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April 7, 1985, Page 002001Buy Reprints The New York Times Archives

Esther Shapiro, an effusive, dark- haired, lively-eyed woman who produces ''Dynasty'' with her husband Richard Shapiro and therefore has a firm grip on the tiger tail of the television industry, recently had brunch at the Helmsley Palace Hotel's Trianon Room restaurant. All around her in the opulent space, leaning on the peppermint-pink tablecloths and looking up at the wall paintings of riders and horses, were diners dressed in the expensive sheen of the mid- 1980's: ladies in gloves and white broad- brimmed hats, men in ascots and double- breasted blue blazers. The room looked so much like a set from ''Dynasty'' that it was easy to imagine she was talking from within an episode of the series.

''I'm not sure money brings happiness,'' said Mrs. Shapiro of the ''Dynasty'' ethic, ''but it does bring control.''

As a television aphorism, that summing up of a program's philosophy is a long way from: ''Well, heh-heh, that's my little Margie,'' but this is, as President Reagan said a couple of weeks ago, the age of the entrepreneur, and television is packed with programs about personal incentive and its rewards.

Mr. and Mrs. Shapiro's ''Dynasty,'' the weekly saga of the power, passion, wardrobes and automobiles of an oil-rich family in Denver, tells of the struggle of a number of women for, as Mrs. Shapiro put it, ''control of their lives.'' Its twin star of American glitter is the older, great ongoing family tale of the Texas rich, ''Dallas,'' which tells of the vipers and little foxes of the Ewing family. The two are already legends in commercial television, and they are two of the best-known American cultural exports, watched and analyzed around the world: In 1980, Israel's Prime Minister Menachem Begin pleaded with the visiting ''Dallas'' producer to tell him who shot J. R. Ewing; in 1983, the French arts establishment decried it as ''American cultural imperialism''; this February, the British Broadcasting Corporation canceled it, but viewers forced its reinstatement.

Even their imitators are successful: ''Knots Landing'' and ''Falcon Crest,'' endless daytime dramas in which power and sex are inextricably tied, in which lush sets and big furs and leather- upholstered cars muffle the dialogue. And somehow encompassing it all is the latest addition, the ultimate in generically titled programming - ''Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.''

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Why has the mansion replaced the split-level household as the best-known backdrop for video sagas? Why are tales of the middle class becoming obsolete and tales of ostentation bringing happiness to producers? What has brought about this onslaught of econo-romantic determinism?

Some say it involves a kind of voyeurism:

''I've always said,'' said Philip R. Capice, the executive producer of ''Dallas,'' ''there is a vicarious pleasure in participating in these rich peoples' lives and finding out their wealth is not intimidating, seeing that despite their wealth and power, these people are never happy. The viewer can sit back and say, 'They have all that, and they aren't happy.' ''

Some say it was the ultimate extension of Reagan Era values:

''There is an awareness of business,'' said Malcolm Forbes, the publisher of Forbes magazine, ''of the consequence of corporate raids that is highlighted in 'Dallas,' 'Dynasty' and 'Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.' The rich have always been of interest, but the sting is out of it now. Capitalism is back in, people realize that getting rich is just somebody entrepreneuring.''

Others see only raw escapism:

''Part of the fun,'' said Aaron Spelling, the executive producer on ''Dynasty'' and other escapist programs like ''Love Boat'' and the late ''Fantasy Island,'' ''is seeing Joan Collins the next day after almost being killed on 'Dynasty,' wearing a turban and eating caviar in the hospital, which is much more fun than watching someone wearing a bandage-headband and eating a Big Mac.''

And still others cite the rise of Yuppie-class materialism:

''Our ratings numbers are very solid in the 25- to 41-year-old age group,'' said Robin Leach, the host and executive producer of ''Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous,'' the hourly premise of which each week is to examine exactly what its title says. ''It's almost as though they were tuning in on the show to take notes on how they would take their money and spend it.''

And, finally, some maintain it's just another social evolution:

''I wore granny dresses in the 1960's. I baked bread. I marched in peace marches. I made speeches,'' said Mrs. Shapiro of a program that expresses some of her personal stylized fantasies. ''I felt like dressing up again.''

When ''Dallas'' had its premiere in 1977, nobody thought too much of it, but within a couple of years it had become a part of the national vocabulary, and after the summer of mania preceding the ''Who Shot J. R.?'' mystery in 1980, the sociologists set out to establish what it meant. This generally upset more than flattered its creators. ''We don't sit around and analyze this program and what it means,'' said Mr. Capice of ''Dallas,'' ''or we would eventually be mad.''

But in the years since, the number of programs about and for the rich have grown to such an extent that they have been obliged to submit to the cultural burden of analysis: ''These programs, which are about new money behaving grossly, really represent a kind of vulgar Marxism,'' said Herbert J. Gans, a professor of sociology at Columbia University. ''There is a ruling class at work here, and it's corrupt. That kind of popular program feeds what a lot of people do believe: the notion that this country is run for the benefit of a small number.''

Large numbers of viewers, though, own a piece of these fantasies: ''Dynasty'' is merchandising clothes and sheets and perfume with the program's name on them, a dream of wealth accessible to whomever wants to buy it.

''Just to watch what they're wearing is entering fantasyland,'' said Mr. Spelling, a producer who seems to have attained a niche, for better and worse, in the pop culture. With his ''Charlie's Angels,'' ''Fantasy Island'' and ''Love Boat,'' in which guest stars show up on a cruise ship, meet each other and disappear, he has developed a reputation as the patriarch of extravagance.

''Watching the cars and costumes is part of it, we try not to repeat the gowns,'' he said. ''I don't know how long Hollywood can keep on making these farming movies like the one with Jessica Lange and Sissy Spacek and Sally Field - they're hardly where farmers want to go to. People want to see a house with a staff of 12 servants.

''Andy Warhol just did a 'Love Boat,' '' Mr. Spelling said recently. ''He loved it. The first thing he wanted to do was go over to the 'Dynasty' set. I can't imagine Andy doing a show without real style.


''There are 'Rich and Famous' clubs out there,'' said Mr. Leach, the executive producer of the weekly ''Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.'' ''We get letters from them: a group of people in Redondo Beach, Calif., get into tuxedoes, or their hot tub, and hire maids and drink champagne to watch the programs. I think people are using our program to see what the rich are buying and order it themselves. We are the Nieman-Marcus catalogue of television.''

Is ''Dynasty'' endemic to the 1980's? Although Mrs. Shapiro identified her program with the era - ''Dynasty,'' she pointed out, went on the air the week of President Reagan's inauguration - Professor Gans said ''Dallas'' and ''Dynasty'' could have existed almost anytime. ''They're really mustache dramas,'' he said. ''People just like to hiss.''

But many observers feel that effective villains of the two programs - Joan Collins's Alexis and Larry Hagman's J. R. Ewing - are anything but villains in a period when Americans appreciate strong management.

''I'm not endorsing Reagan,'' Mrs. Shapiro said, ''but there are certain things the Democrats could learn from him, like being effective.'' Mrs. Shapiro said women who watched her program liked seeing other, powerful women who could control events.

''I've always wanted control,'' she said. ''And the program is about people fighting for control over their lives. Money helps you to get control of your life.''

Mr. Forbes and Robin Leach both said that Americans had an attitude toward the rich that encouraged programming like the nighttime stories of wealth: class resentment against the wealthy reigned in other countries, while ''there is a respect here, a desire to emulate,'' said Mr. Leach. ''The opportunities exist and it is an upwardly mobile country.''

''This is a new age,'' said Mr. Forbes. ''There isn't as much rigidity. People are beginning to comprehend that anybody can get rich and that the Hunts can go broke. There is no class resentment against the rich. More think of the rich as just entrepreneurs, not the heavies they have always been on television and in the movies. They're not the exploiters anymore.

''And I'll tell you another reason why so many more people are more interested in the rich,'' he added. ''There are so many more of us now.''

This season, Brandon Tartikoff, the president of NBC Entertainment, put on his own series about a rich family, ''Berrenger's.'' It capsized. ''I thought it was well-made,'' said Mr. Tartikoff, ''but I didn't think it offered somthing much different from what was on the air.'' The only nighttime serial NBC now has in development is a gothic-horror pilot called ''The Covenant.''

''Are the people rich in it?'' Mr. Tartikoff asked rhetorically. ''Yeah, some are rich. But none of the elements have been tried yet. When 'Dallas' went on the air, there wasn't a show like it. And watching pretty people in pretty dresses, and pretty men, is nicer than watching garbage cans. However, if there are no garbage cans on television, the first one to come along with one or to come up with a hero with no perfect set of teeth will do it.'' Mr. Tartikoff said he was investing in a program with a working-class hero, played by Robert Blake.

''I think shows that celebrate the ordinary person are coming up,'' said Mr. Tartikoff. ''Shows that celebrate the humanity in people.''

In fact, Mrs. Shapiro agreed and said she believed that the strength of the family would be an important new television theme. But if middle-class family programs return to the airwaves with a vengeance, viewers remembering the late 1970's and early 80's may remember programs that spoke to the determination of Americans to recapture the romance of capitalism after the 1960's.

That romance is sincere: More than almost anything else, these programs somehow communicate the impression that their creators believe in them.

''The world is full of old men who are board members,'' said Mrs. Shapiro, while deliberately picking up crumbs from the tablecloth. ''You see their pictures in Forbes and Fortune. I have my plans. My dream is to be a great old lady.'' Her eyes glinted with a sudden vision. ''Very thin and very tall, with white hair and lots of pearls, standing in front of a window, looking out, in charge of a Fortune 500 company.''

She stopped. ''I don't write victims,'' she said. ''You become your fantasy. You know what I want to do next? Madame Mao - the actress who ruled a half-billion people. That's power. Always be splashy. Always be theatrical. Go to your fantasies. You know who plays Madame Mao?'' Mrs. Shapiro smiled. ''Faye Dunaway,'' she said. The tablecloth was clean.

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