HARRY O has been consistently good to great until this two-part episode and exercise in unfulfilled promise. Where did this story go awry? Right from the beginning.
This episode's entire plot is built on a faulty foundation. I could never believe that Harry was such good friends with a couple of young hippies. Up until now, Harry has proven himself a hard person for anyone to be friends with, and I couldn't envision him suffering patiently the flakiness of a pair of flower children. The producers seemed to know this was asking a lot of the audience, so snuck in a line about David Makita being a Harvard Law grad who dropped out--of society, not school, presumably, since Harry said he has practiced law. But it wasn't enough to make such a friendship believable.
Writer Steven Kandel committed a similar crime against character in the earlier episode he wrote for the series, "Mortal Sin," which rested on the similarly shaky premise that Harry was chummy with a Catholic priest, one with whom he engaged in three-in-the-morning philosophical phone calls.
At some point I came to the conclusion that this script was originally written for another series and character and later reworked for HARRY O. This story, for example, required a different setting, and had some jarringly uncharacteristic moments, like Harry strumming a banjo and singing. And who could believe the young and vivacious Glenna was enthralled by the gruff and grizzled Harry? When they ended up in the sack, I was sure this script was written for a different character (or was intended to shamelessly stoke the fantasies of middle-aged Playboy subscribers). That love affair stretched credulity to the breaking point. Hey, I love David Janssen, but James Bond he ain't.
Another discordant note was the character of Manny Quinlan, whose feelings toward Harry range between contempt and begrudging tolerance, but here Manny bends over backwards for Harry, driving down to Verdero, putting in good words for him, and even risking his badge by driving around with the bail-jumping fugitive from justice. At one point, button-down and by-the-book Manny even distracts the local yokel cops so Harry can make a getaway! Harry and Manny's relationship was inexplicably warmer here than in any episode thus far And while that was welcome, and inadvertently explained Harry's actions in the later episode "Elegy for a Cop," it didn't jibe with what we knew and expected. It was as if characterization was sacrificed to make the story work.
On the subject of inconsistent characterization, here's the slovenly sheriff, stuffing his face, suddenly dropping a Mark Twain quotation. Huh? C'mon, this guy couldn't get past the funny pages and box scores. And what was with his apropos of nothing berating of the poor librarian to remember her Mama's advice to keep her legs crossed and not talk to strangers? Or why she inexplicably cowered in fear of him? Or why she had a fresh off Toidy-Toid Street New Yawk accent if she grew up in this California hamlet? Speaking of accents, Joanna Pettet can be heard slipping in and out of her native British accent.
Longtime fans of television get to know the usual suspects who turn up in every series, among them stone-faced Ned Romero. We see him and David Makita mixing it up in the promo preceding the opening titles, then see Romero's name in the credits as a guest star, then see him again in the opening scene which replays his tussle with Makita. Anyone who knew Romero knew he was a bad guy even when he shows up later as deputy of Verdero. While his involvement wasn't a mystery, I will admit Kandel kept me guessing as to the culpability of some of the other players.
Experience has taught me to be wary of two-part episodes. Rarely do they warrant the expanded length, and are so often jet-puffed with scenery and extended driving scenes. Another example of padding is the scene where Harry meets with informant C.C. Jackman--a clever drug allusion-laden name--who, after insulting Harry's wardrobe and shaking him down for tens and twenties--is shot right on cue in a cliché swiped from the old serials. Harry takes it all in stride, watching the assassin walk away, making no attempt to pursue or even to get a glimpse of the killer. This set piece did little to forward the story, and seemed included just to fill the expanded time. Yeah, it had snappy dialogue and the setting of it--below the San Diego-Coronado Bay Bridge--was beautiful, but window dressing to cover a needless and ultimately ridiculous scene. More padding comes when Harry and Manny meet with Martinez and especially the long exposition-larded walk alongside Professor Fineman, featuring a legion of extras and a very distracting nun in full habit.
What I really enjoyed was seeing three icons of 1950's police and detective shows appearing together. When Harry appears at Glenna's for dinner, there was Richard Diamond, Peter Gunn, and Chief Dan Matthews of HIGHWAY PATROL. That was cool to see, as was catching a pre-JEFFERSONS Paul Benedict in a role far from the dapper and mannered Mr. Bentley he's best known for. Other welcome faces included Bill Quinn's brief scenes as a judge, and Kevin Hagen--a veteran of the 1950's Western YANCY DERRINGER--as a professor.
The episode is by no means unwatchable. It boasts a beautiful girl, beatings, gunplay, and a protracted proto-DUKES OF HAZZARD-brand car chase by a deputy in hot pursuit of the hero that ends with a splash. Here's hoping that with "Forty Reasons to Kill" being the series' sole two-parter, it's all uphill from here.
This episode's entire plot is built on a faulty foundation. I could never believe that Harry was such good friends with a couple of young hippies. Up until now, Harry has proven himself a hard person for anyone to be friends with, and I couldn't envision him suffering patiently the flakiness of a pair of flower children. The producers seemed to know this was asking a lot of the audience, so snuck in a line about David Makita being a Harvard Law grad who dropped out--of society, not school, presumably, since Harry said he has practiced law. But it wasn't enough to make such a friendship believable.
Writer Steven Kandel committed a similar crime against character in the earlier episode he wrote for the series, "Mortal Sin," which rested on the similarly shaky premise that Harry was chummy with a Catholic priest, one with whom he engaged in three-in-the-morning philosophical phone calls.
At some point I came to the conclusion that this script was originally written for another series and character and later reworked for HARRY O. This story, for example, required a different setting, and had some jarringly uncharacteristic moments, like Harry strumming a banjo and singing. And who could believe the young and vivacious Glenna was enthralled by the gruff and grizzled Harry? When they ended up in the sack, I was sure this script was written for a different character (or was intended to shamelessly stoke the fantasies of middle-aged Playboy subscribers). That love affair stretched credulity to the breaking point. Hey, I love David Janssen, but James Bond he ain't.
Another discordant note was the character of Manny Quinlan, whose feelings toward Harry range between contempt and begrudging tolerance, but here Manny bends over backwards for Harry, driving down to Verdero, putting in good words for him, and even risking his badge by driving around with the bail-jumping fugitive from justice. At one point, button-down and by-the-book Manny even distracts the local yokel cops so Harry can make a getaway! Harry and Manny's relationship was inexplicably warmer here than in any episode thus far And while that was welcome, and inadvertently explained Harry's actions in the later episode "Elegy for a Cop," it didn't jibe with what we knew and expected. It was as if characterization was sacrificed to make the story work.
On the subject of inconsistent characterization, here's the slovenly sheriff, stuffing his face, suddenly dropping a Mark Twain quotation. Huh? C'mon, this guy couldn't get past the funny pages and box scores. And what was with his apropos of nothing berating of the poor librarian to remember her Mama's advice to keep her legs crossed and not talk to strangers? Or why she inexplicably cowered in fear of him? Or why she had a fresh off Toidy-Toid Street New Yawk accent if she grew up in this California hamlet? Speaking of accents, Joanna Pettet can be heard slipping in and out of her native British accent.
Longtime fans of television get to know the usual suspects who turn up in every series, among them stone-faced Ned Romero. We see him and David Makita mixing it up in the promo preceding the opening titles, then see Romero's name in the credits as a guest star, then see him again in the opening scene which replays his tussle with Makita. Anyone who knew Romero knew he was a bad guy even when he shows up later as deputy of Verdero. While his involvement wasn't a mystery, I will admit Kandel kept me guessing as to the culpability of some of the other players.
Experience has taught me to be wary of two-part episodes. Rarely do they warrant the expanded length, and are so often jet-puffed with scenery and extended driving scenes. Another example of padding is the scene where Harry meets with informant C.C. Jackman--a clever drug allusion-laden name--who, after insulting Harry's wardrobe and shaking him down for tens and twenties--is shot right on cue in a cliché swiped from the old serials. Harry takes it all in stride, watching the assassin walk away, making no attempt to pursue or even to get a glimpse of the killer. This set piece did little to forward the story, and seemed included just to fill the expanded time. Yeah, it had snappy dialogue and the setting of it--below the San Diego-Coronado Bay Bridge--was beautiful, but window dressing to cover a needless and ultimately ridiculous scene. More padding comes when Harry and Manny meet with Martinez and especially the long exposition-larded walk alongside Professor Fineman, featuring a legion of extras and a very distracting nun in full habit.
What I really enjoyed was seeing three icons of 1950's police and detective shows appearing together. When Harry appears at Glenna's for dinner, there was Richard Diamond, Peter Gunn, and Chief Dan Matthews of HIGHWAY PATROL. That was cool to see, as was catching a pre-JEFFERSONS Paul Benedict in a role far from the dapper and mannered Mr. Bentley he's best known for. Other welcome faces included Bill Quinn's brief scenes as a judge, and Kevin Hagen--a veteran of the 1950's Western YANCY DERRINGER--as a professor.
The episode is by no means unwatchable. It boasts a beautiful girl, beatings, gunplay, and a protracted proto-DUKES OF HAZZARD-brand car chase by a deputy in hot pursuit of the hero that ends with a splash. Here's hoping that with "Forty Reasons to Kill" being the series' sole two-parter, it's all uphill from here.