The 1960s fantasy sitcom Bewitched was the story of a mixed marriage with a twist: the union of a mortal and a witch. It proved a winning formula – 254 episodes over eight series aired between 1964 and 1972.
Samantha Stephens was everybody’s favourite witch well before Sabrina Spellman was a twinkle in Lucifer Morningstar’s eye. From the cheerful opening theme tune to the clever Hanna-Barbera animation of Samantha flying on her broomstick, the first five seasons of Bewitched got everything exactly right.
Elizabeth Montgomery was the Meg Ryan of her day: from the first twitch of her photogenic nose, she was America’s sweetheart. She was wholesome, sassy and non-threatening to both audience and cast, with the exception of a nosy neighbour, Gladys Kravitz. Sam was a female superhero prototype of sorts. Like Superman, whose popular TV series had dominated the small screen a decade earlier, she possessed “powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men” – for example, her husband, Darrin. Lightly though she wore them, her magical gifts made her the more powerful partner of the two despite being a 60s housewife – it was no secret she could have worn the pants with a wave of her wand.
Endora (Agnes Moorehead) was the stylish mother-in-law from hell, who thought her daughter had married beneath her. Moorehead appeared to be having the time of her life in the role, combining witchy sophistication with a penchant for pandemonium. Her feigned failure to recall Darrin’s real name was a running gag that never failed to delight me. Derwood, Darwin, Dum-Dum – Endora’s ingenuity with names knew no bounds.
Samantha’s Uncle Arthur (Paul Lynde), Darrin’s boss, Larry Tate (David White) and dear little Tabitha Stephens (Erin Murphy) were all memorable characters in their own right. Darrin and Samantha’s daughter, Tabitha, appeared in season three, cute as a button, with magical powers of her own that added a whole new dimension to Darrin’s comical woes. And let’s not forget Sam’s evil dark-haired cousin Serena, a gift of a role for the sweet-faced Montgomery to mine her demonic side.
The show’s popularity endured despite major transitions, from black-and-white to colour (season three), and the recasting of neighbourhood gossip Gladys when Alice Pearce fell ill and Sandra Gould took over. The passing of the baton was relatively seamless: each woman stamped the role with her own brand of paranoia, and soon being a “Gladys Kravitz” became shorthand for being a nosy neighbour.
But the recasting of Darrin in the sixth season caused a furore that had repercussions for decades; in a scene in Wayne’s World, Wayne spoke for all Bewitched tragics when he said: “There were two Darrin Stephens: Dick York, Dick Sargent. As if we wouldn’t notice.” It was a brazen move necessitated by York’s chronic back pain and subsequent addiction to painkillers but, as far as the fans were concerned, it was an outrage. Despite York describing Sargent’s take on Darrin as “marvellous”, we were having none of it. Sargent’s Darrin-lite wasn’t fooling us: we longed for the pratfalls and facial contortions of the original.
Some say the show never again reached the heights of its glory days after York left but its audience, although somewhat reduced in numbers, was still respectable by contemporary standards. In the end it was Montgomery who pulled the pin after the failure of her marriage to the show’s producer William Asher.
Bewitched still holds its place in the pantheon of immortal sitcoms, and not just among baby boomers seeking solace in the past. My daughter watched the whole series when she was in her teens and was entranced. It was one of a plethora of 60s sitcoms made into a film long after credits rolled – not all of them successful but proof, if proof were needed, of their enduring appeal.
Bewitched is available to stream for free on 9Now and YouTube. For more recommendations of what to stream in Australia, click here
