review of charlie’s angels
September 26, 2008
I was messing around in IMDB this morning, and somehow came across a reference to Charlie’s Angels (I won’t even try to recreate the click path I took–I have no idea and I don’t want to know). Since today is Friday, and none of you are probably reading today anyway, I’m bringing back my Charlie’s Angels review.
Once upon a time, there were three little girls who went the Police Academy, and they were each assigned very hazardous duties. But I took them away from all that, and now they work for me. My name is Charlie.
These forty words pretty much ruled my world during the magical first season of Charlie’s Angels starting in 1976. Sure, the Vietnam War had just barely ended, Ford was on his way out, Carter in, and things were generally, well, not so good. But whenever I heard John Forsythe utter those beautiful words, and saw Farrah’s hair bounce in that unearthly way, all my problems just disappeared.
Although, really, I was 11. How many problems could I have had?
Of course, like everyone, I’ve played “who’s your favorite angel.” If any of you say Lucy Liu, I’m going to have to ask you to go away and come back later, when we’re done. We’ll review the fake angels some other time. They are like Pink Floyd after 1985, or the Sammy Hagar led Van Halen (I will not debate this)—not the real thing, never really happened.
By the way, I’m outraged. If you go to IMDB.com to read about Charlie’s Angels, they list Jaclyn Smith, David Doyle, John Forsythe, Cheryl Ladd, and Kate Jackson. First, what’s Cheryl Ladd doing that high in the list? Outrageous. And second, where’s Farrah? You have to click the More button to see Farrah. This is an outrage. If you’re not outraged, you’re not breathing. And don’t try to tell me you’re saving your outrage for George Bush. He’s more worthy of your pity. Be outraged at the retards who voted for him.
Let’s take them one at a time, starting with the obvious (because you know you had her poster–I had multiple Farrah posters, and my sister worked with her on a movie or two–yay me):
Farrah Fawcette (the Majors is a major distraction, and I don’t like to use it) as Jill Munroe. Dumb. Ditzy. Helpless. The very definition of Jiggle TV. And despite my age and hormonal breakout, not my favorite. But over the years since, she’s become my favorite, because of everything crazy about her career since then, how she married abusive men, became an alcoholic, weirded us all out with her appearance on Letterman, did some really great small time TV and movie work, got to be a strong woman, all that. And have you seen her lately? She looks old and young and smoking hot all at the same time. I’m intrigued.
Plus, she helped usher in the era of TV star free agency. She totally lost in that battle, but she stepped up and said “I’m the hottest, and I want more money.” Even though the studio called her bluff and sent her packing, you have to respect that. She pulled a David Caruso 20 years before David Caruso.
In sports, the regular season MVP is supposed to be decided by the regular season, without regard to the playoffs. If I were voting purely on her work in the first season with Charlie, I would say she was the weakest angel, but I’m giving her 9 out of 10. I like Farrah. And I still have that poster, the one of her sitting in the clear plastic chair. In fact, I think I might put it up in my son’s room. The only problem with Farrah’s Jill Monroe is I always felt like she was going to get drunk and hook up with Bosley. Ew.
Jaclyn Smith is a wonderful person. Warm, generous, stunningly beautiful. My sister did her hair on quite a few subsequent projects, and even babysat her kids. She loves Jaclyn Smith.
And yet, I can’t get into her. Her character was blasé, she was blasé, she’s been blasé in everything she’s done since, which isn’t much, and did you see her in the TV mini series versions of Windmills of the Gods and The Bourne Identity? She just leaves me cold. I can’t figure it out. You figure it out. Sometimes you have to vote with your gut.
Jaclyn gets a 6 out of 10, a huge upset, and an almost unheard of low score for an original angel. I’m sorry, I’ve run the numbers over and over, and that’s what I get.
In 1976 I was head over heals in love with Kate Jackson. LOVED her. She was the smart angel, the clever angel, the one who was one step ahead of the bad guys. You knew that if Charlie was to ever stop his womanizing, stopped hanging out in the hot tub with hot teenage girls the way Hugh Hefner does, you know his first choice, like mine, would have been Sabrina. Smart, AND beautiful.
Now, I know this is going to sound silly, and you won’t believe me. You’re going to say I’m pandering, you’re going to stop reading, say I’ve gone soft and all. Like Tom Cruise, I just don’t care. And I’m climbing onto the couch here:
I married Sabrina. She gets a 10 out of 10.