Those interested in Kennedy's life and legacy, rather than the endlessly contested circumstances surrounding his death, are better served by "American Experience: JFK," also on PBS. Drawing extensively on recent scholarship, particularly that of historian Robert Dallek, the four-hour documentary will air in two parts on Nov. 11 and 12. (It was expanded after a two-hour edit was deemed too cursory.)
The first half focuses on Kennedy's life before the White House, charting his evolution from sickly scion to World War II hero to playboy senator, while the second chronicles his tumultuous 1,000 days in the White House. The film also delves into lesser-known aspects of the president's biography, particularly his struggle with Addison's disease and debilitating back problems.
What "American Experience: JFK" does not do, however, is brood over the events in Dealey Plaza , which are skipped entirely. "It was a very conscious decision," executive producer Mark Samels said of the omission. "We purposely wanted to do an ellipsis around that."
"JFK: The Final Hours," also on National Geographic, takes the opposite tack, recounting in minute detail the president's barnstorming trip across Texas and featuring interviews with many of the admiring well-wishers who greeted him (it's narrated by Bill Paxton, who as an 8-year-old boy stood outside Kennedy's Fort Worth hotel). It is loaded with surprisingly poignant trivia, like that Kennedy spent the last night of his life in a room decorated with a Van Gogh.
"The Day Kennedy Died," airing on Smithsonian Channel Nov. 17 and narrated by Kevin Spacey, follows a similar timeline, though it focuses on eyewitnesses to the crime and its aftermath. "To hear from people who had their eyes to the keyhole, not journalists one step back, not experts, not politicians but people who were primary witnesses, I think you get a special vitality from that," said director Leslie Woodhead.
The film consists almost entirely of archival footage and contemporary interviews with ordinary people who will forever be tied to one of the most notorious days in American history. We hear from Clint Hill, the heroic Secret Service agent who leapt onto the presidential limousine after the first shots were fired, and Buell Frazier, the 19-year-old co-worker who gave Oswald a ride to the Texas School Book Depository that fateful morning, among others.
"I think what I understood more deeply than I had done seeing it from afar was just how it changed individual lives," said Woodhead, "how it really got inside people."
The glut of coverage, which rivals that surrounding the 10th anniversary of the Sept. 11 attacks two years ago, prompts a number of questions: When it comes to an event as cataclysmic as the assassination of JFK, is it ever possible to overdo it? And after 50 years and countless documentaries, movies and miniseries, what is the purpose of revisiting the tragedy once again?
Barbie Zelizer, author of "Covering the Body: The Kennedy Assassination, the Media, and the Shaping of Collective Memory," suggests our fixation with JFK is driven by a desire to achieve closure on an event that defies comprehension. "We're not good at stories without ends," she said. "Americans like our history neat and tidy, and the Kennedy assassination absolutely messes that up."
But, Zelizer said, the commemoration is productive in creating "a shared sense of ourselves."
In an era of ever-increasing fragementation, on TV and in the culture at large, this urge to relive a moment of national unity, albeit a tragic one, is understandable.
"The assassination was a shared national experience for the first time," said Tom Brokaw. "You could live in the most remote parts of Idaho or Texas or South Dakota and still have access to this state funeral, to the streets of your nation's capitol on live television. That was a transformative event."
Indeed, the four days were quickly recognized as a defining moment for not only the country but also for television, a turning point when the medium overcame its reputation as a "vast wasteland" and offered vital comfort to a traumatized nation. In January 1964, TV Guide published a special issue commemorating "America's Long Vigil," which opened with a statement of praise from the new president, Lyndon B. Johnson: "On that unforgettable weekend in November 1963, television provided a personal experience which all could share, a vast religious service which all could attend, a unifying bond which all could feel."
Bob Schieffer thinks the volume of coverage is entirely appropriate. "Television has a way of overdoing things, but in this case I don't think we are. It's impossible to overstate how traumatic this was for the country," he said.
Schieffer will host CBS' prime-time special, "As it Happened: John F. Kennedy 50 Years," planned for Nov. 16, and will anchor "Face the Nation" live from the Sixth Floor Museum in Dallas, formerly the Texas School Book Depository, the following day.
It's a homecoming of sorts for the veteran newsman, who was a young police reporter working the night shift at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram in November 1963. Schieffer's brother woke him up on the afternoon of the 22nd with the urgent news that the president had been shot; he rushed to the office and later that day gave Oswald's mother, who had phoned the paper, a ride to the police station in Dallas. Like many journalists of his generation, the assassination would change the course of his career.
"The country has never been quite the same as it was before the assassination," said Schieffer, likening Kennedy's arrival at the White House to the moment "Wizard of Oz" switches from black-and-white to color. "He was our first Technicolor president."