Just do it and shut up about it, all right?"

The difference between life and art, of course, is that in the real world, more discussion takes place at the front end of the act. For the concerned parties, talking things out offers at best soul-searching reflection and at worst delicious delay.

In TV's quickie pantheon, however, the art of the emotionally convincing and physically arousing stall is rare. When it's pulled off well, it's a beaut. That's why we're joining KWPX-TV tomorrow night at 8 for "A Salute to Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman."

Yes, Dr. Michaela Quinn. Those of you who never caught the action in mythical Colorado Springs over six TV seasons and thought the now-canceled program was all about wholesome frontier adventures were slightly misled. As Pax-TV's 90-minute "Salute" reveals - though not intentionally - "Dr. Quinn" had a dual nature. There was the family show whose themes emphasized hard work, honesty, understanding, tolerance and lots of relationship management.

There also was one heckuva bodice-ripper embroidered with some amazingly liberal values.

The sensuous stripe of "Dr. Quinn" dominates the documentary tribute's first 60 minutes. Anyone who stops watching at 9 p.m. won't be blamed for concluding the series was one big SexFest in the West. In fact, there's some truth to that observation if you're a member of the gender where sex can happen in the head. The forces behind "Dr. Quinn" managed to pull off the feat of not conjoining stars Jane Seymour and Joe Lando - the studly Sully - until the end of the third season. That's exactly the sort of thing that creates legions of loyal female fans and drives guys crazy.

What the producers filled the time beforehand with were multiple plot lines that lend greater meaning to the notion of a series climax. There were pivotal obstacles to banish: rival suitors for Quinn's hand, issues of male-female equality, not to mention cultural differences (resolved in a Boston restaurant scene where Sully shows he can sit up and sip champagne).

The tribute is a bit heavy on the love scenes, all of which look as if they were taken from a paperback cover. He is bare-chested, heavily muscled and smoldering; she is long-locked, petite and certainly not bare-chested.

Don't let this surface window-dressing distract you, though, from the far more serious liberties that occurred on "Dr. Quinn's" ideological front. This was a show that gave us a single mother with three adopted kids, a romance between a Caucasian and a half-Native American, a woman who earned more money than her husband and - lest Pax-TV executives ever forget - a famous visit from that famous homosexual, Walt Whitman.

The last half-hour of "A Salute to Dr. Quinn" is understandably a bit boring. Conversations with the show's technical staff, supporting cast and blooper outtakes can't compare with the charming Seymour and Lando. But they make for a pleasant afterglow.

`Little Men' falls short

"Little Men," which debuts Saturday at 8 on KWPX, suffers by comparison and of its own choosing. The one-hour drama tries to be a good imitation of "Dr. Quinn" instead of an original show, and fails.

The title and series are loosely based on Louisa May Alcott's lesser-read follow-up to "Little Women." How loosely? Readers of the sequel will be shocked to find Jo's husband Fritz has been killed off, that Jo has no children herself and that all the women in 1870s Concord, Mass., apparently pluck their eyebrows.

The elimination of Fritz becomes motivationally clear when a passer-by wanders the property where Jo runs her school for boys. It's Nick Riley, ace hunk, meant to fill the caretaker's job, the space in Jo's heart and the big hole in the script.

Overlooking the lapses in period accuracy, a viewer will inevitably wonder at the reworking of Jo's character. Beloved by generations of little girl readers for her thorny independence and action-driven style, Jo March has been transformed into a mealy-mouthed philosopher: "Life is a puzzle, Meg. And we must never stop searching for the pieces."

Hint: Try looking in the book.

Kay McFadden's TV column runs Mondays and Thursdays in Scene. She can be reached at 206-382-8888, or at kmcfadden@seattletimes.com