Katherine (1975)

          Clever and slick but also quite thoughtful, the made-for-TV feature Katherine depicts the radicalization of a rich white girl from Colorado during the heyday of the anti-Vietnam War movement. Beginning with her eye-opening experience as a teacher of impoverished farmers living near an American mission in Peru, Katherine Alman (Sissy Spacek) becomes more and more incensed about the social inequities of the modern world, which naturally creates estrangement between Katherine and her wealthy parents, Emily (Jane Wyatt) and Thornton (Art Carney). Meanwhile, Katherine’s commitment to revolutionary change brings her into the orbit of Bob Kline (Henry Winkler), a fellow teacher-turned-radical, and the two eventually join the Weathermen wing of Students for a Democratic Society. Writer-director Jeremy Paul Kagan, whose script was inspired by the exploits of real-life SDS activist Diana Oughton, exhibits a deft touch for blending entertainment and issues.

          The best scenes in Katherine feature direct human conflict that dramatizes class warfare, ranging from an early scene of a thuggish overseer whipping a farm worker to a pivotal re-creation of the riots surrounding the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago. Even in smaller scenes, Kagan effectively crystallizes major political strife into relatable disagreements. For instance, the sequence of Bob and Katherine receiving pressure from black citizens and white cops to close the school where Bob and Katherine teach African-American youths illustrates how many different battle lines were drawn in the late ’60s. Scenes set in the Alman house lack the same measure of authenticity, because Kagan’s choice to gift his character with a privileged background overstates the stereotype of part-time radicals who retain the safety net of running home to Mom and Dad.

          That said, committed acting elevates even the most contrived parts of Katherine. Carney embodies old-fashioned American decency so beautifully that he evokes the movies of Frank Capra, and Winkler—a long way from Fonzie thanks to his moustache and shaggy hair—imbues his character with the beguiling/maddening blend of messianic charisma and smug narcissism that plagued so many men in the antiwar movement. Holding the film together, of course, is Spacek, an actor nearly incapable of striking a false note. Even Spacek’s great powers, however, are tested by some of the strident speeches that Kagan’s script forces her to deliver. Yet stilted dialogue isn’t the only component of Katherine that feels wobbly, as Kagan’s storytelling involves three layers—documentary-style vignettes in which characters address the camera, fully dramatized re-creations of events, and eerie clips of Katherine telling her own story. Although the last of these three elements could have been discarded without much harm to the film’s dramatic power, Kagan sticks the landing with a beautifully cut final sequence that pulls all of the story’s threads together.

Katherine: GROOVY

Scott Joplin (1977)

          Piggybacking on the renewed popularity of Scott Joplin’s music that emanated from its use in The Sting (1973), this biopic tracks the rise and fall of Joplin, the first African-American composer to receive mainstream notoriety. Alas, the picture is delivered via the stilted artifice of a formulaic backlot production. Costumes look as if they just came from a warehouse, props and sets seem absurdly pristine, and director Jeremy Paul Kagan’s blocking and dramaturgy are pedestrian. It doesn’t help, either, that the film’s weakest performance is its most important. Billy Dee Williams, a charmer who did fine work in romantic and supporting roles throughout the ’70s, simply lacks the chops to play every dimension of Joplin’s turbulent life. Williams is too restrained in quiet scenes, and too unnatural in volatile moments. Another fundamental problem with Scott Joplin is that the movie hews painfully close to the standard playbook for cinema stories about artists who fall from glory to ignominy.
          The story begins jubilantly, with Joplin joining the ranks of “professors” who pound out tunes in Deep South whorehouses. Eventually, Joplin’s desire to compose his own music leads Joplin and his best friend, Chauvin (Clifton Davis), to enter a piano-playing contest in St. Louis. This event brings Joplin’s music to the attention of Stark (Art Carney), a music publisher who recognizes Joplin’s talent and the novelty of marketing a black tunesmith. With this key professional relationship in place, Joplin is off on a journey that soon includes marriage to the lovely Belle (Margaret Avery), although the syphilis Joplin contracted back in his brothel days spoils domestic bliss. And so it goes, through episodes of success and failure, until Joplin wanders off into obscurity at the end of the movie while narration describes his posthumous resurgence in the ’70s. Scott Joplin gets more and more turgid as it plunges deeper into Joplin’s life, because the movie succumbs to florid melodrama and wildly overwritten dialogue; only the most innately spontaneous performers amid the supporting cast manage to imbue their scenes with believability. Thanks to infectious music and a sprinkling of interesting biographical details, the picture merits a casual viewing, although the subject matter deserved better than this wax-museum recitation.

Scott Joplin: FUNKY

The Big Fix (1978)

          The Big Fix attempts so many interesting things, and demonstrates such a high level of craftsmanship and intelligence, that it’s completely worthwhile despite significant flaws. Adapted by Roger L. Simon from his own novel, the movie introduces viewers to Moses Wine (Richard Dreyfuss), a former ’60s activist now settled into humdrum ’70s adulthood. A divorcé with two kids, Moses makes a sketchy living as a private investigator, mostly doing unglamorous stakeout work for corporate clients. Life is constantly humiliating for Moses until he encounters an old flame from college, Lila (Susan Anspach), who reminds him of the beautiful ideals they espoused in the ’60s.

          However, to Moses’ great disappointment, Lila has sold out to work on the gubernatorial campaign of a stuffy politician, and she needs help because someone is spreading rumors that her candidate associates with an Abbie Hoffman-esque radical named Howard Eppis. Moses reluctantly takes the case, but soon realizes he’s stumbled onto something heavy.

          The Big Fix is ostensibly a comedy, with gentle gags like the various explanations for the cast on Moses’ hand, and Simon provides appealing banter for Moses and the peculiar characters he meets. Yet the movie is also a detective thriller with a body count, and years before writer-director Lawrence Kasdan explored similar subject matter in The Big Chill (1983), this film asks why some ’60s activists joined the Establishment they once fought. In fact, the movie sometimes lurches awkwardly between light farce and murderous drama. What holds the thing together is Dreyfuss, who also co-produced the picture.

          Operating at the height of his considerable powers, Dreyfuss showcases Moses’ emotional journey—the character starts out bored and tired, gets jazzed by adventure, and ends up revitalized by the discovery that he hasn’t truly betrayed his old principles. Dreyfuss has many dazzling scenes, whether he’s hyperventilating after a shooting or demonstrating unexpected courage during an interrogation. It’s probably a better performance than the material deserves, but great work is always a joy to watch.

          Another strength of The Big Fix is the terrific supporting cast: F. Murray Abraham, Bonnie Bedelia, Jon Lithgow, Ron Rifkin, and Fritz Weaver each contribute something memorable and unique. Director Jeremy Paul Kagan moves the camera smoothly, shapes a number of good performances, and uses locations well, but as in most of his features, the pieces never fully cohere; The Big Fix is more a collection of enjoyable scenes than a well-told story. Nonetheless, the film’s virtues are many, and its offbeat take on the subject of ’60s counterculture is consistently interesting.

The Big Fix: GROOVY