The Killers (1964) and Tenebrae

Clu Gulager and Lee Marvin.

The Killers (1964). Don Siegel's adaptation of Ernest Hemingway's 1946 short story "The Killers" is sadly overshadowed by the 1946 film version that made stars of Burt Lancaster and Ava Gardner. Siegel's The Killers is a lean, fast-paced drama that borrows elements from the 1946 movie, but alters the narrative path. Lee Marvin and Clu Gulager play contract killers Charlie and Lee, who are hired to murder former race car driver Johnny North. The job goes off without a hitch, but Charlie (Marvin), the more experienced hit man, is bothered by the fact that Johnny knew they were coming to kill him--but chose not to flee. Charlie becomes obsessed with finding out why and, as the killers interview people who knew their victim, Johnny's story unfolds in flashbacks. John Cassavetes turns in one of his most likable performances as Johnny, whose once-promising career goes off the rails when he falls for a mobster's mistress (Angie Dickinson). The flashbacks are well done, but The Killers works best when it focuses on the contrasting title characters: the quiet, perceptive Charlie and his younger, more action-minded partner Lee. Marvin's performance foreshadows his ruthless role in the better-known Point Blank (1967), while Gulager is a revelation. It's a shame that his career was mostly limited to TV series such as The Tall Man and The Virginian. The Killers was originally intended as one of the first made-for-TV movies, but its content was deemed too violent and it received a theatrical release. A scene in which Ronald Reagan, as a ruthless criminal, slaps Angie Dickinson is often cited for its violence. However, it pales in comparison to a later scene in which Marvin's hit man brutally slugs her. You can currently stream The Killers on Rumble for free by clicking here.

Tenebrae (1982). After a detour into supernatural horror with Suspiria (1977) and Inferno (1980), filmmaker Dario Argent returned to the giallo genre where he experienced great success in the 1970s (e.g., Deep Red, The Bird with the Crystal Plumage). Tony Franciosa stars as American writer Peter Neal, who travels to Rome to promote his latest mystery, a grisly thriller titled Tenebrae. Following the death of a young woman, Peter receives a letter from the killer who claims to have been inspired by Peter's violent novels. As more murders occur, the author closes in on the identity of the murderer--but all is not what it seems. Stylish and thematically complex, Tenebrae suffers from Argento's desire to pull out all the stops--no matter the costs. There's an incredible tracking shot in which the camera crawls along the side of a building, then up and over it and down the other side. It's an amazing technical feat, but adds little to the scene's suspense. There are also anonymous flashbacks, blood-splattered killings (you've been warned!), and a doozy of a climatic twist. I'm still not sure if the latter plays fair with the audience, but it will grab your attention. Tenebrae is a a moderately-successful return to Argento's roots, but it could have been so much more. Despite starring a well-known American actor, Tenebrae received a limited release in the U.S. two years after its European premiere; it was heavily edited and retitled Unsane. 

Search: The Curious TV Series That Should Have Been Named Probe

Burgess Meredith and Hugh O'Brien.

It was like Time Tunnel without the tunnel and the time travel. That's one way to describe Search, a 1972-73 TV series that combined science fiction elements, international settings, and handsome private eyes.

Burgess Meredith plays V.C.R. Cameron, a project director that provides intelligence data to three field operatives for the World Securities Corporation. Each operative is outfitted with high-tech devices that allow two-way communication with Cameron and his staff, one-way video surveillance, and the monitoring of health vitals. By accessing a powerful computer loaded with useful data, Cameron can provide any information the operatives may need--from a street address to a biography of someone they just met.

TV Guide cover with the stars.

It's an intriguing premise that sadly grew old within a few episodes. It didn't help that the show's structure--which focused on a single operative each week--made it difficult for viewers to identify with the hero. One week, the star was Hugh O'Brien as the cynical Hugh Lockwood. The next week, it was Tony Franciosa as tough guy Nick Bianco. And lastly, there was Doug McClure, who looked like he should still be playing Trampas on The Virginian. Of course, there have been popular shows with rotating stars, such as Maverick and The Name of the Game, but they also featured better-written characters.

DVD cover for Probe.

Leslie Stevens, who created The Outer Limits, wrote the pilot for Search, which aired as a made-for-TV called Probe in 1972. It was a cut above other telefilms of the era, thanks in part to guest stars Elke Sommer and John Gielgud. It also featured Angel Tompkins as one of Meredith's assistants, who bantered playfully with O'Brien (a more lighthearted version of Lee Meriwether;s character in The Time Tunnel). Tompkins remained for the first episode of Search, but then disappeared from the series after a second appearance. (Incidentally, the original plan was to call the TV series Probe, but that idea was scrapped to avoid confusion with a public television series).

While Search may be remembered mostly for what it could have been, its catchy theme by Dominic Frontiere still has its fans--including me. Here's a clip from Warner Archive featuring the opening credits to the first episode:

Raquel Welch Skydives and Spies in "Fathom"

Like many males from my generation, I was smitten with Raquel Welch during my teenage years. Yes, I had a poster of her on my bedroom wall (well, technically the back of the door). However, it wasn't the famous one showing her as the world's sexiest cave woman in One Million Years, B.C. Instead, my poster (a gift from my thoughtful sister) featured Raquel in a yellow bikini.

Despite Ms. Welch's early acting challenges, I sought out her movies and suffered through mediocre efforts like The Biggest Bundle of Them All and the Italian-made Shoot Loud, Louder...I Don't Understand. Incidentally, both films were shown on broadcast television in the U.S., which just proves how popular Raquel was during the late 1960s and early 1970s. My favorite of her films during this period was a bit of entertaining fluff called Fathom (1967).

Raquel Welch and Tony Franciosa.

It featured a second-billed Raquel as Fathom Harvill, a skydiver who is recruited by British intelligence (or so she thinks) to help recover a stolen nuclear bomb remote control device (or so she thinks). All Fathom has to do is land in the courtyard of a Spanish villa occupied by a handsome playboy (top-billed Tony Franciosa) and reactivate a listening device on the roof. The plan works to perfection until Fathom finds a dead body in the house and, as film characters often do, picks up the murder weapon.

Raquel skydiving...in front of a bad rear-screen.

She soon finds herself immersed in a plot to obtain what turns out to be a stolen, jewel-encrusted, Chinese artifact called the Fire Dragon. Her biggest challenge, though, is figuring out who to trust. The playboy claims to be a detective trying to recover the artifact for the Chinese government. An eccentric millionaire (Clive Revill) wants to buy the Fire Dragon for his private collection. The British spies eventually admit they aren't spies. And an ultra-cool bartender (Tom Adams), who seems like the most normal of the bunch, tries to kill Fathom with a spear-gun.

Sounds a lot like Charade (1963), doesn't it? Of course, Raquel can't act as well as Audrey Hepburn and, even with blonde hair, Tony Franciosa can't out-suave Cary Grant. Still, Fathom is an agreeable excursion that saves its best scenes--a train sequence followed by an aerial pursuit--for the climax. It certainly won't disappoint Raquel's fans, as her famous figure is showcased in a variety of colorful outfits (most notably a lime bikini). Even the title sequence focuses on her anatomy, presenting Ms. Welch from every possible angle. (I noticed it was designed by Maurice Binder, who gained fame for his James Bond title designs.)

Really, I only have two quibbles with Fathom. The first is the film's irritating, redundant music score, which unnecessarily emphasizes the film's lighthearted tone. My second beef is with Franciosa's character constantly addressing Fathom (see the IMDb for an explanation of her name) as Poppet. After the end credits rolled, I had to look up the definition of "poppet." It's a term of endearment, often used with children.

Wow, who said that Raquel Welch films weren't educational?

Paul Newman Gets Wet in "The Drowning Pool"

Harper arrives in New Orleans.

It probably sounded like a good idea at the time: Send Paul Newman's California private eye Harper to New Orleans and get him involved with a former flame, corrupt cops, a devious oil man, a dangerous young woman, and a whole lot of water. It took three screenwriters--typically a sign of trouble for a movie--to try to combine these elements into a coherent mystery. "Try" is the operative word here and, to the defense of the writers, I don't think Billy Wilder could have made a decent movie out of The Drowning Pool--though his version would have been more fun.

Newman first appeared as Lew Harper in the 1966 boxoffice hit Harper. That film was based on the Ross MacDonald novel The Moving Target, which featured private eye Lew Archer. There are several stories explaining the name change from "Archer" to "Harper," but--whatever his name--audiences loved Newman in the part. Still, sequels weren't as common in the 1960s as today, so it was something of a surprise when Newman decided to revive Harper nine years later in The Drowning Pool.
 

Joanne Woodward as Harper's client.

This time around, the easygoing detective goes to The Big Easy at the request of an old flame (Joanne Woodward) who has received an anonymous blackmail letter. Harper has barely walked into his motel room before a young woman (Melanie Griffith) tries to entrap him and he's arrested by an overprotective police detective (Tony Franciosa). He spends most of the film asking questions and getting beat up. There are two murders and a suicide along the way, but, to his credit, Harper eventually figures out the identity of the killer.

The Drowning Pool is a sluggish affair peppered with dull characters. It's hard to fault the actors. After all, Newman, Woodward, and Franciosa all appeared in another Southern drama, The Long, Hot Summer (1958), and that turned out marvelously. In The Drowning Pool, though, even Mr. and Mrs. Newman don't seem to have any chemistry in their scenes. It doesn't help that their tender moments are inexplicably underscored by a sappy instrumental version of "Killing Me Softly With His Song."

Newman and Gail Strickland in the best scene.

As for the title of The Drowning Pool, that brings us to the movie's best scene. Murray Hamilton, sporting a stylish red, one-piece jumpsuit, strands his wife (Gail Strickland) and Harper in a hydrotherapy room in an abandoned mental institution. Not wanting to face Hamilton's goons the next day, Harper decides to flood the room so he and his companion can float up to the ceiling and escape. It doesn't work as planned, but Harper still breaks free.

Of course, it could also be that The Drowning Pool refers in some esoteric way to the films's characters who are emotionally drowning in a swamp of apathy. Frankly, though, I think it refers to the angst experienced by unfortunate viewers who sit through this vapid mystery for 109 minutes.

A Weekend Recommendation: The Long, Hot Summer

It's Saturday night and you just watched Point Blank as part of the Cafe du Cinema Society. It turned out to be grim and more violent than you expected. Hey, why not stay turned to TCM and chill out watching Paul Newman romance Joanne Woodward in The Long, Hot Summer?

This engrossing trip into William Faulkner's South stars Newman as drifter Ben Quick, the son of a barn burner (which makes one instantly unpopular). Ben arrives in the small hamlet of Frenchman's Bend, Mississippi, where bigger-than-life Will Varner (Orson Welles) owns just about everything. Varner, who recently recovered from a heart attack, is obssessed with getting "some more Varners" in the way of grandchildren. His weak-willed son Jody (Tony Franciosa) isn't making much progress with his pretty, but somewhat flighty wife Eula (Lee Remick). So, Varner is determined that his smart, headstrong daughter Clara (Woodward) get married. And if it's not to her long time, would-be suitor Alan...than it may as well be to that ambitious "big stud horse" Ben Quick.
 

The near-perfect cast bring these colorful characters to life, to include Angela Lansbury as Varner's mistress. The lively exchanges between Newman and Welles are a joy to behold (Varner to Ben: "I've been watching you. I like your push, yes. I like your style. I like your brass. It ain't too dissimilar from the way I operate.") But the heart of the film is the sparkling chemistry between Newman and Woodward; they were married the same year the movie was released. My favorite scene between them:  an exhange in the general store, which goes from playful to enlightening.
 

The Long, Hot Summer is an immensely entertaining, surprisingly rich film. It's got great music, too, to include the Alex North-Sammy Cahn title song.