A L S O_.T O D A Y Blue Glow Archie Bunker marathon; new cable biopic of Democrats' sweetheart Pamela Harriman Y E S T E R D A Y Movie credits 101 By Robert Glatzer A former film director decodes the in-jokes and ego trips lurking behind that never-ending list of names (10/09/98) What Dreams May Come Reviewed by Laura Miller In the new Robin Williams movie, heaven is a twee B&B (10/09/98) R E C E N T_. T E L E V I S I O N Escape from the planet of the tapes By Joyce Millman After being inundated with Lewinsky scandal, it's a relief to get back to TV that doesn't matter (09/28/98) Date night, ABC By Joyce Millman Two new shows, "Cupid" and the updated "Fantasy Island," remind us of why saturday night is the loneliest night (09/25/98) Strangeness in the night By Joyce Millman What's a nice boy like Conan O'Brien doing in a place like late night TV? (09/14/98) Women are from Venus, men are from Vegas By Joyce Millman ABC's girl-talk show "The View" and HBO's "Rat Pack" movie have more in common than you think (08/17/98) Queertoons By Joyce Millman Gay-positive messages and campy humor find a TV home in "South Park" and other animated upstarts (08/03/98) BROWSE THE TV ARCHIVES COLUMNS FEATURES S A L O N E M P O R I U M FREE! 12-ounce bag of Salon Blend with a purchase of $30 or more. While supplies last.

THE KIDS ARE ALRIGHT | PAGE 1, 2 - - - - - - - - - - In a stroke of casting brilliance, the voice of Sally is provided by Janeane Garofalo, the dark queen of irony, the anti-coed. Her disembodied presence is like the Good Housekeeping -- make that, the Spin -- Seal of Approval for viewers over 20 who might otherwise have found Russell's Felicity a bit too perky and preppie and luxuriantly curly topped for their liking. But if Garofalo can get past that and find her interesting and worth our time, then we can too. And Felicity is worthy. The second episode clinched it for me, when she raised her resolute little chin and stuck to her guns in the face of Daddy's desperate bargaining and Mommy's guilt-tripping, and refused to go home to California with them. Felicity thinks she knows what's best for her. And even if she's utterly wrong, her gumption ("It may be a mistake, but at least it's my mistake") makes growing up seem, in itself, a courageous act. "Felicity" is one of those shows, like "My So-Called Life" or "Party of Five," that mesmerizes you with intimate glimpses into the lives of unremarkable people (people like you and me!). Naturally, they seem much more remarkable when they're relating their deepest thoughts to us in gropingly articulate narration, or when they're photographed in a shaft of golden light, gazing pensively out a window while Sarah McLachlan ululates delicately on the soundtrack. Stylistically and culturally, "Felicity" and its fellow teen and young adult soaps -- besides "Party of Five," the genre includes "Beverly Hills, 90210," "Dawson's Creek" and, to some extent, the iconoclastic "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" -- define their era the way glossy nighttime soaps like "Dallas" and "Dynasty" defined the '80s. Where those older shows fueled adult fantasies of power, wealth, revenge and carefree sex, today's teen soaps are almost achingly quaint. Maybe because they're made largely by and for the broken-home generation, these shows are all about kids who want to make deep, real connections -- they want to find true love, discover their inner virtues and strengths, find a purpose in life and fulfill it. Thirty years ago, there was a name for TV characters like this -- adults. It used to be on TV that teens were seen as either hapless sitcom fodder ("The Patty Duke Show," "My Three Sons," "The Brady Bunch") or as window dressing in dramas about earnest adults (teachers, coaches, parents) who had all the answers to teenage problems. That began to change in the '80s with the comedy-drama "The Wonder Years" (now playing nightly on Nick at Nite), TV's first boomer nostalgia show (it was set in the '60s). Leave it to the most doted-upon generation ever to create a TV genre in which teenagers' problems mattered, and their inner lives were presented with a weight and gravity previously reserved only for grownups. "The Wonder Years" was the blueprint for the many introspective teen dramas to come, from its use of voice-over narration and period pop songs to its bittersweet focus on life's decisive moments. But while the show's hero, Kevin Arnold, reflected on his adolescent turning points in hindsight as a 30-something narrator, an evolved character like Felicity has no trouble recognizing the big moments, even as she's experiencing them ("It's funny. Sometimes it's the smallest decisions that can pretty much change your life forever ..."). You could try to explain TV's latest embrace of the wise teen in sociological terms (kids grow up faster these days than Beaver and Wally did), and in practical terms -- the explosion in TV channels means that there are more and more opportunities for "younger writers," who are closer to their subject than the 30- and 40-year-old writers who drew on distant memories to make "The Wonder Years" and "My So-Called Life." But the cynical explanation is probably the one that makes the most sense: Teens are voracious and highly valued consumers, and newer networks like Fox and The WB are simply courting the kind of demographics that advertisers most desire. And no 15-year-old wants to watch a show where Mom and Dad always know best. So what are Mom and Dad watching while the kids are watching The WB? The contrast between the idealized teens and young adults of, say, "Dawson's Creek" and "Felicity" and the terrifying monster children who appear on the network newsmagazines would be hilarious, if it weren't so pathetic. As it has done since the '50s, the media still capitalizes on grownups' fears of uncontrolled teenage energy; watching "Dateline NBC" and "20/20," and even older-skewing crime dramas like "Law & Order" and "NYPD Blue," you'd think that murderous schoolboys and newborn-killing teen moms were the norm, not a terrible aberration. (The ever-cool "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" is the one teen drama that regularly makes sassy, ironic sport of the demonizing of teenagers.) Simultaneously fearing a younger generation you don't understand and envying it -- isn't that partly what nostalgia is all about? So it makes sense that while teens on TV are acting like adults, adults on TV are regressing back to high school. The Sept. 25 season-opening episode of NBC's "Homicide: Life on the Street" had a subplot that marked an appalling low for what was once the most adult of adult dramas -- in the midst of a rash of serial killings, the detectives were all knotted up over who was going to ask who to the policeman's ball. Fox's "Ally McBeal," of course, is one big high school daydream (or nightmare), all catty girls and horny boys. And doesn't the whole Clinton-Lewinsky episode (daredevil stud, good girl trying to be bad, Greek chorus of repressed old biddies) play like some awful dinner theater production of "Grease"? Obviously, all of these characters (fictional and real) have forgotten what they knew back in high school: high school sucks. For those older viewers who still cling to their high school misfit designation like a badge of honor, the bright, perceptive, out-crowd teens of shows like "Felicity," "My So-Called Life" and "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" represent one of the fondest wishes of middle age: that, armed with all the self-knowledge you now possess, you could go back to your youth and avenge every hurt, erase every stupid choice. These characters are the best possible inner children we could ask for. They're what we want to be when we grow up. SALON | Oct. 12, 1998