Cactus in the Snow (1971)

          It’s unsurprising this low-budget dramedy failed to make noise during its original release because even though the core of the piece is a tender exploration of friendship, the premise is so lurid that it promises viewers something quite different. Moreover, there’s a reason why A. Martin Zweiback only directed one movie despite enjoying a moderately successful screenwriting career—beyond his inability to conjure evocative visuals, he frequently loses control of tone. It’s also worth mentioning that the narrative of Cactus in the Snow is deliberately anticlimactic, so it would have been a tough sell even in the anything-goes ’70s. Viewed with the perspective of time, Cactus in the Snow is no lost classic, but it’s a gentle little picture with a brain and a heart.

          Richard Thomas, appearing a year before his breakout role in TV’s The Waltons, plays Harley, a young Army soldier on the verge of his first deployment. Hoping to lose his virginity before that happens, Harley gets drunk and propositions teenager Cissy (Mary Layne), who takes pity on Harley and brings him home while her parents are away. What ensues is best discovered by watching the picture, but the gist is that Cissy and Harley fall into what might be described as deep liking for each other—she’s as mature beyond her years as he is naïve, but they synchronize in unexpected ways. Interactions with supporting characters are fairly minimal since the focus is on dramatizing Cissy’s desire for new experiences and on revealing Harley’s lonely backstory.

          Despite Thomas being the more familiar actor, Layne’s performance drives Cactus in the Snow—her complex role allows Layne to convey empathy, toughness, vulnerability, and wit. (That said, Zweiback hit plenty of false notes while crafting the Cissy character, but false notes come with the territory here.) Thomas effectively blends wounded angst and youthful eagerness, in other words working very much in his comfort zone, though the stilted quality that impacts a lot of his early performances is quite evident here. As for the picture overall, Cactus in the Snow achieves a certain degree of poignance despite a handful of scenes that simply don’t work and a garish musical score that often strives, intrusively, to lighten the mood. Cactus in the Snow is also the sort of picture that hums along in one direction before pivoting hard at the end—depending on your sensibilities, the final scene will either edge the experience into a more substantial realm or tip the experience into melodrama.

Cactus in the Snow: FUNKY

The Homecoming: A Christmas Story (1971)

          More than a year before TV viewers began visiting Walton’s Mountain on a weekly basis, the adventures of America’s favorite Depression-era family reached the small screen with The Homecoming: A Christmas Story. Adapted from the writing of Earl Hamner Jr., as was the subsequent 1972–1981 series The Waltons, the movie has a slightly different cast from the weekly series but the same nostalgic warmth. Among the actors who debuted characterizations here that continued through the weekly series is leading man Richard Thomas, who plays elder son John Boy. (The series’ much-parodied trope of all the characters saying “good night” to each other before the closing credits emerges fully formed in this first installment.) While the overarching theme of familial love and devout spirituality shielding poor people from the hardships of the outside world might strike some viewers as too sickly-sweet wholesome, the execution of this fine telefilm is sufficiently humorous, lively, and specific to make The Homecoming: A Christmas Story abundantly appealing. 

          The Homecoming: A Christmas Story is all about setting the stage for an uplifting climax, but Hamner—who wrote the script—and director Fielder Cook are so rigorous in how they pursue narrative goals that the ending feels sturdy instead of manipulative. The simple premise is that the large Walton family, living in rural Virginia, awaits the return of patriarch John Walton (Andrew Duggan), who has been forced to take a job 50 miles away and can only get home on weekends. Matriarch Olivia Walton (Patricia Neal) struggles to provide for the couple’s many children, some of whom are nearing adulthood and some of whom still anxiously await Santa. Various complications make Olivia’s task formidable. Money is too tight for extravagant gifts, and the means by which neighbors make ends meet test Olivia’s strict religious beliefs, so she’s vexed when John Boy accepts favors from a pair of biddies who sell bootleg liquor.

          Most vignettes involve humor, an emotional sucker punch of some sort, and the learning of a lesson—as when the older kids feed Bible verses to their younger siblings during a contest with Christmas gifts as a prize. Some scenes explore passages in life, such as the sequence of teenaged Mary Ellen asking John Boy about dating and kissing. Much of the plot revolves around John Boy’s awkward assumption of a surrogate-father role, a situation complicated by his secret desire to become a writer.

          All of this stuff pays off quite well, even if Hamner occasionally betrays a weakness for cutesy scripting. At his best, he channels homespun pragmatism through Olivia’s dialogue (“Santa Claus is poor this year, just like everyone else”), and his management of a huge number of speaking roles is impressive. All in all, The Homecoming: A Christmas Story provides either a satisfying one-and-done entertainment or, for those so inclined, a charming gateway into the world of the Waltons. FYI, neither Duggan nor Neal returned for the series, with their roles assumed by Ralph Waite and Michael Learned, while beloved vaudeville star Edgar Bergen’s role in the pilot film as Grandfather Walton later went to Will Geer.

The Homecoming: A Christmas Story: GROOVY

Red Sky at Morning (1971)

          An earnest coming-of-age story that wears its literary origins proudly, Red Sky at Morning offers an interesting mixture of artifice and authenticity. Produced by Hollywood veteran Hal Wallis, the picture has a gentle and old-fashioned style, even though explorations of race and sex reflect somewhat contemporary attitudes. In other words, the picture surrounds modern thought with a thick shell of Capra-esque hokum. Yet the script, adapted by Margeurite Roberts from Richard Bradford’s novel, is methodical and sensitive in its portrayal of a young man forced by circumstances to embrace a larger world than the one he’s known. That the film contains Richard Thomas’ first leading performance is significant, because for all his limitations as a young actor, Thomas demonstrated a tremendous gift for expressing the confusion of adolescence.

          The picture begins in Alabama, where Frank Arnold (Richard Crenna) prepares for Naval service in World War II. A middle-aged businessman, he enlisted because of patriotism. Before shipping out, Frank escorts his fragile Southern-belle wife, Ann (Claire Bloom), and their teenaged son, Joshua (Thomas), to the family’s second residence in New Mexico, planning for them to live quietly in the Southwest until his return from the war. After Frank leaves, Joshua goes through the predictable difficulties of forming social connections at a new school. He bonds with a misfit intellectual named Marcia (Catherine Davidson) and an extroverted Greek nicknamed “Steenie” (Desi Arnaz Jr.). The trio’s extracurricular adventures include a gross-out test of nerves involving a dead cow. Concurrently, Joshua gets into a hassle with local thugs and watches with alarm as his mother’s sleazy cousin, Jimbob (John Colicos), arrives with designs on taking the absent Frank’s place.

           The plot is dense and rich, sometimes to a fault, but the end result is that Red Sky at Morning takes viewers on a tonally varied journey. Although some supporting characters get such short shrift that removing them entirely would have been advisable, even the peripheral people in Red Sky at Morning generate interesting moments. Ultimately, the story is about Joshua’s growth. His experiences constitute a greatest-hits collection of adolescent milestones, from confronting a parent to losing his virginity, so Thomas gets to play an incredible spectrum of emotions. He mostly serves the material well, as do Bloom, Burns, and Crenna. Arnaz, despite earning a Golden Globe nomination for his work, is forgettable, easily overshadowed by a miscast Harry Guardino and an even-more-miscast Nehemiah Persoff. (Born in Jerusalem, he plays a Latino.) Also strong is Gregory Sierra’s lived-in performance as a local cop.

          Red Sky at Morning gets lost in the wilds of its own storyline at regular intervals, so it’s an unruly piece of work. Nonetheless, the same intricate layers of backstory and characterization that contribute to murkiness give Red Sky at Morning its appealing immersiveness. The film has a strong sense of time and place, and the centrality of Thomas’ character provides a clear point of view.

Red Sky at Morning: GROOVY

You’ll Like My Mother (1972)

          In this outlandish but slick thriller, Patty Duke plays a young woman carrying the child of a man who recently died. She travels to rural Minnesota in the middle of a brutal winter to meet her late husband’s mother, who turns out to be a withholding monster living in a house full of horrors. Competently directed by the versatile Lamont Johnson and bolstered by skillful performances, You’ll Like My Mother is a cut above the usual shocker, in the sense that great care is taken with characterization and mood. Nonetheless, some of the genre’s usual problems manifest, notably the peculiar impression that the villain was sitting around waiting for an opportunity to torment someone. After all, since the mother of the title seems determined to preserve her weird circumstances, why not simply make her unwanted visitor go away? It’s the reverse of the old “why don’t they leave?” problem.

          Anyway, a very pregnant Francesca (Duke) treks to the home of Mrs. Kingsolving (Rosemary Murphy), expecting to find the warm embrace of a woman pleased by the arrival of a daughter-in-law and by the news of an impending grandchild. No such luck. Demeaning, harsh, and nearly deaf. Mrs. Kingsolving announces that she doesn’t believe Francesca was ever with her son, and that she has no intention of providing emotional or financial support. Concurrently, Mrs. Kingsolving introduces Francesca to Kathleen (Sian Barbara Allen), whose existence was previously unknown to Francesca—she’s the mentally challenged sister of Francesca’s late husband. Contrivances ensue. Severe weather prevents Francesca from leaving the house on foot, and car trouble keeps Mrs. Kingsolving from driving Francesca to a nearby bus station. Then Mrs. Kingsolving drugs Francesca to keep her hostage, for reasons that are never especially clear, and Francesca pokes around the house to discover the existence of another sibling, Kenny (Richard Thomas). Thought by authorities to be missing, he’s a psycho killer whom Mrs. Kinsolving hides inside her house. As you might imagine, this spells trouble for Francesca and her soon-to-be-born child.

          Even though the plot of You’ll Like My Mother doesn’t work—too many convenient twists, too many slow passages—the movie has a strong mood. The juxtaposition of unforgiving weather inside and intolerable madness inside creates the desired sense of claustrophobia, and Francesca’s vulnerable condition triggers immediate audience sympathy. Duke doesn’t excel, precisely, but she imbues her performance with both compassion and toughness, so she sells the larky aspects of the storyline about as well as anyone could. The same is true of Murphy, who drips acid while wearing a condescending smile. Does it all go way over the top during the climax? Of course. But after too many quiet stretches, the comic-book violence of the final scenes gives the movie a much-needed shot of adrenaline.

You’ll Like My Mother: FUNKY

All Quiet on the Western Front (1979)

          Considering that a 1930 black-and-white adaptation of Erich Maria Remarque’s antiwar novel All Quiet on the Western Front was one of the first films to receive the Academy Award for Best Picture, it’s no surprise that Hollywood avoided revisiting the story for decades. Once cameras rolled on a fresh take, albeit for television, restrictions on what could be shown had relaxed sufficiently for the 1979 version of All Quiet on the Western Front to play rougher than its predecessor. Particularly when viewed in the “uncut” extended version that was released theatrically in Europe, the 1979 All Quiet on the Western Front is much bloodier than Lewis Milestone’s 1930 feature. It’s also much less poetic, though it nearly matches the earlier film in terms of scope.

          The story follows a group of German soldiers during World War I as they evolve from new recruits to battle-hardened veterans. At the center of the piece is Paul Baumer (played by Richard Thomas of The Waltons), a gentle artist who learns to kill out of necessity. The story tracks Paul’s relationships with many people, including fellow enlisted men as well as cruel training officer Himmelstoss (Ian Holm) and pragmatic NCO Katczinsky (Ernest Borgnine). The Himmelstoss character represents ambitious conformists whose participation in the military brings out inhumane qualities, and the Katczinsky character represents the challenges faced by those who wish to survive war with their souls intact. Per the forceful but schematic architecture of Remarque’s storyline, Paul finds himself pulled between these extremes—as well as other impulses—while he resists the circumstances that could otherwise compel him to become a callous killing machine.

          Though his work is earnest and rigorous, leading man Thomas is the weak link in this production, hitting voiceover lines too mechanically and playing scenes too obviously. By contrast, Borgnine, Holm, and Donald Pleasance—who plays a schoolteacher with dubious notions of nationalism—all come across as nuanced and subtle. Generally speaking, All Quiet on the Western Front commands and rewards attention. Cinematographer John Coquillon and director Delbert Mann create a rich widescreen look with much more texture than the average ’70s telefilm, composer Allyn Ferguson layers scenes with suitably ominous music, and the picture contains several startling images. Rats chewing on corpses. A dazed man begging mercy for wounded horses. Lines of soldiers dropping from gunfire as they climb out of trenches. It’s all quite potent, from the unexpected significance of what happens to a wounded soldier’s boots to the grim final images that succinctly express Remarque’s antiwar themes.

All Quiet on the Western Front: GROOVY

1980 Week: Battle Beyond the Stars

          Roger Corman’s most successful attempt at riding the coattails of Star Wars (1977), this somewhat enjoyable space adventure represents an important juncture in several cinematic careers. It was the last of several projects that John Sayles wrote for Corman, because Sayles graduated to working for bigger producers in addition to writing and directing his own independent films. Perhaps more significantly, Battle Beyond the Stars was the first big FX job for James Cameron, who was just a handful of years away from directing his first proper feature, The Terminator (1984). Both men contributed strong elements to Battle Beyond the Stars, notably Sayles’ dry wit and Cameron’s visual ingenuity, but that shouldn’t give anyone the impression that Battle Beyond the Stars is a good movie. Quite to the contrary, it’s typical Corman junk, rushed and silly, but it has better production values than one might expect, and the combination of a familiar plot and a lively cast generate some interest.
          After all, the movie is a shameless sci-fi riff on The Magnificent Seven (1960), which in turn was a remake of the Japanese classic Seven Samurai (1954), so the underlying narrative is rock-solid even if the campy execution is not.

          Battle Beyond the Stars revolves around farmers who live on the planet Akir and are terrorized by an interstellar villain named Sador (John Saxon). The farmers send one of their own, naïve young Shad (Richard Thomas), into space so he can hire mercenaries. Eventually, Shad gathers a crew including Gelt (Robert Vaughn), an assassin hiding from outer-space authorities; Saint-Exmin (Sybil Danning), a Valkyrie seeking battlefield glory; Space Cowboy (George Peppard), an intergalactic trucker with a grudge against Sador; and others, including the predictable coterie of anthropomorphized robots. Hiring Magnificent Seven veteran Vaughn accentuates the connection to the earlier film, as does James Horner’s rousing score, which emulates the spirit of Elmer Bernstein’s famous Magnificent Seven music.

          As should be apparent by now, very little in Battle Beyond the Stars is even remotely original, and the movie’s recycled quality is as problematic as the episodic story structure. Making matters worse is the all-over-the-map acting. Peppard gives an amiable turn as the wisecracking antihero and Vaughn is suitably icy as the killer seeking redemption, but Danning is amateurish and Saxon operates on moustache-twirling autopilot. (In Danning’s defense, the voluptuous actress contributes some of the most spectacular cleavage ever seen outside of a Russ Meyer movie.) Even the effects are a mixed bag. While some design elements are interesting, Corman cuts far too many corners, so battle scenes that should be epic end up feeling anticlimactic. Plus, the movie falls victim to the usual sci-fi foible of too many goofy-sounding names and silly-looking aliens. Still, Battle Beyond the Stars has enough colorful elements to merit a casual viewing, especially for space-opera junkies.

Battle Beyond the Stars: FUNKY

September 30, 1955 (1977)

          A minor work by writer-director James Bridges—whose more impressive credits include The Paper Chase (1973) and The China Syndrome (1979)—September 30, 1955 revolves around a bold premise that sounds more interesting in conception than it is in execution. The titular date is when movie star James Dean died in a car wreck, so Bridges focuses on the reactions of several Dean fans in small-town Arkansas. The idea, so promising in the abstract, was to convey why Dean’s incarnation of angst-ridden teen rebellion spoke so deeply to a generation of postwar adolescents. Unfortunately, Bridges stretches this already-thin material way past its breaking point, and he features characters whose behavior is so extreme (and inexplicable) that he leaves recognizable reality far behind. Perhaps Bridges would have been better served tackling this topic with a short film.

          In any event, the central character of September 30, 1955 is Jimmy (Richard Thomas), a high-strung youth afraid of the life that awaits him after he graduates high school in a few weeks. Having fallen under Dean’s thrall after seeing East of Eden (1955) four times, Jimmy is more than eager to demonstrate that he, too, can be a rebel. Hearing about Dean’s death gives Jimmy license to release his id, so the picture depicts the misguided mischief Jimmy creates along with friends including Charlotte (Deborah Benson), Frank (Dennis Quaid), Hanley (Tom Hulce), and especially Billie Jean (Lisa Blount), who’s an even bigger Dean freak than Jimmy. The youths steal booze from a store, run away from cops, hold a séance, terrorize classmates at a lover’s-lane spot, and eventually trigger a near-tragic accident. While it’s easy to believe that Jimmy’s friends are bored kids looking for laughs, accepting Jimmy’s characterization is nearly impossible—whether he’s stripping down to undies and slathering himself in mud or claiming he’s receiving signals from Dean’s spirit, Jimmy comes across as a lunatic. He’s also a boring lunatic, especially in the film’s interminable climactic scene, which features Jimmy giving the dullest monologue imaginable in an utterly absurd circumstance.

          Thomas, who enjoyed a big ’70s TV career on The Waltons, wears out his welcome here, reaching for but not seizing the kind of intensity that seemed to come effortlessly for better Dean-esque actors (e.g., Martin Sheen, etc.). Thomas’ castmates fare better, but they can’t fully surmount the iffy material, and an atrocious score by Leonard Rosenman only makes things worse. Only the great cinematographer Gordon Willis contributes something unassailably special to September 30, 1955, with moody imagery dominated by shadows and silhouettes, although whether his dark style is actually “right” for this story is anybody’s guess.

September 30, 1955: FUNKY