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Tag: TV Movies Page 6 of 12

Oy Gevalt: Hallmark’s Love, Lights, Hanukkah!

Mia Kirshner and Ben Savage enjoy Chinese food in Love, Lights, Hanukkah!

If Hallmark’s Love, Lights, Hanukkah! (2020) is your maiden exposure to Jews and our religious customs, you will think we’re unfailingly cheerful moth people, strangely drawn to lights. And, perhaps more confusingly, that we’re obsessed with rudimentary math. The film’s cozy Jewish family, the Bermans, spend an inordinate amount of time counting and beaming while staring endlessly at candles and electric menorahs, the balance of their energy devoted to gently bickering while schmearing bagels and eating brisket. There are evangelical Christians somewhere in the United States who reluctantly watched this and thought to themselves, “Oh, so that’s why they’re all accountants!”

Our first groan of “Oy!” arrives immediately: Hanukkah! opens with closeups of spinning dreidels. You would never guess from this movie that most children are not enthralled by dreidels and that few Jewish women collect and display dreidels like Precious Moments figurines. Or that it would be kind of odd for a grandma to excitedly announce that the gifts are beside the menorah—Hanukkah gifts aren’t akin to Christmas gifts and menorahs are not like Christmas trees. If they were placed too closely together, at least in my childhood home, it would’ve taken about two seconds before my brother and cousins accidentally set everything aflame with their roughhousing.

The Cold Heart of a Killer: Kate Jackson’s Icy Thriller

Kate Jackson in The Cold Heart of a Killer.

Whether she’s skeet-shooting, serving time, pledging her allegiance to Satan, getting swarmed by bees or shacking up with a teenage student, Kate Jackson always looks effortlessly cool. And as an Iditarod hopeful in The Cold Heart of a Killer (1996), she’s practically frozen. While her Charlie’s Angels costars sang Christmas carols and helped save Santa and his elves from certain death, as we’ve explored in recent weeks, Jackson never made a holiday telefilm. But her springtime race across the snowy, windswept Alaskan wild will make you shiver, and it’s not just the subzero temperatures that are deadly—there’s also a killer on the loose.

Jessie Arnold (Jackson, also executive producing) is a former sled-dog musher whose competitive career ended five years earlier, when she narrowly escaped death in a savage storm. Since then she’s become one of the state’s premier dog breeders, developing a new breed of Huskies for racing purposes. Her pack is poised to make its Iditarod debut with her newly sober brother, Robbie Pierce (Philip Granger). When he’s lured to his death by a shadowy figure, Jessie has no choice but to enter the race, competing not only as a tribute to Robbie but because she’ll lose both her kennel operation and custody of son Matthew (Kevin Zegers) if she doesn’t bring home the $50,000 grand prize.

Luke Macfarlane Romances Candace Cameron Bure in A Shoe Addict’s Christmas

Luke Macfarlane and Candace Cameron Bure in A Shoe Addict’s Christmas.

It seems like only yesterday that I sexually harassed Luke Macfarlane on this very site, but it was in fact almost 15 years ago. How time flies! Since then, Macfarlane has continued to work steadily as an actor despite fears that coming out would hinder his career. His heartthrob status is reflected not only in his popularity among Hallmark viewers but in his recent high-profile gig as Billy Eichner’s leading man in Bros (now streaming on Peacock or Amazon), which billed itself as a landmark gay film but may ultimately be remembered for a sanctimonious publicity strategy that was unpersuasive to theatergoers.

I respect Macfarlane for coming out when he did and was disappointed for him that Bros was upstaged by its own hype. Since I’m reviewing holiday telefilms at the moment, I decided to look into his Hallmark catalogue and quickly hit upon A Shoe Addict’s Christmas (2018). It stuck out for several reasons, including Jean Smart’s third billing in the cast and its ridiculous title. But what really commanded my attention was the identity of his love interest. Macfarlane was paired with… Candace Cameron Bure (No One Would Tell). Bure needs no introduction to gay (and gay-friendly) audiences, so I’ll assume we’re on the same page about why this seemed worth investigating. Let’s reluctantly bypass the “Which one’s the shoe addict?” jokes and get down to business.

Leave Holiday Baggage on the Luggage Carousel

Cheryl Ladd tends to Barry Bostwick in Holiday Baggage.

Inspirational only on the basis of its sprawling incoherence, Holiday Baggage is a film so invested in the idea of reconciliation that it doesn’t bother to evaluate why, or even if, its family should stay together. Trading jingle bells for warning bells as early as its opening credits—when director Stephen Polk’s name appears at least five times within 90 seconds—this is a festive tale that makes you wish divorce decrees could be stuffed in Christmas stockings alongside candy canes and Bonne Bell Lip Smackers.

Irrepressible scoundrel Pete Murphy (Barry Bostwick), a pilot, charted a course away from his family a decade ago, preferring flings with flight attendants in tropical locales to life with pediatrician Sarah (Cheryl Ladd) and their children in Chicago. Newly retired and eager to remarry, he is finally ready to formalize his divorce from Sarah, who agrees on the condition he reconcile with their daughters. That is easier said than done, partly because Pete has gone to such great lengths to insulate himself from the consequences of his actions that his body rejects the very concept of personal accountability.

Dolly Parton Decks the Halls in Unlikely Angel

Dolly Parton and Roddy McDowall plot her salvation in Unlikely Angel.

Even if you aren’t the type of Dolly Parton fan who finds A Smoky Mountain Christmas’s lesbian subtext to be as bountiful as the beloved entertainer’s talent—or other assets—you are likely to derive some amusement from Roddy McDowall (who last we saw in Flood!) sternly lecturing her about resisting “affection for the opposite sex,” as he puts it, in Unlikely Angel. That he does so as a slightly bitchy Saint Peter makes it all the better.

The two meet at the pearly gates after Parton’s bar singer, Ruby Diamond (“everybody says I’m a gem!”), dies in a car crash. Peter notes with some concern that Ruby was, overall, less than virtuous. Consulting his book, he elaborates: “All your life, you have done exactly as you wanted, gone where you wanted, said what you wanted. You have never thought of anyone else but yourself.” She doesn’t dispute this, nor is she shocked to learn that Uncle Clem hasn’t joined her mother and the rest of their family in heaven.

Peter offers her a chance to redeem herself by healing a grief-stricken family in the week leading up to Christmas. Ben Bartilson (Brian Kerwin, who I’ve loved since Torch Song Trilogy) has drifted apart from his children after the tragic death of his wife, devoting all of his energy to work. Young Sarah (played by future sex cult leader Allison Mack) and Matthew (Eli Marienthal) spend a lot of time alone, when they aren’t scaring off a string of nannies. Ruby’s deposited on their doorstep with little more than a suitcase, a guitar and an aw-shucks smile.

Thanksgiving Day: Mary Tyler Moore and Tony Curtis Serve a Turkey

Mary Tyler Moore spanks Jonathon Brandmeier in Thanksgiving Day.

Readers, I’m going to ask you to sit down before we continue any discussion of Thanksgiving Day (1990), because I’m about to say something that might upset anyone with lingering nightmares about Just Between Friends (1986). It’s as difficult to break this news as it is to receive it: Mary Tyler Moore wears a pink spandex leotard in this one, too. Not only that, we’re subjected to lingering shots of her scantily-clad tap dancing skills in lieu of excessive aerobics instruction. Scream and cry and hug Judd Hirsch about it, and then we’ll move on.

Even without those godforsaken leotards, you have to approach Thanksgiving Day with realistic expectations. NBC billed it as “the most unusual holiday movie ever” for a reason—it’s a big ol’ frozen turkey. Performed in the screwball style of Rue McClanahan’s Children of the Bride (1990), but without its pathos or crooked charm, we are left with little more than Moore’s exhibitionism and repeated gags about serving roast beef on Thanksgiving. Oh, and there’s a lesbian. Except, American television being what it was in the early ’90s, Moore’s daughter isn’t really a lesbian. She ends up with… Sonny Bono.

In Flood!, a Schlock Deluge

Robert Culp and Martin Milner (with Eric Olson) fight water with fire in Flood!

There are scares to be found in disaster impresario Irwin Allen’s sloppy, schlocky made-for-television production of Flood! (1976), but few involve water, which is mostly shrouded in darkness when it’s shown at all. You might instead scream at a closeup of Francine York’s false eyelashes, probably the only structure in town strong enough to withstand the rushing currents.

Or perhaps you’ll shriek in fright as Robert Culp tries, and miserably fails, to emote during a dramatic revelation scene that screenwriter Don Ingalls (Fantasy Island) mangled almost beyond comprehension. Others might fear they’re losing their grip on sanity at all the age-mismatched couples. My favorite was baby-faced Abbie (Carol Lynley, enormously pregnant with a pillow) and Sam Adams (Cameron Mitchell, enormously pregnant with a bad toupee, his face pulled back so tightly it’s uncertain whether he could see).

Valerie Harper Says Goodbye, Supermom

Valerie Harper and Wayne Rogers in Goodbye, Supermom.

A semi-earnest social commentary obscured by empty sitcom yuks, 1988’s Goodbye, Supermom (also known as Drop-Out Mother) is a television movie that hates television. “Know what the ‘M’ in MTV stands for? Moron,” a teenage character tells her little brother. An elderly woman later declares “I have no skills, I’m not talented. I read People and watch Entertainment Tonight. I take Robin Leach seriously. I live through other people’s lives.”

If that isn’t compelling enough on its surface, you ought to know who wrote it. Supermom’s credited screenwriter was Bob Shanks, a longtime producer of The Merv Griffin Show. As an ABC executive in the 1970s, Shanks helped birth infotainment-peddling programs like Good Morning America and 20/20, which permanently rearranged the American television landscape—and not necessarily for the better. In the ’80s, he wrote a handful of telefilms that were variations on the theme of corporate burnout: Supermom follows Drop-Out Father (1982, starring Dick Van Dyke) and He’s Fired, She’s Hired (1984).

The Victim: Soggy Suspense with Elizabeth Montgomery

Elizabeth Montgomery in The Victim.

“When something’s dead, the only decent thing to do is bury it,” Elizabeth Montgomery’s younger sister tells her in the made-for-TV thriller The Victim (1972). Susan Chappel (Jess Walton) is referring to her marriage to Ben (George Maharis); she recently retained a divorce lawyer. But in a macabre twist, she’s soon dead herself—and certainly not buried.

As Kate Wainwright (Montgomery) inches closer to that horrifying discovery, we’re treated to 75 minutes of thunder and lightning and close calls with a corpse. Hitchcock’s Rope it ain’t, but The Victim (adapted by Merwin Gerard from a story by McKnight Malmar) derives its more twisted suspense from a body in a trunk. And this time it’s wicker and not entirely closed, allowing viewers to notice what escapes Kate’s attention in Ben and Susan’s dark basement.

Dial ‘M’ for Murder: The Angie Dickinson Remake

Angie Dickinson with Ron Moody in Dial ‘M’ for Murder.

Onscreen adultery rarely looked more glamorous than when it was being committed by Angie Dickinson, who followed her turn as one of the more significant straying spouses in the history of cinema—in Brian De Palma’s 1980 classic, Dressed to Kill—with a TV remake of another notable tale of extramarital betrayal, Dial ‘M’ for Murder. In an intriguing departure from other adaptations of Frederick Knott’s stage play, Dickinson was 50 years old when she tackled the role of Margot Wendice—twice as old as Grace Kelly, who played Margot in Alfred Hitchcock’s Dial ‘M’ for Murder (1954).

That Dickinson’s Margot and Christopher Plummer’s Tony Wendice are an age-appropriate pairing subtly reconfigures their power dynamic. Grace Kelly’s youthfulness, contrasted with the Ray Milland’s cool, mature composure as a retired tennis player, enhanced her character’s vulnerability. In Andrew Davis’ A Perfect Murder, a 1998 remake, Gwyneth Paltrow would’ve been more believable as the daughter, not wife, of an embattled Michael Douglas. Dickinson, who held her own in westerns, exploitation flicks, police fare, and opposite the Rat Pack, was no ingénue by 1981, raising the domestic stakes.

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