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Hello, everyone. And welcome to my review of The Psychic. I'm a first-time reviewer, who has been a fan of Television without Pity (http://www.televisionwithoutpity.com) for awhile now (since back when the site was known simply as Mighty Big TV). So I decided to do this as a recap. This is going to be long. I should warn you now. Hopefully, you'll find it a wee bit amusing. For all the new fans out there, please know it will be chock full of spoilers. But enough with the warnings! On to kidnapping, One of Eight is Enough, sweaty Hutch, a ridiculously young-looking Edward James Olmos, Starsky killing in revenge, and did I mention sweaty Hutch? I'm pretty sure I did. The episode opens with a car chase. On Starsky and Hutch?! Stop the presses! While we watch our heroes staring quite intently out the windshield (And looking rather nice too—Hutch is enjoying a good hair day. That won't last.), we learn, among other things, that this episode was written by Michael Mann. Mr. Mann, you may recall, was also the writer for JoJo, Lady Blue and Texas Longhorn. In addition, he was responsible for Miami Vice, both the television and film versions. We'll try not to hold that against him. Back to our episode. S&H are chasing a rather nifty retro coupe (with fins!) driven by a Mister Clean impersonator. I'm not kidding. The guy is bald as a cue ball and is wearing earrings. This last detail will become more important in a minute. It's morning. And in the first of several shot-matching errors found in this episode, Hutch's sunglasses magically appear on his face at one point in a way I found quite jarring. But then, perhaps I'm easily jarred. Mister Clean decides, for no apparent reason, to leave Bay City's mean streets, for Bay City's really dusty vacant lots. Our boys follow, complaining, yet keeping pace. This apparently rattles Mister Clean, who returns to the street, only to realize he's going the wrong way on a one way avenue. So it's back to the dusty, vacant lot, which now reveals itself to be the world's most primitive construction site. After coming dangerously close to knocking down the primitive construction workers like bowling pins (they're not wearing loincloths or anything, but they're all standing around a pile of reddish dirt with shovels and picks—I'm not sure what they're really supposed to be doing), Mister Clean abandons his nifty coupe and his long, flowing blonde wig, which falls from the seat beside him to the ground. That's right, ol' cue ball was apparently leading a life of crime while disguised as a really unconvincing woman. As fast as his little bowed legs can carry him, he scurries away in his size 12 heels, and heads into the Welcome House. What does he do when he gets inside? Climb over the counter, of course, earning him several dirty looks from some vastly underpaid, yet no doubt excited to be on TV, extras. While Cross-Dressing Mister Clean is pelting towards the kitchen, S&H come tearing into the restaurant, hot on his trail. And speaking of tail… After a wonderful little doe-si-doe involving Starsky, Hutch, a waitress and her tray (that frankly would have been more wonderful if they could have bumped up the speed of the maneuver by about 25%), the dynamic duo follow almost exactly in Cross-Dressing Mister Clean's wake, as if all the characters had suddenly been transformed into ants on parade. This allows Starsky to cop his first feel of the episode, when his eager mitts land quite solidly on Hutch's hips. I would like to point out there was absolutely no need for this. Other than to make me very happy. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Cross-Dressing Mister Clean tries a similar doe-si-doe with a cook and what looks to be a pan of something Italian (lasagna?). This only pisses Hutch off. When he finally gets a dance right, he hates when some lowlife steals the steps. Annoyed, he (with the cook's help) upends the pan. All over poor Starsky. The chase continues outside. Where we discover Cross-Dressing Mister Clean is, in fact, named Fireball. I can't say for certain that's actually an improvement… Poised atop a trashcan, Mr. Ball is attempting to climb over a chain link fence, while wearing heels—a maneuver I'm not certain I'd attempt in tennies. Hutch calls out to him. Mr. Ball whirls and, drama queen that he is (I guess there's more than one reason he might be wearing that dress), urges Hutch to kill him. Hutch looks up at him and asks, "What for? Shoplifting?" Shoplifting?! All this sturm and drang for a simple shoplifter? Somebody has got to talk to our boys about prioritizing, and properly allocating time and resources. Starsky moseys up to join the conversation, covered head to toe in red sauce. And, no—that's not a euphemism for blood. Mr. Ball again urges the officers to shoot. Starsky tells him nothing doing. Hutch says they're actually going to do the Ball-meister a favor. After all, Hutch wouldn't be caught dead in a dress like that. Starsky assures his handsome partner the blond would be stunning in basic black and pearls. How do people not see the slash subtext in this show?! For crying out loud—it's not even subtext. It's just plain text. After S&H finally drag Mr. F. Ball off his perch, and Hutch muses about the lives of the idle rich, we're magically transported to a place where just such people live. A mail truck pulls up outside the gates of a typical Hollywood mansion. But before it does, it drives past a disreputable-looking powder blue panel van. Given that there is literally only one other car parked on the entire tree-lined street, you've got to think that such a vehicle would garner a bit of attention. But apparently not. Goll-ee. Them rich folks sure is trustin'. We get a glimpse inside the van and discover three men are waiting within. Left to right: a quite young (though not really—according to IMDB, he was 30 in 1977—it's the lack of facial hair that makes him look like a baby) and quite skinny Edward James Olmos (as I like EJO, I will simply call him Eddie); a squirrelly looking guy with a long nose and lank, dark brown hair who, despite my use of "squirrelly" as an adjective, I choose to call The Weasel; and a rather rotund gentleman behind the wheel. This last one is a real looker with a receding hairline, shiny red face, cheesy moustache, and jolly, round belly. I will call him Piggy. They watch as the mail person drops off that day's delivery. In the background we see a not particularly safety-conscious gardener (for god's sake, man—report the suspicious van outside the premises!) working inside the gates. Piggy looks anxiously at his watch and says, "Any minute now." Inside the mansion, we see Dianne Kay, known to fans of 1970's TV primarily as Nancy Bradford, one of the five Bradford girls in Eight is Enough. She walks through the door wearing, sadly, an iconic fetish costume—and seeing as DK spends much of the episode tied up and gagged, I feel this bears mentioning—a Catholic girl's school uniform. She has a very warm exchange with her father. We learn he owns a football team—thus funding this lavish lifestyle. She steals one of his breakfast pastries, gives him a kiss on the cheek, and heads out to school. The last word Daddy says to her is, "Careful!" Ironic? A bit of foreshadowing? Perhaps BOTH. MWAHAHAHAHA! DK leaves her palatial digs to catch her ride. She walks past the utterly oblivious gardener (I hope they cut back on his Christmas bonus…) and heads down the driveway. The disreputable-looking powder blue panel van pulls forward about three inches so it can block her path. DK isn't alarmed, however, because she recognizes Eddie, aka Julio. Back to Home
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