Episode 217: The Lone Ranger (June 1-29, 1950)

What I watched: Five episodes of The Lone Ranger, a kid-oriented Western created by George W. Trendle. All episodes starred Clayton Moore as the Ranger and Jay Silverheels as Tonto, and aired on ABC at 7:30 on Thursday nights. The YouTube channel that I was getting most of the episodes from has been taken down, but I’ve found another one with most of them up, so that’s… good.

“Spanish Gold” (June 1, 1950, dir. George B. Seitz Jr., writ. Herb Meadow and Milton M. Raison, feat. Ross Ford, Gail Davis, Bruce Hamilton, Kenneth Tobey & Steve Clark)

The episode begins on an unusually morose note, with old Tug Barker about to be executed at San Pablo prison before it is closed. He gives his young bunkmate Danny a bird to deliver to his daughter. When Danny collapses from the heat, the Ranger and Tonto rescue him, and learn about the injustice that lead to the old man’s execution. We are also introduced to this episode’s bad guys, the real murderer Gil and a crooked lawyer Hague.

Danny delivers the cage to Tug’s daughter Nora, but he’s confronted by Gil, who turns out to also be Nora’s suitor. Small world. Tonto does his “wild Indian act” to distract them by wrecking shit. There’s a dissertation to be written about that scene. He goes to prison, and the bad guys interrogate him about an old cache of gold underneath the now-closed prison. Tug’s bird cage also contains a letter saying that he discovered a cache of gold, left by Spanish settlers, underneath San Pablo.

People get stuck in dark basements and such a lot in this show.

Hague and Gil meet, and start discussing their plan. The Ranger and Tonto get the drop on them, but let them go, doing one of their signature schemes. They follow the baddies to the prison, and Gil starts getting spooked by the memory of Tug. Danny and Nora re also there, and have found the gold, but Hague and Gil pull the ladder up on them and trap them. But they too are being watched by the Ranger and Tonto, who punch them out. Thus, their needlessly circuitous plan is complete, and Nora and Danny take the gold home.

Of note in this episode is Tonto consciously invoking a racial stereotype by doing his “wild Indian” act. In a different context, this could come off as a self-reflexive construct about the performative nature of race. But this is The Lone Ranger, so beneath the wild Indian act is another racial type, the subservient sidekick who has no problem being tossed in jail to cause a momentary distraction. This is perhaps emblematic of The Lone Ranger‘s treatment of race: striving to reject the racial stereotypes of cruder Western, but still unable to picture Indigenous people as complete humans.

“Damsels in Distress” (June 8, 1950, writ. Tom Seller, feat. John Banner, Tom Tyler, Phil Tead, Peggy McIntire, Gloria Winters)

We open with a group of nebulous Europeans, lead by a man named Garth, trying to buy a newly-designed rifle off the inventor Dexter. He says no, as there are too many wars in Europe. He’s really concerned about the revolutions of 1848, I guess. Dexter breaks his rifle and runs away, but gets an off-screen thrown knife in the back for his trouble. The Ranger and Tonto come along and take care of him before he passes. It turns out that Garth is also wanted as a foreign agent.

The blueprints for the gun are now in the hands of Dexter’s two daughters and their governess. Garth and von Baden see them leaving the house, then ransack the place, intimidating their servant, and learn that the women have left with them. The Ranger decides to use this as an excuse to disguise himself as an old soldier. He and von Baden both hop into a stagecoach with the women. This is the worst ripoff of Stagecoach I’ve ever seen.

I got this image from a German dub uploaded on Dailymotion. I wonder if the moral is different in this version.

Garth then acts as a robber, trying to steal from the stage, while von Baden fights him off. This ruse fools the women, who are all credulous enough to tell him where they’ve hidden the drawing and hand them over to them, except for the youngest girl, who apparently has two brain cells to rub together. von Baden then pulls a gun on them, but the Ranger gets the jump on him with the old “there’s a knife on the floor” trick. Garth tosses him out, but he and Tonto chase down the evil foreigner and kick his ass. Presumably they sell the rifle patent and make a lot of guns to be used in good old-fashioned American wars.

This episode has brief glimpses of the more adult Westerns that would come to dominate prime time later in the decade. Here we have a justice system that actually kills an innocent man, and the geopolitics of American involvement in Europe interjected into the Old West. The villain is a European, heavily implied to be German, and he is determined to involve the innocent Americans in European wars. The need to stop a dangerous weapon from falling into the wrong hands also has particular resonance in a Cold War environment. It’s not much, and it’s mostly just a backdrop to some Western shenanigans, but it’s something.

The role of Spanish gold in this story, and many others, is also interesting to me. The gold is, of course, remnants of the original conquest of the New World, one that America honours in its very name. In addition to being a convenient plot device, the Americans obtaining the gold establishes them as the legitimate heirs of those early colonization efforts, while being conveniently innocent of any of the bloodshed that was necessary to acquirer these goals.

“Man Without a Gun” (June 15, 1950, writ. Joe Richardson, dir. John H. Morse, feat. Dick Jones , James Harrison, Eddie Dunn)

The Ranger and Tonto stumble upon yet another overturned stagecoach, apparently attacked by “Indians” and then get shot at by a teen. Because this is still the first act, they decide to be friends with the guy trying to kill them. It turns out that the kid, Jim (Jones), ran away from his mom in St. Louis to go join his dad (Dunn) in the West.

The head of the local cattle ranchers, and obvious villain, Tom Gorham (Harrison) comes by. He’s the titular “man without a gun”, but he seems excited to round up a posse and go after the Indians. The Lone Ranger, having been in this show before, thinks that the attack is suspicious and the Indians aren’t the real bad guy. Gorham’s plan is to start a war and somehow get the rights to a gold mine under chieftan Red Hawk’s territory.

There’s a nice shot from the perspective of the unseen gunman.

The Ranger rides in to parlay with Red Hawk. He quickly realized that the attack was staged by the true villain: the white man. A bunch of Gorham’s men dressed as Indians attack Jim and his dad, and take the boy and Tonto hostage while being majorly problematic. Tom wants to use this as a pretext to attack the reservation. Gorham’s henchman reveals the plan to a tied-up Tonto and Jim, which they call him on. The goon is going to shoot them with a bow, but the Ranger comes in and punches everyone to save the day. Jim’s dad decides to let him stay on the ranch, and presumably be exposed to further violence.

“Man Without a Gun” is written and directed by unfamiliar names, as I believe this is Richardson and Morse’s first credit on the show. And yet, this is as archetypical as a Lone Ranger episode you’ll ever see, from the opening stage coach robbery to the expository dialogue between the secret villain and his minion to the heroes riding away immediately at the end. It was still only the first season, but with almost two decades of stories in the broader franchise, The Lone Ranger was at this point a vehicle pretty much anyone could drive.

-nice perspective shot from hidden gunman (0:01)

“Sheriff’s Sale” (June 22, 1950, writ. Joe Richardson, dir. Oscar Rudolph, feat. Peter Hanson, Larry Blake)

We open with a banker foreclosing on the property of a young man named Morrison (Hanson) who happens to be sheriff. Those damn sub-prime mortgages. This is apparently on orders from a bad guy named Conent (Blake), who killed the previous sale. He asks for the mortgage to be extended for one week so that he can call in the Lone Ranger to settle the problem. This must be where he turns into the “Loan Arranger” guy I see on TV. Conent, a snazzily-dressed fellow holding a cigar, tries to bribe Morrison, but wouldn’t you know it, he’s an upstanding citizen.

Conent takes a more direct approach, kidnapping Morrison and making him leave a note suggesting he’s taken the money and skipped town. The bad guys have sent money to his creditors and everything The Ranger and Tonto arrive to find this, and Morrison’s slightly loopy wife. They’re still convinced that the sheriff is a good guy, given the Ranger’s infallible eye for character.

The wife has got style.

Conent has Morrison has tied up at his hide-out. Morrison says he has a friend rounding up information about a previously unmentioned murder. Conent’s goon goes out and get ambushed by the Ranger and Tonto, giving up the location his hide-out. The Ranger gets the drop on the bad guy, but he presses a switch that opens up a secret passage with a goon behind it. This seems needlessly elaborate. But the Ranger has his own hidden goon (Tonto) and they easily subdue the baddies. So Morrison is safe, with his debts paid off too. I wish I could be in a Lone Ranger episode.

This is probably one of the more elaborate plans that a Lone Ranger villain hatches. Again land, and the possession of it, is central to the conflict. The series puts great stock in property and the rule of law, but is also constantly afraid of this rule of law being undermined. The solution to this, it posits, is a second violent factor outside of the scope of the law, but this time benevolent.

Eye for an Eye” (June 29, 1950, dir. George B. Seitz, writ. Tom Seller, guest I. Stanford Jolley, Dorothy Neumann, Sue England)

We open with the familiar sight of a man on death row, scheduled to hang in the morning, but this time he’s actually a bad guy. He’s Clay Derpy (not the actual spelling, but that’s what I heard, so I’m sticking with it), and he’s counting on his still-at-large brother to bust him out. His brother Stark (Jolley) is out robbing stagecoaches, the other Lone Ranger episode opening. The stage contains two of the governor’s female relatives (Neumann and England), revealed through some awful expository dialogue. Fortunately the Ranger and Tonto are on the scene to chase them off.

Scott’s idea is to follow the titular “eye for an eye” proverb by capturing the governor’s family. They’re a sensible younger woman and a stuffy, foolish older woman. The goons have heard about the Ranger and are scared of him. The girls and our heroes dress in culturally insensitive Mexican costumes (9:00) The goons set a blockade but the old woman gets them out of trouble with some Spanish.

When you say you don’t want any tacos.

Eventually the bad guys get wise to the plan by browbeating the friendly Mexican who helped the heroes disguise themselves (the Ranger saying “yo quiero Taco Bell” probably didn’t help.) They kidnap the girls and leave the Ranger and Tonto in a ditch. The good guys find Derpy’s hideout. The women help out by literally pulling the rug out from under the villain, and the Ranger bludgeons him with a fireplace poker. The state’s ability to kill has been restored, and all is well in the world.

This is the second episode this month that features multiple women being placed in peril, who are neatly divided into spunky heroines and irritating old maids. For the show’s pubescent male audience, this could have been engaging, neatly parsing out their growing interest in girls from their annoyance with femininity. Of course, grown men often think of women and girls the same way.

Overall Thoughts: One thing that really stood out to me watching these episodes was the ease and frequency with which people in The Lone Ranger universe point guns at and shoot at each other. Frequently this threatening with gun violence is only an opening flirtation before quickly joining forces. Maybe there’s something phallic in this, or maybe it’s just American gun culture. Guns don’t seem to hurt people much in this universe anyway, so maybe it’s natural that people are easy on the trigger.

The same theme of gun ownership pops up in “Man Without a Gun”, where the eponymous villain’s apparent pacifism is the first sign that he is suspicious. Rather than the simple, straightforward aggression of the gun-owners, he is a schemer who exploits the power of others. Gorham’s unarmed nature is not particularly well developed, but his character almost seems to be a defense of the series’ play-violence: better a Ranger who shoots and punches, it suggests, than one who relies on others. (Again, you could also see a geopolitical reference to the Soviet Union’s professions of non-involvement while its surrogate armies battled the US across the world.)

Perhaps this was just a way of adding a little bit of action into the talkier sections of the episodes. But it also reflects the broader conception of guns in American culture, particularly in the South, as a harmless and almost playful component of robust masculinity. It is this conception that causes so much furor in American discussions about gun violence, with the fetishistic character of the gun as a symbol of rural masculinity and self-determination making it either sacred or reviled. After all, who needs to fear when you have the Lone Ranger, the archetypical “good guy with a gun”, right around the corner?

Also, I need a better title for the “overall thoughts” section. Some kind of TV reference…

Coming up next: Howdy Doody celebrates the Fourth of July, America’s version of Canada Day.

Episode 171: The Lone Ranger – “The Man with Two Faces” (February 23, 1950)

What I watched: The twenty-fourth episode of the first season of The Lone Ranger, a kid-oriented Western created by George W. Trendle. This episode starred Clayton Moore as the titular hero and Jay Silverheels as Tonto, with guest appearances by Earl Hodgins, Stanley Andrews, Chris Drake and Steven Clark. Andrews previously appeared in The Lone Ranger as the villain in “High Heels”, while we’ve seen Clark on The Life of Riley as Babs’ prom date. This episode was directed by George Archainbaud and written by Tom Seller. “The Man with Two Faces” aired on Thursday, February 23, 1950 at 7:30 PM on ABC, and is available to watch on YouTube.

What happened: We open with a montage of a series of bank robberies, with a man called “the one-eyed bandit” who wears an eyepatch, top hat and thick beard executing the crimes. The Ranger and Tonto read about this in the paper, and note that all of the banks he’s robbed belong to the same owner, Josh Blaine (what is this, Hell or High Water?). They camp out by the next bank in line, and chase the robber when they come out. They lose him, but see the wagon of the magician Hannibal Lee (Hodgins) and ask about the runaway. We quickly find out that the magician is secretly the one-eyed bandit, using a disguise.

Bank owner Josh (Andrews) is put out by this, berating his two nephews Fred (Drake) and Bob (Clark) for allowing this to happen. The Ranger drops in on Blaine, who he apparently also helped out a few years ago. He suspects that it’s an inside job and one of the nephews is responsible, but Josh refuses to believe it. The Ranger calls the two boys in and suggests his suspicion, but doesn’t do much else.

Meanwhile, Tonto is checking out the magic caravan. He says he’s seen Indian magic, but not the white man’s. Lee impresses Tonto by making one of the Ranger’s silver bullets disappear. Hey, the writers do that all the time. He also makes himself vanish, using a fairly obvious jump-cut. After they leave, the magician’s wife worries that the Ranger is onto them, but he dismisses her concerns. However, he’s given himself away by using his arm that was allegedly wounded in the previous day’s attack.

“The One-Eyed Bandit” sounds like a penile nickname.

Back at the bank, Josh is berating his nephew Bob for not knowing how to do math. Fred tells him that Bob is the inside man. He followed Bob to the magic caravan, and conveniently saw Lee trying on the beard. This is quickly conveyed to the heroic duo, who set an ambush.

However, it turns out our heroes have been tricked again, as nephew Fred is actually Lee’s accomplish and helps hold them up. They lock the good guys in the bank vault, planning for them to suffocate and for Fred to inherit the bank. See what I mean about bullets disappearing?

Lee is still going ahead with his show, hoping not to raise suspicion. However, good nephew Bob comes back to look at the books. The Ranger gets his attention by setting a fire, and Fred frees them. Our heroes are then able to confront Fred and Lee. The magician drops a smoke bomb to make himself disappear (yes!), but the Ranger sees him fleeing on his horse and catches him. Tonto shows everyone how he’s picked up some magic tricks, and the duo actually says goodbye before riding off this time.

What I thought: If you’ve read my previous Lone Ranger entries, you know that I’ve been growing frustrated with this series, as well as my dawning awareness that I still have a couple hundred repetitions of the same basic formula to go. This episode abides by the formula for the most part, with a villain who is not what he seems and a guest star who must pass a moral test. But there were a few little touches that made it genuinely enjoyable.

Not all of the composition is brilliant — in this shot, the principal characters are on the edges of the scene and facing away from the camera.

George Archainbaud, one of the two directors used on this series thus far, has mostly been workmanlike, but here he adds in a few touches of silent film. The opening montage efficiently establishes the threat of the one-eyed bandit without any words, and is vaguely reminiscent of early works of continuity editing like The Great Train Robbery. Lee’s vanishing trick and the obvious jump in the film that makes it possible are right out of George Melies.

A magician himself, Melies discovered that editing film could make the seemingly impossible possible. Watching from a contemporary perspective, the tricks are obvious, but to an illusionist pointing this out would just be spoiling the fun. In 1950, the silent film era would still be in memory for most adults (although perhaps not many of The Lone Ranger‘s target audience), so there’s an a certain nostalgic appeal to these techniques.

The main villain of the piece, Hannibal Lee, is also a highlight. Archainbaud unusually lets Lee come off as gentle and likable even as he’s in the middle of planning to rob a bank and suffocate our heroes. Together with the betrayal of the smart nephew, who never has an evil soliloquy or anything, it’s the rare case of a Lone Ranger episode where the villains come off as ordinary people and not pulp legends.

Plus, the episode is goofy enough to let the magician use magic in a fight! I think they should’ve gone further with this. Have him threaten to saw Tonto in half, or pull a feral rabbit out of his hat and unleash it on our heroes. These brief moments of interest highlight precisely what so many episodes of this series lack: the kind of camp value and goofiness that is typically associated with kid’s TV. Usually, it feels like no one on The Lone Ranger is remotely having fun. But if future episodes can maintain even this sprinkling of invention, maybe those next 200 episodes won’t be such a chore after all.

Coming up next: Ed Wynn, who looks a bit like a magician, returns.

Episode 130: The Life of Riley – “Prom Dress” (December 13, 1949)

What I watched: The eleventh episode of The Life of Riley, an early sitcom. The episode starred Jackie Gleason, Rosemary DeCamp, Gloria Winters, Bob Jellison, Pattee Chapman, and Steve Clark. It was directed by Herbert I. Leeds, and written by Irving Breecher, Reuben Shipp, and Alan Lipscott.  “Prom Dress” aired on NBC at 9:30 PM on Tuesday, December 13, 1949, and is available to watch on the Internet Archive.

What happened: Riley learns that Babs has a school dance upcoming, and predictably doesn’t like it. But it’s all okay, because Babs isn’t going to the dance. It turns out that nobody asked her. Yeah, welcome to the club Babs. Peggy blames Riley for scaring all of the boys off, including the previously-seen Simon.

On the night of the dance, snooty teenage girl Helene (Chapman) lords it over Babs. It turns out that Riley has arranged a date for his daughter, and he comes in a Cadillac and everything. The boy is Jeff (Clark), the heir to a department store chain, who looks about 32. This pleases her, until she gets a call from Tony (presumably not the same guy from the last episode), saying that the dance’s dress code has been changed to formal and that she has nothing to wear. But a decent dress would be a whole $30!

Riley once again sets to “fixing” the problem by dialing up old friends and hitting them up for money. This doesn’t go well. Waldo comes in, but says he has no money to lend, because his wife controls the pursestrings. (He’s effete, do you get it?) Riley decides to trade in his prized bowling ball for a gown at the “Economy Swap Shop”, and sends Waldo to do it, because this is a sitcom.

I ship Babs/Helene now.

Contrary to my expectations, Babs likes the dress, but Riley hides the fact that it’s secondhand. Helene comes by to gloat, and to attempt to steal Jeff. She reveals that the dress that Babs is wearing was originally tailored for her. It even has her initials on it. Babs is humiliated, and Jeff leaves for the dance with Helene. Well, he was a creep anyway.

Riley goes up to Babs’ room to tell her that he’s a terrible father. But she tells him that she’s not upset, just mad at Helene. Jeff comes back and says that he “taught Helene some manners” by driving her out to Glendale and leaving her at a bus depot. Okay, that sounds a little cruel, but whatever. Jeff tells them that he’s actually poor, with a rented tux and a Cadillac he uses as a chauffeur. Riley is very pleased at this development, and they go to the dance I suppose.

What I thought: Perhaps spurred by his new education, Riley seems to have undergone a sea change when it comes to his teenage daughter’s romantic life. As Peg brings up, he was previously protective to the point of abusiveness, chasing off one suitor after another. But now he is actively encouraging his daughter’s emerging sexuality, arranging dates for her. When she goes to pick out a lipstick, he even tells her to “put on a flavour that Jeff likes.” I guess he finally came to terms with the fact that his children will soon be adults who will make their own decisions. Who says there’s no character development on sitcoms?

Perhaps the reason why patriarchal control takes a back seat is that this episode focuses on one of Life of Riley‘s other favourite topics, that of class. By contemporary standards, the Riley family is firmly middle class — not only does the father have a steady job, they have a house! In Los Angeles! But, as in so many comedies, there’s a snooty rich person to emphasize the main characters’ relatively humble origins and lack of sophistication.

I’m still not sure why this guy was in the episode.

What this episode introduces is the symbolic element of class. It is not enough to have money, one must publicly display the symbols of wealth. The middle class is permitted to borrow these symbols for ceremonial occasions, such as a wedding or, in this episode, a school dance. In this way they show that, in their best moments, they can be almost like the rich.

Life of Riley goes so far as to suggest this imitation of wealth is better than the real thing. Riley is not the villain for buying a secondhand prom dress: it’s Helene for trying to draw a distinction between tailored and secondhand. Jeff turns out to be a good guy at the same time he turns out to be poor. There is something nobler, the series suggests, about straining to afford your family a taste of luxury than being able to afford it easily.

Speaking of finances, the obviously limited budget of Life of Riley is starting to show. The entire episode takes place on the set of the family home, with plot elements like Jeff’s Cadillac not being seen. Cast members who would seem relevant here, like Simon, are rotated out for people we’ve never seen before. There are a couple of Newhart-esque phone conversations where exposition is fobbed off on an offscreen character. Of course, the story of television is largely the story of making narratives work under economic limitations. But it echoes interestingly with the episode’s lionization of illusory wealth.

Coming up next: If it’s called The Lone Ranger, why did they make so goddamn many of them?

-“This isn’t 1890, fathers have changed.”

Episode 123: The Lone Ranger – “Return of the Convict” (December 1, 1949)

What I watched: The twelfth episode of the first season of The Lone Ranger, a kid-oriented Western created by George W. Trendle. This episode starred Clayton Moore as the titular hero and Jay Silverheels as Tonto, with guest appearances by John Kellogg (not the cereal man), Robert Emmett Keane, Steve Clark and John Daheim.. This episode was directed by George Archainbaud and written by Gibson Fox and Doris Schroeder.. “Return of the Convict” aired on Thursday, December 1, 1949 at 7:30 PM on ABC, and is available to watch on YouTube.

What happened: The Lone Ranger tells Tonto about John Ames (Kellogg), a man who’s just been released from prison and is swearing to “get even” with two men who’ve wronged him in the past. The Ranger and Tonto track down the stagecoach in which he’s riding, and spot him with a gun. When he gets into the town with the curious name of Alkali Den, and the town sheriff (Clark) immediately tells him to move away like his wife and child did. Ames swears that he didn’t have anything to do with the robbery he went to prison for, and that his mission is to make the men who set him up pay.

The Ranger and Tonto go to the home of the Gunder brothers, the men who testified against him. They find no sign of the brothers, but spot blood, a hat with a bullet hole in it, and Ames riding away very fast. Tonto rides off to town, as he does approximately nine times every episode, and  the Ranger spots a trail.

There’s a nice long-distance shot of the stage, which is so out of character for the series’ direction I would guess it’s taken from another film.

Back in town, the sheriff arrests Ames, having been filled in by that snitch Tonto. An angry posse has already gathered outside, lead by a man named Sim (Keane) and the sheriff quickly takes his captive out the back. The mob gets so angry they start throwing rocks at the sheriff, and quickly descend into mass brawling. The Ranger and Tonto come in to restore order.

Our hero supposes that someone else has murdered the Gunders and stirred up the lynch mob to pin the crime on Ames. Sim comes in and orders the sheriff to arrest the Ranger as an accomplice to the crime, and he goes on and does it. Fortunately, our outlaw hero is able to make an escape by clumsily wrestling the villain.

The Ranger and Tonto go out to investigate the ravine the brothers’ bodies were supposedly found in. They find the bodies, very much alive. The Ranger holds the Gunders (at least one of whom is played by Daheim) at gunpoint, and acts like he’s about to shoot them. He fires in the air, and they flee.

Back in town, the mob leader Simm tells the sheriff that he’s fired and is putting together a posse to hunt Ames and the Ranger. Of course, he’s in cahoots with the brothers, and they’ve been spooked enough to come to meet him. They verbalize their whole history of crimes while the sheriff sits outside the window. The brothers turn on Simm by slapping him around a lot, then the Ranger comes in to punch everybody out. And with that, justice has been restored!

What I thought: Once again, The Lone Ranger deals with its almost obsessive themes of the law and mistaken identity. Once again, we have a character who is being framed for another’s crime, and again we see the Ranger in an investigatory role, helping to expose the true evildoer to a friendly law enforcement official.

And yet there is a bit of uneasiness in this particular iteration of the plot. The inciting incident is a failure of state justice: the wrongful imprisonment of John Ames. The sheriff, while still portrayed mostly positively, is shown to be easily influenced by the crowd. The episode even portrays the tough-on-crime mentality represented by the lynch mob as an obstacle to justice and not a means to it. Okay, it’s not exactly Rectify but it’s an interesting idea to put forward on a kid’s show.

Kellogg actually has some screen presence, but it appears he was already on the downslope of his career.

Of course, this only goes so far, which is not very far at all. Even though the legal system has given us no reason to trust it, the Ranger still hands over the real bad guys to the sheriff at the end. (We at least get an actual action scene at the climax this time, even if it’s not a long or interesting one.) In the end, the blame lies at the feet of specific individuals engaged in a conspiracy, not any kind of institutional failure.

This tension is indicative of American popular culture. Television as a whole is full of heroic police and prosecutors, with the police procedural being the dominant dramatic genre for at least two decades. At the same time, American media is full of stories about wrongly-accused men, heroic outlaws, and rebels who may or may not have the cause. The rule of law, it would seem, is best used to keep everyone else in line — you yourself have good reasons for your rebellion.

The plot point of mistaken identity is also one which the series has already returned to over and over again. This is characteristic of superhero stories, which The Lone Ranger is essentially a predecessor to. There must be a dozen stories in the early years of Marvel alone where some villain impersonates the heroes and ruins their good name. This series hasn’t used that particular plot yet, although I would bet on it occurring somewhere in the remaining 250 (yikes) episodes.

But even the repeated plots of other people being wrongly accused reflect an anxiety of the masked-vigilante genre — that the good guy’s actions are not that easily distinguishable from the villainy of the bad guys. This is the anxiety that also pushes the antagonists towards being mustache-twirling caricatures. Ironically, it is this insecurity about identity that makes the genre so distinctive.

Coming up next: A different kind of kid’s show, withKukla, Fran and Ollie.