Reflections of A

By Richard Zoglin

Television bears a heavy burden. Unlike movies or books or plays, TV shows are expected to do more than just provide entertainment. They are asked to be socially responsible as well. Because they come into the home uninvited, network programs are supposed to uphold proper moral values and teach life lessons: drugs are bad, race discrimination is wrong, women should get breast exams early and often. Sometimes the second task tends to overwhelm the first: that is, a show is so busy doing good that no one bothers to notice whether it is good. The new season's prime example is ABC's Life Goes On.

This much acclaimed drama focuses on a middle-class family in which one of the three children, Corky, 18, is suffering from Down syndrome. The show is a breakthrough because it stars a youngster, Chris Burke, who has the disorder. Though he has a relatively mild case of retardation, Burke's very presence on screen is eloquent proof that such children can be capable, functioning members of society.

That laudable message has brought the show enthusiastic praise from mental- health experts and TV critics alike. It takes a real grouch to offer a dissent. But even nongrouches may squirm at the sugarcoating this subject has received. Except for a few taunting schoolmates, Corky is drenched in love and support. Life Goes On may have the highest hug-a-minute ratio of any show in TV history. His parents (Bill Smitrovich and Patti LuPone) are unfailingly wise and patient. Only his blunt younger sister (Kellie Martin) worries occasionally about being embarrassed by her brother in school.

But who could be embarrassed by this wonderful kid? In the opening episode Corky enters a "mainstream" high school for the first time. By the second episode he is running for class president. True, the campaign is launched as a joke by cruel classmates, but Corky turns it into a rousing, and rather implausible, plea for the handicapped. "We have a life, we have dreams, we have hopes," runs his big speech at a school assembly. "We laugh and cry, just like you. All we want is a chance to be your friend." Result: a standing ovation and a narrow loss by 47 votes. Says Corky: "That's a lot of friends!"

In another episode Corky gets a chance, over some parental reservations, to baby-sit for a six-year-old boy. Again credibility is dashed by melodramatic overkill. That night the fire department has to evacuate the house because of a gas leak. When a neighbor driving them to a nearby shelter gets lost, the little boy runs away and winds up at the bottom of a ravine. Corky comes to the rescue, lowering himself on a rope and climbing out with the boy on his back in a climax worthy of The Great Escape.

Perhaps good intentions can excuse hokey drama, but one wonders whether even the good intentions are being fulfilled. Couldn't such derring-do create unrealistic expectations among the parents of retarded children? Mental-health authorities say, Not necessarily. "Chris Burke is less unusual than people think," argues Lynn Nadel, professor of psychology at the University of Arizona. "The show gives parents real hope that their child can live a somewhat productive life." Still, family drama does not have to be so sappy. The pleasant shock of last summer's movie Parenthood was its portrayal of parents facing problems -- among them, an emotionally disturbed child -- that in many cases they were not able to handle. No danger of that happening on Life Goes On; another hug and everything will be fine.