Made-for-TV Movies

Duel

Mother, May I Sleep with Danger?

Hello, dear comrades and critics, I hope you’re well and swell and beating the Summertime sadness better than I! Do not adjust your television screens, for this week we’re diving into a realm of cinema that was made specifically for the small screen, not the silver one. These are the films made exclusively to be aired on television—perhaps the most intimate and immediate format of media consumption. To view a film at the cinema is a certain kind of ceremony—commuting to the movie theater, grabbing some popcorn, selecting the best seat available, and collectively sharing and observing entertainment as a little, temporary community of strangers. There’s magic in that experience, a grand tradition that dates back over a century ago, and I really hope the theater experience never goes away. But in a post-and-still-present-covid world, attending a movie at the theater can be a more involved, more demanding, and more expensive process than it should be. I watch the vast majority of my double features from the comfort of my home on my television, not on the big screen, so paying homage to the movies made for the small screen feels overdue. For this week’s cinematic selections, I wanted to get out of the cinema for a spell, and explore a phenomenon of film who’s history is now nearly just as long and who’s presence is just as ubiquitous: and that is the Made-for-TV Movie. Though I grew up watching goofy and glorious Disney Channel Original movies like High School Musical, and glossy and expensive HBO original films like Grey Gardens and Behind the Candelabra, made-for-tv movies have been around since the dawn of television. The first made-for-tv movies were often family-friendly musicals like 1954’s Peter Pan and 1957’s The Pied Piper of Hamelin, but these films quickly diversified as the landscape of “prime time” was established. Television execs were initially anxious that tv movies would alter their network’s arrangements with sponsors and affiliates by encouraging station managers to make independent deals with advertisers and film producers, but as the scope of television grew, as more and more channels were born, the production of tv movies only increased. Throughout the 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, and even into the early oughts, made-for-tv movies were a staple of television programming. To quote Lucinda Hall, “In several respects, television films resemble B movies, the low-budget films issued by major studios from the 1930s through the 1950s for short-term showings in movie theaters, usually as a double bill alongside a major studio release. Like made-for-TV movies, B movies were designed as a disposable product, had low production costs and featured second-tier actors.” These cheaper films were hardly where tv movies began and ended though, as some of the most memorable and visionary pieces of pop culture came from made-for-tv movies. Films like The Day After and the BBC’s Ghostwatch and Threads were so realistic in their spooky depictions that they caused chaos and controversy, but mostly, they caused great ratings for their respective networks. There were countless movies of the week and made-for-tv movies that were made and viewed within a flash, but so many were actually quite cinematic, quality pieces of media that did eventually earn their own theatrical runs like And The Band Played On, Brian’s Song, Sybil, Stephen King’s IT and tonight’s first tv movie: Duel. This 1971 treasure was the first feature film that Steven Spielberg directed, at the young age of 25, which is very Lena Dunham of him. Before this, Spielberg had only directed two episodes of television, but when he read Richard Matheson’s semi-true short story adapted into script form, he reached out to ABC to apply to be the director. The film was shot in and around Canyon Country, Agua Dulce, and Acton, California, along the Sierra Highway in just 13 days—which is quite the feat for such an ambitiously-action-packed film. Duel is the kind of film who’s simple premise sounds somewhat mundane on paper, but to watch it play out—on any sized screen—is nothing short of an edge-of-your-seat thrill ride. Duel stars Dennis Weaver as David Mann, a salesman embarking on a business trip in his bright red Plymouth Valiant sedan, through the dusty Mojave desert. He listens to talk radio as the credits roll, and there are very few other cars driving along this desolate, increasingly-treacherous road. Eventually, David finds himself stuck behind a beaten-up, rusty, gigantic Peterbilt 281 tanker truck carrying flammable materials, that is moving incredibly, unacceptably slow. David trails behind the truck briefly, watching the thick, black clouds of pollution escaping its tailpipe, before deciding to pass in front of this vehicle. It is a casual and by all accounts normal decision made by David that he immediately begins to regret, as the massive truck begins to pick up speed very suddenly, and pass back in front of David. Frustrated and confused, David passes the truck yet again, this time gaining enough speed to seemingly evade this determined truck. David then pulls up to a gas station, yet another casual, normal move as he makes his way on his trip, but then he sees this same large truck approach the station and park right next to him. David tries to ignore it, makes a call to his wife, and occasionally glances at the truck to see if its elusive driver will make an appearance, but they never do. All the camera can make out are the generic brown cowboy boots and jeans this trucker is wearing, and just like David, our curiosity and puzzlement only grows from here. With a full tank of a gas and a new radiator hose, David exits the station, but before he knows it that same truck is right back on the road, creeping closer and closer behind him. Though it weighs a ton and is presumably towing a large amount of flammable materials, this monstrous truck begins to pick up speed rather quickly, blaring its booming horn, bumping its bumper against David’s and not letting up speed, even on the sharpest of these tight, mountainous turns. Defeated and frightened, David lets the truck pass him, which prompts the truck to drive slowly once again. A few moments later, an arm of the truck driver appears outside of the window and gestures that its okay for David to pass him, which David begins to do, until he quickly spots an incoming car speeding directly towards him. Now fully aware that this trucker is messing with him, David is enraged and persistent—not just to get past this truck but to actually get to his destination in one piece. But the truck just continues to play this dangerous high speed game of cat-and-mouse, as it speeds down the highway in a serpentine fashion, making it impossible for David to ever get in front again. There is clearly a psychopath behind the wheel of this menacingly-massive truck, and with very few witnesses or chances to call the police, David is forced to fight this Goliath of truck on his own. Even when they get more distance between each other and David stops for a bite to eat at the only diner for miles, the truck appears almost instantly—proving that the driver has a specific vendetta against this man, and David won’t be safe until something extreme happens. As they reach speeds of 100mph and higher, the chances of death and destruction increase, and the man behind the wheel of the truck remains relentless in his pursuit. I say “his” pursuit because the driver would appear to be a man, but part of the thrill and the terror of Duel is the fact that we never even see what this driver looks like. The truck can be regarded as the adversary in Duel because it is the only monster we’re properly introduced to, but its faceless, humanity-ridden driver who we’re never acquainted with may be even more frightening. Duel functions just as successfully as a psychological thriller as it does as a straight-up action movie, as we watch David become more and more tormented by this diabolical driver and his maddening, motiveless pursuit. The speed only increases, the terrain only becomes more hazardous, and David has less options as his car is steadily beaten up throughout this desert duel. It feels just as viscerally unnerving now as it likely did when it originally aired, because this feels like something that could happen to anyone, driving anywhere, who unfortunately may encounter random psychos on the road. This simple concept can be thoroughly scary when done correctly, and I see Duel’s influence in so many other films. It is a film that I saw as a tiny child, and didn’t remember much of, beyond the feeling of anxiety and road rage that it instilled in me, so I’m glad I gave it a rewatch. Spielberg’s fine-tuned film instincts are already at play in this short movie, expertly making use of plenty of cool angles and risky shots before it’s all over. And while most made-for-tv movies have a distinctly dissonant filming style, structured with space for commercial breaks, Duel never felt like a tv movie, it feels just as cinematic and theatrical as Jaws, a film he made just three years later. However, a film that did feel specifically made-for-tv, in both its soapy premise and its even soapier execution, is the 1996 NBC tv movie called Mother, May I Sleep with Danger? Part of why I put off this double feature for so long is because I had such a diverse profusion of tv movies to choose from that I truly felt overwhelmed. Duel seemed like a no-brainer, but I had to make some space for the kind of movie that this made-for-tv model is mostly known for—the campy, pulpy, over-the-top kind of tv movie like Mother, May I Sleep with Danger? This film has been quoted by Ru Paul countless times, but even if this weren’t the case, I’d still be aware of this movie because of my love for the chaotically captivating Tori Spelling, who leads this film. Post-90210 Spelling stars as Laurel Lewisohn, a bright-eyed and intelligent young college student balancing her classes, her Chinese fellowship, her cross-country running team, and now, a new, mysterious boyfriend. This film is shot in such a consistently-odd manner, it was wild to learn that the filmmakers had originally planned to release this in theaters, until they couldn’t find a willing distributor. With a lot on her plate and a sweet but sometimes overbearing mother (played by Broadway and television star Lisa Banes) hovering nearby, Laurel finds comfort in the arms of her tall, dark, handsome, but strangely obsessive new boyfriend, Kevin (Ivan Sergei). Given her busy schedule, history of an eating disorder, and untrustworthy taste in men, Laurel’s mother is often concerned about her, which unfortunately only annoys Laurel and pushes her further into the arms of Kevin. But Laurel’s mom is determined to make this work, so she invites Laurel and Kevin over for dinner so she can get to know him better. One of the very first things Laurel’s mom says to Kevin is, “Laurel tells me your parents have passed”, which is already a crazy thing to say, only to be followed by Kevin, responding even more crazily, “Helicopter skiing accident in Austria. The whole mountain came down. They died doing what they loved.” This was not the first piece of dialogue that made me laugh out loud, and it wasn’t the last, either. On the surface, Kevin seems like the ultimate catch—he’s hot, he’s tall, he’s in medical school, and is committed to having a loving, monogamous relationship. But this blissful courtship soon turns sour, as Kevin reveals himself to be an obsessive, aggressive, abusive, manipulative, and highly dangerous individual who wants to separate Laurel from her family and friends so he can keep her for himself. He lashes out when she takes too long of a run, when she spends time with her friends, when she speaks to her mother, when she simply wants to be alone. And when Laurel rightfully runs in the other direction, Kevin is sweet and affectionate, and desperate to gain her trust once more. And while I would never blame victims in real life, this fictional victim played by Tori Spelling was at times hard to root for, as she pushes away her understandably-concerned mother, and continues to forgive Kevin, time and time again. Kevin is literally always abusing her and disrespecting her friends and family, and Laurel is only briefly mad each time before falling into his arms passionately and sloppily making out. This exact thing happens four separate times throughout this movie. Though it takes Laurel far too long to realize the jeopardy she’s in, her mother and her friends are thankfully there to help save the day from this domineering, deadly douchebag, but not before a whole lot of hell is raised. Mother, May I Sleep with Danger? was expectedly campy but unexpectedly thrilling. Though it never quite reached Duel-levels of riveting, it was still really fun to watch. The script was bizarre and haphazard and yet totally appropriate for the often-schlocky caliber of the tv movies of this era. The bad writing combined with the bad acting was delightful to watch unfold, and even when Spelling and Sergei had moments of believability in their performances, the absurdity of this story still shined through. Like Duel, the frightening premise of this film could easily happen in real life, however this pre-Lifetime Lifetime-esque movie had such a strong sheen of theatricality covering it that it was impossible to ignore. Nevertheless, I persisted through my watch of this movie and I supremely enjoyed it, in spite and because of its overwhelming over-the-top-ness. I genuinely loved the music and the uniquely-terrible dialogue, I can see why Ru Paul loves this movie so much, and why its legacy remains nearly as pristine and cult-y as that of Duel. There eventually was a Lifetime channel remake of this movie in 2016, that featured a sapphic vampiric twist on the story—written by and starring James Franco—that went straight past my awareness for some reason. I may or may not be checking out that train wreck one of these days but for now, thank you so much for reading along my dear readers, viewers, and lovers of tv and movies. No matter what screen on which you consume media, I hope you’ll keep coming back to your laptop or phone screen to read my silly, made-for-blog writing. That’s all folks!