1980 Week: Herbie Goes Bananas

The silly Walt Disney Productions franchise that began with The Love Bug (1968) ground to a halt with this enervated installment, which was the final big-screen appearance of sentient VW Bug “Herbie” until the 1997 remake of The Love Bug. In Herbie Goes Bananas, the titular car is bequeathed to Pete (Stephen W. Burns), whom we’re told is the nephew of the character played in previous flicks by Dean Jones. For convoluted reasons, Pete must travel to Mexico so he can retrieve Herbie from storage. Traveling with his buddy D.J. (Charles Martin Smith), Pete falls victim to Paco (Joaquin Garay III), a street urchin who steals Pete’s wallet. The plot also involves a trio of criminals seeking to rob gold from an Incan ruin, as well as D.J.’s horny aunt Louise (Cloris Leachman), who Pete to marry her nerdy niece Melissa (Elyssa Davalos). There’s even room in the storyline for bumbling seaman Captain Blythe (Harvey Korman), who endures Louise’s manic sexual overtures. Improbably, Herbie ties these disparate characters together. Most of the picture depicts Herbie’s adventures with Paco, hence a montage set to a ghastly song about friendship. In a typically overwrought sequence, Herbie zooms through the cargo hold of Blythe’s ship while trying to free Paco from a cage, causing so much damage that Blythe buries Herbie at sea. Later, Herbie surfaces in the Panama Canal, then reunites with his buddy Paco. Yeesh. The comedy vets in the cast strain to make slaptsick bits and verbal gags work, and the pros playing the villains (Richard Jaeckel, Alex Rocco, John Vernon) strive for Keystone Kops-style choreographed ineptitude, but Herbie Goes Bananas is all about bombarding the audience with changes of scenery, familiar faces, and FX, as if spectacle can compensate for the lack of a proper storyline.

Herbie Goes Bananas: LAME

1980 Week: The Last Flight of Noah’s Ark

Nineteen-eighty was something of an annus horribilis for Walt Disney Productions, since the company didn’t release a new animated film and the best Disney could muster in terms of live action was the middling supernatural flick The Watcher in the Woods. On one wretched day, June 27, the company released both the execrable sequel Herbie Goes Bananas and the pointless adventure film The Last Flight of Noah’s Ark. Starring Elliot Gould, The Last Flight of Noah’s Ark is an animal picture in which animals are barely featured, a kiddie movie in which children are incidental, a romantic movie without spark, a comedy without laughs, and an action picture without thrills. Notwithstanding impressive production values and some moody cinematography by Charles F. Wheeler, the movie has virtually nothing to offer. As for the plot, it’s so silly that it’s nearly a parody of Disney’s live-action style. Down-on-his-luck pilot Noah Dugan (Gould) takes a job flying a World War II-era B-29 to a remote island on behalf of a French-Canadian missionary, Bernadette (Geneviève Bujold), who plans to deliver livestock to a remote settlement. Two children, one of whom is played by ’70s/’80s child star Ricky Schroeder, stow away on the plane. A mishap causes the plane to drift off course and run out of fuel just in time for a crash landing on a tiny Pacific island, the sole occupants of which are two Japanese soldiers who believe World War II is still underway. The dramatic possibilities of this set-up are discarded almost immediately, because one of the Japanese soldiers speaks English, Bernadette easily persuades them the war is over, and then everybody collaborates on an escape plan. In lieu of excitement, The Last Flight of Noah’s Ark offers schmaltz, complete with a theme song so precious it will make your ears bleed. (Sample lyrics: “If I were a tree, you’d be my roots—we’d grow together.”) It’s a wonder this flight wasn’t equipped with airsick bags.

The Last Flight of Noah’s Ark: LAME

Scandalous John (1971)

          Man, it’s hard to get a bead on this one. A modernized (unofficial) adaptation of Miguel de Cervantes’ 17th-century novel Don Quixote, this comedy-drama hybrid ostensibly tells the story of a proud old rancher succumbing to dementia, which prompts him to rail against imagined enemies and shoot guns at strangers. In his mind, he’s a Wild West hero fending off varmints, but in reality, he’s a deranged coot getting by on handouts from his granddaughter, a professor at a small college. Notwithstanding the granddaughter’s occasional visits, the protagonist’s only companion is a Mexican laborer who crossed the U.S. border illegally to seek employment. A local developer wants to push the rancher off his dilapidated spread, so the protagonist battles forces he cannot possibly defeat. Were the comedic elements extracted, the storyline would seem frightening or sad. Indeed, the vibe of Scandalous John wobbles between melancholy and whimsical, with some scenes played for laughs while others strive for pathos as the picture drags its way through a bloated 113-minute running time.

          Yet the strangest thing about Scandalous John is that it’s a G-rated family film from Walt Disney Productions. Prior to the company’s experiments with grown-up fare in the late ’70s and early ’80s, this might well have been the bleakest live-action feature the company had ever released. Brian Keith, his features buried beneath bushy facial hair and one eye perpetually squinted shut, stars as John McCanless, who fancies himself a gunslinger protecting his land from Apaches and thieves. He lumbers about his dusty house, hollering and ranting and singing, even as his granddaughter, Amanda (Michele Carey), tries to keep John from injuring himself. She hires Paco (Alfonso Arau) as a caretaker, and John soon embraces the fantasy that Paco is a bold comrade-in-arms. Facing various past-due notices, John endeavors to drive his herd to town for a cattle sale, though his herd comprises only one ragged-looking steer. Meanwhile, Jimmy Whitaker (Rick Lenz), son of the developer who wants John’s land, tries to help John as a means of wooing Amanda.

          Scandalous John includes several colorful episodes, such as a silly bit of John and Paco riding their mounts into a store and an action-filled climax, but much of the picture comprises leisurely scenes of Keith delivering florid monologues in garbled frontier-speak. (More than a few lines are indecipherable.) Keith is such a charismatic and forceful actor that watching him hold forth should be fascinating, but Scandalous John becomes tedious thanks to redundancy. Instead of one or two choice moments to set the tone, the movie offers perhaps a dozen long-winded soliloquies. Wistful scoring by Rod McKeun adds to the general sense of preciousness. It’s tempting to give Disney points for trying something this dark, but because the studio undercut the artistic qualities of this piece with dodgy elements including the stereotypical characterization of Paco, Scandalous John is, at best, an offbeat misfire.

Scandalous John: FUNKY

The Wild Country (1970)

          Appraised strictly for technical execution, from cinematography to performances to production values, frontier adventure The Wild Country is impeccable. Wide-open locations convey the beauty and toughness of the story’s Wyoming setting, while sincere work from a cadre of proficient actors puts across the simple story of an earnest family in conflict with nature and an unscrupulous neighbor. Furthermore, smooth direction by Robert Totten allows the story to unfold at a steady but unhurried pace over 100 minutes. Yet originality matters, and that’s where The Wild Country has problems. Every single moment is a cliché or a platitude, if not both, so The Wild Country represents some of the worst inclinations of the folks at Walt Disney Productions. Those seeking a fresh take on the travails of homesteading circa the Wild West era should look elsewhere. That significant disclaimer having been provided, there’s a lot to enjoy here for viewers who accept the picture’s limitations. Steve Forrest and Vera Miles make a handsome pair of pioneers, and it’s a hoot to see real-life brothers Clint and Ron Howard acting together as the homesteaders’ children. (The juvenile performers’ father, Rance Howard, appears in a tiny supporting role.) The Wild Country also benefits from beautiful images of animals and wilderness.

          The story begins with the Tanner family arriving in rural Wyoming after a long journey from Philadelphia. At first, Jim (Forrest), Kate (Miles), teenaged Virgil (Ron Howard), and young Andrew (Clint Howard) seem ill-prepared for their new life on a small farm, but they summon enthusiasm and grit while whipping the spread into shape. Enter one-dimensional villain Ab Cross (Morgan Woodward), who owns a cattle outfit in the mountains overlooking the Tanner place. He’s built an illegal dam cutting the flow of water to the Tanners’ property, so Jim tries every means available to remedy the situation, even if that involves  bare-knuckle brawling with mean old Ab. Everything about The Wild Country is predictable, but the picture gains a certain toughness as it proceeds toward an intense climax during which circumstances force Virgil to become a man. That said, The Wild Country is hopelessly retro, an expression of 1950s values that must have seemed pathetically unhip when the film was released in 1970. In that regard, it’s quintessential live-action Disney.

The Wild Country: FUNKY

Unidentified Flying Oddball (1979)

          Movies along the lines of Unidentified Flying Oddball underscore why Walt Disney Productions was in need of fresh ideas just prior to the studio’s first experiments with slightly more grown-up fare. A goofy riff on Mark Twain’s classic novel A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, the movie imagines a nerdy scientist flying a spaceship back through time to Camelot, where he helps King Arthur repel an attempted coup by the treacherous Sir Mordred. Not only had Disney already explored Arthurian mythology with the animated feature The Sword in the Stone (1963), but everything about Unidentified Flying Oddball is enervated. The characterizations are thin, the FX are rickety, the jokes are tepid, and the performances fail to impress. Some very young viewers might find the picture’s compendium of medieval settings, sci-fi concepts, and slapstick comedy distracting, but most viewers with ages in the double digits will grow restless quickly. Even though this movie ticks a few important boxes for live-action children’s entertainment by presenting a brisk and eventful storyline within a compact running time, nearly everything that happens onscreen is contrived and dumb, and it’s plain that Disney allocated a B-level budget for the production. One can literally see the strings on the protagonist during a climactic flying scene, a sure sign no one felt compelled to put forth their best efforts.

          The jam-packed storyline begins with a U.S. Senator refusing to finance an experimental NASA spaceship because flying the vessel would take an astronaut into space for decades. Clean-cut scientist Tom Trimble (Dennis Dugan) is tasked with creating a lifelike robot, so he produces Hermes (also played by Dugan). Thanks to a ridiculous set of circumstances, both Tom and Hermes are inside the vessel when it launches, so both find themselves in medieval England. Evil sorcerer Merlin (Ron Moody) conspires with Mordred (Jim Dale) to dethrone aging King Arthur (Kenneth Moore), but Tom and Hermes ally themselves with local lass Alisande (Sheila White) and others to help the king retain control over the Round Table. Typical of the movie’s gentle humor is the way Alisande carries around a goose, mistakenly believing the fowl is actually her father, transformed by one of Merlin’s spells. For the most part, Unidentified Flying Oddball is harmless, a barrage of misunderstandings and physical comedy peppered with the occasional clever gag. But, man, does this picture lack that beloved Disney magic. By the time the action climaxes with Tom flying in a suit of armor while Hermes uses the spaceship’s giant magnets as weapons, the picture shows the strain of trying to create spectacle without spending big money. This film promises Camelot and delivers Camelittle.

Unidentified Flying Oddball: FUNKY

Charley and the Angel (1973)

          Ostensibly adapted from a 1971 novel by Will Stanton but in most respects a shameless clone of the Frank Capra-directed classic It’s a Wonderful Life (1945), this harmless live-action comedy from Walt Disney Productions takes place in a generic Midwestern city during the Depression. Uptight hardware-store proprietor Charley (Fred MacMurray) focuses so much on work that he’s become alienated from his three kids. Meanwhile, his long-suffering wife, Nettie (Cloris Leachman), longs for the adventure of visiting the World’s Fair in Chicago. One day, Charley escapes a series of near-fatal accidents and then encounters an angel (Harry Morgan), who explains that he’s been tasked with collecting Charley’s soul. Charley begs for time in which to settle his affairs, and you can guess what happens next—the brush with morality makes Charley realize how much he has to live for, so he becomes a better father, husband, and person, thereby improving his chances of earning a celestial reprieve. Whereas It’s a Wonderful Life goes dark and deep with themes of self-doubt and suicide, Charley and the Angel goes shallow and soothing by suggesting that any individual who makes a sincere effort can dramatically improve the circumstances of his or her life. If only that were so.

          In some ways, Charley and the Angel is quite palatable. The storyline is coherent and linear, even with the goofy subplot about Charley’s sons inadvertently becoming bootleggers. Production values are excellent, despite the rickety process shots during car scenes; there’s even a certain hokey charm to the old-school FX used during scenes of the angel floating through the air and moving objects while invisible. As helmed by the reliable Vincent McEveety, the picture moves along briskly, lingering on important emotional moments just long enough for skilled actors to imbue their characters with humanity. Unsurprisingly, Morgan is the standout because he gets most of the jokes, and his cranky/sweet vibe is appealing. Leachman does respectable work in a thankless role, while Kurt Russell, playing a boy who courts Charley’s daughter, provides bland earnestness. As for MacMurray, he lends a somewhat bewildering energy—or rather a somewhat bewildering lack of energy. He’s so calm, even when insane things are happening, that he nearly becomes a caricature of the unflappable Disney dad archetype.

Charley and the Angel: FUNKY

One of Our Dinosaurs Is Missing (1975)

The hiring of Caucasian actors to play Asian roles was still commonplace in the Hollywood of the mid-’70s, so it would be wrong to single out Walt Disney Productions for special enmity while discussing the race problem plaguing the company’s kiddie comedy One of Our Dinosaurs is Missing. Still, watching Peter Ustinov mug his way through a stereotypical performance as a Chinese master criminal is painful, and his portrayal reflects the overall stupidity of the picture. Even though One of Our Dinosaurs Is Missing benefits from Disney’s usual lavish production values, to say nothing of Helen Hayes’ appealing star turn as an intrepid nanny, the picture plucks so much low-hanging fruit, comedically speaking, that it’s hard to imagine anyone but very young children enjoying the experience. Much of the film comprises an absurd chase during which a truck bearing a dinosaur skeleton roams the streets of 1920s London, with every imaginable sight gag used to attenuate the sequence. Other would-be highlights include a scene of multiple nannies crawling and leaping around the skeleton while looking for a hidden object, the same set of nannies hiding inside the mouth of a life-sized whale sculpture, and a bizarre throwaway scene in which a King Kong-sized yeti helpfully carries a man across a snowy Tibetan field. As for the plot, it’s idiocy about Hnup Wan (Ustinov) seeking the formula for something called “Lotus X,” which British explorer Lord Southmere (Derek Nimmo) has stolen from China. Through convoluted circumstances, Lord Southmere tasks his childhood nanny, Hettie (Hayes), with protecting the formula. She recruits fellow caregivers to foil Hnup Wan’s scheme. Basically a cartoon rendered in live-action, this is pathetic stuff, too silly for adult viewers to enjoy, and too racially insensitive for modern parents to share with their kids.

One of Our Dinosaurs Is Missing: LAME

Run, Cougar, Run (1972)

          A live-action nature adventure from Walt Disney Productions that delivers exactly what the title promises, Run, Cougar, Run benefits from extensive photography of real animals in real locations. Moreover, like the best Disney pictures about the natural world, Run, Cougar, Run doesn’t shy away from brutal aspects of survival in the outdoors. Death informs nearly every scene, since the title character, a mountain lion roaming through the rugged landscapes of Utah’s Arches National Park, spends most of her time either killing prey to feed her three kittens or evading the deadly rifles of sportsmen who want her hide. Sure, there’s the usual cutesy stuff, such as a sequence of a kitten unwisely licking the hide of a toad that excretes a repellent fluid from its skin, and the affable narration, spoken by Ian Tyson, coats everything in a warm glow. Nonetheless, for viewers who adjust their expectations appropriately, Run, Cougar, Run provides an hour and a half of undemanding entertainment as well as a wholesome message about leaving wild animals alone. Lest this message get lost, the theme song is called “Let Her Alone.” (Performing the tune is Ian & Sylvia, the Canadian folk duo comprising Tyson and his first wife.)

          To keep things moving along, the filmmakers weave a proper story into the critter footage. Etio (Alfonso Arau) is a kindly Mexican sheepherder who tends his flock near the wilderness that mountain lions call home. He’s named a female lion “Seeta,” and whenever she comes near his herd, he picks up his guitar and sings. Instead of attacking the sheep, Seeta grooves on the music before departing. Into this idyllic situation comes Hugh (Stuart Whitman), a professional hunter. Paid by two weekend-warrior types to find easy targets, Hugh identifies Seeta and her mate as potential victims. Despite Etio’s protests, Hugh leads a hunt that ends with the death of Seeta’s mate, so the rest of the picture depicts her struggle to survive the hardships of single parenting and the perils of the hunters. Everything is handled quite gently, of course, and Arau’s easygoing character makes for a pleasant throughline—when he croons, it’s like watching a Latino Jim Croce perform, what with the bushy hair and thick moustache. Run, Cougar, Run is far-fetched, predictable, and tame, but aren’t those exactly the qualities one expects from Disney’s brand of family-friendly comfort food?

Run, Cougar, Run: FUNKY

1980 Week: The Watcher in the Woods

          Elegantly made but too gentle to work as the supernatural horror show promised by its marketing materials, The Watcher in the Woods was one of many boundary-pushing pictures made by Walt Disney Productions during the experimental period that preceded the introduction of sister studios Hollywood and Touchstone. The folks at Disney were still feeling their way around the terrain of stories suited for grown-ups as well as children, so The Watcher in the Woods represents an admirable but half-hearted effort. It’s not in the least bit cute, and in fact the storyline is quite grim, but the climax feels neutered, leaving the impression that another studio might have made bolder choices with the same material.
          The picture beings with an average family seeking to rent the mansion of an English estate. The estate’s owner, aging widow Mrs. Aylwood (Bette Davis), resides in a cottage adjoining the mansion. She’s a mysterious lady who remains haunted by the loss, many years ago, of her beloved daughter. When Mrs. Aylwood spots Jan (Lynn Holly Johnson), the family’s oldest child, Mrs. Aylwood welcomes Jan’s clan to her estate and keeps a close eye on Jan. So does a supernatural figure residing in the woods surrounding the mansion, which Jan identifies as the ghost of Mrs. Aylwood’s daughter. Jan investigates the story of how Mrs. Aylwood’s daughter disappeared, eventually learning that the young woman participated in a strange ritual with several friends, only to be snatched into another dimension. Can Jan help the displaced young woman return to her despondent mother?

          Based on a novel by Florence Engel Randall, The Watcher in the Woods is constructed well enough, and Alan Hume’s photography is atmospheric. Similarly, Stanley Meyers’ understated score lends the desired level of eeriness. However, The Watcher in the Woods fails to impress on several important levels. The central mystery is solved rather easily, the fright scenes lack real bite, and leading lady Johnson (of Ice Castles fame) is terrible. Her flat Midwestern speech pattern renders each line of dialogue inert, and her catalog of facial expressions ranges from confused to uneasy, with little variance in between.
          Had the filmmakers utilized the capable supporting cast more effectively, Johnson’s shortcomings wouldn’t have been as prominent, but Davis has precious few scenes while costars Carroll Baker and David McCallum phone in their miniscule roles. (The British actors playing superstitious locals merely play to type, albeit quite professionally.) Once The Watcher in the Woods reaches its effects-laden finale, the hoped-for suspense has been supplanted by tedium. Nonetheless, it’s likely that some young viewers in 1980 were fascinated by this cinematic creepshow, and it’s fair to say that time has not completely diminished the picture’s modest charms.

The Watcher in the Woods: FUNKY

The North Avenue Irregulars (1979)

          Sludgy family entertainment produced at the nadir of Walt Disney Productions’ live-action cycle, this convoluted comedy concerns a priest recruiting a group of housewives and neighborhood women to topple the crime organization that’s plaguing a once-wholesome town. Showcasing such wheezy comic elements as chase scenes, cross-dressing, and slapstick, the movie is made moderately palatable by the usual glossy production values associated with Disney flicks and by leading man Edward Herrmann’s affable performance. Nonetheless, it’s hard to imagine kids being able to wrap their heads around bits like the scene in which a church-going woman masquerades as a streetwalker, just like it’s hard to imagine adults mustering the patience to endure myriad silly physical-comedy vignettes. Moreover, once the laborious story elements fall into place, the remainder of the picture is painfully predictable. The North Avenue Irregulars isn’t as insultingly stupid as the worst Disney live-action offerings, but neither is it as charming or energetic as the best such films—it’s just a random title in the middle of the heap.

          Herrmann stars as Reverend Michael Hill, the new pastor at a Presbyterian church. After clashing with the church’s secretary, Anne (Susan Clark), Reverend Hill discovers that an aging parishioner foolishly entrusted all the money in the church’s restoration fund to her ne’er-do-well husband, who lost the cash at an illegal gambling parlor. Seeking redress, Reverend Hill discovers that the town’s criminals have purchased police protection, so the only way to fix his church’s problem is to help federal authorities entrap the criminals. None of the men in town is willing to help, so Reverend Hill turns to the ladies in his congregation, beginning with his nemesis-turned-love interest Anne. (Never mind the absurdity of a priest asking members of his flock to engage in dangerous undercover work.) Eventually, Reverend Hill assembles a motley crew portrayed by actresses including Virginia Capers, Barbara Harris, Cloris Leachman, and Karen Valentine. After several yawn-inducing comedy setpieces, notably a brawl inside the aforementioned illegal gambling parlor, Reverend Hill’s crusade climaxes with, of all things, a demolition derby during which the ladies use their station wagons against the criminals’ sedans. Oh, and there’s also a long scene built around the unfunny joke of Reverend Hill driving around town on a motorcycle while he isn’t wearing pants.

          The North Avenue Irregulars has lots of events, and most of them are colorful. Moreover, Herrmann plays his role straight, giving the weak enterprise a small measure of dignity. However, the presence of second-rate supporting players including Ruth Buzzi and Alan Hale Jr. is a good indicator of how low viewers’ expectations should be set before plunging into The North Avenue Irregulars.

The North Avenue Irregulars: FUNKY

Snowball Express (1972)

One of the weaker products to roll off the live-action assembly line at Walt Disney Productions, this plodding and unfunny “comedy” stars Disney regular Dean Jones as Johnny Baxter, a beleaguered office drone who inherits ownership of a hotel in Colorado. Uprooting his family and relocating to Colorado, Johnny discovers that the business is actually defunct, so he contrives a scheme to transform the hotel into a ski resort. Meanwhile, evil local banker Martin Ridgeway (Keenan Wynn) tries to exploit Johnny’s financial vulnerability in order to buy the business, because he wants to harvest and sell lumber from the abundant woods on the hotel’s sprawling property. Since the preceding story is obviously better suited to a drama or even a thriller, it’s no surprise that the makers of Snowball Express must strain to generate jokes. The picture’s two longest sequences are extended ski runs during which Jones and others flail their way down steep hills, but instead of actually integrating impressive stunt footage, the filmmakers rely on flimsy process shots. This methodology is especially frustrating seeing as how much of Snowball Express was shot on location in Colorado; whereas inconsequential scenes feature big skies and wintry atmosphere, key moments feel phony. Adding to the enervated nature of Snowball Express are tiresome running gags about mischievous animals. Even worse is the clichéd material about an ornery old prospector (Harry Morgan) who loiters around the hotel and then—surprise!—becomes a loveable porter once Johnny opens the ski resort. Every single beat in Snowball Express follows the Disney family-values playbook, from the judgmental subplot about a homewrecker (Joanna Phillips) to the trope of the hero’s plucky son (Johnny Whitaker) surprising his father by demonstrating unexpected resourcefulness. By the time Snowball Express climaxes with an interminable snowmobile race (occasioning another volley of anemic FX and idiotic pratfalls), the picture has achieved complete tedium.

Snowball Express: LAME

The Island at the Top of the World (1974)

          Something of a precursor to the experimental period during which Walt Disney Productions expanded its live-action mandate to include darker subject matter than usual (the era that generated films including 1979’s sci-fi epic The Black Hole), this adventure/fantasy saga almost completely eschews the cutesiness and slapstick normally associated with the Disney brand. It’s not a wholly successful endeavor, particularly since the secret culture revealed midway through the picture turns out be nothing more than a lost tribe of Vikings, but the movie boasts a fair amount of danger, as well as copious amounts of old-school special effects, which are similar to those featured in the studio’s enduring 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1954).

          Set in 1907, the picture opens in London, where wealthy aristocrat Sir Anthony Ross (Donald Sinden) hires visiting American archaeologist Professor Invarsson (David Hartman) for an expedition to the North Pole. It seems Sir Anthony’s estranged son, Donald (David Gwillim), disappeared while investigating reports of a mysterious island in the Arctic, rumored to be adjacent to a mythical bay where whales go to die. Sir Anthony also hires French aviator Captain Brieux (Jacques Marin), who has built an propeller-driven airship, to provide the expedition’s transportation. Arriving in the Arctic after a few in-flight scares, Sir Anthony’s team discovers that Donald made contact with Vikings who live in a valley that’s heated by a nearby volcano. (Among other practitioners of fantasy fiction, Marvel Comics has employed the same contrivance, although Marvel’s “Savage Land” is in Antarctica.)

          The long stretch of running time comprising the adventurers’ clashes with the Vikings is fairly drab, with the Vikings portrayed as superstitious primitives determined to murder outsiders, so the movie loses a great deal of energy in the middle. Things pick up during the extended chase/escape sequence that comprises the movie’s final third, because the heroes slide down chutes inside ice floes, run from lava, and survive an attack by a pod of killer whales.

          The acting is as perfunctory as the characterizations (Hartman later quit performing and became a long-running Good Morning, America anchor), but the vintage FX create an almost surrealistic quality—particularly when matted moving objects are partially transparent—while the great composer Maurice Jarre keeps things lively with a robust score. It’s also enjoyable to see the wonderful Japanese character actor Mako contributing a typically zesty performance, although he’s mostly wasted in the stereotypical role of an easily frightened Eskimo who tags along for the journey to the secret island. Adding to the indignity, Mako ends up sharing several of his scenes with Sir Anthony’s pet dog.

The Island at the Top of the World: FUNKY

The Million Dollar Duck (1971)

          Based on a story by Ted Key, who created the characters Hazel and Mr. Peabody and Sherman, this amiable live-action picture from Walt Disney Productions offers a modern spin on the old Aesop fable about the goose that laid the golden egg. Adhering to the Disney trope of building stories around bumbling professors, The Million Dollar Duck stars Dean Jones as Albert Dooley, a kindly young professor with financial troubles. One day at his lab, a duck that hasn’t proved useful as a research animal wanders out of its cage and into a neighboring lab, where the fowl gets irradiated. Albert takes the duck home, only to discover that the duck now lays eggs made of pure gold. This development delights Albert’s scatterbrained wife, Katie (Sandy Duncan), even though the couple’s son, Jimmy (Lee Montgomery), simply enjoys having a pet. (He names the duck Charley.) Seeing a way out of his fiscal woes, Albert conspires with his buddy, a lawyer named Fred Hines (Tony Roberts), to sell the eggs and make a fortune. Meanwhile, Albert’s next-door neighbor, U.S. Treasury employee Finley Hooper (Joe Flynn), suspects Albert is up to something. Farcical intrigue ensues.

          All of this stuff is completely silly, of course, and The Million Dollar Duck is filled with tomfoolery along the lines of adults sitting on all fours and barking like dogs to make Charley do his trick, since the duck has a phobia about canines. Per the Disney formula, the picture also features a very long climactic chase filled with questionable special effects. (Picture Jones riding the cherry picker attached to a truck, then squealing every time the truck nears an overpass.) Nonetheless, the filmmakers keep things simple in terms of narrative elements, so instead of trying to anthropomorphize the titular critter, The Million Dollar Duck merely depicts what happens when Albert, Fred, and Katie get greedy. Chances are you can guess whether the major characters learn to accept wholesome values by the end of the story. Flynn and Jones provide their usual competent work, while aggressively wholesome costar Duncan, appearing in one of her first movies, makes the most of a trope about her character spewing malapropisms along the lines of “You don’t have to yell at me—I have 20/20 hearing.” Plus, it’s hard to get too stern about a flick that features crusty supporting player James Gregory speaking this unlikely dialogue: “Yes, there does seem to be a certain degree of duck involvement here.”

The Million Dollar Duck: FUNKY

The Cat from Outer Space (1978)

A lesser offering from the live-action arm of Walt Disney Productions, The Cat from Outer Space features the tepid mixture of science fiction and slapstick that was all too common among the company’s ’70s offerings. The filmmakers try to enliven a fundamentally uninteresting premise by bludgeoning viewers with elaborate production values, familiar character actors, and laborious plotting—yet it’s hard to know which exactly which audience the people at Disney had in mind for this one. The main plot is silly nonsense about an alien, who happens to look like an ordinary housecat, enlisting the help of earthlings in order to repair his spaceship, while at the same time avoiding capture by soldiers and by a crime boss who wants to use the alien’s technology for nefarious purposes. However, a major subplot revolves around a hard-drinking compulsive gambler and his attempts to defraud bookies and gangsters by using the aforementioned technology in order to change the outcomes of sporting events. And then there’s the requisite infantile love story, because the cat’s main human accomplice is a nerdy scientist who can’t find the courage to court the coworker he loves. The gambling stuff and the romantic material would seem to be of little interest to very young viewers, and yet it’s hard to imagine grown-ups tolerating endless scenes of special-effects tomfoolery. (Picture lots of objects and people levitating.) Making matters worse, The Cat from Outer Space is dull and flat, despite fairly brisk pacing, simply because the character work and storytelling are so perfunctory. By the time the movie lurches into a convoluted rescue sequence at the end, all traces of charm and novelty have disappeared. Anyway, the picture does boast an eclectic cast of comedy professionals, each of whom does what he or she can with the script’s limp gags. Actors appearing in The Cat from Outer Space include Ken Berry, Hans Conreid, Sandy Duncan, James Hampton, Roddy McDowall, Harry Morgan, and McLean Stevenson—yes, that’s two commanding officers from the classic sitcom M*A*S*H for the price of one.

The Cat from Outer Space: LAME

King of the Grizzlies (1970)

          Despite bearing the “Walt Disney Productions” brand, as well as such Disney signatures as a cutesy musical score and a folksy narration track, King of the Grizzlies was actually made by companies including Robert Lawrence Productions, the entity that supervised principal photography in Western Canada. Disney then acquired the material and applied the finishing touches. The hodgepodge nature of the movie is evident throughout its running time, because documentary-style footage of bears and other animals is intercut with narrative scenes to create the illusion of a frontier myth come to life. Yet even though some bad dubbing and a few meandering sequences create narrative hiccups, King of the Grizzlies is basically passable, as far as Disney outdoor yarns go.

          Based on a novel by Ernest T. Seton, the picture tracks the life story of Mawb, a noble grizzly who overcomes hardship to become master of his realm. Early in the movie, Indian-born cattle-ranch foreman Moki (John Yesno) and his paleface employer, identified only as “The Colonel” (Chris Wiggins), encounter young Mawb and his ursine sibling, along with their mother, near the outer edges of the Colonel’s ranch. The Colonel kills mama bear and Mawb’s sibling, but only wounds Mawb. Later, Moki discovers the frightened young bear and delivers the animal to a safe place in the mountains, miles away from the ranch. As the years pass, Mawb grows stronger, surviving battles with mountain lions and wolverines, before eventually drifting back to the place where he was orphaned. This puts him back in the crosshairs of the Colonel.

          Will our hairy hero survive? Can Moki intercede on his behalf once more? If you don’t know the answers to these questions, you’ve never seen a Disney movie.

          Accepting that predictability is a given, King of the Grizzlies has plenty of redeeming values. The location photography is robust, with huge vistas of forests and lakes and mountains conveying the wonder of the wilderness. Furthermore, scenes of bears and other animals are wonderfully photographed, and the basic themes of bonding, compassion, and respect for nature are unassailable. Cornpone, sure, but unassailable nonetheless.

King of the Grizzlies: FUNKY

Candleshoe (1977)

          “I ain’t depressed,” tough street kid Casey explains. “I’m delinquent. There’s a difference, you know?” Had all of Candleshoe, the live-action Disney flick that tells Casey’s story, risen to the droll level of this dialogue, the movie would have been much more entertaining. Alas, the passable film coasts on the strength of glossy production values and skillful performances as the filmmakers substitute unnecessarily intricate plotting for actual storytelling. Based on a novel by Michael Innes, Candleshoe is one of those Disney pictures that twists itself into narrative knots while trying to generate an offbeat spin on a familiar formula. At its core, the movie presents the standard Disney gimmick of a wild kid becoming tame thanks to the acceptance of a loving family. Yet Candleshoe also includes con-artist schemes, an elaborate heist, a kidnapping angle, sweet kids attending to a dotty aunt, transatlantic travel, and a vivacious butler who masqueredes as different people in order to convince his employer that her estate is still solvent. Candleshoe only rarely breaks from the exhausting work of providing exposition long enough to offer such simple pleasures as slapstick and verbal comedy. So, while the movie isn’t bad—since it’s harmless and moderately intelligent—it’s leaden and slow when it should be light and speedy.

          Anyway, Jodie Foster, at her precocious best, plays Casey, an American street kid living in a dingy foster home. One evening, she’s “purchased” by English crook Bundage (Leo McKern). Turns out Casey vaguely resembles the long-lost niece of a wealthy Brit, Lady St. Edmund (Helen Hayes). Bundage hopes to insert Casey into Lady St. Edmund’s estate, Candleshoe, so Casey can find a buried treasure. Casey agrees to pretend she’s the long-lost niece in exchange for a cut of the take. Yet once Casey arrives at Candleshoe, she falls in love with the family—Lady St. Edmund; her resourceful butler, Priory (David Niven); and several children. Meanwhile, Casey discovers that Candleshoe is bankrupt, so she joins in with family schemes to keep the place afloat without revealing the financial trouble to Lady St. Edmund. Inevitably, some moments in Candleshoe are charming,simply because the actors are so good. Hayes provides warmth, Foster provides spunk,McKern provides menace, and Niven provides wit. Yet Candleshoe trudges when it should soar, never taking flight until the moderately entertaining slapstick-fight finale.

Candleshoe: FUNKY

Napoleon and Samantha (1972)

          For every family film made by Walt Disney Productions that hit the bull’s-eye in terms of marrying subject and theme, there seem to be half-a-dozen oddities whose plotting is explicable only if one imagines Disney people pulling random narrative elements from a hat. For instance, Napoleon and Samantha is about preteen runaways who embark on an adventure with a former circus lion until the children are endangered by a psychopath and rescued by a graduate student. Oh, and a huge portion of the film comprises a soulful exploration of mortality, with depressing speeches about death and a lengthy funeral scene. Yet the strangest thing about Napoleon and Samantha is that it’s watchable despite the loopy storyline. Veteran Disney director Vincent McEveety moves things along quickly, as always, and the cast benefits from the presence of seasoned performer Will Geer, as well as that of newcomers Michael Douglas, who was in his early 20s when he shot the picture, and Jodie Foster, who wasn’t yet 10. Alas, none of these people is the lead, with that function instead performed by ’70s kid-flick star Johnny Whitaker. He’s no worse than any other Hollywood kid trained in faking emotions, but his work exists on a plane far below that occupied by his more notable costars.

          The peculiar movie begins by establishing the lifestyle of rural urchin Napoleon (Whitaker), who lives with his kind-hearted grandfather (Geer). Napoleon’s best friend is Samantha (Foster), who resides nearby with her stern guardian, Gertrude (Ellen Corby). One day, Napoleon and Grandpa encounter an old circus clown who is traveling with Major, a tame lion. Inexplicably, Grandpa accepts the clown’s request to become Major’s caregiver. After a few cutesy scenes of life on the farm with a lion, Grandpa dies, so Napoleon goes to a job office and hires graduate student Danny (Douglas) as a gravedigger. Seriously, this is the plot! Lying to Danny by saying that a relative will soon collect Napoleon, the boy instead embarks on a trip with Major—and Samantha, who tags along for reasons that are never particularly clear. Then, once the trio survives near-misses with nasty animals and steep cliffs, they track down Danny—who promptly leaves them in the care of a stranger. Naturally, Danny discovers the stranger is an escaped psychopath (as one will), and runs to the kids’ rescue. For viewers willing to ignore logic, Napoleon and Samantha has a few admirable elements. Douglas, Foster, and Geer elevate their roles as much as possible, given the material, and Major—an animal performer featured in myriad films and TV shows—has an impressive bag of tricks. Plus, truth be told, the scenes about death have a certain lyricism, even if they feel like they belong in a different movie.

Napoleon and Samantha: FUNKY