LOS ANGELES โ Even Angie Dickinson, the trailblazing actress who shattered television barriers as the first woman to lead a primetime crime ๐น๐๐ถ๐๐ถ, refuses to watch one episode from her iconic series Police Woman. The episode, titled Flowers of Evil, aired during the show’s first season in 1974 and sparked a firestorm of controversy that still echoes today. Dickinson, now 92, has never revisited the installment, admitting in interviews that she simply cannot bring herself to view it.
The reason lies in the episode’s deeply problematic portrayal of lesbian characters as predatory villains, a move that drew fierce backlash from activists and forever stained the show’s legacy.
The episode centered on Dickinson’s character, Sergeant Pepper Anderson, going undercover in a retirement home after an elderly woman is found strangled. Inside, she uncovers a trio of women running a scheme that preys on vulnerable residents, stealing their savings, forging checks, and killing to cover their tracks. The perpetrators were framed as a predatory lesbian trio, a narrative choice that struck a nerve in an era when television offered almost no positive LGBTQ representation.
The scene was grim, with the nursing home setting amplifying the sense of exploitation and manipulation. Pepper entered as a nurse, navigating a world where the villains controlled residents through charm, intimidation, and violence, making the crimes feel even more invasive and cruel.
The backlash was immediate and intense. Flowers of Evil aired at a time when activist groups were already on high alert following another major television controversy involving harmful gay representation. Pressure had been building, and the episode became a flashpoint.
Lesbian Feminist Liberation organized a dramatic protest at NBC headquarters in New York, with women sneaking into the building, unfurling banners, and picketing outside. They demanded an end to the repeated use of queer characters as villains in television narratives. The protest was highly coordinated, drawing media attention and exposing the network to nationwide criticism.
NBC eventually capitulated, agreeing not to rerun the episode, which effectively removed it from broadcast history for decades. The protest proved that organized viewer action could force a network to change course, marking a pivotal moment in television history.
Despite the network’s edits before the episode aired, including softening character cues and avoiding the word lesbian, the core image remained damaging. Defenders of the episode pointed to its roots in a real criminal case, arguing that the crimes, not the sexuality, were the focus. But activists countered that context was critical when a marginalized group had little other visibility.
The exaggerated butch stereotype in the episode pushed the material closer to caricature than realism, further inflaming critics. Yet within the episode, there was a complicated scene where Pepper speaks to one of the antagonists in a way that suggests empathy rather than condemnation. That exchange, recognizing emotional repression and pain, created tension that has kept the episode alive in debates decades later.
Some see it as an attempt at nuance; others view it as manipulative within a fundamentally flawed script.
Dickinson’s standing as a pioneering actress makes her refusal to watch the episode particularly poignant. At 42, when Police Woman premiered in 1974, she became the first woman to lead a primetime crime ๐น๐๐ถ๐๐ถ, a role that made her a household name but also demanded a brutal shooting schedule of 21 episodes per season. The show ran for four seasons and 91 episodes, but its star has spoken candidly about the personal cost.
The exhaustion from carrying the series year after year contributed to the breakdown of her marriage to composer Burt Bacharach, and she has described the fame as coming at a heavy price. Despite the show’s success, Dickinson has made clear that the toll on her private life was profound, and her reluctance to revisit Flowers of Evil reflects the broader weight of that era.
The episode remains a cautionary tale about the power of representation and the consequences of harmful stereotypes. For many viewers, Flowers of Evil is a reminder of the industry’s failure to treat LGBTQ characters with dignity, a failure that activists challenged head-on and successfully changed. Dickinson’s choice to step away from it underscores her understanding of its impact, even as her legacy as a trailblazer endures.
She went on to take risks after Police Woman, including Brian De Palma’s controversial 1980 thriller Dressed to ๐๐พ๐๐, showing she remained willing to challenge her public image. But this one episode lingers as a scar on an otherwise groundbreaking career.
The debate over Flowers of Evil has never fully settled, with critics and historians continuing to analyze its role in television history. The protest at NBC headquarters became a template for later activism, demonstrating that visible, organized resistance could force networks to take accountability. Dickinson, for her part, has moved on, focusing on her daughter Nikki, who was born with special needs, and her own life away from the cameras.
But when asked about that single episode from 1974, her answer has always been clear: she will not watch it, not even once.
