Firehouse (1973)

          Interesting only because of its cast, this brisk TV movie about racial tensions in a Los Angeles firefighting company was intended as the pilot for a series, but most of the name-brand actors disappeared between the initial telefilm and the first weekly episode, which didn’t air until a year after the pilot movie’s debut. Richard Roundtree, still riding high on the success of Shaft (1971) and its sequels, stars as Shelly Forsythe, an African-American firefighter who is tired of facing racism at work, to say nothing of accusations from civilians of being an Uncle Tom. Before Shelly enters the picture, however, viewers are introduced to an all-white company whose senior officer, Spike Ryerson (Vince Edwards), blames the recent death of his best friend on an at-large black arsonist. Thus, when Shelly is assigned to take the dead fireman’s place, Spike and his cronies haze the new arrival terribly. Worse, when one of the firemen witnesses Shelly allowing a black suspect to leave the scene of a crime, Spike presumes that Shelly is unwilling to help capture black crooks. Meanwhile, Shelly navigates the difficulties of his marriage to Michelle (Sheila Frazier), who wants him to succeed so they can improve their standard of living.

          All of this is standard stuff. Furthermore, many scenes in Firehouse look chintzy because the producers interspersed grainy newsreel footage instead of staging full-scale fire scenes. Yet despite the shallow writing and tacky production values, Firehouse is basically watchable thanks to the acting. Roundtree is excellent, proving once again that Hollywood missed a great opportunity by failing to place him in better projects; his mixture of charm and righteous indignation works well. Frazier is good, too, blending sexiness and strength. And while Edwards merely performs his role adequately, familiar actors in smaller parts add texture. Val Avery gives a salty turn as the company’s short-tempered cook, Andrew Duggan is authoritative as the company’s progressive-minded captain, Richard Jaeckel does solid work as one of Spike’s cohorts, and Michael Lerner appears fleetingly as a liberal civilian working with the fire company. (Paul Le Mat lingers on the fringes of the movie, as well.) Of these performers, only Jaeckel stayed on for the Firehouse series, which ran for a few months in 1974.

Firehouse: FUNKY

Outlaw Blues (1977)

An enjoyable blend of redneck mayhem and music-industry satire, this amiable romp stars Peter Fonda as a jailed musician who performs his song “Outlaw Blues” for a country star visiting the big house, then watches in frustration as the star records the song without Fonda’s authorization and scores a hit. When Fonda gets out of prison, he confronts the star—who accidentally shoots his own foot during the resulting scuffle, then blames the injury on Fonda. Suddenly a fugitive, Fonda holes up with a sexy wanna-be music mogul, who makes a recording of Fonda performing “Outlaw Blues.” Soon that recording becomes an even bigger hit than the first one, making Fonda an outlaw and a pop star at the same time. Bill L. Norton’s breezy script delivers a fun premise and several interesting characterizations, even though the movie occasionally gets bogged down in repetitive chase scenes. Whenever the picture focuses on wigged-out Nashville types like the country star (James T. Callahan), the wanna-be mogul (Susan Saint James), and a sleazy label executive (Michael Lerner), it’s a fun travelogue of Fonda’s odyssey through a world with even less morality than prison, and the scenes of Fonda performing are so casual and warm that it’s easy to believe his character’s popularity. The title song is a catchy ditty, further embellishing the authenticity; incidentally, the tune was written by John Oates of Hall and Oates fame. Fonda is his usual laid-back self, letting the storyline do most of the heavy lifting, and Saint James is appealing as a liberated woman who’s still a sucker for a hard-luck case. Those chase scenes (involving boats, cars, and motorcycles) drag on endlessly, but they’re not enough to diminish the film’s low-key charm. (Available at WarnerArchive.com)

Outlaw Blues: GROOVY