As far back as I can remember, M*A*S*H has been a part of my life. It's on TV in my earliest memories, and it continues to be quoted frequently whenever my family gets together. My parents were born in 1958 and 1964, respectively, and came of age during the show's eleven-year run. It was a staple of their childhoods, and they made it a staple of mine through re-runs on Fox and various cable channels. In my early teenage years, the show's anti-authoritarian element really clicked with me. It was no longer a show I watched with my parents. It was my thing. I had a lot of friends in middle school, but I couldn't really relate to them. They were all gearing up to be jocks in High School and I was the awkward non-athlete of the bunch who would much rather watch the Marx Brothers or Monty Python than Sports Center or MTV. The ages of 12 to 15 are a rough time. You go through puberty, you fumble through learning how to interact with your crushes, you're constantly trying to act cool without the slightest idea of what "cool" is. And when you're going through all that, and you can't even relate to your closest friends, it leaves a void inside you. For whatever reason, M*A*S*H filled that void for me. Every day I'd come home from school, grab a snack from the fridge or pantry, and flip on the TV to watch M*A*S*H reruns on FX from 3 to 5. For me, M*A*S*H was more than an escape. It was my introduction to righteous rebellion, honest empathy, and the notion that the strongest bonds are forged in blood. And it was funny. More importantly, it was funny to me and not to my friends. Sometimes it bothered me that my friends didn't have the cultural foresight to appreciate humor not of their generation, but most of the time it made me feel good to be the only one in on the joke, like I knew something that they didn't.
For those of you who only know M*A*S*H as that "army show" your grandpa or uncle or dad used to watch, here's a quick primer of the whole franchise to put us all on equal ground moving forward:
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| Donald Sutherland and Elliot Gould in MASH (1970) |
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| M*A*S*H Season 1 Cast Photo |
M*A*S*H began streaming on Netflix earlier this year. Since syndication airings of the show have dwindled to practically nothing over the years, it's been ages since I watched an episode beyond the first two seasons (which I own on DVD). So I started watching the show from the beginning a few of months ago and just finished the whole thing last week. Re-watching M*A*S*H in its entirety gave me a fun opportunity to look at the show with a critical eye for the first time. For all who might be interested in the ramblings of a devoted M*A*S*H fan, here are my critical observations at the end of a lengthy Netflix M*A*S*H-a-thon:
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| McLean Stevenson, Alan Alda, Wayne Rogers and Loretta Switt |
- The first three seasons of M*A*S*H have always been my favorite, and after re-watching the whole series, they still are. There's just something about the quality of the writing, the balance between comedy and drama, and the original cast that's nothing short of lightening-in-a-bottle. In one corner you have Hawkeye and Trapper John, the dynamic duo of gin-guzzling, prank-pulling surgeons whose mutual dedication to saving lives is the only thing bigger than their appetite for anarchy. In the other corner you have Majors Frank Burns (Larry Linville) and Margaret 'Hot Lips' Houlihan (Loretta Swit), a pair of sniveling army brat antagonists whose laughable love affair makes for some of the biggest laughs of the series. Stuck between these opposing forces are Col. Henry Blake (McLean Stevenson) and his faithful company clerk, 'Radar' O'Reilly (Gary Burghoff—the only cast member to reprise his role from the film). As the 4077th's bumbling commanding officer, Col. Blake is arguably the most beloved character of the series, while Radar fills out the cast dynamic with endearing naivete and childlike innocence. Though Alan Alda became the show's true star early on, it's the ensemble that carries the show forward with brilliant comedic chops. As a befuddled Army bureaucrat points out in the Season 2 opener "Divided we Stand", "These impossible people are in an impossible place doing totally impossible work. They're mad, quite mad, all of them, and the only thing I can think of that would be madder still would be breaking them up." As fate would have it, the original cast would be broken up after the third season, and the show would never quite be the same. Instead, it would change to meet the demands of new cast dynamics and break new ground in telling deep, thoughtful stories on television—the best possible outcome given the magic of those golden early years of the series.
- Of all the cast changes M*A*S*H would go through over the course of it's decade-long run, none were more profound than the loss of both McLean Stevenson and Wayne Rogers between Seasons 3 and 4. After McLean Stevenson announced his departure from the series, the shows producers decided that Col. Blake would be discharged from service, only to be killed after his plane home was shot down over the sea of japan. The loss of such a beloved character was an enormous blow to the series and to its fans, but the decision to take this loss and turn it into something so brutal and honest was a stroke of genius. Despite the disorderly antics and hilarious hi-jinx that made the show special, M*A*S*H demonstrated early on that it would pull no punches in portraying the senseless loss of life that inevitably comes with war.
Radar informs the camp of Col. Blake's death:
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| Wayne Rogers as Trapper John |
- Wayne Rogers' departure from the series was less impactful, though equally profound. Having originally planned to return for the fourth season, Rogers dropped out abruptly due to contract disputes and an ongoing dissatisfaction with his supporting role to Alda. Thus, Season 4 opens with Hawkeye returning from R&R in Tokyo to discover that Trapper was discharged and left for home in his absence. I've always thought it was a shame that Rogers left the show when he did. Trapper John may have often played second-fiddle to Hawkeye, but the "partners-in-crime" dynamic between the two characters was in many ways the backbone of the series. Nearly every episode contains moments—both comedic and dramatic—where Rogers' charmingly rugged presence makes for a perfect yin to the yang of Alda's rye energy. And where Hawkeye is combative and narcissistic at times, Trapper is a bit more rash and laid-back. It's interesting to think about what might have happened if Rogers had stayed, and how Trapper John might have developed as a character throughout the shows remaining 8 seasons.
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| Alan Alda (Hawkeye), Mike Farrell (B.J. Hunnicutt) and Harry Morgan (Col. Potter) |
- Season 4 ushers in two new cast members (Harry Morgan as the new C.O., Col. Sherman Potter, and Mike Farrell as B.J. Hunnicut, Hawkeye's new bunkie and confidant) that dramatically shift the dynamic of the ensemble and contribute heavily to the evolving tone of the series. Both characters enter the scene as vital departures from their predecessors. Potter never fills Col. Blake's shoes. Instead, the character develops a special place of his own in the series with his prickly-but-lovable demeanor, temperate leadership and old-timey cadence. Likewise, B.J. Hunnicutt is a far cry from Trapper John's devilish rogue. Where Trapper's family life back home does little more than provide a darkly comedic framing for his many infidelities, B.J.'s separation from his young wife and newborn daughter takes up a lot more dramatic real estate. Growing up I was never a big B.J. fan. I found the whole brooding-nice-guy thing to be exhausting. In hindsight, I guess my dislike for B.J. was largely due to my family's loyalties to the original cast (We even used B.J. as a marker for when the series lost it's savor: "M*A*S*H stops being funny when B.J. grows a mustache." we used to say). But after re-watching the whole series, I now see B.J.'s narrative arc as a deeply moving, integral part of M*A*S*H's dramatic accomplishments. B.J. is a family man in every sense of the word. He's come to conceptualize his family as the best part of himself, and leaving them behind brings out the worst in him the longer he's away from them. The best he can hope for is to do as much good as possible while he's in Korea so he can return home with some sense that it was all worth it (a feeling any war veteran will surely relate to). Mike Farrell plays B.J. with commitment, warmth, and rage—taking what might otherwise have been a placid character and turning him into a tepid, complex animal.
- Despite the sudden cast-change—or, perhaps because of it—M*A*S*H's fourth season also marks a sort of creative peak for the series. When it isn't devoting time to working out how the new cast members function within the ensemble, Season 4 successfully executes solid comedy on par with the previous seasons while digging deeper into the drama of the show's premise. The best example of this is "The Late Captain Pierce", in which Hawkeye discovers he's been declared dead by the army in a paperwork mix-up. Hawkeye takes advantage of the situation in good humor at first, using his deceased status as an excuse to get out of camp responsibilities. But he becomes increasingly incensed when his "death" halts his pay and security measures for President-elect Eisenhower's visit to Korea prevent him from being able to contact his father. Eventually Hawkeye accepts his fate and decides to desert the 4077th and go home AWOL—only changing his mind as a new batch of wounded is brought in from the front. "They'll come whether I'm here or not." he remarks. "Trapper went home and they're still coming. Henry got killed and their still coming. Wherever they come from they'll never run out." Death is the specter looming over this episode, over this season, and the entire series, but it all intersects at this point in Hawkeye's personal journey. He's exhausted from constantly facing death in the operating room. To make matters worse, the death of Henry Blake and the departure of Trapper John have pushed him into a whole new realm of personal loss. It's arguably the most poignant moment of the series, encapsulating the show's ability to take absurd, sometimes morbidly humorous situations and interweave them with life's most universal and tragic dilemmas.
- Season 4 also marks the first time that the showrunners experimented with series format. The Season 4 finale, "The Interview", takes the form of a black-and-white newsreel featuring interviews with the 4077th crew, each offering their own insight on the war and their place in it. This episode is significant because it set a new precedent for the series to have one or two experimental episodes per season. Such episodes include "Point of View", an entire episode shot from the point of view of a wounded soldier; "Life Time", in which an onscreen clock counts down the time B.J. has to replace a G.I.'s damaged aorta; and "Dreams", a famous episode where the dreams (mostly nightmares) of each primary cast member are shown throughout a day of heavy incoming casualties. Some of these episodes fare better than others, but the show's dedication to telling interesting stories and experimenting with form offers a sort of precursor to the type of innovative storytelling we get from TV today.
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| Loretta Swit as Margaret Houlihan |
- Where Season 4 triumphs, Season 5 meanders. It's funny and heartfelt enough, but only manages to maintain a status quo for the series thus far. The most notable ongoing plot line of the season involves Margaret Houlihan ending her affair with Frank Burns to marry the accomplished Lt. Col. Donald Penobscot. Season 5 also marks the departure of Larry Linville from the series, who felt he had taken the character of Frank Burns as far as he could go. This was a smart move on Linville's part, whose hilarious and dedicated performance made Frank more a caricature of military lunacy than a three-dimensional human being that could evolve with the changing tone of the series. Margaret Houlihan, on the other hand, shows the first signs of evolving from an army brat/bimbo caricature into one of the strongest female characters in TV history. In "The Nurses"—perhaps the best and undoubtedly the most important episode of Season 5—Margaret reveals herself at her most vulnerable in a contentious run-in with her nursing staff. As they vocally object to her by-the-book command style, Margaret confesses the pain of her alienation from the rest of the nurses and they're failure to reach out to her. "Did you ever once offer me a lousy cup of coffee?!" she says. It's a powerful moment where the viewer is confronted with the pressure and loneliness of being a female officer in a man's army. Throughout the rest of the series, Margaret is confronted with a wide variety of personal challenges including divorce, sexual harassment, heartbreak, and constant disrespect from her male colleagues. At the end of it all, she emerges triumphant, and Loretta Swit imbues Margaret with warmth, power, sensuality, vitality, and authenticity every step of the way.
- In Season 6, Frank Burns is replaced by Chalres Emerson Winchester III (David Ogden Stiers), a stuffy Boston surgeon whose intellect and surgical aptitude make him a far more challenging frenemy for Hawkeye and B.J. In his first two seasons on the show, Winchester's presence at the 4077th breathes new life into the ensemble and gives the writers ample opportunity to tell more intriguing stories. Winchester's ongoing, desperate struggle to maintain his dignity under the horrifying conditions of the 4077th is one of the most compelling aspect's of M*A*S*H's latter half, largely due to Stiers' brilliant performance. Stiers may have been intimidated at the prospect of joining such a beloved cast of characters so late in the game, but as soon as he enters the scene he develops great chemistry with each of his fellow cast members. His chemistry with Alda is particularly fun to watch as their respective characters hash out a competitive tension over the course of Season 6. In the series finale, when the war is over and each character bids farewell to the 4077th, there is no exit more satisfying and poetic than Winchester's. As he says his reserved goodbyes to Hawkeye, B.J. and Col. Potter, motor pool sergeant Luther Rizzo shows up in Winchester's ride out of camp: a grimy old garbage truck. "What better way to leave a garbage dump." Winchester says as he saunters over to the truck with his nose in the air. It's a fitting farewell for a man whose journey through hell may have hurt his pride often, but never stole his dignity.
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| David Ogden Stiers as Charles Emerson Winchester III |
- Over the course of the series, there are two secondary characters that become much-loved principles: army chaplain Father Mulcahy (William Christopher), and the dress-wearing, Section 8-hunting Corporal Klinger (Jamie Farr). My most recent viewing of M*A*S*H was the first time I considered how offensive a character like Klinger might be to a modern audience. A man who wears dresses to get thrown out of the army might have been funny in the 70's, but would the joke be completely unfunny in light of today's gender politics? Surprisingly, I found that the dress shtick holds up pretty well, but solely due to Jamie Farr's warm, nuanced, and almost vaudevillian approach to the material. Farr is a comedic talent of a bygone era, and it's his fast-paced, tongue-in-cheek delivery that makes Klinger work as a character, even when the dresses get old. When Radar leaves the show in Season 8, Klinger is appointed the new company clerk and ditches the dress-up gag for good, giving Farr the chance to add new dimensions to the character and show audiences that his talent reaches much farther than looking funny in a dress.
- I had forgotten the extent to which the specters of Henry Blake, Trapper John, and other departed characters haunt M*A*S*H's later years. Where other sitcoms of the '70's and '80's fall into the trap of retroactively erasing the presence of a departed character altogether, the writers of M*A*S*H do well to remind the viewer of their losses, and the remaining characters of the friends they had to say goodbye to. In the latter half of the series, Hawkeye in particular shows signs of deep emotional scars left by the trauma of Henry's death and Trapper having left without saying goodbye. The longer Hawkeye is trapped in this war-torn purgatory, the more deeply he feels the loss of his friends. The older I get, the more relatable this aspect of M*A*S*H becomes. We all lose friends and family, whether they move on to other places, or they literally move on from this life. It's all painful to some degree or another, and dealing with the loss is always a struggle.
- The drama in M*A*S*H is always more successful when the comedy is good. I used to think that the show lost steam in the last three or four seasons because there was too much drama and not enough comedy. Upon re-watching, however, it's clear to me that M*A*S*H's dramatic moments account for much of the best writing, acting, and directing of the later seasons. Its obvious that everyone involved in the latter half of M*A*S*H's run was deeply committed to exploring war's psychological and emotional blows. Perhaps this is why they kept going as long as they did. Unfortunately, the drama—no matter how painstakingly executed—falls flat when the comedy isn't fresh. M*A*S*H's later years do have their funny moments, but nothing as crisp, brash, or timeless as the comedy of its early-to-middle years.
- M*A*S*H may have run one or two seasons too long, but there's no denying that the two-hour finale, "Goodbye, Farewell and Amen", remains an undeniably powerful work of television. Written and directed by Alan Alda (with the input of just about every major writer of the entire series) "Goodbye, Farewell and Amen" strikes a highly effective balance between constructing a palpable story of war & loss and hitting all the necessary beats for a satisfying ending.
Hawkeye and B.J.: The Last Goodbye
As a time-honored work of exceptional television, M*A*S*H stands as a testament to the power of a medium that our culture has taken great advantage of in recent years. We love television today for its ability to tell human stories in long form. At its best, this is what M*A*S*H was all about. On a personal level, re-watching M*A*S*H as a slightly older, more world-weary person has been a revelatory experience. Over the past year I've encountered family tragedy, financial uncertainty, crises of faith, and major life transitions. At the tail end of it all, reconnecting with M*A*S*H's much beloved characters—sharing in their struggles and their laughter—has been a great source of strength. It's often been said that, despite its Korean War setting, M*A*S*H is really a show about the Vietnam War. Cast and crew members have refuted this on a few occasions, stating instead that the show was about all wars. I would go one step further and say that the show is about all loss. As I've watched this 11-season story of tragedy and comedy from beginning to end, it's been both comforting and rewarding to find that bitter loss can be made more bearable when it is transformed into honest storytelling. And that is the big takeaway from M*A*S*H, an honest tale of the insanity we all endure together in the war against ourselves.
