By Erin Free
In this regular column, we drag forgotten made-for-TV movies out of the vault and into the light. This week: the 1975 drama The Secret Night Caller, starring Robert Reed, Hope Lange and Michael Constantine.
The late Robert Reed still stands as one of the most complex and deeply conflicted figures in television history. A classically trained stage actor with a grounding in Shakespeare who had enjoyed early TV success as a co-lead on the groundbreaking, socially progressive legal drama The Defenders (1961-1965), Reed took his career-defining role as the wise paterfamilias on the sitcom The Brady Bunch because he needed the job, and because he saw promise in the show’s then-provocative focus on a blended family. Once The Brady Bunch was in production, however, Reed was quickly appalled by its goofy, simplistic brand of comedy, its saccharine sweetness, and its complete divorcement from anything even loosely resembling the real world. Reed then spent much of the popular, and later wholly iconic, show’s five seasons complaining and fighting bitterly with producer, writer and creator Sherwood Schwartz.
Despite his loudly voiced problems with The Brady Bunch, however, Robert Reed still returned for every one of the show’s myriad post-cancellation spin-offs and reunion telemovies; he even sung and danced (badly!) on the notorious misfire that was the short-lived The Brady Bunch Variety Hour. Reed wasn’t contractually bound to appear in any of this Brady-subsequent programming, but his ego wouldn’t allow him to stand by and watch as his iconic role was recast (Robert Foxworth was allegedly waiting in the wings), and his genuine love of his co-stars always made his experiences on the show warm and worthwhile.
On top of all this creative animus, Robert Reed was also a closeted homosexual (he sadly passed away from cancer in 1991, and was also HIV positive), so the irony of playing America’s wisest, calmest, most charming, and very heterosexual father was likely not lost on the thoughtful actor. Throughout his career, Reed kicked wildly against the conservative image that The Brady Bunch had built around him, appearing as nasty lawman types, for instance, in the telemovies Nightmare In Badham County (1976) and Revenge For A Rape (1976), amongst others. Daringly, Reed also won critical acclaim and an Emmy nomination for his affecting portrayal of a doctor who comes out as transgender in the episodic TV drama Medical Center in 1975. That same year, Robert Reed also starred in the quite extraordinary telemovie The Secret Night Caller, in which the actor boldly expressed his publicly repressed sexuality in a curiously symbolic manner.
In this heavy, occasionally alarming 75-minute drama, Robert Reed plays a man with a sexual secret, but his character Freddy Durant is not gay…he’s an obscene phone caller! If you think that sounds like the set-up for one of the most cheesy, salacious and sensationalist telemovies of all time, you would be way, way off the mark. Though there are certainly tawdry thrills to be had here, The Secret Night Caller is essentially a character piece about a seemingly decent, upstanding man with one defining, near-fatal flaw. As skilfully penned by veteran screenwriter Robert Presnell Jr. (the scribe behind socially conscious features like A Life In The Balance and Let No Man Write My Epitaph, along with the small screen belter Smash-Up On Interstate 5) and sensitively directed by small screen workhorse Jerry Jameson (who also helmed the TV movie phone thriller Hotline, amongst many other superior telemovies, along with features like 1980’s Raise The Titanic and 1977’s Airport ’77), The Secret Night Caller almost subscribes to the Shakespearean take on tragedy, with its “hero” cut low not by outside forces, but by his own inherent character failings.
Reed’s Freddy Durant is a straight arrow IRS agent, who plays strictly by the rules; in an early scene, we see him walk away from a bribe with not even a second of hesitation. Freddy works hard and is liked by his staff, and he appears to have pretty much the perfect life. Once its surface is gently scratched, however, Freddy’s life is quickly revealed to be not quite what it seems. He’s more interested in gardening and insects than he is in his preening, irritating wife (Hope Lange is effective in a wholly thankless role), who lightly hen-pecks him while talking incessantly about the curio shop she runs, complaining about, amongst other things, her customers’ unpleasant body odour and unruly nose hairs.
In one particularly excruciating scene, Freddy goes out to dinner with his wife and mother (Sylvia Sidney is great in a cameo). The two women execute a precision double-team hen-peck, and you can practically see the withering Freddy shrinking away. The only feminine respite in the family comes from Freddy’s teenage daughter, Jan (yes, Jan…though played here by Robin Matson and not Eve Plumb), who supports her father, while also doing slightly odd things like parading around for him in her new swimsuit. There’s no intimation that there’s anything going on between father and daughter, but their relationship is, um, a little bit unusual.
Unbeknownst to the aforementioned domineering women, the buttoned-down Freddy lets loose by getting into a secluded public phone booth after sundown and whispering decidedly non-sweet nothings into the unsuspecting ear of various targeted women, including bubbly work subordinate Charlotte (Arlene Golonka) and sexy, self-possessed exotic dancer Chloe (Elaine Giftos). These illicit, obscene phone calls eventually send Freddy into a hard-barrelling downward spiral, exposing the seemingly upstanding family man to blackmail, and forcing him to challenge his own strict moral code as his happy life hurriedly begins to slip through his fingers.
Despite a horror-esue opening in which Charlotte is unnerved on the street outside her home by a peculiar vagrant before taking Freddy’s first obscene phone call, The Secret Night Caller studiously avoids hysteria and salaciousness. The audience never hears a single word Freddy says on the phone to his victims, perhaps as a stylistic choice, but also obviously to prevent the film from hurtling outside the tight strictures of network television in the 1970s. What we do see and hear, however, is a man in emotional and psychological turmoil. With his world crumbling away beneath him, Freddy’s only real lifeline comes in the form of his kindly psychiatrist Dr. Mayhill (Michael Constantine), who treats his deeply troubled patient with an admirable lack of judgement and a deep well of respect.
In a surprise turn, Robert Reed’s Freddy Durant is very much presented as a sympathetic figure here, despite exhibiting some highly disturbing behaviour. But even though he physically attacks his wife in one particularly horrific scene, Durant’s inner torment – and his obvious guilt and self-loathing – is so palpable that it’s impossible not to feel for him. That does not, however, minimise the pain that Freddy Durant causes others. Charlotte’s terror upon hearing Freddy’s obscene words over the phone in the seeming safety of her own home is also palpable, and she too has the audience’s sympathy. It’s a difficult tightrope to walk, but screenwriter Robert Presnell Jr. and director Jerry Jameson manage it with admirable dexterity.
Basically lost to the sands of time, The Secret Night Caller is a cruelly forgotten drama that digs bravely into difficult subject matter while also providing a rare showcase for Robert Reed to really flex his acting muscles. The actor rises to the occasion beautifully, delivering a deeply affecting performance that bristles and burns with both Robert Reed’s pained inner angst, and with his desire to fight back against the smothering typecasting that plagued him from the moment that he became beloved suburban dad Mike Brady.
Availability: Never officially released on DVD or even VHS, The Secret Night Caller is only available online in fairly ropey form.
If you enjoyed this review, check out our other vintage telemovies Cotton Candy, Gargoyles, Short Walk To Daylight, Trapped, Hotline, Killdozer, The Jericho Mile, Death Car On The Freeway, Mongo’s Back In Town, Tribes and And The Band Played On.
