Archives for posts with tag: Three’s Company

A forerunner to both Murder, She Wrote and The Golden Girls, the 1971 TV-movie Do Not Fold, Spindle or Mutilate stars Helen Hayes, Sylvia Sidney, Mildred Natwick, and Myrna Loy as ladies who not only lunch, but occupy their idle hours by pranking people, in the case of this film, by inventing a fictitious woman to enter into a computer dating service in order to find some voyeuristic fun in exposing and manipulating strange men’s emotions and desire.

Their geriatric, proto-catfishing makes me feel hopeful that my own twilight years may be filled with crafting mayhem and engaging in semi-malicious larks alongside likeminded seniors. I have always cultivated friendships with such promise; only now do I understand the end game.

screen-shot-2016-11-26-at-9-56-12-am

True to ladies in their seventies during the decade of the seventies, the group never slacks off in fashion. In fact, there are never slacks at all. All four make a point of putting themselves together; it’s Sylvia Sidney, however, who repeatedly cuts the most stunning figure, here in this smart emerald green dress, accentuated by the brooch, black belt, and matching black hat. She always wears a hat.

Their dating scam draws the initial interest and eventual ire of a psychopath, whose internal monologues we are treated to at astounding length via urgent voiceover whispers as the actor fumbles about his apartment, marches angrily down city streets, broods inside phone booths, and takes languorous bubble baths. Read the rest of this entry »

Cordelia is the only one bewitched, bothered, and bewildered without magic. She's truly smitten by Xander.

Cordelia is the only one bewitched, bothered, and bewildered without magic. She’s truly smitten by Xander.

More mirthful shenanigans! I had imagined the descent into darkness would be a constant following Angel’s reversion to soulless vampire in Innocence, but instead the showrunners planted two more lighthearted episodes into the framework of the season before returning with a vengeance to the grim nightmare they’d promised with Angelus. Last week’s Phases gave us a diversion from vampirism nearly altogether, Read the rest of this entry »

Oz is a werewolf. That's far more manageable than a soulless vampire. Lucky Willow. Unlucky Buffy.

Oz is a werewolf. That’s far more manageable than a soulless vampire. Lucky Willow. Unlucky Buffy.

After the sturm und drang of Innocence, Whedon grants us a bit of levity with Phases. I hadn’t remembered taking this brief semi-break from tragedy, but it’s well timed. The show must go on, even though Buffy’s heart has been broken, Angelus is unleashed on Sunnydale, and pervasive doom hangs overhead. We’ve got Oz in the gang now, in a Read the rest of this entry »