Joe Don Baker Is Mitchell
Andrew V. McLaglen's wild cop drama, Mitchell (1975) jumps from the diving board set in place by the Dirty Harry Callahan films, but often puts its slob hero, played by lumpy Joe Don Baker, in an empty pool. Deprived of his gun, he uses a rock to bash the helmeted head of a dirt buggy driver trying to run him down, then takes the buggy into a mad pursuit of the oily rich criminal Walter Deaney (John Saxon), also driving a dirt buggy. Deaney's buggy, for no apparent reason, explodes and burns after taking a mid-air rotation and landing badly. Mitchell is relentless, Mitchell isn't very smart, but he's knowledgeable about inflicting punishment. When he kills, taking down five guys in one scene, he can be sure his precinct won't suspend him because apparently cops in the Mitchell Universe can do whatever the fuck they want.
Mitchell, pursued and boxed in by a vermilion Mustang fastback ends up on its side on a dirt road while chasing Mr. Cummings' (Martin Balsam) Lincoln, driven by his slavishly faithful manservant, Benton (L.A. Rams football great Merlin Olsen). Later, when Mitchell locates the Mustang's driver, he slugs him several times then smashes his hand with the Mustang's passenger door, leaving the man's fingers caught and crushed by Detroit metal.
The movie has something to do with heroin smuggling. Walter Deaney and Cummings are high-ranking cogs in a machine run by higher ups in expensive suits, the kind of men who meet on park benches, letting their subordinates know they better get their acts together or else.
Mitchell meets Deaney the night the latter kills a Latino intruder, having trapped him inside his house and, essentially, executed him. Mitchell has a hunch Deaney isn't telling the truth about the home invasion. Deaney, seeking to mollify the annoying detective, sends a one-hundred dollar an hour hooker to Mitchell's drab apartment, where he sleeps, and later fucks, on a hide-a-bed. The hooker, Greta (Linda Evans, looking too elegant for the role), smokes "grass," something not approved of by the cop, Mitchell. On two occasions he takes her to the station with her marijuana supply, turning her in for some weird reason never explained; peculiar since he's depriving himself of her company by doing this.
He probably feels a growing sense of resentment towards Greta because once he finds out she's paid for by the self-satisfied prick, Deaney, he feels like he's not entirely in control of his life. His rage, perhaps, stems from working in a system that doesn't give a fuck about him. His boss is always belittling him, talking to him like he's a high school student in detention.
Mitchell grumpily gets stuck watching and following Mr. Cummings and his overgrown six foot five butler, Benton. He gets so sick of sitting in his car outside Cummings' big house that a kid on a skateboard can get his goat. The boy, about nine years old, asks him what he's doing. Mitchell repeats what the kid said. He repeats everything the boy says for close to a minute. It's clear he's not doing this because he's a happy person; arguing in the stupidest way with a little boy, finally telling him to "piss off!"
Meanwhile, his semi-girlfriend, Greta, resentful about getting arrested by her john for pot possession, uses red lipstick to write BASTARD! on his windshield. Even so, she rejoins him later, giving him a freebie. She likes her bastard. They drink Schlitz beer from cans. They make love languidly while on the soundtrack a male singer warbles the ballad of Mitchell. Their toes and feet mingle, a blanket covers them much of the time, hardly realistic but in keeping with the R rating.
Greta is also a bit of a slob. She makes coffee in Mitchell's kitchen, spilling the brown grains on the floor, not bothering to sweep up. Maybe her slovenliness is due to being stoned, but there isn't the slightest effort to clean up a considerable amount of dry coffee. This is Linda Evans! It's unbelievable that a classy babe like Linda Evans would be so careless, even after fucking Joe Don Baker, drinking Schlitz and maybe smoking a joint, too.
Right after they first meet, as Greta sits on his couch with a leg over the other, Mitchell spills spurting beer on her knee and shin. She shrugs off the faux pas. This is clearly a couple with no interest in social niceties.
Mitchell, in pursuit of the heroin that's ended up through subterfuge with Cummings and Benton, chases their boat in a police helicopter, dropping by rope a buoy, using it like a wrecking ball as the chopper makes passes. Mitchell gets dropped into the boat, fights it out with and kills Benton, puts a slug into Cummings' brain. Greta's waiting for him when he goes home. Instead of fucking her, he arrests her for marijuana possession. Again, I don't entirely understand this man.
Vic Neptune
Andrew V. McLaglen's wild cop drama, Mitchell (1975) jumps from the diving board set in place by the Dirty Harry Callahan films, but often puts its slob hero, played by lumpy Joe Don Baker, in an empty pool. Deprived of his gun, he uses a rock to bash the helmeted head of a dirt buggy driver trying to run him down, then takes the buggy into a mad pursuit of the oily rich criminal Walter Deaney (John Saxon), also driving a dirt buggy. Deaney's buggy, for no apparent reason, explodes and burns after taking a mid-air rotation and landing badly. Mitchell is relentless, Mitchell isn't very smart, but he's knowledgeable about inflicting punishment. When he kills, taking down five guys in one scene, he can be sure his precinct won't suspend him because apparently cops in the Mitchell Universe can do whatever the fuck they want.
Mitchell, pursued and boxed in by a vermilion Mustang fastback ends up on its side on a dirt road while chasing Mr. Cummings' (Martin Balsam) Lincoln, driven by his slavishly faithful manservant, Benton (L.A. Rams football great Merlin Olsen). Later, when Mitchell locates the Mustang's driver, he slugs him several times then smashes his hand with the Mustang's passenger door, leaving the man's fingers caught and crushed by Detroit metal.
The movie has something to do with heroin smuggling. Walter Deaney and Cummings are high-ranking cogs in a machine run by higher ups in expensive suits, the kind of men who meet on park benches, letting their subordinates know they better get their acts together or else.
Mitchell meets Deaney the night the latter kills a Latino intruder, having trapped him inside his house and, essentially, executed him. Mitchell has a hunch Deaney isn't telling the truth about the home invasion. Deaney, seeking to mollify the annoying detective, sends a one-hundred dollar an hour hooker to Mitchell's drab apartment, where he sleeps, and later fucks, on a hide-a-bed. The hooker, Greta (Linda Evans, looking too elegant for the role), smokes "grass," something not approved of by the cop, Mitchell. On two occasions he takes her to the station with her marijuana supply, turning her in for some weird reason never explained; peculiar since he's depriving himself of her company by doing this.
He probably feels a growing sense of resentment towards Greta because once he finds out she's paid for by the self-satisfied prick, Deaney, he feels like he's not entirely in control of his life. His rage, perhaps, stems from working in a system that doesn't give a fuck about him. His boss is always belittling him, talking to him like he's a high school student in detention.
Mitchell grumpily gets stuck watching and following Mr. Cummings and his overgrown six foot five butler, Benton. He gets so sick of sitting in his car outside Cummings' big house that a kid on a skateboard can get his goat. The boy, about nine years old, asks him what he's doing. Mitchell repeats what the kid said. He repeats everything the boy says for close to a minute. It's clear he's not doing this because he's a happy person; arguing in the stupidest way with a little boy, finally telling him to "piss off!"
Meanwhile, his semi-girlfriend, Greta, resentful about getting arrested by her john for pot possession, uses red lipstick to write BASTARD! on his windshield. Even so, she rejoins him later, giving him a freebie. She likes her bastard. They drink Schlitz beer from cans. They make love languidly while on the soundtrack a male singer warbles the ballad of Mitchell. Their toes and feet mingle, a blanket covers them much of the time, hardly realistic but in keeping with the R rating.
Greta is also a bit of a slob. She makes coffee in Mitchell's kitchen, spilling the brown grains on the floor, not bothering to sweep up. Maybe her slovenliness is due to being stoned, but there isn't the slightest effort to clean up a considerable amount of dry coffee. This is Linda Evans! It's unbelievable that a classy babe like Linda Evans would be so careless, even after fucking Joe Don Baker, drinking Schlitz and maybe smoking a joint, too.
Right after they first meet, as Greta sits on his couch with a leg over the other, Mitchell spills spurting beer on her knee and shin. She shrugs off the faux pas. This is clearly a couple with no interest in social niceties.
Mitchell, in pursuit of the heroin that's ended up through subterfuge with Cummings and Benton, chases their boat in a police helicopter, dropping by rope a buoy, using it like a wrecking ball as the chopper makes passes. Mitchell gets dropped into the boat, fights it out with and kills Benton, puts a slug into Cummings' brain. Greta's waiting for him when he goes home. Instead of fucking her, he arrests her for marijuana possession. Again, I don't entirely understand this man.
Vic Neptune
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