Tidbit time—Collins hated working with Peppard

THE EXECUTIONER, a glum and slow espionage entry from 1970 fields a good cast headed by George Peppard but is mainly a footnote entry in two camps, one as a sample of a subgenre, the other a jigsaw piece of a once-vital career on careen. Actor-turned-director Sam Wanamaker piloted a script written by Jack Pulman (many BBC TV adaptations, plus 1961’s overlooked The Best Of Enemies and the 1971 version of Kidnapped). Reviews were tepid, box office anemic, $1,300,000 and 138th place.

Her expression mirrors audience response

British Intelligence agent ‘John Shay’ (Peppard, 41) goes after a fellow operative suspected of being a double-agent for the Soviets (remember them?). The trail leads from England to Greece, involving getting deceived and pummeled along the way, and also is complicated by his dalliance with the suspect’s wife (Joan Collins), even as he maintains playtime with his current girlfriend (Judy Geeson). Peppard’s obvious Yank accent is explained away (repeatedly) by his having been raised in the States. Along with the beguiling ladies (both better than their thinly conceived roles), further authentic Brit assistance (the snippy/snide sort) is offered by redoubtable stuffy types such as Charles Gray and Nigel Patrick. Good old Oscar Homolka appears briefly as a Russian source of info and innuendo.

Sluggish, overly complicated without being intriguing, outfitted with a bombastic score from Ron Goodwin, the composer perhaps trying to make up for a critical lack of energy in the writing and direction. The acting is suitably professional but the feeling is perfunctory: there’s no-one to care about. As such it falls in line with too many of the ‘serious’ spy pictures that dotted the late 60’s thru the 70’s. The Bond bonanza provoked twin streams of secret agent sagas, the spoofs (ranging from fun—Our Man Flint leads the team—lame, most of them) and the ‘adult’ puzzlers (winners like The Ipcress File and The Deadly Affair were outnumbered—outnumbed—by a majority of nap-inviters).

Don’t Let George Do It—Peppard’s five-year high tide period topped out in 1966 with The Blue Max.  Slipping started in mid-level efforts Tobruk (okay fireworks) and Rough Night In Jericho (more ugly than rough); then a precipitous drop commenced with a batch of textbook thrillers (that weren’t) which lasted until the inexplicably popular TV nonsense of The A-Team gave him a reprieve in 1983. Is this one either more or less passable or skippable than P.J., House Of Cards, Pendulum and a dozen more? We’ll forgive him for the misfires due to his fine work back when he was riding high, including his nice guys in Home From The Hill and the underrated The Victors, the compelling heels of The Carpetbaggers and The Blue Max and best, his excellent anchoring of three episodes from the mighty How The West Was Won.

Greek location shooting in Corfu and Athens doesn’t salvage the operation. 107 minutes, with Keith Mitchell, George Baker, Alexander Scourby, Peter Bull and Gisela Dali.

Sounds better than Every Minute You Watch Is One Less You Have To Live

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