Big Bad Mama

1974 was a banner year for Angie Dickinson. The debut of her hit series Police Woman coincided with the release of the low-budget, gloriously trashy Big Bad Mama, produced by legendary schlockmeister Roger Corman. Dickinson stars Wilma McClatchie, a small town girl in Depression-era Texas, who picks the inopportune moment of her teenage daughter's wedding to realize that she wants something more than a white trash wife-and-mother existence for her girls. She breaks up the wedding and hits the road with daughters Billy Jean (Susan Sennett) and Polly (Robie Lee), planning to somehow come up with the money to travel out to California and start up a business. But her daughters' burgeoning sexuality makes them more than a little hard to handle: when Wilma breaks in on a private party at the local Veterans' Hall where Billy Jean and Polly have been hired to do a strip-tease, the incident ends with Mama pulling a gun on the bewildered Vets and stealing all their gambling money. Their success with this impromptu hold-up teaches Wilma that stealing the money they need to start a new life will be infinitely easier—and more fun--than working behind the counter at a greasy spoon. Wilma and her girls next embark on a daring daylight bank robbery, only to have their plans interrupted by Fred Diller (Tom Skerritt) and his men, who are there for the same purpose. When Wilma, Diller and the girls escape together with the haul from the bank, they form a tentative partnership, both professional and personal, that cuts a swath of crime across Texas. As the brains of the gang, Wilma cleverly refuses to pull the same kind of job twice, and along with Diller and her daughters rob a number of different types of establishments, raking in bigger and better returns (while spouting such memorable aphorisms as "Never trust a girl who gives away her donuts for free."). Their exploits bring them to a race track with plans of robbing the office of the day's take, and it is while watching the races that Wilma meets Southern slicker William J. Baxter (William Shatner, in a truly funny performance). Wilma discovers almost immediately that Baxter is a huckster, but takes him along for the ride anyway, much to the dismay of current lover Diller, who incomprehensibly loses his place in Wilma's bed to the new arrival. Of course, Diller is more than compensated by the sexual attentions of both of Wilma's daughters. Wilma' s hunger for bigger and better stakes escalates until the gang attempts what she intends be their last big score: the kidnapping of a rich man's daughter, which will net the gang a cool million. But of course, every crime spree must come to an end, and Mama discovers that with this last job she has crossed the line. Directed by Steven Carter, whose other credits include the Chuck Norris film Lone Wolf McQuade, Big Bad Mama is a fabulously entertaining bit of rubbish that succeeds primarily because it never attempts to be anything other than what it is. The film was criticized on its release as being a bargain-basement Bonnie and Clyde, but it never aspires beyond its meager budget, instead celebrating shoestring filmmaking with style, energy, and an enormous sense of humor. Where Bonnie and Clyde gave us the serious pursuit of a vicious gang by grim federal agents, Big Bad Mama provides gleefully trashy titular family, chased by a Fed named Bonney (played by Corman favorite Dick Miller), who remains hilariously one step behind. Dickinson grabs the role of Wilma and runs with it: she appears to be having a ball throughout the film—and she also seems aware of (and amused by) exactly what kind of film she's in. At times you get the feeling that she's winking at the audience, letting them in on her knowledge of the joke. She also supplies some rather daring nude scenes, which at the age of 43 proved that she could hold her own against women half her age, first with Skerritt, and later in an eye-opening scene with Shatner, sans corset. Skerritt makes an engaging companion for Dickinson, though his "I've died and gone to heaven" expression as he cavorts with a steady succession of nubile women through much of the film's second half does not appear to be the result of method acting. And Shatner, light years away from Star Trek, is simply delightful as the con man who is seriously out of his depth. The rights of many of the Corman films have been purchased by Disney, and this new special edition of Big Bad Mama is being released as part of the new "Roger Corman Early Films Collection," which in this round of releases includes Death Race 2000 and Rock 'N' Role High School. The disc includes a 15 minute "making of" documentary featuring new interviews with Dickinson, Shatner, Corman, and the director and writers. There is also a feature length commentary with Dickinson and Corman. The source material for the new transfer is in very good condition, free of deterioration, though there is some debris, and the film's low budget is made painfully obvious with the exposure of the low grade film stock used. But somehow it just would've seemed wrong if the film looked perfect. To order Big Bad Mama, go to TCM Shopping. by Fred Hunter

Noble Willingham, the gruffly voiced character actor best known for his role as saloon owner C.D. Parker on Chuck Norris' long-running series Walker, Texas Ranger, died of natural causes on January 17th at his Palm Springs home. He was 72. Born on August 31, 1931 in Mineola, Texas, Willingham was educated at North Texas State University where he earned a degree in Economics. He later taught government and economics at a high school in Houston, leaving his life-long dreams of becoming an actor on hold until the opportunity presented itself. Such an opportunity happened when in late 1970, Peter Bogdonovich was doing some on-location shooting in south Texas for The Last Picture Show (1971); at the urging of some friends, he audition and won a small role in the picture. From there, Willingham slowly began to find work in some prominent films, including Bogdonovich's Paper Moon (1973), and Roman Polanski's Chinatown (1974). Around this time, Willingham kept busy with many guest appearances on a variety of popular shows: Bonanza, Gunsmoke, The Waltons, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, The Rockford Files and several others. Critics didn't take notice of his acting abilities until he landed the role of Leroy Mason, the soulless plant manager who stares down Sally Field in Norma Rae (1979). Few could forget him screaming at her, "Lady, I want you off the premises now!" with unapologetic malice. It may have not been a likable character, but after this stint, better roles came along, most notably the corrupt Dr. Fenster in Robert Redford's prison drama Brubaker (1980); and the evil sheriff in the thriller The Howling (1981). By the late '80s, Willingham was an in-demand character actor, and he scored in three hit films: a border patrol sergeant - a great straight man to Cheech Marin - in the ethnic comedy Born in East L.A.; his wonderfully avuncular performance as General Taylor, the military brass who was sympathetic to an unorthodox disc jockey in Saigon, played by Robin Williams in Good Morning, Vietnam (both 1987); and his good 'ole boy villainy in the Rutger Hauer action flick Blind Fury (1988). His performances in these films proved that if nothing else, Willingham was a solid backup player who was adept at both comedy and drama. His best remembered role will no doubt be his six year run as the genial barkeep C.D. Parker opposite Chuck Norris in the popular adventure series Walker, Texas Ranger (1993-99). However, film reviewers raved over his tortured performance as a foul-mouthed, bigoted boat salesman who suffers a traffic downfall in the little seen, but searing indie drama The Corndog Man (1998); the role earned Willingham a nomination for Best Actor at the Independent Spirit Awards and it showed that this ably supporting performer had enough charisma and talent to hold his own in a lead role. In 2000, Willingham tried his hand at politics when he unsuccessfully tried to unseat Democrat Max Dandlin in a congressional campaign in east Texas. After the experience, Willingham returned to acting filming Blind Horizon with Val Kilmer in 2003. The movie is to be released later this year. Willingham is survived by his wife, Patti Ross Willingham; a son, John Ross McGlohen; two daughters, Stari Willingham and Meghan McGlohen; and a grandson. by Michael T. Toole