Jonathan Banks

Perry Mason: The Case of the Lost Love (1987, Ron Satlof)

The Case of the Lost Love is a rather charmless Perry Mason outing. Jean Simmons is an old flame of Raymond Burr’s and he ends up defending her ungrateful husband (Gene Barry). Simmons and Burr have some chemistry as Lost Love establishes their history, but the movie’s so technically inept, it never quite comes across right. Simmons doesn’t get a reasonable character to play so Burr can’t react to her reasonably. And Barry’s just lame, both in terms of script characterization and performance.

There’s a lot of lame acting in the movie. Most of it is because it’d be impossible to be anything but lame given the technical problems. Director Satlof doesn’t give editor David Solomon enough coverage, but Solomon doesn’t even cut the stuff he does get well. And Arch Bryant’s photography is weak, so the shots rarely distinguish themselves visually. And Satlof’s really bad with the actors here. Not even Gordon Jump can survive Lost Love.

Performance wise, Barry, Stephen Elliott, Robert F. Lyons and Leslie Wing are the worst. Wing is the female cop who gets to get chatted up by William Katt. Katt’s got a far less interesting wardrobe than usual this time. He and Wing have negative chemistry. There’s really nothing going for Lost Love, not after Simmons starts getting strange and Burr spends all his time doing the investigating. Writer Anne Collins hints to doing something with Burr and Barry, but it doesn’t come across. It’s way too forced. And the less said about Simmons and Barbara Hale’s interactions the better.

Everything about Lost Love is either forced or contrived, which makes it exhausting. The weak supporting performances mean there’s no joy in seeing them get to act. Except Jonathan Banks, of course. He’s trying really hard and not getting any support from Satlof. There’s almost a good performance there. Almost, but not really.

And the mystery itself is lame. Collins tries doing something different with it–having Burr doing the important investigating, trying to present necessary information to the viewer to keep them interested, but it doesn’t work. Not just because of Satlof’s direction, but because the script’s poorly paced. And Hale gets nothing to do, which seems to be a trend.

Case of the Lost Love needed to percolate some more before getting released on an unsuspecting public.



Directed by Ron Satlof; teleplay by Anne Collins, based on a story by Dean Hargrove and Joel Steiger and characters created by Erle Stanley Gardner; director of photography, Arch Bryant; edited by David Solomon; music by Dick DeBenedictis; produced by Barry Steinberg; aired by the National Broadcasting Company.

Starring Raymond Burr (Perry Mason), Barbara Hale (Della Street), William Katt (Paul Drake Jr.), Jean Simmons (Laura Robertson), Gene Barry (Glenn Robertson), Jonathan Banks (Luke Dickson), Leslie Wing (Det. Sgt. Austin), Robert Mandan (Dr. Michaels), Robert Walden (Robert Lane), Stephen Elliott (Elliot Moore), Robert F. Lyons (Pete Dickson), Stephanie Dunnam (Jennifer Parker), Gordon Jump (Arthur) and David Ogden Stiers (D.A. Michael Reston).

She’s Dressed to Kill (1979, Gus Trikonis)

She’s Dressed to Kill is a simultaneously a perfect TV movie and a disappointment. It’s a murder mystery set on an isolated mountain; Eleanor Parker is a recluse fashion designer who has a show and the attendees can’t stop being murdered. Only the killer has followed the attendees, as the murdering starts before the fashion show.

The movie opens with top-billed John Rubinstein and Jessica Walter. She has the fashion agency, he’s her photographer Friday. Rubinstein and Walter are really good together. She’s good throughout, but George Lefferts’s teleplay eighty-sixes her pretty quickly. Doesn’t kill her, just ignores her. Dressed isn’t good at character development. Rubinstein ends up romancing Gretchen Corbett to give him something to do and their courtship mostly consists of him telling her, “you don’t have to be a model to be beautiful,” and then treating her to an impromptu fashion shoot. It’s a TV movie, sure, but it’s on very precarious philosophical ground.

Especially given how much of the second act is spent with experienced model Joanna Cassidy trying to talk newbie Connie Sellecca out of modeling.

There are suspects aplenty but Dressed doesn’t have a good solution to its mystery. Lefferts isn’t writing a mystery so much as a thriller. It’s engaging during viewing but it doesn’t hold up on consideration. So, a perfect TV movie. It’s ephemeral, without any further ambitions, which is a shame given the cast.

Parker has a great time as the fashion designer. She’s playing it constantly hammered, with a lot of knowingly exaggerated tragedy. And Walters is great when she’s in it. Corbett’s got a lousy part but she’s good. Rubinstein’s likable, until he gets grating. Banks is good. Cassidy tries. It doesn’t work–director Trikonis doesn’t direct his actors or for them–but she does try.

Speaking of trying, Sellecca is probably the movie’s biggest misfire. She’s incredibly shallow. Sellecca does try, but she’s not good. She’s got zero chemistry with the other actors and her part’s annoying. And Peter Horton’s pretty weak in a smaller suspect role too.

But She’s Dressed to Kill definitely diverts for its runtime. I just wish it did something more. Being a completely competent television movie is one thing, but wasting the fine performances–Walter especially–is inexcusable.



Directed by Gus Trikonis; written by George Lefferts; director of photography, Thomas Del Ruth; edited by Ira Heymann; music by George Romanis; executive producers, Merrill Grant and Barry J. Weitz; aired by the National Broadcasting Company.

Starring Connie Sellecca (Alix Goldman), John Rubinstein (Alan Lenz), Eleanor Parker (Regine Danton), Gretchen Corbett (Laura Gooch), Jessica Walter (Irene Barton), Jim McMullan (Sheriff Halsey), Clive Revill (Victor De Salle), Barbara Cason (Deenie Gooch), Cathie Shirriff (Kate Bedford), Corinne Calvet (Colette), Peter Horton (Tony Smith), Jonathan Banks (Rudy Striker) and Joanna Cassidy (Camille Bentancourt).

Crocodile Dundee in Los Angeles (2001, Simon Wincer)

Crocodile Dundee in Los Angeles is a terrible movie. But it’s not offensive, which makes it peculiar. It’s cringeworthy, with most of its L.A. jokes being about ten years too late. It even has a movie studio finish–an awful sequence–which doesn’t rip-off of Beverly Hills Cop III, but does make one remember what happens when franchises go stale… but try anyway.

Los Angeles is the very boring story of Paul Hogan and Linda Kozlowski taking their son (Serge Cockburn) to America for the first time. Kozlowski’s filling in at a newspaper and Hogan is just going to hang out. Then there’s this dumb story about Jere Burns and Jonathan Banks being corrupt movie producers. I think it’s supposed to be mysterious. It fails on that front.

Kozlowski is awful, though I suppose it could just be the awful script. Hogan’s innate charm carries him through pretty well. There’s no action though; he’s an sixty year-old man after all.

Simon Wincer’s direction is more appropriate for an episode of a crappy television show than a film. That ending action sequence I mentioned earlier is unbearable. It’s boring. Wincer doesn’t have a single well-directed sequence in the entire film.

He gets no help from his crew, either. David Burr’s photography is lousy and Basil Poledouris’s score is embarrassing for someone of his ability.

There are a couple of surprisingly good laughs at the end, especially considering the dearth of humor preceding them.

It’s embarrassing for everyone involved.



Directed by Simon Wincer; screenplay by Matthew Berry and Eric Abrams, based on characters created by Paul Hogan; director of photography, David Burr; edited by Terry Blythe; music by Basil Poledouris; production designer, Leslie Binns; produced by Hogan and Lance Hool; released by Paramount Pictures.

Starring Paul Hogan (Mick Dundee), Linda Kozlowski (Sue Charleton), Serge Cockburn (Mikey Dundee), Alec Wilson (Jacko), Aida Turturro (Jean Ferraro), Jere Burns (Arnan Rothman), Jonathan Banks (Milos Drubnik), Kaitlin Hopkins (Miss Mathis) and Paul Rodriguez (Diego).

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