Xena

Growing up in the '50s, I longed to be a swashbuckling adventurer like my favorite movie heroes. The problem was back then women didn't get to buckle any swashes. So I couldn't decide whether I wanted to be Errol Flynn or marry him. Now the choice is clear. I want to be Xena, Warrior Princess--though in a pinch I'd settle for her comely blond sidekick, Gabrielle. Xena kicks butt. Literally.

Come with me now to a time of magic! A time when the green woods were alive with wizards and witches, and a hero and heroine rose to defend the defenseless from those who would oppress and enslave them. I refer, of course, to the 1990s.

Decades before Linda Hamilton muscled up for "Terminator 2," Pudgy Stockton was developing better biceps than most men. She was supporting her husband, Les--not financially, but in high hands-to-hands and other gymnastic maneuvers learned at a place called Muscle Beach. Now Pudgy, 80, and Les, 81, live in a Santa Monica apartment less than a mile from the site of the original Muscle Beach (closed in 1959).

Don't look now, but a parade of strange characters is trying to battle their way into your living room. With "Xena: Warrior Princess" and "Hercules: The Legendary Journeys" delivering smashing ratings, weekends are now crammed chock-full of superheroes, mythological figures, aliens and cool cars, all seeking to become the next action franchise. Competition has grown increasingly fierce, not only for viewers but also for time slots.

The ancient myths we all learned in junior high--stories of Cyclops, sirens, satyrs, ambrosia and cruel, mischievous gods named Hera and the Gorgones--have become more popular than all the cleavage and beach rescues David Hasselhoff has to offer.

Much has been written about how movies have become the dominion of big-budget action and science-fiction fare--in part because stories short on dialogue and long on thrills play especially well overseas. Often overlooked, however, is how television has paralleled this trend, with executives saying the viability of one-hour drama series now depends to a significant degree on their appeal abroad--where action and sci-fi often travel better than softer, character-driven programs.

The man with the strength of 10 was feeling "lightheaded," he said. The man who rails weekly about petty, cruel gods plaguing people's lives was feeling weak, but not from a Herculean labor or an Aegean feat or even a piece of bad dialogue. It was Sentiment that gripped Hercules. After 111 episodes, his TV show is ending. Kevin Sorbo is hanging up his gauntlets. So many gods, so little time, so many benign anachronistic liberties.

Brothers and sisters, I come to you a tailgater, a brake-stomper, a speeder. In a quarter-century of driving, I have totaled two cars and dinged a whole bunch more. I've blown through numerous speed traps, and my insurance agent (hi, Noris!) once kept a small file on my extenuating circumstances, should the big guys come to kick me into the high-risk pool. But I have healed, brothers and sisters. I have stepped off the accelerator and onto the road of safe driving.

Although Brian Lowry's article on the syndicated hour business presented an accurate picture of the current TV marketplace, some historical facts were inaccurate ("A Bit of Hercules, a Little Xena . . . ," Nov. 1). The article quotes Peter Sussman of Atlantis Films stating that " 'Hercules' and 'Xena' got in under the wire." It then pursues the premise by noting the pair premiered when "syndicated fare consisted of little more than 'Star Trek: The Next Generation' and 'Baywatch.' " This simply is not true.