Ants (1977)

Delivering exactly what the title promises, the made-for-TV thriller Ants is basically acceptable given the expectations one might reasonably have for such a project. Yes, the special effects are minimal and the storyline is pedestrian, but Ants features decent production values, a cast comprising several familiar faces, and plenty of scenes in which people are killed by insects with poisonous bites. In fact, had the producers seen fit to boost the gore and nudity quotients (which is to say, had either of those things been included at all), Ants probably could have earned as a theatrical release. The movie is dim-witted, like most creature features, but it’s not much worse than many similar films made in the same era with bigger budgets. The story is shaped roughly like that of a disaster movie. The lives of several underdeveloped characters converge at a lakeside resort, and construction around the resort upsets a colony of mutant ants bearing poisonous venom. Then, after the customary first 40 minutes in which Our Hero tries to persuade people that ants are the culprits behind several nasty incidents, a number of characters get trapped in a hotel with marauding insects while emergency personnel try to rescue them. Nothing original or surprising slips into Ants, except perhaps for the silly climax during which (spoiler alert!) Our Hero coaches fellow survivors to meditate and breathe through tubes while killer ants crawl on their skin. The mind reels. Although stolid he-man Robert Foxworth and perky blonde Lynda Day George are the film’s real stars, the most noteworthy cast member is Suzanne Somers, appearing at the height of her Three’s Company-era pulchritude and wearing skimpy outfits during most of her scenes. Chaste as they are, the various shots of Somers being mauled by ants while dressed in nothing but a bed sheet have a certain naughty appeal. It’s also interesting (and/or depressing) to see such virile players as Bernie Casey, Brian Dennehy, and Hollywood legend Myrna Loy trying to class up their scenes. Like the movie’s titular creatures, the pleasures that Ants offers to viewers are so small they nearly escape notice. Nonetheless, there’s goofy fun to be had here.

Ants: FUNKY

Yesterday’s Hero (1979)

          This one’s about as random as it gets—a British sports drama written by lowbrow novelist Jackie Collins, costarring future Deadwood heavy Ian McShane as an alcoholic soccer player and quintessential late-’70s blonde Suzanne Somers, of Three’s Company fame, as the disco singer whose love saves the soccer player from his self-destructive spiral. No surprise, this bizarre mixture of elements doesn’t work. And yet Yesterday’s Hero is borderline watchable for much of its running time, because McShane gives a committed, hard-edged performance as a one-time superstar ravaged by age, drinking, and ennui. Whenever he’s onscreen, the movie is interesting and even, as much as possible given the shortcomings of Collins’ trite script, vital.

          Predictably, the weakest scenes involve Somers, though her mediocre acting isn’t what drags the movie down. Instead, it’s her singing—or, to be more specific, the terrible scenes in which her character sings. Yesterday’s Hero features a handful of awful pop/disco songs, most of which are performed at nearly full length. Some of the tunes are integrated into the story, illustrating how Somers’ character makes her living, but others merely appear on the soundtrack. Somers and costar Paul Nicholas, who plays the singing partner of Somers’ character, embarrass themselves by flailing around the screen while chirping inept lyrics over beds of overproduced, grade-Z music.

          Oddly, however, the narrative contrivance that justifies the inclusion of the musical material could have been a strong element. Nicholas’ character is a rock star who buys a soccer team as a lark, so Collins was presumably inspired by Rod Stewart’s widely publicized support of Glasgow’s Celtic football club. The juxtaposition of the pop and sports worlds could have created interesting dynamics, but Collins and director Neil Leifer failed to exploit these possibilities—the pop scenes and the sports scenes exist separately, and ne’er the twain shall meet. In the absence of coherence and freshness, viewers have to make do with a handful of strong McShane scenes and a lot of middling nonsense. (For what it’s worth, the curvaceous Somers, no fool about what she brings to the table, bounces up and down a lot during the singing scenes.)

Yesterday’s Hero: FUNKY

Dirty Harry (1971) & Magnum Force (1973) & The Enforcer (1976)

          In the years following the Supreme Court’s landmark Miranda v. Arizona decision, which laid out the rights of persons arrested by police, an outcry rose from crime victims and others incensed by what they perceived as kid-gloves treatment given to accused criminals post-Miranda. Hollywood responded with films including Dirty Harry, a powerful action movie about a vigilante cop who personifies the “shoot first, ask questions later” ethos. Pacifists hate the very idea of this franchise, maligning Dirty Harry’s violent exploits as fascist pornography, but despite the diminishing sophistication of later entries in the series, the first movie (and to a lesser degree the second) are as thought-provoking as they are exciting. Segueing gracefully from his triumphs in a string of European-made Westerns, ascendant star Clint Eastwood is unforgettable as San Francisco Police Inspector Harry Callahan, because his mixture of seething anger and swaggering confidence perfectly illustrates the film’s concept of an archaic gunslinger adrift in morally ambiguous modern times.
          Eastwood’s mentor, B-movie specialist Don Siegel, directs the first film, Dirty Harry, with his signature efficiency, briskly and brutally dramatizing Callahan’s pursuit of the “Scorpio Killer” (Andrew Robinson) as well as the policeman’s clashes with bosses including a politically opportunistic mayor (John Vernon). The legendary “Do I feel lucky?” scene is a perfect introduction to Callahan’s perverse attitude, and Eastwood and Siegel really soar in the climax of the film, when they reveal how little separates Callahan and the killer, ethically speaking; though the fine line between cops and crooks later became a cinematic cliché, it was edgy stuff in 1971. So whether it’s regarded as a social statement or just a crackerjack thriller, Dirty Harry hits its target.
          The first sequel, Magnum Force, features a clever script by John Milius, with Callahan facing off against a cadre of trigger-happy beat cops who make him seem tame by comparison. Milius’ right-wing militarism sets a provocative tone for the movie, forcing viewers to identify the lesser of two evils in a charged battle between anarchistic forces. Hal Holbrook makes a great foil for Eastwood, his chatty exasperation countering the star’s tight-lipped stoicism, and fun supporting players including Tim Matheson, Mitchell Ryan, and David Soul add macho nuances to the guns-a-blazin’ thrills. (Watch for Three’s Company starlet Suzanne Somers in a salacious bit part.)
          The last of the ’70s Dirty Harry flicks, The Enforcer, gets into gimmicky terrain by pairing Callahan with his worst nightmare, a female partner, but the producers wisely cast brash everywoman Tyne Daly (later of Cagney & Lacey fame) as the partner; since she’s not Callahan’s “type,” it’s believable that even with his Neanderthal worldview, he develops grudging respect for her once she holds her own in a series of chases and shootouts. The movie makes terrific use of Alcatraz as a location for the finale, but a bland villain and an undercooked plot make the film a comedown. After The Enforcer, Eastwood wisely took a break from the Dirty Harry character, returning several years later for a pair of uninspired ’80s sequels.

Dirty Harry: RIGHT ON

Magnum Force: GROOVY

The Enforcer: GROOVY

American Graffiti (1973) & More American Graffiti (1979)

          The most relatable picture in his entire filmography, American Graffiti offers an engaging riff on a formative period in George Lucas’ life, when being a kid on the verge of adulthood meant cruising for chicks in a great car on a cool California evening. The fact that Lucas once conceived and directed a story this full of believable characters makes it frustrating that so many of his latter-day projects lack recognizable humanity; it seems that once he departed for a galaxy far, far away, he never returned. Yet that frustration somehow deepens the resonance of American Graffiti, because just as the story captures a fleeting moment in the lives of its characters, the movie captures a fleeting moment in the life of its creator. Utilizing an innovative editing style in which brisk vignettes are interwoven to the accompaniment of a dense soundtrack comprising familiar vintage pop tunes, Lucas confounded his Universal Studios financiers but thrilled early-’70s moviegoers by conjuring the cinematic equivalent of switching the dial on a car radio. As soon as any given scene makes its statement, Lucas jumps to the next high point, repeating the adrenalized cycle until it’s time to call it a night.

          Set in Lucas’ hometown of Modesto circa 1962, American Graffiti follows the adventures of four recent high school graduates trying to figure out the next steps in their lives. They interact with a constellation of friends and strangers during a hectic night of romance, sex, vandalism, and vehicular excess. Some of the characters and relationships have more impact than others, but the various threads mesh comfortably and amplify each other. For instance, the melodramatic saga of Steve (Ron Howard) and his girlfriend Laurie (Cindy Williams) resonates with the obsessive quest by Curt (Richard Dreyfuss) to find a mysterious dreamgirl (Suzanne Somers). Moody greaser John (Paul Le Mat) and tough-guy drag racer Bob (Harrison Ford) add danger, while precocious Carol (Mackenzie Phillips) and hapless Terry (Charles Martin Smith) add humor. With wall-to-wall tunes expressing the characters’ raging hormones, Lucas weaves a quilt of adolescent angst and teen longing that simultaneously debunks and romanticizes the historical moment immediately preceding John F. Kennedy’s assassination. It’s a testament to Lucas’ craft that audiences fell in love with the exuberant surface of the movie despite the gloom bubbling underneath. The picture’s success did remarkable things for nearly everyone involved, helping Howard land the lead in the blockbuster sitcom Happy Days (1974–1984) and giving Lucas the box-office mojo to make Star Wars (1977).

          More American Graffiti is a very different type of film. Written and directed by Bill L. Norton under Lucas’ supervision, the picture explores what happened to several characters after the events of the first film. Howard, Le Mat, Smith, and Williams reprise their roles, and Ford makes a brief appearance. (Dreyfuss is notably absent.) A dark, experimental, and provocative examination of the tumultuous years spanning 1964 to 1967, More American Graffiti would have been nervy as a stand-alone film, so it’s outright ballsy as a major-studio sequel to a crowd-pleaser. Norton follows three storylines, giving each a distinctive look. Scenes with Howard and Williams are shot conventionally, accentuating the everyday misery of a couple drifting apart. Scenes with Smith’s character in Vietnam are shot on grainy 16mm with a boxy aspect ratio (even though the rest of the picture is widescreen). Trippiest of all are scenes with Candy Clark (whose character in the first picture was relatively minor); set in hippy-dippy San Francisco, these sequences use wild split-screen techniques. LeMat’s character appears in an extended flashback to which Norton frequently returns, like the chorus of a pop song. Tackling antiwar protests, draft dodgers, drug culture, women’s liberation, and other topics, the film is a too-deliberate survey of ’60s signifiers. That said, More American Graffiti has integrity to spare, bringing the shadows that hid beneath the first movie’s shiny surface to the foreground.

American Graffiti: RIGHT ON

More American Graffiti: FUNKY