A.W.O.L. (1972)

          Vietnam-era movies about young Americans illegally avoiding military service tended to be angsty dramas, so A.W.O.L. is an oddity not just because it has comic elements, but because it blends drama, farce, political violence, pornography, racial strife, romance, and even sci-fi. Given the film’s obscurity, it’s unsurprising to discover this patchwork approach doesn’t work. There’s a wispy central storyline, but after about 30 minutes the movie seriously loses its way. Although the main character’s journey is central to nearly every scene, the filmmakers lack a guiding aesthetic or a thematic destination—so despite some moderately distracting moments, the whole thing has the vibe of a freewheeling brainstorming session. This project badly needed a sure hand at the helm, which is ironic given that it bears a truly hubristic credit: “Entire Production Under the Supervision of Merrill S. Brody, Executive Producer.”

          After finding his way to Sweden, boyish redhead Willy (Russ Thacker) feels lonely until visiting a porno shop, where he’s recruited to act in a skin flick. This lands him in the orbit of fellow expat Mohammad G. (Glynn Turman), who’s part of a group of lefty radicals that includes lissome blonde Inga (Isabella Kaliff). After several heated exchanges about Che Guevara and the like, Willy and Inga become lovers. They also attend protests that devolve into brutal clashes with authorities. Meanwhile, CIA agent Cupp (Dutch Miller) lurks around the edges of Willy’s life, alternately cajoling and threatening the young man to return to the States. (In one of the movie’s broadest sight gags, Cupp tempts Willy by revealing a briefcase full of American candy bars and soft drinks.) Eventually, the story becomes absurd when the CIA uses futuristic technology, and then the story makes a whiplash turn into bogus heaviosity with a fashionably dark and ambiguous climax.

          Tonally, the movie is a mess, but minor amusements reside in this disjointed hour and a half. In terms of low pleasures, Kaliff has an extended topless scene and some of the CIA-related gags are jarringly goofy. As for incrementally more sophisticated elements, Turman has a couple of monologues in which he blends emphatic ’70s urban slang with counterculture-era political rhetoric, allowing him to chew scenery agreeably. The movie also provides a minor ’70s footnote inasmuch as the score was composed by Rupert Holmes, later to achieve soft-rock immortality with “Escape (The Pina Colada Song).” Alas, none of that tune’s smooth melodicism is evident here.

A.W.O.L.: FUNKY 

Brother of the Wind (1972)

          To the best of my knowledge, innocuous outdoor adventure Brother of the Wind was the first production from Sunn Classic Pictures, makers of such memorable low-budget ventures as the ’70s Grizzly Adams franchise and countless sensationalistic documentaries about pseudoscientific topics. As such, it’s interesting to note how many signature tropes were present at inception. The subject matter fits the back-to-nature ethos of the early ’70s, so that checks the box for pandering to popular trends. The picture combines competent imagery with dubious sound work (goopy music, wall-to-wall voiceover), so that checks the box for keeping production costs low by leaning on post-production flourishes. And Brother of the Wind stretches a threadbare story across nearly 90 minutes of running time, which checks the box for padding content to merit theatrical exhibition. At their best, Sunn made harmless schlock, and at their worst, they made embarrassing dreck. Brother on the Wind falls somewhere between those extremes, and it established the critter-centric pocket that proved so lucrative for Sunn throughout the ’70s. Like the company’s Adams adventures, Brother of the Wind has roughly the vibe of an overly earnest John Denver song.
          When the movie begins, aging mountain man Sam Monroe (Dick Robinson, who also directed) takes custody of four wolf cubs after their parents are killed. Sam nurtures the wolves until, with his guidance, they embrace their instincts by learning how to kill prey. Per the familiar Sunn style, audio was added after filming, so we never see Sam speak onscreen; instead, we hear folksy voiceover that functions like an aural diary. Some of the picture’s episodes go down smoother than others. It’s impossible not to be touched when the mother wolf crawls into her den so she can die with her offspring, and many shots of animals and nature are beautiful. Flip side, the sequence of the cubs interacting with a weasel—accompanied by musical quotes of “Pop Goes the Weasel”—seem designed to vaporize viewers’ brain cells. Open to more subjective appraisal are elements such as the cutesy names Sam gives to the cubs: Fire Eyes, Shy Lady, Sunkleep, and Timber. (He also names a raccoon Cheeky.) That said, applying critical rigor to something like Brother of the Wind is a pointless endeavor—discriminating viewers won’t and shouldn’t seek this out, while sympathetic viewers probably know what to expect. If you’re willing to endure mawkish presentation so you can look at animals and forest scenery, this is for you.

Brother of the Wind: FUNKY