Doc Savage: Man of Bronze (1975)

I couldn’t be more excited with the recent announcement that Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and Shane Black are teaming up to bring Doc Savage back to the big screen. Doc is one of my all-time favourite characters, and it’s delightful to hear that these two are going to highlight the humour of the stories.

The only bad news is that we’ll have to wait patiently for the movie to be made, marketed, and released.

Don’t despair, though! Apart from being able to read all one hundred and eighty one issues of the original Doc Savage Magazine, you can check out Doc’s short-lived radio adaptation, his comics, and the 1975 film Doc Savage: Man of Bronze starring Ron Ely.

The movie is a compromise in a lot of ways.

In the 1960’s, gameshow moguls Mark Goodson and Bill Todman announced that they were making a film version of “The Thousand-Headed Man” with Chuck Connors as Doc. I’m confident in saying that this would’ve been the best movie ever, but it was sadly not to be. Legal issues regarding the estate of Lester Dent – the writer most responsible for Doc Savage – held up production, so everybody involved made a Western called Ride Beyond Vengeance instead. (And I do mean everybody. If you watch Ride Beyond Vengeance, you can amuse yourself by connecting all the cast members to their Doc Savage counterparts.)

By the time the 1975 film rolled around, adventure films were a completely different ballgame. Adam West’s Batman had been unexpectedly popular, and spy spoofs were more successful than straight spy films. This reality was even affecting the James Bond franchise, hence the Roger Moore period of weirdness mingled with flashes of brilliance.

Producer George Pal, known for his sci-fi hits When Worlds Collide and The Time Machine, secured the rights to Doc Savage from Lester Dent’s widow, but he also had some pretty significant story problems on his hands.

Before Tarzan’s Ron Ely was attached to the project, Pal was in talks with Hercules star Steve Reeves. In an interview with George Helmer, Reeves explained:

“George Pal wasn’t really a writer, he was a producer and he had good ideas. At that time all the Hollywood writers were on strike. George Pal put this together the best he could with his ability, but he was not a top professional writer. So the director and I looked at the script and thought we needed to make some changes; a lot of things weren’t sounding very realistic on paper.”

Despite their efforts to smooth out the script, Reeves and the director he mentioned ran into a scheduling conflict and both of them dropped out of the picture.

So, okay. Lots of times we’ve seen films with troubled productions turn out just fine, sometimes even great!

This is not one of those times.

The absolute best thing about it is Pamela Hensley. Hensley would later play Princess Ardala in Buck Rogers in the 25^th Century and C.J. Parsons on Matt Houston, and she’s always a delightful mix of earthiness and glam. (Plus, totally superficially, she routinely sports some of the best eye makeup I’ve ever seen. Her shadow/liner/mascara game is on point.) In Doc Savage, she plays the mandatory exotic love interest who falls in love with Doc, but his heart and body belong only to Lady Justice.

Helping Doc avoid sincere human interaction are his team of experts and friends, The Fabulous Five. Paul Gleason is Long Tom, an electrical genius named after a canon; William Luckman is Renny, an engineer with a vendetta against doors; Michael Miller is Monk, an industrial chemist with a pet pig and a general dislike of lawyers; Darrell Zwerling is Ham, legal expert, snazzy dresser, bane of Monk’s existence; and Eldon Quick is Johnny, an sesquipedalian archaeologist with the worst catchphrase of all time, “I’ll be superamalgamated!” He tends to gasp it in surprise, too, so it’s a crazy mouthful and an exercise for the lungs.

They all have nicknames instead of regular names because they come from 1930’s adventure stories.

Doc Savage was raised by his father, Clark Savage Sr., to be the perfect specimen. He grew up in a highly controlled environment, not unlike Errol Flynn’s character in the 1937 comedy The Perfect Specimen, which is a vastly superior movie if you’re in the mood to watch a gorgeous dude raised by science cut loose. Man of Bronze is based off of the story of the same name, and features that old chestnut of the Mayan death cult and the secret rivers of gold.

Mesoamerican death cults were pretty standard fare for adventure fiction of the ‘30s and ‘40s, and it’s strange to have to report that the Mayan gods were more accurately represented in the radio serial “The Temple of Vampires” than they are here. Also, rivers of gold were the original crystal skulls. By the ‘70s, the Mayan cliché had given way to the Voodoo cliché, and Man of Bronze mixes tropes from both.

The story is basically a quest to discover who murdered Doc’s father. At the heart of the mystery is why a man who decided to turn his only son into a freakish social experiment wasn’t murdered sooner. It soon becomes apparent that the senior Savage wasn’t the only one on the hit list – soon Doc himself is in the crosshairs of a truly bizarre assassin with red-stained fingertips, a tattoo of Kukulkan the feathered serpent of war, a liberal coating of bronzer, and bright blue eyes. He’s supposed to be a member of the “lost Mayan tribe” of the Quetzamel.

Doc’s father stumbled across this tribe, as well as their exploitation by an evil sea captain who likes to wear velvet dinner jackets with bejewelled lapels. Doc thinks that this information might be a clue as to why his old man was killed, and he follows the lead to Hidalgo, where things just keep getting more awkward and more bizarre.

There’s a villain who spends all his time having temper tantrums in a giant crib, cartoon snakes (called in the original press “the green wigglies”) killing a man through supernatural means, the aforementioned rivers of molten gold, and the worst break up line in the history of film:

“You’re a brick, Mona.”

The reason why Doc Savage: Man of Bronze doesn’t make the usual rounds of cult favourites and campy classics is because it wants to have its cake and eat it. It’s always got one foot in being a serious adaptation, while trying to pull off some wink-and-nudge humour at the wrong times. Everything about it is a slight misstep, and it makes for a weirdly respectful irreverence that’s hard to enjoy one way or another.

And then there’s the score. It’s all rousing John Philip Sousa pieces, some with new Doc Savage themed lyrics. The filmmakers were trying to capture the feeling of The Sting, which had used ragtime hits to evoke a back-dated 1930’s. Big surprise: the Sousa thing doesn’t work. It mostly serves to remind the audience how blusteringly out of place a hero of pure goodness is in ‘70s cinema. Or it makes you want to go to a parade and maybe get a twist cone. Either way, it’s a sudden and compelling urge to abandon the film.

I’m a firm believer in the idea that every now and then, it’s good to watch things that are honestly just bad. It helps us know what makes good things good, great things great, and mediocre things mediocre. Man of Bronze is one of those movies that goes so wrong in so many ways, it has to be seen to be believed.

Seriously.

It’s terrible.

You have to watch it.

I didn’t even tell you about the lobotomies or the arctic fortress or all the bronze-painted vehicles.

Voyagers! 01x04: Agents of Satan

It’s Harry Houdini’s birthday today, and I love combining historical trivia with your recap experience, so we’re watching an episode of 1982’s Voyagers!

This was a family show created by Scholastic to get kids more interested in history, even though it’s wildly historically inaccurate. Every week, displaced time travellers Phineas Bogg and Jeffrey Jones get flung to a temporal emergency by a device known as The Omni. Bogg, played by Jon-Erik Hexum, claims to come from a future society of time travellers called, unsurprisingly, voyagers. Jeffrey, on the other hand, is a kid from 1982 who got caught up in all of this when his dog attacked Bogg’s history guidebook. Through a twist of fate and fall out of a window, he was flung along with Bogg back to the time of Moses.

It’s not so bad, because as it turns out, Jeffrey – played by Meeno Peluce, real life brother of Soleil Moon Frye of Punky Brewster – is an orphan and also destined to be a time cop anyway. And he’s useful. Bogg, despite being responsible for aligning the time stream, doesn’t know much about the past. The guidebook he lost was crucial to his success. Luckily, Jeffrey’s dead father was a history professor, so Jeffrey is a pint-sized poindexter who knows everything Bogg doesn’t.

Every week, The Omni sends them to a new temporal emergency, and it’s often something that’s interwoven with several other temporal emergencies, so our dynamic duo has to untangle history like it’s a necklace you left at the bottom of your purse. Once that’s done, they get to move on.

Today’s episode starts with a Puritan woman in a white bonnet running through a misty swamp at night, pursued by an angry mob with dogs and torches shouting things like: “After the devil-witch!” and “There is no hiding from the Lord!”

Artemus Gordon: Master of Disguise

By 1965, Ross Martin had already been a scene-stealing sidekick. As Andamo in Blake Edward’s Mr. Lucky, he’d proven that not only could he handle the comedic timing necessary to counterpoint a smooth, ladies’ man hero, he could also lend an unexpected credibility to fantastic situations.

He was just the man Michael Garrison would need to balance the high rolling Easterner in his new twist on the super spy craze. Garrison had bought the rights to James Bond’s first television appearance in a Climax! adaptation of Casino Royale, and since then had been toying with ideas for bringing the Bond ethos to primetime. His solution was a breezier take on spies, without going to the full-on spoofs that would begin emerging in 1966, and he wanted it set in the 1870’s. Combining the fading Western with the latest trend.

Robert Conrad would be James West, originally seen as a more undercover operative complete with secret identity and false backstory, and Ross Martin would be Artemus Gordon. Gordon was to be the gadget man, the brains of the operation, and a master of disguise.

Artie was not a typical or stock character for Westerns, and that presented a problem. Especially when Garrison proved that he had a hard time staying on budget, and a revolving door of producers provided a notoriously uneven first season. (For four episodes, the central duo suddenly have a butler named Tennyson who disappears as uneventfully as he arrives.)

Martin told the Newark Evening News in May of 1966 that he’d tried to quit three times during that hectic first season. “Each producer tried to put his stamp on the show and I had a terrible struggle,” he recalled, “I fought them line by line in every script. They knew they couldn’t change the James West role very much, but it was open season on Artemus Gordon because they had never seen anything like him before.”

But by the second season, the behind-the-scenes stress had levelled out and a consistent voice was found in producer Bruce Lansbury, who was more than happy to emphasize the differing skills of the two leads. Particularly the idea of a weekly disguise for Artemus Gordon.

Ross Martin told TV Guide in 1966 that role had become a “show-off’s showcase” – and now, instead of being slumped over in a corner while West finished off twenty goons single-handedly, he was part of the story. In fact, he became so integral, that when he suffered a heart-attack during the show’s fourth season and was temporarily replaced, it was… not so great. The show really suffered in his absence.

Artie’s disguises usually started with a bare bones idea in the script. Then Ross Martin would make a sketch of what he wanted to do for the character’s look, and discuss the performance quirks with the director. Once it was all hashed out, he’d get together with the costume department, his makeup artist, a wig maker, and even a cobbler to polish off the finer details. 

And it really paid off, as we’ll see as we count down his top five disguises:

5. The Grand Elector of Saxony

“Everybody knows the Grand Elector of Saxony! In all the capitals of the world, I come and go as I please!”

That’s how you get into a party at the Albanian Embassy without an invitation.

In the season one episode “The Night of the Dancing Death” there’s a lot going on. There’s a sinister prince who is obsessed with literally fighting a bear in hand-to-hand combat, there’s a giant hole in the floor that opens up directly over a ballroom full of dignitaries, there’s a pretty lady switcheroo and a newfangled typewriter, and yet somehow the first thing everybody talks about is Artie’s disguise as a pompous dignitary.

It’s the little things in this one, like did you know that you address the Grand Elector as “Your Highness” and not “Your Grace?” And that the Grand Elector is never too busy to steal hors d’oeuvres?

It’s just fun.

4. Lt. Jonathan Greely

This is the best example of an Artemus Gordon disguise being more interesting than the episode it happens in. In “The Night of the Arrow,” West and Gordon are tasked with investigating a genocidal General’s recent successes. They come at it from opposite directions, with West trying to broker a truce with the Cheyenne while Artie goes undercover as a cavalryman.

He becomes proud Southerner and notable alcoholic Lt. Greely, who likes to remind people that the Civil War is over and that a true officer is never sober. It’s all part of a plan to get thrown in the stocks, but I would easily watch a whole show about this guy.

It’s also one of the few times he goes blond for a disguise, and his eyebrows look weird.

3. Hassan Amir Ortuglo

In “The Night of the Doomsday Formula” we’re treated to two separate disguises. The first is simply an impersonation of a missing scientist who’s invented an unstoppable chemical weapon. Pretty straightforward for the Secret Service’s man of many faces.

Next up, in order to infiltrate the Hadrian Club and face off against a dastardly arms dealer played by Kevin McCarthy, Artemus overreaches. It’s a pretty good sign that a disguise which is supposed to be a failure in the story itself has grown to be a fan favourite. The dastardly arms dealer isn’t falling for any of it when Artie tries to buy his way into the inner circle of doomsday device shoppers, but he keeps him around.

The best part is a sitar performance that goes awry when Artie’s pre-recorded music starts to skip.

2. Beldon Scoville Jr.

Ah, Beldon Scoville Jr., a Russian doll of identities.

In the final act of “The Night of the Undead,” phrenologist Phala recognizes the bumps on the head of Major Brainard, a bombastic Teddy Roosevelt type, as the same as the bumps she found on meek Beldon Scoville Jr.

Beldon had tumbled into a waterfront dive seemingly by accident, looking for a voodoo medallion to match one he’d already happened to find. He wanted to have a pair of earrings made for his Aunt Maude, despite the fact that those earrings would be hideously unwearable. What Phala thinks is that Beldon Scoville has disguised himself as Major Brainard – what she doesn’t know is that it’s all Artemus Gordon.

1. Sir Ian Jellicoe Cooper-Featherstone

“The Night of the Colonel’s Ghost” is a taut, creepy episode soaked in atmosphere and whodunit tension. As the body count rises in a haunted town, it’s only a matter of time before Artemus Gordon shows up to make sure Jim West doesn’t wind up with the next broken neck.

Of course, he couldn’t just show up as anybody, because even though there’s no way for the people of Gibsonville to recognize him, he has his job description. He dons his ultimate disguise as British big game hunter and tin star enthusiast Ian Jellicoe Cooper-Featherstone, a man who is absolute chuffed to be in a cursed town.

“It’s Sir Ian Jellicoe Cooper-Featherstone,” he cheerfully tells everybody gathered in the parlour after the most recent murder, “You may call me Sir.”

He manages to convince everybody except a green-feathered parrot who delights in chirping out: “Fraud! Fraud!” whenever he’s in the room. West is probably more amused by this than a good friend should be...

So that’s my top five! I’m sure I missed some favourites, because with over a hundred disguises under his belt, it’s a really tough thing to narrow down.

And don’t forget to check out the other fun and fabulous entries in the Classic TV Sidekicks Blogathon! It's been a great event with a ton of wonderful articles highlighting the finest supporting players in a century of great TV. I've really enjoyed participating in my first blogathan!

Yancy Derringer 01x11: Marble Fingers

The good times roll on with another show set in New Orleans!

Today it’s an episode of 1958’s one season wonder, Yancy Derringer. I’m happy to report that yes, the name of the main character is totally Yancy Derringer, everybody calls him Yancy all the time, and it never stops being funny. He, disappointingly, does not have a stolen lucky shamrock that helps him break dance.

What he does have is a derringer in his hat, another derringer up his sleeve, a knife in his belt, and a sword cane. He’s also amazing at hand-to-hand combat.

It’s a little much.