Serpico (1973)

          Serpicooccupies such a significant place in film history that it’s difficult to discuss the film without reaching for superlatives so grandiose they lack real meaning. Among other things, Serpicois one of the greatest police movies ever made, Al Pacino’s leading performance stands among the finest accomplishments in ’70s screen acting, and Sidney Lumet’s meticulous direction demonstrates why every other subsequent filmmaker telling a New York-based crime story owes him a huge stylistic debt. Furthermore, the story—which was drawn from a famous real-life saga—perfectly encapsulates the ambivalent attitude Americans had toward cops and criminals in the ’70s. The fact that Serpico is essential cinema on myriad levels creates a challenge when trying to articulate its strengths and weaknesses—the strengths are familiar to most movie fans because the picture has been seen so widely, and the weaknesses don’t matter all that much. Nonetheless, any survey of ’70s cinema is absurdly incomplete without Serpico, so here goes.

          Pacino, in the full bloom of his early-’70s breakout period, brings all of his intellectualized Method intensity to the role of Frank Serpico, a real-life NYPD detective who became a controversial figure by testifying publicly about widespread police corruption; this adaptation of Peter Maas’ best-selling book portrays the hero as an everyman with high principles who finds it harder and harder to survive in an environment rife with officially sanctioned illegality. The picture begins with Serpico’s early days as a uniformed beat cop, when he alienates coworkers by refusing to accept protection money and by refusing to pinch cash that’s taken from crooks. As Serpico’s career continues, he evolves into a longhaired detective adept at undercover work, earning a steady stream of commendations and promotions for his bravery and investigative skill. Alas, Serpico’s rise coincides with a cancerous spread of police corruption, so his unwillingness to play dirty provokes widespread enmity. This culminates with a showdown that the real Serpico claims was an assassination attempt engineered by bad cops who were afraid that Serpico was going to blow the lid on corruption. And, indeed, the finale of the story, as in real life, is Serpico’s public testimony.

          The narrative is fantastically interesting from start to finish, and Pacino’s investment in his work is unquestionable—he’s a live wire in every scene. By the time the actor fidgets and struts through undercover scenes while he’s hidden behind long hair, a shaggy beard, and a floppy hat, his performance has reached the level of incarnation, because the emotional and physical reality Pacino creates by occupying space in a naturalistic way is utterly persuasive. Furthermore, Lumet captures the gritty rhythms of New York life so perfectly that much of Serpicofeels like a documentary. If there’s a noteworthy flaw to Serpico, it’s that Lumet and Pacino focus too closely on the details of the main character’s journey through the shadowy world of the NYPD. With the movie covering such a large stretch of time and including so many incidents, supporting characters inevitably seem incidental and interchangeable. As noted earlier, however, criticizing Serpico is a fool’s game, because one could easily counter-argue that the personal nature of Serpico is exactly what makes the film uniquely powerful. (After all, the story’s about one man against the world.) FYI, the movie’s success inspired a short-lived 1976-1977 TV series starring David Birney, though the deeper influence of Serpico can be seen in countless subsequent movies that attempted, with varying degrees of success, to imitate the film’s hyper-realistic texture.

Serpico: RIGHT ON

Walking Tall (1973) & Walking Tall Part II (1975) & Final Chapter: Walking Tall (1977)

          Even though the virtues of the first film in the Walking Tallseries are quite humble, the franchise provides an object lesson in diminishing returns—and a crass example of Hollywood shamelessly milking a property for every penny. For instance, critical lashings and meager box-office returns for the second and third films did not derail the creation of a short-lived TV series. Nor did the broadcast of a TV movie from different producers titled A Real American Hero, which depicted the same real-life historical figure as the Walking Tall flicks. Then, years after it seemed Walking Tall was over, a remake of the original film was released in 2004, and the remake begat a number of straight-to-video sequels. Why all the bother? Well, if you believe half the tall tales told about the late Buford Pusser, the subject of all of these stories, he was about as close to a real-life action hero as there ever was. A former wrestler who became the sheriff of Tennessee’s McNairy County, Pusser took on organized crime and won, purging McNairy of moonshiners, prostitutes, racketeers, and so on. Yet justice came at a terrible price. Pusser’s wife was murdered, and he himself died under mysterious circumstances while still serving as sheriff.

          The first movie, simply titled Walking Tall, was based on a nonfiction book about Pusser. At the beginning of the story, Pusser (Joe Don Baker) gives up wrestling for a quiet life in McNairy County, only to discover that the area is overrun with crooks. Idealistic and stubborn, Pusser gets into hassles with the area’s criminal element, so he’s beaten and left for dead. After his recovery, he’s unable to exact justice via the legal system, so Pusser runs for sheriff and becomes a one-man vengeance squad. The title relates to Pusser’s signature weapon, a four-foot wooden club that he uses to beat evildoers (as in, “Walk tall and carry a big stick”). One of the most interesting elements of the movie is Pusser’s gradual education about things like search-and-seizure laws and suspects’ rights; he evolves from recklessly kicking ass to slyly trapping bad guys through their own misdeeds. Meanwhile, he tries to build a stable home life with his wife, Pauline (Elizabeth Hartman), and their two kids—but, of course, the grim ubiquity of danger makes that impossible.

          As directed by competent hack Phil Karlson, Walking Tallmoves along at a good clip even though it’s 125 minutes. In fact, it’s arguably the ultimate epic of brawling-redneck movies. Plus, by the time the movie slides into its final act—during which Pusser metes out bloody justice while his face is masked in bandages following a near-fatal assault—Walking Tall becomes just a little bit deranged. (How deranged? The plaintive theme song is performed by, of all people, Johnny Mathis. Seriously, Johnny Mathis.) Baker is in his natural element here, exuding badass ’tude and cornpone charm, so it doesn’t really matter that the rest of the cast is largely forgettable; only crusty character actor Noah Berry, Jr., as Pusser’s papa, makes an impression.

          Sadly, the real-life Pusser died a year after the first film was released, casting a morbid pall over Walking Tall Part II, in which the statuesque Bo Svenson takes over the lead role. Lacking Baker’s charisma, Svenson struggles through emotional moments and relies on his intimidating physique to sell action scenes. Further, he seems too gentle to believably play a man who’d rather crack skulls than read suspects their rights. It isn’t giving much away to say that the original Walking Tall ends with Pusser killing the men who murdered his wife, and that Walking Tall: Part IIdramatizes his attempts to arrest the gangsters who ordered the hit. The sequel adds swampy flavor, with supporting characters bearing names like “Pinky Dobson” and “Stud Pardee,” and the caliber of the supporting players is a slight improvement on the first film. Reliable actors including Luke Askew and Richard Jaeckel add energy, though leading lady Angel Tompkins is largely decorative as a temptress hired to ensnare Pusser. And while periodic car chases and shootouts keep things lively, there’s too much aimless yakety-yak—not exactly Svenson’s strong suit as a performer. Worse, the way the movie addresses the real Pusser’s death is highly unsatisfying.

          The last of the ’70s Pusser flicks, the oddly titled Final Chapter: Walking Tall, is as interminable as it is unnecessary. Fabricating a thin story to depict what happened to Pusser between the climax of the previous film and his death—while, of course, presenting a wholly unsubstantiated conspiracy theory in order to name Pusser’s killers—Final Chapter: Walking Tall mostly features Pusser (Svenson again) fretting about his troubles. A long scene of Pusser weeping over his wife’s grave represents the nadir of Svenson’s acting in the series; he tries mightily but can’t conjure anything genuine. Weirdly, the makers of Final Chapter: Walking Tall often forget they’re cranking out an exploitation flick, instead trying to generate wholesome family drama. Pusser saves a kid from an abusive father, romances a girl-next-door secretary, and generally tries to set a positive example for his kids—yawn. Literally an hour of screen time elapses before serious action occurs.

          Anyway, one last item for trivia buffs—two performes who appear in all three ’70s Walking Tall movies are teen idol Leif Garrett, as Pusser’s son, and character actor Bruce Glover, as Pusser’s deputy. Best known for playing a gay hit man in the 007 romp Diamonds are Forever(1971), Glover also sired oddball actor/director Crispin Glover.

Walking Tall: GROOVY

Walking Tall Part II: FUNKY

Final Chapter: Walking Tall: LAME

Salvage-1 (1979)

          Featuring one of the loopier premises in the history of primetime drama, this feature-length pilot movie launched a short-lived series, which has since become a minor cult favorite among sci-fi fans. Beloved TV icon Andy Griffith stars in the movie as a junkyard owner who builds his own private spaceship for a trip to the moon, where he plans to salvage abandoned NASA equipment and sell it to the highest bidder. Once the concept went to series, Griffth reprised his role, with his character piloting the spaceship for missions to remote locations around the globe; in the first regular episode, the goal was to retrieve monkeys for a zoo and to explore the possibility of bringing back an iceberg for a California community suffering from drought. Not hard to see why the series got canceled. Still, two things make the Salvage-1 pilot movie charming—Griffith’s affable persona and the lightness of the storytelling. Written by Mike Lloyd Ross, whose character development and dialogue are as clunky as his narrative concepts are wild, Salvage-1introduces Harry Broderick (Griffith) as an expert in repurposing junk—he buys a World War I biplane for a song, then guts the vehicle and sells parts to various buyers, making a $14,000 profit in the course of a morning’s work.

          Harry’s gotten hip to the multimillion-dollar value of tech that NASA left on the moon, and he’s identified an aeronautics expert with a theory that might facilitate inexpensive space travel. Harry hires the expert, ex-astronaut Skip Carmichael (Joel Higgins), who in turn enlists the aid of fuel specialist Melanie Slozar (Trish Stewart). Together with Harry’s regular employees—including a pair of former NASA ground-control techs—Harry cobbles together a spaceship called the Vulture. Meanwhile, uptight FBI agent Jack Klinger (Richard Jaeckel) sniffs around Harry’s junkyard because he senses something strange is happening. Salvage-1is predicated on an inordinate number of convenient plot twists, and Ross’ script is so upbeat that there’s never any real tension, but Salvage-1 is fun to watch simply because it’s such a lark. Even the laughably bad special effects featured during the Vulture’s moon shot aren’t enough to diffuse the good vibes. This is pure gee-whiz escapism, and the saving grace of the piece is that it never pretends to have meaning or substance. So, yes, the acting is hokey and the story is borderline stupid, but who cares? Fun is fun.

Salvage-1: GROOVY

Off-Topic: Retro TV Action-Adventure-Thon

          And now a brief message from the larger world of ’70s nostalgia—last weekend (Sept. 21–22), the fine folks at Warner Archive Collection, the DVD-on-demand imprint that’s made hundreds of obscure movies and TV shows available in recent years, held a fun event at the Paley Center for Media in Beverly Hills. The Retro TV Action-Adventure-Thon featured screenings of rare TV episodes, plus appearances by actors from cult-fave shows. Of special note for readers of this space were sessions with Patrick Duffy and Belinda J. Montgomery (pictured above in a photo by yours truly), who chatted about their short-lived series Man from Atlantis (1977–1978), and Michael Gray, who played Captain Marvel’s youthful alter ego in the Saturday-morning superhero show Shazam! (1974–1977). Others on hand were Ron Ely, of the 1966–1968 series Tarzan, and Clint Walker, of the 1955–1963 Western Cheyenne.

          Man from Atlantis kicked off the weekend. Duffy and Montgomery, both caustically funny, explained they were disappointed by the evolution of the franchise into a campy superhero show once it became a weekly series. (As noted here, the original pilot film is fairly serious in tone, with a plaintive quality absent from the weekly episodes.) While an episode titled “Melt Down” was screening, Duffy and Montgomery laughed broadly and even heckled the screen. After the episode finished, Duffy got onto his hands and knees and made for the door, as if he wanted to crawl away in embarrassment.

          Happily, he stuck and around and chatted with Montgomery and moderator William Keck for about 45 minutes, sharing droll stories about cheap producers, reckless safety risks, and the drudgery of filming a series that seemed fated for cancellation from its first weekly installment. (Only 13 episodes of Man from Atlantis were made.) It was fun to watch Duffy and Montgomery remind each other of colorful memories, since they hadn’t seen each other in 34 years; for instance, Duffy recalled that he often looked to Montgomery for approval after takes because she had years of experience when they made Man from Atlantis, whereas he was a newbie. Plus, what ’70s kid weaned on action shows could resist hearing Duffy discuss the beloved Man from Atlantis swimming style? “It was the most miserable way to swim you could possibly imagine,” Duffy said, adding that because of the contacts he wore to simulate his water-breathing character’s otherworldliness, he couldn’t see anything while performing underwater.

          The following evening, after Ely, Gray, and Walker made their appearances, the Retro TV Action-Adventure-Thon concluded with a screening of the notorious 1979 TV special Legends of the Super Heroes: The Challenge. One of two live-action programs Hanna-Barbera produced featuring DC Comics characters, The Challenge is epic in its awfulness. Adam West and Burt Ward reprise their ’60s Batman and Robin roles while delivering terrible one-liners in a cheap-looking one-hour program (shot on video) that’s half superhero adventure and half sitcom. (The Caped Crusader and the Boy Wonder are joined by the Flash, Green Lantern, and others while battling baddies including the Riddler, played, once again, by Batman fave Frank Gorshin.) Watching The Challenge is a challenge, but the thing is an amazing time capsule from a moment when the variety format ruled the airwaves. For brave souls, Warner Archive has released Legends of the Super Heroes on DVD, pairing The Challenge with The Roast, a spectacularly unfunny costumed-adventurer insult-fest. Ed McMahan hosts, believe it or not.

          In any event, the Retro TV Action-Adventure-Thon was a hoot, and it’s totally groovy that Warner Archive has preserved such esoteric programming for the curious and the nostalgic. DVDs available at WarnerArchive.com include two Man from Atlantis sets (one with TV movies and the other with weekly episodes); a complete-series set of Shazam!; the Legends of the Super Heroestwofer; and sets of other shows featured at the event, from Cheyenne and Tarzan to The Herculoidsand Superboy. Keep on keepin’ on, Warner Archive!

Living Free (1972)

          The 1966 movie Born Free won a slew of awards (mainly for its music) and engendered widespread goodwill for telling the inspiring real-life story of George and Joy Adamson, two English naturalists who, while living in Eastern Africa, raised three orphan lion cubs from infancy to adulthood. By the end of Born Free, which was adapted from Joy Adamson’s book of the same name, the leading characters had sent two of the grown lions to safe havens in European zoos but set their favorite, Elsa, free—in the movie’s memorable second half, the Adamsons teach Elsa how to hunt so Elsa can build a new life with a mate. Eventually, the lioness has three cubs of her own.

          Born Freehad a profound impact on actors Virginia McKenna and Bill Travers, who portrayed the Adamsons and became animal-preservation activists themselves. McKenna and Travers starred in the fiction feature An Elephant Called Slowly and the documentary The Lions Are Free, both released in 1969, but the actors did not return to their signature roles once Born Free got a proper sequel, Living Free, in 1972. Instead, Susan Hampshire plays Joy and Nigel Davenport plays George in this gentle story about the Adamsons becoming the de facto guardians of Elsa’s cubs after Elsa dies from an infection. (Adding to this picture’s convoluted lineage, Living Free was adapted from a later book in Joy Adamsons’ series, rather than her immediate literary follow-up to Born Free.)

          Realizing that domesticating big cats probably wasn’t a great idea the first time around, the Adamsons decide to capture Elsa’s cubs and deliver them to the Serengeti Animal Preserve, where they can, well, live free. Thus, most of Living Free comprises scenes of the Adamsons trying to keep the cubs out of trouble and safely cage them for transport. This is a bit more interesting than it sounds, thanks to terrific footage of real cats and impressive location photography. Additionally, Hampshire and Davenport do a fair job of showing the cracks in their characters’ stiff-upper-life personas; the anxiety and frustration of attempting something nearly impossible wears on them. The ending is never in much doubt, since this is heartwarming family fare, but persuasive visuals more or less carry the day.

          After the release of Living Free, the Adamsons’ adventures shifted to the small screen for a short-lived 1974 TV series (titled Born Free); later, Elsa resurfaced in the 1996 TV movie Born Free: A New Adventure, with fresh characters taking the place of the Adamsons.

Living Free: FUNKY

The Magician (1973)

          In between his longer-running series The Courtship of Eddie’s Father and The Incredible Hulk, beloved TV star Bill Bixby spent one season playing an illusionist who dabbles as a philanthropic detective, using his unique skills to help innocent people out of tricky situations. Although the series didn’t last very long, it engendered a loyal fan base because of its comic-book style, and, indeed, the series’ feature-length pilot plays out like a superhero story. While performing his magic show one night in a big-city hotel ballroom, Anthony Dorian (Bixby) notices a distraught woman in the audience. Then, when a mystery man staggers to her table and dies, Tony offers assistance. It turns out the woman, Nora Cougan (Kim Hunter), is upset because she can’t confirm whether her daughter died in a recent plane accident.

          Jazzed by the chance to solve a mystery, Tony stashes Nora at the home of his super-rich friend Max Pomeroy (Keene Curtis), and then embarks on a search for clues. Although penned by no less a figure than Joseph Stefano, the screenwriter of Psycho(1960), the pilot’s narrative gets murky pretty quickly, so after a while it’s hard to remember exactly what Tony’s looking for and/or why violent people seem so determined to stand in his way. (There’s a bomb, a conspiracy, a kidnapped girl, and so forth.) This being a TV pilot, however, the storyline is less important than establishing a vibe. Bixby portrays the lead character as a suave type who’s always ready with a slick magic trick or a smooth line, so his performance is appealing; furthermore, Bixby mimics sleight of hand with polished flair since he was a lifelong amateur illusionist.

          However, even though the movie’s requisite gimmicks are fun (Tony lives aboard a customized jet and drives a bitchin’ white Porsche), the supporting characters are woefully underdeveloped. Still, director Marvin Chomsky, who helmed numerous episodes of the comic-book-styled ’60s adventure show The Wild Wild West, keeps things brisk, and the cast features reliable players including Elizabeth Ashley and Barry Sullivan. Completing the package, the pilot movie introduces the series’ jazzy credits sequence, which blends animated transitions with live-action clips. This is slight stuff, but it’s easy to see why NBC thought fans would tune in for more week after week. (FYI, the lead character’s surname was changed from “Dorian” to “Blake” once the series got going.)

The Magician: FUNKY