3
The discussion of ratings was a hot topic around the production offices as would be expected. Everyone seemed to experience a certain amount of anxiety regarding them, along with the obvious realization that people either liked the show or they didn’t. After the initial public reaction and the subsequent adjustments, you made the best show you could, then sat back and waited for the numbers to come tumbling in. Changing the direction of a show after several seasons could prove fatal. It often did.
And so, in regards to all the talk of ratings nonsense, Charlotte took the advice of her wily, old predecessors and chose not to worry about them. She wasn’t that high up on the ladder anyway. When she saw what position some of the other programs were in, she was legitimately surprised. To her bewilderment, it seemed like the more quality the program, the lower it was in the ratings. The exception being 60 Minutes.
Either way, Charlotte wasn’t about to spend a bunch of sleepless nights worrying about ratings. They were out of her hands. She was more concerned about the reviews the show was getting as that might reflect more directly on what people thought about their music, which was far more important to her. More than anything else, she wanted the public to think of the Go-Go’s as a class, rock and roll band and not just a novelty act.
Whether or not the positioning of the show in the ratings had anything to do with the negative reviews the show was getting, Charlotte couldn’t concern herself with that aspect either. Sadly, the show was mostly panned by the critics for its sophomoric humor and for being an obvious rip-off of The Monkees. Some of the articles were especially cruel. Many of the writers appeared to derive some sort of perverse thrill in skewering the Go-Go’s any time they had the chance. It almost seemed like some of them went out of their way to do it. Over the years, several of these people would be put on the girl’s shit-list and be refused access to interviews and other such activities. It their minds, it was a way of paying these parasites back for trying to sabotage their careers. It seemed like the proper thing to do.
It seemed like justice.
With all that being said, however, the girls just scoffed at those aforementioned reviews, put them out of their minds entirely, and carried on with their business in their usual, carefree fashion. After all, they knew what they were involved in with such a production.
What were these lame-asses looking for, anyway? Masterpiece Theater? It’s a show about five girls jumping around and playing pop songs. What did they expect?
One of the more culminating moments came when drummer Gina Schock told an interviewer who was echoing a comment about the girl’s acting ability—
“Hey, it’s not our fault. We’re musicians, we’re not trained actors.”
Gina remembered getting quite an earful from the executive producer on that one. The Go-Go’s were expected to tow the company line and that’s all there was to it.
But, regardless of what the critics said, the show steamed ahead with full force. True fans of the Go-Go’s didn’t particularly care about any of that negative stuff any-who. All they wanted to see was their favorite band doing all the same things that people did in their everyday lives. Simply watching them converse among themselves was a thrill in itself. Watching them get into sticky predicaments was even more exciting. And, on top of all that, if they could watch the Go-Go’s jam-out on their instruments and sing them a happy tune, they were ecstatic beyond belief. To make all of this happen, they had to sit down in front of their television sets every Thursday night at 9:30 P.M. in order to provide that very escapism they were looking for. The Go-Go’s were on T.V. and that’s all that mattered.
CUT TO: Author’s In-House Vision—
Since Charlotte is stuck in her car, let’s pretend for a moment that we’re watching a sketch from a variety show such as Saturday Night Live. While we’re at it, let’s pretend that the scene is set in black-and-white. Charlotte is sitting in one of those obvious, studio prop-cars where the background traffic is swaying back and forth in such an exaggerated fashion, it would make a moviegoer from the 1950’s squirm. The whole scene is reminiscent of a noir film from that era. Charlotte has a smug, confident look on her face. The narrator has one of those rough, cocky sounding voices as he speaks—
NARRATOR
You’re looking at the face of prosperity.
A pure woman of the eighties. Blonde and
beautiful, smart and successful, Charlotte
Caffey had it all. As lead guitarist for a slick
rock and roll band, and star of her own
television series, the world was indeed her
oyster. The only thing missing in her life was
the ability to climax during sex.
(Charlotte goes from her smug, confident look to “Hey, pal, what gives? What did you have to say that for?”)
NARRATOR
Yeees, when Charlotte wasn’t laying
down hot licks on her guitar, she was
laying down in a therapist’s office…….
RRRRRRRR-RRRRRRRR-RRRRRRRRR!!!!!!
That is the sound of a needle on a stereo turntable cascading across a record album.
Which means we now snap out of it and return to our regularly scheduled broadcast…….