Which was firmly established with the sleeper fave Beauty and the Beast, a fairy tale for grownups that managed to meld romantic fantasy and adult urban drama so successfully that smart people actually stayed home Friday nights to catch this 1987 CBS arrival. "Once upon a time," the series began dreamily with an on-screen graphic. "In the city of New York," it continued more realistically, introducing Terminator movie star Linda Hamilton, no fairy tale princess but instead a sharp corporate lawyer being pushed into ennui by her driving boss dad and her ambitious boyfriend. After being viciously attacked on the street by vengeful thugs in a case of mistaken identity, she's dumped bleeding in Central Park. There, she's found and nursed back to health by a dashing man-beast, who shelters her in his shadow society of outcasts amid the infrastructure below.

Sounds far-fetched, yes -- but from Perlman's first "You're safe," sexily whispered to the blind-from-bandages Hamilton, the women of America were hooked on this uncommonly comforting hottie. Not only was Perlman not your standard issue leading man -- hardly as hot-boy handsome as '80s TV hunks Tom Selleck (Magnum P.I.) and Ken Wahl (Wiseguy) -- but the actor's rough-hewn face wasn't even recognizable. His character, Vincent (just say the name today and an entire female generation still melts) had the features of a lion and a flowing mane. Plus the hairy hands and nasty claws. But also the king-sized heart, nobility and protective posture. He was tender to those he loved yet ruthless to those who hurt them, devoted to his loved ones but respectful of their autonomy.

In all, your modern chick's ideal guy.

Too bad he had to be mythical. But at least Linda Hamilton's Catherine could thereafter take subterranean sanctuary in Vincent's Tunnel World -- a woody lair filled with books, antiques and stained-glass lamps, alongside the rocky caves and subway tracks -- whenever her topside life became too crazed. Vincent's care had also convinced her to rethink her future, study self-defense, leave her cold corporate gig, and get a job crimefighting with the district attorney. Thus could she help protect others -- and thus come regularly into conflict with ne'er-do-wells. Vincent would help her do battle, thanks to an "empathic" connection forged during her weeks of recovery. He sensed when she needed him (sigh), and reliably showed up to help (double sigh).

"What you endured will make you stronger," he assured her in the Beauty and the Beast pilot, an hour that still surges with tearjerking romance, graphic drama and psychological insight. Later episodes became more plot-driven, investigating murder cases, drug rings, corporate corruption and also threats to the misfit inhabitants of Vincent's Tunnel World. Their lives became key in the second season as Catherine considered permanently moving below and as Vincent grappled with the possible revelation of his secret existence.

A third and final season ventured in the other direction, sealing the show's fate, as Hamilton left the series (her character was killed) and the network emphasized darker action in an ill-considered attempt to draw male viewers.

As if the core fandom of Beauty and the Beast wasn't enough. CBS clearly wasn't thinking straight. Two decades later, fans still flock to celebrate the long-dead series -- both online, at rich sites like The Classic Alliance, and in person, with the 20th annual Beauty and the Beast Convention scheduled for New Orleans next July.

And two decades later, TV still hasn't been able to reproduce such grounded contemporary fantasy with such compelling assurance -- even though Beauty and the Beast creator Ron Koslow tried last season with a vampire romance on another CBS Friday night, Moonlight.

Perhaps that show's Alex O'Loughlin was too prettily conventional a hunk. Back in the day, Perlman provided not only an offbeat look but, more important, a heroism that radiated from the soul. 'Twas inner beauty powered his beast.