D. Ted Grimley
Colour
The trio of films made in the 1970s where Tom Jones at the height of his pomp played a swinging sex-bomb private detective do have a surreally 1970s gritty aesthetic to them. Okay, no actually hard edged, down and dirty movie ever employs the real, honest to goodness, Elvis Presley as a super villain; but if you squint hard enough you can just imagine – with its washed out palate and naturalistic lighting – that you were really watching one of those proper serious 1970s films that were a wow with the critics and the Top 100 lists. Indeed it wouldn’t be totally out of place for Gene Hackman to appear here as a surveillance man – although any scene between a downbeat Gene Hackman and a naturally exuberant (barely acting) Tom Jones would make the eyes of even the most blasé viewer actually boggle.
But what makes the third film so jarring, is that the makers have married this grittiness to the kind of ludicrous plot that a Roger Moore Bond film of the same vintage would have dismissed as just a bit silly. We’re in Los Angeles, where the murder of a poet hippy on Venice Beach leads Tom towards a man-hating, beautiful Russian spy who is planning to release an air-born bug into downtown LA that will remove the potency of all men and turn them into limp-wristed wimps. It’s up Tom Jones (as Wayne Wales) the most virile man in The City of Angels (and America, and Europe and almost certainly the world) to turn her head and stop her plan.
As the beautiful Russian spy we have Tippi Hedren, finally out of her Hitchcock contract and choosing this rather strange way to celebrate her freedom. Of course the audience already knows that she can do cool and aloof, but there’s no answer as to whether she can actually do anything else. That’s, to say the least, weird. Tom Jones is of course sex on legs, and here is a film where the beautiful Russian spy is supposed to fall in love with him, in lust with him and basically be over-whelmed by passion for her Welsh lover boy. But passion, or even mild interest, are emotions Tippi triumphantly fails to register. At least as Marnie she was supposed to be frigid when confronted by a smouldering Sean Connery, here she’s supposed to be swept of our feet by our Tom – yet it’s like watching a wet blanket take on a flame thrower and being told that the flame thrower won even though the evidence of our own eyes says that the wet blanket barely flickered.
And that – even beyond the fact that it’s a ludicrously 1960s plot (doesn’t Woody Allen in the original ‘Casino Royale’ want to do something similar? And that’s supposed to be a comedy, isn’t it?) is the film’s main problem; the fact that we have a movie here that ultimately hinges on these two being in love and never manages to make the audience believe such a thing is even slightly possible or conceivable.
The credits roll with the two of them settling down, Wayne Wales becoming a one woman man (yeah, that will last) and even for as ramshackle and jarring a series of films as this, it feels a bizarrely half-baked ending. And yet ‘bizarre’ and ‘half-baked’ would be good ways to describe the whole series so maybe it fits.
Showing posts with label Tom Jones. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tom Jones. Show all posts
Sunday, 7 December 2014
Sunday, 8 June 2014
Kiss Me Dangerous (1972)
D. Henry Levin
Colour
So here’s a question: why isn’t a series of film starring the one and only Tom Jones as an ultra-cool private detective in The City of Angels an almighty camp-fest? Those Matt Helm films made in the 1960s are far camper. Batman the TV series was off the scale campness compared to this, and that didn’t even have the added value of a singer smugly strutting his way through the lead part. Here we have Tom Jones as private detective, Wayne Wales – but really just playing Tom Jones as a private detective – tackling crime in downtown Los Angeles, punching bad guys, showing off nifty gadgets, and even in this film sporting a brand new catchphrase (“Not bad for a lad from Ponty”) and yet it isn’t total over the top camp of the campest fashion.
Why, oh why, is this?
Partly I think the answer is because it’s made in the 1970s. Matt Helm, ‘The (Mis)Adventures of Kitty Spectacular’ and all those other Bond knock-offs were shot in the bright shades of the 1960s, which was very much the in-palate back then; while these films have more 1970s hues which don’t lend themselves to sheer campness. (Try and imagine a camp comedy that looks like ‘The Conversation’. Not easy is it.) But more than that, we have as the star the ultimate macho-man; the muscled, hairy Welsh love god. A lad from Ponty made very good. Yes, Tom itself keeps it from being camp. In fact, if you were to tell this good boyo from the valleys – now apparently a private detective in LA – that he was camp, he’d probably punch you in the nose.
In much the same vein as ‘Vengeance Man’, Tom tours around LA, sorts out bad guys, foils an evil plot and gets it on with lots of nubile young nymphettes who are waiting like moist peaches for him to pluck. When Italian nuclear physicist, Claudia Cardinale, (not the most likely of nuclear physicists, I agree, but still doing a much better job than Denise Richards in ‘The World is not Enough’) is kidnapped on an LA stopover it’s up to Tom to spring into action and save the day before the knowledge inside her head is harnessed to create a new super weapon. His best source of information is bored party girl, Pamela Tiffin (still best known for dancing in a bikini in ‘Harper’), who Tom has the predictable frosty relationship with right until he seduces her. Along the way there are fistfights, gunfight, car-chases, more than one helicopter explosion and smooch after smooch after smooch. Until at the end when the gorgeous Claudia (in what is really a cameo) is so grateful for being rescued she makes her way to Tom’s bed. Of course she does.
The bad guy’s representative on Earth is played by Barry Nelson (himself a one-time James Bond), but what’s really interesting is who he seems to work for. We see this Mr Big in Las Vegas, in a distinctive rhinestone jumpsuit and barking orders in an unmistakable drawl. There’s big rings, the glimpsed side of an enormous pair of sunglasses and a medallion with the legend ‘TBC’. We never see his face and that’s led to some writers believing it isn’t really him – but no, this is Elvis, in his very last acting role, playing the supervillain against Tom Jones’s superhero.
So the ultimate boy’s adventure, getting it on with Claudia Cardinale, amongst many other gorgeous ladies, and to top it all, having Elvis fucking Presley in a guest appearance – not bad for a lad from Ponty indeed.
Colour
So here’s a question: why isn’t a series of film starring the one and only Tom Jones as an ultra-cool private detective in The City of Angels an almighty camp-fest? Those Matt Helm films made in the 1960s are far camper. Batman the TV series was off the scale campness compared to this, and that didn’t even have the added value of a singer smugly strutting his way through the lead part. Here we have Tom Jones as private detective, Wayne Wales – but really just playing Tom Jones as a private detective – tackling crime in downtown Los Angeles, punching bad guys, showing off nifty gadgets, and even in this film sporting a brand new catchphrase (“Not bad for a lad from Ponty”) and yet it isn’t total over the top camp of the campest fashion.
Why, oh why, is this?
Partly I think the answer is because it’s made in the 1970s. Matt Helm, ‘The (Mis)Adventures of Kitty Spectacular’ and all those other Bond knock-offs were shot in the bright shades of the 1960s, which was very much the in-palate back then; while these films have more 1970s hues which don’t lend themselves to sheer campness. (Try and imagine a camp comedy that looks like ‘The Conversation’. Not easy is it.) But more than that, we have as the star the ultimate macho-man; the muscled, hairy Welsh love god. A lad from Ponty made very good. Yes, Tom itself keeps it from being camp. In fact, if you were to tell this good boyo from the valleys – now apparently a private detective in LA – that he was camp, he’d probably punch you in the nose.
In much the same vein as ‘Vengeance Man’, Tom tours around LA, sorts out bad guys, foils an evil plot and gets it on with lots of nubile young nymphettes who are waiting like moist peaches for him to pluck. When Italian nuclear physicist, Claudia Cardinale, (not the most likely of nuclear physicists, I agree, but still doing a much better job than Denise Richards in ‘The World is not Enough’) is kidnapped on an LA stopover it’s up to Tom to spring into action and save the day before the knowledge inside her head is harnessed to create a new super weapon. His best source of information is bored party girl, Pamela Tiffin (still best known for dancing in a bikini in ‘Harper’), who Tom has the predictable frosty relationship with right until he seduces her. Along the way there are fistfights, gunfight, car-chases, more than one helicopter explosion and smooch after smooch after smooch. Until at the end when the gorgeous Claudia (in what is really a cameo) is so grateful for being rescued she makes her way to Tom’s bed. Of course she does.
The bad guy’s representative on Earth is played by Barry Nelson (himself a one-time James Bond), but what’s really interesting is who he seems to work for. We see this Mr Big in Las Vegas, in a distinctive rhinestone jumpsuit and barking orders in an unmistakable drawl. There’s big rings, the glimpsed side of an enormous pair of sunglasses and a medallion with the legend ‘TBC’. We never see his face and that’s led to some writers believing it isn’t really him – but no, this is Elvis, in his very last acting role, playing the supervillain against Tom Jones’s superhero.
So the ultimate boy’s adventure, getting it on with Claudia Cardinale, amongst many other gorgeous ladies, and to top it all, having Elvis fucking Presley in a guest appearance – not bad for a lad from Ponty indeed.
Sunday, 8 December 2013
Vengeance Man (1970)
D.
Henry Levin
Colour
I’m guessing that most people when they think of Tom Jones in the context of cinema, recall his not terribly good turn as himself in Tim Burton’s ‘Mars Attacks’. It’s an odd and deeply awkward performance, which gives the impression that the magnetic performer Tom Jones just isn’t very comfortable in his own skin. (It’s also so unusual that Tom would feel the need to specify that he saw a fight in “Cardiff, Wales” – are there any other well-known Cardiffs? Any other well-known Cardiffs that legendary Welshman Tom Jones would feel the need to differentiate his capital city from?) This is a shame, as ‘Mars Attacks’ is only the late echo of Tom’s big screen career. In the early seventies, at the height of his fame, he made three private detective films. If we’re honest at the outset, none of them are brilliant, all of them are cheap and cheerful and come pre-packed with some clunking moments. But Tom, although one would struggle to describe him as actively good, is certainly a lot more adequate than he was in ‘Mars Attacks’.
Really Tom Jones should be playing himself in these films as well. The image he portrays is entirely the medallion man, the lounge lizard – all chest hair, tight trousers and white smile. He‘s no different from his public persona at the time, no different from the clips you see of him in his TV show. Yes he’s a private detective now and he has an office with a sassy black secretary, but really he is still Tom Jones. And the film should have had the courage of its convictions and claimed that he was actually just playing himself. That in between concerts, recording sessions, TV shows and having lacy knickers thrown at his grinning face, Tom also ran his own detective agency and got into the most incredible adventures. That would have made a head-spinningly cool film, that would have ensured it was remembered. But instead we have Tom Jones as private detective, Wayne Wales, solving crimes in downtown Los Angeles – and I suppose that’s fairly cool itself.
Here’s the plot. An old friend of Wayne’s is found dead, the coroner determines suicide but Wayne doesn’t buy it and sets out to investigate. It isn’t long before Wayne has uncovered murky depths, with a model agency and a criminal gang acting as a blackmail trap which threatens to ensnare the most powerful people in the city.
So far, so Mike Hammer knock-off. But let’s be honest, Tom Jones being a private detective investigating crimes at a model agency makes the whole thing sound a lot more fun than any generic private eye set-up has the right to be. The last time I watched this I did wonder how sexist a film it is. After all it’s loaded with dozens of nubile babes in bikinis, there to be ogled and lusted after by both leading man and camera. (One called Delilah, who our hero makes clear – with a wink – that he’s staying away from this time). Clearly it’s more than a little exploitative. But then none of these girls ever get topless and the only nipples we see have a matt of ruggish Welsh chest hair. Yes, this is all about Tom. There he is pouting and posing and showing off. There he is wooing the ladies (he has more conquests than a randy, sex starved James Bond would have whilst on Viagra) and punching out henchman and having car chases and generally being the ultimate heroic action man.
And he does, well, okay in this role. One would hardly call the performance dazzling. He fails to get impact from some of his dialogue and a number of scenes fall flatter than he probably would like, as for all his dynamism he just isn’t an experienced enough actor. But he has a certain charm, a twinkle in his eye and a wide smile which lets you carry him through. Okay he’s playing Wayne Wales, but really he’s being Tom Jones and if you think of it as a film where Tom Jones is a private eye who has amazing and sexy adventures in downtown LA, then you won’t be disappointed.
Colour
I’m guessing that most people when they think of Tom Jones in the context of cinema, recall his not terribly good turn as himself in Tim Burton’s ‘Mars Attacks’. It’s an odd and deeply awkward performance, which gives the impression that the magnetic performer Tom Jones just isn’t very comfortable in his own skin. (It’s also so unusual that Tom would feel the need to specify that he saw a fight in “Cardiff, Wales” – are there any other well-known Cardiffs? Any other well-known Cardiffs that legendary Welshman Tom Jones would feel the need to differentiate his capital city from?) This is a shame, as ‘Mars Attacks’ is only the late echo of Tom’s big screen career. In the early seventies, at the height of his fame, he made three private detective films. If we’re honest at the outset, none of them are brilliant, all of them are cheap and cheerful and come pre-packed with some clunking moments. But Tom, although one would struggle to describe him as actively good, is certainly a lot more adequate than he was in ‘Mars Attacks’.
Really Tom Jones should be playing himself in these films as well. The image he portrays is entirely the medallion man, the lounge lizard – all chest hair, tight trousers and white smile. He‘s no different from his public persona at the time, no different from the clips you see of him in his TV show. Yes he’s a private detective now and he has an office with a sassy black secretary, but really he is still Tom Jones. And the film should have had the courage of its convictions and claimed that he was actually just playing himself. That in between concerts, recording sessions, TV shows and having lacy knickers thrown at his grinning face, Tom also ran his own detective agency and got into the most incredible adventures. That would have made a head-spinningly cool film, that would have ensured it was remembered. But instead we have Tom Jones as private detective, Wayne Wales, solving crimes in downtown Los Angeles – and I suppose that’s fairly cool itself.
Here’s the plot. An old friend of Wayne’s is found dead, the coroner determines suicide but Wayne doesn’t buy it and sets out to investigate. It isn’t long before Wayne has uncovered murky depths, with a model agency and a criminal gang acting as a blackmail trap which threatens to ensnare the most powerful people in the city.
So far, so Mike Hammer knock-off. But let’s be honest, Tom Jones being a private detective investigating crimes at a model agency makes the whole thing sound a lot more fun than any generic private eye set-up has the right to be. The last time I watched this I did wonder how sexist a film it is. After all it’s loaded with dozens of nubile babes in bikinis, there to be ogled and lusted after by both leading man and camera. (One called Delilah, who our hero makes clear – with a wink – that he’s staying away from this time). Clearly it’s more than a little exploitative. But then none of these girls ever get topless and the only nipples we see have a matt of ruggish Welsh chest hair. Yes, this is all about Tom. There he is pouting and posing and showing off. There he is wooing the ladies (he has more conquests than a randy, sex starved James Bond would have whilst on Viagra) and punching out henchman and having car chases and generally being the ultimate heroic action man.
And he does, well, okay in this role. One would hardly call the performance dazzling. He fails to get impact from some of his dialogue and a number of scenes fall flatter than he probably would like, as for all his dynamism he just isn’t an experienced enough actor. But he has a certain charm, a twinkle in his eye and a wide smile which lets you carry him through. Okay he’s playing Wayne Wales, but really he’s being Tom Jones and if you think of it as a film where Tom Jones is a private eye who has amazing and sexy adventures in downtown LA, then you won’t be disappointed.
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