***SPOILERS***
Journalism, as a career for
cinematic and television protagonists, isn’t in favor like it once was. This could be because technology has changed
how news is both reported and absorbed.
It could be because journalists aren’t as trustworthy as they used to be
(which also ties in with how technology has changed the landscape). Outside of social issue films, journalists
just ain’t sexy no more. The only two recent
exceptions to this that I can think of are Clark Kent in any given DC Comics
film featuring Superman and Sam Turner and Jake Williams in Ti West’s The Sacrament. While I’m sure people are still inquisitive,
there is also a bold streak of cynicism that pervades most people’s attitude
toward everything they hear (I’m no exception).
If anything, this should provide a hardboiled edge to any contemporary
journalist characters, marrying the nobility of truth-seeking and the gruff
edge of film noir.
On television, we still have cop
shows, lawyer shows, doctor shows, etcetera, but no shows about reporters
spring to my mind. Gone are the Lou
Grants, the Murphy Browns, the Les Nessmans, sequestered off to discreet
retirements though they’re sometimes whispered about in nostalgic reveries of
when reporting was a noble cause worthy of pursuit. It can be argued that most protagonists on
the boob tube are truth-seekers; the police who solve crimes, the lawyers who
defend the wrongly accused or prosecute the wicked, the soldiers and agents who
fight amorphous menaces that threaten our existence, the doctors who must find
the cure for a mystery illness. But the
main difference is that the reporter sheds light on things so the whole world
can see, and while the other archetypes sometimes strive for a sense of
transparency, their findings are often isolated, given weight in how they
affect even only a few lives. If they do
carry more widespread ramifications, they are likely hushed up or spoken of
only in muted tones. Characters like David
Norliss (Roy Thinnes) in Dan Curtis’ The
Norliss Tapes shouts his findings from the rafters, and this narrative deals
with the consequences of that.
Norliss is a man with a
problem. He’s become despondent, and his
book debunking paranormal charlatans is long overdue. When the worrisome word scribe goes missing,
and friend and publisher Sanford Evans (Don Porter) finds a pile of cassette
tapes dictating the tome Norliss hasn’t yet finished. The remainder of the film details the first
chapter, wherein Ellen Cort’s (Angie Dickinson) sculptor husband Jim (Nick
Dimitri) just won’t stay in the family crypt.
In The Norliss Tapes, the truth is something worth pursuing, but it
comes with a heavy price (it has to, the truth being something the
powers-that-be seldom want known). As
Norliss delves deeper into the mystery of Jim’s reanimation, people around him
start dropping like flies. This applies
not only to Norliss and Ellen’s acquaintances but also to completely innocent
bystanders. Further than that is the
possibility that our protagonist may not be able to save anyone at all, himself
included (this is the basic premise of the series this film was intended to
spin off and didn’t). In a post-JFK
assassination, post-Vietnam War, post-Watergate America, this type of
foreboding ambiguity was popular. It
wasn’t enough that we didn’t trusted in our institutions anymore. Our heroes had changed, too. They were no longer stalwart supermen who
always saved the day and got the girl.
More and more, they were everymen with flaws and doubts we recognized in
ourselves. They didn’t necessarily come
out on top, and even when they did, they typically were left to ponder the
aftermath of their actions. They had
become reflective of the cultural timbre.
Norliss is no different. His
attempts at stopping Jim are constantly stymied because he doesn’t fully grasp
the monster’s nature, and though this doesn’t discourage his resolve, ultimately,
he’s left with the realization that he’s in way over his head. It was a common feeling for the era.
Another interesting aspect of
this film is its intertwining of art and the supernatural. While nothing new in and of itself, The Norliss Tapes deals specifically
with the creation of art and, by extension, the creation of life. Jim is known in the art world, though I can’t
recall if it’s ever mentioned how successful or well-regarded he is. At any rate, he makes a deal with a demon
named Sargoth (Bob Schott) whereby Jim will be granted immortality via an
ancient Egyptian ring after he completes a sculpture of Sargoth made from a
mixture of clay and blood (hence Jim’s victims). The sculpture provides a gateway (or a birth
canal, if you will) for the demon to be born onto our Earthly plane. Further, Jim’s sculpture, like Norliss’
writing, imparts another means to eternal life, assuming some portion of his
body of work remains extant. This is
something which has forever fascinated me as a concept, to create something
living outside the marriage of egg and sperm, and it begs quite a few
questions. Why do we create in the first
place? What does it say about us? What does it say about itself? Is the act of creation governed by us or by
some external force? What happens when
what we create becomes bigger than us or grows beyond our control? It’s a simple idea which leads to a labyrinth
of things to ponder, and it’s here in this film, just not especially developed.
The Norliss Tapes followed hot on the heels of the Curtis-produced The Night Stalker, which gave us the
character of Carl Kolchak, arguably one of the most enduring and beloved cult
figures in genre circles. It’s no
surprise that this later film gets lumped in with The Night Stalker as it’s practically a carbon copy of it. Norliss and Kolchak are both writers. They both want to find the truth and disseminate
it. They both encounter the supernatural
and attempt to overcome it with their wits, though Kolchak is a natural
believer in the paranormal and Norliss is a skeptic. They both must face the consequences of their
actions. They both start their films in
a lowly state, and their tales are told in flashback. That said, it’s clear to see why Kolchak got
a (short-lived) series and Norliss did not.
For one thing, The Night Stalker
dealt with a vampire, a popular monster even back then (its sequel, The Night Strangler, dealt with a
slightly less standard boogeyman), while zombies hadn’t yet taken off like they
have today (the demon aspect doesn’t crop up until the last act). Also, Kolchak is a journalist, which
naturally allows him to meet up with interesting characters in the course of
his investigations. Norliss, as a writer
of books, is more solitary and internalized, but he tries. Most of all, Darren McGavin played Kolchak as
a charming huckster, right down to his seersucker suit and straw hat. Thinnes, as much as I like him, is far too
dry and brooding for audiences to want to follow him overlong in this mode. It’s kind of a shame, because the final setup
to the hoped-for series may have been just enough to overcome its
failings. We’ll never know.
MVT: The story has enough
familiar and strange elements to feel almost fresh, though the shadow of
Kolchak looms large.
Make or Break: The final
scene is open to the possibilities this property could have been. Plus, it eschews a classic, upbeat ending for
something more sinister and nebulous.
Score: 5/10