kevinolzak

"The Questor Tapes" was a Jan. 23, 1974 NBC broadcast that reunited STAR TREK creator Gene Roddenberry with his most influential producer/writer, the late Gene L. Coon, who had passed away from lung cancer some six months earlier. In fact, the story looks like a feature version of the failed pilot episode "Assignment: Earth," with its introduction of android Gary Seven (Robert Lansing), appointed secret guardian of Earth's future; here, Robert Foxworth plays the newborn android Questor, in search of his long missing human creator, reclusive genius Emil Vaslovik (Lew Ayres), accompanied by Jerry Robinson (Mike Farrell), the one scientist on the team who had previously worked with Emil. The duo travel to England, make quick work of a gambling house, meet another associate of Emil's in Lady Helena Trimble (Dana Wynter), and learn that Questor is a ticking time bomb that will detonate unless he finds Vaslovik in three days' time. It's actually more a triumph for Coon than for Roddenberry, and a particularly special one for the underrated Foxworth, an admittedly tricky and endearing portrayal in learning what it means to be human, the embryonic version of Brent Spiner's Data on the later STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION (1987-1994). There's even a touch of H. P. Lovecraft with its talk of alien 'Masters' planting androids to serve mankind (but not interfere) dating back to 'the dawn of this world,' but the way it plods along simply fails to create much in the way of tension (sharp eared viewers will instantly recognize the opening theme from the upcoming KOLCHAK: THE NIGHT STALKER series in two brief sequences). John Vernon adds a degree of menace, but as with all of Roddenberry's post-TREK work, it's another case of a great idea that doesn't quite come off, and Mike Farrell's comedy background makes him seem out of place when things take a darker turn. The network was willing to produce a Questor series without Farrell's character, but Roddenberry was the one with cold feet, a pity since Leonard Nimoy himself showed interest in playing the android. Another in a string of failed Roddenberry pilots yet more successful than "Genesis II" (Alex Cord), "Planet Earth" (John Saxon), "Strange New World," or "Spectre" (Robert Culp).

"Colossus: The Forbin Project" was first published in 1966 as a Dennis Feltham Jones novel simply titled "Colossus," adapted by prolific TV writer James Bridges (16 episodes of THE ALFRED HITCHCOCK HOUR, plus 1971's "When Michael Calls"), soon to graduate to director himself from his own scripts ("The China Syndrome" and "Urban Cowboy" great box office successes). At the helm was Joseph Sargent, only his third feature film following a decade of hectic television work, finally returning full time to the small screen in 1980 ("Jaws: The Revenge" in 1987 was a less than memorable last hurrah). The completed film underwent several alternate titles before the final moniker, from "Colossus 1980" to "The Day the World Changed Hands" to "The Forbin Project," principal photography lasting from October 1968 through January 1969, followed by extensive postproduction that made the budget soar to over $2 million, facilities and equipment supplied by Control Data Corporation. Producer Stanley Chase selected the relatively unknown Hans Gudegast to make his starring debut under the more permanent Eric Braeden, a memorable villain opposite Roddy McDowall and Kim Hunter in 1971's "Escape from the Planet of the Apes." The film spends the opening 15 minutes with a series of congratulations for Braeden's Dr. Charles Forbin, who has installed a supercomputer beneath the Rocky Mountains to aid in the defense of Western civilization against foreign threats like the Soviet Union. Unfortunately, once 'Colossus' starts making decisions independently, Forbin quickly learns that his impregnable machine was fatally designed without an 'off' switch, instantly linking up with a similar Russian counterpart called 'Guardian' that brooks no interference, impervious to any attempt at sabotage. The response to dummy warheads or a power overload is to assassinate the would be perpetrators, Forbin himself the sole human being deemed indispensable to the extent that he is monitored on camera 24 hours a day with a rigid daily regimen prepared in advance (this he receives from assistant Marion Ross, later on HAPPY DAYS). Forbin is able to extract a single personal demand upon Colossus, regular nightly conjugals with pretend female mistress Cleo Markham (Susan Clark), allowing a few moments of privacy in bed to exchange vital information with the outside world (the flattered Cleo eventually relents to their intimate surroundings and soft wine). The finale is bleak and unrelenting, still effective in today's world of the internet, personal computers, and Artificial Intelligence, at least one reviewer observing that Forbin should be considered the villain of the piece despite the filmmakers' intentions. Alas, the cerebral approach worked only too well, critics raving but audiences staying away, the downbeat yet seemingly inevitable conclusion hammering home the ultimate horror, a storyline still trenchant today even though technology has of course moved on from such primitive beginnings.

"Ritual of Evil," an NBC broadcast on Feb. 23, 1970, was the lone sequel to the previous year's ratings hit "Fear No Evil," starring Louis Jourdan as occult parapsychologist David Sorel. While longtime viewers still recall the initial entry with high regard, this follow up (shot as "Next Time, My Love") seems to have curiously been forgotten, a new creative team in place for a tale of reincarnated evil, a self proclaimed witch (Diana Hyland) surely involved with murder and mayhem at the Wiley estate, the setting for a black mass, a human sacrifice, and a tragic suicide that foretells doom for those present. Wilfrid Hyde White again turns up as occult expert and Sorel mentor Harry Snowden, providing exposition in two scenes about the nature of this threat, each victim targeted by a simple photograph. Apart from the lead character, there's no other connection to "Fear No Evil," though demonic possession is a running theme; rather than go to series, NBC hedged their bets and went with what they considered a surefire winner, a new anthology hosted by Rod Serling called NIGHT GALLERY.