1980 Week: Saturn 3

          One of the strangest projects to emerge from the post-Star Wars sci-fi boom, this British production featuring American leading actors is part adventure saga, part horror show, part love story, and part mystery thriller. It also features one of the most unlikely combinations of stars in movie history: Aging he-man Kirk Douglas shares the screen with sun-kissed TV beauty Farrah Fawcett and New York-trained Method actor Harvey Keitel. That is, unless one counts the hulking robot who features prominently in the story as a costar. Set in the future, the picture begins when a mystery man kills a fellow space pilot in order to commandeer a shuttle delivering supplies to a scientific outpost on one of Saturn’s moons. The sole occupants of the outpost are Adam (Douglas), who is tasked with growing crops because Earth can no longer manufacture sufficient food, and Adam’s assistant/lover, Alex (Fawcett). Her origins are never made clear, though the implication is that she was provided to Adam as a sexual plaything. When the mystery man arrives, he reveals himself as Benson (Keitel), and says that his mission is to build a robot that can increase productivity at Saturn 3 (the name of the outpost).

          Adam and Alex are rattled by the change to their status quo, since they dig their quiet life—and who can blame them, since they seem to spend more time changing costumes and having sex than they do conducting experiments. Eventually, Adam and Alex realize that Benson is a psycho. Their first clue is when Benson jabs a metallic probe into a slot that he’s installed in the back of his neck, and uses it to psychically control the robot. Benson causes even more trouble when he announces his desire to sleep with Alex. Before long, things devolve into full-on violence once the robot gains a degree of autonomy, so Adam and Alex have to deal with two predators at once.

          Unlikely as it may seem, Saturn 3 was directed by Stanley Donen of Singin’ in the Rain fame, and to say that he’s got no feel for horror and/or sci-fi is to make a great understatement. Although certain individual scenes are handled well enough, including the introduction of Benson’s psychic link with the robot and a lengthy chase sequence, Donen fails to generate credibility or tension. Things in Saturn 3 just sort of happen, and Donen seems far more concerned with showing off the film’s elaborate production design than with telling a proper story. (Incredibly, the script was penned by acclaimed British novelist Martin Amis.) It doesn’t help that the acting is awful or that impatient editing rushes the story along at a distractingly frenetic pace.

          Douglas was well into the self-parody phase of his career, Fawcett seems as if she was lobotomized before filming, and Keitel—whose voice was replaced with that of another actor during postproduction—gives a more robotic performance than the actual robot. Nonetheless, fans of vintage sci-fi will find many things to enjoy, thanks to the colorful visuals and the surprising incidents of extreme violence. Plus, seeing as how the story ultimately becomes completely nonsensical, it’s possible to watch Saturn 3 as an accidental comedy. (There’s a reason why the picture earned three Razzie Award nominations.) Oh, and for those who fall under Saturn 3’s weird spell—or for those who simply crave another chance to ogle the lovely Ms. Fawcett—it’s worth surfing the Web for an infamous deleted scene featuring Douglas and Fawcett simulating a sexy drug trip, because Douglas’ goofy acting is as stunning as Fawcett’s slutty costume.

Saturn 3: FUNKY

The Great American Beauty Contest (1973)

          Like so many things bearing the Aaron Spelling brand name, this brisk TV movie about backstage intrigue at a fictional beauty contest is the equivalent of junk food—it tastes good at first, but regret kicks in almost immediately. The Great American Beauty Contest is very much a product of the producer who later subjected the world to Charlie’s Angels, because the movie comprises one scene after another showcasing vapidly attractive young women. On the plus side, the picture isn’t as sleazy as one might think, since there’s only one fleeting sequence of the contest’s swimsuit competition, and the lovelies in the cast represent an appealing collection of ’70s actresses. Spelling regular Farrah Fawcett is present and accounted for, as are Kathy Baumann (a buxom starlet in various B-movies), Susan Damante (of the Wilderness Family pictures), and Joanna Cameron (of the Saturday-morning superhero show Isis), among others. (Watch for a brief, wordless appearance by glamazon actress/singer Susan Anton in the final scene.)

          Although each of the aforementioned startlets gets plenty of screen time, the actual star of The Great American Beauty Contest is the elegant Eleanor Parker, best known as the Baroness in the classic family film The Sound of Music (1965). She plays Peggy, a onetime pageant winner who now runs the contest. When the picture begins, Peggy and her handlers greet various contestants, including Angelique (Damante), an innocent who believes in the fairy-tale myth of pageants; Gloria (Cameron), a quasi-militant feminist hoping to win so she can deliver an anti-pageant speech during her coronation; Pamela (Tracy Reed), an African-American upset about being treated as a “token”; and T.L. (Fawcett), a wild girl who enters the contest on a lark. Also in the mix are movie producer Ralph (Louis Jourdan), who serves as a judge and expects sexual favors from wannabes, and Joe (Larry Wilcox, later of C.H.i.P.S.), T.L.’s rambunctious boyfriend.

          Considering that The Great American Beauty Contest runs only 74 minutes (the standard length for early-’70s TV movies), Spelling and his collaborators include an abundance of “plot,” making up for in quantity what the project lacks in quality. Rest assured, however, that not a single frame of The Great American Beauty Contest will amuse, delight, or surprise. Instead, the picture functions like the broadcast of a real beauty contest—it invites the male gaze with a steady procession of bright teeth, lustrous hair, sexy curves, and twinkly eyes. And it’s hard to get too strident about a movie that not only features Fawcett doing an atrocious harem-girl dance, but also features characters commenting on the awfulness of said dance. In other words, The Great American Beauty Contest may not be an experience in truly guilt-free ogling, but it’s close.

The Great American Beauty Contest: FUNKY

Somebody Killed Her Husband (1978)

          Representing Farrah Fawcett-Majors’ first attempt to translate her popularity on the TV show Charlie’s Angels into big-screen stardom, Somebody Killed Her Husband is an old-fashioned farce blending romance with a murder mystery that’s played for laughs instead of thrills. (Although most of the picture comprises verbal humor, scenes with broad-as-a-barn physical jokes include the finale, which involves a warehouse full of runaway Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade floats.) With the right person playing the female lead, perhaps Sally Field or Goldie Hawn, Somebody Killed Her Husband could have become a charming piffle. And, indeed, male lead Jeff Bridges works overtime to make the material work. Alas, he ends up putting on the equivalent of a solo show, because Fawcett-Majors is so vapid that whenever she’s asked to do more than smile or toss her hair, the movie grinds to a halt. Fawcett-Majors eventually morphed into a somewhat respectable actress, but at this point in her career she was nothing more than a pinup in search of a persona.

          Anyway, the story concerns Jerry Green (Bridges), a likeable nerd who works in the toy department of the Macy’s flagship in Manhattan while nurturing dreams of becoming a children’s-book author. Although Jerry’s not a no-strings-attached sexual relationship with a coworker, he’s not in love until he sees Jenny Moore (Fawcett-Majors) shopping in the store one afternoon. Instantly smitten, Jerry talks his way into Jenny’s life, and they fall for each other—notwithstanding the minor inconvenience of her being married. Later, when someone murders Jenny’s husband, the lovers realize they must solve the murder before bringing it to the attention of authorities, lest they get branded as suspects because of their adulterous activities. Soon, the amateur sleuths uncover a scheme involving stolen jewelry, which leads to shenanigans involving hidden corpses, silly disguises, and tricky blackmail maneuvers.

          Bridges has some great moments here, mixing boyish charm with grown-up exasperation; in one particularly amusing bit, he engages an infant in “conversation” while he talks out loud to deconstruct the mechanics of an insurance swindle. The script by versatile veteran Reginald Rose (of 12 Angry Men fame) has flashes of real wit, too; at one point, Jerry proclaims to Jenny, “I can offer you instant poverty plus an employees’ discount at Macy’s.” Also helpful is the presence of deft comic actors John Glover and John Wood in supporting roles. Nonetheless, a romantic soufflé only rises if all the ingredients are just right, and none of the efforts by the cast, by Rose, or by skilled journeyman director Lamont Johnson can make up for the absence of a magical leading lady.

Somebody Killed Her Husband: FUNKY

Myra Breckenridge (1970)

          The notorious flop Myra Breckenridge tries so hard to be outrageous that, after a while, it’s just boring to watch even though the storyline is a sensationalistic farce about a scheming transsexual. Based on a satirical novel by Gore Vidal, the picture follows Myron Breckenridge (Rex Reed) as he undergoes sex-change surgery to become Myra Breckenridge (Raquel Welch) in order to get revenge on his skeevy uncle, Buck Loner (John Huston), who swindled Myron’s inheritance.
          Throughout the picture, Welch interacts with other performers while Reed lurks on the sidelines, visible only to Welch as his/her character’s inner voice. (This device allows Reed to issue caustic commentary and to guide Welch through her underhanded machinations.) As if more weirdness was necessary, director Michael Sarne regularly cuts from the action to snippets from old Twentieth Century-Fox movies (think Laurel & Hardy, Shirley Temple, and so on), providing “ironic” counterpoints to the main story.

          Putting the whole thing way over the top is the casting of onetime sex symbol Mae West as a talent agent who gets embroiled in the story; ancient and overweight but glamorized as if her former sex appeal is still intact, West floats through the movie in outlandish costumes, dropping rude one-liners and singing a pair of horrible show tunes. Huston’s contribution to the strangeness is performing in cartoonish cowboy costumes (his ten-gallon hat features a brim that must be four feet across) and barking every line in a lascivious growl. Reed, the flamboyant film critic whose claim to fame in the ’60s and ’70s was jaded bitchiness, contributes absolutely nothing except jaded bitchiness. As for Welch, the allure of her spectacular beauty wears thin once she starts acting, since she delivers dialogue with a vapid breathiness that makes her sound like a posturing twit.

          Still, Myra Breckenridge is among the most brazen X-rated movies from the brief moment when studios actually made X-rated movies. The raunchiest scene is undoubtedly Myra’s sexual conquest of a young stud (Roger Herren), because she ties him to a table, straps on a dildo, and anally rapes him while hooting and hollering like she’s riding in a rodeo. (The scene is shot discreetly, but the content is nonetheless startling.) In another transgressive moment, Myron (who is actually Myra imagining that he/she is still Myron) pleasures himself while imagining a pretty girl (Farrah Fawcett) tempting him with ice cream and baked goods.

          Myra Breckenridge had a dour effect on the professional lives of nearly everyone involved, destroying Carne’s Hollywood career, dissuading Reed from acting again until his cameo in Superman (1978), and dashing Welch’s hopes of being taken seriously as an actress. Some many find this movie’s mannered excesses amusing in a campy sort of way, and Myra Breckenridge is a must-see for anyone cataloging the worst cinematic train wrecks of the ’70s, but the picture doesn’t come close to being the scandalous farce its makers obviously envisioned.

Myra Breckenridge: FREAKY

Sunburn (1979)

          There isn’t much to enjoy about a comedy-romance caper flick that’s neither amusing nor seductive, so even though Sunburn offers some kitschy distractions, the picture is so bland and uninvolving that it feels much longer than its actual 99-minute running time.
          The premise is fine, because Sunburn is about an insurance investigator who travels to Acapulco in order to sniff out possible fraud related to a multimillion-dollar policy; he recruits an actress/model to pose as his wife, and they fall for each other while exposing the bad guys. Where it all goes wrong is in the casting and execution. The leading man is Charles Grodin, a comic actor whose style is so bone-dry that if he doesn’t have a great scene partner, he’s left flailing; seeing him slide dialogue toward an unresponsive costar is like watching someone lob tennis balls at a mannequin. The leading lady, and unfortunately the picture’s biggest impediment, is ’70s sex goddess Farrah Fawcett-Majors, at the apex of her sun-kissed prettiness. Although Fawcett looks lovely in a series of revealing gowns and swimsuits, she’s so vapid one actually starts to forget her presence while she’s still onscreen: After the initial impact of her dazzling smile wears off, there’s simply nothing about her to sustain interest.

          To cut the actors some slack, they’re not helped by an inept screenplay that wastes all the potential of the premise, bombarding the audience with stupid attempts at bedroom farce and high-stakes action. The bedroom farce comes courtesy of a boozy nympho (played by Joan Collins in an epically awful performance), and the high-stakes action features trite gimmicks like a car chase and an underwater assault on a scuba diver. In the most painfully stupid sequence, Fawcett-Majors and Grodin drive a car into a bullring, leading to an unfunny fight between an automobile and a steer. All of this nonsense is scored with gruesomely bad disco music, complete with a cringe-inducing theme song by Graham Gouldman, of 10cc fame, who should have known better. Poor Art Carney, quickly descending from the heights of his amazing ’70s revival, does his usual professional work as Grodin’s sidekick, and his scenes are among the movie’s only redeeming values.

Sunburn: LAME

Logan’s Run (1976)

          For many fantasy fans of a certain Gen-X vintage, Logan’s Run is the most beloved sci-fi film of the ’70s—with the notable exception of a certain George Lucas-directed blockbuster. Featuring a terrific premise, exciting action sequences, memorable production design, and a musical score filled with far-out electronic sounds, Logan’s Run has an intoxicating vibe. So even though the cheese factor is high, thanks to questionable special-effects miniatures and a generally dated aesthetic, the picture still works as stylish escapism.

          Based on a novel by George Clayton Johnson and William F. Nolan, the story introduces a 23rd-century society comprising a series of interconnected domes that contain climate-controlled luxury environments. By day, the society’s gorgeous young citizens perform easy jobs aided by pervasive technology. By night, they engage in culturally acceptable hedonism, trading sexual favors without emotional hang-ups. The only catch is that when each citizen reaches the age of 30, he or she must enter a violent arena called the Carousel, in which strivers who fail to reach the prize of “renewal” die on the spot.

          The citizens are so narcotized by their easy lives that no one questions their built-in expiration dates except “runners,” rebels who flee the domes to join a secret underground. Logan-5 (Michael York) is a “sandman,” a gun-toting cop employed by the city’s computerized overlords to hunt and kill runners as a means of maintaining order. When Logan discovers a clue about the runners’ hidden citadel, Sanctuary, his lifespan is abruptly abbreviated so he can go undercover as a runner—a harsh move that eventually turns Logan against his former superiors.

          Logan’s Run is filled with imaginative details, like the high-tech “New You” plastic-surgery salon that predicts laser-guided medical procedures (and features a sexy Farrah Fawcett-Majors as a receptionist). York and leading lady Jenny Agutter, who plays Logan’s fellow runner, make an attractive couple, their posh English accents lending the film a certain elegance, and Richard Jordan is frighteningly impassioned as Logan’s friend-turned-pursuer. Yet it’s the visuals that impress the most, because the filmmakers ingeniously converted a modernist shopping mall into the interior of the domed city, then created similarly vivid environments for the Carousel, the den of a group of animalistic street urchins called “cubs,” and even the ice-covered cavern of an overbearing robot called Box.

          Like a great old Jules Verne yarn, Logan’s Run is a fast-moving adventure that introduces one wild situation after another, and the whole story is anchored by Logan’s relatable journey from conformist to anarchist. Logan’s Run may be silly and stilted, but it’s also a great ride with a handful of resonant ideas thrown in for good measure. FYI, small-screen hunk Gregory Harrison slipped on the sandman spandex for a short-lived series adaptation, also called Logan's Run, which ran on CBS for most of the 1977-1978 season.

Logan’s Run: GROOVY

Murder on Flight 502 (1975)

Although he’s best known for overseeing such vapidly entertaining series as Charlie’s Angels and Starsky & Hutch, crapmeister Aaron Spelling also produced dozens of TV movies, most of which were justifiably banished to obscurity after their original broadcast runs. Encountered today, these telefilms are amusing artifacts from a bygone era, cinematic catnip for ’70s junkies who relish watching semi-famous actors swathed in head-to-toe polyester. Murder on Flight 502 is a prime example, because the mystery/thriller is disposable junk noteworthy only for its potluck cast. (Have Farrah, will travel!) The story begins when a commercial flight leaves New York for Europe and airline staffers discover that one of the passengers plans to murder someone on the plane. This standard catch-a-killer premise powered innumerable episodes of Spelling’s TV shows, because the set-up justifies cutting back and forth between various melodramas as viewers try to guess the villain’s identity. In lieu of actual thrills, the movie offers the kitschy spectacle of random actors grinding through the machinations of a trite plot: Ralph Bellamy as a surgeon who becomes a target because he once failed to save a patient; Polly Bergen as a drunken crime author savoring the proximity of real homicide; Danny Bonaduce as a wiseass kid prone to elaborate practical jokes; Sonny Bono as a sensitive singer-songwriter itching for a comeback after years out of the spotlight; Lorenzo Lamas as an international criminal afraid that he’s going to pay for his past crimes; Farrah Fawcett-Majors, her gleaming helmet of golden hair firmly in place, as a stewardess; Robert Stack as the sort of absurdly square-jawed pilot he satirized a few years later in Airplane! (1980); and so on. In short, watching Murder on Flight 502 is like watching a greatest-hits reel culled from various interchangeable ’70s detective shows, meaning the experience is either awful or awesome, depending on your degree of ’70s-TV masochism.

Murder on Flight 502: FUNKY