Bogle, whose previous works include “Toms, Coons, Mulattoes, Mammies, and Bucks: An Interpretive History of Blacks in American Films” and a biography of the actress Dorothy Dandridge, has turned his early fascination with TV into a sweeping social history of the medium’s representations of African-Americans. Organized by decade, “Primetime Blues” begins in the ’50s with images of shiftless clowns and improbably loyal servants; by the book’s end, the small screen has been transformed, as the stunning success of “Roots” and the unexpected reigns of Cosby and Oprah suggest. But while he concedes that much has changed, Bogle demonstrates that too much has stayed the same, and he condemns the tube for consistently reflecting “the evasions and fantasies of a nation trying, more often than not, to ignore or suppress its feelings and fears about race.” NEWSWEEK sat down with Bogle and asked him about his new book:

NEWSWEEK: Why is it important to examine images of African-Americans on television?

Donald Bogle: Television is such a potent cultural force. It speaks to us for good and for bad about our experiences and the culture we live in. So when something is terribly misrepresented, it sends out distortions that become unbelievably widespread.

How were blacks portrayed during TV’s early years?

Black images in the ’50s lagged behind the growing social and political movements of the period. “Beulah” and “Amos ’n’ Andy” were really pre-World War II images. In Hollywood movies of the ’30s and early ’40s, you saw the figures of the mammy and the agreeable Uncle Tom. After World War II, though, movies started to deal with the “Negro problem,” and some were very daring for their time. Because television goes into people’s homes, it’s a more conservative medium.

You suggest that black TV characters during the ’50s and ’60s were reassuring to white audiences.

Yes. “Beulah” was about a black maid who contentedly worked for a white family. Of course there were African-American servants, but certainly there was that point when they left the place they worked and went home to their own communities. The 1950s saw the Montgomery bus boycott and the rise of the civil-rights movement, but still there were these contented servants on TV. There was no sign that these characters had any political consciousness. In the ’60s, with the black problem being covered on the TV news, television started to present more serious black characters, with shows like “I Spy” and “Julia.” But these were integrationist shows at the point when the civil-rights movement was evolving into the black power movement and many young blacks were calling for cultural separatism.

“Julia,” which aired during the late 1960s, was accused of sugarcoating the reality of black life in America. Diahann Carroll, who played the middle-class title character, responded to the criticism by saying, “Because I am black that doesn’t mean I have to deal with problems of all black people.”

Are there too many unfair burdens placed on these TV shows?

Yes, I think so. One of the things that overwhelmed me as I researched this book is that every single show with African-Americans faced criticism. The African-American audience was hungry for programming that reflected its interests. But particularly in the beginning, that audience was getting just one show at a time-and no one show can answer everybody’s needs.

Later, in the 1980s, critics both black and white accused “The Cosby Show”-which focused on an upper-middle-class black family-of being too idealized. But you seem to view it positively.

Very definitely. The criticism indicated that we still didn’t have a diversity of African-American images on television; if the black audience could pick and choose, then all of the burdens wouldn’t have been put on one show. But Cosby heard his critics, and he made changes: late in the run he showed class distinctions within the black community by introducing the character of cousin Pam, who came from a tough urban area. But you always did get African-American culture on that show. Cosby wore Morehouse College sweatshirts, he brought on jazz artists as guest stars. You might hear a reference to a black writer-Richard Wright or Jamaica Kincaid. He wove these things into the fabric of the show without being didactic or heavy-handed. Anyone could identify with the basic story lines, but Cosby never forgot the points of identification he wanted to have for the African-American audience specifically.

You say that “The Cosby Show” wouldn’t have worked during the ’70s, when “ghetto comedies” like “Sanford and Son” and “Good Times” were popular.

“The Cosby Show” became a hit during the politically conservative Reagan years. Those other series came out of the heat and fervor of the late ’60s and early ’70s, when there was still political drive and momentum. Cosby had tried to reflect a middle-class black experience in 1969, playing a physical-education teacher on “The Bill Cosby Show,” which didn’t catch on. Audiences, especially African-American audiences, wanted something that touched on the grit of the late ’60s, not a mild integrationist show.

The new “upstart networks,” UPN, the WB and Fox, have established themselves in large part by targeting black viewers. Is this strictly a marketing strategy to capture a segment of the population now that viewers have more TV options than ever before?

Yes, these new networks have built their bases with black programs. But their shows, like “Martin” and “The PJs,” are all comedies; we’re not seeing many mature African-American males. The women are objectified, wearing short skirts and tight sweaters. These networks know that there’s an audience there, and they’ve often exploited that audience. I don’t think they’ve seriously thought about a responsibility to viewers.

You discuss all the shows-from “Miami Vice” to “Spenser For Hire” to “Hill Street Blues”-that pair white characters with loyal black sidekicks. Why has that type of TV relationship been so enduring?

You see repeatedly that if you have an African-American male who can possibly be a threat or a menace, rather than opposing the system or the white male who controls the system, he’s going to be the white man’s buddy. The basic theme of I" Spy," which comes on in 1965, was interracial male bonding. The black and white characters were the best of friends, but within that relationship was no serious discussion of race. Black males rarely have intense friendships with white males; if they do, race has to come up. “ER” handles the relationship between Dr. Benton and Dr. Carter well. I like the fact that they didn’t become great buddies, although we can believe that the two men have respect for each other.

I’ve often wondered how the percentage of black judges on TV compares to the percentage in real life.

Yes! I watched “L.A. Law” as I was researching the book, and the number of black judges on those episodes … it’s fantasy land. They’re sending out the message that everything is still working in America. You’ve got black criminals and hoods, but you also have black judges who work very well within the system.

How would you change TV if you could?

We need more African-Americans working behind the scenes who are thoughtful and sensitive. There really aren’t black network executives who can greenlight projects. I’d also like to see us get away from all these sitcoms, where black America looks like one big laughfest. Nobody, black or white, wants a series to deal with race relations every week. That would trivialize racial problems. But you still want the creators of these shows to bring it in at certain points, to try to maneuver their way around TV’s limitations.