The Story of David (1976)

Back to the Bible, this time way back long before the New Testament, to "The Story of David."  All I'll say up front is that the story of David initially seems to be ripe for miniseries treatment, but without a budget, it's bound to fail and that second act of David's life is a total snooze.

Though the movie starts with shepherd David (Timothy Bottoms) playing a lyre and singing, "The Story of David" is not a musical.  His head covered in golden ringlets, a pre-historic Shirley Temple, David is interrupted from a quiet day of tending sheep to kill a wildcat.

King Saul (Anthony Quayle, who would pretty much devote the rest of his career to sword and sandal miniseries) goes to visit Samuel (Mark Dignam).  The heavily-bearded prophet makes Saul work for his attention, having the king sit on a common stone until he's good and ready to talk to him from his throne-like rock as yet another way to knock down the king's ego.  It seems that Samuel told him 20 years ago he was king, but now he's started speaking against Saul.  Samuel takes the stance that, "it was the voice of the Lord," but Saul reminds Samuel he's the one who anointed him with kingly oils.  "Let there be peace between us or Israel will be destroyed," Saul says in exasperation.  When a piece of clothing rips, Samuel sees that as proof that the kingdom is about to be torn from Saul.

David returns to his brothers, who mock him because David wants to fight the Philistines in open combat.  They have iron swords that the Israelis do not have, so it's not an easy fight.  To quiet his brothers down, David belts out another tune.

Meanwhile, Saul is despondent, wearing a simple cloth and showing a lot of leg.  His cousin Abner (Brian Blessed) tries to cheer him up and remind him of all he's done, and these two veteran hams do their best to out-bad-act each other.  Abner brings David to Saul to lighten his mood with more of his chipper singing, except this time, David can only muster a ballad, which seems most unhelpful.  I suppose the back-up instruments and endlessly unrhymed lyrics are heaven-sent, because David goes on and on and on.  After what seems an eternity of lute-playing, David even falling asleep doing it, Saul notices him and asks his name, before joining the sing-a-long himself, with a harvesting song that David picks up pretty quickly.  "Never let an old man pour oil on your head," Saul recommends, lamenting the fact that he was once a happy farmer and now an unhappy king.

David is given a job with Saul, which he describes to his brothers as such scintillating tasks as counting spears and tying on armor.  He's also on call when Saul feels bad, his playing chasing away "the evil spirit."  If this weren't innocent old 1976, one might raise an eyebrow here.  The miniseries, a religious piece, no less, was just a child, no hidden meanings.

Every day, blustering Goliath (Tony Tarruella) comes to the foot of the army camp and taunts Saul.  He certainly doesn't seem like a giant, merely a man with a incredibly large hat.  Saul's son Jonathan (Oded Teomi) wants to fight him, but Saul will not allow it.  Frankly, he's afraid to send anyone to a certain death, but David begs for a chance.  "He's a giant, a warrior...what would you do, David, wrap your lyre strings around him?" Saul asks?  David brings up that big cat he killed in the first scene, but Saul just jokes, "you will sing him to death."  Abner is all for a fight, since if David is killed, "it's just a boy...what do we risk?"  The Old Testament folk just never learn!  Dare Yahweh to step in and help his people and he won't hesitate.  Timothy Bottoms looks as harmless as a day-old puppy, but this isn't called "The Story of Goliath," now is it?

David sums it up for Saul: "I can kill Goliath and the army will believe that Yahweh is strong."  See!  It's not about the puny boy, it's a lesson in faith.  "If he kills me, I'm on a shepherd," David says (aping Abner), in our first example of thick Jewish guilt (hey, it made me the man I am today, I'm not knocking it).  "Who will play for me?" Saul whines, but David and Abner (and of course, the unseen hand of God), finally wear him down.

So, Goliath makes his daily rounds, laughing when he sees David scamp down the hillside.  "You come with a spear, Philistine, but I come with the name of the Lord of the hosts, Yahweh," David whispers as he readies his slingshot.  Goliath throws his spear, which David avoids and then spins his slingshot with the same sound effects that readied Wonder Woman, smacking Goliath between the eyes with a rock.  It looks more likely to knock off his fake beard than anything, but it immobilizes Goliath and David can cut his head off, yelling proudly to Saul in a rather bloodthirsty manner.

It must be a few years later, because David has acquired a (really bad fake) beard.  He's now the main war planner, but no one can argue with success, especially when there are cheering extras and montage footage (cheaply, in both cases).  There is even a song about him that all of the peasants (and their children) know.  "All he lacks now is the kingdom," Abner clucks, though naturally David lacks any notion of a coup.  After all, he's still just a simple musician, writing an impromptu ditty faster than Irving Berlin, though Saul is jealous of the song of the people praising David.

Then there's the matter of Michal (Irit Ben Zur), Saul's daughter who has a crush on David.  She and Jonathan double team Saul into letting them marry (even though David is incredibly asexual), but Saul insists that David bring him Philistine foreskin "as a dowry."  Another cheap montage, another few extras, and it's wedding time!  This time, we get all-out production number, with dancers doing something between the hora and the Electric Slide.  Getting down to wedding night business, Michal asks David "to play the lyre for me," but he claims, "I have forgotten how," though in the next scene, he's once again playing for his father-in-law, who can't get the peasant song out of his head, throws a spear at David (which misses by a mile) and goes kind of mad.

David has to scale the walls and leave down so jealous Saul doesn't kill him.  He forgets to take any food or water, and can't seem to find anywhere to stop (let's pause here to wonder how a man so brilliant in a land as small as New Jersey can't find a friendly drink of water, but that's a question for Biblical scholars, not miniseries viewers), so the buzzards circle above him as he trips his way around the craggy rocks and weeds of the land.  Where does he stagger to?  Samuel's outdoor palace, where he's treated very well by Samuel's gang.  "I have waited for you, David," Samuel says, which even David finds odd.  Samuel is anoints him with oil (David was passed out, thus not having a chance to stop the anointing, as Saul warned him).  David doesn't want the job, claiming loyalty to Saul.  "His son is my brother, his daughter is my wife, Saul is a king, Saul, Saul, Saul is king," David yells, afraid.

Let's not beat around a non-burning bush: David is pretty good at manipulation, despite all those curls and the great PR.  When Jonathan comes to see him, to bring him back to Saul, David isn't stupid, he tells Jonathan to find out first if Saul "still wants my blood."  Jonathan turns this into a needlessly complex plan, which David worries is a trap.  Lousy liar Jonathan tells Saul David is in Bethlehem visiting his own father, causing Saul to go on a grand rant, insisting on David's death.  What actor doesn't love a mad scene, so Tony Quayle goes full Lear on us.

Jonathan's needlessly complex plan has David so sad he cries fake glycerin tears to hear that Saul wants him dead, so Jonathan cheers him up slitting each of their wrists and mingling their blood (it had to be the wrist?), making them "one," so that David is also heir to the throne.  Mighty generous of Jonathan, isn't it?  Michal hasn't lifted a finger for her own husband.

After scamming bread from an all-too-trusting temple priest, David starts to build a force to overcome Saul.  This is a new side of David and even his brothers don't know what to make of it.  However, just at that moment, a man in mourning comes along, saying Saul has razed the temple and the whole city around it for the priest's generosity to David (who, remember, wasn't completely honest, and does feel a bit of guilt over it).  Thus, war against Saul is now okay.

David develops quite an edge, though always making sure to take the moral high ground.  When a local refuses to give him and his now 600 men food, David loses it.  Okay, first of all, who can feed 600 men?  Anyway, David breaks a jug and scowls that he's rid the area of Philistines, yet this man is not grateful, so he's allowed to kill the man's family, "man, child, ram and goat."  No mention of women, but by all means, slaughter the goats.  It's a good thing I mentioned women, because Abigail (Ahuva Yuval) shows up in the next scene, telling David she had been away when David's men were denied food, and she's here with hundreds of loaves of bread to make up for it.  She begs for her husband's life and to be David's "handmaiden," always an undefined Biblical term.

When word comes that Samuel has died, David is urged to go after Saul, but he refuses.  "How long are you going to let him hunt you like a partridge?" he's asked.  Apparently, things aren't that bad, because Saul has never found the completely obvious lair where David and his men are holed up avoiding battle. Saul uses tactics like starving locals to ferret out the location, but none of it seems to work.  So, why not strike at Saul?  "Should I start a war among the tribes?  Should I have the blood of Israel on my hands?  Saul was my father!" David roars.  "I am not a rebel against Saul," he says over and over, though Joab (Norman Rodway) keeps urging him to battle with flowery taunts.  What David does agree to is slipping into the enemy camp (where everyone is luckily sleeping at the same time) to participate in an elaborate pantomime with Joab, who manages to overact even in silence.

The reason for this odd raid is so David can stand on a mountain the next day and yell to Abner that he slept as they stole a water jug from beside Saul.  Abner orders the men to rush up and kill David, but Saul stops them, leaving David to ask why he's pursued.  Wait, Saul just stopped you from instant death!  David cries (without tears) as he bemoans the loss of Israel for no reason.  He turns his rage from Yahweh to Saul, throwing a spear near him and then darting off into the mountains again.  The endless cat-and-mouse (discussed, but not shown) between Saul and David is getting mighty old.

Sometime later, as David languishes in the pleasures of Philistia, he is offered the chance to participate in the "destruction of Saul," by one of the local kings, as they are all gathering to conquer Saul and want David and his men to be their "bodyguards."  "If you know me, Lord," David says, "you know what I'll do," which apparently doesn't necessary mean he'll join (it takes Joab to play the dunce and bring that out).  David's poker face notwithstanding, the other Philistine kings don't trust that a Hebrew will be loyal to them against Saul (getting one mad scene after another), so David's liege caves and tells David to take his men and not participate in the fight (which he wasn't going to do anyway).

Jonathan sneaks a visit to David, asking if he really would have fought against his own people and David doesn't answer.  He also tells David that even Saul thinks he should be king, though now David gets all modest.  Of course, knowing this new fact makes it hard for David to sit by and watch a war that is certain to decimate Saul and company.

We don't see the battle, but we see the Philistines picking through the dead Hebrew bodies afterward, including Jonathan's.  Alas, even Saul is killed, causing David to bathe in dust once again as he wails in sadness.  Timothy Bottoms is a downright awful crier.  Luckily for the story, David is not responsible for killing Saul and has a clear pathway to becoming king, though he gives a lofty speech about the fallen mighty before Joab proclaims him such.  He stands atop a mountain, arms spread wide, obviously ready for that job, thus bringing the first portion of the movie to a sweeping close.

David may feel himself secure in his kingship, but not everyone sees that.  Saul has another son in the north and Abner follows him.  Abner and Joab meet to discuss the situation and Joab reminds Abner that Samuel anointed David just like he did Saul.  However, that history lesson is lost on Abner, who clucks, "you anoint an onion with oil before you eat it, that doesn't make it king."  They do a lot of chattering about the past six years as their massive armies of six or seven each start getting antsy.  There's a bit of a tussle and Abner kills Joab's brother, which isn't going to sit well with Joab in the long run.

In six years, David has matured into Keith Michell, but the change of actors doesn't mean we lose the ringlets or the inability to construct a hummable tune.  In fact, Keith's David starts with a song and though he's a better singer than he predecessor, the songs are no less annoying.  Fawned over by women with children they are trying to remind him should be his heir, he is brought news that Abner has switched sides and wants to be part of David's retinue.  David and his chief advisor Jehosephat (who does, I assure you, no jumping, and is played by veteran Barry Morse).  David is willing to talk to Abner, but only if he brings him Michal (now Susan Hampshire) his one-time wife whom Saul had taken from him during their years of quarrel.  Michal has been married for years to another man and gained something of a spine.  Abner tempts her with being the wife of a king, but she says, "I'm already the daughter of a king," so Abner has to physically take her from her poor sad husband.

Abner is treated to a hearty meal and a particularly gloomy ballad from David before getting down to business.  There is some bargaining to be done, namely that for Abner's switching of sides, he wants to be the official War Chief, a position help by Joab.  Joab is furious that Abner is even at the palace, yet again launching into a spitting bit of overacting as David strums his lyre and tells his aide that here needs Abner's help.  So, Joab sets a trap for Abner.  The latter is killed and David is furious because Joab didn't think through the murder, knowing everyone will blame David.  "David's name will stink in the land of Israel," he tells idiotic Joab.  Joab offers up his own life, but only half meaning it since he claims he put David on the throne.  The two yell and howl for a while, but David ends with an ultimatum: "follow Abner's body or follow Abner" and Joab goes along with the funeral procession.  Then David gets downright ugly, denouncing Joab in public as the murderer and washing his hands of the whole affair.  Not heroic actions, I would say.

That's not the last of Joab, of course.  He remembers that David said whoever could get Jerusalem for him would be War Chief, so he does just that, with no more than a handful of men and another of those fake war montages.  Singing and dancing, looking like the understudies at the Bath Touring Light Opera Company, David and his followers enter Jerusalem.  He's vain, but not a snappy enough dresser to realize his underwear can be seen through his white cloth and no one needs to see that.  Lest you think me overly harsh, here's what Michal has to say of the whole day's events: "I saw you there jumping before the people like a slave girl.  Is that honor?  Uncovering yourself before the women, robes flapping and showing your root and you looked like a priest of Sodom.  My father was not a king like that.  Saul was a man!"  David pins her down and tells her that Yahweh has made him king, even over Saul, and he intends to have what he feels he is owed.  It's only his pride that wants Michal, who tells David he has "no heart."  She finally wins her freedom from Jerusalem by reminding him that a royal child of theirs could take over just like he did with Saul.  "Go," he tells her, "as the wife of a king, but you will have no sons."  Uh oh.

So, David goes to sit before the Ark of the Covenant and sing.  What else would you expect him to do?  Well, he does stop long enough to beg Yahweh for some dialogue, but, let's face it, David enjoys doing all the talking.  Keith Michell sure doesn't mind having a solo scene for his rapidly declining acting choices (usually a terrific actor, he's miscast and decides just to get through it).  By the end of the scene, he's prostrate on the floor begging for his house to go on forever (just like the scene).

This is followed by a downright bizarre scene where David goes to the scribes writing his history (aka The Bible) and begs them to liven it up so that it's not just all that boring begetting.  Wait, so David is now a book editor?  "Write down their sin, their stubbornness, their weakness, for that makes them men."  In other words, sex sells.

Into the boredom of kingly days slips (finally) Bathsheba, played by our redoubtable Jane Seymour, here present at the dawn of the miniseries.  In her first scene, she gets naked and goes for a dip as David watches from above.  She is so young and so beautiful, how can he not be captivated?  Bathsheba is the wife of Uriah (Terrence Hardiman), a recent convert to Judaism.  That's a problem, because David REALLY wants her, to the point of sleepless nights.

Bathsheba is finally brought to the palace in the middle of the night to find David (you guessed it) playing with his lyre.  "I am your servant, Lord, your handmaiden," is her first line in the whole movie!  That's not much of a conquest, now is it?  Obviously, it's too late for even Jane Seymour to save this elongated dreariness, but she brings a much-need spark.  Bathsheba is bit difficult, asking David bluntly if he knows it's her when he's "buried" in her hair or does he think of his other women?  She fastens him with a solid lock when she announces she's pregnant.  "I am a mighty ram, a bull," says the aging king, running around the deck.  "Rejoice, you carry the child of David," he commands, but she's worried that it's "adultery, proven" and she will be stoned to death for it.  David won't come under any heat, only a mere woman.  Even David can't save her from the law, especially since he's in a precarious position with the priests and taxmen and such.  David can't change when Bathsheba got pregnant, but he can alter documents to say Uriah was present when Bathsheba became pregnant.

There is perhaps only one moment in the entire second half of "Story of David" that is utterly hysterical. Bathsheba slips into David's bedroom in the middle of the night to tell him "that fool" husband of hers is sleeping in outside with his soldiers while "I lie naked on my bed covered in oil of myrrh."  The camera switches to David's face, and the look there is like a teenage boy discovering Playboy.  We don't see his erection only because the camera doesn't travel down that far.  You see, Uriah invokes a law that says no man at war can touch a woman, but David says that law isn't for real anymore.  But Uriah, a convert, is more strict with the laws than David, so this is going to take more work than David anticipated.  So, he gets Uriah drunk and sends him to Bathsheba.  That seems to work, but at the last minute, he invokes the name of Yahweh and stays outside.  Rats, foiled again!

Davis has to go even lower to get himself out of the world's first sitcom plot.  He has Abner post Uriah to a certain-death mission, where of course he's killed.  It's taken way more than 26 minutes, but eventually we will wrap this up and then add the laugh track.

Cue the shiva scene.  Every old lady in a 20 mile radius of the shooting location is dragged in, given a black outfit and asked to shriek loudly while Jane slips out of the room to meet David.  Then she has to bite the bullet, or the whip, or whatever, as she goes into labor.

Prophet Nathan (David Collings) arrives as Jane is delivering.  He's there to blow the whole goony plot, but in typical prophet dialogue, he goes on and on in a way no one can understand (except, of course, the guilty).  Nathan finally speaks for real and accuses David and warns him, "a sword will never depart from your house...I will raise up evil against you from your own house!"  Swell party guest, where is he playing next, an Egyptian funeral?  Actually, David fesses up, but it's too late, Yahweh is already way too angry.  "You will not die, but the child that is born to you will surely die," Nathan warns.  Well, at least he's got Bathsheba, who notes, "we can have another son," as he dissolves into tears.

And indeed they do, to add to his coterie of sons by dozens of yelping women who want their son to get the kingdom.  We even meet the ones named with the letter A.  There aren't enough extras for the rest.  Only one of his wives, the only one without a son, isn't angling and she tells him once he's gone, there will be nothing but bloodshed until one son emerges triumphant.  Such pessimism!  Three thousand years later, my great aunts sounded just like all these gloomy prophets and harrying wives.

There is only one way for King David to solve any problem and it's to grab the lyre and sing again.  His beard is gray, and poor Joab has to listen to yet another ballad before bringing up the evil doings of one son.  David forgives him the dirty deeds because "he has my blood" and "am I without sin?"  There's incest and rape and fratricide and all of the other giant sins tucked into the end of the miniseries.  Frankly, they should have their own movie because it's way too late to care about new characters.  The only interesting part is when the mothers go all Alexis-and-Crystal on each other in a big gang fight (minus the pools and ponds).  David breaks it up, but I think he's a little happy to delay doing so as the first man in history who might just enjoy ladies mud wrestling had someone thought of it.  We go through the story of Absalom in roughly ten minutes (killing, coming back, reconciling, yearning to become king in his father's place, one of the Bible's baddest apples).  Ancient David forms a plan and leaves the even more ancient Jehosephat to lead Absalom into a trap, all the time complaining, "why cannot my son love me" since he's blood and David loved Saul without the blood connection.  Yeah, let's not bring Saul up because that's a very murky episode and David still isn't completely in the clear on that one!

However, has an answer, basically, "I told you so."  Helpful, Joab, thanks.  David is forced to flee into the mountains where he sits and watches a shepherd play music.  Joab shows up with the good news that Absalom has taken all of David's concubines, but Absalom is playing right into David's plan.  It's only now that David chooses to remember Nathan's warning.  No one else thought of it until all these years later?  It seems pretty damn obvious.  The same poor extras do one last battle and Absalom has one awfully unlucky death scene (thanks to a downed tree limb and then Joab's rage).  David goes into one of The Bibles best mad scenes, now giving Keith Michell the chance to play Lear (there's a lot of this version) and he plays it to the back of the balcony.

David gets so old that even Bathsheba turns matronly (gray coloring and some padding can't dim our Jane's beauty).  "Do you remember, Lord, when I was young?" she asks David, flirting so she can beg favors for her son, just like all the other wives, though David is still in the midst of madness and has a barely tentative grasp on reality.  Ultimately, he decrees that his son Solomon will be king and then tells the actor playing Solomon (who has no lines) to kill Joab before one last flowery speech.  No, alas, there is not a deathbed song.  I know, we are all disappointed.  But, we don't need a finale.  We understand the whole fable of "sins of the fathers," as it's laid on awfully thick.  The miniseries is not a format for preaching.  It's way too heavy-handed.

I'm not quite sure why it took two actors to play David, since Parts 1 and 2 are only off by six years.  Timothy Bottoms is awful and Keith Michell much better, so couldn't they have just given Keith a few more wigs and some Vaseline lenses for the first half?  Other than Michal, no other character is played by two people.  Hell, Abner doesn't even age!  Anyway, the robust story of the young David works well enough here (even if those songs should have been cut in Boston), but the story of the older David isn't remotely as interesting.  However, this is a 1976 miniseries, a serious take on a religious text.  In a decade, The Bible would be forgotten as a basis for the miniseries in favor of tawdry Southern tales and hero-worshipping World War II stories.  As low-rent as "The Story of David" may be, it's inherent sweetness gives on a feeling of nostalgia when one sees what happened in the next 20 years.

Jack the Ripper (1988)

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. 

Memories of Midnight (1991)

It's been a long time since I've spent time with our Muse of the Miniseries, Jane Seymour!  So, let's return to her, but in one of her, um, less serious roles.  "Memories of Midnight" pairs her with the writings of Sidney Sheldon.  Really, Jane?  Sidney Sheldon?  That's Jaclyn Smith territory.  Isn't Jane too good for that?  Ah, hell, a girl has to have some fun along the way. 

"Memories of Midnight" is actually a sequel to another Sidney Sheldon novel, but if you didn't read the novel (or see the movie), don't worry.  Not only have they reset the story in the 90s (where the first story was decades earlier), this kind of trash doesn't really make any logical sense anyway, on its own or paired with something else.  Don't think too hard.  Sidney Sheldon would be scratching to get out of his grave if he knew anyone wasted brain cells actually thinking about his work.  If that sounded harsh, watch an episode of "I Dream of Jeanie" again. 

It's a dark and stormy night.  It always is.  The beating of the tress against the window causes Jane to wake up, calling for "Larry."  From the doorway, she sees this Larry, and a woman with an accent in a raincoat.  "I told you I would get rid of her," he says.  "I'm tired of waiting," she says.  Jane makes a noise and they see her.  The door is locked and Jane cannot get out, not even in slow motion.

"Wake up.  Wake up.  You had a nightmare!" Well, of course she did.  I mean, have you READ Sidney Sheldon?  The lead isn't getting bumped off in the first scene. 

Just who is waking up our Jane?  A nun.  Damn right, a nun.  Sister Constance Towers no less.  As the nun walks out, leaving Jane to go back to sleep, Jane suddenly realizes she remembers her name.  You got it, she's been suffering amnesia, that beloved malady of pulp fiction and soap operas.  But, back to that later.

We're in Athens and it's time meet the villain, that great Greek actor Omar Sharif.  Okay, he's not Greek.  Okay, he's not great either.  Okay, there are some who would say "actor" is even stretching it, but Omar is the villain here, that much is fact.  When we first encounter him, he's welcoming back his mistress, an actress whom he promptly tosses out because he found out she was sleeping with the director.  "Oh, before you go, come here," he says sweetly, and she thinks he's reconsidered.  No, he just wants to literally rip the jewelry from her body.  He then barks to his secretary, "take everything that's on the floor.  Give it to the children's fund."  I'm sure starving orphans will love expensive jewelry.  It will go so well with their hand-me-down torn t-shirts.  Sister Constance calls with very important news and he hightails it over to the convent.

Sister Constance introduces Jane to Omar, who is a "good friend of the convent."  Jane, interrupted from picking flowers on the convent lawn, doesn't quite understand, but Omar turns on his oily charm and decides it's time for Jane to rejoin the world.  Sister Constance isn't going to argue.  Not with her benefactor.  Plus, it means more gruel for her at dinner. 

Jane, in the plainest of dresses, but with shoulder pads and a Bible, manages to ask Sister Constance who Omar really is before she leaves, only to be told he's very rich, very hated by many, but also a good friend to the convent.  As Jane gets in the car, Sister Constance puts her hands up to her mouth in prayer and waves goodbye.  If you're going to leave a convent with amnesia, this is really the way to do it, with a super dramatic nun to bid you adieu and a car ride along the Greek coast.  Jane insists on a pit stop along the way because she recognizes a statue, but the driver gives away the entire secret to Greek tourism: "There are hundreds of them all over the place."  She insists she's seen this particular one in this particular place.

At Omar's villa, Jane tells him she remembers the road she took, but Omar brushes it off because, get this, he's been studying amnesia.  He tells her this sudden "remembering" is called "deja vu," a term apparently invented by Sidney Sheldon.  Who knew?  "You've been so kind, I don't know what to say," Jane tells Omar, who insists she stay with him.  You don't know what to say because you are an amnesiac, but one with a fantastic ability to pronounce Greek words. 

In a sort of soft-core porn "My Fair Lady," a woman comes in to outfit Jane, at Omar's request.  "Good bone structure, excellent figure.  Get undressed, please," the woman says.  A rack of designer duds follows and Jane likes the sight of them as much as the butch dresser likes the sight of her.

We learn a little more of the story from lawyer Theodore Bikel.  He and his associate argue over the death sentence imposed on Larry and Noelle (Jane's husband and his mistress from the flashback).  "What we did was the only way to make sure they would pay for their crime," he says, though apparently everyone knows there is no crime, especially since Jane is alive and sort-of well. 

Jane picks out a fetching white business suit (shoulder padded to the hilt), with matching white shoes and purse, telling the driver she wants to go into town.  She looks ready to for a corporate battle, but she just wants to tour the sights.  The climbs to all those ruins in her heels, spunky amnesiac that she is! 

Of all places, Jane wanders into a palm reader who recognizes her.  "It's impossible, Mrs. Douglas, you are...DEAD!" the melodramatic seer yells/whispers to her.  Conveniently, the palm reader is spooked, so Jane can't ask her any questions before the driver comes to collect her. 

Theodore's law partner goes to Father Joseph Campanella to confess to murder.  He tells of how he sold out his client for a partnership.  "I couldn't turn down a chance like that," he says, but it was all for naught since they were not guilty.  "I betrayed a client for a job," he cries.  "I can't live with the guilt anymore." 

Omar is busy at an auction when his divine Eurotrash wife (the usual soap opera mixture of Callas and Medea, in sparkly jewels) Taro Meyer shows up with her brother Thaao Penghils, a dashing rival of Omar's.  The two stand next to each other and bid on a painting that Thaao wins for $1M.  "It's worth the extra just to take something that beautiful out of your hands," Thaao says when Omar chimes in that it's not worth more than $700K.  Taro is hopping mad about Jane's presence in her house.  "Why does your sister think I sleep with every woman I meet?" Omar asks Thaao.  "Because you do," he says, along with anyone watching because that is the expected smart-ass response.  An argument ensues with threats, all about the happiness of the sister/wife.  Now, wait a minute.  The woman is well into middle age, it's not like her brother is saving her virginity from the ogre in the cave across the way.  We're just padding the scene, aren't we?

Because you couldn't in a zillion years have guessed it was coming, I have the terrible task of informing you that Theodore's law partner gets run over by a car and dies.  Well, a puppet gets run over by a very slow car, but the end result is the same.  The man and his guilty whining are silenced. 

When Jane gets home, she tells Omar about the fortune teller and he informs her it's time to get out of the city.  He's shipping her off to work in his Amsterdam office.  "I don't know if I can handle the responsibility," she tells him, though he has yet to say what the job is, or even what the hell business he's in!  He assures her his people there will not overburden her.  "Think about the alternative, to stay here and be tortured by memories," he says, assuring she'll go.  He hugs his ward, much to his wife's dismay. 

Theodore decides to tape his thoughts to Omar, assuming he's next to be killed.  On the tape, he says he's written down the truth and given the documents to the prosecutor's office "with the instructions that they be opened in the event of my accidental death." 

Father Joseph tells his nephew Boris Bakal that he's upset over the death of "one of his favorite parishioners."  He's so upset he gets roaring drunk.  Father Joseph can't break the confessional, but he's just soused enough to spill the beans. 

Taro attacks Omar on his way out to a business meeting, assuming he's going to see his "convent whore" or another woman and her Greek tragedy rantings find her tumbling down a flight of stairs...but not to her death.  Just to the hospital.  You can be sure Thaao is not going to take this well.  In fact, he swears vengeance right there in the hospital.  He lays a huge and heavy good old-fashioned Greek curse on Omar.  "I'll make him regret every day he's spent in your life," he assures his sister. 

Off Jane goes to Amsterdam and her job at "The Hellenic Trade Corporation."  I guess if you can't think of a half-decent name for your company, you just go for the generic.  What about using your initials?  First cat's name?  Town you were born in?  An anagram?  Apparently not, not Omar Sharif.  He just wants to be simple and vague. 

It's here Jane meets Ken Howard and Paul Sands, the latter playing a computer nerd to the hilt: sloppy clothes and a "Rain Man" command of facts.  Jane is to be the assistant to Semka Sokolovic-Bertok, who says, "we REALLY need you here!"  Ken tries a little flirting with Jane, but it doesn't really go anywhere.  She's a working girl now, though for an assistant, she lives awfully well. 

When the lamp on her desk burns out, Paul takes her down to the basement to fix the fuse.  There she sees some pretty ancient machinery and questions the safety of it.  Tuck that detail in your mind for later use.  There's also an air raid shelter from World War II in the basement.  This odd duo goes out for a drink where Paul dumps a bunch of facts on Jane, but all she wants to do is go dancing.  Unfortunately, we don't get to see that.  Don't we wish!  Jane and Paul dancing to house music in Amsterdam.

Omar gets his hands on the document Theodore left with the prosecutor, who owes his job to Omar and Omar burns the evidence.  Sadly for Theodore, that means he has to die.  Yes, poor Theodore is dispatched to hills that are not alive with the sound of music by a goon who soaks his house in gasoline and then lights a match. 

Ken continues to his charm assault on Jane, holding her hand at lunch, buying her flowers and guiding her throw insufferably rainy Amsterdam, but she pushes away a potential kiss.  Omar pays a visit to Amsterdam, where she says she's "learning quite a lot," but she's "quite content" to leave her past in the past.  "You have no idea how please I am to hear that," Omar tells her, relieved she's not going to be a thorn in his side.  Omar flashes back to the time he caught Jane's husband and his mistress in each other's arms. 

Conveniently, Boris works in Thaao's mailroom.  He bravely goes to Thaao's office to tell him what he's learned from his soused priest uncle: that there was no deal with the prosecution and two innocent people went to their deaths in a plan instigated by Omar.  Boris has only to convince his uncle to tell the story.  That could be a problem.

Thaao starts his revenge plan with a needlessly complicated ado.  He tells a drug-runner friend all he knows about Omar.  The drug-runner goes to Omar, demands use of his yacht to move the merchandise and insists that Omar sail with them, assuring that the police would never bother with such an important man.  Thaao has the police on alert, but Oman slips out of the trap by having his helicopter swoop down on the yacht and pick him up moments before the yacht bursts into flames, killing everyone on board (and wasting a whole lot of drugs).  Omar shows up in a very surprised Thaao's office to thank him for the business contact, inform him the guy is dead and oh, "I will do the same for you some day."  Nothing like a good Greek vendetta!


Ken invites Jane to go skiing with him in St. Moritz.  Chaste Jane makes him promise "just friends."  Poor thing spent waaaaaaay too long in the convent.  If Jane ever skied before her memory loss, she's forgotten how, because she has to learn all over again, leading to innumerable sexual puns despite the chastity promise from both sides.  It's on this trip that Jane tells Ken about her amnesia and all the details she knows.  It takes him a while, but he remembers where he has heard her name before. 

Apparently not a bright lawyer, or not knowing when a secret should be kept secret, Ken calls the Greek prosecutor of all people, to relay the story of what he's heard from Jane.  The prosecutor calls Omar, thankfully halting a dreary conversation he's having with his wife about her leaving him (FYI, not a scratch on the dame).  "I will handle the St. Moritz situation in my own way," Omar says.  He gets confirmation that the hit man he's sent there has arrived while playing roulette and gives his winnings to the very lucky babe who brought him the note.  Now, an efficient hit man, as we all know from the movies, simply carries a gun with a silencer, holds it in a newspaper and shoots his victim without anyone knowing, leaving some unsuspecting waitress or housekeeper to find the body and shriek.  Not so here.  As per the whole plot so far, the hit man goes for the least easy method: he removes a detour sign from the skiing path Ken takes, sending Ken off a mountain to his death.  But no one else, apparently.  What, did he put the sign back, a killer with a conscience?  Don't try to make sense of it.

As for Jane, she sits around all day waiting for Ken to return, finding out only late at night about the "accident."  The poor things has to be the one to identify his body!  So, with sad music accompanying her, she goes to Ken's room to gaze sadly at his shaving kit and clothes, remembering the wasted moments when she agreed to be "just friends."  Oh, they could have been so more, a tear tells us.  Whatever Jane forgot in life, she remembers politeness, always!  She pays Ken's hotel bill.  No one asked her to do that, but she does.  I think she'll be welcome back there any time, just for that gesture.

For crying out loud, who the hell worked her paying his hotel bill into the script?  There can't possibly be any point to that!

Thaao gets a most interesting call.  We kind of see the man on the other end, sitting in a wheelchair covered head to toe in a blanket.  What is he, a leper with an international calling card?  Anyway, the caller gives Thaao some dirt on Omar to investigate.  Thaao has no idea what to make of the call, but luckily his sister Taro is there to help fill in some blanks.  Taro asks what he's going to do with this information (which he still hasn't fully added up) and he tells her in his best Greek revenge mode that he's going to keep a promise he made to Omar, "a promise that I was going to have the last laugh."  Kids, we're not even halfway through the movie, so no one is having a last laugh yet. 

Dreaming, Jane finally remembers more of that fateful evening.  She managed to get the slow motion door unlocked and ran into the storm barefoot, never once slipping on wet stone or wood.  Her husband goes after her, in shoes, but he slips.  She tries to get away in a little row boat and knocks her husband out with an oar, but he soon surfaces on the side of the boat.  The rocking of the boat causes her to fall off and that is the last anyone sees of her.  She immediately calls Omar and tells him the pieces she has remembered.  "It's all coming back.  I just couldn't wait to tell you," she says so innocently.  "I'm so happy for you," Omar says in pretend sympathy (which sounds like pretend sympathy, but maybe the Amsterdam-Athens connection isn't very good, because Jane doesn't hear that in his voice).  He further tells her that her husband and her husband's mistress were executed for her murder!  She is confused and he tells her, "no one knew you were in the convent, it was horrible."  Wait a minute.  He knew she was in the convent!  Shouldn't she connect those two dots?  Unfortunately, this is not the smart Jane Seymour we love, but a nitwit amnesiac that by rights should have been playing by Deborah Raffin or Susan Blakely, you know, a Grade B actress. 

"I tried so hard to avoid this moment," Omar says after hanging up the phone.  I get the sense some more bodies are about to pile up.  There may be a chase or two, some frightened running by Jane in heels and, most likely, a handsome suitor who may or may not be what he seems.  Just a guess.

Omar takes a trip to Vienna for the express purpose of putting out another hit.  We only hear the hit man, again, as it's all done in a building lobby over a loudspeaker.  For a businessman so smart, Omar really is an idiot.  He takes a briefcase full of money, deposits it in a little hole in a door and tells the voice, "this time the body must be unrecognizable."  When the voice opens the case, it's Jane's picture we see.  Oh no!!!!!!!!

Part Two starts with yet another confrontation among Omar, Taro and Thaao.  It basically serves as a reminder to anyone who has forgotten Part One as to what happened, quickly reviewing most of the events, although it is notable for a backhanded slap Omar gives Thaao.  Otherwise, I think they simply re-used dialogue from previous scenes of this ilk. 

"Why do good people have to die?" Jane asks Paul Sands, not exactly the best person to have around in an emotional breakdown.  "I think I'm going mad," Jane says and Paul hands her the card of a Psychiatrist.  So, she puts on a new power suit, this one in yellow so bright Amsterdam looks colorful, and trots on over to Dr. Stephen Macht.  "By now you've noticed he has a minor brain disorder," the doc starts off with, breaking the ice using Paul Sands' medical condition.  Not only does that violate doctor-patient confidentiality, but it's not about Jane, who is the patient!  Apparently Paul has discussed Jane, so they don't need to go into her history, allowing Jane to get right to the theatrics.  "Why can't everyone just leave me alone?" she roars in one breath and then cries, "I feel so lost" in the next.  "Why don't we see if we can find you," Dr. Stephen suggests.  It's a shame the miniseries died.  Nobody thinks of dialogue that hokey anymore outside of daytime soaps.

Apparently Jane is super busy at work because the Greek office sends Ari Meyers to be her assistant.  Since we don't know what The Hellenic Trade Organization does, we don't know why Jane is so busy.  After a very awkward interview, Jane goes to lunch with Paul, who tells her to "be careful" in a way that suggests there is something brewing, but he can't say. 

Newly chastened Omar asks his wife to play hostess to three men he's sending to Amsterdam.  She's so excited to be back in his good graces, of course she says yes!  Then she puts on an outfit that is too much even for the Oscars and entertains the gents.  All goes well until she hears mention of Jane's name, and then she sours.  Upon leaving, the three men are told by Omar, "I'm sure you will take care of everything that needs to be done," an ominous line that scares even Taro.

The men arrive, but it's an odd meeting.  Ari breaks one's suitcase, then they can't stand the coffee and then they get a moment with Paul, whom they think is "weird."  Jane squires them around to see the sights.  What this has to do with business, I have no idea, but no one seems bothered.  It's almost played like a comedy with three bozos after Jane's affections. 

Her only respite is her time with Dr. Stephen, where she wines, "it's like I'm some kind of bad luck charm" because everyone around her conveniently ends up dead.  Maybe she needs a private investigator and not a therapist.  Since we of course know where these two are headed, it's helpful if Dr. Stephen enlightens us on his theories of death.  "People die for all sorts of reasons," he says, not exactly a brilliant medical-school-taught deduction.  He says that nothing is her fault, but actually, that's not true.  People are being killed one-by-one because they know her. 

Taro confronts Omar with Thaao's stories about what happened to Jane's husband, the trial, all of it.  "He says you could not bear that a mistress of yours would take another lover," she tells her husband.  "What else does he [her brother] accuse me of?  Maybe he thinks I killed Kennedy too," Omar jokes, an odd joke considering he is playing an Onassis-like character.  She pushes further, actually sympathetic towards Jane because she's "completely innocent," which is true.  But Omar shoots back with the underlying reason for all of his dastardly behavior: he grew up poor.  Yup, that's the reason for it all.  Getting out of poverty was "sheer hard, and yes, sometimes ruthless work!"  Furthermore, he gives to charity, just FYI.  "If they wreck anything, they will be removed," he says, referring to anyone who gets in the way of his blotting out his past poverty. 

During a night on the town with the American hired assassin, Jane decides to take him to the red light district.  I hope she's not using the company credit card.  They have the wackiest conversation about him having always wanted to act and he quotes "Hamlet."  No, no, Jane shoots back, ,"that's Macbeth."  Again, she remembers her Shakespeare, but not last week?  "Eh, you've done one Shakespeare, you've done 'em all," he says.  Let's say it all together now, "you've watched one Sidney Sheldon, you've watched 'em all."  Just as the American is about to ring Jane's neck, a police officer happens by and that moment is lost. 

While Madame Medea (Taro) is on the phone with her brother Thaao, heaving that she can't live with the guilt of what her husband has done, a box of chocolates is delivered to him.  "Oh, by the way, thank you for the chocolates."  She didn't send any.  He hurls the box at the window right before it blows up.  Wow, how many calories did they pack into that box of chocolates to make it so deadly?  He's fine, as we see in a delicious shirtless scene at the hospital.  Thaao tells his sister he will kill Omar now, but Taro tells him no, "because I am going to kill him in my own way and in my own time!" 

Taro calls Jane to warn her, but she is not available, so Paul takes the call, spewing numbers and facts as Taro tries to tell him the men with Jane are assassins.  "Do you understand?" she begs, but he just hangs up by the phone.  Jane isn't in the office because she has a therapy session where she describes the dream as Dr. Stephen watches her in a way less clinical than sexual.  Even under hypnosis she maintains a high level of over-acting, calming down only when she gets to the part about being rescued by nuns.  As if we haven't relived the Larry-Noelle stuff enough, now we go over the Ken stuff again.  Line for line, intonation for intonation.  We even get the bill paying stuff again.  Dr. Stephen snaps his fingers and Jane wakes up.

Dr. Stephen doubles as a PI, apparently, because he called Switzerland and found out that someone removed the danger sign that sent Ken to his death.  The hotel bill actually turns out to be important (as we knew it would) because it would have the phone number on it that Ken called before his tragic death.  What phone number?  Yeah, they didn't show that when Jane was on her crying and smelling tour of Ken's room, but apparently there was a phone number written down and if he called it, it will be on that bill she paid.  Aha!

When they get the phone number, Jane notes to Dr. Stephen that "you are enjoying this, aren't you?"  Well, he is, he says, because Psychiatry is all about helping people with problems and this is no different.  Really?  Then why don't they call themselves Detectives instead of Doctors?  This is one of those times we're not supposed to think about the dialogue too much. 

The Frenchman has his day alone with Jane.  He's a "museum enthusiast," but he wants to go to the countryside.  "Do they have windmills in France?" she asks, hoping he'll enjoy that, and his response is "we don't need them."  The Frenchman is simply not a pleasant man, and Jane tries to toss him out of the car, but since he has to win her trust, he agrees to be contrite and look at the damn windmills.  He insists on going up into one, and though Jane says she doesn't like heights, he says, "it's all in the imagination" and insists.  This is supposed to end with him pushing her out the window, obviously, but she manages to elude that as well.  She is so un-killable, thankfully. 

Taro has been making plans, grand plans.  Great big Greek tragedy grand plans.  She convinces both her brother and her husband that the other wants to make peace and to meet at a designated location, ending each conversation with a dramatic goodbye that neither of them pick up on.  About 35 seconds into their meeting, they realized they have been duped by Taro into getting together.  She's at home, pretending to be on the phone agreeing to meet him "at the beach house in an hour" so a servant hears.  "If I'm not back by 6:00, I want you to call the police," she tells the servant.  Boy, she thinks of everything! 

Off she drives to the beach house, where she trashes the place on purpose, making sure the card from the private investigator can be found.  She then stabs herself with a knife she made sure had Omar's prints on it earlier in the day.  Her death is wildly dramatic, and wildly hysterical.  This whole plot line is ludicrous, but the kind of gonzo badness one expects from a piece like this.  Bleeding, she can still arrange the house to make it look like her husband did it all and then she goes down to the water to finally die.  Thaao is sent a letter from her telling him to deny being with Omar that day. 

When Omar arrives at the beach house, Thaao is already there and hopping mad, believing that Omar has killed Taro, just as she planned.  The police are convinced there was a thief, at first, but then they find bloody clothes and buttons from Omar's jacket, all arranged for finding by Taro.  However, anyone who watches any crime show would know that the entry wound was self-inflicted and not delivered by a murderer.  Thaao says he wasn't with Omar that day and it looks like Taro's plan went off without a hitch.  Ah, things are ending just as we...

...oh, wait, what about the ACTUAL plot, with the ACTUAL star?  Jane is still entertaining the three hit men, and Paul is busy digging in the computer for dirt on them, but he doesn't know what to do with it.  The Italian hit man tries to kill Jane while she's at the copy machine, but luckily Ari is there to knock him out.  She hurries Jane down to the basement where she pulls a gun on her.  Ahhhhhhhhhh, so Ari is the assassin.  Ari ties Jane to the overheating boiler (I told you it would be back) and tells her that the three men were not hit men, just "red herrings."  She leaves saying, "pity, I really did like you." 

Luckily, Paul has left his computer long enough to fetch help from Dr. Stephen, who races through the streets of Amsterdam trying to reach the office before the boiler hits the dangerous "red zone."  At the office, somehow Paul figures out Ari is the assassin (something about having no records, not important, just go along with it).  They all race around the building searching for Jane who has managed to free herself and hide in the bomb shelter in the basement (no detail is left unused). 

At the airport, where Ari is trying to make a quick getaway, she is taken into a side room where she finds Jane.  "You are dead," the 12-year old assassin screams.  "That's the second time someone's made that mistake," Jane says calmly.  She, Dr. Stephen and Paul fall into a relieved hug. 

Omar has a visitor in jail.  Do you need the three guesses I'm prepared to give you to figure out who it is?

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Oh, you take too long.  It's Theodore Bikel!  We didn't see him die, remember.  We just saw his villa engulfed by fire.  Not only has he survived, but with barely a scratch to his face or his beard.  His body is all contorted, but his mind is sharp.  Omar swears he didn't kill his wife, and Theodore wheezes out a laugh.  "Poetic justice, I suppose.  But, I didn't come here to gloat," Theodore tells him.  "I came to save you."  He can do it, but at a price.  "I want your money."  "How much of my money?"  "All of it."

Every good story (okay, this isn't a good story, but bear with me) of this ilk has to have a trial, in this case Omar's for murdering his wife.  The trial itself really doesn't matter.  The whole thing exists so Theodore Bikel can hobble around and whisper, overdoing it to the nth degree.  Theodore dismantles the entire plan, making a laughingstock out of every witness (the servant, the private investigator, the police) all to Omar's delight.

Excuse me while I interrupt the trial for a side trip to Venice where Jane and Dr. Stephen have become lovers and are enjoying the sights.  She doesn't even know about Omar's trial, so blinded by love, but when she sees it in an Italian newspaper, she says, "I'm frightened" because even in jail, he can get to her.  No, Dr. Stephen says, he can protect her, if she marries him. 

Back in jail, Omar is worried because the only witness left is Thaao, who will stick to his lie.  Theodore assures him that Thaao will tell the truth, for a price: "your entire fortune."  Omar wonders, "what do you get out of this?"  That turns out to be the beauty of Theodore's idea.  Before signing over his assets to Thaao, Omar will transfer them to Theodore so that whatever Thaao gets is absolutely worthless.  Did you get that?  It is needlessly complicated?  Of course it is.  Everything has been needlessly complicated since the beginning.  I mean, why didn't Omar just have Jane killed in the convent and thus never have to worry about her regaining her memory?  Sure, there is still the bit about the lying at the trial, but that could have also been done easily enough, without priests and elaborate deaths and men not dying in fires. 

Omar isn't completely stupid.  He asks Theodore how he can trust him not to double cross him.  "Well, you will just have to trust me," Theodore says. 

It's time for Thaao to take the stand.  Before he can even be questioned, Thaao makes a statement to the court telling them the truth, that he's Omar's alibi and Omar is set free.  He and Theodore get in a car to leave the throngs of photographers, but Theodore leaves his crutch behind.  Uh oh.

Yeah, uh oh is right.  Theodore starts driving the car recklessly and when Omar tells him to slow down, Theodore tells him, "I've decided that we are going to end life together!"  In case anyone wonders where the money went, Theodore has given it to the convent.  Omar demands to know why Theodore is doing this.  "Justice.  For both of us."  The two old-time hams fight for the wheel, but the car goes over the cliff.

"You don't ever have to be afraid again," Dr. Stephen tells his new bride Jane when they hear the news.  "Promise?"  "Promise." 

So ends another Sidney Sheldon movie.  This one is far less exciting than it could have been, mainly because the heroine is so damn boring.  Even Jane Seymour can't bring her to life.  The writers of the story obviously realized that somewhere along the way and shifted the focus of the story to the more senior members of the cast, but their crazy plot and bad acting should bring on the guffaws, not just the he-hes.