The Trial of Lee Harvey Oswald (1977)

          A nervy experiment in speculative fiction, this lengthy made-for-television movie imagines what might have happened if Jack Ruby hadn’t killed Lee Harvey Oswald following Oswald’s arrest for the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. (Interestingly, it’s the third such project, following a 1964 indie movie and a 1967 play, both of which are also named The Trial of Lee Harvey Oswald, but neither of which were used as source material for this telefilm.) As the title suggests, much of this picture depicts courtroom proceedings, during which such familiar topics as the potential presence of a grassy-knoll shooter and the impossible trajectory of the “magic bullet” are discussed. Before delving too deep, it should be noted that the movie cops out in a big way at the ending, using a convenient narrative contrivance to avoid presenting a verdict. Furthermore, although The Trial of Lee Harvey Oswald has nothing approaching the intensity or power of JFK (1991), there’s an unmistakable parallel between this project and Oliver Stone’s controversial movie, so if you only have the appetite for one fictionalized story about whether Oswald acted alone, Stone’s is the better choice.

          The Trial of Lee Harvey Oswald opens with historical events strongly suggesting Oswald had the opportunity, if not necessarily the motive, to kill JFK, though the filmmakers deliberately avoid showing the actual shooting. Following Oswald’s arrest, the film makes its big leap by showing Oswald’s infamous perp walk through the Dallas Municipal Building without the Ruby incident, so Oswald (John Pleshette) survives to stand trial. The government assigns Anson Roberts (Ben Gazzara) to prosecute, and flamboyant Matthew Arnold Watson (Lorne Greene) steps forward as defense attorney. Battle lines are drawn quickly. Roberts recognizes the civic benefits of resolving the case definitively and quickly, and Watson hits the same walls encountered by every skeptic who scrutinizes the JFK assassination, because he can’t identify a credible motivation for Oswald and he can’t believe Oswald was such an expert marksman that all three shots discharged from the Texas School Book Depository hit their targets.

          In the film’s most dynamic scene, Watson drags the jury to the depository and has two people, a decorated marksman and an amateur, attempt to re-create Oswald’s alleged shooting pattern while cars filled with mannequins are used to replicate Kennedy’s doomed motorcade. This scene combines logic, research, and style to make a strong argument against the possibility of Oswald acting alone. As with all things related to JFK’s assassination, however, every credible argument has a seemingly credible counter-argument.

          Within these inherently murky parameters, the folks behind The Trial of Lee Harvey Oswald do some things well. A scene of Roberts receiving direct pressure from JFK’s successor, President Lyndon Johnson, is believable and unnerving; the notion that the government put its hand on the scale to deliver a desired result reverberates for anyone who’s ever questioned the findings of the Warren Commission. Where The Trial of Lee Harvey Oswald falters is in the portrayal of Oswald himself. Presenting him as a cipher allows the filmmakers to generate mystery and suspense, but it’s a cheat, since the project’s very title promises insights into Oswald’s psychology. Nonetheless, The Trial of Lee Harvey Oswald commands a certain measure of attention. The underlying subject matter is fascinating and important, the performances are never less than adequate, and the use of many real artifacts and locations adds gravitas.

The Trial of Lee Harvey Oswald: GROOVY

Earthquake (1974)

          Pure junk that nonetheless provides abundant guilty pleasure, Earthquake was a pinnacle of sorts for the disaster-movie genre. Executive producer Jennings Lang was recruited by Universal Pictures to copy the formula that Poseidon Adventure mastermind Irwin Allen had perfected at rival studio 20th-Century Fox, so Lang commissioned a thrill-a-minute script (co-written by Mario Puzo) and hired a large ensemble of mid-level actors. The resulting movie, as produced and directed by fading studio-era helmer Mark Robson, is a cheesefest replete with bad acting, horrible clothes, and ridiculous storylines. However, since those are exactly the kitschy qualities that fans of the disaster genre dig, Earthquake became a major hit, earning nearly $80 million despite costing only $7 million. Therefore, Earthquake represents the disaster genre in full bloom.

          While there’s not much point in discussing the actual plot—there’s a giant earthquake in L.A., in case you haven’t guessed—listing a few of the characters should give the flavor of the piece. Leading man Charlton Heston plays Stewart Graff, a businessman whose rich father-in-law, Sam Royce (Lorne Greene), offers him a company presidency in exchange for staying married to shrewish Remy Royce-Graff (Ava Gardner); meanwhile, Stewart is screwing around with a younger woman, Denise Marshall (Geneviève Bujold). Bullish police offer Lou Slade (George Kennedy, of course) spends most of the movie watching out for Rosa (Victoria Principal), a busty young woman who wears her hair in some sort of Latina Afro, because she’s mixed up with a motorcycle-riding daredevil (Richard Roundtree) and a psychotic stalker (Marjoe Gortner). Oh, and Walter Matthau plays a bizarre cameo as a drunk dressed in head-to-toe polyester, complete with a flaming-red pimp hat.

          Virtually every melodramatic cliché from ’70s cinema is represented somewhere in Earthquake, which treats seismic activity as a cosmic metaphor for the uncertainty of life. And by “metaphor,” I really mean “narrative contrivance,” because the script for Earthquake exists far below the level of literary aspiration; this movie’s idea of storytelling is stirring up trite conflict before adding tremors that kill people in exciting ways. However, some of the big-budget effects scenes are enjoyable in a tacky sort of way, and the histrionic nature of Heston’s and Kennedy’s acting keeps their scenes jacked up to an appropriately goofy level of intensity. Plus, during its most outrageous scenes—picture Roundtree performing Evel Knievel-style motorcycle stunts as Principal cheers him while wearing an undersized T-shirt that displays his logo across her ample bosom—Earthquake embraces its low nature by providing shameless distraction.

Earthquake: FUNKY

Battlestar Galactica (1978) & Buck Rogers in the 25th Century (1979)

          Writer-producer Glen A. Larson started developing the TV series that became Battlestar Galactica in the late ’60s, but didn’t get a green light until the success of Star Wars (1977) made space opera fashionable. To help recoup expenses, Universal assembled early episodes into a theatrical feature, and the movie is more than enough vintage Galactica for anyone but a hardcore fan. (Devotees of the 2003-2009 Galactica reboot will find none of that series’ provocative psychodrama in the straightforward original.) A pleasant overdose of genre tropes, the 125-minute Galactica feature is filled with wooden actors playing stock characters amidst gaudy production design and Star Wars-lite battle scenes.
          The story follows military commander Adama (Lorne Greene) as he leads a group of spaceships in flight from their devastated home worlds after a sneak attack by the lizard-like Cylons. The various human characters struggle with food shortages, wartime trauma, and a host of other melodramatic crises, all while wearing action-figure-ready costumes. Enlivened by an imaginative plot and the presence of polished guest stars including Ray Milland and Jane Seymour, Galactica moves along briskly, and some of the outer-space imagery is quite memorable, like the energetic scenes of heroes launching their “Viper” spaceships out of tubes housed inside the titular warship. As for the stars, Greene and leading man Richard Hatch are painfully earnest, so Dirk Benedict fares much better as a swaggering pilot in the Han Solo mode, while John Colicos, who plays the main human baddie, chews scenery like a termite let loose in a lumberyard, making his performance a guilty pleasure.
          The costly Galactica series was canceled after one season, but Larson took another stab at televised sci-fi with Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, a retread of the old pulp/serial character. Buck Rogers received the feature treatment as well, but the Buck Rogers movie is as tiresome as the Galactica movie is diverting. Gil Gerard plays the title character, a modern-day spaceman who falls into suspended animation until the 25th century, when he joins futuristic earth denizens in a galactic battle against a psychotic space princess and her various minions. As the princess, Pamela Hensley is all kinds of sexy, but the movie is sunk by stupid touches like a campy dance sequence, horrible jokes, pervy costumes (must everything be skin-tight?), and a cutesy robot voiced by Mel Blanc. Whereas Battlestar aimed for the all-ages appeal of Star Wars by mixing grown-up themes with aliens and laser fights, Buck Rogers targets infantile viewers with comic-book-style silliness.

Battlestar Galactica: FUNKY

Buck Rogers in the 25th Century: LAME