The android as a blank slate: Prototype

Now Playing: Prototype (TV movie, 1983)

Pros: Intelligent, poignant script; Great, nuanced performances, especially by leads Christopher Plummer and David Morse
Cons: Certain plot elements, such as the authorities’ measured, non-violent response to a rogue scientist running off with a top-secret military project, may seem quaint in these anxious times

This post is part of the Charismatic Christopher Plummer Blogathon hosted by Gill at Realweegiemidget Reviews and Gabriela at Pale Writer. In a brilliant career spanning over 6 decades, Plummer played a dizzying array of characters in almost every movie genre, from Captain von Trapp in The Sound of Music (1965), to Sherlock Holmes in Murder by Decree (1979), to billionaire oil tycoon J. Paul Getty in All the Money in the World (2017). Prototype is a nearly forgotten TV movie, but it’s a great example of how this extraordinary actor could make any role something special.

In 1920, Czech playwright Karel Capek introduced the word robot to the world in his play R.U.R. (aka Rossumovi Univerzální Roboti or Rossum's Universal Robots). Even before that, filmmakers were fascinated with the idea of artificial humanoids. In 1918, Der Herr der Welt treated German audiences to the idea of “machine people” performing society’s hard labor; in the United States, the great Harry Houdini faced off against a criminal cartel employing an “automaton” in the serial The Master Mystery (also 1918).

It didn’t take long for clunky, box-like robots to evolve into androids indistinguishable from real people. In Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1927), a deranged inventor (Rotwang) fashions an exact duplicate of Utopian prophet Maria, which proceeds to wreak all kinds of havoc in its human guise.

While the traditional movie robot can be either intimidating or ludicrous depending upon its look, androids are uncanny and potentially insidious, calling into question what it means to be human … and possibly representing the next stage of evolution that threatens to leave frail, error-prone homo sapiens in the dust.

Okay, so I doubt this specimen will be replacing humanity anytime soon...

Blade Runner (1982), based on a novel by the visionary author Philip K. Dick, depicted a future (i.e., 2019) in which replicant androids are perceived to be such a threat that they’ve been banned from Earth. ”Blade runners” -- futuristic bounty hunters -- are employed to eliminate any replicants that have slipped through the net and are passing themselves off as human.

More recently, Ex Machina (2014) dealt with the near future of android research, in which a young computer programmer spends a week with a Zuckerberg-like tech mogul and his beautiful (and devious) android creation.

Prototype exists in a brighter, more hopeful world than the dystopian Los Angeles of Blade Runner or the tech-dominated surveillance state of Ex Machina. Nobel award-winning scientist Dr. Carl Forrester (Christopher Plummer) and his team have put the finishing touches on Michael (David Morse), the world’s first full-fledged, high functioning android. In his excitement at the success of the project, Forrester bends the lab rules and takes Michael out for a “field trip” to a department store and then dinner at the scientist's home. Forrester tells his wife Dorothy (Frances Sternhagen), a linguistics professor, that Michael is a work colleague.

Tall, lanky, polite to a fault and with an almost cherubic face, Michael is the very picture of a socially awkward, nerdy young scientist. The improvised Turing test goes off almost without a hitch, except for Michael’s inability to eat or drink -- Forrester’s solution is to distract his wife and pile Michael’s salad onto his own plate. Michael offhandedly comments that he should have been designed to ingest food.

Dr. Forrester is worried that he will have to eat his dinner and Michael's.

Back at the lab, Forrester brags to his colleague Dr. Pressman (James Sutorius) that on the field trip “it [Michael] handled a crisis and made associations!” The laboratory director, Dr. Arthur Jarrett (Stephen Elliot) is not nearly so sanguine about the test, chewing out his chief scientist for exposing the secret government project to such risk. Forrester, flush with success and the natural arrogance of an elite scientist, brushes off Jarrett’s protests.

Forrester’s brashness turns to alarm when a military detachment pays a visit to the lab and whisks Michael off to Washington for further tests. When they return Michael to the lab, Forrester and his team examine him from head to toe, concerned about what the military may have done to their creation.

They discover gunpowder residue on Michael’s hand, and Forrester goes ballistic (no pun intended) on Jarrett and General Keating (Arthur Hill), the Pentagon’s liaison to the project. Keating, trying to calm the situation, admits that among many tests they had Michael fire a weapon, pointing out that the project team has given them something “with a thousand uses.”

Unmollified, Forrester fears the worst -- that the Pentagon is planning to use Michael as an assassin or super-soldier. Exasperated, Keating hints that even project heads can have their security clearances revoked.

Forrester and his team are highly suspicious of the Pentagon's plans for Michael.

When Forrester learns that Keating is planning to take Michael back to Washington, possibly indefinitely, he enlists the aid of Pressman to sneak Michael out of the lab one more time. The pair go on a road trip, ultimately ending up at the quiet little campus where Forrester got his start. But their hideout won’t last, as the military isn’t going to let a top secret project slip through their fingers for long.

Sandwiched in between Blade Runner (1982) and Arnold Schwarzenegger’s The Terminator (1984), Prototype was first broadcast on CBS on December 7, 1983. In contrast to the two cult hits, Prototype doesn't bother with any shootings, explosions, car chases or any kind of physical violence. (But that didn’t prevent the marketing people from creating very Terminator-like art for Prototype’s home video release and adding the ominous tagline “The future is not friendly”.)

Instead, writers/producers Richard Levinson and William Link, who, among other things, gave the world Columbo and Murder, She Wrote, opted for a poignant drama that explores the varied ways human beings might react when faced with an artificial intelligence that looks like us, acts like us and can pass for us -- and how that intelligence might evolve and view us in turn.

The lead characters, Forrester and Michael, make journeys of self-discovery through the course of the movie. In the opening scene, the first stop on Michael’s field trip to the outside world is a busy department store during the Christmas season. Michael, over 6 ft. tall and dressed in a turtle-neck sweater and slacks, is a wide-eyed man-child captivated by a model train display. Forrester lurks in the background like a bemused parent -- a foreshadowing of the relationship to come -- and has to urge Michael along, as they have a dinner date to keep at the good doctor’s house.

Even 6' 4" tall androids can be fascinated by model trains.

At first, Forrester is the gruff and demanding scientist, obsessed with putting Michael through his paces and proving that he is indistinguishable from the real thing. In the presence of colleagues Forrester refers to Michael as “it,” and barely notices when Michael expresses amazing, human-like longings, like wishing they would let him read books in the regular, linear way instead of downloading them directly into his artificial brain.

When they go on the run, the scientist becomes a stern parent. In one instance, Michael is watching a rerun of the 1931 Frankenstein in their hotel room. Forrester tells Michael to shut off the TV, snapping that he shouldn't be watching something that “trivializes science.” Michael innocently responds, “It was a sad story -- do they kill him? [the monster]” Forrester pretends not to notice the association that Michael is making.

Later, at their hideout at Forrester’s alma mater, Frankenstein comes up again. Like any rebellious teenager, Michael rejects his mentor's advice and reads Shelley’s novel. He confesses that he’s having “very strange thoughts” as a result. He tells Forrester that the book is nothing like the movie, and at the end the creature chooses to lose himself in the ice flows of the North Pole. He sadly concludes that Frankenstein’s monster was luckier -- he followed his own nature. “I’m not anything, I’m whatever anyone wants me to be.”

Ironically, Michael’s growing self-awareness breaks down Forrester’s own automaton-like rigidness. Living in close quarters with Michael and witnessing so many aspects of his humanness opens up the dour scientist’s eyes. Forrester evolves from the stereotypical scientist only interested in numbers and benchmarks, to a worried, proscriptive parent, to a man humbled and in awe of the gentle, sensitive being he has brought to life.

Father and artificial son go fishing.

Forrester realizes that Michael is not just a blank slate for himself and others to write upon and nurture, but also the author of his own life. Plummer is pitch perfect throughout his character’s transition. Forrester’s best moments come when, toward the end of the film, with the government tightening the net around them, he gleams with fatherly pride even knowing that their relationship is hanging by a thread.

David Morse also gives an outstanding performance as Michael. There is no makeup involved in making Michael look just a tiny bit off. It’s all on Morse, who gets it just right: he's a bit too wide-eyed, he doesn’t blink, his posture is a little too straight, his movements and speech a little too precise. But he’s not so off that he can’t pass for human. In other words, he’s the stereotypical socially awkward nerd.

Michael has a number of poignant moments as his personality blossoms from child-like enthusiasm for a toy train to growing independence as he takes an unauthorized trip to a campus bookstore and chats innocently with an attractive store clerk.

Another thing that separates Prototype from the run-of-the-mill sci-fi movie is its treatment of the antagonists, lab director Jarrett and General Keating. These are not one-dimensional B movie villains.

Jarrett is a harried administrator, caught between his passionate star scientist and the Pentagon. He’s also a little sensitive about his status as a paper pusher who doesn’t do “real science,” but his heart is in the right place, and he doesn’t want to see Forrester blow up his career.

One of the film’s most heartbreaking scenes comes after Forrester and Michael have fled, and Jarrett is talking with Dorothy. As delicately as possible, Jarrett suggests to her that, since the couple never had a child, Michael may have become a surrogate son for her husband. Dorothy ruefully concedes that “at this moment, he must love Michael more.”

Dorothy is suddenly surrounded by government officials concerned for her welfare...
and wanting to know where her husband is.

Similarly, Arthur Hill as General Keating is not your standard cigar-chomping, bullying military man, but rather an urbane, articulate technocrat who seems genuinely honored to meet Forrester. He wants to reassure the scientist, but is honest enough to admit he doesn’t know what the Pentagon will ultimately do with Michael.

In fact, the authorities in Prototype are so reasonable (and the lab’s security so lax, with Forrester managing to sneak Michael out not once but twice), a contemporary viewer could be forgiven for thinking the whole thing takes place on another planet. Prototype is a far cry from our current 24/7 surveillance world, where authorities are more disposed to locking up whistleblowers and protesters for long prison stretches than humoring them.

At this point in his career, Plummer was taking work where he could get it, staying busy with TV series and TV movies, the occasional feature film, and even lending his distinctive voice to animated family movies. Sci-fi was in the mix here and there -- several years before Prototype, he appeared as The Emperor of the Galaxy in the ultra-cheesy, low-budget Star Wars rip-off Starcrash, co-starring Caroline Munroe and David Hasselhoff. In 1984, he co-starred as a villainous government official opposite Dennis Quaid and Max von Sydow in the underrated sci-fi thriller Dreamscape.

Prototype was one of David Morse’s first screen credits, but by the time it went into production, he was already making a name for himself as Dr. Jack Morrison in the TV series St. Elsewhere, which lasted six seasons. Since then, Morse, like Plummer, has appeared in a wide variety of roles on TV and in feature films, and, despite his boyish, All-American looks, has proved to be as adept at playing creepy villains (e.g., 12 Monkeys, Disturbia) as stand-up good guys.

Michael develops a sudden interest in reading and girls, in that order.

With this modest, character-driven TV production, Levinson and Link took the opportunity to play with themes and ideas that are definitely not the stuff of blockbuster movie hits. They wisely avoided loading down Prototype with too many lengthy philosophical exchanges, instead letting the great cast reveal their characters just as much or more through looks, gestures and offhand comments. The result is one deeply affecting moment after another.

If you see Prototype and it doesn’t bring even the tiniest hint of a tear to your eye, you should get over to your local AI-Robotics lab for testing. You might just be an android with a defective emotion chip.

Where to find it: Streaming

New Year's Reading: Television Fright Films of the 1970s

Now that the blog is entering its 12th year (!!), I thought it was high time to do something different. I double-checked the archives, and sure enough, I’ve not done any book reviews up until now.

We have a family tradition of giving each other books for Christmas, and with both my wife’s and my birthdays falling well within the holiday season, at the end of the year new books (new to us anyway) take up all the available coffee table space and shout at us telepathically to “read me first!”

Being a movie nut, most of the books I get as gifts are film-related. I also buy books throughout the year, and those tend to be film-related too. I do read other things, but I tend to get a lot of my recreational reading from the library, and a lot of that in ebook form. The physical books that I return to time and again are almost all about films and filmmaking.

Back in October of 2020, I reviewed one of my favorite made-for-TV horror movies, Vampire (1979; starring Richard Lynch, Jason Miller and E.G. Marshall) for Horror and Sons’ month-long celebration of Halloween TV movies and specials.

This got me interested again in the classic TV movies of the ‘70s and ‘80s, and ever since I’ve been periodically checking YouTube for availability as I run across titles in my readings and research.

One particularly rich guidebook for this sort of nostalgic journey is something I picked up shortly before writing the Vampire review.

Television Fright Films of the 1970s. David Deal, McFarland & Co., 2007 (220 pp.)

If you’ve visited the site more than a few times, you may have noticed that I like to provide some production background on the film being reviewed if at all possible. A lot of that has come from the library of McFarland film books that I’ve collected over the years.

McFarland & Co., located in Jefferson, N.C., specializes in reference and scholarly works aimed at the academic and library markets. Founded in 1979, the publisher is particularly strong in the popular culture and performing arts areas.

The first McFarland title I bought for myself was Bill Warren’s classic 2 volume survey of American science fiction films of the ‘50s and early ‘60s, Keep Watching the Skies (originally published in 1982, and updated to one volume in 2010).

I read the immense thing cover to cover, and have been revisiting it regularly ever since. Warren’s love of the genre and the time period comes out in every entry, and even the stinkers get serious attention. In most cases, Warren includes detailed background on the production and key players and filmmakers -- a monumental effort considering all the research was done pre-internet.

In the same vein as Warren’s ‘50s sci-fi bible, but more specialized and a bit less detailed in terms of each entry, is David Deal’s survey of TV “fright” films of the 70s. Back when I was in junior high and high school, I was a huge fan of the original ABC Movie of the Week and the imitators that proliferated in the ‘70s. Some of these made-for-TV movies, like Steven Spielberg’s timeless Duel (1971), have achieved cult status and keep being “discovered” by successive generations of fans. 

Decades later, I still fondly remember such TV horror-thrillers as The Brotherhood of the Bell (1970; with Glenn Ford), The Deadly Dream (1971; Lloyd Bridges), Haunts of the Very Rich (1972; Lloyd Bridges again), Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark (1973; Kim Darby), and countless others.

Many of these movies have never seen a home video release, or are long out of print. Thankfully, loyal fans have kept the flickering video flames alive by uploading recordings to YouTube, so that if you can remember it, there’s a good chance you can reconnect with it (as long as you’re not expecting a pristine high-res copy).

With information about the movies, and many of the movies themselves, being instantly available via the internet, a print book about vintage made-for-TV movies might seem superfluous.

Deal’s book came out in 2007, a couple of years after YouTube was created, and long before the loving labors of fans made the streaming service into a mixed bag of nostalgic gray market video content. Even in the rarefied tech environment of the 2020s, with colossal user-curated databases like YouTube and IMDb, I think there’s still a case to be made for printed filmographies like Deal’s that bring together films of a specific subgenre and add some value into the mix.

It’s nice to be able to leisurely thumb through a slice of TV history, with periodic “oh yeah, I remember that one!” moments adding to the enjoyment. Deal puts things into context with a preface that provides a short history of the golden age of telefilm, starting with the debut of ABC’s Movie of the Week in the late ‘60s, and a few words about some of the more prominent producers and directors who made the 90 minute TV movie into a popular art form.

The iconic intro to ABC's Movie of the Week.

As far as added value, the preface is bare bones, and I would have liked to have seen more on the influential behind-the-scenes people, their careers and what led to their participation in the emergence of the classic TV movie and its horror-suspense variants.

An additional small bone to pick with Deal is his definition of “fright” film. Deal admits that his definition of “fright” is pretty broad, and so along with the memorable horrors of the period like Salem’s Lot and The Night Stalker, there are a fair number of run-of-the-mill disaster movies involving doomed airliners, killer bees and several (!!) cable cars hanging by a thread.

But at least he has a sense of humor about it. “[T]here are also ‘ringers,’ films that entice viewers with scary titles such as Express to Terror and The Invasion of Carol Enders, yet contain very little to be scared of, except, perhaps, in the quality department.” [p. 3]

Deal also apologizes in advance that, while he tried to be as definitive as possible, some reader favorites may not have been included due to lack of availability. Almost all of my fondly remembered movies are covered, but considering the current supply available on YouTube, an expanded edition might be in order.

The entries, arranged alphabetically by title, are well-written and lively (for the historically-minded, there is also an appendix of the titles arranged chronologically by broadcast date). The author has a knack for brief summaries that get to the essence of even the most convoluted plots without giving the game away. 

He typically singles out a principal actor to expand on with career highlights and a scorecard of their participation in other TV movies of the decade, so that by the end of the book you have a much better sense of who the go-to actors of the period were, how they got there, and where they went.

Directors and in some cases producers also get their due. Several names, some famous, some not so much, keep popping up, e.g., Dan Curtis (producer/director, The Night Stalker, The Norliss Tapes, Trilogy of Terror, etc.) and John Llewellyn Moxey (director, A Taste of Evil, The Night Stalker, The Strange and Deadly Occurrence, Conspiracy of Terror, etc.).

Deal is also cognizant of the importance of music scores in creating an atmosphere of suspense, and, atypically for a collection of this sort, constantly cites the contributions and backgrounds of composers.

While the author’s default stance is one of respect for the medium and the genre(s), he doesn’t mince words calling out the junk that was dead on arrival even in its day. As mentioned above, the attempt by TV producers to capitalize on the popularity of big budget disaster movies like the Airport series often turned into minor artistic disasters.

Typical of Deal’s clear-eyed assessments of these botched small-screen epics is this one on SST - Death Flight (1977), an Airport imitator that features mechanical problems, a midair explosion, and the release of a deadly strain of exotic flu -- all on the same unlucky flight!

“One disaster wasn’t enough for this fim, so the combination of mechanical and medical problems land SST - Death Flight in the category of double jeopardy (see Fer de Lance, Mayday at 40,000 Feet). Doubling the problems, however, does not double the entertainment value of this tired thriller. Adding insult to injury are the not-so-special effects, which are among the cheapest and most unconvincing of the era. In this case, director David Lowell Rich’s familiarity with airborne frights breeds boredom.” [p.167]

While black and white stills and illustrations are sprinkled liberally throughout, Television Fright Films is not a coffee-table book. The strengths are in its lively, accessible writing, background details, and inclusion of obscure titles that serve to put a crazy decade into even better context.

If you love these movies like I do, this will make a great after-the-holidays gift to yourself. It's still in print, available directly from the publisher (see the link above) and major online sellers.

A Kinder, Gentler Psycho for the Small Screen

Now Playing: How Awful About Allan (1970)

Pros: Good, veteran "suspense" cast; Effective (but brief) dream sequences; Clever allusion to Psycho at the very end
Cons: Perkins' character is hard to sympathize with; Unmasking of the culprit is anticlimactic

Note to my readers: After recently reading director Curtis Harrington's very entertaining memoir, Nice Guys Don't Work in Hollywood (more info below), I wanted to review one of his movies sooner than later. Harrington's Queen of Blood appealed, since, a.) I haven't reviewed any sci-fi in awhile; b.) it's also a nifty horror story, and so fits right into the Halloween high season; c.) I hadn't seen it for some time; and d.) it was readily available through Amazon Instant Video. Or so I thought. I fired up my networked Blu-ray player, searched for Queen of Blood, and promptly got a "Video currently unavailable" message. It had been there just a week ago when I checked. Being just a dumb, naive consumer who wants to watch what he wants to watch, I am getting soooo tired of these licensing follies (as are quite a few other folks out there). At any rate, I'm nothing if not flexible, so I quickly pivoted to a backup, How Awful About Allan, a pretty decent thriller and perhaps even more fitting for Halloween. You're welcome.

A thoroughly bummed-out Allan (Anthony Perkins)
succumbs to hysterical blindness.

The story. In an effectively disturbing pre-title sequence, Allan (Anthony Perkins) awakens to the sight of a strange orange light flickering under his bedroom door and the crackling sound of fire. He rushes to the master bedroom, which is ablaze. His father (Kent Smith) is encircled by flames, pathetically calling for Allan's help. He's frozen at the door, uncertain about what to do (or is it that he's uncertain he wants to do anything?). Allan's sister Katherine (Julie Harris) runs up to the door screaming Allan's name, then plunges into the fiery room to try to save her father. As flames shoot out of the second story windows, a neighbor (Olive, played by Joan Hackett) calls the fire department, then runs over to the house just as a dazed Allan stumbles out the front door. Allan mumbles that his father is dead. "Where's Katherine?" Olive asks in a near panic. Just then, a good samaritan carries Katherine out of the house and lays her down on the front lawn. Katherine's head lolls to one side, and the spectators are horrified to see that the right side of her face is horribly blackened and burnt. As they stare down at the poor woman, Allan stares straight ahead. "Olive… I can't see… I can't see… I'm blind…" he says in a creepy monotone. Roll the titles.

Fast forward 8 months. Allan is ready to be released from the mental hospital. In a bit of exposition, Allan's doctor (William Erwin) reminds him that his blindness is psychosomatic, probably brought on by shock and guilt over his father's death and his sister's disfigurement. In his therapy, Allan has owned up to the doctor about his resentment of his sister's special relationship with his high achieving father, and in so doing has begun to deal with the guilt. The doctor reassures him that it was an accident-- of course he didn't mean to put the combustible paint so close to the heater in his father's room (hmmmmmm…..) And, he adds, Katherine has done well with her injuries-- the appliance she wears over her burn scars is "barely noticeable." Allan's eyesight has improved marginally -- he can see colors and shapes -- but he's still legally (if not somatically) blind. (In a shot from Allan's POV, we see the indistinct features of the doctor as he talks to his patient. The effect is like looking at someone behind a thick pane of leaded glass.) Allan listens stoically, if not quite believing everything the shrink is telling him. It's time to go home again…

Katherine picks him up from the hospital and drives him home. As they get out of the car, Allan pauses and looks up in the direction of the second story where the tragedy occurred. In a POV shot, only the indistinct outlines of the house are visible. Then it switches to a clear shot of the second story windows, which still bear the scorch marks of the fire. (If I'd been Allan's doctor, I think I would have recommended a change of scenery, but then, that's probably why I'm just a blogger, damn it!) As Katherine leads him up to the front porch, Allan stumbles against a sign in the yard, "Room for rent." "What's that?" he asks Katherine. "Oh, just a stick some neighbor kids left," she lies. Uh-oh, turbulence ahead!

Allan hears a shadowy figure whispering his name.

Later, the old sibling tensions reemerge as Katherine explains to her dour brother that she's had to take in student borders to supplement her meager salary at the university. At first Allan is alright with the plan, but the new student renter -- a young man who can barely speak above a whisper due to a throat injury -- starts to get on the vulnerable man's nerves. The student is like a ghost, disappearing in the morning and only coming back late at night. Soon, Allan's paranoia takes full flight when he hears a voice late at night calling his name and perceives a shadowy figure on the stairs.

Neighbor Olive (who we learn was once engaged to Allan) is, like Katherine, concerned for Allan's mental state. She persuades him to go along for a ride to the university (everyone in the small town seems to be employed there) to get him out of the musty house. Sitting in the car, Allan hears some students laughing on the library steps, and in his paranoid state, thinks they're laughing at him. Then, the creepy voice calls his name again and he sees a shape approaching the car window. Panicked, he takes the wheel, guns the car engine and drives off, running other cars off the road before crashing into a lamppost.

In the aftermath of the crash, Allan talks to Olive about the mysterious border no one ever sees, and the recent return of Katherine's former fiancee, Eric, who Olive has seen, but who Katherine claims moved to Australia and hasn't come back. Allan puts two and two together, and comes up with Katherine and Eric in a "secret living arrangement in a narrow-minded university town." Allan starts grilling Katherine about the student renter and Eric. But that night, when Allan is nearly pulled down the steep stairs by the dark figure whispering his name, it appears there's more at work than just two lovers living secretly together under Allan's nose. With Allan out of the way, the secret living arrangement might not have to be so secret.

Three creepy men in black witness Allan's car crash.
A trio of red herrings, or something else?

After an intense conversation with Katherine about his relapse and possibly returning to the hospital, the paranoid man slips out of the house in the middle of a violent electrical storm and is promptly hit by a falling branch. In a subsequent delirium, he dreams of a much younger Katherine and his father holding a secret conversation in the study, then turning and malevolently laughing together at the young boy (Allan) standing in the doorway.

After this, Katherine and Olive tag team up on Allan to convince him to go back to the hospital. Allan is resigned to it, but before he can pack up, the shadowy figure strikes again. Who's trying to drive poor Allan mad, or worse yet, trying to kill him? The mysterious student boarder? Katherine's estranged fiancee Eric? What's a poor paranoid former mental patient to do?

In a way, this Aaron Spelling-produced TV movie is almost done in by its stellar cast. One could be forgiven for expecting great things of a production starring "Psycho" Anthony Perkins and Julie Harris of "The Haunting" fame. What you get is a competent, low-key thriller with some genuinely creepy moments, several dull stretches, and an effective music track by Laurence Rosenthal that keeps the viewer uneasy even during the dull parts.

To viewers raised on a diet of egregious TV gore like Dexter and The Following, How Awful About Allan no doubt will seem hopelessly staid and genteel. It's a slow-building neo-Gothic that features a "heroine" in the form of the gaunt, habitually nervous Anthony Perkins. There are no shocks to speak of, but rather just some well-crafted, dark-at-the-top-of-the-stairs spooky atmosphere for Anthony's character (and presumably the audience) to shiver at. The unease is effectively supplemented by POV shots from Allan's near-blind perspective. The dark at the top of the stairs is scary enough, but when all the figures you encounter, even in broad daylight, are indistinct shapes, even normal every-day life can get real scary real fast.

In the fevered dream sequence, young Katherine (Jeannette Howe)
and Allan's father Raymond (Kent Smith) share a jolly, malicious secret.

Scary too are the bizarre, fevered dreams Allan has as he lies unconscious after his encounter out in the storm. In this too brief sequence, we get a taste for how disturbed Allan was over the bond that Katherine shared with her father, the "great" man and scholar. In his dream, a young Allan walks down the darkened corridors of the house and encounters a sister and father who have been transformed into leering, laughing, evil versions of themselves. Kent Smith of Cat People fame makes a brief but memorably malignant appearance in the sequence.

But even as we're tempted to sympathize with poor Allan, the character is at the same time maddeningly obtuse and unappreciative. As Katherine and Olive hover around him, fixing him meals, taking him on drives, and almost desperately trying to do right by him, he pouts and confronts and retreats to his room to spew his paranoid rants into his tape recorder. It gets to the point where even the most patient, forbearing viewer must be tempted to cheer for the shadowy figure to pull Allan's scrawny frame down the stairs and break his neck.

Given that there are only a handful of characters in the movie and the few red herrings are weak, the denouement is unsurprising and disappointing. But don't be tempted to shut it off before the end credits. The final minute or so is a wonderful, eccentric homage to Perkins' Psycho role, and saves the movie from what otherwise would have been a blah ending.

In addition to the star-power presence of Perkins and Harris, Joan Hackett is well cast as the kindly but unappreciated Olive. If you've seen any TV from the '60s and '70s, you've probably seen Joan. She was attractive without being Hollywood "beautiful," which allowed her to get roles that highlighted her versatility, from westerns to thrillers to sci-fi and everything in between. Tragically, she died of cancer in 1983 at the very young age of 49.

In his memoir Nice Guys Don't Work in Hollywood, director and ever-aspiring auteur Curtis Harrington said of the production, "This television experience was a relatively painless and even enjoyable one. I thought I was only killing time and making a few bucks between real work. If only I had known." (Curtis Harrington, Nice Guys Don't Work in Hollywood: The Adventures of an Aesthete in the Movie Business, Drag City Inc., 2013.)

Harrington is one of the more interesting directors that the average film fan has maybe-possibly-probably never heard of. His journey from a gangly middle class film buff, to experimental filmmaker, to hobnobber with such luminaries as Christopher Isherwood, Truman Capote and James Whale, to feature film director, to frustrated TV director, is an interesting one to say the least! Along the way, he made such fascinating and varied films as Night Tide (his ultra low budget feature debut with Dennis Hopper released in 1961), the Roger Corman-produced Queen of Blood (1966; with Hopper and Basil Rathbone), Games (1967; with Simone Signoret and James Caan), What's the Matter with Helen (1971; with Debbie Reynolds and Shelly Winters), and, to his everlasting regret, Devil Dog: Hound of Hell (TV movie with Richard Crenna and Yvette Mimieux; 1978).

How Awful was Anthony Perkins' first TV movie, and Harrington was worried that the actor would be uncomfortable with the rushed shooting schedule. But Harrington was relieved to find out that his leading man was the consummate professional. To achieve more realism, Perkins had opaque contact lenses made and wore them every day to the set, so that his blindness was authentic. Julie Harris and Kent Smith were also involved in scenes that were a little too authentic for comfort. In Harris' case, in a driving scene with a side-mounted camera, Julie forgot the camera was there and smashed it into a parked car. (Otherwise, Harrington noted, she was a "marvel of an actress and an angel of a person.")

Kent Smith does his own fiery stunt work in the opening scene.

And Kent Smith insisted on doing the dangerous fire scene himself. Harrington: 

"I was fascinated by the way the special effects men smeared the walls with rubber glue, which is highly flammable but easily extinguished. The set was designed so that as the flames seem to engulf him, Kent would fall to his knees and crawl out the bottom of the set. It looked so real I was terrified that something had gone wrong during filming. But Kent emerged from the flames smiling and unsinged." [Ibid.]

Harrington may have viewed How Awful About Allan as nothing more than a pleasant diversion between "real work," but it's a very competent, atmospheric thriller made all the more enjoyable with the presence of top-flight professionals Anthony Perkins, Julie Harris and Joan Hackett. Fortunately, it's widely available online and on DVD.

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Where to find it:

Amazon Instant Video

Oldies.com


A "How Awful About Allan" sampler:

Don't Go in the Snow!

Now Playing: Snowbeast (1977)

Pros: Interesting veteran cast; Good outdoor photography
Cons: Flat direction and script; Fleeting shots of the monster not enough of a pay-off

After an unseasonably warm and dry November and first part of December, glorious and copious snow has returned to my little neck of the woods, the northern Arizona high country. We've had about a foot and half of the stuff in the past 48 hours, which should make the skiers and assorted winter sports enthusiasts here giddy with delight. (Yes Virginia, there is skiing in Arizona -- nothing to compare with the better resorts in Colorado and Utah -- but it exists nonetheless.)

Even with such robust winter storms, this part of northern Arizona -- an area that experiences all four seasons, and that in a good winter will get upwards of 120" of snow -- has been in a serious drought for over a decade. The folks who run the Arizona Snowbowl ski resort, which mainly attracts skiers from the Phoenix area, are moving ahead with a system to make snow from reclaimed wastewater in order to survive the dry winters that have become so common of late. Getting the go-ahead from the Forest Service and a commitment from the city of Flagstaff for the wastewater was the easy part. After years of legal opposition from local Native American tribes (who consider the San Francisco Peaks where the resort is located to be sacred), in 2009 the U.S. Supreme Court let stand a lower court's ruling that the project did not infringe on the tribes' religious freedom, allowing it to proceed.

Undeterred, opponents have filed a new lawsuit that, among other things, argues that the snowmaking threatens an endangered native plant. For its part, the resort is ready to start utilizing "recycled poop water" this year if necessary.  The snowmaking controversy seems to me to be a smaller act in the larger, bitter, "take no prisoners" running melodrama that has come to define U.S. politics and society at large. After years of expensive legal wrangling and acrimony, neither side will relent. The moment the Supreme Court turned the tribes away, the Snowbowl people started right in laying pipes. And of course opponents responded by filing the new lawsuit and chaining themselves to trees and construction equipment to prevent the work from going forward.

It's probably for the best that I'm not a skier, since sloshing down the slopes in frozen poop water does not sound like a good time to me. Heck, let's just be honest -- I'm something of a wimp. Back in the day, when we were new to the area and Mother Nature was still blanketing it with enough of the white stuff to sustain a ski resort, I enthusiastically signed up the whole family for beginner's ski lessons. The sun was shining, the snow was fresh, the lessons were free -- and we lasted maybe an hour. While snotty-nosed little 5-year-olds in the group were taking to it like they had been born on skis, I was finding that no matter how enthusiastic I was or how carefully I observed, I could not for the life of me stop without falling over, and I could not possibly get back up without help once I was down. It was one of the supremely humbling experiences of my life, and to this day I can't bring myself to make fun of the Life Alert "I've fallen and I can't get up!" (TM) commercials.

The awesomely beautiful San Francisco Peaks
in Northern Arizona

Yes, I was a quitter. But then, knowing when to quit is a good thing. Take the tribes, for instance. Let's see, there's been skiing up on the "sacred" Peaks since 1938, and only now they've decided to fight to the bitter end over some wastewater snow? I shudder to think how much snot and spit and yes, pee, from all those skiers has been desecrating the area over the years. Note: when the animals are all gone, closing the barn door is not going to help. All that time, money and energy might have been better spent on jobs and health services for the Navajo and Hopi nations. And then there's the Snowbowl owners. Maybe it's just me, but if I had to go all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court to stay in business, I think I'd find another line of business. I know for some people skiing is close to a religion, but this is ridiculous. (And frankly, with the Grand Canyon and other natural wonders within close proximity, skiing is really a minor part of northern Arizona's outdoor recreational scene.)

Both sides exemplify that time-honored saying, "If you find yourself in a hole, stop digging!" But then, that's not the American way, is it? We'd rather exhaust and bankrupt ourselves and everyone around us rather than let the other guy win. The irony is, for all of humanity's fussing and fighting, ultimately Mother Nature holds all the cards. Blow enough frozen wastewater and carbon dioxide at her, and she might just turn your nice little ski resort into a high-altitude, rock-strewn desert. Even calling her works "sacred" is no guarantee that she'll grace them with life-giving rain and snow. She's large and in charge, and she just loves to mess with the best-laid plans of both tree-huggers and crass businessmen alike.

Speaking of best-laid plans, the owners of the ski resort in Snowbeast quickly learn there are even worse obstacles than disappointing snowfall totals or pissed-off environmentalists (how's that for a segue?). It seems a very large, shaggy creature has crashed the ski resort's 50th anniversary winter festival, and is dragging off skiers. When a frightened young woman reports that a huge, hairy creature kidnapped her friend, Tony Rill (Robert Logan), resort manager and grandson of owner Carrie (Sylvia Sidney), grapples with his own skepticism and concern that rumors of a monstrous creature will put a damper on the carnival. Tony and right-hand man Buster Smith (Thomas Babson) ski out to the area where the abduction took place. Tony finds a bloody ski vest, and spots a large humanoid thing skulking around the edge of the woods.

The Snowbeast is about to lend ski resort employee
Buster (Thomas Babson) a big, furry hand.

Back at the lodge, grandma seems more interested in preventing a panic that will spoil the carnival than finding out what happened to the girl. In spite of the bloody evidence and Tony's sighting, she tells him to keep mum and to put up "restricted area" signs where the creature was last seen. Tony's life suddenly gets even more complicated with the arrival another large humanoid-- Olympic gold medalist skier Gar Seberg (Bo Svenson) has shown up along with his beautiful wife (and TV reporter) Ellen (Yvette Mimieux). Long ago Tony and Gar had competed for Ellen's affections, but the blonde Nordic hunk ended up winning her. However, since his Olympic glory, Gar's had a run of bad luck, and he's come to ask for a job. Bygones being bygones, Tony hires him on the spot.

Just as avalanches roll down hill, Buster gets stuck with the sign duty. After completing the task, he inexplicably takes a header on the edge of a ravine. As he struggles to pull himself up, a giant, white-furred arm reaches out and grabs his head (no, it's not Zsa Zsa with her latest expensive fur coat). Cut to a remote mountain ranch, where a young boy stumbles on what remains of the missing woman in a ramshackle barn. Sheriff Paraday (Clint Walker) immediately realizes he's going to need help, so he summons Tony out to the murder scene. When Tony and Bo arrive, the Sheriff asks Tony if he can help identify the body. "Maybe if I see the girl's face," Tony responds. The Sheriff hesitates before saying, "She doesn't have one."

Ellen (Yvette Mimieux) hears the call of
the wild Snowbeast.

Meanwhile, Ellen, in full TV reporter mode, gets wind of the story, skis out to the farm and discover's the creature's tracks. She finds the blood-stained site where Buster was grabbed, and hears the creature's chilling roar. As Tony and Bo try to convince the Sheriff that they've got more than a grumpy grizzly on their hands, out in the woods Ellen wipes out on her skis as the snowbeast lurks nearby…

Later, after another snowbeast attack, a couple of sheriff's deputies inadvertently echo the interior dialog that I imagine plays in many a reviewer's head when confronted with a less-than-stellar cinematic effort:

1st deputy: What a mess!
2nd deputy: How are we going to write this up?
1st deputy: I dunno.

While Snowbeast is not a mess per se, there's nothing particularly special about it, and it comes off rather flat. More than a couple of reviewers have noted the thematic similarity with Jaws, which came out just a couple of years earlier-- unsuspecting tourists start falling prey to an unseen creature, and the local businesspeople try to pretend that nothing's happening to keep the tourists and their money coming. (Even the snowbeast's low, menacing tonal music theme as he sneaks up on the ski tourists is reminiscent of Jaws.) Of course, this TV movie is no Jaws, and I doubt that anyone canceled their ski vacation plans after seeing it (on the other hand, who knows how many folks skipped the beach after seeing Bruce the shark?).

The snowbeast keeps busy through the movie's 86 minute running time -- picking off skiers and resort employees here and there; crashing the crowning ceremony of the winter carnival snow queen; trapping the protagonists first in a barn, then a camper -- but unfortunately generates little suspense or shivers. There are lots of POV shots of the creature stalking his prey through the snowy woods, and quick shots of its huge hairy arm and gnarled hand trying to grab someone. While I'm usually a "less-is-more" kind of guy and all for judicious use of special effects and letting the viewer's imagination fill in the blanks of what you don't show, Snowbeast could have benefited from a few more shots of the beast himself, and fewer shots from his perspective. The little we do see of him makes me think the producers were not very confident of the beast suit, so left most of him on the cutting room floor.

Gar (Bo Svenson) and Tony (Robert Logan) try to convince the
Sheriff (Clint Walker) that he's got more than just a grumpy
grizzly on his hands.

In between action sequences, the love triangle between Tony, Gar and Ellen also fizzles. Gar's self-esteem has hit a low point, and his marriage has nosedived along with it. Ellen confides in Tony that after winning the gold medal, Gar quit skiing altogether. "Marriage can survive many things," she tells him, "but it can't survive lack of respect." Ouch! Later, we learn that there's no particularly dramatic story or dark secret behind the the hero's fall. It's just that he was so afraid of becoming a has-been, he became a has-been. Okay, moving on…  (Hint: if you're thinking that hunting down bigfoot might be just the thing to restore the big guy's self-respect and save his marriage, then I'd say you've seen your fair share of TV movies!)

Although Snowbeast is no classic, it at least assembles an interesting, eclectic cast that gives it the good ol' college try. Yvette Mimieux's big break came in another sci-fi movie, George Pal's classic The Time Machine (1960). If anything, the intervening 17 years only added to her attractiveness and sex appeal.

Bo Svenson is one of those amiable big lugs who to this day keeps popping up in low-budget movies and TV (not to mention small parts in big movies like Inglourious Basterds and Kill Bill, Part 2.) With his doughy, everyman face and unassuming demeanor, he's like a Swedish John C. Reilly.

Early in Clint Walker's career, he starred in the hugely popular TV western Cheyenne (1955-1962). In the mid-'60s he tangled with another big, hairy beast in one of Disney's better man-against-nature pictures (and one of my personal favorites), The Night of the Grizzly (1966).

Glamorous Sylvia Sidney started acting in movies at the dawn of the sound era, and appeared in films and TV shows right up until her death in 1999. In the '30s, she shared screen time with such Hollywood tough guys as Bogart and George Raft. By the 1950s, almost all of her work was in television, where she appeared in such diverse series as Route 66, Starsky and Hutch, The Love Boat, and Fantasy Island.

The one big letdown in the acting department is Robert Logan (Tony), who appears out of his depth next to the other veteran cast members. But man, does he sport a big head of '70s hair!

The other interesting name in Snowbeast's credits is writer Joseph Stefano. Stefano's biggest claims to fame are his screenplay for Hitchcock's Psycho (1960; wherein he came up with the brilliant and disorienting idea of introducing the attractive Janet Leigh character and then suddenly killing her off), and as a producer and writer for the original The Outer Limits TV series (1963-64).

An alpine Bigfoot, a transplanted Yeti, or something else?
You make the call!

This beast is something of a lightweight as far as thrills and suspense are concerned, but let's face it, if you're a bigfoot fan (and you know you are), you have to check it out. With its convenient online availability (see below), at least it's not as hard to find as a real bigfoot. (Or, if you're interested in a more cerebral treatment of Bigfoot's cousin the Yeti, check out the write up of The Abominable Snowman elsewhere on this blog.)

And if you do track the Snowbeast down, maybe you can clear something up for me. Is he a Sasquatch that happened to adapt itself to an alpine climate, or a transplanted Yeti, or the offspring of a Sasquatch and a Yeti, or something else entirely? Feel free to use the comment box, that's what it's there for.

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Where to find it:

Oldies.com

Amazon Instant Video

Whatever you do, don't go in the snow!

The Incredible 2nd Anniversary, Diabolic Dual Personality Double Feature

Today marks the second anniversary of this blog. At the beginning, I wasn't sure how long I'd run with it, but I've had so much fun (and discovered so many other like-minded people who still appreciate these old films), that I've gone ahead and elected myself to another two year term of posting about my favorite moldy-oldy, underdog genre films.

For those of you who are new to the blog (and for those who've read a post or two and are thinking, "why does he write about movies no one's ever heard of?"), Films From Beyond the Time Barrier is a salute to the movies I watched in my youth on the old black and white TV, at downtown theater matinees, and at the drive-in (which works out roughly to stuff made between 1930 and 1980). If you peruse the lists of categories and titles to the right, you'll see mostly sci-fi, fantasy and horror, but I also post about mystery-thrillers, film-noirs and even the occasional western.

As much as I love the true classic sci-fi and horror films such as Forbidden Planet and Bride of Frankenstein, far better and more insightful people than me have written a ton of material on these titles, and I could scarcely add anything else to the treasure trove. I prefer to dig up movies that have largely escaped the attention of (or been studiously ignored by) mainstream reviewers and even vintage B movie fans. They tend to be low-budget, black and white occupiers of the bottom half of double bills, with no-name actors and cheap effects. But in spite of their flaws, I find something to like about them -- an unusual plot twist here, a surprisingly good performance there, or just an interesting behind-the-scenes story. Even in this age of ubiquitous online streaming and cheap DVD releases, they're not always easy to find, but perhaps worth the trouble if only to take a break from the unending parade of multiplex blockbusters that come, make their billions, and then get out of town to make way for the next blockbuster.

In honor of the second anniversary, I thought I'd double the action and double the fun with a special double feature post. And then double down again by featuring two of the better and more underrated adaptations of Robert Louis Stevenson's classic tale of dual personality, Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. According to one source, there have been over 120 film adaptations of Jekyll and Hyde (only Dracula and Sherlock Holmes seem to have inspired more filmmakers). There's been a son and daughter of Dr. Jekyll, a Sister Hyde, and even a blaxploitation Dr. Black and Mr. Hyde. Whatever the variation, our fascination with humanity's dual nature ensures that the good doctor and his cruel opposite will return again and again to the theater, movies and TV.

Now Playing: The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll (aka House of Fright, 1960)

Pros: Unique take on the Jekyll/Hyde story; Christopher Lee is a convincing good-for-nothing upper-crust sleazeball
Con: Hyde's good looks take the edge off the character

We seem to be living in the ultimate Jekyll and Hyde age. Hardly a day goes by without some upstanding pillar of society revealing an ugly dark side on the omnipresent 24 hour news cycle. One by one, once-respected people and institutions fall spectacularly -- Rod Blagojevich, John Edwards, Joe Paterno, the Boy Scouts, Jesse Jackson Jr. -- and always the reaction is the same: "But they seemed so upstanding, so caring, so charismatic…"  Mass media keep feeding our delusions, keep encouraging us to conflate appearances with reality and attractiveness with virtue. Then zing -- some new high-and-mighty celebrity gets caught, and the media revel in their depredations and our gullibility. And the cycle begins anew.

Hammer Films' version of the classic tale is a particularly apt one for a society that's so susceptible to pretty faces. Two Faces adds a neat twist, making the good Dr. Jekyll look almost like a caveman with a bushy unibrow and unkempt beard, and turning Hyde into a suave and devilishly handsome member of the upper class. (The tagline: "Sometimes, Terror has a Handsome Face!")

Dr. Jekyll (Paul Massie) is about to
undergo an extreme makeover.

The film opens with the homely, obsessive Jekyll (Paul Massie) discussing his work with his friend and colleague Dr. Ernst Litauer (David Kossoff). He's been working with deaf-mute children, observing how they act out more than normal children due to their inability to express themselves verbally. Jekyll wants to chemically isolate the part of man that is "beyond good and evil," the primitive, unrestrained energy. It seems Jekyll has been drummed out of the scientific community for such cockamamie ideas, and has since been living and working as a near recluse. Ernst chides him, "Why not try to bring out the good?" Jekyll mutters something about needing to understand the flip side in order to better understand the good.

While sad-sack Jekyll has been immersing himself in his work, his beautiful but no-good-unfaithful wife Kitty (Dawn Addams) has been stepping out with Jekyll's upper crust slacker friend Paul Allen (Christopher Lee). Jekyll is the ultimate cuckold-- Paul has been coldly hitting Jekyll up for handouts even as he's been carrying on with his wife. When Jekyll takes his serum and frees the Nietszchean superman in himself, the dashing, blonde, blue-eyed and clean shaven Hyde visits a bawdy music hall and promptly discovers his wife and friend together. In between beating up the lower class locals, assignations with exotic dancers, and general mischief and depravity (not to mention fighting off Jekyll's personality trying to take back his body), Hyde concocts a scheme to cover the incorrigible Allen's gambling debts in exchange for Kitty's favors. As Hyde's depravities begin to catch up with him, he devises yet another plan to suppress the Jekyll part of him for good.

Mr. Hyde looks forward to a night on the town.

Hammer's master craftsman Terence Fisher directs a typically sumptuous looking production on a relatively low budget. Paul Massie chews the scenery outrageously as Hyde, but then, if ever there was a character that called for scenery-chewing, this is it. Dawn Addams as Kitty is yet another alluring, red-haired Hammer leading lady in the mold of Barbara Shelley and Hazel Court (someone in the Hammer executive suite apparently liked redheads). The biggest surprise is Christopher Lee, who at the time of Two Faces was neck-deep in horror films: his breakout Horror of Dracula was released a couple of years earlier; he was wrapped in bandages as The Mummy in 1959; and he made two other horror films that were released in 1960, The City of the Dead and The Hands of Orlac. Lee nicely plays against type as the dissolute, conniving Paul, casually fleecing Jekyll while making out with his wife, then feigning outrage when Hyde offers him money for Kitty's favors. (Observant fans will also notice Oliver Reed in a small, pre-The Curse of the Werewolf role as a young tough who gets pummeled by the gleeful, sociopathic Hyde.)

Two Faces is one of Hammer's better non-Dracula/Frankenstein remakes, and boasts one of Chris Lee's better non-Dracula performances for the studio.

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Where to find it:

Oldies.com


"Here is the century-old horror classic filmed as it has never been before!"

Now Playing: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (TV movie, 1968)

Pros: Bravura performance by Jack Palance; Authentic production design
Con: Shot on videotape

Strange Case is a more straightforward retelling, although it still takes liberties with the source material. All the familiar elements from Stevenson's story and earlier film adaptations are there: the hostile reception by his medical colleagues to Jekyll's theories; the drinking of the potion and the agonizing transformation; Hyde's savage beating of an unarmed gentleman with his cane; his possessiveness and terrorizing of an attractive dance hall girl; the suspicion of Jekyll's friend and solicitor that Hyde is blackmailing the good doctor; and Hyde threatening to permanently take over Jekyll's body as the supply of reverse potion runs out.

Dr. Jekyll (Jack Palance) hesitates before
drinking the potion for the first time.

This made-for-TV version greatly benefits from Jack Palance's energy and dynamism in the role of Jekyll/Hyde. Dick Smith's Hyde makeup accentuates Palance's already unique, chiseled features, making him look like a Satanic prince. Palance clearly relishes the role and bounces all over the sets with an animal physicality,  brandishing his sword-cane, howling with glee as he beats up assorted London low-lifes, and racing through dark back alleys, his cloak flapping behind him.  (According to the IMDb entry, the role was a bit too physical.  Palance broke his arm in one of the chase scenes -- sharp-eyed viewers will note that he uses only one arm in later scenes.)

Palance also hits just the right notes as Jekyll (which is not necessarily easy, as Palance looks pretty intimidating even as the refined Dr. Jekyll). The character traces a sort of bell curve through the film-- anxious and under attack by his colleagues at the beginning, intoxicated by Hyde's perverse joie de vivre in the middle, and worn out and hopeless at the end. He is a true addict. At one point, he tells his friend Devlin (Denholm Elliott), "Hyde has no hold over me. Whenever I want to get rid of him… [downs the rest of his drink] … I can do it just like that." Spoken like a true junkie.

Mr. Hyde has his sword-cane ready for muggers and
other assorted London low-lifes.

The other star of the show is the production design. Art Director Trevor Williams takes some Toronto locations and sound stages and turns them into a very dark, very convincing London. The costumes, the dance hall, Jekyll's lab -- all are impressive for a TV production and seem to have been meticulously researched. It's a shame that the whole thing was shot on videotape -- a true film treatment would have looked spectacular.

There's one bit of business that's almost a throwaway, but adds to the authenticity of the Victorian London setting and is chilling in its own way. As a constable walks along the darkened street, he looks up at a lighted window, from which a woman's screams are emanating (Hyde is beating his dance hall companion). He pauses, then vaguely smiles and walks on. No prosecutions for domestic violence in this Victorian-era London!!

Dan Curtis of Dark Shadows and Kolchak: The Night Stalker fame produced. Fans of either or both will immediately recognize the signature soundtrack. I was a big Dark Shadows fan at the time, and I remember counting down the days to the debut of Curtis' Jekyll and Hyde on network television. I wasn't disappointed. The Emmy's were similarly impressed that year, giving it 4 nominations, including Best Dramatic Program. It's held up remarkably well, and is worth tracking down.

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Where to find it:

Oldies.com


"It has been said that many men have found their way from the valley of violence to the palace of wisdom. But if all men must learn wisdom tomorrow from violence today, then who can expect that there will be a tomorrow?"