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The Six Million Dollar Man: Wine, Women and War (1973)

There has been a time or two where I’ve picked a screencap, I admit, to show off a pretty girl. I trust this picture of Steve Austin in Jamaica redresses any grievance caused.

Anyway, this morning we watched the second of the three Six Million Dollar Man movies, and it went over much better than the slow origin movie. It was really full of surprises, not least of which was the theme song. This movie opens and closes with a none-more-seventies theme belted by, of all people, Dusty Springfield. It’s kind of interesting the way this whole thing plays out as a kid-friendly James Bond adventure involving an actual real-world foreign country, Russia, rather than the sort of Eastovia and Nosuchlandias that you usually see on seventies adventure teevee, and hiring Springfield for a big booming Bond theme helps cement it. There’s even a big underground base, albeit not in a volcano.

And speaking of James Bond, I looked over the cast lists of the second and third movies, intending to watch just one for the blog, and had the choice of Britt Ekland, who’d be the lead Bond girl in The Man With the Golden Gun, in this one, and Luciana Paluzzi, who played Fiona in Thunderball, in the next one. I shrugged and went with this because David McCallum is in it as well. He plays a Russian, because he did that well enough in The Man from UNCLE.

The great irony is that this shot opens with Michele Carey’s character asking Steve “Is there anything you’re not good at?” Yes. Choosing a tuxedo.

New to the regular cast this time out, it’s Richard Anderson as Oscar Goldman, the new head of the OSI. Darren McGavin’s character from the previous film is not mentioned, and Oscar is largely kept out of sight, just being unpleasant, secretive and bossy from afar. Alan Oppenheimer takes over from Martin Balsam as the second Dr. Rudy Wells, and the bad guy is an arms dealer played by perennial seventies teevee baddie Eric Braeden.

Our son really did enjoy this a lot more than the origin movie, as well he should. It’s a much better and much smoother film, with a solid and entertaining plot by writer Glen A. Larson. He produced this and the next movie for Universal in between seasons of McCloud, though he did not produce the series proper, and I was interested to see that he had used Britt Ekland twice for McCloud as well, and would hire her yet again for a memorable Battlestar Galactica installment.

But our son started the movie a little restless again, perhaps worried that this would be a long character drama with angst and debates instead of opening with bionic night vision eyes, super strength, and depth charges like it does. He enjoyed it, but was still a little confused about something that was keeping him from understanding the story and embracing it. Finally, Mom figured it out: he didn’t understand that Steve Austin’s powers are a secret. That’s completely different from today, when kids are used to their favorite superheroes being celebrities. It works better these days, doesn’t it?

Anyway, the day is saved once Sapphire and Steel show up and — wait.

Anyway, the day is saved once Steve follows his old Russian buddy Alexi and his girl-of-the-week Katrina into the villain’s underground base where he’s got eight nuclear weapons stored. Braeden is reliably evil, McCallum sounds reasonably Russian, and Ekland is easy on the eyes. Steve gets to punch through walls and cold-cock henchmen, and he does that thing he will always do in the series, when the power needs to be shut off and so he closes down some high voltage terminal and cables erupt and sparks go everywhere. There’s a countdown and a big explosion, and the youngest member of this audience was thrilled, much more pleased than he was with the origin movie.

Mommy suggested that he’d have enjoyed it as much if we just showed him the last ten minutes, but he really did get into things long before then. About halfway through, Alexi figures out that Steve is on a secret assignment – Steve himself hadn’t figured that out yet – and shoots him in the stomach with what turns out to be a tranquilizer gun. Our son was really worried for the hero then, especially since the story doesn’t come back to Steve for a couple of minutes. Was he dead? Grievously injured? Certainly not, but it was nice to see him worried for the hero. That bodes well for the scrapes he’ll be getting into soon.

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Freaky Friday (1976)

Wow, is this movie ever dated! Smoking moms, electric typewriter class, male chauvinist pigs… was this really made forty years ago, or four hundred and forty? It’s really entertaining, but is it ever a time capsule, and not just in society’s attitudes toward women, but back to those days when men’s careers in TV and movie entertainment were forever on the brink of disaster for fear of blustery, easily-displeased clients and bosses. You recall how every single episode of Bewitched featured Derwin – I mean, Darrin – perpetually skating between a successful sale and Larry Tate spontaneously combusting? The dad in this movie, played by John Astin, is similarly between the Scylla and Charybdis.

And with that world of crazy white-collar suburbia comes the life where Dad needs a new freshly-pressed suit for three important gigs a day and Mom is scrambling between catering for two dozen at no notice, pressing silk shirts (with Jon Pertwee-frilled fronts), and seeing that the drapes and curtains are regularly cleaned by professionals. The oil change and detailing place does to-your-garage delivery for $14.50 (about $63 in today’s currency, but this was California, after all), but at least you don’t have to drive your thirteen year-old daughter to the orthodontist, because she goes there herself on the city bus.

And looking back, yes, I do kind of recall the 1970s being kind of like that for my parents. Mom’s days included constant trips to the dry cleaners because men wore three-piece suits in every profession the other side of soda jerk, and I swear we must have had an expense account at the package store for all the evening entertaining they did. So yeah, once she got done ironing blouses and shirts, and having conferences at the school, she’d enjoy a quick break with Days of Our Lives before heading to the cleaners and the salon and probably the package store before taking my brother and me to the pediatrician or the dentist or the barber shop, and really only somebody as naive as a thirteen year-old could possibly want to swap places with a “stay-at-home mom” in the 1970s.

As a teenaged actress, Jodie Foster was omnipresent in the 1970s. This was the first of two Disney live-action films that she made, and far better-remembered than Candleshoe, which is also really entertaining. Astonishingly, she made Freaky Friday the same year that she made Taxi Driver, which I expect the PR people at Buena Vista did not mention. She’s fun as Annabel, but she doesn’t seem to be having half the fun that Barbara Harris, who plays her mother Ellen, does. Harris gets to chew gum and skateboard and dance and own the neighborhood baseball diamond and throw boomerangs while making goo-goo eyes at teenaged neighbors.

The water skiing stuff is all stunt doubles and rear-screen projection, of course, but the fun comedy of errors, which mainly involves lots of slow-burns in the classroom as Mom-in-Jodie Foster’s-body has no idea how to fit in, slowly gives way to more slapstick and a car chase happening at the same time as the water skiing tomfoolery.

Daniel was kind of restless during the movie, but did he ever come alive at the climax. It’s really entertaining, with Harris’s stunt double creating all kinds of skiing chaos while Foster leads police on a wild chase across Los Angeles landmarks. I’m almost positive they take the family’s red VW bug down the same staircase that David Janssen’s stunt double went down on a motorcycle in the Harry O pilot a couple of years earlier. Then they invariably end up in the concrete-channeled Los Angeles River, where they successfully avoid running into any model shoots or giant ants and the funniest thing that Daniel has ever seen happens: one of the police cars gets squashed triangular by one of the tunnels.

Almost immediately, this gag became the second-funniest thing he’d ever seen, because the final remaining police car gets cleaved in half when it runs into a concrete fork in the river, the driver’s side running up the left channel, and the passenger side running up the right. I have never heard this kid laugh so hard. When he’s old enough for me to let him hear Jackie Gleason swearing for a hundred minutes, he is going to die laughing over Smokey & the Bandit.

Perhaps it’s a bit wrong for Foster, Harris, and Astin – never mind a pretty deep bench of recognizable supporting players including Ruth Buzzi, Sorrell Booke, Marc McClure, Dick Van Patten, Alan Oppenheimer, and Al Molinaro – to get totally upstaged by stunt drivers and gimmick cars, but he is only four, dear readers!

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