Dimension 5 (1966)

The Most Amazing Spy Thriller of All Time!

I thought last week’s hot take on Octopussy, while saucy, was Tabasco at best, but certain Bond fans out there are screaming “GHOST PEPPAH!” and grabbing for the milk. Well, brand me a curmudgeon and spank my withered shanks, but I think the early-to-mid Eighties Bond flicks were rote, mid-budgeted travelogues that existed solely to transport their fragile, elderly protagonist from smugness to glibness and back again. That may seem a harsh judgment to some, but it’s my truth and I’m not afraid to speak it. Oh, call me brave if you must…

On the other hand, some of the more irate messages I received (and thanks for keeping it civil in the comments, kids) made the point that Bond birthed a whole universe of crappy, low-budget imitators and why don’t I go pick on some of them? That’s a fair question, and the short answer is, I have. The upcoming book features a chapter where we give the business to both bad Bond and the many Mini-Me’s and tribute bands that sprang up in his wake. The latter are mostly cheap, sleazy Eurotrash, but as we just celebrated Independence Day and I am a proud patriot, born and bred in these United States, I wanted to take a moment to remember America’s own cheap and sleazy Bond ripoffs.

And, because I’m not wearing pants, we’ll start with this one:

Dimension 5 (1966)
Directed by Franklin Adreon.
Written by Arthur C. Pierce. 

Fans of Mystery Science Theater 3000 may recognize Mr. Pierce as the writer-director of Women of the Prehistoric Planet, also 1966, and Human Duplicators (1966), although for me he’s best remembered for his work on The Navy vs. the Night Monsters (again, 1966. It was a big year for Artie, if I may call him that and I presume I can because he’s dead.)

Our story opens somewhere in Europe. They’re a little vague about the country, but it appears to be one of those “unfriendly powers” from Mission: Impossible, and is therefore probably ruled by either Bradford Dillman or Malachi Throne.  But that’s all subtext. The important thing is, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, driven by fading heartthrob Jeffrey Hunter, is being chased by a Jeep full of  “Policia Militar.”  Things look bad for our hero (I assume he’s our hero, since he’s the only white guy we’ve seen so far), but at the last instant he foils his pursuers by abruptly exiting Europe at the next offramp and pulling into Bronson Canyon.

Suddenly, a helicopter appears overhead, just like that scene in From Russia With Love, except in this case it’s just Channel 9’s traffic chopper which the second unit accidentally caught on camera while they were bored and trying to film a raccoon eating a pinecone. Undaunted, secret agent Double-O Flour lustily smooches the busty brunette in the passenger seat, then coldcocks her with a violent backhand and filches a rather femmy .22 automatic from her clutch purse.

Jeff and the Policia run into Bronson Cave, hoping to find a better movie, like Lost Skeleton of Cadavra, or Robot Monster. But thanks to editor August Ferdinand Möbius, they emerge right back where they started, and the Policia realize that if they just shoot Jeff dead, the director will probably call Lunch. But Jeff puts a ring on his finger and vanishes! So he has cool spy gadget just like James Bond, the only difference being that 007’s is built by Q Branch, while Jeff’s equipment is supplied by tricksy Hobbitses.

Cut to stock footage of Pan Am jets taking off from Los Angeles International Airport, pulling up their landing gear, then lowering their gear and landing at Los Angeles International Airport.  The implied seat belt and oxygen mask safety demonstration is the most breathtaking action so far.

Jeff’s stunt double climbs into the traffic chopper and takes a scenic tour of Inglewood while we watch credits that look like they were borrowed from a Quinn Martin production. Since nothing else is going on, this might be a good time to mention that director Adreon got his start in Saturday matinee serials (with Canadian Mounties vs. Atomic Invaders and Panther Girl of the Kongo), then spent the bulk of his career directing TV shows like Frontier Doctor, Sea Hunt, and Ripcord, before ending his career with this thing.

Ah, I see the helicopter has finally landed—on LA’s ugliest skyscraper, the California Federal building. Inside, Agent Double-Naught Jeff meets his boss, Kane, who apparently took his character’s name as a stage direction, since he walks with an exaggerated limp and uses a cane. I just pray we’re not about to be introduced to his partner, Catheter.

Kane runs a private intelligence agency called “Espionage, Incorporated.”  Originally he’d planned on hiring someone to come up with a less obvious code name for the operation, but he wound up spending the money on a fancy espresso machine for the break room. He also apparently can’t afford an office, since he and Jeff deliver all their exposition in the elevator, but I know for a fact he owns a boom mike, and it’s extremely photogenic. Anyway, it turns out Jeff’s gadget isn’t a magic ring after all, but a “time converter,” made from a Tummy Sizer and some highway reflector buttons, and he’ll be using it to go after “the Dragons,” who are planning to destroy Los Angeles unless “all allied forces get out of Southeast Asia.”

So, our choices are:  1.) Get out of Vietnam two years before the Tet Offensive, or 2.) Watch another 79 minutes of this movie. I kinda gotta go with the Dragons on this one.

Kane’s organization has captured one of the Dragons, and is bringing him to LA for interrogation (pro-tip: if you’re a terrorist and someone from “Espionage, Incorporated” comes to the door, pretend you’re not home). Kane is also giving Jeff a sexy young partner, because we’re 14 minutes into the movie and our hero (whose name is “Justin Power”—did I mention that yet?) hasn’t boned or even double entendre’d anyone. So far it’s all just been elevators, promotional consideration provided by Pan Am, and exposition delivered by the Minister of Silly Walks. But things potentially heat up when Jeff asks Kane to come away with him to a South Sea paradise. (Awww…I’m shipping them already.)

Cut to Manilla. By which I mean, splice in more footage of Pan Am jets landing at LAX, then cut to the interior of Burbank Airport, where Sam from Quincy is waiting to board a flight to LA with the Dragon agent, which is confusing, since his flight just landed at LA, so who knows where the hell his luggage is. Meanwhile, as Sam watches the Dragon, France Nuyen (whom MST3K fans will remember as Roy Thinnes’s bored love interest in the failed Quinn Martin pilot Code Name: Diamond Head) watches Sam. Suddenly, a middle aged Asian man appears and threatens to blow up his briefcase unless Sam and the Dragon each swallow a pink capsule, which will either 1.) kill them, 2.) allow them to escape the Matrix, or 3.) relieve sniffling, sneezing, and watery eyes for up to 12 hours.

At the last second, France wanders over and kills the guy with her Bic Banana. Back in Los Angeles, Jeff is pointedly refusing to engage in sexual banter with his secretary.  Then the film throws us a classic spy movie twist: the Pan Am jet footage lands at Ontario Airport instead of LAX in an effort to thwart the bad guys. However, Oddjob from Goldfinger is already there, sitting in the back of a black Town Car, looking sinister and lethal and like he really wants a magazine or one of those puzzle books.

Jeff activates his time belt thing and hops five minutes into the future, watches the Dragons assassinate their captured agent, then hops back into the past and foils the whole thing by punching out Slim Whitman.

Back at Espionage, Inc., resident egghead “The Professor” subjects the Dragon agent to a lie-detecting beauty salon hair dryer, while Jeff asks Sam if he’d like to run away with him to a South Sea paradise¹ Meanwhile, the torture thing really pays off: the agent reveals a hydrogen bomb is already in Los Angeles. But it’s in pieces, and some assembly is required, and since the H-bomb only came with those crappy line drawing directions you get from IKEA, it won’t be completed until Christmas Day—three months from now. Unfortunately, even though Kane turns the hair dryer up to 11, the agent can’t tell them what sort of aircraft the terrorists will use, but given the timing it seems obvious the bomb will be delivered by Santa.

"Let's have a lip-pursing contest.  Go!"

Happily, they manage to wrest one lead from the captive agent: the manager of the local Dragon franchise is named “Big Buddha.” Or possibly that was the name of the pu-pu platter they had for lunch.

Jeff goes home to meet his new partner. Like most super spies he lives in a ranch-style home in a quiet suburban housing tract, close to schools and shopping. Also, his mailbox is filled with a huge closed circuit TV camera, and the whole thing rotates in a totally not suspicious way, although it probably makes it tough at the end of the month for the mailman to cram in the utility bills and the Pennysaver. 

Jeff is surprised to discover that his partner is France—a girl—and that she’s moved in and strewn her feminine products all over his guest bathroom. Also, she’s half-naked and refuses to put pants on, telling him to “check my I.D.”  Then she slowly pulls up the hem of her crotch-length sweater. I can only assume there was a jump cut, and she was actually telling him to “check my I.U.D.”

After he fingerprints and photographs her vagina, Jeff takes her to a chop suey house in Chinatown, because he “figured you were homesick.”  But he orders steak and mashed potatoes, so instead of an after dinner mint, the proprietor hands him a time-bomb. His Pontiac Catalina blows up, but our heroes are saved because moments earlier Jeff stopped at a liquor store to buy cigarettes in a weirdly bashful and hesitant way (“Uh…Oh! Yeah, yeah, gimme a…package of those. Uhhh, no, no, on second thought…gimme the whole carton!”). This may be the only spy film in genre history where the sight of the hero simply buying a pack of smokes comes off cringier than Hermie buying condoms in Summer of ‘42. And why take this detour for the demon weed anyway, when Jeffrey never once smokes in the movie? I have no clue, perhaps they were candy cigarettes, I know they made me feel extremely suave in 1966—at least when I wasn’t wetting the bed. 

France is clearly the smartest person in the film (she escapes death by the clever tactic of climbing out of the car for no reason just before it explodes) and quickly deduces that the Chinese hostess at the chop suey restaurant planted the bomb. Jeff snaps into action and goes to the girl’s apartment to give her the third degree. But hey, just because she tried to kill him, that's no reason not to guzzle every glass of mysterious liquid she hands him. Then he tries to torture the information out of her by twisting her arm behind her back, but she wriggles around and Jeff has such a hard time holding onto her that it looks less like a brutal interrogation and more like someone trying to put a snowsuit on a three-year old. In fact, our hero gets so flustered that he doesn’t notice she’s pressing a stiletto to the back of his neck and is about to pierce his cerebellum. Fortunately (for him—it’s a bit of a blow for us), France suddenly appears and kills the Dragon lady with her ballpoint pen, then resumes her journaling (“Dear Diary: You won’t believe what a useless puckerhole they partnered me with…").

Oddjob’s minions take Jeff prisoner (but not France, because while Jeff was bitching out his secretary and trying to entice the various other fellas from Espionage, Inc. to come away with him to a South Seas Paradise, she was doing actual espionage and convinced the Dragons she was on their side).

France waits around for Jeff to do something, which he finally does—he gets tied up—but that’s not good enough for her (Women! What do they want?), so she secretly alerts Kane, karate-chops all the Dragons, then wearily cuts Jeff loose. 

“You don’t mind if I’m a little confused,” he says. “About which side of the fence you’re prowling on?”

She sighs heavily, “There is only one side,” then saunters out of the room like a total badass. The only thing that could make this scene better would be if she were walking in slo-mo, and there was a skyscraper exploding behind her. After a moment, Jeff realizes the camera is still running, and he skitters out of the shot. Presumably to call his agent.

“As you can see, my vagina not only contains my I.D., but also a comb, my keys, a tampon (unused), a subway token and some Canadian coins, a garrote, some breath mints, and a paring knife in case I encounter fruit.”

His agent won’t take the call, so Jeff puts on a red and white sweater set that looks like something Andy Williams would wear for a Christmas special, and teaches France how to use the time-traveling Tummy Sizer. They’re planning to thwart the Dragons’ scheme by jumping into the future to meet a freighter bringing toys from Japan. I’m not sure how that’s going to help, since the bomb components are already in Los Angeles, but I assume Jeff is misusing government resources to make sure he gets that special edition Beanie Baby he wants for Christmas.

Cut to Oddjob, who is sitting topless in a wheelchair, covered in corn oil and verbally abusing his employees, which is oddly fun to watch, if only because he’s been dubbed by the narrator of Electra Woman and Dyna Girl. Cut back to Jeff—who I’m actually glad to see for once—and discover he’s uncharacteristically done something by breaking into Oddjob’s warehouse of the FUTURE!  He wanders around, determined to find that Beanie Baby, while France conducts a grid search and swiftly uncovers the H-bomb’s fissile material. I’m sure glad she’s earning just 33% less than he is for doing the same job, only competently.

Suddenly, Oddjob wheels into the room with two gun-wielding henchmen in a shock cut that really would’ve spiced up Heidi. Jeff and France use their time belts to leap 30 seconds into the future, but Jeff accidentally activates his time-suspenders too, and gets stuck behind some barrels. So France disarms Oddjob and seems to have saved the day, but screenwriter Arthur C. Pierce loaded her down with about a page and a half of tragic back story, and by the time she’s delivered it, the henchmen have gotten their second wind. 

Just to change things up and keep it fresh, Jeff finally tries to save France and shoots one of Oddjob’s men with a highly advanced “Needle Gun,” otherwise known as a Ronco Rhinestone and Stud Setter® loaded with 3-penny finishing nails. But the other guys shoot back, which isn’t fair, so he goes and sulks behind the barrels again.

Oddjob and a henchman who can best be described as the Poor Man’s Tor Johnson, escape with an unconscious France. (She wasn’t knocked out or anything, I think she just happened to glance at her watch, realized the movie still had 11 minutes to go, and bit down on the cyanide capsule in her hollow tooth.)

Jeff follows them back to Oddjob’s apartment, and promptly gets his ass kicked by Poor Tor. (You remember that scene in Blazing Saddles, where the overwrought chorus boy bangs his fists on Ben Johnson’s chest, screaming, “you brute, you brute, you brute!”?  That’s pretty much the fight choreography here.)

France, who is bound and gagged, still manages to seize a villain’s gun and toss it to Jeff, who shoots his unarmed opponent point blank in the face, because he’s a goddamn hero. But then Oddjob somehow gets the drop on Jeff with his own gun, and things look grim; Jeff and France will be shot, and Los Angeles will get an H-bomb for Christmas. Fortunately, the producers can’t afford to show that, so a nameless Chinese extra wanders into the shot and abruptly stabs Oddjob in the cerebellum (apparently that’s a thing in China). And even though he’s been using a wheelchair throughout the movie, Oddjob jumps to his feet and suddenly it is Heidi (“Grandfather! I can walk!”). Then he drops dead.

The world is saved!  Jeff tries to kiss France, but she uses her time-converter to quantum leap six months into the future, when this piece of crap is already playing the bottom third of drive-in triple features, and she’s moved on to a series of guest starring roles on I Spy, where she doesn’t have to hand-hold the heroes through every frigging assignment.

So…What have we learned from Dimension 5? Well, we’ve learned that while Jeffrey Hunter wasn’t the worst actor in Hollywood (after all, John Agar was still alive), this really isn’t his best work. If I had to choose, I much prefer his performance as Captain Christopher Pike in the first, failed TV pilot for Star Trek, especially the part where he was paralyzed, mute, and played by another actor.

We’ve learned that France Nuyen could beat Oddjob with both hands tied behind her back. And we’ve learned—or at least had our suspicions confirmed by the Internet—that the name of Jeffrey’s character, “Justin Power” was the inspiration for “Austin Powers” (which becomes obvious every time Jeff walks through Espionage, Inc. and the all-girl staff coos in unison, “Hel-looo, Mr. Power.”

Oh, and always carry your I.D. in your vagina.  It’ll come in handy if you’re ever challenged by counter-intelligence agents, or the Pennsylvania Board of Elections.

1. Okay, that’s it, I’m off the whole Jeffrey/Kane ‘ship. Jeffrey is clearly a fuqboi and I will have none of him.