Marvel Spotlight (1971) #4

Ms4

The issue opens with a splash page of Jack Russell, in his hip seventies clothes, waking from a nightmare about being the Werewolf by Night (unsure if it’s a nightmare or a werewolf outing), and it’s somehow obvious the art this issue’s going to be superior. In that one page, artist Mike Ploog gets in some great, active figure drawing and a fantastic expression on Jack. It’s probably the best Werewolf story so far, even if it didn’t have the best art—Ploog gets to do all sorts of things, including introducing a tragic femme fatale—but it’s also got a somewhat wild script from Gerry Conway.

Keeping with the now established structure, Jack opens the issue with his family, then they disappear. But he also meets a writer named Buck Cowan, who’s sneaking around the house looking for information. Cowan knows all about the Darkhold, Jack’s real father’s European castle, but nothing about the werewolf. It’s a strange exposition method, but then again, Cowan and Jack’s scheme to get Jack’s step-father’s boat involves Cowan wearing a disguise… so everything about it’s a little strange.

Except Cowan can’t accompany Jack on their boat trip—some eccentric bought Jack’s dad’s castle and shipped it over from Europe. Jack’s evil step-father Philip sold it right after Jack’s mom died, and he got control, which means the eccentric was able to ship it over in five months? And rebuild it? I’ve lost count of Werewolf months, but I think they’re only on four, actually. Plus however much time has elapsed since last issue, it’s not clear it’s a month later.

Though it’s definitely some multiple of a month because wouldn’t you know it, Jack forgot it’s going to be the full moon, and he’s going to werewolf out.

Once he gets to the private island, he’s got too many immediate problems to worry about getting furry, including the aforementioned fetching femme fatale. She’s a younger teenager named Marlene who wears sunglasses all the time, and her dad’s an intense creep who runs a private institution and employs a machine gun-toting thug.

The werewolf will fight that thug, which gives Ploog something different from a Frankenstein’s monster stand-in, especially since they’re duking it out in a castle. Ploog gets to mix three different visual tropes, and the result is sublime (and not at all disjointed).

Conway changes the formula a little, giving Jack a big thought balloon sequence on the boat, then taking over for the werewolf’s beast narration. The werewolf gets occasional thought balloons, but most of it’s Jack narrating the werewolf’s adventure in the exposition boxes.

It works out.

There are twists and turns, big reveals, secret liaisons, and a great cliffhanger. The beginning’s unsteady as far as the writing, but Ploog holds it all together. Conway does all right, but the comic’s all about the art, and Ploog keeps delivering through various set pieces and moods.

Marvel Spotlight (1971) #3

Marvelspotlight3

There is no backup story in this issue, just Jack Russell’s third adventure as Werewolf by Night. Writer Gerry Conway—through Jack and the werewolf’s narration—is very clear about it; the first outing as the werewolf was two months ago, meaning we’re skipping Jack’s second Larry Talboting and going straight to the third.

There’s not much story to the adventure, starting with the werewolf interrupting a biker gang trying to assault Jack’s sister, Lissa. His evil stepfather, Phil, only appears briefly. Conway’s keeping the family stuff on the back burner. The story this issue’s all about setting Jack up for this next adventure, not this one.

Once the first lycanthropic night passes, Jack tries to hitchhike home and finds himself with a Peter Lorre-type who takes him to one of those desolate European castles all over L.A. The Peter Lorre-type’s wife, Angela (not Harkness), starts torturing Jack for information about the Darkhold, which she thinks is Jack’s inheritance.

Jack, however, doesn’t know what she’s talking about, so she sics her pet Frankenstein monster on him. There are various fights between the werewolf and the monster, some convenient black magic gone wrong, and Jack’s promise (to himself and the reader) he’s going to track down this Darkhold book.

In other words, a bridging issue, but one so early, who knows where the story’s headed. Conway sticks to his narrative approach from last issue—the werewolf thinks a lot, Jack talks a bit to himself but doesn’t think a lot—at least until the narration-heavy second half, where Jack’s recollecting has to move the story along from set-piece to set-piece.

The story’s not the point, however. The point is Mike Ploog's absolutely phenomenal artwork. It’s getting to see Ploog do his own Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, page after glorious page. Of course, there are some great Ploog expressions, but since most of the comic has monsters fighting, the emphasis is on the action.

It’s wonderful.

The finale’s a tacked-on mess, with Ploog and Conway rushing through a resolution in one page, but right up until it, the comic’s a visual delight. Ploog gets to do strange action—werewolf versus bikers–and then the more traditional monster versus monster action. Whether the modern California setting or the dark castle setting, Ploog does a great job. The figure drawing, the expressions, and the settings; it’s breathtaking work and more than makes up for the story being perfunctory.

Also… Conway (and his editor, Stan Lee) don’t seem to know what the word “penultimate” means; they just know it’s a fifty-cent word. But it comes on that lackluster last page, just punctuating it being a disappointing finish.

Ignore all missteps for the masterful Ploog art.

Marvel Spotlight (1971) #2

Ms2

From the first page, it’s clear there’s going to be something special about Werewolf by Night. The narration tells us we’re in modern Los Angeles, but artist Mike Ploog visualizes it like an old Universal horror movie set. The architecture, anyway; the accruements are all modern.

The page has three panels; the first two have a figure stumbling through the “mist-moistened” city, and the third reveals the figure—our narrator—to be a werewolf. And, wow, does Ploog draw a great wolfman.

The following few pages are werewolf action, running from the cops, dispatching a mugger; lots of movement, and lots of narration. Then the action cuts to Jack Russell waking up from a nightmare on his eighteenth birthday. Outside being a California beach stud, he’s a traditional Marvel protagonist with a lot of family drama backstory; his mom is married to a rich asshat, and he’s got a little sister (from actual dad, not stepdad). Something is going on with dad’s chauffeur, a brute who apparently has the run of the place, and the whole scene just gives Jack bad vibes.

The comic’s set over the three nights of the full moon, the second interrupting Jack’s birthday party. Writer Gerry Conway gives Jack a lot of out-loud monologuing (versus thought balloons); all those self-exclamations also contribute to the Marvel hero feel. The werewolf gets lots of thoughts, but they’re somewhat disconnected from Jack. It’s very dreamy, and a great success thanks to the Ploog art.

The story brings in Jack’s tragic inciting incident for his “Marvel hero” origin, complete with flashbacks to the old country where we discover his real father was a werewolf too. And he really had a Wolf Man-style experience. The comic uses that movie’s “Even a man who is pure of heart…” poem (no credit to Wolf Man or writer Curt Siodmak, Marvel’s gonna Marvel).

In the present, Jack discovers an insidious plot going on around him, which the werewolf is all too happy to unravel with its claws. In other words, fantastic action finale. Ploog can draw the hell out of a fight scene.

It’s not just about his figures and action, however. Ploog’s also got these wonderfully expressive faces, all the drama playing out over them. It’s a gorgeous comic.

And, if you’re reading it through Marvel’s digital offerings, it’s just a great Marvel origin comic for Werewolf by Night. But Marvel Spotlight #2 (in print) has a Venus reprint by Bill Everett.

It’s an eight-pager about Venus discovering a mysterious thirteenth floor in an office building infested with a swarm of murderous gargoyles. When she tries to tell the cops about it, they call her a silly girl (even though she’s always been right in the past).

Everett’s art’s good—it’s not quite good girl, but it is a glamour girl as superhero (well, ixnay on super, she’s given up her god powers)—and the story’s engaging enough. It’s a bummer Marvel doesn’t include it with the digital copy of Spotlight #2.

To be sure, the Werewolf by Night feature’s enough, but the backup’s a fun, quick read.

Snoopy, Come Home (1972, Bill Melendez)

Snoopy, Come Home’s parts are better than their sum. The film’s a number of vignettes, usually set to music, sometimes with songs. Sometimes there’s connective material between the vignettes, sometimes the circus shows up, and it’s time for a new scene. Also, sometimes, the vignettes have a rough cut between them. Not too rough, there’s a fade-out and a fade-in, but there’s no attempt to transition between them. Usually when the action cuts between Snoopy and Charlie Brown. As the title indicates, Snoopy has left home, and Charlie Brown wants him to come home. So the action cuts between Snoopy and Woodstock on adventures and Charlie Brown whining.

I guess it would be hard to find the right transition music for whining.

Though Charlie Brown does get a song to himself late in the movie, which is effective, but also entirely changes what the movie’s about. Sort of. The third act has a couple surprise turns, narratively speaking, and the Charlie Brown song fits one of those turns but because the film’s pushing hard to make it work. It’s a stretch, though it comes right after (and refers to) an absolutely fantastic, out-of-nowhere scene. About halfway through Come Home, director Melendez starts doing these phenomenal sequences occasionally—a hallucinogenic astral dream, for example—and they’re outstanding. The second big sequence, that third act one, it’s completely different than the dream sequence, instead relying on the characters. Though, specifically, the visuals they can all create. Come Home’s always very visual, for better or worse.

The worse is how often Charlie Brown and Snoopy use their comic strip expressions, which the film uses more in the first half than the second. The expressions are deadpan, reminding the viewer it’s an adaptation of the comic strip, which kills the momentum a little. At least until the expressions change. It’s a strange device, especially since Come Home shows off a bunch of expressions on Snoopy from multiple, not-comic-strip angles too. Come Home’s got innumerable visual flexes; they just sometimes come with distracting music.

The film runs eighty minutes, with the first twenty building to the inciting incident. Snoopy’s fed up with “No Dogs Allowed” places getting in the way of his good time. Every time Snoopy comes across such a location, there’s an accompanying song sung by Thurl Ravenscroft. It’s not a great song; it does pay off in the end, but it’s not great.

The film’s best song is easily Linda Ercoli’s one, which accompanies Ercole’s character tormenting her new pets, Snoopy and Woodstock. They went to her for help, and she just couldn’t wait to hug them and squeeze them. The duo’s just passing through; Snoopy gets a letter from his former owner, a little girl named Lila (voiced by Johanna Baer); she’s sick and in the hospital and would love a visit. So, peeved at the no dog zones as well as Charlie Brown being a jerk lately, Snoopy goes to visit her, Woodstock in tow. The incident at Ercoli’s is just one of their adventures along the way.

Performance-wise, Come Home’s got a couple significant problems. Chad Webber’s rarely good as Charlie Brown, and Baer’s usually bad as Lila. They do the most talking—both pleading their cases with Snoopy. The resulting turmoil gets the film into the third act with a firm footing and enables Melendez to mix style and narrative better. Though it gets rocky because the third act goes on way too long. Also, it’s rushed. Never a good combination.

Oddly, the charming end credits help pull Snoopy, Come Home around at the last minute; they last-minute find some humor they lost in the first act.

Besides Webber and Baer, the voice acting’s good; Robin Kohn and Stephen Shea, as Lucy and Linus, respectively, are really good. Kohn gets more range, including some good laughs.

Lovely animation, good music (Ron Ralke); it’s technically solid. Snoopy, Come Home’s fine. It’s got the chops to be better but just makes some hampering choices along the way and leans into them way too hard.

But when Melendez hits, he hits hard.

Cabaret (1972, Bob Fosse)

The first act of Cabaret is about introducing British guy Michael York to Weimar-era Berlin and to the life and times of his neighbor Liza Minnelli. Minnelli’s an American ex-pat; she’s landed in a cabaret and is trying to sing, dance, and sleep her way into movies. York’s there to teach English and get some experience before he becomes a boring Cambridge professor.

The second act is about the rise of Nazism in the early thirties and how much effect it can have on ex-pats. Or it would be if York and Minnelli were paying attention; instead, they’re letting rich German guy Helmut Griem play with them. Griem is in need of affordable diversions, and York and Minnelli are broke.

The third act is about the tragedy of York and Minnelli and how the problems of little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in the crazy world. Director Fosse’s got an inspired narrative distance to York and Minnelli—he has it throughout the film, but in the third act, it’s even better because first, it pays off. Everyone shows their hand, both the characters and then Fosse revealing how the film’s actually been working, and the third act works through the repercussions. It’s sort of like the third act is an extended epilogue to the epical arc the film only barely spotlights.

Because while York and Minnelli are drinking champagne and playing with Griem, their friends Fritz Wepper and Marisa Berenson are experiencing the realities of Nazism. Wepper’s a wannabe gigolo; Berenson is the perfect mark. She’s rich and beautiful but Jewish. It’s not a problem for Wepper; it’s a problem for Berenson. Over the course of their courtship, in addition to Wepper falling hard for her, the local brownshirts start targeting her family.

Cabaret’s most salient arc is for Wepper and Berenson, who occasionally visit York and Minnelli to fill them in on the main plot. But the film’s not really about its arcs; it’s about the disquieting nightmare world everyone finds themselves in, the world of the cabaret.

Joel Grey plays the emcee at the club where Minnelli dances, but Fosse uses him throughout, an almost devil overseeing tragedies big and small. There are only a couple scenes where Grey and Minnelli interact—they have a remarkable musical number together, but Cabaret’s musical numbers are integrated into the narrative and compartmentalized from it—the scenes where Grey and Minnelli engage each other, however, are profoundly disturbing. Just like Fosse uses Grey to imply the macro changes to Germany, Grey’s also there to make some implications about Minnelli’s personal changes. Cabaret is about dreams never coming true while the nightmares instead do. Grey’s the master of ceremonies and nightmares.

Fosse shoots much of the film in close-ups, especially when York and Minnelli are becoming friends. The focus is on the characters, not their setting. Fosse zooms out for some other sequences, the ones contextualizing the characters in the changing Germany. The changing Germans then get the close-ups, Fosse emphasizing the humanity of their inhumanity. There’s a devastating beer garden Nazi youth singing sequence (the master race has such bad teeth and skin) where Fosse malevolently reveals the extent of Nazism among the populace. York’s ostensibly the one watching the revelation unfold, but it’s the viewer. York’s going to get to put his head in the sand while the audience presumably knows what’s coming.

It’s unclear how much the growing Nazi movement impacts York and Minnelli’s arc. It definitely has some effect, but a lot is going on; the film never reveals anywhere near all of it. Actually, the film doesn’t even show most of it. The audience is not privy to York and Minnelli’s thoughts or secrets, just what they’re going to share with the world or one another. And if they’re keeping secrets from each other, it passes over to the audience.

Minnelli and York are tragic characters without being tragic figures. Fosse always finds a way to show the character through the caricature, which is quite the trick given the importance of caricature in the cabaret performances—the most terrifying implication, of course, is Grey’s emcee isn’t a horrifying sight gag but is an active participant. It’s never more impressive than with Minnelli, however. It’s a sensational part, with Fosse and Minnelli able to do all sorts of minor character developments and reveals along the way. York’s got the epical arc—young English man abroad—and Minnelli gets the character study. Even with the film presenting Minnelli almost entirely through York’s observation in the second act. When Minnelli does a musical number, and York’s not there, it takes a second to remember it’s her movie. Well, it’s the cabaret’s movie, and she’s in the cabaret.

Fosse leans heavily into making the Life is a Cabaret song metaphor work for the whole picture. Fosse and cinematographer Geoffrey Unsworth don’t exactly soft-focus the non-cabaret scenes, but there’s always more reality to the musical numbers. The camera captures the performers waiting and watching from backstage, for example. Or whatever magic Unsworth does to make the stage’s lights visually sear without changing the lighting mood. Cabaret is one hell of a gorgeous film. As impressive as Unsworth’s photography gets, David Bretherton’s editing is even better. He and Fosse cut the musical numbers precisely, seemingly on the actors’ rhythm, but the rest is just as well-edited. Every cut in Cabaret is divine.

Great costumes from Charlotte Fleming, production design from Rolf Zehetbauer, and sound from David Hildyard. The music—Ralph Burns arranging—is excellent. Ditto Jay Presson Allen’s script. Obviously, Fosse is the superstar, but he’s got a great crew and cast.

Minnelli and Grey give the best performances, then York. York never gets to be flashy—he is British, after all—and does an excellent job radiating nervous energy. Wepper and Berenson are outstanding. Griem’s fine. He’s just a shallow blue blood, de facto glamorous, and Cabaret’s about what’s behind the glamour. Both real and imagined.

It’s a devastating and devastatingly good motion picture.

The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972, Luis Buñuel)

Buñuel arranges The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie as a series of vignettes. Occasionally there will be a surreal bridging device—the cast walking in search of a meal on a highway in the country—sometimes it will turn out to be a dream, sometimes it will be another layer (a narrated flashback, a dream-in-a-dream), sometimes it will be more traditionally epical. Mostly in the first act.

The film opens with four people getting to a dinner party, only they’re a day early so they have to go out. But then it turns out fate’s against them having dinner that night. They’ll try again.

The initial dinner guests are Fernando Rey, playing the ambassador from the South American republic Miranda, Paul Frankeur as his friend, Delphine Seyrig as Frankeur’s wife, and Bulle Ogier as Seyrig’s sister. They go out to dinner with Stéphane Audran, who was expecting them for dinner the next night. Because it’ll turn out her husband, Jean-Pierre Cassel, is kind of flakey. Though everyone in Charm is flakey at one time or another, though only a few with any malice behind it.

In the first act we also learn Rey, Frankeur, and Cassel are coke traffickers. Rey brings it in via his ambassador bag—diplomatic immunity—selling to Frankeur and Cassel. The wives don’t appear to know anything about it. There’s a bunch of funny dialogue about ambassadors as smugglers. Charm is often very obviously, intentionally funny. Buñuel will occasionally break out the jokes–especially when introducing Julien Bertheau as the local bishop who moonlights as Audran and Cassel’s new gardener. Bertheau even becomes one of the dinner-seekers—tagging along to various events before his subplot goes its own way.

Because Charm’s also got a some very strong narrative arcs. The second act, after the film introduces the layering device (starting with a great narrated flashback from Christian Baltauss), slowly becomes about centering the narrative focus on Rey. He’s always kind of the lead—he’s sleeping with someone he shouldn’t be and he’s also a cocaine smuggler so he’s on edge; also there are revolutionaries from Miranda in Paris trying to assassinate him—but the process of making him protagonist and directing the narrative, even passively—takes Buñuel a while.

Every one of the dream sequence reveals in the film is a surprise. Even as the events become more absurd—eventually there’s a ghost and it makes perfect sense because ghosts are real in Charm—Buñuel never lessens the intensity of the scene. The drama is always very real. So we gradually come to understand Rey’s self-conscious about being a South American diplomat with these bourgeoisie white French people. There’s never a clarifying scene about whether or not he should be—Buñuel always leaves the judgment of the characters up to the audience; especially when it’s part of the story. Charm’s narrative distance and how Buñuel adjusts it throughout is stunning.

All the acting is excellent. Rey gets the biggest part, obviously, then probably Audran—who gets one more scene without her significant other than any of the other women—then actually Bertheau as the priest. Bertheau’s arc is one of the film’s standout successes. Because Buñuel introduces Bertheau as another angle giving insight into the main cast; he’s an observer too, one who’s socially acceptable to have out to dinner, unlike Milena Vutokic as Audran and Cassel’s maid; Vutokic gets a lot to do (and even gets one of the last big jokes) but she’s all reaction to the cast, she’s got nothing of her own, which ends up being part of the joke.

Ogier and Seyrig both get a couple really good spotlight scenes. Cassel’s always support, but getting more to do than Frankeur, which is kind of funny because from the introduction it seems like Frankeur’s going to be a scene-stealer, which raises a question about whether or not Charm is unpredictable. I mean. Ghosts exist so anything’s on the table, which affects plot anticipation.

Because even though all the dream reveals are surprises, they’re never “gotchas.” Discreet Charm is never about being fantastical; the film’s incredibly grounded. Otherwise a bunch of the jokes wouldn’t work and Buñuel makes sure they work. There’s one about Americans where it’s edited to wait for the laughs. Excellent editing throughout from Hélène Plemiannikov.

The other technicals are similarly strong. Edmond Richard’s photography is a lot less flashy than Plemiannikov’s editing, Pierre Guffroy’s production design, or Jacqueline Guyot’s costumes, but Charm’s photography is appropriately clinical in its presentation. The film never feels stagy, but it does have long scenes in single locations. There’s a personality to the photography’s lack of personality, especially as Buñuel even trades on how reliably the photography showcases the sets. It’s all wonderfully intentional.

While The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie sometimes takes darker turns, it’s always genial and well-mannered, which is just the perfect tone.

Charm’s a rare, strange delight.

Batgirl: The Bronze Age Omnibus Vol. 1 (1972)

Batgirl Omnibus 1

I’ve been aware of the “Barbara (Batgirl) Gordon becomes a congressperson” storyline in the seventies since Who’s Who in the DC Universe #2 in 1985—I even have an anecdote about buying the issue at age seven—but I’ve never read the arc before or even read about its details.

And now I’ve read it.

And it’s about Barbara Gordon becoming a congresswoman because Batgirl can only lock up the crooks, not keep them locked up forever. Yes, Barbara Gordon is a garbage Republican. I wonder if Chuck Dixon held that ace through Birds of Prey and never got to use it.

After an ex-boyfriend from her youth—who Barbara broke up with ten years ago but then beat up and apprehended two years ago as Batgirl—shows up at the library with an Edgar Allan Poe enthusiasm, she can’t help but hope for the best. Only it turns out he’s just after a famous manuscript she’s shown him and it crushes her confidence in the criminal justice system.

Worse, she’s been helping these crooks get parole as a librarian!

Or something. I glazed over in a combination of shock and disgust. Batgirl is a Karen.

At least as written by Frank Robbins. Though I doubt it’s going to change for decades.

There’s some hilariously dated election fraud, with the mob threatening voters to not vote for Barbara “Boots” Gordon. She’s called “Boots” initially because she’s going to give the crooks the boot, but then it’s the swamp. There’s a whole subplot about Batgirl accidentally endorsing Barbara and then Barbara apparently feeling weird about it.

The congresswoman is the last Robbins and Don Heck arc. The earlier stories in the year have Barbara going to Mexico to bust up a drug ring run by an American mobster dropped from a Dick Tracy script for being too boring. Again, Robbins is weirdly dated.

Heck’s got some good panels throughout. Not really sure his grasp of human musculature and movement is adequate, but he makes up for it well enough. His faces have personality even if they’re a little static. Oddly enough… he really can’t draw Batgirl’s boots. She’s always doing these kicks and he’s always messing up the boots.

Robbins tries the “can you spot the clue to solve the case” bit a couple more times, but with less and less enthusiasm. At one point it’s just at the end of a page, not even a cliffhanger. Though I guess Batgirl doesn’t lose as many fights in 1972. Well… wait. There are some bad losses in here.

But she wins against a killer jai alai team.

I had originally assumed these Bronze Age backups would be disposable except for the some of the art—Robbins has never been good (though he’s been better than some of the original Batgirl writers)—but there may actually be something in here for anyone writing about the characterization of women in male-written mainstream comic books of the seventies.

Though just because you can unpack it doesn’t mean it needs to be unpacked. Robbins is pretty shallow.

Thank goodness I’m through his Bronze Age Batgirl.

The Shadow of the Tower (1972) s01e13 – The King Without a Face

This episode is a direct continuation of the last, but from James Maxwell’s king’s perspective. At least at the start, tragedies quickly start changing it up and Queen Norma West ends up with the most to do… then the episode brings Maxwell in and gives them a joint focus, then it shifts to Maxwell for the finish. In most ways, the episode fulfills the promises of the first couple episodes and nothing since. It doesn’t matter “In the Shadow of the Tower” turned into a phenomenal anthology series about Henry’s rule or went to crap because of the Richard Warwick episodes–The King Without a Face very ably rids the show of any residual Warwick stench. It’s a good closing episode, though problematic as far as the show’s legacy.

Anyway. The episode covers a lot of time and a lot of events and a lot of reactions to these various events, usually with West and Maxwell. The biggest supporting player here is John Bennett as the Spanish ambassador. He’s been kicking around the show for a while, at least the last few episodes, but he’s never gotten such a good part as in Face. He and Maxwell end up having this wonderful character relationship as events make Bennett the only political ally Maxwell can stomach being around. Doesn’t hurt Bennett’s a complete lush.

There’s a lot of character development for West and Maxwell (nothing about them arranging the murder of her cousin last episode but whatever, there’s still a lot of other good character reveals); the episode finally gives West a great part, something I’d been assuming the show would do since the first episode (and then didn’t). Maxwell gets an excellent arc too with some really chewy scenes.

“In the Shadow of the Tower” starts all right, ends all right, has some great episodes in the middle, and some middling and worse towards the end. It’s a mixed bag as an anthology. It’s still successful, but it’s nowhere near as good as it could have been. If only they’d cast Warwick’s part with someone who could act.

This episode makes up for a lot.

The Shadow of the Tower (1972) s01e12 – The Fledgling

I really had no idea how far “Shadow” could drop, did I? I mean, The Fledgling manages to be the worst episode of the series (with only one left) and with Richard Warwick in it but nowhere near the worst part. Though, to be fair, Warwick is in a much reduced role compared to the last two episodes. Instead, Christopher Neame is the lead, playing the grown-up Earl of Warwick (who was in the first couple episodes). He’s been living in the Tower of London since Henry (James Maxwell) came to power and spends his life in his rooms, rarely getting to go outside, very little contact with anyone other than his keepers. Maxwell had promised to never kill him but Neame always thinks the order is coming.

This episode is about how and why the order finally comes. See, Maxwell wants to marry off his son (Jason Kemp) to the princess of Spain and the Spanish rulers demand he kill Warwick and Neame. The throne must be secured and the Spanish see those two guys as problems. Only Maxwell doesn’t want to kill them; they didn’t do anything after all. He doesn’t seem to remember promising not to kill Neame, but then Queen Norma West also doesn’t seem to remember she didn’t want Maxwell to kill him back in the first couple episodes either.

So Maxwell and his people come up with a plan. Convince Neame there’s a plot against him to try to get him to commit treason with Warwick (the actor who’s not playing the Earl of Warwick) so Maxwell can kill them both. Neame he just has to terrorize with innuendo but Warwick they throw man-meat Hayward Morse to inspire Warwick’s lust for multiple things, including treason.

Neame’s not great, but he’s at least trying with the part; his character’s been isolated for ten years, with all sorts of psychological issues no doubt. He’s sympathetic as all hell, which just makes it worse when Maxwell’s so callous about killing him.

Making Maxwell evil, with one episode to go, is a weird flex. It’s a disappointing episode to be sure.

The Shadow of the Tower (1972) s01e11 – The Strange Shapes of Reality

Oh, no, Richard Warwick is back. And now we’re getting the story of his time just imprisoned, because the king (James Maxwell) pities him so won’t just execute him. Executing him means taking him seriously as a threat to the crown and Warwick can’t be seen as a threat. And so on and so forth. So we get an entire episode about Warwick being a brat in captivity, but his keepers still give him a blind boy. Like… literally, a blond, blind boy to comfort Warwick. Meanwhile Warwick’s wife, Elizabeth MacLennan, has to learn to deal with being nobility falsely married off to a pretender and how’s she going to cope. Plus there’s the whole thing where her identity is changing completely out of her control and through no fault of her own. Everyone lied to her and used her as a pawn.

MacLennan’s good. Like, the episode’s not good, but MacLennan’s good. And her story arc, where Maxwell sees her as a pal so much MacLennan gets confronted by Marigold Sharman (as the king’s mother), which leads to a good enough scene. Shame they can’t bring the same humanity to Warwick.

So, again, there’s stuff in the script for Warwick to work with. He gets to see how a real king—Maxwell—behaves. He gets humiliated at public confessions. He has these potentially great scenes opposite MacLennan. But Warwick’s just too flat. His take on the character is he’s too stupid to know what’s going on, which clashes with the various acts of agency he’s had throughout this episode and last. It’s kind of what he was like in the first appearance small part, but Warwick really ought to have tried to develop the character past that point… But he didn’t, because Warwick’s bad.

At this point, I’m just hoping “Tower” doesn’t drop too much further or I’m going to be eating my words on the comedy episodes making it all worth it. Because it’s worse than just mediocre, it’s a misfire. The show has done much better and much, much better. Warwick is bleeding the show.