Goodbye, Franklin High (1978)

          Rarely has a coming-of-age story featured stakes as preposterously low as those found in Goodbye, Franklin High, the story of a privileged young man trying to decide between a full-ride scholarship to Stanford and an invitation to join a field team for the Los Angeles Angels. Adding to the protagonist’s “difficulty” is a pretty girlfriend so committed to their relationship that she not only gifts him with sex on his 18th birthday, but forgives him for making a raunchy spectacle of himself by dancing with another girl at a party. One’s very soul cries for the anguish of Will Armer, a feather-haired California kid facing too many appealing choices. Sarcasm aside, it’s hard to generate real animus for Goodbye, Franklin High because the PG-rated melodrama eschews vulgar clichés associated with teen movies of the ’70s. Instead of giggling dopes who spend their days toking in vans and cruising for sex at the beach, the kids in this movie are comparatively grounded young adults trying to enjoy their last carefree days before assuming grownup responsibilities. And to cut writer Stu Krieger and director Mike MacFarland some slack, they try to confront Will with dilemmas beyond questions of his future plans.
          Will’s dad (William Windom) has a dangerous case of emphysema, and Will’s mom (Julie Adams) may be having an affair. Given these complications, Goodbye, Franklin High occasionally threatens to become a real movie instead of a trifle. That it never makes this leap is attributable equally to the shortcomings of Krieger, MacFarland, and leading man Lane Caudell. Giving a performance as deep as a Donny Osmond song, Caudell tries to express big-time anguish but never seems more upset than a kid whose ice-cream cone just fell on the ground. Caudell’s youthful costars—Darby Hinton, as Will’s buddy, and Ann Dusenberry, as Will’s girlfriend—render equally bland work, though one gets the sense this production lacked the resources for multiple takes. Screen veterans Adams and Windom achieve something closer to credibility, especially during a sequence in which the protagonist’s family addresses the rumored infidelity of Adams’s character.

          Featuring generic disco tracks during party scenes and several gentle singer-songwriter tunes penned and recorded by Caudell (who also had a short career in pop music), Goodbye, Franklin High is harmless and forgettable. Only through comparison with skeevier teen flicks of the same period do those adjectives become compliments. FYI, star Caudell, writer Krieger, and director MacFarland collaborated on another forgotten 1978 movie, the music-themed drama Hanging on a Star—which, like this picture, was released by short-lived company Cal-Am Productions.

Goodbye, Franklin High: FUNKY

Psychic Killer (1975)

          Now matter how keen low-budget ’70s producers were on the notion of making thrillers about people using astral projection to commit murder, this weak film and the following year’s even worse The Astral Factor reveal the basic problem with creating suspense around astral projection—there’s nothing innately suspenseful about watching a dude sit in a chair while his projected image flits about elsewhere. That said, Psychic Killer straddles the fence between watchable escapist silliness and tiresome junk. Although the picture definitely falls into dull ruts at regular intervals, there’s just enough clarity and pace and sleaze to merit a casual viewing for those who enjoy vintage supernatural-horror cinema. Hell, the movie even boasts a tangible connection to an earlier era of fantasy flicks, because leading lady Julie Adams—still an elegant beauty at the time this picture was made—gained immortality two decades prior by starring in The Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954).

          Psychic Killer stars Jim Hutton (Timothy’s father) as Arnold Masters, an everyman convicted for a murder he did not commit. While in jail, he meets a strange fellow named Emilio (Stack Pierce), who claims to have the ability to mentally project his image. Emilio dies soon afterward, bequeathing to Arnold a magical talisman that facilitates astral projection. So when Arnold is unexpectedly exonerated and released, Arnold uses his newfound ability to menace the people he blames for his imprisonment. Some of the resulting kill scenes are colorful, as when Arnold’s spirit possess a showerhead and boils an evil nurse to death with hot water. (Maybe try exiting the shower?) Other kill scenes are campy, notably the bit during which Arnold compels a crane to drop a giant rock onto a heartless businessman. Eventually, the trail of bodies leads to Arnold, so intrepid policeman Jeff Morgan (Paul Burke) investigates, enlisting Arnold’s prison psychiatrist, Dr. Laura Scott (Adams), for help.

          Cowriter/director Ray Danton and his collaborators have difficulty maintaining a consistent tone, so the movie wobbles between jokes and jolts, with neither element achieving much power, and things take a turn for the goofy near the end. However, the picture is made with a fair amount of professionalism behind and in front of the camera, and the storyline has an appealing meat-and-potatoes simplicity. Too bad composer William Kraft couldn’t sustain the Jerry Goldsmith-style grandiosity of his opening-credits theme music all the way through the film’s score.

Psychic Killer: FUNKY

The McCullouchs (1975)

          Continuing his brief but successful run as an auteur specializing in colorful rural sagas, former Beverly Hillbillies costar Max Baer Jr. wrote, produced, and directed this noisy drama, which has heavy elements of cornpone humor, and he plays a supporting role. Depicting the exploits of a fictional Texas family whose patriarch is a stubborn ox prone to solving problems with his fists, the picture takes place in the late ’40s and early ’50s, cramming a miniseries’ worth of story into 93 fast-moving minutes. Because Baer covers so much narrative ground, the movie is unrelentingly superficial, and virtually everything that appears onscreen is clichéd. Yet the trite nature of the piece actually contributes to the entertainment value of The McCullouchs, because there’s a certain brainless satisfaction in watching Baer explore predictable terrain with such verve. Thanks to a barrage of cartoonish performances, vibrant colors, and zippy editing, The McCullouchs explodes with Baer’s enthusiasm for being a first-time director, even though he has absolutely nothing original to say. Furthermore, Baer’s unapologetic use of creaky old stereotypes—the drunken Irish priest, the hotheaded ethnic bartender, the hit-first/ask-questions-later stud—gives The McCullouchs a measure of train-wreck novelty.

          Durable character actor Forrest Tucker stars as J.J. McCullouch, owner of a trucking company and undisputed leader of his family. Despite his wealth, J.J. is a regular fella, brawlin’ with his buddies, swillin’ booze with the old padre, and wearin’ plaid work shirts except for special occasions. J.J.’s wife, Hannah (Julie Adams), supports him publicly even though she challenges his bull-in-a-china-shop style when they’re alone. Domestic strife abounds. Son R.J. (Don Grady) joins the Air Force just as the Korean War erupts. Son Steven (Dennis Redfield) develops a drinking problem after J.J. chastises Steven for being a wimp. And daughter Ali (Janice Heiden) wants to marry a trucker (played by Baer), even though J.J. doesn’t approve of the match. As a filmmaker, Baer employs only two modes in The McCullouchs—broad comedy and stilted melodrama. The comedy bits are often inappropriate, with lots of scenes making light of alcoholism, and the dramatic bits are ridiculously heavy-handed. Yet The McCullouchs is never boring—something loud happens in every scene, and Baer rushes from one event to the next like he’s being chased. Accordingly, by the time the picture concludes with an epic public-brawl sequence that apes the finale of John Ford’s classic The Quiet Man (1952), the wise viewer has realized it’s best to just go with the moronic flow of The McCullouchs, rather than hoping the movie will evolve into something better.

The McCullouchs: FUNKY

McQ (1974)

          Although not generally one to chase cinematic trends, the iconic John Wayne clearly made McQ with a eye toward emulating the winning formula that Clint Eastwood perfected with his Dirty Harry movies. It was an odd choice, not only because Wayne was doing just fine in his regular milieu of cowboy cinema, but also because his advanced age (to say nothing of his expanding waistline) didn't exactly identify the Duke as an ideal candidate for playing street-smart detectives. In any event, the actor/producer—who made McQ under his Batjac Productions banner—essentially contrived a western disguised as a policier. Wayne plays a swaggering tough guy who quits the force in order to avenge a friend's murder, and then breaks every law imaginable while pursuing his personal brand of justice. Beyond the modern costuming and locations, the biggest difference between McQ and the average Wayne oater is the gun in the star's hand—instead of a Colt six-shooter, Wayne packs an Ingram MAC-10 submachine gun.

          Capably directed by action-movie veteran John Sturges, McQ takes place in Seattle. Following a zippy prologue during which a plainclothes detective assassinates two uniformed cops before receiving the business end of a bullet, wiewers are introduced to the late detective's partner, McQ (Wayne). An iconoclast who lives on a houseboat and drives a fast sports car, McQ argues with his commanding officer, Lieutenant Kosterman (Eddie Albert), because McQ demands the right to investigate his partner's death. When his request is denied, McQ surrenders his badge and persuades a private detective (David Huddleston) to let McQ operate under the PI's license. One peculiar aspect of the movie is that McQ makes a lot of noise about working within legal boundaries, and yet he also acquires replacement guns every time authorities seize one of his firearms. He also has a penchant for high-speed car chases that result in widespread property destruction, although he somehow manages to avoid badly injuring any innocent bystanders. In other words, McQ takes place in the same parallel universe as the rest of Wayne’s movies, where the normal rules of citizenship and safety don’t apply to Our Valiant Hero.
          The story's central mystery is relatively interesting, having to do with the brazen theft of hard drugs from a police impound, but the characterizations are paper-thin, since every person in the movie exists primarily to describe or demonstrate the courage, integrity, stubbornness, and/or toughness of Wayne's character. Allies appear so McQ can earn their respect, villains appear so McQ can knock them down, and women appear so McQ can fascinate them. Particularly since Wayne shuffles through the movie at an unhurried pace, the blunt functionality of supporting characters helps to create narrative monotony. That said, McQ is watchable. Extensive location photography and lengthy action scenes create visual interest at regular intervals, and the cast is loaded with familiar faces: Beyond those previously mentioned, McQ players include Colleen Dewhurst, Clu Gulager, Al Lettieri, Roger E. Mosley, Diana Muldaur, and, offering a blast from the past, Creature from the Black Lagoon beauty Julie Adams, who plays the very small role of McQ's ex-wife. Alas, the MAC-10 gets more character development than most of the people whom these actors portray.

McQ: FUNKY

The Last Movie (1971)

          One of the most notorious auteur misfires of the ’70s, this misbegotten mind-fuck was Dennis Hopper’s follow-up to Easy Rider (1969), the surprise blockbuster that not only transformed Hopper from a journeyman actor to an A-list director but also established him, for a brief time, as a leading voice of the counterculture. Alas, Hopper’s poor choices as an actor, co-writer, and director turned The Last Movie into a metaphor representing the way some people, Hopper included, fell victim to the excesses of the drug era. In trying to escape the constraints associated with conventional cinema, Hopper created a maddening hodgepodge of self-indulgent nonsense and uninteresting experimentation.

          Hopper stars as Kansas, the horse wrangler for a Hollywood film crew that’s shooting on location in Peru. After a fatal on-set accident, Kansas drops out of his Hollywood lifestyle to start over in South America, hooking up with a sexy local girl (Stella Garcia) and scheming with a fellow U.S. expat (Don Gordon) to get rich off a gold mine. Kansas also romances a beautiful upper-crust American (Julie Adams), with whom he engages in gentle sadomasochism, and he gets roped into a bizarre situation involving Peruvian villagers who are “shooting” their own movie using primitive mock-up cameras and microphones made from scrap metal and sticks. (One of The Last Movie’s myriad pretentious allusions is that the “fake” film crew is making more authentic art than the “real” film crew.)

          Simply listing the trippy flourishes in The Last Movie would take an entire website, so a few telling examples should suffice. Early in the picture, a Hollywood starlet (played by Hopper’s then-girlfriend, former Mamas and the Papas singer Michelle Phillips) conducts a ritual during which she pierces a Peruvian woman’s ear with a large pin while people stand around the scene wearing creepy masks and chanting. Later, Kansas leads a group of Americans to a whorehouse, where they watch a grimy girl-on-girl floor show; this inexplicably drives Kansas into such a rage that he ends up slapping around his long-suffering female companion. And we haven’t even gotten to the weird one-shot bits that are periodically inserted into the narrative. At one point, Kansas leans back while a woman shoots breast milk from her nipple to his face. Elsewhere, while getting his hair trimmed, Kansas shares the following random remark: “I never jerked off a horse before.” Good to know.

          The whole movie culminates with a befuddling barrage of images, including scenes of Kansas getting beaten by members of the “fake” film crew, as if the Hollywood runaway is some sort of martyr for art. It’s all very deliberately weird. During the final stretch, for instance, Hopper cuts to silly things like “scene missing” placeholders and outtakes of actors consulting their scripts. The idea, presumably, was to deconstruct Hollywood filmmaking so that a new art form could emerge from the ruins, but Hopper missed the mark in every way. That said, it’s worth noting that Hopper brought interesting friends along for the ride. Cinematographer László Kovács, who also shot Easy Rider, does what he can to infuse Hopper’s scattershot frames with artistry, and the cast includes ’70s cult-cinema stalwart Severn Darden (who does a musical number!) as well as maverick B-movie director Samuel Fuller, who plays a version of himself during the scenes depicting the making of the Hollywood movie.

The Last Movie: FREAKY