Made for TV

In which two films featuring abusive parental figures miss their true callings as small screen water cooler fodder.

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The Astral Factor (1978)
[aka The Invisible Strangler]

Grade: C-

Pilot Potential: C+

At the hypothetical water cooler…

Hey, did you see The Astral Factor last night? No? Well, it stars Robert Foxworth -- you know the guy, he's Elizabeth Montgomery's boytoy -- as Lieutenant Charles Barrett, a straight-shooter type who ends up investigating all sorts of paranormal crimes around L.A. 

Or, at least that's what the pilot's setting it up to be -- the first episode is all about chasing after this dude who uses astral projection or some other weird shit to invisibly sneak up on women and strangle them. 

In fact, I think that was the name of the episode -- "The Invisible Strangler" -- which doesn't earn any points for creativity, but sometimes you just gotta be direct, generate some interest, y'know.

Anyway, the killer himself isn't all that interesting or memorable -- we get a thin backstory about a washed-up starlet of a mother who ignored him growing up, so he ends up killing her.

Sigh, it's always mommy issues. Then, after reading some questionable literature generally shelved as "New Age," he breaks out of jail to go after a bunch of other aging starlets who testified against him at trial. 

Frankly, the writers didn't pay all that much attention to the murderer or the mechanics of his crimes, and left some pretty gaping plot holes -- I mean, why does he need scuba gear if he's astral projecting? Or if he's just making himself invisible, why do we see the wetsuit, but not his regular clothes during the other attacks? 

But I digress -- the episode's real focus is on building the characters of the series. There's Barrett of course, and he's saddled with a greenhorn of a partner: the gum-chewing, pen-clicking Detective Holt (Mark Slade), who acts like a fidgety 13-year-old with a boot-fachay to match.

The writers are careful to keep Holt just this side of unlikeable, and Barrett's reactions to his junior colleague's blunders are mercifully understated. It's a real buddy cop setup, but not wildly overblown in the comic relief department, which is rather refreshing.

A not-so-understated character is Candy, the perky brunette Missus Barrett, played with ditzy enthusiasm by Stephanie Powers. 

There must be plans for her character down the line, since so much time is spent developing her bubble-headed persona -- a terrible yet enthusiastic cook! spends money out the nose! has the energy and manner of a small puppy! is completely self-absorbed!

And yet, she does absolutely nothing to help the cops in their efforts. No insights or "a-ha" moments, just complaints about the odd hours Barrett keeps (gotta love those pouty police wives). 

Maybe she's supposed to be the real comic relief in the series, or else she does end up becoming more involved in the criminal and/or supernatural elements. My money's on some plot with her getting mixed up in a weird cult or some other hippy-dippy stuff, with Barrett and Holt coming to the rescue.

Besides Stephanie Powers, some other folks seem likely to be series regulars. There's the gruff yet likable Captain Wells, who no doubt will make sure Barrett and Holt get the weirdest and wackiest cases funneled their way.

Then there's the head of the ESP Research Institute, Dr. Ulmer, who consults with Barrett about the invisibility thing, and who will likely be their go-to guy to learn about whatever odd phenomenon is affecting their latest case.  

Maybe even Elke Sommer, who plays one of the women targeted by the strangler. She's clearly a cut above the other aging beauties, at least in the brains and personality department, and at one point it almost seems like there could be something going on between her and Barrett. It would be a shame if they let her character be a one-off, there's real potential there.

All in all, not a bad start to the series. A little shaky on plot, with a bit too much attention paid to the guest actresses (who just get offed anyway) and not enough to the supernatural stuff. The special effects could use a bit of help, too. 

But, I think I'll still watch again next week -- I can't help but find myself wanting to know what happens with these characters. 

At the real water cooler…

Yeah, watched another one from the box last night. They spent all this time on the bimbo wife who didn't do shit, threw in some mumbo jumbo ESP and a pointless boat chase, and called it a movie. What was the point? At least I got to see Stephanie Powers' ass. Anyway, are those client reports done yet?

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The Galaxy Invader (1985)

Grade: D-

Afterschool Special Surplus: D

"Look Ma, No Bones!" Bonus: B-

At the hypothetical water cooler…

You wouldn't believe the colorful programming they're showing nowadays on the afterschool special. ABC? No, this was a local access channel, something out of Baltimore I think. Ostensibly it was about a big green alien, his strange weapon, and a bunch of rednecks -- oops, I suppose "country folk" would be the more appropriate term -- who were after them both. 

But, I just felt it went so much deeper than that! I mean, there were so many valuable lessons for the children…

…for example, the importance of a good night's sleep!

Why sharing is caring!

How to work together for the common good!

Why snooping is a no-no!

The dangers of smoking!

The perils of drinking!

The threat of immoral pleasure-seekers!

Knot tying!

Fire safety!

Weapons handling!

Orienteering!

Proper grooming and dress!

And finally -- so, so important in society these days -- celebrating and supporting our diversity, and creating an inclusive, welcoming, and non-othering environment. 

At the real water cooler…

What would you say if I took Twister's Revenge!, set it in a Maryland swamp, and replaced the sentient monster truck with a rubbery space tourist who apparently took a wrong turn at Alpha Centauri? Boy, then do I have a movie for you…

Bechdel no? Bechdel yes!

Ah, the Bechdel test. No doubt it's a crude metric, and it's often overlooked that the comic strip character who first gave voice to it also refused to see any movies that didn't pass it -- a stance that, to use the term so in vogue these days, is a bit "problematic".

Still, it's an interesting yardstick by which to measure these two films. In the first, there are literally no women at all (though household appliances complicate the picture a bit), so it doesn't so much fail the Bechdel test as decline to even show up for the exam.

Meanwhile, we have a second, female-dominated film that -- but for the presence of a handful of men -- would have been a single-sex affair too. The ladies in this movie have plenty of conversations about things other than guys, but whether it should be seen as an exemplar of feminist values is, perhaps, best left as an exercise for the reader.

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A Passenger to Bali (1950)

Grade: C-

Ah, the legend of the Flying Dutchman: subject of many a tale told in seedy taverns by salt-speckled sailors, as well as multiple operas (most famously Wagner's), movies, and even episodes of Spongebob.

It's a well-worn yarn, and A Passenger to Bali is a well-traveled adaptation that ditches the story's supernatural elements in favor of a more philosophical approach. It's been produced as a radio play, published in print by Little, Brown & Co., and even seen on Broadway -- though that production was a box office disaster that lasted all of four performances.

And now it's been recycled into an episode for the TV show Studio One in Hollywood -- so yes, we're dealing with television here, for good or ill. And as you might expect from an early TV production (let alone one adapted from a play), A Passenger to Bali is a fairly stagy affair, with no real ambitions to go beyond the parameters of conventional theater.

Watching an effort like this underscores two things: first, that our modern sense of The Twilight Zone as a wild anomaly is clearly incorrect, as Serling's anthology series had plenty of precedents on the small screen; and second, that in general The Twilight Zone still did this sort of thing a lot better than its predecessors or contemporaries. 

That's not to say A Passenger to Bali is bad, as it certainly isn't. But if it has any aspirations toward excellence, the limits of its dramatic conception -- and its failure to take full advantage of the new medium -- stand in its way.

The main cast could best be described as "workmanlike". That's not meant pejoratively at all, as they all turn in professional but unremarkable performances -- and after all, sometimes being unremarkable is doing the job right.

All the better, then, to turn the spotlight on Berry Kroeger as the mysterious Mr. Walkes, a traveler who convinces the aptly-named Captain English (Colin Keith-Johnston) to grant him last-minute passage against the captain's better judgment.

Kroeger worked with Orson Welles, to whom several writers have compared his grandiose performance here -- though to our mind, it's more "Donald Sutherland channeling Kelsey Grammer channeling Orson Welles". Either way, Kroeger does his best to overcome the script's lack of momentum with sheer presence. He preens, struts, chews the scenery now and then, and encourages the camera to linger on his leering, overripe face.

Oh, and he gets in some light reading too. (We expected a Commie, but he's into something a bit more outré.)

Now, the funny wildcard in Mill Creek's presentation of A Passenger to Bali is its inclusion of vintage commercials -- whether from the original broadcast or a later one, we don't know. But twice during the feature, and once at its end, we're interrupted so that Betty Furness can try to sell us an entertainment center:

Or a refrigerator -- with the aid of a Mad Lib, whose blank a modern woman might buzz in to fill with a rather different answer:

And finally, burn-proof plastic countertops:

Among the people involved in A Passenger to Bali's production, perhaps it troubled the nobler souls to know its narrative -- and vague, noncommittal political critique -- would be subject to the repeated intrusions of unabashed consumerism. "Maybe it'll be better in 60-70 years," they thought, "and by then we won't have commercial interests meddling with our work."

If only they knew!

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Sisters of Death (1976)

Grade: C+

"Nuns or sorority girls?"

Upon hearing the title of Sisters of Death, did some nameless producer ask this natural question? If so it might have inspired the film's opening sequence, in which veiled women deliver ritualistic utterances in a unison monotone. Are we seeing the operation of a specifically religious cult, or just the kind that treats minorities badly during spring break in Cabo?

Naah, it's just the "Woo, party!" kind of sisters. And boy, do they have one hell of a hazing ritual!

So when something goes very wrong -- and it's telegraphed from the beginning that it will --

-- the question isn't whether someone will take revenge, but who that will be. Sure, it takes a while:

But ultimately, when a set of ominous-looking handwritten invitations arrive in the mail, it's clear the first gong of a very long game has been struck for these five young ladies.

Some of them have grave misgivings about going to this "seven-year reunion" (who has a 7-year reunion?), but reluctantly decide to come anyway.

Others are willing to hitchhike long distances to get there, even if it means accepting rides from sketchy Saddam-looking Mexican dudes with wandering hands.

And some are so excited that they speed and get pulled over by a cop straight out of Adam-12 (real-life policeman Vern Mathison, who's a trip to see).

In the end, all five converge in a parking lot in Paso Robles, CA, where two enterprising young men are tasked with the charge of delivering them to their destination. Transporting this vanload of attractive young women is a paying gig, but one gets the sense they might've done it for free.

All aboard for fun time? At first it seems that way, but it doesn't take long before doubt creeps in for even the most upbeat members of our party, as it dawns on them how seldom "I've brought you all here together" works out well for those brought.

True, a nice spread awaits them upon their arrival to the isolated estate where the reunion is to be held. (Who holds a reunion for five people?)

But signs indicate that out of this Hotel California, it may not be so easy to check. And that is something up with which they shall not put.

Soon enough, the good times have clearly come to an end, as "Woo, party!" inevitably gives way to "Ohmigod!" -- albeit an "Ohmigod" that apparently doesn't preclude solo showers, lone-wolf excursions, or other complete failures to employ meaningful survival strategies.

In fairness Sisters of Death is a bit older than it appears, as it sat on the shelf for several years before release, and slasher-movies tropes that were predictable in 1976 were marginally less so in 1972. But even contemporary characters in horror films would be hard pressed to anticipate the onslaught of...the art connoisseur of death!

Or the artisanal bullet maker (heh, "maker") of death!

Or -- most dangerous and unexpected of all -- the flautist of death!

Anyway, Sisters of Death (of death!) plays out on the slow side, but otherwise is an amusing little goof of a film in a well-established tradition. Naturally, it helps to have an appreciation for the aesthetics of the early 1970s, whether musical, textile, or feminine -- though the low-quality transfer employed here doesn't really do justice to any of that.

Also, full disclosure, the distaff side of our duo enjoyed it more than the spear side -- but both of us had our attention funneled well enough for its 87 minutes.

And that's about all we have to say on this one, so: play us off, Keyboard Cop!