Goodnight, My Love (1972)

          A clue about the right way to watch the made-for-TV detective flick Goodnight, My Love is contained in the title, which is basically a rephrasing of the moniker adorning Raymond Chandler’s classic Philip Marlowe novel Farewell, My Lovely (1940). This picture is a love letter to Chandler, nothing more and nothing less, so even though it’s highly entertaining, stylishly photographed, and verbally witty, it’s not to be mistaken for a truly original piece of work. That said, paying homage to the film-noir literature and movies of yesteryear was a veritable cottage industry in the ’70s, and Goodnight, My Love was ahead of the curve, arriving a year before Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye (1973) and two years before Roman Polanski’s Chinatown (1974). This project wasn’t the first neo-noir, since projects including Stephen Frears’ Gumshoe (1971) came earlier, but it wasn’t riding in the back of the bandwagon, either.

          In any event, Goodnight, My Love is significant beyond its connection to similar genre pictures, because it’s among the earliest directing credits for Peter Hyams, a unique populist with a distinctive pictorial style. (He’s among the few Hollywood directors to occasionally serve as his own cinematographer.) Although his stories often crumble toward the end, Hyams has a great flair for pithy dialogue and he’s fantastic at presenting sardonic tough guys, two skills that emerged fully formed here and that suit the noir milieu perfectly. Richard Boone, all craggy bulk and sleepy-eyed cynicism, plays Francis Hogan, a low-rent private dick in 1940s Los Angeles. His partner is Arthur Boyle (Michael Dunn), a little person with a big mouth, and they spend most of their time trying to scam free meals off creditors until a glamorous dame walks into the office. (Isn’t that always how these stories start?) She’s Susan Lakely (Barbara Bain), and her boyfriend has gone missing. Francis and Arthur take the case, eventually uncovering a convoluted conspiracy involving rotund gentleman criminal Julius Limeway (Victor Buono channeling Sidney Greenstreet).

          Yet the narrative is secondary to the style here, as Hyams fills scenes with bitchy repartee that his excellent leading actors deliver in the ideal deadpan mode. Bain is arguably the weak link, a bit long in the tooth to play what amounts to an ingénue role, though that doesn’t matter a whole lot since Hyams is more interested in the amusing rhythms of boys squaring off against each other as friends, enemies, or some combination of both. Goodnight, My Love is also photographed with extraordinary artistry for a TV movie of its vintage, because Hyams mounts ambitious tracking shots and employs imaginative lighting schemes by illuminating actors with practicals scattered throughout his sets.

          In every way except perhaps the most important one—conveying a resonant theme—Goodnight, My Love is an impressive first outing, and it’s also a wonderful showcase for onetime Oscar nominee Dunn. A fabulous actor who always escaped the limitations of novelty roles and seized opportunities like this one to play everyday people, he died less than a year after Goodnight, My Love was broadcast, although this was not his final onscreen performance. 

Goodnight, My Love: FUNKY

Rolling Man (1972)

          At first glance, the made-for-TV drama Rolling Man might seem like little more than an offbeat mediocrity with an interesting-ish cast. Prolific TV-movie guy Dennis Weaver plays a tow-truck driver who loses custody of his kids while serving a prison term for assault, then struggles to find them upon gaining his release. Supporting him are Donna Mills, Agnes Moorehead, Sheree North, Slim Pickens, Don Stroud, and country singer Jimmy Dean. The story is a bit of a mess, because the leading character tends to stumble in and out of episodes, lingering in places when he should be looking for his kids, so there’s not much in the way of forward momentum until the last 20 minutes or so. Yet the exemplary work of a behind-the-scenes player elevates Rolling Man. By dint of airing about two weeks before another 1972 telefilm, Goodnight, My Love, this picture represents the directorial debut of Peter Hyams, who later became a successful feature-film helmer known for action pictures, conspiracy thrillers, and sci-fi sagas. He does terrific work here, not only by imbuing Rolling Man with a naturalistic pictorial style but also by guiding his actors to render lived-in performances. What’s more, the picture has strong rural atmosphere, from the believable dialects of the characters to the gritty look of low-rent locations including racetracks and trailer parks.

          The movie’s unlucky protagonist is Lonnie (Weaver), a simple guy who enjoys working for mechanic Chuck (Pickens) because the lifestyle allows him to avoid heavy responsibilities. But when Lonnie discovers that his wife is two-timing him with racecar driver Harold (Stroud), Lonnie freaks out, chasing the lovers and running them off the road. After the wife dies in the crash, Lonnie beats the tar out of Harold, blaming him for the tragedy. Years later, after leaving jail, Lonnie discovers that his mother (Moorehead) sent his kids to live with a foster family, so Lonnie embarks on a quest to find the two boys, though he’s periodically derailed by dalliances with pretty women. Eventually, circumstances lead to a showdown between Lonnie and his old nemesis Harold. The script never quite clicks, partially because the bond connecting Lonnie to his sons isn’t established well at the beginning. However, nearly every scene in Rolling Man works as a stand-alone piece. Hyams knew what he was doing, as evidenced by the fact that he graduated to big-screen directing after the near-simultaneous release of his first two made-for-TV efforts.

Rolling Man: FUNKY

MIA: Rare ’70s Movies

Hey there, groovy people! It’s been a few years since I reached out for help tracking down elusive movies, and longtime readers will recognize a few titles here from previous posts of this nature. Anyway, here’s the drill—in my quest to paint as full a picture of ’70s cinema as possible, I’d love to track down some or all of the following movies, which have eluded my normal pathways for finding films. I prefer to patronize only legit sites, so thanks in advance for not recommending iffy bootleg portals, and of course if anyone can lay their hands on physical media I’d be into making the appropriate arrangements. (Alas, the VHS rig that served me well for many years has transitioned off this mortal plane, so I’m living that DVD/Blu life.) Some of these pictures may be truly lost, but for the obsessive cinema blogger, hope always burns bright. Oh, and I’m especially interested in tracking down Black Chariot, a 1971 drama with Bernie Casey, because a 4K restoration has been making the rounds but, as sometimes happens, I didn’t hear about an LA screening until after the fact. Any tips on future chances to catch this one would be greatly appreciated! Similarly, thanks so much for anyone who can help me lay my retinas on . . .

 
Black Cream a/k/a Together for Days (1972) directed by Michael Shultz
The Black Pearl (1977)
Challenge (1974) & The Brass Ring (1975) with Earl Owensby
Country Music (1972) with Marty Robbins
Death Play (1976) with James Keach
Dirty Movie (1973) with Tom Skerritt
Distance (1975) with James Woods
Dreams of Glass (1970)
Events (1970) feat. Robert Altman
Extreme Close-Up (1973) written by Michael Crichton
A Fable (1971) with Al Freeman Jr.
The Gentle People and the Quiet Land (1972)
Goodnight Jackie a/ka/ Games Guys Play (1973)
The Great Balloon Race (1977)
Hanging on a Star (1978)
Irish Whiskey Rebellion (1972) with William Devane
Last Foxtrot in Burbank (1973)
Legacy (1975) directed by Karen Arthur
Life Study (1973) with Tommy Lee Jones
The Limit (1972) with Yaphet Kotto
No Longer Alone (1978) feat. Billy Graham
Okay Bill (1971) directed by John G. Avildsen
The Only Way Home (1972) with G.D. Spradlin
Prisoners (1975) with Howard Hesseman
Richard (1972) with Mickey Rooney
Sammy Somebody (1976) with Susan Strasberg
Scream, Evelyn, Scream! (1970)
Shhh (1975) with Rita Moreno
Silence (1974) with Will Geer
Spirit of the Wind (1979) with Chief Dan George
Walk the Walk (1970) with Bernie Hamilton
Welcome to the Club (1971) with Jack Warden
Who Says I Can’t Ride a Rainbow? (1971)
Willy & Scratch (1975) with Claudia Jennings
You’ve Got to Walk It Like You Talk It or You’ll Lose That Beat (1971)