I’ve disappeared from the site again, but you have to understand that it’s a real shock to start going to an office after nine years of working from home. It’s like I’m wearing pants constantly now. The good news is that I’m really enjoying myself, and I expect to have a lot more to talk about here—including the usual New Year’s recap of favorite things from 2010 that didn’t insult my intelligence.
But here it is Christmas, and time to write up a forgotten holiday film before I do my expected disappearing act for the last two weeks of December. I’m going with a full recap of
Kings and Desperate Men, too. This one isn’t always easy to find
on VHS , and it’s not likely there’ll ever be a decent DVD release. My editors even deleted a reference I made to
Kings and Desperate Men in last year’s obituary for Patrick McGoohan. I was thinking the film clearly deserved mention as part of the politics found in McGoohan’s stint as the star and producer of the classic ’60s show
The Prisoner.
The problem was that people still love to talk about
The Prisoner. Nobody seems to care about this Libertarian romp from 1981. The sad truth, however, is that
Kings and Desperate Men isn’t any great loss. The film is kind of plodding. The good news is that the plot is still plenty of fun as a synopsis.
First, it takes a while to figure out the film’s title. The first card says
A Hostage Incident over the credits, with
Kings and Desperate Men added as an afterthought. It seems the original movie posters referred to the film as
Kings and Desperate Men: A Hostage Incident. So does the VHS cover art.
Whatever the film is called, it opens two days before Christmas in what seems to be British Columbia. McGoohan is a conservative Canadian radio host named John Kingsley. He has a judge as a guest in the studio. They’re discussing His Honor’s recent decision to refuse to overturn an imminent death sentence on a terrorist. We cut to the interior of a car, where a muttering man is listening and insisting that the terrorist is really just “a kid.” This man is driving to Kingsley’s house. That’s chilling, but our heart is warmed to think of a Canadian province that holds executions so close to Christmas.
After the show, Kingsley has a drink with the judge and discusses how bored he is with the radio show. Kingsley then goes to get drunk at an office Christmas party. Meanwhile, the guy in the car is now sitting outside of Kingsley’s impressive residence, and is muttering about how it’s wrong for anyone to live so nicely. Inside the house, Kingsley’s wife is arriving to find that her son and his nanny have been taken hostage by two gunmen.
Kingsley is still at the party, and chatting up a fur-clad gal who lures him back to his radio studio for a private conversation. Kingsley is about to get lucky, but the mood is ruined by a sallow young man with a shotgun. “My name is Miller,” he announces, “and we’re taking over this studio.” He then shoots a portrait of Kingsley that’s on the wall. “I never did like that photo,” responds Kingsley. “It always made me look sincere.”
Kingsley stays cool even after learning his would-be conquest is an associate of Miller’s—who explains that Kingsley’s next show will be an on-air trial for the terrorist that’s about to be executed. “You’re not a sort of moral crusader, are you?” asks Kingsley. “You don’t look the type.”
“I teach History,” Miller replies. “How it changes—which it does, faster and faster all the time.”
Meanwhile, Kingsley’s poor family is being lectured on how Spain used to own North America before they sold it to industry.
Back at the studio, Miller is contacting the media and announcing that Kingsley’s studio is wired with explosives for an upcoming Hostage Edition Show. (That would’ve been a good title for the film.) A police captain is assigned to the case, and he comments that Miller’s gang of “non-violent protestors” is the same group who earlier kidnapped the judge that Kingsley was interviewing. The police know it wasn’t a particularly non-violent kidnapping. A witness saw the judge getting his head cracked open during the abduction.
Miller is killing time by lecturing Kingsley about how unfair it is that one of them makes so much more money. He also keeps rambling about people who are destroying the Earth. “I’m tired of teaching history,” he proclaims. “I prefer to shape some small part of it myself.”
Miller would be disappointed to learn that savvy advertisers are busy trying to buy airtime on Kingsley’s Hostage Edition Show. (Seriously, that's a cool title.) Kingsley is entertaining himself by reflecting on his earlier career as an actor, and how that’s shaped his vanity. You might think that’s foreshadowing—along with that line mocking his own sincerity—but that will change once the on-air trial actually begins.
The actual radio show starts with Miller making an opening statement that sounds lousy—not just politically, but technically. Kingsley tries to help by teaching the professor how to speak into the mic like a human being instead of a creep pontificating in an auditorium. Miller’s not used to that, though. He doesn’t really pay attention until Kingsley yells, “Down the voice!”
Even then, Miller is poorly prepared. He fumbles through his notes about how the terrorist has been unfairly sentenced to death. It’s an embarrassing rant in front of a big radio audience—ending with Miller’s mention of how the terrorist was also caught with drugs in his possession: “I can prove—well, I can surmise that this was planted and produced evidence.”
Kingsley then cuts to a commercial, which surprises Miller. Kingsley patiently explains that his show always finds time for the advertisers that pay his wages. Kingsley follows up by taking an on-air call from a listener who tries to comfort the host by quoting Scripture. He politely thanks her for her prayers while Miller is desperate for her to be cut off. Kingsley takes more calls. That muttering crony of Miller’s—who’s now with the injured judge—is unable to get through on the phone. Miller didn’t think to ask about his stooges getting a direct line to the station.
Kingsley is mostly getting supportive calls. One suggests that the citizenry storm the studio. “The man here with me,” replies Kingsley, “wants just one thing: mob disorder. Please let the police handle it.”
The muttering psycho finally gets through to Kingsley with the judge, but only in time for His Honor to die on the air from his injuries. This inspires Kingsley to finally lose his temper and attempt to strangle Miller. He’s succeeding until Miller’s female friend reminds him that she’s got the shotgun now. A recovering Miller is indignant. “I believe,” he explains to Kingsley, “circumstance will prove that the good judge died from a heart attack.”
Then Miller wonders if Kingsley’s politics are all just an act. There’s a typically oblivious academic. Everyone else learned otherwise while Kingsley had his hands around Miller’s throat. Kingsley announces over the air that Miller is the leader of “a gang of misfits playing God by proxy.” They’re not very good at taking hostages, either. We see that Kingsley’s family has been rescued at home.
Kingsley still has a gun to his head, though. A police official calls in to announce that new evidence shows the convicted terrorist is innocent, and that the arresting officer will be disciplined. “Very noble, constable,” says Kingsley, but he won’t go along with the charade. At this point, there’s a divided count for Miller’s show trial. A few normal folks have played along with Miller by saying that the terrorist is guilty. That’s balanced by Miller supporters who’ve been calling in to insist the terrorist is innocent.
Kingsley announces that he seems set to cast the deciding vote. He then sends a loving Christmas message to his family, and begins to put on his coat—patiently explaining to Miller that he doesn’t have any intention of settling the matter. There’s nothing more Libertarian than throwing away your vote. Kingsley is almost out the door when an enraged Miller grabs the shotgun from his female cohort, and the audience hears the gun go off in the studio.
There’s silence, and then the audience hears Kingsley’s soothing tones: “Ladies and gentleman, the sound you just heard was the sound of Mr. Miller losing his head—all over the walls of my studio. Tune in tomorrow. The topic of tomorrow's show will be government spending. Please call in with your views. After all, this is your program.”
Miller had earlier mocked Kingsley’s usual sign-off of “This is your program.” Kingsley signs off looking like a true populist, though. Then the end credits roll as we hear people complaining about how the radio host is just too arrogant and so clearly a fake. And there’s your heartwarming holiday film that—as noted—is more fun to read about than to watch.
There’s some fun weirdness behind the scenes, too. Despite the film’s politics, McGoohan is just a hired hand. The film is directed by Alexis Kanner, who also plays Miller. Kanner appeared in several episodes of
The Prisoner. The two probably bonded over some politics back then. The film was written by Edmund Ward, who also scripted a finely jaundiced look at Swinging ‘60s London with 1970’s
Goodbye Gemini—which finally got a DVD release this year.
The gal who lures Kingsley into Miller’s trap is Andrea Marcovicci, who’d later show up in
The Stuff . Kingsley’s wife is played by Margaret Trudeau—famous back then as the slutty spouse of a Canadian Prime Minister whose work would pretty much establish him as the country’s Jimmy Carter. McGoohan didn’t care much for Margaret.
And while Kanner was probably happy to have Trudeau on board as a bankable name, it’s okay to be suspicious of his judgment. Kanner would later sue the producers of
Die Hard for ripping off the plot of
Kings and Desperate Men. Don’t worry that I left out some exciting parts from the film. The lawsuit didn’t make any sense. There’s a Christmas connection, but
Die Hard actually makes better points about the media. If it’s any comfort for the holidays, though, it’s pretty obvious that Kanner wasn’t the type to indulge in a frivolous lawsuit. He may have been a fruitcake, but he was our kind of fruitcake.
