L.A. 2017 (1971)

          While the 1971 telefilm Duel was the first standalone feature-length project that Steven Spielberg made as a professional, he directed two other pieces with commensurate running times the same year, namely the first weekly episode of the long-running detective series Columbo and this installment of a series called The Name of the Game. Given how central science fiction subsequently became in Spielberg’s work, L.A. 2017 is of particular interest. Additionally, L.A. 2017 plays like standalone piece because its only narrative connection to The Name of the Game is protagonist Glenn Howard (Gene Barry), who time-travels away from the series’ modern-day milieu for the duration of this adventure.

          While driving through smoggy canyons in Los Angeles, socially conscious magazine publisher Glenn succumbs to noxious fumes and crashes his car. Emergency personnel wearing gas masks and protective suits extract Glenn from his vehicle and drive him to a sprawling underground campus. Through interactions with psychiatrist/policeman Cameron (Severn Darden) and high-powered politician Bigelow (Barry Sullivan), Glenn learns that he’s in the Los Angeles of the future, and that civilization has been driven underground by environmental degradation. Per the talky script by Philip Wylie, what ensues has more exposition than excitement. In this grim future, America functions as a corporation with totalitarian control over citizens. People exchange math equations instead of jokes, much of the population is sterile, and everyone is under constant surveillance. Given Glenn’s unique status as a man out of time, Bigelow asks him to become a propogandist for the government, but he rebels—with the assistance of Sandrelle (Sharon Farrell), an attractive woman assigned to be Glenn’s consort.

          Watching L.A. 2017, it’s possible to discern why the piece, in tandem with Spielberg’s other 1971 work, helped raise his profile—the director does a lot with a little. Frenetic movement and tight angles make scenes in underground tunnels feel appropriately claustrophobic, and Spielberg guides actors portraying villains to underplay, which adds to the general air of menace. Moreover, the piece’s biggest shortcomings (flat scripting, meager budget) originated above the young director’s pay grade. While nowhere near as revelatory as Duel, this piece demonstrates that even in his earliest efforts, Spielberg had a formidable skillset. No wonder he graduated to theatrical features after a relatively short run as a Universal Television worker bee.

L.A. 2017: 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, 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

The Human Factor (1975)

          Watching the meat-and-potatoes terrorism thriller The Human Factor, one can’t help but wonder which actor the producers originally envisioned in the lead role, because George Kennedy just doesn’t have the stuff this movie needs. Playing a civilian computer specialist working on a top-secret military project in Italy, he’s fine as a lumbering bear of an American out of step with continental types—but the minute the story kicks into gear, Kennedy is asked to summon degrees of anguish and intensity he just can’t muster, undercutting key scenes so badly they inch toward self-parody.

          This is a shame, because the story is solid: A group of terrorists begins killing randomly selected American families who are living in Europe, and Kennedy’s wife and child are the first victims. Using the technology at his disposal, an espionage database designed to predict enemy activity, Kennedy goes the vigilante route, determined to get revenge and upset the killers’ plans. Predictably, his intrusion makes the situation worse. There are several exciting run-ins with terrorists, plus a useful subplot about a European cop trying to stop Kennedy from waging his one-man war. So, with a stronger actor in the lead, this material could have connected quite nicely. Though tough guy Charles Bronson comes to mind as an obvious casting alternative, a version of The Human Factor starring, say, everyman Jack Lemmon could have been quite powerful, since a skilled actor would have grounded the concept in believable emotion.

          Unfortunately, with Kennedy in place, the rest of The Human Factor unfolds in as workmanlike a manner as the lead performance. Studio-era director Edward Dmytryk, helming the last feature of his epic career, puts the story together capably, showing mild flair during action scenes, but he’s not able to muster sufficient on-camera energy. Englishman John Mills, cast somewhat randomly as Kennedy’s co-worker/friend, exacerbates problems with an amateurish performance, though Italian star Raf Vallone is impassioned as the cop pursuing Kennedy, and stalwart American Barry Sullivan provides effective work as an overwrought diplomat driven to drink by the terrorism crisis.

The Human Factor: FUNKY