Richard Roundtree was the coolest man on the planet in 1971. When Isaac Hayes’ iconic wah-wah guitar riff kicked in, everyone knew exactly who they were looking at. John Shaft was a revolution. He was a black private dick that’s a sex machine to all the chicks—and he was a box-office powerhouse. But then came 1973. CBS decided they wanted a piece of that gritty, street-level action, but they wanted it on broadcast television. That’s how we ended up with Shaft the TV show, a project that stands as one of the most fascinating "what ifs" in 1970s media history. It’s a weird relic. Honestly, if you watch it today, it feels like a fever dream where the sharpest edges of a cinematic icon were sanded down until they were smooth, safe, and ultimately, a little bit boring.
The Impossible Task of Cleaning Up a Legend
You can't really talk about the television version of Shaft without talking about the "The New CBS Tuesday Night Movies." Back then, the network was trying to rotate different series in the same time slot, a format they also used for Hawkins starring James Stewart. They weren't just making a weekly procedural; they were trying to make "television movies" that felt premium. The problem? You can’t take a character defined by his defiance of "The Man" and put him on a network that is The Man.
In the original films, John Shaft was a loner. He was cynical. He dealt with the kind of urban rot and systemic corruption that the 1971 audience felt in their bones. He swore. He had a complicated relationship with the police. When the transition to Shaft the TV show happened, CBS faced a massive hurdle: the Standards and Practices department. In the seventies, you couldn't have a hero who was too violent or too "anti-establishment" on a Tuesday night at 9:30 PM.
So, they compromised. They kept Richard Roundtree, which was a huge win. His charisma is literally the only thing holding some of these episodes together. But they changed the core of his character. Instead of the guy who operated in the shadows, he was now working much more closely with the police department. Specifically, he was often paired with Lt. Al Rossi, played by Ed Barth.
Wait, it gets weirder.
The TV Shaft wasn't just working with the cops; he was practically an honorary member of the force at times. This completely gutted the tension of the original story. The movies were about a man who didn't fit in. The show was about a man who was very clearly being fitted into a box. It’s kind of heartbreaking to see Roundtree, who has such presence, forced to play a version of Shaft who feels like he’s following a checklist of "acceptable TV behavior."
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A Budget That Couldn't Keep Up
The production value took a massive hit, too. The movies had that gritty, handheld, location-scouted feel of 1970s New York. Shaft the TV show? It looked like every other show on the CBS backlot. While they did film some stuff in New York, a lot of it has that unmistakable "California sun disguised as NYC gloom" vibe that never quite works.
If you look at the episode "The Enforcers," you can see the struggle. The script tries to deal with high-stakes crime, but the direction is flat. It lacks the cinematic flair of Gordon Parks. Without Parks behind the lens, Shaft lost his soul. It became a generic detective show that just happened to have a legendary name attached to it.
Why Fans of the Movies Felt Betrayed
If you walked into a theater in 1971 to see Shaft, you were looking for a specific type of Black power and independence. You wanted to see a man who took no crap from anyone. When those same fans tuned in to Shaft the TV show, they found a protagonist who was frequently getting pushed around or having to explain himself to white authority figures in a way the movie Shaft never would have tolerated.
It felt like a betrayal of the Blaxploitation roots.
The term "Blaxploitation" is complicated, sure, but at its heart, it was about agency. The TV show felt like it was "explaining" Shaft to a suburban white audience rather than speaking to the community that made the movies a hit. CBS was trying to have its cake and eat it too. They wanted the brand recognition of a "cool" Black lead, but they didn't want the "dangerous" elements that made him cool in the first place.
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- The violence was toned down to almost nothing.
- The political subtext was erased.
- The sexuality—a key part of the "sex machine" persona—was non-existent.
He was basically just a guy in a nice leather jacket solving crimes that any other TV detective could have solved.
The Episodes That Actually Tried
Look, it wasn't all bad. There are moments in the seven episodes that actually aired (plus the pilot) where you see flashes of brilliance. "The Killing" is arguably the strongest of the bunch. It deals with a murder in a pro-basketball setting, and for a second, you see Roundtree lean into that effortless cool.
Another one, "The Capricorn Murders," tried to lean into a more complex mystery. But the pacing was always off. In the 70s, these TV movies were 90 minutes long (including commercials). That’s a lot of padding. You end up with these long sequences of Shaft driving around or talking to informants that don't go anywhere. It lacked the kinetic energy of the Isaac Hayes score—which, by the way, was still used for the theme, but the incidental music in the show was often generic stock stuff that didn't match the funk of the original.
The Rating Disaster
It’s no surprise that the show didn't last. It premiered in October 1973 and was dead by early 1974. People weren't watching. The audience that loved the movies felt the TV version was "watered down," and the traditional TV audience was perhaps still too conservative or simply uninterested in a Black lead at that time, especially one that felt so neutered.
It was a total mismatch of talent, timing, and platform.
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Richard Roundtree later admitted in interviews that the show was a mistake. He felt the character was compromised. If the man himself says the show didn't work, who are we to argue? It’s a lesson in how Hollywood often tries to commodify "edge" and ends up destroying the very thing that made it valuable.
The Lasting Legacy of the Small Screen Shaft
Even though Shaft the TV show was a commercial and critical failure, it occupies a weirdly important place in television history. It was one of the first times a major network tried to build a high-budget series around a Black action hero. It paved the way for more successful (and more authentically written) characters later on.
You can't talk about the evolution of the Black detective on TV without mentioning this failure. It showed what not to do. It proved that you can't just take a cinematic icon, strip away his personality, and expect people to keep cheering.
If you’re a completionist, the show is worth a watch just to see Roundtree. He’s always magnetic. Even when the dialogue is clunky and the plot is thin, he carries himself with a dignity that the scripts don't always deserve. You can find the series on DVD or sometimes floating around on classic TV streaming services like Tubi or MeTV.
What You Should Do Next
If you actually want to experience the real Shaft, don't start with the TV show.
- Watch the 1971 original first. It is essential cinema. The direction by Gordon Parks is a masterclass in mood.
- Listen to the full soundtrack. Isaac Hayes didn't just write a theme song; he wrote a soul symphony.
- Skip the TV show unless you're a scholar. Seriously. If you want to see Roundtree at his best, stick to the trilogy of films (Shaft, Shaft’s Big Score!, and Shaft in Africa).
- Check out the 2000 and 2019 sequels. They have their flaws, but they understand the "R-rated" soul of the character much better than 1970s broadcast television ever could.
The 1973 series is a time capsule. It shows us a moment when TV was trying to change but didn't quite know how to let go of its old, safe habits. It’s a reminder that some characters are just too big for the small screen—especially when that screen is filtered through the lens of a 1970s corporate boardroom. Shaft was meant to be wild. He was meant to be dangerous. Putting him in a standard police procedural was like putting a lion in a petting zoo. It just doesn't work.