‘Telefon’—donations to the cause of World War III

Press, 5 July 1978, Page 17

‘Telefon’—donations to the cause of World War III

If your telephone rings and someone sounding like Donald Pleasence starts reciting poetry to you, slam it down fast.

Otherwise, so we are told by the film “Telefon” now at the Cinerama, you could be in for a nasty shock, and so could your nearest military base. You could be in for a short trip to oblivion. The most explosive picture of the year, says the advertising. More bombs, more napalm, more fiery petrol. Boom, boom, boom.

The viewer is seldom disappointed, except that the biggest biast comes near the start. Director Don Siegel puts all his napalm eggs in one basket and makes an omelette. But for a fast-paced little tale of international intrigue, brinksmanship and spychasing spy, this film would be hard to beat. Sit back, watch Lee Remick and enjoy the ride. There are a few false touches, some triteness and the usual string of absurdities, but in a James Bond-type story, who cares? A computer-enhanced picture of Moscow starts it off. Moscow' in winter, with the menace of soldiers’ boots crunching through the snow. Those boots were made for stalking, no mistake about that. They are looking for a deranged Soviet bureaucrat who has stolen state secrets and plans to start a nuclear war by terrorising the United States. Pleasence plays the escaped K.G.B. bureaucrat intent on activating drughynnotised Russian agents who have long since melted into the American scene in case of war. They w r ere put in after the U-2 over-

flights and never brought out. A telephone call is all that you need to put them in motion. Pleasence, described as a “mad dog on the loose” by hero Charles Bronson (a Russian major sent to stop him), is almost perfect, as always. He doesn’t have much to do but look crazy and is strangely likeable. “The woods are lovely, dark and deep,” he says into telephones, setting off his robot-like agents in a pale imitation of “The

Manchurian Candidate” premise that human time b.ombs can be created. Harry Bascom is the first Victim/victimiser — a Russian whose hypnosis has made him think for 22 years that he is an American whose identity he has taken. He is a registered Republican, coaches Little League baseball, is a member of the Right-wing National Rifle Association (“Guns don’t kill people, people kill people”) and American Legion. The perfect foil. When he hears the poem, off he goes to drive his truck into a building that seems to have been filled to the brim with some flammable liquid. It comes apart at the seams; so does poor Harry. The Russian madman is angry about detente, and wants to spark the ultimate

conflict by letting loose his human torches. There is only one flaw in his character. For some reason, he uses a disguise on one of his missions. He is dressed up like John Denver, complete with blonde wig, track shoes and wire-rimed glasses. Noone ever explains why. Bronson is shown at first as an ice hockey instructor, good with children. He is the good guy. All sides are out to kill him, since he knows too much and the plot needs that extra complication. Lee Remick, as his partner, wants to go to bed with him. He avoids it in the interests of maintaining a family picture—killing yes, sex no. She also wants to do something else, but that would be telling. “What we do in the name of socialism,” she says in one of her more familiar lines. “You do exactly as I say, we’ll get along fine,” Bronson says in one of his. The script even has Remick saying she is going to “walk in there and ice somebody” with a straight face. She has such class, who can believe that? Even a snake loses his head over her. One of the best series of scenes is in a fascinating Houston hotel that looks like something out of H. G. Wells’ “The Shape of Things to Come.” Say what you will about age and being past it, few of us—Russian majors or not—would willingly give up a trip 10 miles down the road to the Happy Hour Hotel with Lee Remick. That’s what it comes down to: Charles Bronson, will he or won’t he?

AT THE CINEMA Stan Darling