It must have seemed awfully regressive at the time, during the heyday of the feminist movement, when men were deemed unnecessary at best and compulsively violent at worst. Here Rhoda had given in to the institutional oppression of women instead of dismissing it altogether. But it must have appealed to some sector of the population, because the show was a success until, fatefully, Joe left the show and it was explained by a divorce. I myself was so heartbroken on Rhoda’s behalf that after a few post-marital episodes I had to stop watching it. There weren’t too many episodes to miss, anyway, since the show was canceled soon after Joe and Rhoda split.

There’s a new show on the air now that’s ostensibly feminist but again seems to betray the feminist ideals, although in a much different way. It’s Fox’s “Ally McBeal,” and it’s such a hit that other networks have created their own take-offs on it. The premise is simple. Ally is a super-successful lawyer, a litigator even — the most glamorous kind of lawyer — at a high-powered firm in Boston. Her career is everything a modern woman’s should be. You’d better believe she gets equal pay for equal work, is considered a team player and never gets harassed by the men in the office (despite those itty bitty skirts she wears). Her firm is so progressive that even the toilets are coed — another advance in the crusade to suppress the differences between men and women. She has everything. Except a man. And so she’s miserable.

In fact, miserable singleness seems to be an epidemic in the office. The most recent episodes present plenty of evidence. Elaine, a vivacious, buxom blonde, falls in love with a charming man — who in turn falls in love with Ally. Renee, Ally’s roommate, known for her fierce sexual prowess, meets up with an old (and now married) flame, and her heart is ripped apart as she ponders the marriage she missed. Richard is the stereotypical callous career man who’s only interested in sex. The judge “Whipper,” who tries to look much younger than she really is, humiliates herself in a desperate play to get Richard back when she waits unclothed in his bedroom, only to be discovered by his evening’s date. Ally confesses to any number of affairs, none of which have translated into anything substantial — well, except for one, with Billy, who now is married to Georgia. Which leaves the lonely but redoubtable Ally working every day of her life next to the man of her dreams, and his beautiful wife. (Isn’t it Ironic?!)

What’s wrong with her? Hasn’t the progress that got Ally her career as a lawyer in the first place taught her anything about handling men? Why can’t she be happy without one? Surely her successful life is perfectly fulfilling ... isn’t it?

It sure doesn’t look that way. The show has been criticized for the anti-feminist message it sends to young women. Ally is a ditzy, flighty little thing, has blonde hair, is anorexically skinny, and dresses in feminine suits with scandalous hemlines. She hardly makes the ideal figurehead for the next wave of the revolution. The fact is, though, that a show like “Ally McBeal” doesn’t create the cultural opinions of young women — it reflects them. Ally is a hit because she makes sense to millions of young professional women raised on feminist orthodoxies. As children of enthusiasts are wont to do, these young women are beginning to wonder if their mothers’ feminist religion isn’t just a barrel full of lies.

I can’t help but wonder if Ally’s sophistication hasn’t left her completely blind to the things of real value in life. She tips her hand when she laments to Renee the irony that extremely eligible women like them are so lonely. But the key to her problem comes out when she comforts the humiliated Whipper with a mental exercise that imagines vividly the ideal man, in a tux at the altar, and later on at the hotel ... and then all of his flaws and foibles in vivid Technicolor. Her conclusion: it’s better to live alone than with an imperfect man. That selfish demand for perfection is the recipe for loneliness. It’s no accident that the only romantically successful characters on the show are the determinedly eccentric and imperfect John and Nell.

This is the rotten predicament of Ally’s world. So what’s left to fill in emotional color in her life? A lot schmaltzy music. The show indulges in thick heavy sticky syrupy sentimentality as the characters mourn the incurably lonely state of their wealthy lives. But the real virus that’s causing the epidemic of miserable singleness among the “Ally McBeal” cast — and among so many young professional Americans, whom the show mirrors — is an appalling self-centeredness. Combined with pop psychology, promiscuity, and material wealth, these people have forgotten what it means to love truly.