The Invincible Six (1970)

          To calibrate expectations appropriately, this Magnificent Seven knockoff takes place in Iran, and Elke Sommer—yes, the curvy German ice queen—plays a local, at one point fretting to an American tough guy, “You foreigners are so slow to learn our Persian ways.” Whatever you say, fräulein. Low-budget junk featuring a hodgepodge of second-rate international actors, The Invincible Six is borderline watchable, because after the confusing and dull first act, things resolve into a familiar formula, with a gang of crooks joining forces to defend a village against a local menace. Although the storytelling never takes flight, thanks to laughably thin characterizations and substandard plotting, the screen eventually fills with explosions, gunfights, and macho standoffs. Oh, and Sommer does a topless scene, but given the déclassé context, that shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. As for the aforementioned international actors, American leading man Stuart Whitman gets the most screen time, and the supporting players include James Mitchum, Germany’s Curd Jürgens, and England’s Ian Ogilvy.

          The picture starts off, awkwardly, with a heist, because Tex (Whitman) and Ronald (Ogilvy) try to boost Iran’s crown jewels. That doesn’t work out, so they become fugitives, eventually connecting with Baron (Jürgens) and other lowlifes in the Iranian desert. The gang finds refuge in a village perpetually besieged by marauder Nazar (Mitchum) and his goons. Around this time viewers meet Zari (Sommer), who switches allegiances from one powerful man to the next, thereby forming a credibility-stretching romantic triangle with Nazar and Tex. Or something like that. Directed indifferently by Jean Negulesco, who won an Oscar in the ’40s but was far past his prime here, The Invincible Six was edited in a slapdash manner, so never mind trying to follow the particulars of the story. Better to shut off your brain and enjoy the dumb barrage of sex and violence. However, if you have the slightest inkling you can live without The Invincible Six, then rest assured you can.

The Invincible Six: FUNKY

The Double McGuffin (1979)

          After scoring a major success with the independently produced canine caper Benji (1974), writer-director Joe Camp made two attempts at expanding his film career beyond Benji sequels and spinoffs. First came Hawmps! (1976), a silly lark about cavalrymen using camels instead of horses, and next came this youth-oriented Hitchcock homage. As any good student of the Master of Suspense knows, a “McGuffin” is a plot device that triggers action, such as the key in Notorious (1946) or the microfilm in North by Northwest (1959). Therefore the gimmick behind this movie, as Orson Welles explains during brief narration toward the beginning, is that the plot involves two separate McGuffins. Specifically, a mischievous boy discovers a suitcase filled with money near a sewer pipe, then brings his friends back to the area, where they discover the suitcase has been replaced with a dead body. Thereafter, the lads embark on a mystery-solving adventure that becomes a race against time once clues reveal a plan to murder someone at their school’s homecoming game. Echoing the classic Hitch tradition, the scenario grows more convoluted with each new development, so the kids discover international intrigue as well as hitmen and payoffs. Dogging the youthful investigators is a kindhearted local cop.

          On the plus side, The Double McGuffin is slickly produced, with peppy work by the young leading actors and proficient supporting turns by Ernest Borgnine, George Kennedy, and Elke Sommer. On the minus side, Camp’s writing is not as strong as his filmmaking. Too often, he slips into mawkishness and triviality, and several long scenes of interplay among the schoolchildren are boring. Worse, the film’s pacing is so unhurried and the narrative events are so inconsequential that the film nearly evaporates at regular intervals. One gets the sense of Camp being way too nice behind the camera, since much focus is given to the performance of newcomer Dion Pride, son of country singer Charley Pride. Papa Pride, of course, crooned the theme song for Benji, and Pride the Younger does the honors here. Doing a solid for a pal is lovely, but it doesn’t make for engrossing cinema. And let’s be honest: There’s only so high a juvenile Hitchcock riff can rise when the leading lady is Lisa Whelchel, later to achieve fame as “Blair” on The Facts of Life. One of the great screen sirens she is not.

The Double McGuffin: FUNKY

A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square (1979)

          Inexplicably taking its name from a 1939 romantic ballad that was recorded enough times over the years to become a crusty standard, the weak heist comedy A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square stars the American actor Richard Jordan as an amiable criminal operating on foreign soil. When the UK-made picture begins, Pinky (Jordan) earns parole from a British prison by way of good behavior, promising his jailors that he plans to make an honest living as an electrical engineer. Stretching credibility way past the breaking point, Pinky soon lands a job at a major bank—because, apparently, British financial institutions don’t perform background checks on prospective employees. Anyway, Pinky plays things straight until he inadvertently reconnects with local crime lord Ivan (David Niven), who coerces Pinky into helping Ivan and his crooked gang rob the bank. Various twists and turns ensue, most of which are predictable.

          Although neither writer Guy Elmes nor director Ralph Thomas add much to the vocabulary of heist movies—quite to the contrary, A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square is thoroughly forgettable and generic—the filmmakers benefit from a pair of nimble leading players. Jordan, the handsome stage-trained actor who generally fared better with heavy dramatic material, is left adrift throughout much of the movie, because the filmmakers seem unsure about whether to present Jordan’s character as cocksure or sincere. Nonetheless, Jordan lands a few key moments with emotional authenticity, especially during scenes depicting his character under duress. Costar Niven, meanwhile, effortlessly steals the movie with his carefree-urbanite routine, even though the plot requires viewers to accept Niven as having the potential to become a cold-blooded killer. Still, whenever Jordan as the crude and swaggering American is juxtaposed with Niven as the masterful and suave Englishman, it’s possible to see the culture-clash patter the filmmakers presumably envisioned.

          Supporting players Richard Johnson and Oliver Tobias add welcome flavors to the mix as, respectively, a dogged police inspector and Pinky’s best friend. Lost in the shuffle, however, are actresses Gloria Grahame and Elke Sommer. Grahame’s role as the mother of Tobias’ character is inconsequential, and Sommer merely provides eye candy by wearing a succession of slinky outfits and appearing in a laughably gratuitous nude scene. Another problem with the choppily edited movie is the terrible music score by the normally reliable Stanley Myers; the main theme sounds like the house band from Hee-Haw trying to play the theme from The Benny Hill Show.

A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square: FUNKY

Baron Blood (1972)

More like Baron Boring. One of the lesser efforts from cult-fave Italian filmmaker Mario Bava, the cinematographer-turned-director who made the revered frightfest Black Sunday (1960) and the stylish crime picture Danger: Diabolik (1968), this numbingly dull horror flick concerns an aristocratic killer brought back to life. It says everything you need to know about Barron Blood that the resurrection doesn’t happen until 30 minutes of screen time have been wasted on chitty-chat, and that top-billed actor Joseph Cotten doesn’t appear until nearly an hour into the film. Baron Blood is the sort of enervated genre picture that makes viewers wait (and wait and wait) for something to happen, then delivers so much less than expected. The movie takes place in Austria, where square-jawed American Peter (Antonio Cantafora) visits relatives following the completion of his master’s degree. It turns out Peter is a descendant of Baron Otto von Kleist, aka “Baron Blood,” who committed atrocities centuries ago before being cursed to oblivion by a witch. Peter hangs around the Kleist family castle, which is being converted into a hotel by architect Eva Arnold (Elke Sommer), then decides to read an incantation that—according to myth—will bring the murderous baron back to life. Why? Apparently, for no reason other than to propel the wheezy plot. Anyway, the Baron indeed returns, in the form of a ghoul with decaying skin. Complicating matters is the arrival of Alfred Becker (Cotten), a mysterious figure who buys the castle. Rest assured, there’s zero suspense about Becker’s true identity, so by the time he is revealed as Baron Blood in disguise, tedium has taken root. Although the storytelling of Baron Blood is terrible, the movie has moments of visual flair, since Bava was almost physically incapable of making a bad-looking film. Yet a few evocative lighting schemes and a handful of slick camera moves are hardly enough to sustain interest, especially when Cantafora and Sommer contribute such lifeless performances. (Cotten phones in a standard-issue scheming-villain turn.) Even the gore factor is paltry, despite Bava’s predilection for staging elaborate torture scenes.

Baron Blood: LAME

The Swiss Conspiracy (1976)

          Perhaps because he always wears a pissed-off expression on his face, as well as swinging-single outfits noteworthy for plunging necklines that showcase his manly pelt, David Janssen looks like an unhappy tourist in many of his ’70s films. It’s as if he walked from the airport to the location, spat out his lines, and then left with a check in his hands, the ink still wet. One hopes that Janssen at least got to enjoy some sightseeing whenever he wasn’t sleepwalking through his leading role in The Swiss Conspiracy, which makes decent use of beautiful locations throughout Switzerland. The story is a convoluted and forgettable caper about crooks blackmailing account holders of a Swiss bank, with lots of double crosses and “surprise” twists, but so little attention is given to character development that it’s impossible to care what happens to any of the people onscreen. Furthermore, the movie is edited so tightly (The Swiss Conspiracy runs just 89 frantic minutes), that the logical connections between scenes occasionally become obscured. The result is a bit of a hectic blur, though the producers toss lots of eye candy at viewers in the form of attractive women, expert gunplay, high=speed chases, nasty fist fights, and even a few colorful explosions. Adding to the soulless spectacle is the presence of several name-brand actors who do perfunctory work, including John Ireland, Ray Milland, John Saxon, and Elke Sommer.

          Since these performers are directed by Jack Arnold, a capable craftsman whose best work comprised a string of Atomic Age sci-fi classics including The Creature from the Black Lagoon (1955), The Swiss Conspiracy looks and sounds like a real movie even though it’s standard-issue European junk. Janssen plays David Christopher, an American security expert hired to help bank manager Johann Hurtil (Milland) identify and capture the criminals who are extorting Hurtil’s customers. Complicating matters is the presence of Robert Hayes (Saxon), an American gangster who recognizes Christopher as a former police officer and summons Mafia hit men to Switzerland. Predictably, Christopher makes room in his schedule to romance attractive jet-setter Denise Abbott (Senta Berger), one of the blackmail victims. Story-wise, The Swiss Conspiracy is a washout. Escapism-wise, it’s not awful. Powered by a cheesy electro jazz/rock score, the movie zips along from one high-octane scene to another, mixing death and deceit into a Saturday-matinee soufflé—albeit one that never fully rises. No wonder Janssen looks so irritable in every scene.

The Swiss Conspiracy: FUNKY

The Astral Factor (1976)

So drab it sat on a shelf for nearly 10 years after being completed, The Astral Factor is a thriller about an imprisoned murderer who masters paranormal skills including astral projection and invisibility. Armed with these new abilities, he escapes jail and begins killing women who testified against him. Despite this colorful premise, The Astral Factor offers nothing of interest except for the presence of attractive B-level actresses. The acting is lifeless, the direction is amateurish, and the story is as dull as it is insipid. Robert Foxworth tries to add a little swagger to his leading role as the cop tasked with tracking down the paranormal psycho, but since the climax of the picture involves him shooting an M-16 at the empty space where he imagines the unseen murderer to be, it’s not as if Foxworth ever really had the option of retaining his dignity. Playing the killer, Frank Ashmore is so bland he barely exists onscreen; Ashmore spends most of his time scowling in way that makes him seem constipated instead of homicidal. The various lovelies decorating the movie fare even worse. Marianna Hill appears for one scene as a shrewish actress, while Stefanie Powers appears at regular intervals as Foxworth’s bimbo girlfriend. (Powers’ character refers to herself in the third person, so she makes perky announcements like, “And now, Candy is gonna cook you a birthday dinner!”) Playing the largest female role, a robotic Elke Sommer struts around in bikinis and other revealing outfits during her “performance” as a sexed-up eyewitness. It’s all a tease, however, because The Astral Factor lacks genuine titillation in the same way it lacks genuine suspense. When The Astral Factor was finally released in the mid-’80s—going straight to video, of course—it was retitled The Invisible Strangler. By any name, it’s junk.

The Astral Factor: SQUARE

The Prisoner of Zenda (1979)

          British funnyman Peter Sellers’ ability to play multiple roles in the same film had gotten to be a crutch by the late ’70s, and many of his final films, including Revenge of the Pink Panther (1978) and The Fiendish Plot of Fu Manchu (1980), rely on the gimmick of hiding Sellers behind silly accents and even sillier costumes. So, while The Prisoner of Zenda goes light on facial prosthetics and outrageous wardrobe, the central contrivance of Sellers playing both an endangered monarch and his commoner lookalike is so unimaginative that watching the movie becomes a chore. Having said that, Sellers isn’t entirely to blame, because everything about this flick is tiresome. Although the Anthony Hope novel upon which the film is based provides such a solid narrative that the tome has been adapted for the screen several times, the producers of this version opted for a style of lighthearted irreverence that requires inspired scripting; put more bluntly, The Prisoner of Zenda is a satire that isn’t funny.
          Rudolf V (Sellers) is the ruler of a small European country in the late 19th century. While traveling in England, Rudolf is targeted for assassination, so his underlings recruit a salty London cab driver, Syd (Sellers), to stand in for the king. Unfortunately, the handlers withhold key information from their dupe, who finds himself mired in palace intrigue he doesn’t understand. The straightforward premise should lead to culture-clash comedy, but instead, the filmmakers focus on idiotic bedroom farce and laborious slapstick. For instance, one running gag involves a hot-blooded count (Gregory Sierra) perpetually trying to start a duel with Syd because Rudolf is sleeping with the count’s wife (Elke Sommer); this leads to scenes of the count getting knocked down on streets, set on fire, and so on. Making matters worse, the filmmakers don’t give Sellers scene partners worthy of his skills, so he flounders as competent but utilitarian actors deliver bland performances. If Sellers looks bored playing his trite dual roles, who can blame him?

The Prisoner of Zenda: LAME

Zeppelin (1971)

          A generic wartime thriller offering a slow burn on the way to a flashy climax, British production Zeppelin is watchable because of its handsome cast, impressive production values, and succinct running time. One gets a sense the makers of the picture knew they were manufacturing a trifle and thus endeavored to make the experience as brisk and lush as possible. Set during World War I, the picture concerns Geoffrey (Michael York), a Scotsman who grew up spending summers in Germany. His unique lineage lands him a role as a double agent—acting on orders from UK military officials, he “defects” to Germany and joins the team preparing a new airship for covert missions over England at such high altitudes the vessel is safe from airplanes and ground-based weaponry. Intrigue of the most enervated sort arises from Geoffrey’s lifelong acquaintance with Professor Altschul (Marius Goring), the designer of the zeppelin, and from romantic attraction between Geoffrey and the professor’s comely young wife, Erika (Elke Sommer). The movie weakly attempts to generate further narrative complexity via Geoffrey’s acrophobia and the machinations of German officers who doubt the sincerity of Geoffrey’s defection, but neither of these elements gets explored sufficiently to impact the narrative.

         The first half of the film mostly comprises chatty travelogue, and York is so genteel here that not much heat generates, even when he’s canoodling with costar Alexandra Stewart or sharing suggestive glances with Sommer. Yet once the titular aircraft takes flight, it becomes clear that special effects are the main attraction. Shots rendered with miniatures are generally quite effective, while those achieved with green screen are less so, but the grandeur of flight comes across to the accompaniment of a booming score by the reliable Roy Budd. Belgian director Étienne Périer, who also helmed the same year’s Anthony Hopkins-starring thriller When Eight Bells Toll, proves adept during an extended ground battle that features heavily in the climax, so Zeppelin offers an enjoyable last half-hour for viewers who slog through the lengthy preamble. Regarding the performances, nobody fares much better than York because the characterizations are threadbare. As always, Sommer is decorative but wholly forgettable. Goring, years away from his memorable tortured-artist role in The Red Shoes (1949), summons something resembling emotion playing a scientist appalled by the deadly use of his innovation, while Peter Carsten and Anton Diffring vigorously portray the story’s requisite cold-blooded Nazis.

Zeppelin: FUNKY