Victory at Entebbe (1976) & Raid on Entebbe (1977)

          One of the Me Decade’s most startling real-life events occurred on July 4, 1976, when Israeli commandos raided an airport in Uganda to rescue more than a hundred hostages from Palestinians who hijacked a passenger plane. Filled with larger-than-life individuals, notably crazed Ugandan dictator Idi Amin, the story of “Operation Thunderbolt” helped define the era during which international terrorism first took root. Almost inevitably, Hollywood pounced on this material, with the first screen dramatization reaching American airwaves six months after the rescue, and a second version airing a month later. Both telefilms feature big-name casts.

          First to air was Victory at Entebbe, a rushed and schlocky melodrama that mostly focuses on dynamics among hostages during their tense incarceration in Uganda. Filmed by director Marvin J. Chomsky with garish lighting and unimpressive production values, Victory at Entebbe suffers badly for the choice to shove the biggest names possible into various roles, no matter the results. Good luck figuring out the genetic math by which parents Kirk Douglas and Elizabeth Taylor produce daughter Linda Blair—and have fun scratching your head while Anthony Hopkins plays Israeli Prime Minister Ytzhak Rabin opposite Burt Lancaster as his Minister of Defense. Helmut Berger does forgettable work as lead terrorist Wilfried Böse, and those playing the other hijackers stop just short of twirling moustaches.

          Portraying key passengers, Theodore Bikel, Severn Darden, Helen Hayes, Allan Miller, Jessica Walter, and others do what they can with florid dialogue and overwrought dramaturgy. Way too much screen time is devoted to Blair’s alternately cutesy and whiny performance as a young hostage, the Douglas/Taylor scenes feel like clips from a bad soap opera, and Julius Harris looks cartoonish playing Amin thanks to an ill-advised fat suit. Scenes set in Israel are better, though it’s hard to buy doughy Richard Dreyfuss as fierce commando Yoni Netanyahu. Worse, the Israeli scenes focus on procedural matters, mostly sidelining political ramifications. A final strike against Victory at Entebbe is the use of stock footage for airplane scenes, which greatly diminishes verisimilitude.

          Although the star power of Raid on Entebbe is not quite as impressive as that of the preceding film, the performances are much better. Martin Balsam, Charles Bronson, Horst Buchholz, Peter Finch, John Saxon, Sylvia Sidney, Jack Warden, and others deliver restrained work, letting the story speak for itself. Only a few players—including Tige Andrews and Stephen Macht—succumb to melodramatic excess. More importantly, Raid on Entebbe has Yaphet Kotto. He’s  dazzling as Amin, conveying the madman’s grandiosity, moodiness, and narcissism. Directed by the versatile Irvin Kershner with docudrama simplicity and the occasional subtle flourish—a sleek camera move here, a dramatic lighting pattern there—Raid on Entebbe unfolds methodically. The opening scene depicts the hijacking without sensationalizing events, and thereafter the movie cuts back and forth between Israel, where officials plan their response, and scenes involving hostages and their captors.

          Eventually, the film resolves into three parallel narratives. The first involves Rabin (Finch) rallying support for military intervention, despite his government’s propensity for endless debate. The second involves the hostages, of whom Daniel Cooper (Balsam) is the unofficial spokesman, watching their fates transfer from the hands of religious zealots to those of an unpredictable tyrant. The third involves units of the Israeli military—under the command of Generals Gur (Warden), Peled (Saxon), and Shomron (Bronson)—figuring how to achieve the impossible. The level of detail in Barry Beckerman’s teleplay is extraordinary, so despite its lengthy running time (two and a half hours), Raid on Entebbe is interesting and thoughtful from start to finish. Better still, the presence of marquee-name actors never eclipses the solemnity of the narrative. (Special note should be made of Finch’s fine performance as Rabin, because this was his last project. He died a week after Raid on Entebbe aired.)

          Yet another dramatization of these historic events emerged soon after the dual telefilms, this time from Israel. Directed by Menaham Golan, Operation Thunderbolt features a mostly Israeli cast, although the intense German actor Klaus Kinski plays Böse and the voluptuous Austrian starlet Sybil Danning costars. Operation Thunderbolt received an Oscar nomination as Best Foreign Film.

Victory at Entebbe: FUNKY

Raid on Entebbe: GROOVY

Rider on the Rain (1970)

          Beyond his well-known success as a tight-lipped action star in American films, Charles Bronson had an extensive career in a wider variety of pictures made outside the U.S., only a few of which did as well on American screens as they did overseas. Rider on the Rain is a good example. A mystery-thriller with romantic elements, the movie was made in France and scored a major success there, but it made little impact during its original American release and has not been extensively distributed on home video. To a certain degree, the film’s American obscurity is understandable, since casual Bronson fans don’t seek out his pictures for emotional or intellectual nuance. And it’s not as if Rider in the Rain is some lost masterpiece. Quite to the contrary, it’s mediocre at best thanks to a murky and nasty storyline. What’s more, leading lady Marlène Jobert is hardly the most compelling of actresses, perhaps owing to the fact that she’s not a native English speaker; as in the middling To Catch a Spy (1971), which pairs Jobert with Kirk Douglas, she’s badly overshadowed here by a charismatic American star.

          In any event, Rider on the Rain recycles the familiar Hitchcock formula for romantic intrigue, but rampant misogyny renders the film thoroughly unpleasant. At the beginning the story, Mélancolie (Jobert) observes a strange man exiting a bus during a rainstorm in the small town where she lives. Later, after her domineering airplane-navigator husband Tony (Gabriele Tinti) leaves on a work trip, the mystery man invades Mélancolie’s house and rapes her. Gaining the upper hand after the assault, she kills him with a shotgun, then disposes of his body. Enter another mystery man, Dobbs (Bronson), who shows up with insinuations that he knows what happened. Dobbs terrorizes Mélancolie with threats of blackmail and violence, eventually revealing that he wants a bag of money the rapist had in his possession. Dobbs’ motivations change repeatedly as Mélancolie learns more and more about him, and the worst contrivance of the picture is that she falls for her mercurial tormentor.

          Director René Clément strives to lighten the mood with offbeat flourishes, such as Dobbs’ habit of tossing almonds at windowpanes, but the whole enterprise feels seedy. That said, it’s always a kick to watch Bronson operating outside his comfort zone, though he’s far more credible when his character acts aggressively than when his character acts seductively. (He constantly refers to Mélancolie as “love-love,” borrowing a phrase printed on her underpants—really!—but the nickname ends up sounding like “glub-glub” half the time.) Additionally, Hitchcock fans may enjoy this movie’s overt homages to the Master of Suspense—the rapist’s name, for instance, is a nod to one of Hitchcock’s favorite storytelling devices.

Rider on the Rain: FUNKY

Chino (1973)

          An oddity among Charles Bronson’s prodigious ’70s output, the melancholy, European-made Western Chino has a few brief passages of action, but mostly it’s a minimalistic character study about a principled iconoclast. In fact, one could easily see John Wayne playing a meatier version of the title role. The protagonist of Chino has a characterization as lean as Bronson’s musculature, though he’s not precisely a man of few words, since he’s capable of loquacious moments. Where his enigmatic nature surfaces, and where the film’s storytelling becomes somewhat dubious, is in the area of this hard-driving man’s relationships with others. Living alone on a horse ranch, he seems like someone who prefers his own company, and yet he takes in a young orphan with little hesitation, he confidently woos a society woman who visits his ranch to ride horses, and he maintains a neighborly bond with a local Indian tribe. The filmmakers seem to like the romantic notion that their hero is more at peace with his horses than with other humans, but the overall flow of the story challenges the credibility of the premise. Combined with sluggish pacing and some iffy supporting performances, this thematic fuzziness dooms Chino to mediocrity, even though it’s noteworthy as one of the only Bronson movies to lead with its emotional aspect.

          The plot is suitably simple. Half-breed Chino Valdez (Bronson) lives quietly until young Jamie (Vincent Van Patten) rides onto his land with nowhere else to go. Chino gives Jamie a job and becomes a kind of surrogate parent to the lad. Later, cruel landowner Maral (Marcel Bozzuffi) annexes land that Chino has used for years, setting a fight in motion; Chino dislikes constraints as much as the wild mustang the filmmakers employ as a recurring metaphor. Later still, when Maral’s sister, Catherine (Jill Ireland), falls for Chino, it’s war, because Maral doesn’t want a half-breed soiling his family line. During the picture’s most violent passages, Chino gets into brawls with thugs and Maral has Chino whipped—rough stuff, to be sure, but mild by the usual Bronson standards. Playing Chino, Bronson cuts such a formidable figure that he’s believable as a man who can endure anything in the name of his beliefs. Furthermore, the film’s bittersweet ending has a gentle kick. Yet Ireland and Van Patten are so mechanical that their scenes lack energy, and the Maral character is hopelessly one-dimensional. On the plus side, the mellow guitar-and-harmonica-led score sets a distinctive mood, and the wide-open spaces of the film’s locations convey something about the title character’s don’t-fence-me-in soul.

Chino: FUNKY

1980 Week: Borderline

          An action-movie star who prioritized quantity over quality, Charles Bronson made a lot of forgettable movies in his epic career, with the caliber of his projects suffering a precipitous drop in the 1980s as the combination of Bronson’s advancing age and his declining box-office appeal took a toll. Borderline captures the star in transition, because while the horrors of endless Death Wish sequels were still a couple of years in his future, it’s obvious the best material was no longer coming Bronson’s way. Cowritten and directed by Jerrold Freedman, who spent most of his career banging out generic TV movies, Borderline depicts the battle between U.S. Border Patrol Officer Maynard (Bronson) and resourceful human trafficker Hotchkiss (Ed Harris). As the well-financed Hotchkiss gets bolder and more ruthless with each illegal border crossing, Maynard becomes more determined to capture the “coyote,” especially after Hotchkiss murders one of Maynard’s deputies. And that’s basically the whole story.

          Attempts at injecting the people in the movie with genuine characterization are feeble at best: Hotchkiss is a Vietnam vet, Maynard has a drinking problem, and so on. Similarly, Freedman’s supporting characters are feeble. Fresh-faced Border Patrol deputy Fante (Bruno Kirby) drifts in and out of the story without ever making much impact, and the callous businessmen backing Hotchkiss’ operation—rancher Carl Richards (Bert Remsen) and corporate executive Henry Lydell (Michael Lerner)—display slightly less than one dimension each. A glimmer of hope for narrative substance emerges during a sequence in which Maynard travels undercover as a Mexican to Tijuana along with migrant worker Elena Morales (Karmin Murcelo), whose child was killed in the same shootout that left the deputy dead, but like so many other threads in Borderline, Freedman doesn’t take this material anywhere satisfactory or surprising.

          Nonetheless, the subject matter is inherently interesting, the southern California locations suit the story well, and vivid actors pass through the movie. Beyond those mentioned, the cast also includes Norman Alden, John Ashton, Wilford Brimley, and Kenneth McMillan. Plus, since Bronson is strangely absent from many scenes—he’s either offscreen or simply bored—Harris steals the movie without trying. Borderline is sorta/kinda his movie debut, seeing as how he’d played minor roles on television prior to Borderline, as well as a tiny part in Coma (1978). He makes a hell of an impression, personifying Hotchkiss as a believably cold-blooded automaton since the sketchy script precludes the option of forming a proper characterization.

Borderline: FUNKY

Love and Bullets (1979)

          Executed with considerable polish and filled with familiar faces, Love and Bullets feels suspiciously like a real movie. After all, it’s ostensibly a crime thriller, and it stars Charles Bronson, who enjoyed more than a few successes in the realm of violent cinema. Yet the story has one of the most anemic second acts in screenwriting history, and the characters are preposterously undercooked. Adding to the list of shortcomings is a typically amateurish performance by leading lady Jill Ireland, Bronson’s real-life wife and his onscreen foil is far too many pictures. Having said all that, Love and Bullets has a few enjoyable passages of action and/or suspense, so even if the movie is the filmic equivalent of empty calories, at least some of the scenes have flavor.

          Bronson plays Charlie Congers, a detective based in Phoenix, Arizona. Federal agents show up one day and ask Charlie to travel to Europe, where onetime mob girlfriend Jackie Pruitt (Ireland) is in hiding. The Feds believe Jackie has incriminating information on big-time gangster Joe Bomposa (Rod Steiger), her former lover, but the Feds offer convoluted reasons why they can’t cross international borders in order to collect Jackie. Charlie accepts the assignment, and before long he and Jackie are on the run from Joe’s hit men, who want to prevent Jackie from testifying. Naturally, the fugitives fall in love. The unusual wrinkle, which should have energized the story but never ends up adding much of anything, is that Jackie doesn’t actually have any useful knowledge about Joe’s criminal activities. Therefore, all the danger that arises from Charlie’s mission is pointless, which has the effect of making the movie feel pointless, as well.

          Despite the inconsequential story, the sleek surfaces of Love and Bullets offer minor pleasures—as is true for most of the movies directed by reliable journeyman Stuart Rosenberg, best known for a series of Paul Newman collaborations including Cool Hand Luke (1967). During one imaginative sequence, for instance, Charlie makes a blowgun out of found objects and then uses the weapon to dispatch several would-be assassins. Additionally, the tightly wound score by Lalo Schifrin evokes the menace of Jerry Goldsmith’s music and a bit of the whimsy of Ennio Morricone’s, so the movie has a lively soundtrack. Colorful players including Val Avery, Bradford Dillman, Michael V. Gazzo, Paul Koslo, Strother Martin, and Henry Silva attack their supporting roles vigorously, compensating mightily for Ireland’s tone-deaf acting. Bronson is just Bronson, familiar but formidable. And then there’s Steiger, shouting and strutting through one of his signature overwrought performances. Rarely has so much effort been exhausted to portray a character of so little importance.

Love and Bullets: FUNKY

From Noon Till Three (1976)

          Mismarketed as a farce, presumably to ride on the success of Blazing Saddles (1974), this offbeat Charles Bronson picture is actually a clever satire about mythmaking in the Wild West. The piece doesn’t quite work, partially because the tone wobbles too often between serious and silly, and partially because leading lady Jill Ireland’s performance is so weak. Nonetheless, there’s much to admire in the conception of the story, and it’s fun to see Bronson dig into a lighthearted role, even though a natural-born wisecracker along the lines of James Garner would have been more suitable.

          Written and directed by the versatile Frank D. Gilroy, based on his novel of the same name, the picture begins with a wonderfully eerie dream sequence. Without giving away the particulars, the scene perfectly sets up the character of Graham Dorsey (Bronson), a member of the Buck Bowers gang. Whereas most of Buck’s people are crude and rough, Graham is slick and smart. When the Bowers gang arrives at the home of Amanda (Jill Ireland), a widow of some financial means, Graham persuades his fellow criminals that he should sit out their impending next robbery. This allows him to spend time with Amanda. The unlikely couple shares a romantic idyll until word arrives that the Bowers gang was captured. Then Graham leaves Amanda, ostensibly to rescue his compatriots. In reality, he plans to flee, even though he’s thoroughly persuaded Amanda that he’s a man of honor forced by hard times to commit robberies.

          Later, when Amanda is mistakenly informed that Graham was killed, she accepts the overture of a traveling writer, who hears about Amanda’s romantic adventure and thinks it would make a good yarn. The resulting novel is released, turning Amanda into a celebrity and Graham into a mythic figure. This creates unexpected problems for Graham, who is still very much alive but now must compete with an oversized legend that bears his name.

          Watching From Noon Till Three, it’s not difficult to see how minor changes could have improved the material. For example, Gilroy’s dialogue is mildly droll, but a true wit (Peter Stone comes to mind) could have maximized the potential of the premise with incisive one-liners. Similarly, Bronson’s bull-in-a-china-shop approach bludgeons subtleties, and Ireland is completely artificial. The movie also drags a bit, even though it’s only 99 minutes, suggesting that Gilroy would have been wise to shorten the first half of the movie and get to the good stuff faster.

          So, while it’s probably exaggerating to say that From Noon Till Three is ideal remake fodder—the story is so slight that the potential return isn’t worth the investment of labor—From Noon Till Three is enjoyable to watch as a near-miss. It helps, of course, that the movie was shot in a glossy style by the great cinematographer Lucien Ballard, and that the venerable Elmer Bernstein contributed the robust score. Having said that, good luck getting the chirpy theme song, “Hello and Goodbye,” out of your head.

From Noon Till Three: FUNKY

Violent City (1970)

          Made in Italy and known by many titles—including The Family, the moniker slapped on the film for a 1973 American re-release that was designed to piggyback on the success of the Godfather movies—this nasty Charles Bronson thriller boasts opulent production values and a pair of genuinely terrific action sequences, conveniently located at the beginning and end of the feature. And if the material wedged in between these impressive vignettes is occasionally dull and murky, at least director Sergio Sollima finds a solid groove whenever he focuses on the grim spectacle of a hit man annihilating targets. The plot is bit convoluted, but it goes something like this. In the tropics, goons pursue tough-guy crook Jeff (Bronson) and his glamorous girlfriend, Vanessa (Jill Ireland). This sparks a whiz-bang car chase that culminates in a bloody shootout. Jeff nearly dies, and insult gets added to injury when Vanessa leaves him for his main assailant, a gangster named Coogan. Compounding the indignities, Jeff is framed for murder and jailed. After his release, Jeff tracks down Coogan and Vanessa, killing Coogan and reclaiming Vanessa’s affections. However, while Jeff was in prison, Vanessa married crime boss Al (Telly Savalas), so a series of double-crosses and schemes ensues while Jeff tries to identify his true enemies.

          Following the turgid storyline isn’t worth the effort, but Sollima stages a number of cool scenes. The opening car chase, through tight city streets and winding country roads, gets the blood pumping nicely. A long sequence of Jeff methodically arranging and performing the murder of a racecar driver—during the middle of a race—is similarly tense. And the finale, which involves a glass elevator, is wonderfully stylish. It helps a great deal that legendary composer Ennio Morricone contributes a propulsive score, the main theme of which seems like a precursor of the thrilling music Morricone later created for 1987’s The Untouchables. So, even though Ireland is terrible and Savalas plays his clichéd role with a smattering of humor but not much imagination, there’s a lot of watchable stuff buried in Violent City. (In fact, there’s even a dash of sex, thanks to plentiful nude shots of Ireland’s shapely body double.) And, of course, Bronson is in his natural element, since he looks utterly believable whenever he kills people onscreen.

Violent City: FUNKY

Cold Sweat (1970)

          British director Terence Young made a wide variety of action films and thrillers following his triumphant work on the first James Bond movie, Dr. No (1962), as well as two follow-up 007 adventures. For instance, in the early ’70s, Young made three pulpy flicks in a row with badass leading man Charles Bronson—in addition to this tense crime thriller, the duo made the offbeat Western Red Sun (1971) and the violent mob movie The Valachi Papers (1972). Like the other Bronson-Young collaborations, Cold Sweat is entertaining if not especially distinctive. Bronson stars as Joe Martin, an American fisherman living in France with his European wife, Fabienne (Liv Ullmann). One day, a crook busts into Joe’s house claiming to know the fisherman from some shady episode in the past. Joe shocks Fabienne by calmly murdering the assailant. Then, the minute Joe and Fabienne discard of the intruder’s body, more unwanted visitors arrive, led by cruel American ex-soldier Captain Ross (James Mason). Turns out Joe and several other men participated in criminal enterprises while they were serving in the U.S. military, but Joe bailed during a robbery. Since Joe’s disappearance led to jail time for everyone else, Ross is back for revenge. Caught in the middle are Fabienne and her teenaged daughter.

          Based on a story by celebrated fantasy writer Richard Matheson, Cold Sweat actually feels a bit more like a narrative that Elmore Leonard might have contrived, which is a compliment—operating outside his usual supernatural safety zone, Matheson establishes a nasty situation fraught with unexpected complications. For instance, much of the picture involves a race to save a dying man (explaining any more would spoil the story), and this suspenseful element gives Young license to film a crazy car chase through a twisty mountain road. Whenever the movie’s action scenes are juiced by exciting music from composer Michel Magne, Cold Sweat becomes an enjoyable exercise in escapism. Bronson gives an uncharacteristically lively performance, playing a even-tempered survivor instead of his usual sociopathic executioner, and Ullmann’s dramatic chops give a strong emotional counterpoint. Not so impressive are Mason, ridiculously miscast as a refugee from the Deep South, and Bronson’s real-life bride, Jill Ireland, who gives a shrill turn as a hippie chick. Compounding the casting problems, Cold Sweat is easily 20 minutes too long. That said, buried amid the bloat and tonal missteps are plenty of adrenalized thrills.

Cold Sweat: FUNKY

The Stone Killer (1973)

          Actor Charles Bronson and director Michael Winner cranked out so many movies together in the ’70s that it’s inevitable some of their projects were less satisfying than others. In between the high points of The Mechanic (1972) and Death Wish (1974), for instance, the duo collaborated in this convoluted crime thriller, which can’t decide if it’s about a hard-driving cop or a mastermind criminal. The setting awkwardly shuttles back and forth between New York and Los Angeles, and the movie includes about five different scenes that feel like endings. As a result, even though Winner was among the best directors of gritty action in the ’70s (ensuring that The Stone Killer has a handful of exciting scenes), the flick is a washout in terms of narrative.

          The gist of the piece is that after NYPD detective Lou Torrey (Bronson) gets run out of Manhattan for using excessive force, he lands a job with the LAPD and almost immediately discovers a scheme by mobster Al Vescari (Martin Balsam) to wipe out enemies as revenge for a decades-old gangland massacre. All of this feels very unfocused, not least because of the way Torrey somehow instantaneously becomes the most trusted plainclothes cop in the City of Angels; furthermore, most of the screen time is devoted to Torrey’s investigation of intermediaries, which has the effect of diluting Vescari’s prominence as the main villain. In fact, probably a good third of the picture involves the activities of low-level bagmen Jumper (Jack Colvin) and Langley (Paul Koslo), so it periodically seems as if Winner forgot which movie he was making. Exacerbating all of this is the fact that Bronson’s casting as a smooth-talking policeman somewhat marginalizes his strong suit of tight-lipped physical action.

          Nearly the only thing that keeps The Stone Killer watchable is the presence of vibrant supporting actors. In addition to Colvin and Koslo, who portray weasels effectively, the grab-bag cast includes Norman Fell, Stuart Margolin, and Ralph Waite. (This is a guy movie from top to bottom, so women don’t figure prominently in the mix.) Winner generates good atmosphere in both Los Angeles and New York, and the movie’s big shootout—which takes place inside the elevator shafts, parking garage, and stairwell of an office building—has a few thrills. Yet by the umpteenth time Winner cuts to a scene of Bronson and his colleagues discussing the plot for the purposes of helping the audience understand what the hell’s going on, it becomes painfully clear that Winner (who also produced) crammed way too much plot into the mix. As a final note, The Stone Killer loses points for a poster that’s a blatant rip-off of the famous one-sheet for The French Connection (1971).

The Stone Killer: FUNKY

The Mechanic (1972)

          Taken solely for its surface pleasures, The Mechanic is a handsomely made thriller with an unusual amount of detail given to the preparations hitmen take before doing bad things—at certain points, it almost seems like a documentary. Combined with enigmatically tight-lipped performances by star Charles Bronson and supporting player Jan-Michael Vincent, director Michael Winner’s clinical approach makes for a unique (and uniquely nihilistic) viewing experience. Yet learning about the film’s origins adds interesting dimensions. Writer Lewis John Carlino, who based the script on his own unfinished novel, apparently envisioned the story with a gay angle, exploring the dynamic between an avaricious apprentice and a world-weary mentor. Alas, overt references to this approach were excised, and in fact the apprentice and mentor characters are portrayed as being aggressively heterosexual. Given these behind-the-scenes negotiations about thematic content, however, it’s possible to watch The Mechanic simply as a he-man story—or to look deeper for something kinky beneath the surface.

          In any event, Bronson stars as Arthur Bishop, a methodical killer who makes his murders-for-hire look like accidents. Around the time he accepts an important contract from a group of organized criminals, Bishop inherits an unlikely trainee, Steve McKenna (Vincent). Among the most interesting elements of the film is a pair of mirrored scenes featuring these men with the women in their lives; Bishop’s girl is a prostitute (Jill Ireland) whom he pays to simulate a personal bond, and McKenna’s is a troubled hippie (Linda Ridgeway), with whom McKenna plays insidious mind games during the movie’s darkest scene. (Revealing exactly how Bishop and McKenna become allies would require giving away too much of the plot.) About half the picture takes place in Europe, where Bishop and McKenna fulfill a challenging contract, only to realize they’ve been set up for a double-cross. The betrayals pile up until an unusually hard-hitting ending.

          Winner, a frequent Bronson collaborator, shoots the film with precision, accentuating physical environments that convey more about characters than the characters themselves are willing to say; he also stages action expertly, creating tension against a grim backdrop of pervasive hopelessness. His careful treatment of brutal material gives The Mechanic a strange kind of macho integrity—and because Bronson and Vincent give such contained performances, it’s possible to project interesting psychological implications onto their blank faces. So while The Mechanic isn’t high art by any measure, it’s not a mindless thrill ride, either.

The Mechanic: GROOVY

Telefon (1977)

          Built around a fun premise but suffering from humdrum execution and lifeless leading performances, this Cold War thriller plays with the provocative notion of “sleeper” agents, international operatives brainwashed into acting like normal people until exposure to code words triggers their lethal training. Specifically, the story begins when KGB bad guy Nicolai Dalchimsky (Donald Pleasence) leaves the U.S.S.R. for America and brings along the codebook for a program called “Telefon.” Activating long-dormant killers who wreak havoc on U.S. targets, Dalchimsky is an anarchist bent on provoking a war. In response, Soviet overlords send KGB tough guy Major Grigori Borzov (Charles Bronson) to America, where he goes undercover to track down and stop Dalchimsky. Tasked with aiding Borzov is a Russian mole living as an American, codenamed “Barbara” (Lee Remick).

          Based on a novel by Walter Wager and written for the screen by highly capable thriller specialists Peter Hyams and Stirling Silliphant, Telefon should work, but the casting is problematic. Bronson is so harsh and stoic that it’s hard to accept him playing the romantic-hero rhythms of the Borzov role, and while it’s a relief that the leading lady isn’t Bronson’s real-life bride, Jill Ireland, who costarred in a large number of his ’70s movies, Remick seems highly disconnected from Bronson; any hope of chemistry between the leading characters probably ended the first time Bronson and Remick played a scene together.

          Another problem is that the film’s director, Don Siegel, was slipping into decline. After his respectable career in B-movies enjoyed a huge late-’60s/early-’70s boost thanks to a vibrant collaboration with Clint Eastwood, Siegel was apparently suffering health problems by the late ’70s. (It’s long been rumored that Eastwood did a lot of the directing on Siegel’s next picture, 1979’s terrific Escape from Alcatraz.) Whatever the cause, however, the result is the same—Telefon feels more like a generic TV movie than a big-budget feature, thanks to flat acting and perfunctory camerawork. So even though the twisty story has a few enjoyable moments, and even though Pleasence is weirdly beguiling as always, watching Telefon becomes a chore by the time the plot gets contrived toward the climax.

Telefon: FUNKY

Mr. Majestyk (1974)

          Despite his enviable literary reputation, Elmore Leonard’s output can get awfully pulpy, with his storied character flourishes and dialogue occasionally taking a backseat to humdrum, plot-driven violence. For instance, the Charles Bronson thriller Mr. Majestyk, a Leonard screen original that he subsequently novelized, has a few eccentric details—not many action heroes make their living growing watermelons, as the title character of this flick does—but in general the storyline is a compendium of chases, fights, and shoot-outs. So while the movie is enjoyable in an undemanding sort of way, it is not the most distinctive picture bearing Leonard’s name.

          The straightforward narrative revolves around a self-sufficient badass who’d rather avoid trouble but has no problem surmounting enemies if a hassle arises. Colorado watermelon farmer Vince Majestyk (Bronson) quarrels with local hoodlum Bobby Kopas (Paul Koslo), who wants Majestyk to hire Bobby’s workers so Bobby can earn kickbacks. Majestyk refuses, giving Bobby a humiliating beat-down to drive the point home, so Bobby presses charges and gets Majestyk arrested. Thus, Majestyk ends up on a prisoner-transfer bus with Frank Renda (Al Lettieri), a fearsome Mafia hitman. When Renda’s cronies assault the bus to rescue their pal, Majestyk hijacks the bus—with Renda inside—hoping to trade the convict for leverage with the police, because he wants Bobby’s trumped-up charges dismissed. Understandably, this behavior puts Majestyk on the bad side of bad people, so the aforementioned chases, fights, and shoot-outs ensue. (The movie also features a perfunctory love story between Majestyk and a Latina labor leader, played by Linda Cristal.)

          Bronson suits this material well, since he spent most of his career playing tight-lipped tough guys, but the movie’s impact would have deepened if Bronson had been pitted against more formidable opponents—the bad guys in Mr. Majestyk make so many mistakes they seem like buffoons compared to the unflappable title character. Director Richard Fleischer, as always, contributes impersonal but solid work that conveys the intensity inherent to Leonard’s story, and some of the action scenes are exciting, but it says a lot that the movie’s most dynamic scene is a vignette of mobsters annihilating a pile of watermelons with machine-gun fire.

Mr. Majestyk: FUNKY

Hard Times (1975)

          A lean action drama about an enigmatic tough guy who drifts into the lives of several low-rent characters and has a profound impact, Hard Times borrows a lot, stylistically and thematically, from the cinematic iconography that director John Ford and actor John Wayne developed together. Making his directorial debut, Walter Hill emulates Ford’s elegant but unfussy visual style; similarly, leading man Charles Bronson deomonstrates tight-lipped adherence to a manly code of honor. So, even though there’s a lot of macho hokum on display here—we’re never particularly worried that the hero will lose any of the bare-knuckle boxing matches he enters—Hill effectively taps into the primal themes that made the Ford-Wayne pictures of the past so enjoyable.

          Bronson stars as Chaney, a drifter who wanders into Depression-era Louisiana and encounters Speed (James Coburn), a fast-talking fight promoter. Speed belongs to a network of men who stage illicit bare-knuckle boxing brawls, and Chaney offers his services as a new fighter—quickly proving his mettle by dropping his first opponent with one punch. Although Chaney is a good 20 years older than most men working the ring, he’s in spectacular physical condition and he sparks tremendous curiosity by withholding details about his background. Speed reluctantly agrees to Chaney’s terms (management without a long-term commitment), and Chaney soon lands on the radar of Chick Gandi (Michael McGuire), a successful entrepreneur who lords over the New Orleans fight circuit. Exacerbated by Speed’s bad habit of accruing gambling debts, Chaney’s rise sets the stage for an inevitable showdown between Chaney and Gandi’s chosen fighter.

          Rewriting an original script by Bryan Gindoff and Bruce Henstell, Hill employs incredibly terse dialogue (in one of Bronson’s best scenes, he only says one word: “dumb”), and the director keeps motivations obvious and pragmatic—a Spartan approach that suits the Depression milieu. Bronson benefits tremendously from Hill’s restraint, since the actor is more impressive simply occupying the camera frame than spewing reams of dialogue.  Hill wisely contrasts Bronson with a pair of actors who speak beautifully: Coburn is charming and pathetic as a self-destructive schemer, and Strother Martin is wonderfully eccentric as a drug-addicted doctor enlisted to support Chaney during fights. Bronson’s real-life wife, Jill Ireland, appears somewhat inconsequentially as Chaney’s no-nonsense love interest, though Hard Times is a such a guy movie that all the female players are sidelined. Ultimately, Hard Times is somewhat predictable and shallow—but it’s executed so well those shortcomings don’t matter much.

Hard Times: GROOVY

The Valachi Papers (1972)

          Although the mob drama The Valachi Papers hit theaters a few months after the explosive release of Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather, the movie’s origins date back to the early ’60s. In 1963, real-life Mafia soldier Joseph Valachi gave testimony before a Senate committee confirming the existence of the Cosa Notra in America, and during subsequent interviews and testimony, Valachi revealed secrets about the composition and conduct of U.S. crime families. Author Peter Maas, the true-crime expert who later wrote the nonfiction book that became Serpico (1973), gained access to Valachi during the last years of the criminal’s life and wrote a book called The Valachi Papers, which producer Dino Di Laurentiis turned into this film.

          Directed by Bond-movie veteran Terence Young, the picture jams four decades of murderous activity into 125 brisk minutes. The story begins with an aging Valachi (Charles Bronson) in prison, afraid for his life after receiving the “kiss of death” from godfather Vito Genovese (Joseph Wiseman). Willing to trade information for protection, Valachi spills his guts to short-tempered federal agent Ryan (Gerald O’Loughlin), triggering flashbacks that depict Valachi’s indoctrination and integration into the Genovese organization.

          The Valachi Papers has an awkward vibe because some of the scenes were shot with synchronized sound in English on American soil, while others were shot silently on Italian soundstages; the Italian scenes, per the norm of that country’s film industry at the time, are dubbed into English, leading to strange moments of Italian actors mouthing English words in a way that doesn’t quite match the soundtrack. And that’s not the only problem.

          A subplot about Valachi’s relationship with his girlfriend and eventual wife (played, of course, by Bronson’s real-life spouse, Jill Ireland) adds virtually nothing to the movie. Furthermore, the film’s most memorable scene (in which a mobster is castrated for sleeping with another gangster’s woman) was fabricated by the filmmakers in order to spice up the otherwise fact-based narrative. However, the biggest shortcoming of The Valachi Papers is the way the leading character’s nature shifts from one scene to the next.

          Sometimes, Valachi is depicted as an honorable man stuck in a dishonorable world, and at other times, he’s simply a hoodlum who prefers thievery to working for a living. One presumes the idea was to make Valachi seem sympathetic, but since the real-life man was a thug-turned-traitor, nobility was probably not high among his attributes. That said, there’s probably enough pulpy spectacle to make The Valachi Papers interesting to crime-movie fans: In addition to scenes of outlandish violence, the picture features arresting depictions of Mafia rituals, notably Valachi’s somber initiation.

The Valachi Papers: FUNKY

Death Wish (1974)

          Among the most controversial movies released by a major studio in the ’70s, Death Wish turned vigilantism into a hot topic around America’s water coolers and a perennial theme for action movies. Whereas the Clint Eastwood vehicle Dirty Harry (1971) manifested late-’60s frustration with the expansion of accused criminals’ rights, Death Wish works on an even more visceral level: It dramatizes the anguish felt by crime victims. Although novelist Brian Garfield, upon whose novel the film is based, reportedly disliked the movie because of the way it seemingly condoned vigilantism, the picture has a measure of nuance—while star Charles Bronson, producer Dino De Laurentiis, and director Michael Winner focus on no-nonsense action, the underlying premise is so provocative that thematic heft unavoidably permeates the bang-bang thrills.

          Bronson plays New York City architect Paul Kersey, whose wife (Hope Lange) and daughter (Kathleen Tolan) are attacked by criminals. The thugs beat Joanna, causing injuries that lead to her death, and rape Carol, sending her into a catatonic state. Shattered, Paul takes a working holiday to Tuscon, where he befriends a gun-enthusiast client (Stuart Margolin), who gives Paul a revolver as a gift. Returning to New York and learning that his family’s assailants will probably never be caught, Paul becomes so preoccupied with street crime that he starts packing heat and looking for trouble. Before long, he’s wiping out every lowlife who crosses his path, thus becoming a folk hero to crime-fatigued New Yorkers. Once the plot gets cooking, the movie depicts the dicey relationship between Manhattan’s mysterious new avenger and the police, notably Detective Frank Ochoa (Vincent Gardenia); while city officials condemn the vigilante’s lawlessness, they relish the downtick in street crime attributed to fear of the gunman.

          While Death Wish is unquestionably lurid and sensationalistic, the harshest criticism of the movie—that it glamorizes vigilantism—is not entirely justified. The first time Paul kills a crook, he rushes home and vomits. Furthermore, the crisp screenplay by Wendell Mayes tightens the noose around Paul from the moment he begins his crusade. On a deeper level, the vengeance mission alienates Paul from society, even though he gets a perverse new spring in his step once he takes matters into his own hands.

          That said, the depiction of criminals as interchangeable ciphers makes it impossible to take the movie completely seriously. In this movie’s vision of New York, the streets are crawling with subhuman monsters, mostly African-American, and only a gun-toting cowboy can make the city safe. Even more troubling is the implication that every petty criminal deserves to die. But that’s what’s interesting about Death Wish, above and beyond the fact that it’s an exciting thriller—the movie tackles big themes, albeit clumsily. (Added novelty stems from the presence of future stars Christopher Guest and Jeff Goldblum in small roles, plus the kinetic funk/jazz score created by Herbie Hancock.)

          Death Wish was a major hit with lasting repercussions, vaulting Bronson to the A-list and triggering endless copycat movies. No official sequel appeared until 1982, but Death Wish II is putrid and the subsequent three pictures in the series are even worse, so everything worthwhile about Death Wish resides in the first movie.

Death Wish: GROOVY

Someone Behind the Door (1971)

          Actor Charles Bronson tended to play it safe, bouncing between the only slightly varied genres of lighthearted action movies and violent action movies. However, he occasionally slipped an oddity into the mix, like this clever psychological thriller featuring Bronson as an amnesiac exploited by a ruthless shrink. However, big air quotes should be placed around the word “clever” since the plot of Someone Behind the Door falls apart on close inspection, with convenient twists and narrative inconsistencies leaving scads of questions unanswered. Nonetheless, the movie zips along at a strong pace, there’s a thick air of menace surrounding everything that happens, and costar Anthony Perkins thrives in his comfort zone as a tweaked smartypants using his wits to plan the perfect murder.

          The story takes place in France, where American-born doctor Laurence Jeffries (Anthony Perkins) specializes in brain surgery and memory loss. Leaving the hospital one evening, he spots an amnesiac man (Bronson) whom fishermen found wandering on a local beach. Offering the stranger a place to stay and free psychiatric services (under the auspices of helping with a research project), Jeffries brings the man home and helps the stranger piece together clues about his past based upon circumstantial evidence and items Jeffries finds in the man’s garments. Or at least that’s what Bronson’s character thinks. In reality, Jeffries is deluding the stranger into thinking he’s married to Frances (Jill Ireland), who is in fact Jeffries’ adulterous wife; Jeffries’ devious scheme is to push the stranger toward killing Frances’ lover so Jeffries can off a romantic rival and pin the murder on the stranger.

          Perkins runs the show from start to finish, his insinuating line deliveries and wily glances capturing an insidious type of blue-blooded villainy. For his part, Bronson makes a decent scene partner by demonstrating more excitability than usual. The movie gets a bit drab when it veers away from these two sharing the screen (Ireland is her usual vapid self), and some viewers may find the plot glitches too distracting. However, Someone Behind the Door is consistently tense, and the charisma of its leading players makes it worth examination.

Someone Behind the Door: FUNKY