A semi-earnest social commentary obscured by empty sitcom yuks, 1988’s Goodbye, Supermom (also known as Drop-Out Mother) is a television movie that hates television. “Know what the ‘M’ in MTV stands for? Moron,” a teenage character tells her little brother. An elderly woman later declares “I have no skills, I’m not talented. I read People and watch Entertainment Tonight. I take Robin Leach seriously. I live through other people’s lives.”
If that isn’t compelling enough on its surface, you ought to know who wrote it. Supermom’s credited screenwriter was Bob Shanks, a longtime producer of The Merv Griffin Show. As an ABC executive in the 1970s, Shanks helped birth infotainment-peddling programs like Good Morning America and 20/20, which permanently rearranged the American television landscape—and not necessarily for the better. In the ’80s, he wrote a handful of telefilms that were variations on the theme of corporate burnout: Supermom follows Drop-Out Father (1982, starring Dick Van Dyke) and He’s Fired, She’s Hired (1984).
Our dropout heroine is Nora Cromwell (Valerie Harper), a high-flying public relations exec who represents a Madonna ripoff artist named Virgin. Married to the similarly overworked Jack (Wayne Rogers), a political media advisor, Nora’s life is a whirlwind of power breakfasts, meetings and impromptu business dinners. On the rare occasion the Cromwells are in the same city on the same night, they schedule sex as dispassionately as you might a dental cleaning. They have no time for their precocious children, who essentially raise themselves.
When an old friend, Maxine (Carol Kane, in full neurotic mode), is assigned as Nora’s temp, her first question is “How’s your family? You divorced yet?” There is, indeed, trouble at home, where the Cromwells have blown through five maids in four months. The food in their refrigerator is long past its expiration date, and son Sam (Danny Gerard) is in revolt: “There’s more to eat in Addis Ababa,” he boorishly complains to older sister Caroline (Alyson Court). We’re meant to believe Sam has difficulty reading, a byproduct of his parents’ neglect, but he roasts his mother with the verbosity and alacrity of a fifty-something Catskills comedian.
A sampling of his remarks:
- “My whole entire life she never baked one cookie. She can’t even do Pop-Tarts right. I was almost born in a management seminar.”
- “If we’d been born before microwave ovens, we would’ve starved to death.”
- “I’m having minor learning difficulties. It’s only because I was toilet-trained by strangers. I was raised by aliens. French, German, Jamaican, Puerto Rican and Norwegian, Haitians…”
- “Quality time is a crock. I want quantity; I need parenting, not voodoo or folk-dancing.”
Unlike Sam, who judges Nora more harshly than Jack for committing the same workaholic offenses, Caroline takes pride in her achievements. “Our mom is not a dusting mother,” she tells him. “She has a career!” But not for long. Nora has been crying at commercials and dreaming of winning a Pillsbury Bake-Off as her professional dissatisfaction mounts. Jack accuses her of getting mushy, complaining “You’re not as sharp and aggressive.” He annoyingly suggests she’s acting almost… feminine. Nora doesn’t think she’s having a breakdown, but rather “a total mental collapse.” Her solution is to quit her job and become a homemaker.
The family’s reduced income necessitates a move from New York City to Connecticut, where they struggle to adapt to suburban life. (Jack is confused by the sight of an outdoor grill; Caroline yells “I don’t want to live in a greeting card commercial!”) Nora’s lack of domestic prowess is played as a series of lukewarm gags—ironing mishaps, garage-door opener confusion, dinner made with help from a rectal thermometer—at the expense of more interesting material, like Caroline’s experience of her mother’s housewife yearnings as a feminist betrayal.
Jack, too, struggles with resentment. “You wanted equality? This is it,” he argues, angry that she has the option to leave the workforce and he doesn’t. (His work on the senate campaign of a proudly ignorant Southern preacher, an anti-choice, pro-death penalty creationist with Confederate flags behind his desk, feels sadly modern.) When he opts to log even more time on the road, rather than return home, Nora makes a bitter observation that could’ve formed the crux of a more incisive comedy: “Men always win, no matter what you do.”
Goodbye, Supermom has a couple of great supporting actors in Kane and Kim Hunter (as Nora’s disapproving mom), but it’s a lesser entry in Valerie Harper’s telefilm oeuvre. Sure, it’s considerably more lighthearted than her playing mother to Nancy McKeon’s schizophrenic undergrad in Strange Voices, or to Kellie Martin’s teenage murderer in Death of a Cheerleader. But misogyny, capitalism and workplace toxicity are tougher villains for one woman to defeat than Richard Romanus in Night Terror. Of course, Supermom is still better than Mary and Rhoda. But so is appendicitis.
Streaming and DVD availability
Goodbye, Supermom isn’t available on DVD but currently streams on both Tubi (where it’s free) and ScreenPix (which is subscription-based). You can click here for more streamable Valerie Harper content, some of it free.
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… But wait, there’s more!
Goodbye, Supermom has its share of details that don’t add up, like how the sprawling new Cromwell family home is immediately furnished after they unpack, even though it’s far greater in size than their New York City apartment. But my favorite was when daughter Caroline is shown cooking and you can hear the food sizzle on the stovetop, but the actress is touching the pan.
Cranky Lesbian is a disgruntled homosexual with too much time on her hands. Click for film reviews or to follow on Instagram.
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