A polished Dirty Harry, not Callan

Press, 21 February 1986, Page 15

A polished Dirty Harry, not Callan

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Ken Strongman

All those years ago, “Callan” was a magical programme — from the forever frozen, smashed light-bulb through to the aroma of Lonely that seemed to seep from the box. Then Edward Woodward was stiffly middleaged in everything but age. In “The Equalizer” there is that vastly familiar face peering out of puffiness, looking its proper age at last.

Edward Woodward has an impressively deadpan manner, and is a pastmaster of the sexless nostril flare. With a few quick nasal twitches, he can establish a quizzical irony of some import. Just by seeing into his nose, you know that he knows exactly what is what. Then his head moves back slightly and his eyes narrow to look like finger holds in a granite cliff. It’s powerful stuff.

In "The Equalizer” Woodward plays McCall, an ex-Government agent now working, alone, as a private eye. He only takes those cases for which normal methods will not work. “My fee is one hundred dollars — to your favourite charity.” Only the merest hint of a smile lets us know that he says this in a positive mood. For the remainder of the time his face is expressionless, except of course for the ever-ready nostrils.

It is not just the nonverbals. McCall is a man of very few and very precise words. At home he plays chess and wears comfortable cardies. Outside, he wears a black trench coat and drives a black Jag. Apart from helping to establish his enigmatic character, his few words meant that the first episode passed without it being possible to determine whether or not he had an American accent. He should have, but it would be almost sacriligious.

He meets his prospective clients in a restaurant overlooking the river, listens, and instantly knows exactly what to do and how to solve their problems. “I’ll tell you what to do; believe me and trust me.” “You call, and he will never bother you again.” At this point his nostrils were wider than his eyes, but he was credible.

McCall is minatory. He has a dark, threatening

menace, a controlled power which allows him to match his own violence to that which he sets out to equalize. All of which makes him a sort of polished Dirty Harry. He is judge, jury and executioner, the smugly certain, Right-wing nemesis of evil-doers. But he does not quite step over the line into: “Well, punk, you’ve gotta ask yourself, do I feel lucky?” He just tells everyone what to do, but only if they ask or if they need it.

Is it any good or not? It is difficult to know. On the one hand, Edward Woodward carries the whole thing with his considerable ability. On the other, he is surrounded by the bubbling American froth of simplistic plots. It would have been far more fitting to have given him something of the elegance of “Miami Vice," even though he and it are stylistically so different. The impression he gives of sheer competence dominates everything, but it is still a bit embarrassing to see him in the middle of such improbable nonsense. - '

One tantalising problem for the future of the series is that with the way in which McCall’s character has been established; and’, in spite:, of .• having a grown-up son, he will have to remain virtually sexless. He is too , .tough and yet too concerned about people and putting them right to have a successful relationship. To keep his character, he has to keep his distance.. “I’d like to get to know' , you better.” "You wouldn’t,” and he was right.

In the end though, whatever analysis is made of “The Equalizer” and of Edward Woodward’s performance, the problem is that McCall is not Callan. Just being Woodward, makes it seem as though Lonely will be just round the next corner and that the chess set will be put away in favour of the battle lines of tabletop soldiers. But Callan in Manhattan? I think not