Mission: Impossible S4E05 - Fool's Gold

What an awesome episode is Fool’s Gold, both from the Peter Graves and Leonard Nimoy point of view. Jim plays the uptight and moral Baron Rakozny (The Mission: Impossible Dossier describes it as ‘one of [Peter Graves’] favorite roles, as an incredibly Victorian nobleman.’) Paris plays an amoral criminal counterfeiter whose job it is to help the Baron spot counterfeit money. So Jim spends most of the episode being upright and proper and highly attractive, and Paris spends it being dissolute and light-hearted and floppy-haired and highly attractive. As the Dossier also points out, the episode’s moments of comedy lift it up and make it rather special. Also it has Nehemiah Persoff, who I like quite a lot after seeing how good he was in two episodes of Route 66. 

Jim is casual while watching elephants. He’s the only visitor at the zoo, and he’s wearing a suit, but he’s still casual.

Oh, look at that focus, through an ornamental desk type thing. His eyes pierce straight through.

And the slick all-in-black outfit, too, with that black poloneck. Rarr.

All the team are looking good. Doesn’t Willy always look huge in suits? Paris gets to try out some cool sound-dampening earphones, too. For some reason the earplugs stop soundwaves that could cook an egg in two minutes (early microwave technology?) from entering his skull and cooking his egg-like brain.

I’m on a Leonard Nimoy kick again (fitting since he was the one who brought me to Peter Graves in the first place.) He’s rocking the casual cravat-tucked-inside-open-shirt-collar look.

Oh my lord, don’t you just want to take him in this guise and rip his sensible glasses off and ruffle him up?

Only Barney can do something like this with complete coolness.

Accidental pause. Jim looked cute. And very young.

We’re in for a treat this episode. We get dissolute, naughty counterfeiter-Paris...

...and also upright, chaste, moral diplomat-Jim. As I said before, you just want to take him and strip off his glasses and that very proper suits and – ruffle him – thoroughly.

We also get Nehemiah Persoff in an understated role as Stravos. You’d be forgiven for overlooking him. Watch him, though. He’s a great actor.

What wonderful contrasts. Paris is sprightly and impish in the kind of Eastern European character Leonard Nimoy does so well (perhaps I should do a screencapping of his Man from Uncle episode on this blog, even though it doesn’t quite fit in with the Peter Graves theme.)

Jim is very, very disapproving of his naughty sidekick. Have I said that I want to ruffle him?

Meanwhile, Barney is pretending to be a handyman, with an almost-authentic Eastern European accent, and setting things up so that Willie can grab the combination of the safe.

Some fun see-how-Russian-I-am gestures from Paris in this episode. I can’t resist them.

And again...

...and again. It’s a kind of flirty, lit-up Paris which is a joy to behold.

Oops. The ‘Baron’ has just spotted his wife in a naughty club. He expected to find counterfeiter-Paris in the naughty club (is that why he’s here, or was he hoping to pick up a nice young woman?) - but he didn’t expect to find his wife there. Not after he’s forbidden her to go. Well, except that he did expect to find her there, because that’s all part of the perfect scheme.

What a lovely, perfect, Aryan couple. His wife is IMF operative Beth, played by Sally Ann Howes. Exactly the kind of couple the Baron would like to be part of. But he can’t control his wilful wife. Have I mentioned I’d like to ruffle him?

Oh, Willy. Is this a good look?

 Well, it was better than this look, anyway.

Paris and cognac. Or something. Looking elegant.

‘I am very serious when it comes to risking my life,’ Paris says of Stravos’s plan to film him having an affair with the Baron’s wife. ‘I don’t know what I would do without it.’

These two are as cunning as a pair of cunning foxes.

We get to see Paris pretending to seduce the pretend Baron’s pretend wife.

And the pretend Baron being pretend shocked at watching the film of the pretend seduction.

And I just quite like this shot of Nehemiah Persoff through the projector.

Now he’s ruffled.

You can almost feel the heat of his breath as he stands there, ruffled, breathing hard.

Oh good lord...

Now, there’s a winning smile.

A little left-handed writing to woo me. Now there’s a thing. Typically I’d think that wasn’t Peter Graves’ hand because the hairs look a little dark and too many, but unless they drafted in a left-handed hand-stand-in, then I suppose it must be.

A proper spy moment – the silhouette in the doorway.

Here Paris only has a certain amount of time before the soundwaves cook his brain, but he doesn’t run. He keeps his cool. He even pauses to make sure the door has shut behind him.

Hands... Leonard Nimoy has good hands. Here we can pretend they are Spock’s hands.

Here we get a very subtle start of The Faces of Pain.

Faces of Pain 2

Faces of Pain 3

This could be Faces of Pain 4, or Post-Orgasm Face.

Definitely Post-Orgasm Face.

Faces of Pain 5

Faces of Pain 6. Oh my god look at that hair.

7...

8...

I have to point out the lovely back-lit clock.

Faces of Pain 9. Paris is starting to think, ‘Am I a man, or am I a boiled egg?’

10...

Faces of Pain 11. Can he make it? (Yes, but if I didn’t have the dvd I’d have to wait until after an advert break to find out for sure.)

Ahhhhh. Relief.

Barney and Willy, we love you!

Paris spends a lot of time in this episode hiding things in the breast of his jacket. Good at sleight of hand, he is.

Meanwhile, Jim is tall...

...and waits for the plan to unfold perfectly.

Is there a slight hint of smug on his face?

Escape! Poor Stravos is left with a gun and a simple request to fulfil, but our team escapes. 

When Peter Graves Broke His Jaw - And Gave Up Smoking!

One late evening in March 1984 Peter Graves went for a walk near his Lake Tahoe home. He slipped, fell on his face, and broke his jaw in five places. Ouch. Somehow, in freezing weather, he crawled a mile home, instead of freezing to death. The 'Peter Graves Quit Smoking' article (below) tells the tale in the most detail, including his recovery, when he gave up smoking. He recalls it with wonderful understatement, 'For five weeks I sat in bed wired shut, with horrible claustrophobia, wearing a pair of wirecutters around my neck so I'd be able to cut myself free if I vomited. This wasn't pleasant.'

Sometimes I try to work out if there's any discernible before and after difference. He 'wasn't expected to require plastic surgery.' The photo on the left, below, is him attending the Emmy Awards in LA, in September 1985. The photo on the right, below, is a publicity shot from Airplane, in 1980. Sometimes I think there's a slight change in his jaw or a slight alteration in his lips, which were partially ripped from his face, but it's so hard to tell, with the effects of age. I may have photos from dates closer to the before and after of his accident, but it's sometimes hard to date them, and searching through all my photos is an exhausting task! (Plus, I get distracted by all the prettiness.) It does seem notable, though, that there are no acting roles entered for him on IMDB for 1985. I can't help but wonder if the three things he was in in 1984 were filmed in 1983, or before March 1984, and nothing was filmed for the rest of 84 to be shown in 85.

That's enough from me. It's hurting my hands to type anyway (damn joints.) So I leave you with those two photos, and a handful of newspaper articles.

Peter Graves and Joan Graves

I'm starting to get a bit lost as to what I might have posted here and what I haven't. But I know I haven't posted this because I found it yesterday on Pinterest and I've never seen it before...

Peter Graves and his wife, Joan, I'm guessing from some time in the 50s, from that lovely hair he has. Dear god... that rather long, slightly curled look. The loose overcoat over the smart suit. Not to mention Joan looks pretty amazing in that fur with those gloves, and those enormous eyes. To come back to Peter, he has a kind of look that's begging for someone to peel those clothes off and run fingers through that hair, perhaps after a winter rainstorm and next to an open log fire. He'd probably have a Scotch on the hearth and the heat of the fire would start to evaporate the last remnants of the rainstorm from his skin.

Enough. Sorry. Here are some other photos of Peter Graves and his wife that I've found in the past. A couple I've uploaded before, but a lot I haven't. I'd like to put them in date order, but no, much as I like the slightly obsessive idea of doing that, I'm not spending hours dragging pictures around...

This is one I've uploaded before. Peter Graves, wife, two daughters, and a very brave shirt.

Peter Graves and Joan at an industry dinner in LA.

Peter Graves and Joan at an industry dinner in LA.

Peter Graves, Joan, and children. And a rather yummy jumper this time.

10th Annual Ojai-Ventura International Film Festival (2009), Peter Graves and wife Joan Endress

Peter Graves, wife, daughter, by Nate Cutler, 1972

Peter Graves and Joan by Nate Cutler

Peter Graves and Joan, by Nate Cutler.

1966 Peter and Joan in a 1966 dinner dance for the Deb Stars, which was held at the Hollywood Palladium .

Hollywood Chamber of Commerce president Leron Gubler officiates as Peter and Joan Graves unveil Peter's star on the Hollywood's Walk of Fame.

Peter and Joan at home in - the 80s? 90s?

MI Fanfiction: The Minister - Epilogue

Epilogue.

Jim felt as if he had slept for most of the car journey, only drifting in and out at checkpoints and the occasional coffee break. He had to suspect that Cinnamon had slipped something into his drink on the first of these breaks, because he hadn’t been sleepy until after that first black coffee. But he didn’t mind. With the heady mix of painkillers and sleeping tablets in his system it was enough to know that they were safe, all of them. They had left Barnstadt behind and the mission had been a success. When Barney had tuned the radio in to one of the local stations the first story had been the shocking exposé of Georg Bauer, and the second the incredible anonymous donation of money that had been made to the opposition parties in Barnstadt. No mention had been made of the theft in Bauer’s club, but that didn’t surprise Jim at all. Bauer wouldn’t be likely to publicise the theft of money raised from alcohol, gambling, and women.

‘The first thing you’re doing in the West is seeing a doctor,’ Cinnamon told him firmly in one of his waking moments, and he agreed meekly but distractedly, watching the countryside moving past the windows outside the car. Apart from the permanent, half-numbed pain in his ribs nothing seemed very real at all. Somehow they had emerged from another mission safe and alive and successful, and that feeling of success was all that he needed to keep him going.

He slipped into sleep again, and when he woke he found himself tucked firmly into a bed in a high-ceilinged room, with the constriction of bandages about his chest and some kind of dressing on his cut face. He looked around cautiously, praying this was not some German hospital – but it seemed to be a hotel room rather than a health institution. As he turned his head to the left he looked into Rollin’s smiling face.

‘Nice to have you back with us,’ Rollin told him from his seat by the bed. There was a copy of the Berlin Daily folded on the side table, but the picture on the front told Jim it must be a newer copy than the one that held the exposé of Georg Bauer.

‘Have I been asleep for – ’ Jim began.

‘Only for a day and a night,’ Rollin told him. ‘Long enough for a doctor to see to those ribs. Two of them are cracked, by the way, and he doesn’t advise you move around too much for now.’

‘Cinnamon – ’

‘Drugged you to the eyeballs,’ Rollin nodded cheerfully. ‘We all know it’s the only way of keeping you still in bed.’

Jim smiled gingerly. His cheek was stiff and his nose still felt swollen and aching. Most of his body ached in some way – but it was the feeling of wounds that were healing, not fresh.

‘I don’t intend to go anywhere for now,’ he promised.

‘Good,’ Rollin nodded. ‘Because you don’t need to go anywhere. I phoned in to the Secretary. He’s very pleased with the outcome of the mission and quite happy to pay for a few days luxury in the best Berlin hotel. We can fly out as soon as they’ve confirmed you’re not in danger of puncturing a lung with those ribs.’

Jim rearranged his position slightly, drawing in breath at the sudden pain in his chest that the movement occasioned.

‘What about Liesl?’ he asked in a quieter voice, fixing his eyes on Rollin’s.

Rollin smiled again. ‘She’s just the other side of that door,’ he told Jim, nodding across the room. ‘She’s been waiting to see you.’

Jim looked across to the door, running his tongue over his dry lips. There was no way that this was going to be easy. It never was.

‘Will you tell her to come in?’ he asked Rollin quietly.

Rollin nodded, picking up his paper from the table and striding over to the door. A moment after he had left, Liesl entered, her face drawn with worry.

‘Otto, you are all right,’ she said, the concern suddenly ameliorated with a smile.

‘It’s Jim,’ he reminded her. ‘Jim Phelps. And I’m fine. Just some broken ribs. I’ve had worse.’

‘The others told me,’ she nodded, taking the seat that Rollin had been using and pulling it a little closer to his bed. ‘So, you will be going home soon,’ she said in a rather quieter voice. ‘Home to America.’

Jim gave her a half-smile. ‘I have to,’ he nodded.

‘I know,’ she said. Her lips looked a little tight, but to Jim’s relief she wasn’t crying. ‘I’ve talked a lot with your friend, Mr Hand, these two nights. I know you have to go back – what is it – being an agent? A super-spy?’

Jim smiled. ‘Something like that,’ he nodded. He had never had a precise job definition. ‘And you?’ he asked softly, feeling a spiking of regret in his chest. ‘You will stay here, in Berlin?’

‘Yes. I will be all right,’ she promised him. ‘Rollin sorted out everything – the asylum claim, the right to work, to live. It will all be fine. I’m looking for an apartment, and – well, they’re taking on typists in the newspaper offices where Rollin took his story,’ she added with a smile. ‘I think I will get a job there. They were very pleased with me when I spoke to them.’

‘That’s just fine,’ Jim said warmly, reaching out painfully to take her hand. ‘That’s fine, Liesl.’

He sat looking at her, at her long dark hair and dark eyes, at the kindness and experience in her face and the soft contours of her body. It would be so nice to just stay here for a while, to live without danger in a foreign city and spend a few long weeks with a girl like this. But that wasn’t his life, and he knew it. After a week he would be itching for the adrenaline rush again. His mind would be craving problems to solve and new places to see. It would never be fair on a girl to give her false hopes of a life that he just couldn’t settle into.

Liesl looked down at her watch and gave an apologetic smile.

‘I must go,’ she said. ‘I have an appointment with the hiring secretary at the paper to see if I got the job. I mustn’t be late for that.’

‘Too right you mustn’t,’ he said bracingly, squeezing her small hand with his large one, and then letting go. ‘Goodbye, Liesl, and good luck.’

She stood, and then bent down and gently kissed his bruised lips.

‘Goodbye, Jim Phelps,’ she said with a lingering look. ‘And I will always remember you.’

He watched her go as she walked out of the room, feeling the cloying artificial sleep of sedatives pulling at him again. He rested his head back into the pillow, accepting that he was bed-bound for the next couple of days and there was nothing he could do about it. It was a small price to pay for everything that had happened over the last few weeks, one that he would pay again in an instant. He drifted back to sleep with dreams of snow heaped up on the streets of New York, of sailing a boat on the East River with a dark-haired girl beside him, and of finding another of those so-enticing tape machines in a tackle box, with another impossible mission to complete.