Christopher East

Ah, this is the stuff!  An intelligent, well plotted blend of adventure and intrigue,The Mackintosh Man (1973) is my favorite of the Spy 100 selections so far, and probably would have ranked higher up the list for me.

Paul Newman stars as intelligence agent Joseph Rearden, who  — on the orders of his chief, Mackintosh (Harry Andrews) — undertakes a highly classified and dangerous operation to infiltrate a communist network on British soil.  After stealing a diamond in London, he’s turned in anonymously by Mackintosh’s secretary Mrs. Smith (Dominique Sanda), arrested, tried, and convicted to twenty years in jail, all in the name of being incarcerated in the same prison where the network operates.  The network, which is in the business of busting out wealthy criminals for a percentage of their illicit gains, quickly gets wind of Rearden and folds him into their latest escape plan — which also, uncoincidentally, involves liberating a notorious Russian agent named Slade (Ian Bannen) from the same facility.  Rearden’s mission, or so he believes at first, is to pinpoint the enemy network for elimination, and also to prevent the traitor Slade from falling into enemy hands.  But things turn out to be more complicated than that, as Rearden’s journey leads him first to Ireland and then to Malta in a precarious adventure that ends up entangling him in the affairs of prominent politician Sir George Wheeler (James Mason).

At a briskly paced hour and forty minutes, The Mackintosh Man unfolds compellingly, from its intriguing early stages to its later action setpieces  to its cynical, pointed finale.  I was particularly fond of the no-nonsense, unspelled-out way it lays out its mysteries, particularly early on.  The film gives the viewer the credit to puzzle everything together without obvious or unnecessary exposition, something I wish modern films would do more often.  The heady, subtle Cold War scheming is nicely combined with rousing, realistic action scenes.

Newman is solid in the central role, a shrewd, thinking man’s hero, although he’s oddly cast as a British agent, and his accents are hit-or-miss.  Much more problematic is the wooden performance of Sanda in what turns out to be a crucial role.  But the great Mason is terrific as usual, plus you’ve got spy film vets like Andrews and Bannen (who would go on to memorably play Jim Prideaux in the fantastic Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy miniseries, which is rightfully situated very high on the list).  For the record, this one’s directed by John Huston and scripted by Walter Hill, so the film-making reputation is high across the boards here.  This one lived up to my hopeful expectations, and then some; highly recommended.

Late in Tricia Sullivan’s Maul (2003), there’s a sentence that perfectly encapsulates my experience reading the book:  “I’m looking for the seam where reality changes to some kind of code.”  Indeed, reading this text feels a little like deciphering a hidden message, even as its component elements hammer away like artillery.  Maul is a challenging, fierce, relentless novel, structured in a way that suggests a neat answer is in the offing…and there is, kind of, if not in the most expected way.

The book alternates between two story tracks.  One involves an edgy teenager named Sun Katz, whose joyride to a New Jersey shopping center with some friends explodes into a madhouse of ultraviolence.  The other involves a man named Meniscus, a human labrat being used to breed strange viruses in a secret laboratory, in a future where men have been rendered systemically obsolete.  Sun’s death-defying adventures in consumerist America are somehow connected with the frank sexual politics and bizarre science experiments of Meniscus’ hermetically sealed habitat – but how?

This is the question I was asking myself throughout the book, and I’m still pretty unclear about how it all ties together, at least on its surface, science fictional level – and frankly, I’m still feeling a little dense about that.  But the thematic connections are clear, and very interesting.  Maul is a book that raises intriguing questions about power and control, particularly in regards to gender issues, and uses blazingly vivid prose and well deployed SFnal tools to do so.  Propelling the book is a wild, raw writing style infused with fierce attitude.  It’s a graphically violent, sexually explicit, and unforgivingly profane book, choices that occasionally make it difficult to see the forest for the trees, but that also lend the book considerable transgressive power.

At times, I found the non-stop action narrative difficult-going — this kind of aggressive writing style tends to work better for me at shorter lengths, I think — but by and large I found it a compellingly unflinching book.  It’s a novel that confronts systems, head on — its own fictional world’s, and ours — and it’s hard not to respect for the verve and honesty with which it does so.

I’m definitely a fan of Ricky Gervais, particularly for his writing and performing in the original The Office and in Extras, so in reviewing the clumsy and oddly unfunny The Invention of Lying (2009) I find myself eager to blame Hollywood for stamping its grubby little mitts all over a film that should have worked but really, really doesn’t.

The high-concept pitch is promising.  Imagine a world where everybody always tells the truth.  Then imagine that, for no reason in particular, one random person suddenly learns how to lie — and that person is Ricky Gervais.  It seems like a surefire recipe for comedy, but this souffle really fell apart in the oven.  Mark Bellison (Gervais) starts the movie at the assed-out point, a struggling screenwriter whose career is in the tank.  An awkward date with the woman of his dreams (a profoundly unsympathetic Jennifer Garner) only compounds his misery.  But just when it looks like all is lost, he learns that by making shit up, he can become tremendously powerful, and bend the world to his will.  In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man et cetera…but will this bring him happiness?

Sorta.  But it’s not likely to bring you much.  The Invention of Lying feels like an extended sketch — more SNL than Python, alas — that plays its premise straight into the ground.  And it does so in a very odd way:  listening to the dialogue, one gets the sense that it’s really not that bad a script on paper, but something has gone horribly wrong in the execution.  Gervais has a singular talent for awkward, dialogue-driven comedy, and his no-frills, stagy TV shows work best when performance and silence do the work.  But Hollywood doesn’t work that way, and The Invention of Lying feels like adulterated Gervais:  it’s got the hapless, uncomfortable protagonist and the witty dialogue, and a set-up that should be funny, but aspects of the production — in particular, the sappy soundtrack and formulaic story arc — gloss over its few strengths with manipulative big-screen conventions that take the film’s ridiculous world far too seriously.  The result is a tone that is fatally muddled.

The genre writer in me was also unimpressed by the simplistic treatment of the premise.  Not being able to lie, in this world, apparently equates only to being shallow, blunt, and gullible, and ultimately there are only two types of people here: assholes and sadsacks.  Additionally, the inability of human beings to lie in this alternate universe evidently had no effect on the course of history.  The story takes an obvious turn into religious satire, but it only serves to remind one that The Life of Brian did it all better. Maybe I’d be more forgiving of these failings if they’d resulted in more laughs, but such is not the case.

A weird and mildly interesting failure, in some ways, but definitely a failure.  And unfortunately it’s not bad enough to be good — it’s just bad.

Wow.  Okay.  So…Modesty Blaise (1966).  Wow.  Hmm.  This one is…uh…wow.

So these British spies, in order to secure a favorable oil deal with some Arabs, arrange to send them a huge shipment of diamonds.  When their top man is killed, they’re forced to bring in notorious free agent spy Modesty Blaise (Monica Vitti).  Her job…I think…is to protect the diamonds, chiefly from the villainous Gabriel (Dirk Bogarde), who is planning to intercept them.  Blaise brings in her friend, thief Willie Garvin (Terence Stamp), to help her.  They go to Amsterdam, some stuff happens, they seduce some informants, more stuff happens, they go to the Mediterranean, there’s a shipboard heist, and a final confrontation, and two hours later the movie is over.

So, yeah.  Wow.  Modesty Blaise.  Opening the review with a plot summary is probably just the wrong idea.  This one isn’t about the finished meal, it’s about the ingredients.  And the ingredients are actually kind of fun.  Modesty Blaise is campy, technicolor weirdness to the nth degree.  It’s a loopy spy fantasy full of psychedelic cintematography, mod fashions, eye candy, spontaneous musical numbers, outrageous sets and costumes, visual non sequiturs, and gleeful 1960’s-ness.  And the WTF factor is off-the-charts.  I mean, it’s got mimes, calliopes, marionettes, freakish street carnivals…sets are painted like M.C. Escher on acid…Blaise’s outfits and hair color change spontaneously from cut to cut…the humorously affected Bogarde drinks fruity beverages with goldfish swimming in them, and has a ridiculous assortment of pastel sun umbrellas.  It’s the kind of film that Austin Powers was lampooning, even as it’s not taking itself seriously.

But if you’re looking for the ingredients to add up to a nourishing meal, forget about it.  The unique oddness of the film is fun for maybe half an hour, before its relentless incoherence starts to grow tedious.  Its sense of humor is bizarre, and often impenetrable.  It felt a little bit like watching an extended episode of The Monkees…really extended.  At two hours, it’s way too long to sustain its zany stream-of-conscious momentum.  The climactic battle scene on Gabriel’s remote Mediterranean island overstays its welcome by several cavalry charges.

In the end, I can only think this one made the list for sheer novelty value, or maybe was inserted as a respite from the genre’s steady stream of dark, twisty mindbenders.  But even so, it still seems an odd choice.  If you’re having a party, and there’s alcohol involved, this might be an amusing, drunken conversation piece.  It is fun to look at, after all — for its attractive cast, outrageous look, and beautiful international scenery.  But if you’re looking for a great spy movie, by all means look elsewhere!

Back in the 1980s, I didn’t much like television.  I can think of kitschy, fun shows from the sixties and seventies that I like, and TV started to get interesting in the early nineties when Twin Peaks, The X-Files, and NYPD Blue came along.  But what came out in the eighties that I still like?  I can’t think of anything.

That’s probably why I latched on to late night repeats of Mission: Impossible as my favorite show.  And frankly, it still is.  Mission was smart, stylish, different, totally addictive, and way ahead of its time.  (I challenge you to watch 24, Alias, Leverage, MI-5 — all great shows, at times –  or any other contemporary spy series without seeing the parallels.)  I think Mission still influences my every creative pursuit — in good ways and probably bad ways — and it was certainly formative  material for a lot of my later interests, both in literature and pop culture.

For a while, it ran at midnights every night, and I would stay up every night to watch it, school be damned.  When VCRs came into the picture, I started taping the episodes…when I could find them.  Mission got harder and harder to find in syndication for a while there, and I spent years trying to complete the collection, but now with three million channels and the TV-to-DVD explosion, they’re readily available.

A little while ago I finally bought the final (and, by far, the worst) season on DVD.  (I’m a completist, what can I say?)  I’ve been meaning to write up a Mission: Impossible post ever since.  The time kept eluding me.

Then, last weekend, Peter Graves died, so I felt I needed to do this.  As Jim Phelps, Graves was the heart and soul of Mission: Impossible, and frankly, I just liked the guy.  There was something kind of reassuring about his cool, calm professionalism.  His acting on the show could be pretty uneven — I mean, some of the accents, yikes.  But ultimately, I think Graves was just made for Mission: Impossible, and a huge reason it lasted as long as it did.  You could give that guy the most awkward expositional dialogue and he could make it sound like ordering a sandwich.   “The microreceiver will be implanted in my ear tonight.”  What?  My favorite scene in every episode was always the apartment scene, where the team cryptically revealed clues about the mission-to-come.  From time to time even the brilliant Martin Landau struggled with his dialogue in this scene, but Graves could pull it off without a hitch, no matter how awkward.  He was a machine.

Anyway, as my little mini-tribute to Peter Graves, I thought I’d write up a little post of my favorite Phelps episodes of Mission: Impossible, should any of you share my weird passion for this old, great show.  These aren’t necessarily the best episodes of the series, but they all have great Peter Graves moments.

• “The Survivors” (season two) -  This very early Phelps episode is average by the high standards of season two, famous for its elaborate earthquake ruse, but Graves hits the ground running here as an earnest, resourceful scientist.  The plan has him falling into the hands of the nefarious Albert Paulsen in order to facilitate the rescue of two kidnapped scientists who are being forced to make a doomsday weapon.
• “Trek” (season two) -  Here’s a classic Phelps tough guy role, as he inserts himself between two vicious antagonists in order to lead the team to a stolen art treasure.  Just an okay plot, but great production values and a great role for Phelps.  He would play variations on this role throughout the series.
• “The Seal” (season two) – The famous “cat burglar” episode, wherein the team infiltrates the impregnable vault of callous businessman Darren McGavin in order to liberate a stolen artifact.  Yes, they use an actual cat!  Graves scores here both for his amusingly affected Cleveland businessman and the way he convincingly communicates with the feline guest star.  (“Don’t drop it!”)
• “The Emerald”  (season two) -  Graves had a knack for engagingly obnoxious Old Boys’ Network types, and he’s a hoot  here as a drunken lout on a pleasure cruise, tormenting poor Barbara Bain in a high-stakes poker game to retrieve a microfilm-bearing emerald from slimy villain William Smithers.
• “The Mind of Stefan Miklos” (season three) – Probably the best Mission ever.  Phelps hatches his most complicated plan ever to fool an equally brilliant enemy investigator who’s attempting to verify the accuracy of some stolen intelligence.  If you only watch one episode of Mission: Impossible, watch this one.
• “Nicole” (season three) – The show tried a number of whirlwind romances during its run, but most of them fail.  This one (from the same writer as “Miklos”) is a dark and twisty adventure, and one of the few credible Mission romances, as Phelps falls for guest star Joan Collins.
• “The Number Game” (season four) -  A great time warp/big store con.  The team convinces evil dictator Torin Thatcher that World War III is under way, by sealing him into a bunker and manipulating his isolated environment.  Phelps’ scheme often cast him as the strict authoritarian type in the con, and his fanatical military officer here is a great example.  (Also a great outing for Leonard Nimoy as a surly subordinate with whom Phelps clashes.)
• “Fool’s Gold”  (season four) – This episode, in which the team thwarts an economy-wrecking counterfeiting plot, focuses largely on amusing, scheming chemistry between Leonard Nimoy and Nehemiah Persoff, but Graves is great here in a supporting role as a repressed, prudish baron who falls pray to blackmail.
• “Orpheus” (season four) -  Phelps plays a desperate defector, selling secrets to the enemy (again, Albert Paulsen!), notionally to feed his heroin habit — but in reality to convey false intelligence that casts suspicion on an enemy operative.  Graves really goes for it in his withdrawal scenes.
• “Blind” (season six) – There aren’t a lot of great episodes in the later years, but this is a highlight, and Graves carries the day as a hard-luck ex-federal agent on the make, with a drinking problem.  Phelps temporarily disables his own eyesight to carry this one off!
• “Stone Pillow”  (season six) – Snappy crime lingo saves this run-of-the-mill season six plot, and Graves is great here as “the Professor,” the brilliant criminal cellmate of hard-nosed thug Bradford Dillman.

Here’s to you, Peter Graves — thanks for all the memories!

A few random thoughts for a random Friday morning:

• I can’t tell if this itch I’m feeling to write a short story is A) me trying to get away from the novel or B) me wishing I could just finish something already!  (My guess:  a little of both.)
• Enver Gjokaj in Previously on Point Dume — ’nuff said!
• If SUVs got 100 mpg, ate pollution, and resurrected Firefly, I would still hate them.  Because people who drive them would still cut me off on the expressway at least five times a day, block my view, and destroy at least six street-parking spaces at work.
• My average response time for Futurismic subs has gone from about 15 days per story to about 25 days per story in the past month.  I’m falling behind…might be time for a vacation!
• My belated thoughts on the NHL trade deadline:   kind of a yawner this year.  I’m glad the Kings brought in some forward depth, but the coach has messed up the line chemistry, and the team is spiraling.  And…holy moly, the Sabres actually made some deals!  Nice to see Vanek and Pominville heating up lately.

That’s all I got for now.  Have a great weekend!

Andrew Porter has just posted an interview with me at his website The Science of Fiction, wherein I answer questions about editing, Futurismic, and science fiction in general.  This is my first interview anywhere…hmm, that kinda took a while…anyway, I hope folks enjoy it!

Like many folks these days, I’ve been trying to be frugal and over the past few months have been denying myself the usual,  occasional splurge purchase –  books, DVDs, and games being the most common offenders.  But I couldn’t hold out forever, and a couple of weekends ago, on another errand entirely, I broke down and bought myself a present.

Jenn and I went to Fry’s Electronics in Woodland Hills to buy a little adapter for our computers.  I took one step inside and my jaw dropped.  Fry’s is a ridiculous dream world of consumer electronics, tech toys, software, discs and gadgets.  I believe actually said “I want to see everything!” or something similarly childlike, because Jenn was laughing at me.  Your average Best Buy is a meager substitute…wow, Fry’s FTW!

Anyway, I tried to exercise my usual restraint, but I just couldn’t do it, and ended up buying a GarageBand Jam Pack to flesh out my loop library.  My first two “second wave” TV theme songs are included below — the first is an homage to my favorite Whose Line improv artist, and the second is my first “spinoff” theme.  (Thanks, Mike!)

Enjoy!  (Oh, and by the way…FRY’S!)

The Colin Mochrie Comedy Hour

Ulysses Jones

Every once in a while, a critically acclaimed film comes along that I do want to see.  Up in the Air (2009) is an engaging and timely blend of comedy and drama, with a solid grasp on the American zeitgeist of the Great Recession.

George Clooney stars as Ryan Bingham, a deliberately disconnected hatchet man for an Omaha downsizing firm.  Bingham isn’t just commitment-phobic…he’s actually built a philosophy around his gleefully rootless existence.  In keeping with his preference for fleeting encounters, travelling light, and staying on the move, Bingham’s job is to travel the country firing people, doing the dirty-work for companies too spineless to do it themselves.  But his life choice is challenged when a bright young employee new to the firm, Natalie Keener (Anna Kendrick), looks to revolutionize its methods by transitioning the downsizing process from face-to-face meetings to online teleconferencing.  The threat of being confined to the Omaha office, combined with a chance-encounter, long-distance relationship with a kindred spirit named Alex Goran (Vera Farmiga), calls Bingham’s every life decision into question.

I wish mainstream Hollywood made more intelligent, thoughtful films like this one, funny without being stupid, serious without bludgeoning the audience with its messages.  Well, almost…there are a couple of sequences of people getting interviewed that did feel a tad heavy-handed.  But those scenes also effectively ground the film in the bleak reality of the current economic climate.  It’s no wonder this film spoke to people.

There’s not a lot to complain about in this one.  It’s a very well structured film, with smart dialogue, and the scenes never seem to overstay their  welcome.  The acting is first-rate, particularly from the three leads.  Clooney is in fine form again here; he may have some of the best leading man charisma in the business right now, and he manages to make his cold, somewhat callous character likeable and sympathetic. Kendrick and particularly Farmiga both bring flair and life to their well drawn characters.  (I’ve only just started noticing Farmiga, but she’s been quite impressive in whatever she’s done.)  A well made and entertaining film.

Mata Hari (1931) is, believe it or not, the second-oldest film on the list, and unfortunately it really wears its age.  The film takes the real life legend of Mata Hari (a dancer of Dutch descent and a notoriously promiscuous courtesan) and spins a tragic love story into its World War I era spy scenario.

A naïve, idealistic young Russian pilot named Rosanoff (Ramon Novarro) falls for Mata Hari (Greta Garbo) on first sight, and proceeds to shamelessly pursue her.  Meanwhile, General Shubin (Lionel Barrymore), who is also helplessly smitten with her, is approached by Dubois (C. Henry Gordon), the head of French intelligence.  Mata Hari, says Dubois, is spying for the Germans and a threat to the French and Russian war effort.   Shubin’s largely unrequited love protects Mata Hari from his suspicion — until her relationship with Rosanoff, who becomes a target of German intelligence, comes to his attention.  The question of whether or not Mata Hari is betraying the allied cause is ultimately trumped by the story of her love for the innocent Russian officer.

For me there are only two reasons this one made the Top 100 list.  One is Garbo, who possesses a unique screen charisma even by today’s standards — her performance is perhaps more intriguing than the twists of the plot.  The other, I suspect, is the sheer legendary nature of Mata Hari in the history of spydom.  Indeed, “Mata Hari” is virtually synonymous with “female spy” in the vernacular…one can see why a history magazine would want to reference her in a spy film retrospective issue.

But as the magazine is quick to point out, Mata Hari the film has very little to do with Mata Hari the actual person.  The fictional love story at the movie’s core is at odds with the  actual, historical events, which are actually more interesting and complicated than the film.  It merely takes the idea of Mata Hari and hangs a melodramatic romance plot on her life.  This makes for a nice starring vehicle for Garbo, one of the great actresses of her generation.  But as a spy film, I’d only rate it as fair.