The granddaddy of all true crime stories is that of Jack the Ripper, mainly because it's unsolved. Theories had him as everyone from one of the cops to one of Queen Victoria's grandsons. The media frenzy in 1888 (and on) was truly one made of hysteria. With so many theories and no concrete proof of anything, books and films over the years have gone hog wild in trying to solve the murders.
So why not the miniseries? There are no new theories here (though there were apparently four endings filmed, as if this were what, the season finale of "thirtysomething?"), but this "Jack the Ripper" is not at all interested in theories. It's interest is in personalities. And we have a glad bunch of them, stacking the deck with such aces as Michael Caine, Armand Assante and our very own Muse of the Miniseries, Jane Seymour.
In case you are interested, title cards, read by an appropriately chilly British narrator, tell us that information here is based on "a review of the official files by special permission of the Home office and interviews with leading criminologists and Scotland Yard officials." By 1988, that was as credible as it got, and who are we to argue?
The first body appeared on August 31, 1888, a "penniless prostitute." This started a "reign of terror so horrifying, the world remembers it still." Ah, miniseries exposition! God love ye for all your puffed-up excitement. The world remembers it still because bunk like this helps keep it fresh in our minds. It's tough to think of too many of Jack the Rippers brothers-in-blood (alas, sisters are pretty rare) of the 20th and even 21st Century who weren't more outrageous, more gut-churning or downright scarier than the man though to have killed five women, maybe more. But you can't do those as costume dramas, and we all know how the miniseries loves costume dramas.
The movie is fair in its depiction of the grandiose hype that surrounded the murders. At The Star, boss O'Connor (T.P. McKenna) is at first annoyed that the murder of a prostitute is even front page news on his paper, but when he hears that Chief Inspector Frederick Abberline (slumming newly-minted Oscar-winner Michael Caine) is put on the case, "Scotland Yard's best detective," he realizes there might be something to all of this.
Abberline is a curious man to throw on a high-profile case, known so well within Scotland Yard for his drinking that when Sergeant George Godley (Lewis Collins) needs to find him, underlings do the universal pantomime for knocking one back and point to the basement. And there we find him, half drunk, half hungover, looking like he hasn't bathed. But, the newspaper says London is out of control, so he tells George to "get me a razor" and suddenly he's on! To make sure we understand that he's a drunk with the potential to throw away his life, George needles him in the carriage to Whitechappel until Abberline finally cuts him off. Got it, character flaws noted.
When Abberline and Godley get to the scene of the crime, they are met by policemen cleaning up evidence, pickpocket lads and a profusion of ethnicities. Benjamin Bates (Jonathan Moore) of The Star already had his story, that the local Whitechappel police must be idiots if the big Scotland Yard guns have been brought in "on a local murder." Assistant Commission Anderson (Denys Hawthorne) wonders the same thing of Chief Superintendent of Police Arnold (Edward Judd). "You have chosen a drunk for the job, Mr. Arnold!" Anderson says, upset at how political this could become.
The surgeon who does the autopsy believes the killer has medical knowledge, but when Abberline asks if it could be a doctor who did it, he furiously rants that "any butcher" would have the same knowledge and huffs off. Abberline sends Godley off to get testimony from doctors, butchers and anyone who basically owns a knife, even the street toughs. Not a small list. He's even suspicious of the doctor (Michael Hughes) who made the suggestions.
Abberline and Godley set up shop in the local precinct run by Spratling (John Laurimore), who has less-than-positive history with Abberline. After a quick hello there, it's off to the inquest, which is being held on some strange rush schedule that allows the police no time to collect evidence. Godley asks Abberline why he is letting it even happen, and he replies "to see who's here." Dr. Llewellyn causes a furor when he admits that the killer had to have "anatomical knowledge" and that keeps Bates and his mysterious companion, whom Abberline suggests "is either an artist or an anarchist" happy enough so that when Abberline stops the inquest, they still have a story. Arnold is under heavy fire for the choice of Abberline, so he calls him in to remind him he wants the case closed very quickly. Abberline, who can't understand the pressure on this one, asks "do you want the killer or will anyone do" when Arnold demands a quick arrest. That gives Arnold a chance to babble something about "we're all pawns, you, me, shilling whores" that doesn't satisfy Abberline in the least.
Robert Lees (Ken Bones) shows up at the precinct. This fussy little man has "visions" that have been used by the police before. "I've seen him...well, not his face..my visions are intuitive, symbolic, not like a photography," he tells a clearly annoyed Abberline. "Look for a man with two faces," he tells them.
All of the pieces so far, the doctor who performed an autopsy without noting a gutted body, only to have another autopsy done, the washing away of evidence, the quick race to the inquest and now a psychic who, oh yes, "is a close personal friend to her majesty Queen Victoria," lead Abberline to the conclusion that if "the dead woman isn't important, the killer is!"
Bates has Lees work with the paper's sketch artist, Emma Prentiss (Jane Seymour, adding much glamour to the necessarily-drab proceedings already). Her drawing is not quite what Lees had in mind of his two-faced vision, but her drawing reminders her of the American actor Richard Mansfield (Armand Assante), who is currently doing, of course, "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" for rapturous London audiences. Isn't that a convenient twist, a man with two faces.
Back in the real investigation, the local police round up their usual suspects, as bunch of crazy men looking for free soup, and Abberline laughs them off, sending Godley out to local pubs to interview the prostitutes to see if they know anything. They don't, but he starts one hell of a bar fight. It's completely unnecessary, something out of a Western. Abberline conducts a test of his own, dropping coins on the street to see how many windows, and thus potential witnesses, pop their heads out of windows. A lot, it turns out.
In this world of miniseries coincidences, where far more converges nicely than ever did in the real case, Bates and Emma take Lees to the theater to see Mansfield on the very nice that Prince Albert Victor (Marc Culwick), second in line to the throne, is there. Mansfield gives a hypnotic performance that everyone straining in their seats. As he goes through the transformation, which is done with special effects (and cheap prosthetics) still unavailable to actors in the theater, the crowd all but riots in horror, Lees most particularly. He is so terrified he runs out of the theater and starts muttering about the faces he's seen, which are shown with more cheesy special effects.
Based on the overacting of Lees (the actor and the character), Abberline and Godley seek out Dr. Gull (Ray McAnally), the country's top expert on madness, and also, of course, "personal physician to the queen." It's all very neatly tied up, isn't it? About five people in all of London, that's it. Abberline asks if it is "possible to be half mad?" Dr. Gull of course believes it, but not openly, having to "lump" it as "dementia precox." Long scene for a short answer, yup, a real-life Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is possible, but awfully radical for the medical establishment.
For every step forward we don't take in solving the murder, we have to take one back into the soap part of the plot. Abberline takes Lees backstage to see Mansfield, who "never sees anyone after a performance." When Abberline bursts into his dressing room, he finds Emma there. Apparently he and she have a history, which Mansfield notes rather nastily. She claims fatigue and leaves her sketches for Mansfield. Abberline wants to know how Mansfield can "create a creature like that," and Mansfield merely says he does it through observation. To create Mr. Hyde, he's observed many people, but Abberline pushes, "a woman was killed in the East End last Friday and if your Mr. Hyde was involved, I'd like to know about it!" If you are confused by this jump from an actor in a role to being killer, that's understandable. It doesn't make sense. Mansfield takes everyone on a trip to Whitechappel to the brothel where Mansfield claims to have been. He's based the character on the doorman, who is blind and known to Abberline. When he removes his hair piece, the girls remember him, giving him an alibi (as if he needed one, as preposterous as this whole silly plot line is).
Mansfield goes off with a hooker, Abberline to "think" and Godley to sleep when there is a second murder. Dr. Llewellyn insists it's the same killer, but there are differences here. First off, the killer has arranged her personal belongings, and second, Abberline gets a second opinion from another doctor. Dr. Llewellyn is incensed, but not as angry as when Abberline asks for his alibi. Mansfield and Lees are dragged in for questioning. Mansfield rushes off in a huff, but Lees has been sickened by a second vision, which he claims was the crime scene, which Abberline dismisses. "If you did see the killer, you'd better be careful who you tell. He might come looking for you, mightn't he?" Abberline notes mockingly. Ultimately, Abberline still thinks Mansfield, Llewellyn and Lees are possible suspects.
However, Abberline goes to pay a call on Emma. Godley advises him not to because "she's trouble," but he goes anyway. "You're almost a year late," Emma says when answering the door. He wants to talk about Mansfield, though he's undoes her hair and buttons as he asks questions. This leads to kissing and any the dissolution of any credibility that the opening title card so lavishly reminded us went into the making of this movie.
As Abberline enjoys Emma, the rabble on the street, fired up by Bates, keeps turning its anger on different people. They throw cabbage at Mansfield and Lees and then break the windows of a leather apron named Pizer. While the latter happens, Bates actually takes Lees drinking to get some dirt. Lees is almost run down by a phantom-like carriage driver manning the royal coat of arms, but everyone on the street dismisses him as a drunk. He heads straight for the police station, saying he's been in that coach when going to visit Her Majesty.
This sends Abberline off to the royal mews, where he finds out that none of the coaches were out at the time of Lees accident. A "freelance" coachman says he can get any coach needed "for a price" and Godley is left to follow that lead. Coincidentally, this coachman drives not only Prince Albert Victor, but also doctors, only the big ones. Oh, and I should mention, he fancies himself a surgeon as well, "Dr." Netley (George Sweeney).
I thought Abberline's trip to Emma was a bit much, but when he's taken to see the Prime Minister, it's even more idiotic. They are alarmed at the "armed vigilantes" in the East End and promise Abberline all the money and men he needs because they are so afraid of the political ramifications of the murders. Uh huh.
When Abberline discusses the evidence with the policemen he's sending out to canvass, it's not quite the profiling we've come to expect from "Criminal Minds." There are a lot of details about him that "may" be true, but they really don't know anything. He sends them off to talk to everyone from butchers to artists, whom one officer helpfully notes "cut up horses" for their drawings. That's when George Lusk (Michael Gothard) finally comes to see Abberline. He's the vigilante who has been stirring up the masses and getting in Abberline's way. Lusk rips into Abberline about everyone being concerned for safety, but in extreme close-up, Abberline reads him up and down, telling him he knows the men of Whitechappel because he grew up there and Lusk is only in it for the power (what power would that be?). "The revolution may not start this week," Abberline spits out, leaving everyone mighty confused as to exactly what that means. The only thing this does for Abberline is to have Godley send a cop after the rabble because the killer might be a part of the vigilante gang. Then he swigs some whiskey, not a good sign.
The second inquest reveals, via Dr. Phillips (Gerald Sim), a far more thorough doctor than Llewellyn, and far more graphic. "I have never seen such terrible things done by a member of my profession," he testifies. Dr. Acland (Richard Morant), Dr. Gull's assistant, is there, and Abberline and Godley follow him out. Why is he there in formal dress? Oh, one of our famous coincidences! Mansfield has been going to him for advice on his role and observed a few autopsies without flinching. This sends Abberline back to Dr. Gull and the Jekyll-and-Hyde theory, only because we haven't revisited it in a few scenes.
The killer is given a name, "Jack the Ripper," via a letter that supposedly comes from the killer. Bates takes the letter, written "in red ink" to Abberline, thinking it a sensation. Well, it is for the paper, but not for Abberline, who says "I get three of these a day...I'll give you a dozen letters more boring than this one...on second thought, write your own." The letters do pile up, but Abberline takes this one seriously (without Bates knowing) because it says something about "next time I'll cut the ears off." The second victim had her ears clipped, and only Abberline and Dr. Phillips knew that. This convinces Abberline that there are actually two killers, two guys working in tandem.
As he and Godley pour over statements looking for clues, the prostitutes go out for the night and all of our suspects are shown, while the faceless coachman rushes into the neighborhood with the coach bearing royal arms. There is a third murder. And a fourth for the cliffhanger to end the first part.
Abberline and Godley see one victim and the ears are still there, perhaps making the letter a hoax. However, as Lusk and his Whitechappel Vigilance Committee arrive and rouses the rabble to the heights, Abberline and Godley go to the other body, to find the evidence gone and the Commissioner waiting for them. This body has a note written on the wall about the "Juwes," that the higher ups want wiped off and the handwriting doesn't match the letter. The higher-ups are furious and consider taking Lusk up on his offer to help, but Abberline threatens to quit if that happens.
Alas, the fourth victim has had her ears cut off. "He's given us his handwriting!" Godley coos. "He's hanged himself," Abberline adds. The Star receives another letter, which Abberline treats with his usual disdain, though thrilled when O'Connor leaves. Abberline and Godley think they are closing in on him.
Back in the political arena, the Prime Minister is worried this could bring down the government, especially is Prince Albert Victor is at all suspect.
Abberline is still hooked on Lees, whom they have write out a statement and the handwriting does not match. The two hound him as Lees howls, "until you believe my visions, these killings will go on and on!" Exactly what they wanted to hear.
Unfortunately, there's an Abberline-Emma scene. Not that I object to either actor, but I do object to the ridiculous plot that draws them together. And here it gets even more far-fetched! Abberline wants Emma to deliver her drawing to Mansfield, while also playing detective, "to see if he hates women," as she puts it. "Shall I write it all down like one of your sergeants?" she coyly asks. Verbal games ensue, and Abberline tells her "never to be alone" with Mansfield (who is too busy with prostitutes anyway).
Bates storms the police station to show Abberline the newest arrival, a human kidney, with a note that says the writer has eaten the other. However, this one was not sent to the newspaper, but to Lusk. That makes Abberline suspicious. Dr. Llewellyn can't say if the kidney came from one of the victims, so Abberline takes it to Dr. Gull. Dr. Gull says that the kidney did in fact come from one of the victims, though Dr. Acland gets all suspiciously huffy.
Very proud of herself, Emma reports back to Abberline that Mansfield doesn't hate women, and is in fact involved in a great love affair, with himself. But, she has other news, relating to Prince Albert Victor, who is keen on wearing disguises and visiting "bawdy houses" in Whitechappel. "Gossip like that can be very dangerous," he warns her.
Also, "gossip is more powerful than facts," the Commissioner tells Abberline, who has sent Godley to threaten Bates about publishing such gossip without proof. "If he visits brothers, that's a scandal, scandals die down, but if he's suspected of murder, we'll be facing a crisis that will rock the British Empire to its very foundations," the Commissioner says, adopting the the same melodramatic attitude about poor Prince Albert Victor, who only wanted to have a good time and died young doing it. However, the Commissioner remains steadfast, that if the evidence points to royalty, he will be prosecuted like anyone else.
The plot that involves Bates and Lusk, who is now proclaiming himself the leader of a Marxist revolution and having his goons beat up the pimps, seems to hint that a lot of what the police are now seeing is staged. That's an interesting theory, but there are so many going on here that it gets lost among the general hysteria. Poor Mansfield has his play shut down "in case it inspires the killer."
As Abberline and Godley are racing around Whitechappel trying to figure out how the killer had enough time to do everything he did, Lusk leads a torchlit mob to Scotland Yard. Our two lead detectives decide "it is more than one and they are using a coach." Wait, hasn't that been obvious all along? I mean, they've shown us the killings, so we know it, but the use of a coach has been pretty certain all along. At the same time, Lusk and the mob show up at Scotland Yard and demand the Commissioner's resignation.
The coachman/passenger theory explains the two different handwriting samples, the two different descriptions, the lack of blood, everything. And no one would stop the coach, "not this coach," meaning one bearing royal arms.
Godley has the job of visiting every pub in Whitechappel to warn the girls about the duo while Abberline goes to see Lees and finds Mansfield there. Lees falls into a supernatural swoon about a woman with long flowing hair and "a knight in armor." "My visions are never wrong," Lees tells Abberline, "she's going to die." This would have to be the brand new girl Godley just met with the long flowing blond hair.
So, on another night with all of the characters out and about, the killer suits up for another round. Godley gets proof that Prince Albert Victor has been in Scotland for "the past 10 weeks" and therefore cannot be the killer. How is that possible? We've seen him both at the theater and at the mews. By this point in the story, it's only early November, which puts the Prince in London at least twice within the past 10 weeks. You don't have to be a detective to see that giant hole in the plot!
The latest murder doesn't actually kill the blond, but another girl, so horrendously mutilated that even Abberline is shocked. However, there is a picture by her bed of a knight and a blond damsel. Lusk shows up at the new crime scene and gets the crowd going with chants of "no police!" Godley tries to track down Mansfield, to find out that he's going to be dressed as a knight for a new production of "Richard III," and he's at the theater in costume so that Emma can draw him. Abberline bursts in and finds out that Mansfield has an alibi. Yup, of course, he was with Emma. Mansfield, lying, says they didn't sleep with each other and then Emma turns on Abberline with a grand monologue delivered with spectacular lighting. Unfortunately, Jane Seymour is only window dressing here (1988 was a very busy year for her, so I'm willing to excuse a performance that adds very little to the proceedings if you are) and her character pointless. "It's not use, Freddy. We belong in different worlds, just stay out of mine!" she says and dashes off.
One more time, Abberline and Godley go through the list of suspects and decide who is still possible and who isn't. Jokingly, Abberline insists they put themselves on the list as they are both handy with knives. Dr. Gull is the first to use the word "psychopath," but he won't be easy to find. "He'll probably appear quite normal, until his insanity rears its head," he tells them. Doesn't that describe every human being? We're all normal until we flip out at one point or another. Granted, we don't all kill people, but Gull might as well be throwing more hay on the haystack in which this needle is buried. As for the theory of two people, Dr. Gull is willing to believe that too. "There will always be leaders and followers," meaning that one has so much power over the other that he can convince him to do anything--religion, family, politics, basically pair up any of the suspects and this theory works too, half-cocked as it is. Upon leaving Gull's, they see Dr. Acland getting out of a carriage driven by Netley, a carriage that has crest removed from the door. This convinces Abberline and Godley that they have their killers!
Abberline rushes to tell the Commissioner, who has tendered his resignation, but is still on the job until midnight. Abberline promises Jack the Ripper that night and they arrest Netley. Abberline forces him to write on the wall and the way he spells Jews is just the way it was done on the wall at the murder. Abberline has a signed letter from the Commissioner that any accomplice of Jack the Ripper will be freed if he leads them to the killer. At the same time, Godley goes to a prostitute to use her as bait. Netley is set up in his coach and all of the other suspects are in their places.
The killer shows up at the coach, Netley puts him in and drives off to where the prostitute is waiting. Who is in the carriage? Dr. Gull! "You're destroying my work," he yells, "they were only whores!" Abberline tries to kill him, but Godley stop him, luckily, though Gull is knocked down and barely alive with internal injuries. Dr. Acland says he's a goner. Acland, in a shouting match with Abberline that is so wildly over-the-top it could have only been filmed in one take or the actors wouldn't have any voice left, tells Abberline that Gull was mad and trying to understand his own madness, not that he was trying to understand madness in others and using the girls as experiments.
The Commissioner and Abberline then go at it because the Commissioner doesn't want to arrest Gull, since he's a dead man and the Queen's physician. He convinces Abberline to go along with it, who tells Godley the case will go unsolved, "files will disappear," and it will go away. "Think of the public good!" Godley is incensed, saying he wants justice, to which Abberline replies, "then you should have let me shoot him."
Of course the ending is ridiculous. It's as if the creators simply picked blindly among the cast members and came up with an ending. The thought that Queen Victoria's physician would be the murderer but get the hush treatment is inane. There was too much interest in the murders for that to happen. Granted, they stopped fairly quickly (although some attribute other killings over the next few years to Jack the Ripper), but word would have leaked out one way or another!
Preposterous describes the whole movie, but at least it's unfailingly colorful and pretty tense, an old-fashioned murder mystery with the twist of throwing in Jack the Ripper as the murderer. Unfortunately, such pieces need lots of character and lots of extraneous red herrings and scenes, which do make the movie awfully creaky at times.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
Fresno (1986)
Ah, "Frenso." What the hell do we do with "Fresno?" It's definitely a miniseries, on the longer side no less ("Holocaust" is only an hour longer and that takes place over nearly a decade). It definitely has a slumming cast (everyone in it is slumming by virtue of showing up, but there are legends here who should know better), it leans towards the romance side of the miniseries genre, or more so than it does history or adventure. "Fresno" is a saga that takes place among the great raisin-growing Kensington and Kane families of Fres...wait, raisins? Not oil? Not wine? Not even figs? Raisins!
And thus, the problem, or part one of the problem. "Fresno" ranks as THE ONLY miniseries created as an intentional comedy. It's unique in that way, but the second part of the problem is that it's consistently un-funny. With Carol Burnett at the helm, it should be so much better, but instead, desperate writers keep stuffing in her schtick so that at least a few minutes are bound to work here and there. Okay, there is fun to be had here with maybe a dozen good lines, character names, a station wagon and a perfectly white t-shirt, but not nearly enough.
Ostensibly, "Fresno" was created to spoof "Dynasty, Dallas, Falcon Crest," "Knots Landing" and even some of the less successful prime-time soap operas (although some of the character names are spoofs of daytime soaps) . Rich people manipulating each other, but willing to die to keep their business going (that applied for the oil of "Dynasty," the oil of "Dallas" and the wine of "Falcon Crest," but I'm honestly not sure what anyone did for a living on "Knots Landing). It completely forgets to spoof the miniseries format, which is lazy and bizarre, instead sticking just to soaps, which can't hold anyone's attention for this much time. "Fresno," apparently, was only shown once on American TV, proving that comedy does have a very short shelf life and also that the shelf life is even shorter when the comedy is bad. It will wither as quickly as, well, as raisins on the vine.
In an early episode of "Falcon Crest," the grande dame of evil magnates Angela Channing (Jane Wyman) tells her grand-daughter-in-law that if she didn't sign over rights to her dead father's vineyard, she would "be the raisin queen of the Tuscany Valley." Perhaps that was the inspiration for "Fresno." If only anything else here were as clever as that stinging line...
In 1581, Spanish Conquistadors are in Northern California and have found grapes, "the fruit of life," to the excitement, but there's a problem. "They taste like fresno!" the leader says, spitting them out. Paging Mel Brooks.
I will admit that the opening credits are amusing, because they nail the opening credits of the great 80s soaps. Huge cameras swooping around for miles, a wildly orchestrated score, three-way split-screen pictures of the actors. And of course an aerial view of the show's central mansion.
Raisin baron Charles Grodin reminds his foreman Luis Avalos that the survival of his empire depends on getting a particularly shipment of raisins to Sacramento. Who can't sympathize with that? Sacramento without raisin? What would be the point of ever going? Plus, with this shipment, "were not just making raisins, we're making history!" Trouble hits Luis immediately when his truck is stopped by rival raisin workers. They have heard about his boss' new raisins, that "taste like crunchy whole wheat," and they throw the raisins to the ground (sorry, Sacramento).
As they are trashing the truck, out of the mist and dirt comes Gregory Harrison (as Torch), wearing skin-tight jeans and a shirt thrown over his shoulder. "Problem?" he asks. "No problem," says the head bad guy. "I have a problem," says Luis, a knife held to his throat. Just then rival raisin giant Dabney Coleman shows up in his big car, let's his boys off the hook and has his driver back the car up over the raisins about 15 times. Gregory doesn't understand what is so special about these few raisins. "They are bran raisins...the cereal is already inside them," Luis explains. If you aren't laughing at anything yet, don't worry, nothing has been funny. The jokes go by, older than when Plautus first used them and the actors pause after every one, as if hearing imaginary laughs, thus killing the momentum over and over.
Naturally, the First Family of Fresno lives in a big mansion with a huge gate and a huge drive populated by huge trees (just like Southfork or Falcon Crest, natch). The family is on hard times, having to dine at the kitchen table. There is matriarch Carol Burnett (who is Southern for no particular reason), Charles' wife Teri Garr (as Talon), and siblings Valerie Mahaffey, managing to mention always that she's adopted, to great eye rolls from Carol, and nerdy Anthony Heald. Not a bright bunch, this family. Carol wonders if they can "do the same thing with toast" as they did to the bran raisins. "You mean put a whole piece of toast in a raisin?" Teri snaps? The stuffed raisin jokes are already old and it's only been 10 minutes. Charles goes through the sad state of family affairs, but Valerie cuts him off. "Do we always have to talk about who is on top of who? It's so unpleasant," she whines. Brother Anthony has a topic: "I have decided to become celibate for two years to protest the killing of sperm whales." Carol Burnett has to push hard with lousy material, but her "that's nice" to him is pretty damn funny.
In the foyer (and we know it's a foyer because the title cards tell us), Teri and Valerie get their first look at shirtless Gregory. "Torch? You want to tell me where that came from or should I just let my imagination run wild?" Terri asks sucking on a celery stalk from her Bloody Mary. Carol hires him on the spot and then Charles launches into a tirade that is apparently meant for the folks in the balcony two counties away when he finds out the bran raisins have been destroyed.
Carol shows Gregory around the estate. He asks where her husband is. "Dead...I assumed you knew," Carol says, proving her comedic timing is still intact, stretching that line as far as it can be stretched. The rest of her family history has to be delivered as the two fight their way through cobwebs because Charlotte notes, "I haven't kept up with the place as much as I should have." Echoing the Digger Barnes-Miss Ellie-Jock Ewing triangle, Carol explains that her late husband and Dabney used to be best friends in business together, but had a falling out and then her husband had his fatal "accident." A flashback shows us television's first, and, as far as I know, only, death by raisins. Gregory indulges in a bit of spoof that actually is halfway amusing. He asks her why she assumed it was an accident, considering her husband got a late-night phone call from a stranger, went to the dehydration facility and believed he wasn't being set up. It used to happen all the time in primetime soaps. Things would happen on dark stormy nights, brakes would fail, children would appear, but no one questioned anything!
A running joke is that Luis is constantly asking for a meager raise (Gregory was hired instantly, but Luis is always turned down). He stops Carol to tell her the money he wants "is for my family, for food and clothing." "I've seen what you eat and what you children wear, surely they can't cost that much...the world is made of haves and have nots. I have, you have not," Carol says. "So do I have the raise? "No, you have not." "Who's on First" this definitely ain't!
Wanna-be country singer Teresa Ganzel, the maid who dusts wearing big white boots, is grabbed from behind by hubby Bill Paxton (she's Bobbi Jo Bobb and he's Billy Joe Bobb, so aren't you glad I'm actors' names?). "What are you doing here? You know they don't allow no one inside who's perspiring," she says in that nasal voice that was a staple in early 80s movies. This happens right outside Charles' office, where he's been meeting with Jeffrey Jones. Charles has asked Jeffrey to pollute a man-made lake, for cash, of course, that is between his property and Dabney's. Charles thinks Teresa, who harbors a lifelong passion to be a country singer, has heard the conversation, so he offers to put her on a singing show broadcast from...and you sitting down?...one of the capitals of song...BAKERSFIELD! Except she's too dumb to realize what is going on and hasn't heard anything. She kisses Charles as thanks and of course wifey Teri, perpetually with a drink in her hand, is not happy to see that.
Like the family meals on "Dallas," everyone dresses for dinner, but unlike "Dallas," they have to crowd around the table to do it. One by one, each child gets upset over something and leaves (Charles throws the first of MANY drinks in Teri's face as she snaps, "it's okay, I was about to take a sip anyway"). "I wish just once I could finish a meal with just one of my children still at the table," Carol huffs, as poor Valerie almost chokes in sorrow.
Valerie is struggling getting a saddle on a horse when Gregory, who has taken a shine to her, walks over (t-shirt in pocket now so both hands are free). "Why don't you ride bareback?" he asks. "You mean the horse, right?" she replies in an awfully racy joke for this movie.
The polluted lake is actually on Louise Latham's property and Dabney wants to buy it from her to cut off his rivals' water supply. Louise lives in a trailer with ticking clocks. Ticking clocks. Wow, that's funny. No, no it's not. Louise refuses to sell and Dabney angrily tells her, "I'm coming back again. And again. And again. And each time it will be more unpleasant because each time I will offer you more money!" he says while the clocks chime "cuckoo."
One of the funnier ongoing jokes is that chauffeur Charles Keating (a refugee from daytime soaps) is constantly telling the family that the Rolls Royce is not working. This forces them to use a beat up old station wagon. Watching Carol Burnett, in a big Alexis Colby hat, being helped into the way back seat with her knowledge of physical comedy is what this miniseries should have more of.
Carol and Charles have to go to Dabney's office to plan a masquerade ball, the highlight of the raisin community's social season (what's the lowlight?), which Carol has always hosted, no matter her financial status, because her late husband insisted. Dabney wants the ball at his home, and Carol is furious. "That was his pride and joy." Someone says, "I thought roses were his pride and joy." "Roses and balls. It's impossible to tell which he prized more," she responds with an amazingly straight face. Dabney still argues. "You didn't serve food last year." "We did so," Charles pipes in." "Crackers and canned cheese." "We had raisin mousse jubilee and you know it," Carol hisses. A vote sends the ball to Dabney's place.
With everyone having left the room, Dabney and Carol can duke it out. He makes yet another offer on her business and she refuses. It all comes around to the competition between Dabney and her late husband. "You aren't half the man he was," she notes. "He's dead. Right now I'm double the man he is," he replies (in an honest-to-goodness funny line). Drink #2 is thrown in Dabney's face.
Poor Bill is all upset that Teresa is off in Bakersfield (I think he's upset that she's off, he can't be jealous of Bakersfield) and slinks home to his trailer, where Teri is lounging with a drink. Running the competition in a bar in Bakersfield is Jerry Van Dyke, who gives a painful speech to all the hopefuls before Teresa wants to tune her guitar. "Tune her guitar? I thought you said this was an amateur contest," another hopeful asks Jerry. Terri wants to sleep with Bill as revenge on their perhaps wayward spouses, and Bill is incensed. In a line that has him talking about "looking smart because sometimes I'm shirtless and the sweat glistens off my chest," he insults Teri, who throws drink #3 and responds with #4, which is actually a spraying beer can.
Valerie catches Gregory in the dehydration plant, where he says he's investigating "how 37 tons of raisins could fall on someone." "How could they?" she blankly asks. "They couldn't, that's the problem." Meanwhile, nature-loving Anthony discovers all of the fish in the lake are dead (and tries to give mouth-to-mouth to one of them in an incredibly lame bit).
Bill listens to the radio show on which Teresa will be singing. She thanks Charles for getting her there, which Bill of course misinterprets. "Just because you're a migrant worker, don't mean we got a migrant love" is the first line of a song that doesn't get any better (and I'm not sure I even understand that line). Fortunately, Bill shoots the radio so put us out of misery hearing the rest of the song. Unfortunately, the bullet goes through the radio, through his trailer, into Louise's and kills her.
Charles informs the family of the previous night's events. "I'm just surprised you could sleep through it all." "Being married to you proves (say it along with me folks) I can sleep through anything," Teri snarls. "I got him the best lawyer money can buy," Charles reassures everyone. "Can we afford that?" Carol asks. "It's a public defender, the county pays for it, Mama," he says. Huh? Just a tweak to Charles' line would have been a perfect set-up for Carol's question and his answer. But, hey, I'm just writing about "Fresno," not writing it. And if it were the other way around, I wouldn't be taking any credit.
At the police station, Bill confesses to the crime, since it was an accident anyway, but just then in comes his lawyer, Melanie Chartoff (as Desiree DeMornay). "What took you so long?" one of the cops asks. "It takes me a while to get ready, OKAY?" she answers. Uh huh. There's a "joke" that could have been cut without losing ground. The charge will be second degree murder because Bill "shot that radio in anger."
Since Carol understands what it means to lose a spouse, she offers to go to Louise's widower Pat Corley and use her "wiles" to get the water rights. "The man is a slobbering imbecile. I will have not have my mother debasing herself by coming onto a vile disgusting creature like that." Wait for it. "We'll have [Teri] do it." Zing! "I'm still the head of the family...if anyone is going to get debased, it's going to be me!" Carol insists.
Dabney beats Carol to Pat's trailer, where Pat says he's just lucky to have the crime scene outline of his wife for memories, but then turns into a shrewd negotiator and wants to hear the other side's offer and give both of them terms. "You drive a hard bargain," Dabney says. "No, I drive an Impala." Even Dabney rolls his eyes at that one.
Anthony decides to find out what's at the bottom of the lake, but unfortunately, he shares the scene with Luis, whose nonsense about never getting a raise was old the second time we heard it. Anthony discovers the barrels of toxic waste at the lake bottom (talk about the 80s!). He tells Charles what he's found, issuing all kinds of threats to the person who did it and dropping a dead fish on the table, which Charles throws over his shoulder into the pool (no, not to worry, Charlene Tilton in her heels is not at the pool, no harm done). Charles immediately calls Jeffrey to warn him.
Gregory feels "drawn to" Valerie. "I know you're an orphan. I'm not an orphan myself, but I only had one parent. I never knew my father," he explains to Valerie's wide-eyed stare. He plants the notion of finding her real parents into her head, somehow for the first time in her life.
The only thing amusing about Jeffrey Jones' toxic waste plant is that parking spots are marked on decaying oozing waste drums. Anthony is there to sputter and stammer and threaten, so Jeffrey slips into the bathroom and orders a hit on the annoying do-gooder. The hitmen (one is Michael Richards pre-"Seinfeld") plant a bomb in Anthony's truck...except, and you predicted this from the moment they parked next to each other in matching cars, it's Jeffrey's truck that blows up. Uh huh. I know, not at all funny. Not even a chortle, let alone a mild giggle.
Even more dire is the scene with Bill in prison. Valerie visits him with a gigantic raisin pudding. The guard checks it with his hands as a couple takes advantage of his turned back to sneak an arsenal of guns through. Teresa, who has stolen a bus to get back to Fresno, arrives at the prison, but Bill is upset all over again because Charles' name comes up. He stalks away after yelling at her. "Something's
Better is when Teri tarts it up and goes to seduce Gregory. She drops her top and Gregory says, "fellas, will you excuse us," revealing a gaggle of massive shirtless men playing pool. "I only did it because I don't like to have company when I let a lady down," he explains. She actually thanks him. "For what?" "For saying something to me no other man ever has. You know, I've been called a lot of things in my time: tease, trick, trollop, come-on, a tramp, vixen, harlot, slut, but you are the first man who has ever called me a lady" she says and departs with her top slung over her shoulder a la Gregory.
It's time for Carol's big seduction scene. We first see her draped head to toe in a long fur coat with hood and she calls for the car. Only the station wagon is available, though she elects to sit in the front seat this time. I couldn't tell you what the script said, but my guess is Carol Burnett knew better than to make physical comedy lightning strike twice. No one else seems to have that problem anywhere in "Fresno." After some amusing pleasantries where Carol is grossed out by Pat over and over, she finally drops the coat to reveal a ravishing Bob Mackie (who better to spoof Nolan Miller than the man who did it all first, though jokingly?) evening dress, with a swooping wig and lots of jewels. Pat is excited until Dabney's teenage niece comes out of the trailer bathroom, infuriating Carol. In the middle of her wacky monologue, she says that her son was against her coming and wanted to send his wife, to which Pat says, "and she is welcome to come," but Carol stalks out in a rage. The scene so missed the mark by not giving Carol nearly enough to play with.
In the middle of an argument between Charles and Teri (where he throws drink #5 in....oh, it's a trick, the glass is empty!), Carol barges in full of fire, explaining what happened. "He sent his niece, you sent your mother," Teri says dryly. "Maybe it's time to face it. I don't think we're gonna win," Carol cries. "I'll go to my grave before I see this family ruined!" Charles declares. "You'll go to your grave," Teri deadpans again.
I would say skip the scene where Luis slips into Carol's bedroom with a gun (which isn't loaded) to force a raise out of her, but it has a decent punch line. Carol agrees not to involve the police. "It was your greed that got you into this and it's your greed that must be punished. Tomorrow you will go back to work for half of what you were making before," she says, full of gusto.
Dinner that night is sparsely attended (following the ratings slip, no doubt). Teresa decides to devote all of her time to freeing Bill and will perform "wherever there is a stage, klieg lights and an audience." Charles answers the phone when the man he hired to kill Anthony calls, handing the phone to Anthony so we can hear the Peter Lorre-esque voice tell him to come to the dehydrator for the umpteenth time, but Anthony refuses, not after the bomb scare! "Death threat or not, I think the polite thing to do is to go out and see what the man wants," Charles erupts and then goes to the dehydrator "to tell whoever is out there that [Anthony] is not coming!" The hit man is awfully dim, giving Charles yet another excruciating scene to overact, pretty much all by himself, and then he uses a fake voice to tip off the police that Anthony is guilty of "environmental insanity" and was part of a conspiracy to kill Louise.
Charles hightails it over to Pat to make a deal, but Pat says Dabney is coming at noon with $250,000. "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? Why, it's worth double that, I'll give you $300,000," Charles says, never losing his fake smile. Pat agrees.
As for Mama Carol, she's off to prison so save her baby. "It's just like in the movies," she says to the prison guard. "Except here the creeps and social deviants are for real," the guard unhelpfully tells her. This visit to prison gives Carol Burnett something meatier to sink her teeth into (albeit briefly), namely a Scarlett O'Hara speech, but with a twist. "I know you didn't do anything wrong and I will not allow a Kensington to be treated like this and if this town thinks it can keep you here then it's wrong. Maybe it's time someone realized that without the Kensingtons, Fresno would be nothing. You see, Kensingtons are fighters. And more than that, the Kensingtons are spenders! And if I have to spend every last nickel we've got, I will! As God is my witness, no Kensington will ever have to spend a single night in this hell hole of incarceration!" she rips out, building and building until turning her head to the guard, "Guard how much is the bail?" Upon hearing the number, there is a pause, and all we see is the back of Carol's hat. She turns back to Anthony with amazing precision. "Are they treating you all right, son?" Now THAT is vintage Carol Burnett! Just reading this, you can see in your mind how she would play it. It ends on another high note. "You are my son, I'll sell my hats if I have to!"
A not-so-funny comedy of errors occurs at the bank. Charles rushes in with the $300,000 that Jeffrey gave him, pushing ahead of everyone in the line. "The entire Kensington fortune is on the line!" he begs and the customers in line agree. Eh, okay, that one works a little. As soon as he leaves, Dabney comes in to request $250,000 and on his way out, he runs into Carol, who begs the bank for money, offering as collateral everything from her jewels to those "galloping gobs of little boxes of raisins," but the bank managers tells her Charles has just been in depositing $300,000, so it's not a problem.
Valerie summons Gregory to lunch. "That you for meeting me here." "You don't have to thank me for that." "Well, I know they require a shirt," she replies and he looks down at his covered body (though most of the buttons are undone). She informs him that she intends to find her real parents. "This is something I've wanted to do ever since yesterday afternoon!" she declares. Gregory agrees to help, but the scene is ruined by the obnoxious presence of Peter Scolari as a rude waiter for absolutely no reason.
In prison, Bill and Anthony put their clues together and realize Charles is behind all of their troubles. Teresa is living up to her promise to sing until Bill is freed and she sings in an outdoor mall with the help of an organ store manager (Raleigh Bond). At the end of the long song, a policeman shows up to bring her to the jail and escorts her bus (she's still using the damn bus). All along, he's been jealous of her and Charles, though nothing has happened, so when he tells her Teri had been at his trailer, she is incensed and leaves in a huff.
It's deal time at Pat's trailer, where Charles and Dabney are there to battle for his water rights, but Pat calls the bank to verify Charles' check and finds out the check will bounce. With Charles sputtering on the phone with the bank, Louise's lawyer shows up and says there will be a will reading at 2pm the next day. Only Charles is excited because it's bought him time. Charles gets the groaner line to end the episode. "I've always believed where there's a WILL, there's a way." Wow, we ended on that pun? Can't wait for the next installment.
Despite Jeffrey having told he he will pay no more extortion money, Charles returns to him for another $300,000. "I just gave you $300,000 an hour ago!" "My mother spent it," Charles replies. "She used it to get my brother out of jail." "I gave you that money to keep him in jail!" Jeffrey orders his hitmen to take Charles "to the high country" as "he's about to commit suicide."
At the "Fresno Home for Poor Orphan Children," Valerie and a returned-to-shirtless Gregory hope to find out who her real parents are. There is no record of Valerie's adoption. "Is it possible you've lost the records?" "Anything is possible. We haven't lost a record in 81 years, but it makes sense we would have lost yours," the snarky woman tells them. Gregory says maybe the hospital will have a record of Valerie's birth. "If not, be sure to ask if they lost it. They'll love that," the matron shouts after them.
In desperation, Luis goes to Dabney for a job. "I'll pay you twice what they are paying you, if you work as a spy," Dabney tells him (and for those of you doing the math, that would be the original salary because Carol had cut it in half a while back). He has no choice but to agree.
The hitmen discover there is no high country in Fresno and the only place high enough for a suicide (after going through a gaggle of not-high-enough ideas) is the water tower in the municipal square (why is there a water tower in the center of town?). The scene's only humor comes from watching Charles Grodin's face as he listens to the two nitwits plan the execution. For once, he doesn't have to overact and he's just fine.
At the hospital, Gregory and Valerie find out that a Jane Doe baby was born to a Dorothy Doe mother and the doctor who delivered her is the family doctor!
There's a great deal of physical nonsense involving trying to throw Charles off the water tower, and coincidentally, cameras are present to cover Anthony's release from prison. Anthony sees Charles and rushes to help him as the hitmen yell, "hey look, someone is trying to commit suicide, let's help him," which is genuinely funny. Anthony makes it to the top of the water tower in time to save his brother, only to start choking him as the reporters turn to Carol for her input on the importance of family as the two chase each other around the water tower.
Carol is still hopping mad when she gets her boys home, demanding that they "settle their differences like civilized people, with a cocktail!" Luis is there reading and Charles finally notices him in a dumb bit of business. Charles' solution to both problems (Anthony's safety and the money for the water rights) is to put Anthony back into prison. As they argue, Luis comes back, this time to water the plants. Carol agrees, that Anthony going back to jail is the best solution, but what of Charles' life? It's in danger too. "I'll just have to live by my wits." "Oh, honey, that really would be suicide," Carol says. UGH!
Dr. Tom Poston is awakened in the middle of the night by Valerie and Gregory for what he assumes is an examination brought on by "trouble" by the shirtless man, who has to wait outside. Instead, Valerie gets the truth out of him. "Then I must know, where can I find Dorothy Doe?" The whole scene is infused with these infuriating rhymes. Dr. Tom takes his time getting to the truth, finally admitting that, "your mother, my dear is" her own mother! "You mean, Mom is Mom?"
Inspired by Teresa and Bill (who reconciled and broke up again in one scene at the prison), Teri tries to seduce Charles with memories of their early life together and a particularly snug negligee. "You mean when I was cheating with you on my first wife?" Outraged, Teri reaches into the closet and snags one of a zillion furs, darts out the door and almost trips over Luis, who is now not only spying, but acting as Charles' bodyguard. Teri rails that she wishes Charles had been killed and he throws drink #5 (this time there is liquor in the glass) at her.
At breakfast the next morning, as soon as Charles sits down, Teresa and Bill's son (unseen up until this point) throws drink #6 at Charles. "Where did you learn to behave like this?" he roars. Carol is upset, feeling the family is falling apart because the table is empty. "What's with you and breakfast anyway?" Charles lashes out at Carol and then turns on the kids, summing up the events of the movie so far. "Now that we know where everyone's Mama is, do you think we could get back to something important like saving this ranch? Good God, you would think this is 'Roots!'" That line is of particular interest here as it's the first time in the whole movie that "Fresno" remembers it's also a miniseries and not just a plodding spoof of primetime soaps.
Having spent the entire night on Dr. Tom's front porch, Gregory finally gets Valerie to understand the only way she'll know about her past is to ask Carol. "You've always been honest with me," she tells the hunky stranger. "Yes...more or less," he replies before a paper boy throws the morning edition at her head, though with one of the stupidest lines yet. "What time is it? Why didn't you wake me? We have to go home!" Valerie chirps.
Teresa returns to Jerry Van Dyke's to sing again for bail money, and he convinces her that she needs a telethon and, with one call, finds out that "all three networks and PBS" are theirs for 24 hours starting that night. That's a commentary on mid-80s television, a wasteland if ever there was one.
Luis is doing well as Dabney's spy, on the phone spilling details when Charles comes in, which leads to a maddening scene where Luis has to pretend it's his cousin with Charles telling him to get off the phone and Dabney trying to understand the code. Four-year-olds could have written this scene better. Eventually, Dabney understands that Charles poisoned the water with Jeffrey and calls a press conference, where reporters aren't sure what's going on. "I'm just a reporter, I don't ask questions," one notes. Dabney reveals the toxic waste scheme and implicates Charles. Dabney rushes back into his car without answering any questions and a call from Jeffrey, who proposes a solution to their mutual problem: kill Charles. "I can live with that," Dabney says, giving Jeffrey 48 hours to make it happen.
When Carol sees the press conference, she goes running into Charles, asking him if she really just saw what she saw, or is she on a soap opera or losing her mind...and other inane "blathering" as Charles calls it. He's saved from having to explain when Valerie wants to have a serious discussion with Carol. "Is there somewhere we can go that's private?" "Why don't we go up to your room, no one ever looks in there," Carol says. When Valerie says they have to talk about "you and me," listen to Carol drop her voice to say, "oh really" and it's the great Carol Burnett for another brief moment. As Valerie launches into the story, Carol asks, "is there anything like a bar up here?"
Actually, Carol nails this scene because Valerie isn't trying to hog it from her like Charles does. "There are so many times I wanted to tell you, to unburden myself, but something always came up," she cries. "Like what?" "The phone would ring or there would be someone at the door." Here's the story: in mourning, a man "preyed on my confusion" and "took advantage." Pregnant and afraid of scandal, she "went to Africa on a safari for seven months" and returned just in time to give birth. "No one recognized you?" Valerie asks. "I dressed down," Carol admits. This staple of soaps, both day and night, still doesn't answer who the father is. "If you have any feelings at all for the woman who bore you and took you into her own home, you will not pursue this!" Carol orders, giving Joan Van Ark and Michele Lee at the same time. But Valerie insists on finding out. Carol calls the father and begs to meet him at the masquerade ball that night. She'll be dressed as Scarlett O'Hara (she and Bob Mackie just had to pull that costume out of storage).
Gregory goes home to find Teri in his bed and delivers, bar none, the best line of the entire miniseries: "I just came to pick up a clean shirt." Teri tells him that she spent the night "barhopping" and came up with one conclusion, that she's a "decent woman" who deserves an affair with a "decent man" and he's the only one she knows. Gregory pushes her off, saying "I think I'm in love with your sister-in-law." Teri figures out he's "not just some stranger" and he says he's not sure who he is, but "it's possible I might be your illegitimate half-brother-in-law by your second marriage." Valerie walks in to find Teri sprawled out on the bed and, for no particular reason other than the laws of soap opera inevitability, they have a cat fight. Their stunt doubles crash around the room breaking everything as Gregory, showering outside, laughs at what he thinks are "ranch hands." Once the furniture is done, they move on to whatever food is handy and are only broken up by Louise's lawyer, telling them he needs the whole family at the will reading as they are benefactors. He then has to tell Dabney the same thing.
Thankfully, the pace is picking up, due to the movie's sudden realization that it's soap opera cliches that give it more zing. In under an hour, we've done the surprise press conference, the revelation of a true parent, a cat fight and more money woes for Luis. Now it's time for another big cliche: the reading of the will. The lawyer begins. Pat is left all of his wife's "earthly possessions...with the following exceptions." She leaves a saddle to Valerie, her buffalo head nickels to Charles and Teri in the "hopes that one their avarice will be as extinct as those animals." "Are these things worth anything" Teri asks? "About $40." Dabney gets the Elvis clock. Carol is left a lucky clock. Neither are excited.
What about the water rights? Weeeeeeeeell, she didn't actually own them ("Do I still get the $300K? How about the Impala?" Pat asks Dabney). She was just taking money from both raisin families for use of the water on behalf of a dummy corporation with a Swiss bank account. "You mean some yodeler has got all our money?" Charles says feverishly.
With that done (and done well because it was done QUICKLY), we skip to our next delightful cliche, the masquerade ball. Every soap had one, a yearly event, usually during sweeps, when the entire cast of the soap would be together under one roof. Secrets were spilled, old plots wrapped up and new ones started. "Dallas" has the "Oil Barons Ball" and Falcon Crest had "Founder's Day" (the latter was far goofier, because no one ever needed to see Susan Sullivan or David Selby dressed in 19th Century clothing--only vets Jane Wyman and Lana Turner could make that work, old hands at wearing studio costumes).
Charles goes as the Devil, which is a one-joke outfit that has him asking the following question of his wife: "Have you seen my tail?" "Not in years," she sniffs. Teri is Lady Godiva, with nothing but hair cascading down her body. Carol's outfit starts by hanging onto the bed post so her rather large African American maid can do up her corset, while she watches the WHIP telethon (Women with Husbands In Prison). Hell, they are watching it in prison, where the boys cheer on Bill for being married to a babe like Teresa. And we hear "Number One With a Bullet" again.
Unfortunately, most of the costumes at the ball are not made by Bob Mackie, but rather someone's mother who is only mildly handy with a needle and thread. Jeffrey is a beekeeper and his henchmen are bees. Gregory is in some sort of helmet and torch outfit and when he cuts in on Valerie's Little Orphan Annie wonders how she guessed it was him (he's shirtless, of course). Even the man who was the mayor of Fresno at the time (so the title card tells us) is there, given a cameo asking Carol to dance. He does better with his one line than most do with chunks of script. When Valerie goes to the powder room, a "strange hefty" woman in a mantilla comes in to whisper "your father is a clown" and disappears. Gregory gathers every clown (costume) at the party, where she explains her history to them. "So, tell me, which one of you Bozos is my father!" That's now the second time "Fresno" has referenced being a miniseries, burying "Lace" in a 1,000-year-old joke. With that, she faints from drinking whatever was in her glass.
Apologies. Charles' costume leads to TWO jokes. He tells his friends he and his family are boycotting the party's food since they are not hosting, and one asks if he can put aside the feud long enough to have a (want to say it along with me?) Deviled Egg.
The hitmen report to Jeffrey that they have taken care of Charles by poisoning the punch, which he happens to be drinking. People fall all over the room. Carol goes to the gazebo to wait for Valerie's father, who, you knew this from the onset, is Dabney. Dabney confesses his eternal love for her as she struggles to get away from him. "Together we could rule Fresno! Together we could have a raisin dynasty!" he pleads. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," she says until he kisses her so strongly that she can't help but admit the truth (and with a face full of clown make-up). Gregory and Valerie have watched the whole thing from the bushes.
The next morning, Carol and Dabney wake up in bed together happily. "Can we put the past 20 years of blackmail, bitterness and death behind us? Pretend they never happened?" he asks. "I don't see why not," she says happily. She won't stay for breakfast, okay, one muffin, she says as she walks into the bathroom and comes out a half-second later in full Scarlett regalia. As for Valerie and Gregory, they repeat their scene at Dr. Tom's office, having stayed up all night in front of the bush. Gregory has confession for Valerie. He does know who his father is, told by his mother on her deathbed and that's why he came to Fresno. His father is Carol's dead husband. He wants to know who killed his father. Valerie realizes how selfish she's been and utters a line that truly could have come from any gooey soap scene: "Maybe it's time I stopped thinking of myself and started thinking of US!" The two go in for a kiss, but Valerie stops. "Can we make love?" she asks. "You don't have to ask," he says, but that's not why she's asking. Aren't they related. He does the math for them and yes, they can make love. They go in for the kiss again when the sprinklers go on. Hey, let the sprinklers do their worst, they finally kiss anyway!
Charles finds out from Charles Keating that his mother spent the night at Dabney's. Charles Keating appears to have been the mantilla lady. Charles bursts into Dabney's house to see his mother at breakfast with Dabney and she confesses her love. Charles dives into the deep end of the overacting pool with the news, yelling so loudly even the microphones run away to hide. "They only way you two will be together is over my dead body!" he brays dragging Carol out. "Fine by me," Dabney says and calls Jeffrey to remind him of his promise to kill Charles.
Gregory goes to the only person who might know the truth about his father's death, Charles Keating. Charles, showing off his Shakespearean chops, launches into a monologue about that night and Gregory has to stop him. "The weather was good, right," he says, getting him to skip ahead. The only detail he has to add to the story is that he saw the Rolls outside the dehydrator and it was back in the garage at the morning. Why didn't he say something? "I guess I didn't pay it proper attention, until now" and remembers that the only other person with a Rolls back then was Dabney.
After Charles rips into Carol again, it's Valerie's turn. "Two days ago I was an orphan and perfectly happy and today I have two parents and I'm miserable," she says, pouring a drink. Carol is shocked by this. "Now that I know who my relatives are, I might as well begin acting like them," she chirps and downs it in one gulp. When she throws drink #7 at Carol, the latter says, "you are a Kensington!"
"I think I have the problem with the Rolls solved," Charles Keating tells Charles Grodin as it explodes from the bomb the hitmen have put in there. "Now tell me how much a mechanic would have charged for that," he adds sourly. When Dabney finds out Charles is not dead, he's furious and threatens to do it himself. Gregory, playing pool boy, overhears this admission of guilt and confronts Dabney. The latter pulls a gun on him, but Gregory taunts him about his shaking hand enough to annoy Dabney into shooting him. Luis discovers his body and drags him out of the room in yet another really awful bit of physical business.
There is yet one more cliche to explore: and that's a trial. Nothing will ever beat "Dynasty" introducing Alexis through a trial, but every soap ended up in court over and over again. Carol, drenched in fur, tells Charles Keating to bring around the Rolls. "The Rolls exploded, ma'am," he tells her. Teri, drink in hand, and Valerie are equally dressed up when Luis barges in with the news that he's rushing to the hospital and "stopped by to see if anyone wanted to rush with me." Valerie of course wants to go!
When Carol tells Dabney she knows Gregory has been shot in his study, Dabney admits it, but in self-defense, and for her because he was her husband's illegitimate child. "He cheated? On me?" she says with a warped face only she can manage. "Hey, you got your son's trial, good luck with that one" Dabney says to a still-shocked Carol.
As we near the end, we have our first real potty joke (I was hoping to get away clean). In the hospital, Gregory awakes and tells Valerie and Luis, "I have to go." "Help me find the bedpan," Valerie tells Luis. "No, I have to go to the trial. I have vital information," Gregory says through his tubes.
There are two trials going on in the same building at the same time. Anthony and Billy are being tried for murder, which sarcastic Melanie, who will be dumped as their lawyer as soon as the money from Teresa's telethon is available, says "is not first degree murder, but just stupid."
Then there is the Water Commission's hearing pitting Charles and Dabney against each other. Dabney is suave, puffing on a cigar as he talks to the commission, but Charles is in trouble, because the Chairman says
"I will not have outbursts of any kind at this hearing," and that's the only way Charles has communicated since the movie began.
After prosecution lawyer Dakin Matthews finishes with Pat Corley, Melanie is asked if she wants to cross-examine the witness. "I wouldn't have any idea what to ask your honor," she wines. The next witness is Charles, who is at the other trial. Dabney thinks Charles should go to the other trial, where he will be under oath, so the Chairman moves their hearing to the other trial. Thank goodness! I was getting dizzy going back and forth. Unfortunately for Charles, telling the truth at one trial does not square with the truth at the other. Dakin nails that with his first question, asking which truth he wants to tell, the one that will implicate his brother or the one that will implicate himself. "Maybe if I tell the truth this one time, it will make up for all those times I lied," Charles tells the judge, with the twinkly catharsis music behind him...and then sells Anthony down the river. Everyone pops up with an opinion, but Dabney has the only good line, and said with the utmost sincerity: "Your honor, if that man has perjured himself, I move he be given the death penalty."
Anthony insists that Teresa testify about the meeting she saw and though she doesn't know what was said, it's enough to send Jeffrey, who has continually jumped from his seat to say something confusing and then take the fifth, to do that same again, but this time he's not only taking the fifth, but "taking a cab" and runs from the building. Just as the judge has decided that he will listen to testimony by pointing at specific people, Gregory is wheeled in saying he knows the truth. Dabney tries to deny it, but Gregory knows it was his Rolls there that night. "You drove my Rolls?" Dabney explodes...at Pat! Yes, Pat did because Dabney wouldn't let him drive (say it together) the Impala. Pat killed Carol's husband on Dabney's orders and tells the whole story. "I know what I did was probably wrong, but I didn't do it for hate or nothing. I did it for a car," he adds.
"I rest my case," Gregory says. But the judge reminds him this isn't the murder case of his father, but of Louise Latham. So Pat confesses to that one too, because she was so obsessed with her clocks and on the night in question, he was cleaning his gun when she said, "why you stop cleaning that gun and come over here and clean my clock? See, temptation, your honor, so I did just that," he confesses. Luckily, Bill shot the radio at the same time, so Pat was able to get away with it. Pat and Dabney are taken are charged with murder, but Carol stops Dabney on the way out. He says he killed her husband because he loved her and she says she could never love a man who killed. "I feel like a complete fool," he says, shocked by that revelation.
Only one question remains: what is DDDLP, the company that owns the water rights? It's the old man who has been sitting in the back of the courtroom, Don Diego De La Pena (talk about slumming, he's played by the legendary O'Neill director Jose Quintero). He launches into a story about how he owns the land and has only been able to visit it once before, on a trip where he met many beautiful women, one of them being Louise, whom he let live there so she could collect the water rights money. And with another woman, he left a son. Luis' grandmother was Rosarita Gonazles! "That's not exactly an uncommon name with your people," Charles notes. Grandfather and grandson are united. "Wait a minute, if he owns the land, what happens to us?" Charles asks. The judge says whatever the rightful owner wants them to do and frees Anthony and Bill.
Luis is given all of the land. "I will want to show your family the same kindness you have always shown to me," Luis says. He adds that they can stay on the land, but at twice the price. Carol dresses down Charles with the inevitable, "from this day forward, I no longer have a son!" Teri chimes in to say she's leaving him. "I can't stand by a man who can't stand by his brother. I just can't stand it," she says, working as hard as she can to give her character one last possible moment, not that the line allows for much.
Outside the courtroom (way too much time went into the silly antics in court without any punch line at all), Jeffrey wants to know how the hitmen plan on doing away with Charles and they guarantee that this time, they have made sure he's a goner. They have planted bombs in every car in the area. We watch as they blow up one by one. Except the station wagon, of course. "I've lost all the men I love," Carol tells Charles Keating. "There's still one man who has always loved you. Loved you from afar," he says. "Really? Where?" she asks, looking around. "Here, madam," he says and she orders him into the way back seat with her until the realize that means no one can drive the car. "It's not going to work, is it?" she asks glumly. "No, madam."
"Thank God, tomorrow is another day," Carol says for the last line (except another "yes, madam" from Charles Keating) and then the movie ends with Luis dancing in his fields. Wow, after everything, we just sputter out? Did no one even try to put an ending on "Fresno?"
If "Fresno" was the only comedy miniseries ever made, is it also the biggest missed opportunity? Did it kill the potential for other comedy miniseries? No, absolutely not. Even if it had been better, the answer is still no. The miniseries format is not suited to comedy. The kind of comedy being used in "Fresno" is the stuff Carol Burnett had been doing her whole career, but in front of a live audience where it could build from the laughter. The reason that so many of the jokes fall completely flat here is that there is no one to laugh at them. An audience can make any joke land, no matter how bad it is, through laughter. Okay, okay, not all sitcoms are filmed live and the elementary school humor certainly suited people like Mel Brooks who did full-length films. Well, sitcoms are less than 30 minutes and Mel Brooks was a one-of-a-kind genius, but not all of his movies were successful. That style of comedy died in the middle of his career and his latter movies were duds because of it.
I don't see how "Fresno" could have possibly worked. Shave two hours off of it and perhaps it would have been crisper, but it's aim was to spoof primetime soaps (which were at their zenith in 1986 and should have been a very easy target) and that leads to two problems. The first is that it takes a long time to get to all the cliches (making it miniseries length), but the second is far more important. What no one here dealt with was the fact that primetime soap operas were already spoofs. By the time we got around to "Who Shot J.R.?" at the onset of the 80s, the soaps took full advantage of their popularity and went haywire. If you watch the first season of any of the big 80s soaps, you will probably be bored. The first season always set the tone, introduced the characters and the plot lines that would run through the whole series (control of Ewing Oil, control of Falcon Crest, control of the cul-de-sac), but they were not typically outlandish yet. It was the second season (when Joan Collins joined "Dynasty" and David Selby joined "Falcon Crest") where the creators let loose. By 1986, all of the big soaps had long surpassed trials and questionable parentage. By 1986, whole seasons were dreams, there were aliens, cartels taking over the world, crazy women in wedding dresses holding people hostage in the basement. Hell, there was even a "Dynasty" spin-off with Charlton Heston! Supplant wooden movie star John Forsythe with even more wooden movie icon Charlton Heston and you have just gotten so self-referential that it can't be sustained.
Therefore, since the soaps were already grand jokes on purpose, what could a spoof add? Touches of gentle humor? Thanks, but no thanks. We can watch the real thing and have a lot more fun.
There must be SOMETHING good about "Fresno," right? A lot of things are good, but good doesn't stretch over the length of a miniseries very well. Bob Mackie's costumes are absolutely hysterical in every scene, but, as noted above, so were Nolan Miller's because the fashions of the 80s were pure lunacy, so Bob Mackie didn't have to actually spoof anything; he could simply do exactly what Nolan Miller was doing. Carol Burnett has some fantastic moments, but she's Carol Burnett and she has fantastic moments when she sleeps. A two-hour movie can rely on her, but not this. With Charles Grodin battling her comedic style with his loud obnoxious one is irritating and since she's the bigger talent, he loses. Dabney Coleman does okay as the straight man, and there is fine support from Pat Corley, Valerie Mahaffey, Gregory Harrison and especially Teri Garr, who would be a lot better if she had any decent material. The idea of a raisin feud is cute, but only for a TV Guide description. As with the soaps, the commodity over which everyone argues is not really what the shows were about (after Julia left "Falcon Crest" no one took over her job as the only scientist there to make the wines), so any chance of finding humor in raisins is dead after a few minutes. Unfortunately, this is not a cast you want to see rolling around in bed any more than we wanted to see Larry Hagman doing it, so any sex factor is definitely out of the question (which is why poor Teri Garr has nothing to do). So, the costumes, a few jokes and Carol Burnett unfortunately do not add up to a miniseries.
The miniseries demands a different kind of grandiosity than primetime soaps. The miniseries has to sustain itself over a longer span than soaps, which were all just an hour at a time. The emotions and plots need to be epic even in the tinier stories. The two television formats are really not the same. Joan Collins certainly learned that lesson trying to play "Sins" and "Monte Carlo" as Alexis and turning them both into immediate camp by doing it. And, if soaps and miniseries are not the same, what the hell can a spoof of soaps as a miniseries hope to accomplish? Since 1986, I've been asking that question and I still don't have an answer.
Comments? Questions? Email me at hpmaraka@gmail.com and we can chat or have more laughs at "Fresno."
And thus, the problem, or part one of the problem. "Fresno" ranks as THE ONLY miniseries created as an intentional comedy. It's unique in that way, but the second part of the problem is that it's consistently un-funny. With Carol Burnett at the helm, it should be so much better, but instead, desperate writers keep stuffing in her schtick so that at least a few minutes are bound to work here and there. Okay, there is fun to be had here with maybe a dozen good lines, character names, a station wagon and a perfectly white t-shirt, but not nearly enough.
Ostensibly, "Fresno" was created to spoof "Dynasty, Dallas, Falcon Crest," "Knots Landing" and even some of the less successful prime-time soap operas (although some of the character names are spoofs of daytime soaps) . Rich people manipulating each other, but willing to die to keep their business going (that applied for the oil of "Dynasty," the oil of "Dallas" and the wine of "Falcon Crest," but I'm honestly not sure what anyone did for a living on "Knots Landing). It completely forgets to spoof the miniseries format, which is lazy and bizarre, instead sticking just to soaps, which can't hold anyone's attention for this much time. "Fresno," apparently, was only shown once on American TV, proving that comedy does have a very short shelf life and also that the shelf life is even shorter when the comedy is bad. It will wither as quickly as, well, as raisins on the vine.
In an early episode of "Falcon Crest," the grande dame of evil magnates Angela Channing (Jane Wyman) tells her grand-daughter-in-law that if she didn't sign over rights to her dead father's vineyard, she would "be the raisin queen of the Tuscany Valley." Perhaps that was the inspiration for "Fresno." If only anything else here were as clever as that stinging line...
In 1581, Spanish Conquistadors are in Northern California and have found grapes, "the fruit of life," to the excitement, but there's a problem. "They taste like fresno!" the leader says, spitting them out. Paging Mel Brooks.
I will admit that the opening credits are amusing, because they nail the opening credits of the great 80s soaps. Huge cameras swooping around for miles, a wildly orchestrated score, three-way split-screen pictures of the actors. And of course an aerial view of the show's central mansion.
Raisin baron Charles Grodin reminds his foreman Luis Avalos that the survival of his empire depends on getting a particularly shipment of raisins to Sacramento. Who can't sympathize with that? Sacramento without raisin? What would be the point of ever going? Plus, with this shipment, "were not just making raisins, we're making history!" Trouble hits Luis immediately when his truck is stopped by rival raisin workers. They have heard about his boss' new raisins, that "taste like crunchy whole wheat," and they throw the raisins to the ground (sorry, Sacramento).
As they are trashing the truck, out of the mist and dirt comes Gregory Harrison (as Torch), wearing skin-tight jeans and a shirt thrown over his shoulder. "Problem?" he asks. "No problem," says the head bad guy. "I have a problem," says Luis, a knife held to his throat. Just then rival raisin giant Dabney Coleman shows up in his big car, let's his boys off the hook and has his driver back the car up over the raisins about 15 times. Gregory doesn't understand what is so special about these few raisins. "They are bran raisins...the cereal is already inside them," Luis explains. If you aren't laughing at anything yet, don't worry, nothing has been funny. The jokes go by, older than when Plautus first used them and the actors pause after every one, as if hearing imaginary laughs, thus killing the momentum over and over.
Naturally, the First Family of Fresno lives in a big mansion with a huge gate and a huge drive populated by huge trees (just like Southfork or Falcon Crest, natch). The family is on hard times, having to dine at the kitchen table. There is matriarch Carol Burnett (who is Southern for no particular reason), Charles' wife Teri Garr (as Talon), and siblings Valerie Mahaffey, managing to mention always that she's adopted, to great eye rolls from Carol, and nerdy Anthony Heald. Not a bright bunch, this family. Carol wonders if they can "do the same thing with toast" as they did to the bran raisins. "You mean put a whole piece of toast in a raisin?" Teri snaps? The stuffed raisin jokes are already old and it's only been 10 minutes. Charles goes through the sad state of family affairs, but Valerie cuts him off. "Do we always have to talk about who is on top of who? It's so unpleasant," she whines. Brother Anthony has a topic: "I have decided to become celibate for two years to protest the killing of sperm whales." Carol Burnett has to push hard with lousy material, but her "that's nice" to him is pretty damn funny.
In the foyer (and we know it's a foyer because the title cards tell us), Teri and Valerie get their first look at shirtless Gregory. "Torch? You want to tell me where that came from or should I just let my imagination run wild?" Terri asks sucking on a celery stalk from her Bloody Mary. Carol hires him on the spot and then Charles launches into a tirade that is apparently meant for the folks in the balcony two counties away when he finds out the bran raisins have been destroyed.
Carol shows Gregory around the estate. He asks where her husband is. "Dead...I assumed you knew," Carol says, proving her comedic timing is still intact, stretching that line as far as it can be stretched. The rest of her family history has to be delivered as the two fight their way through cobwebs because Charlotte notes, "I haven't kept up with the place as much as I should have." Echoing the Digger Barnes-Miss Ellie-Jock Ewing triangle, Carol explains that her late husband and Dabney used to be best friends in business together, but had a falling out and then her husband had his fatal "accident." A flashback shows us television's first, and, as far as I know, only, death by raisins. Gregory indulges in a bit of spoof that actually is halfway amusing. He asks her why she assumed it was an accident, considering her husband got a late-night phone call from a stranger, went to the dehydration facility and believed he wasn't being set up. It used to happen all the time in primetime soaps. Things would happen on dark stormy nights, brakes would fail, children would appear, but no one questioned anything!
A running joke is that Luis is constantly asking for a meager raise (Gregory was hired instantly, but Luis is always turned down). He stops Carol to tell her the money he wants "is for my family, for food and clothing." "I've seen what you eat and what you children wear, surely they can't cost that much...the world is made of haves and have nots. I have, you have not," Carol says. "So do I have the raise? "No, you have not." "Who's on First" this definitely ain't!
Wanna-be country singer Teresa Ganzel, the maid who dusts wearing big white boots, is grabbed from behind by hubby Bill Paxton (she's Bobbi Jo Bobb and he's Billy Joe Bobb, so aren't you glad I'm actors' names?). "What are you doing here? You know they don't allow no one inside who's perspiring," she says in that nasal voice that was a staple in early 80s movies. This happens right outside Charles' office, where he's been meeting with Jeffrey Jones. Charles has asked Jeffrey to pollute a man-made lake, for cash, of course, that is between his property and Dabney's. Charles thinks Teresa, who harbors a lifelong passion to be a country singer, has heard the conversation, so he offers to put her on a singing show broadcast from...and you sitting down?...one of the capitals of song...BAKERSFIELD! Except she's too dumb to realize what is going on and hasn't heard anything. She kisses Charles as thanks and of course wifey Teri, perpetually with a drink in her hand, is not happy to see that.
Like the family meals on "Dallas," everyone dresses for dinner, but unlike "Dallas," they have to crowd around the table to do it. One by one, each child gets upset over something and leaves (Charles throws the first of MANY drinks in Teri's face as she snaps, "it's okay, I was about to take a sip anyway"). "I wish just once I could finish a meal with just one of my children still at the table," Carol huffs, as poor Valerie almost chokes in sorrow.
Valerie is struggling getting a saddle on a horse when Gregory, who has taken a shine to her, walks over (t-shirt in pocket now so both hands are free). "Why don't you ride bareback?" he asks. "You mean the horse, right?" she replies in an awfully racy joke for this movie.
The polluted lake is actually on Louise Latham's property and Dabney wants to buy it from her to cut off his rivals' water supply. Louise lives in a trailer with ticking clocks. Ticking clocks. Wow, that's funny. No, no it's not. Louise refuses to sell and Dabney angrily tells her, "I'm coming back again. And again. And again. And each time it will be more unpleasant because each time I will offer you more money!" he says while the clocks chime "cuckoo."
One of the funnier ongoing jokes is that chauffeur Charles Keating (a refugee from daytime soaps) is constantly telling the family that the Rolls Royce is not working. This forces them to use a beat up old station wagon. Watching Carol Burnett, in a big Alexis Colby hat, being helped into the way back seat with her knowledge of physical comedy is what this miniseries should have more of.
Carol and Charles have to go to Dabney's office to plan a masquerade ball, the highlight of the raisin community's social season (what's the lowlight?), which Carol has always hosted, no matter her financial status, because her late husband insisted. Dabney wants the ball at his home, and Carol is furious. "That was his pride and joy." Someone says, "I thought roses were his pride and joy." "Roses and balls. It's impossible to tell which he prized more," she responds with an amazingly straight face. Dabney still argues. "You didn't serve food last year." "We did so," Charles pipes in." "Crackers and canned cheese." "We had raisin mousse jubilee and you know it," Carol hisses. A vote sends the ball to Dabney's place.
With everyone having left the room, Dabney and Carol can duke it out. He makes yet another offer on her business and she refuses. It all comes around to the competition between Dabney and her late husband. "You aren't half the man he was," she notes. "He's dead. Right now I'm double the man he is," he replies (in an honest-to-goodness funny line). Drink #2 is thrown in Dabney's face.
Poor Bill is all upset that Teresa is off in Bakersfield (I think he's upset that she's off, he can't be jealous of Bakersfield) and slinks home to his trailer, where Teri is lounging with a drink. Running the competition in a bar in Bakersfield is Jerry Van Dyke, who gives a painful speech to all the hopefuls before Teresa wants to tune her guitar. "Tune her guitar? I thought you said this was an amateur contest," another hopeful asks Jerry. Terri wants to sleep with Bill as revenge on their perhaps wayward spouses, and Bill is incensed. In a line that has him talking about "looking smart because sometimes I'm shirtless and the sweat glistens off my chest," he insults Teri, who throws drink #3 and responds with #4, which is actually a spraying beer can.
Valerie catches Gregory in the dehydration plant, where he says he's investigating "how 37 tons of raisins could fall on someone." "How could they?" she blankly asks. "They couldn't, that's the problem." Meanwhile, nature-loving Anthony discovers all of the fish in the lake are dead (and tries to give mouth-to-mouth to one of them in an incredibly lame bit).
Bill listens to the radio show on which Teresa will be singing. She thanks Charles for getting her there, which Bill of course misinterprets. "Just because you're a migrant worker, don't mean we got a migrant love" is the first line of a song that doesn't get any better (and I'm not sure I even understand that line). Fortunately, Bill shoots the radio so put us out of misery hearing the rest of the song. Unfortunately, the bullet goes through the radio, through his trailer, into Louise's and kills her.
Charles informs the family of the previous night's events. "I'm just surprised you could sleep through it all." "Being married to you proves (say it along with me folks) I can sleep through anything," Teri snarls. "I got him the best lawyer money can buy," Charles reassures everyone. "Can we afford that?" Carol asks. "It's a public defender, the county pays for it, Mama," he says. Huh? Just a tweak to Charles' line would have been a perfect set-up for Carol's question and his answer. But, hey, I'm just writing about "Fresno," not writing it. And if it were the other way around, I wouldn't be taking any credit.
At the police station, Bill confesses to the crime, since it was an accident anyway, but just then in comes his lawyer, Melanie Chartoff (as Desiree DeMornay). "What took you so long?" one of the cops asks. "It takes me a while to get ready, OKAY?" she answers. Uh huh. There's a "joke" that could have been cut without losing ground. The charge will be second degree murder because Bill "shot that radio in anger."
Since Carol understands what it means to lose a spouse, she offers to go to Louise's widower Pat Corley and use her "wiles" to get the water rights. "The man is a slobbering imbecile. I will have not have my mother debasing herself by coming onto a vile disgusting creature like that." Wait for it. "We'll have [Teri] do it." Zing! "I'm still the head of the family...if anyone is going to get debased, it's going to be me!" Carol insists.
Dabney beats Carol to Pat's trailer, where Pat says he's just lucky to have the crime scene outline of his wife for memories, but then turns into a shrewd negotiator and wants to hear the other side's offer and give both of them terms. "You drive a hard bargain," Dabney says. "No, I drive an Impala." Even Dabney rolls his eyes at that one.
Anthony decides to find out what's at the bottom of the lake, but unfortunately, he shares the scene with Luis, whose nonsense about never getting a raise was old the second time we heard it. Anthony discovers the barrels of toxic waste at the lake bottom (talk about the 80s!). He tells Charles what he's found, issuing all kinds of threats to the person who did it and dropping a dead fish on the table, which Charles throws over his shoulder into the pool (no, not to worry, Charlene Tilton in her heels is not at the pool, no harm done). Charles immediately calls Jeffrey to warn him.
Gregory feels "drawn to" Valerie. "I know you're an orphan. I'm not an orphan myself, but I only had one parent. I never knew my father," he explains to Valerie's wide-eyed stare. He plants the notion of finding her real parents into her head, somehow for the first time in her life.
The only thing amusing about Jeffrey Jones' toxic waste plant is that parking spots are marked on decaying oozing waste drums. Anthony is there to sputter and stammer and threaten, so Jeffrey slips into the bathroom and orders a hit on the annoying do-gooder. The hitmen (one is Michael Richards pre-"Seinfeld") plant a bomb in Anthony's truck...except, and you predicted this from the moment they parked next to each other in matching cars, it's Jeffrey's truck that blows up. Uh huh. I know, not at all funny. Not even a chortle, let alone a mild giggle.
Even more dire is the scene with Bill in prison. Valerie visits him with a gigantic raisin pudding. The guard checks it with his hands as a couple takes advantage of his turned back to sneak an arsenal of guns through. Teresa, who has stolen a bus to get back to Fresno, arrives at the prison, but Bill is upset all over again because Charles' name comes up. He stalks away after yelling at her. "Something's
Better is when Teri tarts it up and goes to seduce Gregory. She drops her top and Gregory says, "fellas, will you excuse us," revealing a gaggle of massive shirtless men playing pool. "I only did it because I don't like to have company when I let a lady down," he explains. She actually thanks him. "For what?" "For saying something to me no other man ever has. You know, I've been called a lot of things in my time: tease, trick, trollop, come-on, a tramp, vixen, harlot, slut, but you are the first man who has ever called me a lady" she says and departs with her top slung over her shoulder a la Gregory.
It's time for Carol's big seduction scene. We first see her draped head to toe in a long fur coat with hood and she calls for the car. Only the station wagon is available, though she elects to sit in the front seat this time. I couldn't tell you what the script said, but my guess is Carol Burnett knew better than to make physical comedy lightning strike twice. No one else seems to have that problem anywhere in "Fresno." After some amusing pleasantries where Carol is grossed out by Pat over and over, she finally drops the coat to reveal a ravishing Bob Mackie (who better to spoof Nolan Miller than the man who did it all first, though jokingly?) evening dress, with a swooping wig and lots of jewels. Pat is excited until Dabney's teenage niece comes out of the trailer bathroom, infuriating Carol. In the middle of her wacky monologue, she says that her son was against her coming and wanted to send his wife, to which Pat says, "and she is welcome to come," but Carol stalks out in a rage. The scene so missed the mark by not giving Carol nearly enough to play with.
In the middle of an argument between Charles and Teri (where he throws drink #5 in....oh, it's a trick, the glass is empty!), Carol barges in full of fire, explaining what happened. "He sent his niece, you sent your mother," Teri says dryly. "Maybe it's time to face it. I don't think we're gonna win," Carol cries. "I'll go to my grave before I see this family ruined!" Charles declares. "You'll go to your grave," Teri deadpans again.
I would say skip the scene where Luis slips into Carol's bedroom with a gun (which isn't loaded) to force a raise out of her, but it has a decent punch line. Carol agrees not to involve the police. "It was your greed that got you into this and it's your greed that must be punished. Tomorrow you will go back to work for half of what you were making before," she says, full of gusto.
Dinner that night is sparsely attended (following the ratings slip, no doubt). Teresa decides to devote all of her time to freeing Bill and will perform "wherever there is a stage, klieg lights and an audience." Charles answers the phone when the man he hired to kill Anthony calls, handing the phone to Anthony so we can hear the Peter Lorre-esque voice tell him to come to the dehydrator for the umpteenth time, but Anthony refuses, not after the bomb scare! "Death threat or not, I think the polite thing to do is to go out and see what the man wants," Charles erupts and then goes to the dehydrator "to tell whoever is out there that [Anthony] is not coming!" The hit man is awfully dim, giving Charles yet another excruciating scene to overact, pretty much all by himself, and then he uses a fake voice to tip off the police that Anthony is guilty of "environmental insanity" and was part of a conspiracy to kill Louise.
Charles hightails it over to Pat to make a deal, but Pat says Dabney is coming at noon with $250,000. "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? Why, it's worth double that, I'll give you $300,000," Charles says, never losing his fake smile. Pat agrees.
As for Mama Carol, she's off to prison so save her baby. "It's just like in the movies," she says to the prison guard. "Except here the creeps and social deviants are for real," the guard unhelpfully tells her. This visit to prison gives Carol Burnett something meatier to sink her teeth into (albeit briefly), namely a Scarlett O'Hara speech, but with a twist. "I know you didn't do anything wrong and I will not allow a Kensington to be treated like this and if this town thinks it can keep you here then it's wrong. Maybe it's time someone realized that without the Kensingtons, Fresno would be nothing. You see, Kensingtons are fighters. And more than that, the Kensingtons are spenders! And if I have to spend every last nickel we've got, I will! As God is my witness, no Kensington will ever have to spend a single night in this hell hole of incarceration!" she rips out, building and building until turning her head to the guard, "Guard how much is the bail?" Upon hearing the number, there is a pause, and all we see is the back of Carol's hat. She turns back to Anthony with amazing precision. "Are they treating you all right, son?" Now THAT is vintage Carol Burnett! Just reading this, you can see in your mind how she would play it. It ends on another high note. "You are my son, I'll sell my hats if I have to!"
A not-so-funny comedy of errors occurs at the bank. Charles rushes in with the $300,000 that Jeffrey gave him, pushing ahead of everyone in the line. "The entire Kensington fortune is on the line!" he begs and the customers in line agree. Eh, okay, that one works a little. As soon as he leaves, Dabney comes in to request $250,000 and on his way out, he runs into Carol, who begs the bank for money, offering as collateral everything from her jewels to those "galloping gobs of little boxes of raisins," but the bank managers tells her Charles has just been in depositing $300,000, so it's not a problem.
Valerie summons Gregory to lunch. "That you for meeting me here." "You don't have to thank me for that." "Well, I know they require a shirt," she replies and he looks down at his covered body (though most of the buttons are undone). She informs him that she intends to find her real parents. "This is something I've wanted to do ever since yesterday afternoon!" she declares. Gregory agrees to help, but the scene is ruined by the obnoxious presence of Peter Scolari as a rude waiter for absolutely no reason.
In prison, Bill and Anthony put their clues together and realize Charles is behind all of their troubles. Teresa is living up to her promise to sing until Bill is freed and she sings in an outdoor mall with the help of an organ store manager (Raleigh Bond). At the end of the long song, a policeman shows up to bring her to the jail and escorts her bus (she's still using the damn bus). All along, he's been jealous of her and Charles, though nothing has happened, so when he tells her Teri had been at his trailer, she is incensed and leaves in a huff.
It's deal time at Pat's trailer, where Charles and Dabney are there to battle for his water rights, but Pat calls the bank to verify Charles' check and finds out the check will bounce. With Charles sputtering on the phone with the bank, Louise's lawyer shows up and says there will be a will reading at 2pm the next day. Only Charles is excited because it's bought him time. Charles gets the groaner line to end the episode. "I've always believed where there's a WILL, there's a way." Wow, we ended on that pun? Can't wait for the next installment.
Despite Jeffrey having told he he will pay no more extortion money, Charles returns to him for another $300,000. "I just gave you $300,000 an hour ago!" "My mother spent it," Charles replies. "She used it to get my brother out of jail." "I gave you that money to keep him in jail!" Jeffrey orders his hitmen to take Charles "to the high country" as "he's about to commit suicide."
At the "Fresno Home for Poor Orphan Children," Valerie and a returned-to-shirtless Gregory hope to find out who her real parents are. There is no record of Valerie's adoption. "Is it possible you've lost the records?" "Anything is possible. We haven't lost a record in 81 years, but it makes sense we would have lost yours," the snarky woman tells them. Gregory says maybe the hospital will have a record of Valerie's birth. "If not, be sure to ask if they lost it. They'll love that," the matron shouts after them.
In desperation, Luis goes to Dabney for a job. "I'll pay you twice what they are paying you, if you work as a spy," Dabney tells him (and for those of you doing the math, that would be the original salary because Carol had cut it in half a while back). He has no choice but to agree.
The hitmen discover there is no high country in Fresno and the only place high enough for a suicide (after going through a gaggle of not-high-enough ideas) is the water tower in the municipal square (why is there a water tower in the center of town?). The scene's only humor comes from watching Charles Grodin's face as he listens to the two nitwits plan the execution. For once, he doesn't have to overact and he's just fine.
At the hospital, Gregory and Valerie find out that a Jane Doe baby was born to a Dorothy Doe mother and the doctor who delivered her is the family doctor!
There's a great deal of physical nonsense involving trying to throw Charles off the water tower, and coincidentally, cameras are present to cover Anthony's release from prison. Anthony sees Charles and rushes to help him as the hitmen yell, "hey look, someone is trying to commit suicide, let's help him," which is genuinely funny. Anthony makes it to the top of the water tower in time to save his brother, only to start choking him as the reporters turn to Carol for her input on the importance of family as the two chase each other around the water tower.
Carol is still hopping mad when she gets her boys home, demanding that they "settle their differences like civilized people, with a cocktail!" Luis is there reading and Charles finally notices him in a dumb bit of business. Charles' solution to both problems (Anthony's safety and the money for the water rights) is to put Anthony back into prison. As they argue, Luis comes back, this time to water the plants. Carol agrees, that Anthony going back to jail is the best solution, but what of Charles' life? It's in danger too. "I'll just have to live by my wits." "Oh, honey, that really would be suicide," Carol says. UGH!
Dr. Tom Poston is awakened in the middle of the night by Valerie and Gregory for what he assumes is an examination brought on by "trouble" by the shirtless man, who has to wait outside. Instead, Valerie gets the truth out of him. "Then I must know, where can I find Dorothy Doe?" The whole scene is infused with these infuriating rhymes. Dr. Tom takes his time getting to the truth, finally admitting that, "your mother, my dear is" her own mother! "You mean, Mom is Mom?"
Inspired by Teresa and Bill (who reconciled and broke up again in one scene at the prison), Teri tries to seduce Charles with memories of their early life together and a particularly snug negligee. "You mean when I was cheating with you on my first wife?" Outraged, Teri reaches into the closet and snags one of a zillion furs, darts out the door and almost trips over Luis, who is now not only spying, but acting as Charles' bodyguard. Teri rails that she wishes Charles had been killed and he throws drink #5 (this time there is liquor in the glass) at her.
At breakfast the next morning, as soon as Charles sits down, Teresa and Bill's son (unseen up until this point) throws drink #6 at Charles. "Where did you learn to behave like this?" he roars. Carol is upset, feeling the family is falling apart because the table is empty. "What's with you and breakfast anyway?" Charles lashes out at Carol and then turns on the kids, summing up the events of the movie so far. "Now that we know where everyone's Mama is, do you think we could get back to something important like saving this ranch? Good God, you would think this is 'Roots!'" That line is of particular interest here as it's the first time in the whole movie that "Fresno" remembers it's also a miniseries and not just a plodding spoof of primetime soaps.
Having spent the entire night on Dr. Tom's front porch, Gregory finally gets Valerie to understand the only way she'll know about her past is to ask Carol. "You've always been honest with me," she tells the hunky stranger. "Yes...more or less," he replies before a paper boy throws the morning edition at her head, though with one of the stupidest lines yet. "What time is it? Why didn't you wake me? We have to go home!" Valerie chirps.
Teresa returns to Jerry Van Dyke's to sing again for bail money, and he convinces her that she needs a telethon and, with one call, finds out that "all three networks and PBS" are theirs for 24 hours starting that night. That's a commentary on mid-80s television, a wasteland if ever there was one.
Luis is doing well as Dabney's spy, on the phone spilling details when Charles comes in, which leads to a maddening scene where Luis has to pretend it's his cousin with Charles telling him to get off the phone and Dabney trying to understand the code. Four-year-olds could have written this scene better. Eventually, Dabney understands that Charles poisoned the water with Jeffrey and calls a press conference, where reporters aren't sure what's going on. "I'm just a reporter, I don't ask questions," one notes. Dabney reveals the toxic waste scheme and implicates Charles. Dabney rushes back into his car without answering any questions and a call from Jeffrey, who proposes a solution to their mutual problem: kill Charles. "I can live with that," Dabney says, giving Jeffrey 48 hours to make it happen.
When Carol sees the press conference, she goes running into Charles, asking him if she really just saw what she saw, or is she on a soap opera or losing her mind...and other inane "blathering" as Charles calls it. He's saved from having to explain when Valerie wants to have a serious discussion with Carol. "Is there somewhere we can go that's private?" "Why don't we go up to your room, no one ever looks in there," Carol says. When Valerie says they have to talk about "you and me," listen to Carol drop her voice to say, "oh really" and it's the great Carol Burnett for another brief moment. As Valerie launches into the story, Carol asks, "is there anything like a bar up here?"
Actually, Carol nails this scene because Valerie isn't trying to hog it from her like Charles does. "There are so many times I wanted to tell you, to unburden myself, but something always came up," she cries. "Like what?" "The phone would ring or there would be someone at the door." Here's the story: in mourning, a man "preyed on my confusion" and "took advantage." Pregnant and afraid of scandal, she "went to Africa on a safari for seven months" and returned just in time to give birth. "No one recognized you?" Valerie asks. "I dressed down," Carol admits. This staple of soaps, both day and night, still doesn't answer who the father is. "If you have any feelings at all for the woman who bore you and took you into her own home, you will not pursue this!" Carol orders, giving Joan Van Ark and Michele Lee at the same time. But Valerie insists on finding out. Carol calls the father and begs to meet him at the masquerade ball that night. She'll be dressed as Scarlett O'Hara (she and Bob Mackie just had to pull that costume out of storage).
Gregory goes home to find Teri in his bed and delivers, bar none, the best line of the entire miniseries: "I just came to pick up a clean shirt." Teri tells him that she spent the night "barhopping" and came up with one conclusion, that she's a "decent woman" who deserves an affair with a "decent man" and he's the only one she knows. Gregory pushes her off, saying "I think I'm in love with your sister-in-law." Teri figures out he's "not just some stranger" and he says he's not sure who he is, but "it's possible I might be your illegitimate half-brother-in-law by your second marriage." Valerie walks in to find Teri sprawled out on the bed and, for no particular reason other than the laws of soap opera inevitability, they have a cat fight. Their stunt doubles crash around the room breaking everything as Gregory, showering outside, laughs at what he thinks are "ranch hands." Once the furniture is done, they move on to whatever food is handy and are only broken up by Louise's lawyer, telling them he needs the whole family at the will reading as they are benefactors. He then has to tell Dabney the same thing.
Thankfully, the pace is picking up, due to the movie's sudden realization that it's soap opera cliches that give it more zing. In under an hour, we've done the surprise press conference, the revelation of a true parent, a cat fight and more money woes for Luis. Now it's time for another big cliche: the reading of the will. The lawyer begins. Pat is left all of his wife's "earthly possessions...with the following exceptions." She leaves a saddle to Valerie, her buffalo head nickels to Charles and Teri in the "hopes that one their avarice will be as extinct as those animals." "Are these things worth anything" Teri asks? "About $40." Dabney gets the Elvis clock. Carol is left a lucky clock. Neither are excited.
What about the water rights? Weeeeeeeeell, she didn't actually own them ("Do I still get the $300K? How about the Impala?" Pat asks Dabney). She was just taking money from both raisin families for use of the water on behalf of a dummy corporation with a Swiss bank account. "You mean some yodeler has got all our money?" Charles says feverishly.
With that done (and done well because it was done QUICKLY), we skip to our next delightful cliche, the masquerade ball. Every soap had one, a yearly event, usually during sweeps, when the entire cast of the soap would be together under one roof. Secrets were spilled, old plots wrapped up and new ones started. "Dallas" has the "Oil Barons Ball" and Falcon Crest had "Founder's Day" (the latter was far goofier, because no one ever needed to see Susan Sullivan or David Selby dressed in 19th Century clothing--only vets Jane Wyman and Lana Turner could make that work, old hands at wearing studio costumes).
Charles goes as the Devil, which is a one-joke outfit that has him asking the following question of his wife: "Have you seen my tail?" "Not in years," she sniffs. Teri is Lady Godiva, with nothing but hair cascading down her body. Carol's outfit starts by hanging onto the bed post so her rather large African American maid can do up her corset, while she watches the WHIP telethon (Women with Husbands In Prison). Hell, they are watching it in prison, where the boys cheer on Bill for being married to a babe like Teresa. And we hear "Number One With a Bullet" again.
Unfortunately, most of the costumes at the ball are not made by Bob Mackie, but rather someone's mother who is only mildly handy with a needle and thread. Jeffrey is a beekeeper and his henchmen are bees. Gregory is in some sort of helmet and torch outfit and when he cuts in on Valerie's Little Orphan Annie wonders how she guessed it was him (he's shirtless, of course). Even the man who was the mayor of Fresno at the time (so the title card tells us) is there, given a cameo asking Carol to dance. He does better with his one line than most do with chunks of script. When Valerie goes to the powder room, a "strange hefty" woman in a mantilla comes in to whisper "your father is a clown" and disappears. Gregory gathers every clown (costume) at the party, where she explains her history to them. "So, tell me, which one of you Bozos is my father!" That's now the second time "Fresno" has referenced being a miniseries, burying "Lace" in a 1,000-year-old joke. With that, she faints from drinking whatever was in her glass.
Apologies. Charles' costume leads to TWO jokes. He tells his friends he and his family are boycotting the party's food since they are not hosting, and one asks if he can put aside the feud long enough to have a (want to say it along with me?) Deviled Egg.
The hitmen report to Jeffrey that they have taken care of Charles by poisoning the punch, which he happens to be drinking. People fall all over the room. Carol goes to the gazebo to wait for Valerie's father, who, you knew this from the onset, is Dabney. Dabney confesses his eternal love for her as she struggles to get away from him. "Together we could rule Fresno! Together we could have a raisin dynasty!" he pleads. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," she says until he kisses her so strongly that she can't help but admit the truth (and with a face full of clown make-up). Gregory and Valerie have watched the whole thing from the bushes.
The next morning, Carol and Dabney wake up in bed together happily. "Can we put the past 20 years of blackmail, bitterness and death behind us? Pretend they never happened?" he asks. "I don't see why not," she says happily. She won't stay for breakfast, okay, one muffin, she says as she walks into the bathroom and comes out a half-second later in full Scarlett regalia. As for Valerie and Gregory, they repeat their scene at Dr. Tom's office, having stayed up all night in front of the bush. Gregory has confession for Valerie. He does know who his father is, told by his mother on her deathbed and that's why he came to Fresno. His father is Carol's dead husband. He wants to know who killed his father. Valerie realizes how selfish she's been and utters a line that truly could have come from any gooey soap scene: "Maybe it's time I stopped thinking of myself and started thinking of US!" The two go in for a kiss, but Valerie stops. "Can we make love?" she asks. "You don't have to ask," he says, but that's not why she's asking. Aren't they related. He does the math for them and yes, they can make love. They go in for the kiss again when the sprinklers go on. Hey, let the sprinklers do their worst, they finally kiss anyway!
Charles finds out from Charles Keating that his mother spent the night at Dabney's. Charles Keating appears to have been the mantilla lady. Charles bursts into Dabney's house to see his mother at breakfast with Dabney and she confesses her love. Charles dives into the deep end of the overacting pool with the news, yelling so loudly even the microphones run away to hide. "They only way you two will be together is over my dead body!" he brays dragging Carol out. "Fine by me," Dabney says and calls Jeffrey to remind him of his promise to kill Charles.
Gregory goes to the only person who might know the truth about his father's death, Charles Keating. Charles, showing off his Shakespearean chops, launches into a monologue about that night and Gregory has to stop him. "The weather was good, right," he says, getting him to skip ahead. The only detail he has to add to the story is that he saw the Rolls outside the dehydrator and it was back in the garage at the morning. Why didn't he say something? "I guess I didn't pay it proper attention, until now" and remembers that the only other person with a Rolls back then was Dabney.
After Charles rips into Carol again, it's Valerie's turn. "Two days ago I was an orphan and perfectly happy and today I have two parents and I'm miserable," she says, pouring a drink. Carol is shocked by this. "Now that I know who my relatives are, I might as well begin acting like them," she chirps and downs it in one gulp. When she throws drink #7 at Carol, the latter says, "you are a Kensington!"
"I think I have the problem with the Rolls solved," Charles Keating tells Charles Grodin as it explodes from the bomb the hitmen have put in there. "Now tell me how much a mechanic would have charged for that," he adds sourly. When Dabney finds out Charles is not dead, he's furious and threatens to do it himself. Gregory, playing pool boy, overhears this admission of guilt and confronts Dabney. The latter pulls a gun on him, but Gregory taunts him about his shaking hand enough to annoy Dabney into shooting him. Luis discovers his body and drags him out of the room in yet another really awful bit of physical business.
There is yet one more cliche to explore: and that's a trial. Nothing will ever beat "Dynasty" introducing Alexis through a trial, but every soap ended up in court over and over again. Carol, drenched in fur, tells Charles Keating to bring around the Rolls. "The Rolls exploded, ma'am," he tells her. Teri, drink in hand, and Valerie are equally dressed up when Luis barges in with the news that he's rushing to the hospital and "stopped by to see if anyone wanted to rush with me." Valerie of course wants to go!
When Carol tells Dabney she knows Gregory has been shot in his study, Dabney admits it, but in self-defense, and for her because he was her husband's illegitimate child. "He cheated? On me?" she says with a warped face only she can manage. "Hey, you got your son's trial, good luck with that one" Dabney says to a still-shocked Carol.
As we near the end, we have our first real potty joke (I was hoping to get away clean). In the hospital, Gregory awakes and tells Valerie and Luis, "I have to go." "Help me find the bedpan," Valerie tells Luis. "No, I have to go to the trial. I have vital information," Gregory says through his tubes.
There are two trials going on in the same building at the same time. Anthony and Billy are being tried for murder, which sarcastic Melanie, who will be dumped as their lawyer as soon as the money from Teresa's telethon is available, says "is not first degree murder, but just stupid."
Then there is the Water Commission's hearing pitting Charles and Dabney against each other. Dabney is suave, puffing on a cigar as he talks to the commission, but Charles is in trouble, because the Chairman says
"I will not have outbursts of any kind at this hearing," and that's the only way Charles has communicated since the movie began.
After prosecution lawyer Dakin Matthews finishes with Pat Corley, Melanie is asked if she wants to cross-examine the witness. "I wouldn't have any idea what to ask your honor," she wines. The next witness is Charles, who is at the other trial. Dabney thinks Charles should go to the other trial, where he will be under oath, so the Chairman moves their hearing to the other trial. Thank goodness! I was getting dizzy going back and forth. Unfortunately for Charles, telling the truth at one trial does not square with the truth at the other. Dakin nails that with his first question, asking which truth he wants to tell, the one that will implicate his brother or the one that will implicate himself. "Maybe if I tell the truth this one time, it will make up for all those times I lied," Charles tells the judge, with the twinkly catharsis music behind him...and then sells Anthony down the river. Everyone pops up with an opinion, but Dabney has the only good line, and said with the utmost sincerity: "Your honor, if that man has perjured himself, I move he be given the death penalty."
Anthony insists that Teresa testify about the meeting she saw and though she doesn't know what was said, it's enough to send Jeffrey, who has continually jumped from his seat to say something confusing and then take the fifth, to do that same again, but this time he's not only taking the fifth, but "taking a cab" and runs from the building. Just as the judge has decided that he will listen to testimony by pointing at specific people, Gregory is wheeled in saying he knows the truth. Dabney tries to deny it, but Gregory knows it was his Rolls there that night. "You drove my Rolls?" Dabney explodes...at Pat! Yes, Pat did because Dabney wouldn't let him drive (say it together) the Impala. Pat killed Carol's husband on Dabney's orders and tells the whole story. "I know what I did was probably wrong, but I didn't do it for hate or nothing. I did it for a car," he adds.
"I rest my case," Gregory says. But the judge reminds him this isn't the murder case of his father, but of Louise Latham. So Pat confesses to that one too, because she was so obsessed with her clocks and on the night in question, he was cleaning his gun when she said, "why you stop cleaning that gun and come over here and clean my clock? See, temptation, your honor, so I did just that," he confesses. Luckily, Bill shot the radio at the same time, so Pat was able to get away with it. Pat and Dabney are taken are charged with murder, but Carol stops Dabney on the way out. He says he killed her husband because he loved her and she says she could never love a man who killed. "I feel like a complete fool," he says, shocked by that revelation.
Only one question remains: what is DDDLP, the company that owns the water rights? It's the old man who has been sitting in the back of the courtroom, Don Diego De La Pena (talk about slumming, he's played by the legendary O'Neill director Jose Quintero). He launches into a story about how he owns the land and has only been able to visit it once before, on a trip where he met many beautiful women, one of them being Louise, whom he let live there so she could collect the water rights money. And with another woman, he left a son. Luis' grandmother was Rosarita Gonazles! "That's not exactly an uncommon name with your people," Charles notes. Grandfather and grandson are united. "Wait a minute, if he owns the land, what happens to us?" Charles asks. The judge says whatever the rightful owner wants them to do and frees Anthony and Bill.
Luis is given all of the land. "I will want to show your family the same kindness you have always shown to me," Luis says. He adds that they can stay on the land, but at twice the price. Carol dresses down Charles with the inevitable, "from this day forward, I no longer have a son!" Teri chimes in to say she's leaving him. "I can't stand by a man who can't stand by his brother. I just can't stand it," she says, working as hard as she can to give her character one last possible moment, not that the line allows for much.
Outside the courtroom (way too much time went into the silly antics in court without any punch line at all), Jeffrey wants to know how the hitmen plan on doing away with Charles and they guarantee that this time, they have made sure he's a goner. They have planted bombs in every car in the area. We watch as they blow up one by one. Except the station wagon, of course. "I've lost all the men I love," Carol tells Charles Keating. "There's still one man who has always loved you. Loved you from afar," he says. "Really? Where?" she asks, looking around. "Here, madam," he says and she orders him into the way back seat with her until the realize that means no one can drive the car. "It's not going to work, is it?" she asks glumly. "No, madam."
"Thank God, tomorrow is another day," Carol says for the last line (except another "yes, madam" from Charles Keating) and then the movie ends with Luis dancing in his fields. Wow, after everything, we just sputter out? Did no one even try to put an ending on "Fresno?"
If "Fresno" was the only comedy miniseries ever made, is it also the biggest missed opportunity? Did it kill the potential for other comedy miniseries? No, absolutely not. Even if it had been better, the answer is still no. The miniseries format is not suited to comedy. The kind of comedy being used in "Fresno" is the stuff Carol Burnett had been doing her whole career, but in front of a live audience where it could build from the laughter. The reason that so many of the jokes fall completely flat here is that there is no one to laugh at them. An audience can make any joke land, no matter how bad it is, through laughter. Okay, okay, not all sitcoms are filmed live and the elementary school humor certainly suited people like Mel Brooks who did full-length films. Well, sitcoms are less than 30 minutes and Mel Brooks was a one-of-a-kind genius, but not all of his movies were successful. That style of comedy died in the middle of his career and his latter movies were duds because of it.
I don't see how "Fresno" could have possibly worked. Shave two hours off of it and perhaps it would have been crisper, but it's aim was to spoof primetime soaps (which were at their zenith in 1986 and should have been a very easy target) and that leads to two problems. The first is that it takes a long time to get to all the cliches (making it miniseries length), but the second is far more important. What no one here dealt with was the fact that primetime soap operas were already spoofs. By the time we got around to "Who Shot J.R.?" at the onset of the 80s, the soaps took full advantage of their popularity and went haywire. If you watch the first season of any of the big 80s soaps, you will probably be bored. The first season always set the tone, introduced the characters and the plot lines that would run through the whole series (control of Ewing Oil, control of Falcon Crest, control of the cul-de-sac), but they were not typically outlandish yet. It was the second season (when Joan Collins joined "Dynasty" and David Selby joined "Falcon Crest") where the creators let loose. By 1986, all of the big soaps had long surpassed trials and questionable parentage. By 1986, whole seasons were dreams, there were aliens, cartels taking over the world, crazy women in wedding dresses holding people hostage in the basement. Hell, there was even a "Dynasty" spin-off with Charlton Heston! Supplant wooden movie star John Forsythe with even more wooden movie icon Charlton Heston and you have just gotten so self-referential that it can't be sustained.
Therefore, since the soaps were already grand jokes on purpose, what could a spoof add? Touches of gentle humor? Thanks, but no thanks. We can watch the real thing and have a lot more fun.
There must be SOMETHING good about "Fresno," right? A lot of things are good, but good doesn't stretch over the length of a miniseries very well. Bob Mackie's costumes are absolutely hysterical in every scene, but, as noted above, so were Nolan Miller's because the fashions of the 80s were pure lunacy, so Bob Mackie didn't have to actually spoof anything; he could simply do exactly what Nolan Miller was doing. Carol Burnett has some fantastic moments, but she's Carol Burnett and she has fantastic moments when she sleeps. A two-hour movie can rely on her, but not this. With Charles Grodin battling her comedic style with his loud obnoxious one is irritating and since she's the bigger talent, he loses. Dabney Coleman does okay as the straight man, and there is fine support from Pat Corley, Valerie Mahaffey, Gregory Harrison and especially Teri Garr, who would be a lot better if she had any decent material. The idea of a raisin feud is cute, but only for a TV Guide description. As with the soaps, the commodity over which everyone argues is not really what the shows were about (after Julia left "Falcon Crest" no one took over her job as the only scientist there to make the wines), so any chance of finding humor in raisins is dead after a few minutes. Unfortunately, this is not a cast you want to see rolling around in bed any more than we wanted to see Larry Hagman doing it, so any sex factor is definitely out of the question (which is why poor Teri Garr has nothing to do). So, the costumes, a few jokes and Carol Burnett unfortunately do not add up to a miniseries.
The miniseries demands a different kind of grandiosity than primetime soaps. The miniseries has to sustain itself over a longer span than soaps, which were all just an hour at a time. The emotions and plots need to be epic even in the tinier stories. The two television formats are really not the same. Joan Collins certainly learned that lesson trying to play "Sins" and "Monte Carlo" as Alexis and turning them both into immediate camp by doing it. And, if soaps and miniseries are not the same, what the hell can a spoof of soaps as a miniseries hope to accomplish? Since 1986, I've been asking that question and I still don't have an answer.
Comments? Questions? Email me at hpmaraka@gmail.com and we can chat or have more laughs at "Fresno."
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Wallenberg: A Hero's Story (1985)
Richard Chamberlain is, of course, miniseries royalty. Even if he had done just "The Thorn Birds" and "Shogun," he would have that bragging right. But, roles in "Centennial" and especially "Wallenberg: A Hero's Story" are actually bigger acting gigs for him. His dreamy looks (for the 70s and 80s) and romantic swagger were ideal for the miniseries, and he was able to sustain his performances across the epic sweeps of the movies. In "Wallenberg: A Hero's Story," he gives what I think is easily his finest performance, an old-fashioned acting performance where he sinks his teeth into a complex and interesting character and never lets go. Of course, being the saviour of Jews in World War II is the kind of role every actor wants, but what makes Wallenberg such an interesting man is his unyielding and very chipper devotion to what he's doing. Unlike Oskar Schindler, whose reasons for saving Jews were a but more clouded and selfish, the Raoul Wallenberg of this story does it simply for the humanity of it, which gives Chamberlain a chance to bask in the reflected glory of the character, but not relying on that reflection. He pushes himself here and it works.
It's August 30, 1944 at the Wallenberg estate in Sweden. There is much celebrating and a bonfire. However, on the same night in Budapest, a synagogue is also on fire. And further, there is a party going on at Admiral Horthy's (Guy Deghy) is hosting Adolph Eichmann himself (Kenneth Colley). He is introduced by Baroness Lisl Kemeny (Alice Krige), who flatters him by saying he doesn't look at all "fearsome" like his reputation. Her husband, Baron Gabor Kemeny (Stuart Wilson), is to be part of a "cleansing" in Budapest.
At the Wallenberg party, a drunken Raoul Wallenberg (Richard Chamberlain) actually dares to insult the Nazis, much to his parents' horror. "You have supplied them with gas...for heating and cooking, of course," he quips before launching into an imitation of Hitler that gives the usually-sleep-inducing TV icon a bit of ham on which to chew.
Resistance worker Nikki Fodor (Mark Rylance), warns a concert of Hungarian Jews of the coming hoodlums. Admiral Horthy, who says "I was an anti-Semite before you were born," as proof of his commitment to the Nazi cause, but "I am not going to violate this ancient Hungarian tradition" of trusting the Jews with their money and turning them over to death camps.
Now, that our story is set up, it's time to get to know Raoul Wallenberg. His father considers him a "dilettante," though his mother defends him. He has some sort of job importing and exporting, but nothing too taxing. Raoul is not at all thrilled by the Nazis, and that leaning has caught the attention of Roosevelt's people in Budapest, who offer him a diplomatic cover in order to help their cause. He's already converted, of course, nothing that "I would go to any lengths to save Jews."
Up against Raoul's knowledge of what is going on, the Baron and Baroness are the voices of idiocy. She whines that she can't find a tailor in Budapest anymore because all the Jews have "disappeared." The Baron has some idea, but ignores it, hoping to cozy up to Eichmann in the hopes of being made foreign minister, replete with a new uniform and all.
If you've been wondering how all of this will come together, it only takes 25 minutes of the miniseries before Raoul is sent to Hungary for his top secret and very dangerous mission. It's late in the war and conditions are so grim that "Second Secretary" Raoul Wallenberg has to ride a crowded train, a melting pot of different flotsam and jetsam still able to travel through Europe. But, his discomfort is nothing compared to what he sees outside of his window as a train going East rolls by, with desperate Jews begging for help.
In Budapest, the Jews are wrangled up by the Hungarian police ("they will treat us with respect," one man assumes), but Nikki refuses to go. Before being able to fight, he has to get his girlfriend Hannah (Georgia Slowe) to understand exactly what is happening.
When Raoul arrives at the Swedish embassy building in Budapest, he has to fight through throngs of people begging to be let in and given Swedish protection. He is told by Per Anger (David Robb) that they can only help the Jews who "can establish family or business ties...there is a limit." Raoul asks, "why?" and Per dismisses the question, as Raoul will have to find out for himself just how difficult this task will be. He tells everyone at the embassy that "we can make honorary Swedish citizens of them all," but is told "that's impossible." Raoul still doesn't understand what is going on completely. He says he needs a staff of 100 people to help on his mission, although he's not asking the embassy for money or staff. The money is coming from the people who actually hired him and for staff, he wants to use all the Jews begging to be let in. Well, that sounds good to everyone at the embassy, but they warn him, "do not offend anybody" or else the whole plan will be at risk.
Raoul better act quickly because Eichmann is making his rounds of the area, telling Jewish leaders they must select workers, as he did in Poland and other countries, the Nazi way of letting others think they had a choice. He's interrupted by an aide who gives him the horrifying news that a train bearing over 12,000 Jews to Birkenau ("a new record, I think," he says with glee) has been stopped and turned back to Budapest. "That train must be stopped and we must carry on until we clean out every piece of Jew crap in Hungary," Eichmann says, more villainous with every line.
This is Raoul's first big success. Word gets around quickly and the embassy is swamped. "We need something bigger!" he tells Per, in order to save 700,000 people. He does help one woman, Sonja (Melanie Mayron), who has a small son and because of her proficiency with languages and skills. She's hired on the spot and thus has her protection as an employee of the Swedish legation. He's not above printing fake royal seals on letters to save Jews either.
At a rather bizarre nightclub where a woman belts out "Stormy Weather" without any clue as to what lyrics she's singing, Raoul and Per are in attendance when Eichmann, the Baron and Baroness come in. He has a bottle of champagne sent to the table. "Do you know what it is to be a Rockefeller in America? That's what it is to be a Wallenberg in Sweden," the Baron says his wife, who has never heard of him. Eichmann clucks that he "has to keep the neutrals happy" and trots off to make nice with Raoul. The Baroness takes quite a fancy to Raoul from across the restaurant too. "I'm here to help you with your Jewish problem," Raoul gives Eichmann as an excuse for his being sent to Budapest. "What can Sweden help with? Freight cars? Winter clothing? Please, don't try to camouflage your mission," which he knows of down to the Americans who are behind it. They actually pretend to play nice and make a business deal for housing. Raoul offers Eichmann money for housing, but Eichmann snaps that it works out to "only a dollar a Jew," and he's been offered more. Even worse, as he gets up to go, the sinister man notes that he's overcome "your little delay" and managed to get two trains of Jews sent East to make up for the one Raoul was able to bring back. Per tells Raoul, "some Nazis are less interested in the war than they are in murdering Jews." "I am determined too, and stubborn," Raoul says in response, believing himself to be Eichmann's equal.
There is a terrific scene where Raoul goes to the Hungarian leader to beg for his help. The wily old diplomat, playing both sides, says he can't understand why Sweden's King Gustav is "so interested in Jews," and is peeved that the Swedish legation is playing around with Hungarian citizens in the first place. Raoul wants him to agree to let hundreds of thousands of Jews come under his protection, but he is allotted only 4500. International politics being what they are, the quid pro quo is that Raoul "tell the Allies of my benevolent treatment of Jews." What makes the scene so interesting is the mindset of the Hungarian government. It's clear that the Nazis are losing the war by this point, but they are still very much a presence and to antagonize them can still mean big trouble. Raoul can't understand it, but he has to accept it.
As if the Nazis aren't enough of a problem, Raoul doesn't find an easy time with all of the Jews. Asking a wealthy Budapest Jew to sign over his houses to the Swedish government for the duration of the war, the man actually refuses because they are all he has left and he wants his children to inherit something. Raoul cannot guarantee the outcome of the war. "Who are you to lecture me? Some nice Swedish boy with nothing at stake?" "I'm one of you, I'm half Jewish. Don't you see I'm fighting for my life as well as yours?" That does the trick, at least partially. "Does this entitle me to one of those Swedish documents of yours?" he man asks. "A mint copy," Raoul assures him. "Half Jewish? You told me your great-great-grandfather was Jewish," his driver quips. "One-sixteenth Jewish, call me a liar for a fraction?" he jokes back. What's important is the last line of the scene. "I feel half Jewish," Raoul says, and it's not just lip service.
Then there are the resistance leaders who have taken the Swedish paperwork in order to make fakes from it, but so many that Nikki is worried that the Nazis will be suspicious. They have their own way of doing things.
However, with houses and Swedish flags, Raoul can save a lot of Jews, and right under the nose of the Hungarian army, without their yellow stars. It's a major victory for Raoul and his friends. Of course, just when all is going so well, Eichmann shows up at the Swedish legation. "I respect the Swedes, even new ones," he snarls to Raoul and Per. Eichmann strides around room full of Jews in Raoul's office with a joking demeanor that is even scarier than when he yells directly. Raoul disarms the tension by doing an imitation of the awful man as soon as he leaves. "Could we really be winning here?" Per asks. "Better to hope than not, especially for them," Raoul replies. He figures that Eichmann is leaving Budapest because the Hungarian army is too small and Eichmann has to beg Hitler for more soldiers. In the meantime, the Russians are on their way West, so Budapest might still stand a chance.
That doesn't mean atrocities are halted completely. The Baron and Baroness drive into a mass execution and almost get shot themselves, the first time the Baroness realizes what is actually happening. "Women!" she exclaims. Her husband tries to sooth her by saying it's "old hatred" and not their problem, but her eyes are now open. Buying flowers, she sees Raoul on the street motivating his men and wants to meet him. "I have heard such wonderful things about you. I had to meet you," she says, all aglow, handing a rose to a Jewish worker before going off to have coffee with Raoul.
Raoul has a marvelous crack made to shock the Baroness. They are offered pastry in a restaurant and she refuses. He insists, saying, "if only to reassure ourselves that the ovens of Budapest are still turning out splendid (pause) pastry." She is pulled back down to earth that one, but still claims "I find it hard to believe." "Decent people always find it hard to believe," he retorts. She says she sought him out to hear his side, but he tells her "there are no sides" and lists all of the Nazi atrocities. He wants her help, to convince her husband to "stop this extermination or he will pay for it like the others." She is very upset by the conversation and leaves.
He picks up the thread at a party the Swiss give for the diplomatic corps, stealing a dance with her to parry dialogue back and forth. The Baroness starts off frosty, but is just about to drop that demeanor when her husband reappears to fetch her. Per rushes in with the bad news that the Nazis are on their way back to Budapest.
Hungary surrenders and Horthy is forced to abdicate upon the return of Eichmann and he's in a mood to kill. The Hungarian army falls right in line, though the resistance continues to plug away. Nikki dresses up as a Nazi and tries to save Hannah, who has come to a work camp to deliver fake Swedish papers. However, a German officer takes her "for fun," and Nikki is powerless to stop him. At least until Raoul arrives and summons everyone in the camp with Swedish papers. The Nazis are not happy to see him, pointing guns and threatening to shoot him. That's a perfect place to end the first part of the miniseries.
The second part starts exactly where we left off, with the young German Nazi soldiers firing over his shoulder and Raoul still insisting that anyone with a Swedish pass join him. "You will answer to the Red Cross and the Swedish-German Friendship Society" if he is touched, Raoul tells the Nazi in charge, a bold move, but one that works! Nikki watches with relief as Hannah is saved, along with many others. Raoul even takes those who don't have passes, accepting any piece of paper they can produce, with the Nazis powerless to do anything. "He has a Swedish flag on his car, doesn't he?" the Nazi in charge spits out.
As Raoul heads the flank of Jews leaving the camp, like Moses, the saved hear gunshots, aimed at Jews as reprisals from the upset Hungarian soldiers. "Keep walking!" he shouts.
Raoul still needs the Baroness, hoping once again to push her into pushing her husband, but she insists, "I will not be disloyal to him." Raoul trots out his fear tactic again, that if the Baron doesn't "disassociate himself from this government of madmen," he will stand trial and be executed when the war is over. She tells Raoul she is pregnant, and can't let her baby grow up without a father.
The Baroness decides to take a crack at her husband, telling him that she's worried about the approaching Russians and gently slipping in Wallenberg's name. The Baron isn't buying it. "Who gives a damn about him or his Jews?" but she continues to gently pursue the matter, though the Baron is only interested in sex. But, later on, as Russian bombs rain down on Budapest, the Baroness is stronger, not only using political arguments, but the whole "I will not let our baby be born into a world where..." argument. The Baron initially rages against the Jews, saying "I've told them for years" to essentially blend in and go unnoticed, but she heads that off, telling him he must go to the cabinet and "make them see what they must do!" It seems to do some good because she hears later on the radio the cabinet proclaiming safety for the Jews just as he arrives home.
Crowing a bit, with gifts of cigarettes, Raoul goes to Eichmann to report that he's heard Himmler has "ordered the gas turned off" and that Auschwitz is "to be dismantled." Eichmann claims it's not true. In fact, he is dogmatic in his mission: to be the person responsible for the most Jewish deaths in Europe. "Don't be encouraged by your little moment," he tells Raoul. "Himmler be damned. I'll decide the fate of Hungarian Jews." Undeterred, when Eichmann says he knows Raoul's little secret, that he's Jewish, Raoul retorts, "I'm one-sixteenth Jewish, less than I would prefer." Raoul keep baiting Eichmann until the latter explodes, showing his desperation. "I want that Jew lover dead before the day ends," Eichmann tells his staff as Raoul leaves.
A trap is set and a German truck pummels Raoul's car. Sonja is injured, but not seriously. Raoul calls Eichmann to congratulate him on the ruse, "but I was not in the car" and hangs up, with a clearly irate Eichmann still holding the phone. For that, Eichmann orders the Jews "to be marched." That includes the ones under Wallenberg's protection. "Let them blow their noses in it," one soldier jokes with another as he pulls down the Swedish flag. Even the resistance is forced to say it's time to call in Wallenberg.
Teicholz (Ralph Arliss) goes to see Raoul where all the Jews have been rounded up. At first, the Pole is argumentative, but Raoul says they "are beginning to overlap." If Teicholz won't directly ask for help, Raoul speaks up and says he wants access to the resistance underground or Budapest "will have no survivors." Teicholz has "room for 300," but Raoul wants 1000, "so make room."
As the Jews are corralled into the Hungarian labor camp, trust Nikki is there in his uniform. The only people left at the Swedish legation are Raoul and Per. "Do you ever miss those carefree Scandinavian days?" Raoul asks? Per does, but Raoul doesn't not. "Perhaps nothing ever did before now, Raoul," Per replies, "you found yourself HERE." Per is despondent and wants to go home to his wife as Raoul says, "we hit rock bottom today."
At the end of this very difficult day, there is a bright spot when the Baroness walks into the legation. Is she there to "plead your husband's case" as Raoul puts it? Well, she does want him to know that her husband tried to stop the Nazis and that "he's a good man," but there's a bit of self-preservation too. If he ever is tried, will Raoul testify?
But there's more, and this is where the movie hits a snag. This tight tense story is interrupted by a love plot. The miniseries format virtually demanded it of every movie, but it's particularly needless here. "I'm here because I have to be," she says breathlessly. There's a kiss and then she says she has to go, but she has some superb words on her way out. She says their mutual priest friend told her, "the Nazis' greatest victory was convincing the Jews they were doomed. But now, you changed that, for thousands of them." That's an incredibly powerful line and redeems the entire scene.
The situation for the Jews in the Hungarian camp worsens. Some of the characters we've met are killed, others beaten. For Raoul, it's a race against time. If he can stop the trains from leaving Hungary, he may be able to save them, because once the trains leave Hungarian soil, he cannot help. As he drives to the train station, his car slowed as it winds its way through the miserable masses headed to the same place, he wonders how this can be possible in Christianity. "Perhaps we are witnessing the death of God," he says mournfully.
At the station, Raoul is frantic. Luckily, the Hungarian army is fine with being bribed, and then he has to physically get as many people off the trains as possible, using phony certificates, saying "they are in the ledger," anything to stall. The Nazis on hand are not happy, but the Hungarians calm them. When a Nazi asks the Hungarian commander if he was bribed, he says he was, "but you'll get your chance." After all, Raoul can't save them all, so plenty will be on those trains to make the Nazis happy.
I'm going to be uncharacteristically brief about the end of the movie. Raoul is able to save Jews over and over through various methods, but his triumph is getting the local Nazis to call off an order from Eichmann to machine gun 100,000 Jews. The Germans flee as the Russians approach and the Jews are free to break the padlocks on the ghetto doors. It's this wonderful sight Raoul sees as he drives out of Budapest. "We did make a difference," he says.
Though the story ends better for many of the Jews in Budapest than it did across most of Europe, Raoul's personal story is one of epic tragedy, almost unreal if it weren't the truth. In January 1945, Raoul Wallenberg went to meet with the Russian commander and was never seen again. It's believed he died in captivity in 1947, but rumors and sightings popped up for many years. The man who had literally stood in the firing line to save so many people simple vanished.
I don't know how many stories the creators of "Wallenberg: A Hero's Story" intended to tell. Obviously, the one involving Raoul Wallenberg, but what also comes across strikingly is the Hungarian situation near the end of the war. We are so used to hearing about the Western Front or the concentration camps themselves in the Eastern Front, or the great naval battles of the Pacific that it almost seems like the entire world was not at war. Hungary was very much a part of World War II, on the Axis side, though under Nazi domination. Through a very small lens (the Baron and Baroness), we're able to learn a lot, mainly how even countries in the thick of the Final Solution could be unaware of what was happening, if they chose to be. Something similar happens in "Holocaust" as we watch simple Germans come under the spell of Hitler's propaganda, but that's a more familiar story.
Of course, the main story goes to Raoul Wallenberg, a hero is ever there was one. The title doesn't even need to say "A Hero's Story," to crown him as such, but I suspect that her was so long forgotten, that without it, no one's interest would have been piqued. No doubt Steven Spielberg told Oskar Schindler's story with far more brio and pathos, but a network miniseries could not have told that story and been nearly as powerful. Wallenberg's story, which takes place in just a few brief months, is fascinating, and made believable by Richard Chamberlain's actorly charm and passionate devotion to creating a robust character.
Comments? Question? Email me at hpmaraka@gmail.com. I would love to hear from you.
It's August 30, 1944 at the Wallenberg estate in Sweden. There is much celebrating and a bonfire. However, on the same night in Budapest, a synagogue is also on fire. And further, there is a party going on at Admiral Horthy's (Guy Deghy) is hosting Adolph Eichmann himself (Kenneth Colley). He is introduced by Baroness Lisl Kemeny (Alice Krige), who flatters him by saying he doesn't look at all "fearsome" like his reputation. Her husband, Baron Gabor Kemeny (Stuart Wilson), is to be part of a "cleansing" in Budapest.
At the Wallenberg party, a drunken Raoul Wallenberg (Richard Chamberlain) actually dares to insult the Nazis, much to his parents' horror. "You have supplied them with gas...for heating and cooking, of course," he quips before launching into an imitation of Hitler that gives the usually-sleep-inducing TV icon a bit of ham on which to chew.
Resistance worker Nikki Fodor (Mark Rylance), warns a concert of Hungarian Jews of the coming hoodlums. Admiral Horthy, who says "I was an anti-Semite before you were born," as proof of his commitment to the Nazi cause, but "I am not going to violate this ancient Hungarian tradition" of trusting the Jews with their money and turning them over to death camps.
Now, that our story is set up, it's time to get to know Raoul Wallenberg. His father considers him a "dilettante," though his mother defends him. He has some sort of job importing and exporting, but nothing too taxing. Raoul is not at all thrilled by the Nazis, and that leaning has caught the attention of Roosevelt's people in Budapest, who offer him a diplomatic cover in order to help their cause. He's already converted, of course, nothing that "I would go to any lengths to save Jews."
Up against Raoul's knowledge of what is going on, the Baron and Baroness are the voices of idiocy. She whines that she can't find a tailor in Budapest anymore because all the Jews have "disappeared." The Baron has some idea, but ignores it, hoping to cozy up to Eichmann in the hopes of being made foreign minister, replete with a new uniform and all.
If you've been wondering how all of this will come together, it only takes 25 minutes of the miniseries before Raoul is sent to Hungary for his top secret and very dangerous mission. It's late in the war and conditions are so grim that "Second Secretary" Raoul Wallenberg has to ride a crowded train, a melting pot of different flotsam and jetsam still able to travel through Europe. But, his discomfort is nothing compared to what he sees outside of his window as a train going East rolls by, with desperate Jews begging for help.
In Budapest, the Jews are wrangled up by the Hungarian police ("they will treat us with respect," one man assumes), but Nikki refuses to go. Before being able to fight, he has to get his girlfriend Hannah (Georgia Slowe) to understand exactly what is happening.
When Raoul arrives at the Swedish embassy building in Budapest, he has to fight through throngs of people begging to be let in and given Swedish protection. He is told by Per Anger (David Robb) that they can only help the Jews who "can establish family or business ties...there is a limit." Raoul asks, "why?" and Per dismisses the question, as Raoul will have to find out for himself just how difficult this task will be. He tells everyone at the embassy that "we can make honorary Swedish citizens of them all," but is told "that's impossible." Raoul still doesn't understand what is going on completely. He says he needs a staff of 100 people to help on his mission, although he's not asking the embassy for money or staff. The money is coming from the people who actually hired him and for staff, he wants to use all the Jews begging to be let in. Well, that sounds good to everyone at the embassy, but they warn him, "do not offend anybody" or else the whole plan will be at risk.
Raoul better act quickly because Eichmann is making his rounds of the area, telling Jewish leaders they must select workers, as he did in Poland and other countries, the Nazi way of letting others think they had a choice. He's interrupted by an aide who gives him the horrifying news that a train bearing over 12,000 Jews to Birkenau ("a new record, I think," he says with glee) has been stopped and turned back to Budapest. "That train must be stopped and we must carry on until we clean out every piece of Jew crap in Hungary," Eichmann says, more villainous with every line.
This is Raoul's first big success. Word gets around quickly and the embassy is swamped. "We need something bigger!" he tells Per, in order to save 700,000 people. He does help one woman, Sonja (Melanie Mayron), who has a small son and because of her proficiency with languages and skills. She's hired on the spot and thus has her protection as an employee of the Swedish legation. He's not above printing fake royal seals on letters to save Jews either.
At a rather bizarre nightclub where a woman belts out "Stormy Weather" without any clue as to what lyrics she's singing, Raoul and Per are in attendance when Eichmann, the Baron and Baroness come in. He has a bottle of champagne sent to the table. "Do you know what it is to be a Rockefeller in America? That's what it is to be a Wallenberg in Sweden," the Baron says his wife, who has never heard of him. Eichmann clucks that he "has to keep the neutrals happy" and trots off to make nice with Raoul. The Baroness takes quite a fancy to Raoul from across the restaurant too. "I'm here to help you with your Jewish problem," Raoul gives Eichmann as an excuse for his being sent to Budapest. "What can Sweden help with? Freight cars? Winter clothing? Please, don't try to camouflage your mission," which he knows of down to the Americans who are behind it. They actually pretend to play nice and make a business deal for housing. Raoul offers Eichmann money for housing, but Eichmann snaps that it works out to "only a dollar a Jew," and he's been offered more. Even worse, as he gets up to go, the sinister man notes that he's overcome "your little delay" and managed to get two trains of Jews sent East to make up for the one Raoul was able to bring back. Per tells Raoul, "some Nazis are less interested in the war than they are in murdering Jews." "I am determined too, and stubborn," Raoul says in response, believing himself to be Eichmann's equal.
There is a terrific scene where Raoul goes to the Hungarian leader to beg for his help. The wily old diplomat, playing both sides, says he can't understand why Sweden's King Gustav is "so interested in Jews," and is peeved that the Swedish legation is playing around with Hungarian citizens in the first place. Raoul wants him to agree to let hundreds of thousands of Jews come under his protection, but he is allotted only 4500. International politics being what they are, the quid pro quo is that Raoul "tell the Allies of my benevolent treatment of Jews." What makes the scene so interesting is the mindset of the Hungarian government. It's clear that the Nazis are losing the war by this point, but they are still very much a presence and to antagonize them can still mean big trouble. Raoul can't understand it, but he has to accept it.
As if the Nazis aren't enough of a problem, Raoul doesn't find an easy time with all of the Jews. Asking a wealthy Budapest Jew to sign over his houses to the Swedish government for the duration of the war, the man actually refuses because they are all he has left and he wants his children to inherit something. Raoul cannot guarantee the outcome of the war. "Who are you to lecture me? Some nice Swedish boy with nothing at stake?" "I'm one of you, I'm half Jewish. Don't you see I'm fighting for my life as well as yours?" That does the trick, at least partially. "Does this entitle me to one of those Swedish documents of yours?" he man asks. "A mint copy," Raoul assures him. "Half Jewish? You told me your great-great-grandfather was Jewish," his driver quips. "One-sixteenth Jewish, call me a liar for a fraction?" he jokes back. What's important is the last line of the scene. "I feel half Jewish," Raoul says, and it's not just lip service.
Then there are the resistance leaders who have taken the Swedish paperwork in order to make fakes from it, but so many that Nikki is worried that the Nazis will be suspicious. They have their own way of doing things.
However, with houses and Swedish flags, Raoul can save a lot of Jews, and right under the nose of the Hungarian army, without their yellow stars. It's a major victory for Raoul and his friends. Of course, just when all is going so well, Eichmann shows up at the Swedish legation. "I respect the Swedes, even new ones," he snarls to Raoul and Per. Eichmann strides around room full of Jews in Raoul's office with a joking demeanor that is even scarier than when he yells directly. Raoul disarms the tension by doing an imitation of the awful man as soon as he leaves. "Could we really be winning here?" Per asks. "Better to hope than not, especially for them," Raoul replies. He figures that Eichmann is leaving Budapest because the Hungarian army is too small and Eichmann has to beg Hitler for more soldiers. In the meantime, the Russians are on their way West, so Budapest might still stand a chance.
That doesn't mean atrocities are halted completely. The Baron and Baroness drive into a mass execution and almost get shot themselves, the first time the Baroness realizes what is actually happening. "Women!" she exclaims. Her husband tries to sooth her by saying it's "old hatred" and not their problem, but her eyes are now open. Buying flowers, she sees Raoul on the street motivating his men and wants to meet him. "I have heard such wonderful things about you. I had to meet you," she says, all aglow, handing a rose to a Jewish worker before going off to have coffee with Raoul.
Raoul has a marvelous crack made to shock the Baroness. They are offered pastry in a restaurant and she refuses. He insists, saying, "if only to reassure ourselves that the ovens of Budapest are still turning out splendid (pause) pastry." She is pulled back down to earth that one, but still claims "I find it hard to believe." "Decent people always find it hard to believe," he retorts. She says she sought him out to hear his side, but he tells her "there are no sides" and lists all of the Nazi atrocities. He wants her help, to convince her husband to "stop this extermination or he will pay for it like the others." She is very upset by the conversation and leaves.
He picks up the thread at a party the Swiss give for the diplomatic corps, stealing a dance with her to parry dialogue back and forth. The Baroness starts off frosty, but is just about to drop that demeanor when her husband reappears to fetch her. Per rushes in with the bad news that the Nazis are on their way back to Budapest.
Hungary surrenders and Horthy is forced to abdicate upon the return of Eichmann and he's in a mood to kill. The Hungarian army falls right in line, though the resistance continues to plug away. Nikki dresses up as a Nazi and tries to save Hannah, who has come to a work camp to deliver fake Swedish papers. However, a German officer takes her "for fun," and Nikki is powerless to stop him. At least until Raoul arrives and summons everyone in the camp with Swedish papers. The Nazis are not happy to see him, pointing guns and threatening to shoot him. That's a perfect place to end the first part of the miniseries.
The second part starts exactly where we left off, with the young German Nazi soldiers firing over his shoulder and Raoul still insisting that anyone with a Swedish pass join him. "You will answer to the Red Cross and the Swedish-German Friendship Society" if he is touched, Raoul tells the Nazi in charge, a bold move, but one that works! Nikki watches with relief as Hannah is saved, along with many others. Raoul even takes those who don't have passes, accepting any piece of paper they can produce, with the Nazis powerless to do anything. "He has a Swedish flag on his car, doesn't he?" the Nazi in charge spits out.
As Raoul heads the flank of Jews leaving the camp, like Moses, the saved hear gunshots, aimed at Jews as reprisals from the upset Hungarian soldiers. "Keep walking!" he shouts.
Raoul still needs the Baroness, hoping once again to push her into pushing her husband, but she insists, "I will not be disloyal to him." Raoul trots out his fear tactic again, that if the Baron doesn't "disassociate himself from this government of madmen," he will stand trial and be executed when the war is over. She tells Raoul she is pregnant, and can't let her baby grow up without a father.
The Baroness decides to take a crack at her husband, telling him that she's worried about the approaching Russians and gently slipping in Wallenberg's name. The Baron isn't buying it. "Who gives a damn about him or his Jews?" but she continues to gently pursue the matter, though the Baron is only interested in sex. But, later on, as Russian bombs rain down on Budapest, the Baroness is stronger, not only using political arguments, but the whole "I will not let our baby be born into a world where..." argument. The Baron initially rages against the Jews, saying "I've told them for years" to essentially blend in and go unnoticed, but she heads that off, telling him he must go to the cabinet and "make them see what they must do!" It seems to do some good because she hears later on the radio the cabinet proclaiming safety for the Jews just as he arrives home.
Crowing a bit, with gifts of cigarettes, Raoul goes to Eichmann to report that he's heard Himmler has "ordered the gas turned off" and that Auschwitz is "to be dismantled." Eichmann claims it's not true. In fact, he is dogmatic in his mission: to be the person responsible for the most Jewish deaths in Europe. "Don't be encouraged by your little moment," he tells Raoul. "Himmler be damned. I'll decide the fate of Hungarian Jews." Undeterred, when Eichmann says he knows Raoul's little secret, that he's Jewish, Raoul retorts, "I'm one-sixteenth Jewish, less than I would prefer." Raoul keep baiting Eichmann until the latter explodes, showing his desperation. "I want that Jew lover dead before the day ends," Eichmann tells his staff as Raoul leaves.
A trap is set and a German truck pummels Raoul's car. Sonja is injured, but not seriously. Raoul calls Eichmann to congratulate him on the ruse, "but I was not in the car" and hangs up, with a clearly irate Eichmann still holding the phone. For that, Eichmann orders the Jews "to be marched." That includes the ones under Wallenberg's protection. "Let them blow their noses in it," one soldier jokes with another as he pulls down the Swedish flag. Even the resistance is forced to say it's time to call in Wallenberg.
Teicholz (Ralph Arliss) goes to see Raoul where all the Jews have been rounded up. At first, the Pole is argumentative, but Raoul says they "are beginning to overlap." If Teicholz won't directly ask for help, Raoul speaks up and says he wants access to the resistance underground or Budapest "will have no survivors." Teicholz has "room for 300," but Raoul wants 1000, "so make room."
As the Jews are corralled into the Hungarian labor camp, trust Nikki is there in his uniform. The only people left at the Swedish legation are Raoul and Per. "Do you ever miss those carefree Scandinavian days?" Raoul asks? Per does, but Raoul doesn't not. "Perhaps nothing ever did before now, Raoul," Per replies, "you found yourself HERE." Per is despondent and wants to go home to his wife as Raoul says, "we hit rock bottom today."
At the end of this very difficult day, there is a bright spot when the Baroness walks into the legation. Is she there to "plead your husband's case" as Raoul puts it? Well, she does want him to know that her husband tried to stop the Nazis and that "he's a good man," but there's a bit of self-preservation too. If he ever is tried, will Raoul testify?
But there's more, and this is where the movie hits a snag. This tight tense story is interrupted by a love plot. The miniseries format virtually demanded it of every movie, but it's particularly needless here. "I'm here because I have to be," she says breathlessly. There's a kiss and then she says she has to go, but she has some superb words on her way out. She says their mutual priest friend told her, "the Nazis' greatest victory was convincing the Jews they were doomed. But now, you changed that, for thousands of them." That's an incredibly powerful line and redeems the entire scene.
The situation for the Jews in the Hungarian camp worsens. Some of the characters we've met are killed, others beaten. For Raoul, it's a race against time. If he can stop the trains from leaving Hungary, he may be able to save them, because once the trains leave Hungarian soil, he cannot help. As he drives to the train station, his car slowed as it winds its way through the miserable masses headed to the same place, he wonders how this can be possible in Christianity. "Perhaps we are witnessing the death of God," he says mournfully.
At the station, Raoul is frantic. Luckily, the Hungarian army is fine with being bribed, and then he has to physically get as many people off the trains as possible, using phony certificates, saying "they are in the ledger," anything to stall. The Nazis on hand are not happy, but the Hungarians calm them. When a Nazi asks the Hungarian commander if he was bribed, he says he was, "but you'll get your chance." After all, Raoul can't save them all, so plenty will be on those trains to make the Nazis happy.
I'm going to be uncharacteristically brief about the end of the movie. Raoul is able to save Jews over and over through various methods, but his triumph is getting the local Nazis to call off an order from Eichmann to machine gun 100,000 Jews. The Germans flee as the Russians approach and the Jews are free to break the padlocks on the ghetto doors. It's this wonderful sight Raoul sees as he drives out of Budapest. "We did make a difference," he says.
Though the story ends better for many of the Jews in Budapest than it did across most of Europe, Raoul's personal story is one of epic tragedy, almost unreal if it weren't the truth. In January 1945, Raoul Wallenberg went to meet with the Russian commander and was never seen again. It's believed he died in captivity in 1947, but rumors and sightings popped up for many years. The man who had literally stood in the firing line to save so many people simple vanished.
I don't know how many stories the creators of "Wallenberg: A Hero's Story" intended to tell. Obviously, the one involving Raoul Wallenberg, but what also comes across strikingly is the Hungarian situation near the end of the war. We are so used to hearing about the Western Front or the concentration camps themselves in the Eastern Front, or the great naval battles of the Pacific that it almost seems like the entire world was not at war. Hungary was very much a part of World War II, on the Axis side, though under Nazi domination. Through a very small lens (the Baron and Baroness), we're able to learn a lot, mainly how even countries in the thick of the Final Solution could be unaware of what was happening, if they chose to be. Something similar happens in "Holocaust" as we watch simple Germans come under the spell of Hitler's propaganda, but that's a more familiar story.
Of course, the main story goes to Raoul Wallenberg, a hero is ever there was one. The title doesn't even need to say "A Hero's Story," to crown him as such, but I suspect that her was so long forgotten, that without it, no one's interest would have been piqued. No doubt Steven Spielberg told Oskar Schindler's story with far more brio and pathos, but a network miniseries could not have told that story and been nearly as powerful. Wallenberg's story, which takes place in just a few brief months, is fascinating, and made believable by Richard Chamberlain's actorly charm and passionate devotion to creating a robust character.
Comments? Question? Email me at hpmaraka@gmail.com. I would love to hear from you.
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