"Fantasy Island" was a great show running practically through the 1980s. But it succeeded for one reason only, which I shall reveal at the end of the review.
In case you don't know, for a cost of fifty thousand dollars (1978 money) anyone can pay for a vacation at Fantasy Island, a sort of resort where for a certain length of time you may live out your most intimate fantasies.
The concept may go back to "Honey for thr Prince," an episode of "The Avengers" with Diana Rigg. But I'm not reviewing that.
Fantasy Island is operated by Mister Roarke (Ricardo Monalban) whose primary assistant (perhaps familiar) is Tattoo (Herve Villechaize, who had made a strong impression as the bad guy's henchman in "The Man with the Golden Gun").
In the earliest pilot movies it's pretty clear Mr. Roarke's offerings are recreations. Gradually, as the series unrolls, Roarke adopts supernatural characteristics. Perhaps, after all, he does send clients into the past, or . . .
The clients, and the people involved in the fantasies are an interesting cross-section of older TV stars (Craig Stvens from "Peter Gunn," say; or repeated visits by "Hee Haw" beauties Barbi Benton and Misty Rowe); current 1980s TV stars and celebrities whose importance may be missed in the 21st century; the occasional rising star who later became a megastar; and celebrity singers or entertainers. Those types of shows were big back then and included, but weren't limited to, "The Love Boat" and "Murder She Wrote."
Spoilers: But like Peter Cook's devilish promises in "Bedazzled," the fantasies often have nasty catches. For example, in one fifth season episode, sawed-off songwriter Paul Williams plays a man who wants to spend time in a harem. Beginning his fantasy he's greeted by a bevy of beautiful women, but they're not the harem. The chief there is female and her harem is full of body-building musclemen.
Some catches are funny, some are deadly serious or would be if Mister Roarke did not step in.
Which brings us to the real reason "Fantasy Island" worked while many reboots did not.
"Fantasy Island" succeeded because of Ricardo Montalban's great and powerful Mister Roarke. He's not just tall, dark and handsome (well, grizzled). He has gravitas. He's a strong man, obviously, not just physically but morally, inside. And with it, he also comes off as compassionate and with a twinkle in his eye that makes you feel everything will be all right in the end.
He also gives some of his clients warnings about dangers inherent in the fantasies and leaves it to their free will as to whether they'll proceed.
"Fantasy Island" is a necessarily dark concept (though in the 1980s how dark could it get with the tepeated likes of Benton and Rowe?) Yet it should also be fun and rewarding, or the place would get terrible word of mouth and it would close down. As succeeding versions which go very dark, making Roarke out to be a devilish figure, have learned.
The reason newer versions don't take off is the absence of Montalban. Part of this is the wacky modern mistrust of morally and physically strong men. Hollywood types have embraced this paranoia until casting a Montalban type (if there is one) is anathema to them.
This show is a lot of 1980s fun and excitement. But not recommended for binges. How many times can we stomach Dennis Cole (for a spell in real life Mr. Jaclyn Smith) reappearing as different characters who look and talk just alike? Obviously, a 1980s casting director invented cloning. I'll have nine Barbi Bentons to go, please.
In case you don't know, for a cost of fifty thousand dollars (1978 money) anyone can pay for a vacation at Fantasy Island, a sort of resort where for a certain length of time you may live out your most intimate fantasies.
The concept may go back to "Honey for thr Prince," an episode of "The Avengers" with Diana Rigg. But I'm not reviewing that.
Fantasy Island is operated by Mister Roarke (Ricardo Monalban) whose primary assistant (perhaps familiar) is Tattoo (Herve Villechaize, who had made a strong impression as the bad guy's henchman in "The Man with the Golden Gun").
In the earliest pilot movies it's pretty clear Mr. Roarke's offerings are recreations. Gradually, as the series unrolls, Roarke adopts supernatural characteristics. Perhaps, after all, he does send clients into the past, or . . .
The clients, and the people involved in the fantasies are an interesting cross-section of older TV stars (Craig Stvens from "Peter Gunn," say; or repeated visits by "Hee Haw" beauties Barbi Benton and Misty Rowe); current 1980s TV stars and celebrities whose importance may be missed in the 21st century; the occasional rising star who later became a megastar; and celebrity singers or entertainers. Those types of shows were big back then and included, but weren't limited to, "The Love Boat" and "Murder She Wrote."
Spoilers: But like Peter Cook's devilish promises in "Bedazzled," the fantasies often have nasty catches. For example, in one fifth season episode, sawed-off songwriter Paul Williams plays a man who wants to spend time in a harem. Beginning his fantasy he's greeted by a bevy of beautiful women, but they're not the harem. The chief there is female and her harem is full of body-building musclemen.
Some catches are funny, some are deadly serious or would be if Mister Roarke did not step in.
Which brings us to the real reason "Fantasy Island" worked while many reboots did not.
"Fantasy Island" succeeded because of Ricardo Montalban's great and powerful Mister Roarke. He's not just tall, dark and handsome (well, grizzled). He has gravitas. He's a strong man, obviously, not just physically but morally, inside. And with it, he also comes off as compassionate and with a twinkle in his eye that makes you feel everything will be all right in the end.
He also gives some of his clients warnings about dangers inherent in the fantasies and leaves it to their free will as to whether they'll proceed.
"Fantasy Island" is a necessarily dark concept (though in the 1980s how dark could it get with the tepeated likes of Benton and Rowe?) Yet it should also be fun and rewarding, or the place would get terrible word of mouth and it would close down. As succeeding versions which go very dark, making Roarke out to be a devilish figure, have learned.
The reason newer versions don't take off is the absence of Montalban. Part of this is the wacky modern mistrust of morally and physically strong men. Hollywood types have embraced this paranoia until casting a Montalban type (if there is one) is anathema to them.
This show is a lot of 1980s fun and excitement. But not recommended for binges. How many times can we stomach Dennis Cole (for a spell in real life Mr. Jaclyn Smith) reappearing as different characters who look and talk just alike? Obviously, a 1980s casting director invented cloning. I'll have nine Barbi Bentons to go, please.