The Death of Me Yet (1971)

The Cold War. A man at that point going by the name of Edward Young (Doug McClure) is trained full-immersion style in a fake US small town to become something of a perfect infiltrator for the Soviets. He seems to be rather good at this sort of roleplay; at least, he’s the favourite of the father of the program that trains him, one Barnes (Richard Basehart).

When we meet him again, he is living in – you’ve guessed it – a US small town under the name of Paul Towers. He has become a bit of a pillar of the community in his role as newspaper owner and writer of anti-war commentaries, and is married – apparently happily - to Sibby (Rosemary Forsyth). As we will learn soon enough, Paul – let’s keep that name – has defected from the Soviet cause, using a fortunate (for him) plane accident to make his handlers believe he is dead. His love for Sibby is clearly real, though Paul hasn’t told her anything about her past, putting some strain on the marriage. Otherwise, his life seems pretty perfect.

That is, until his old masters find out he is still alive and try to murder him, repeatedly. Further complicating matters is some proper espionage that has been going on at the company of Paul’s brother in law. This puts Joe Chalk (Darren McGavin), the most fed looking fed this side of Edgar J. Hoover, rather closer to Paul than he’d like.

This John Llewellyn Moxey TV film is, despite an open ending that suggests ambitions for a sequel (or for a follow-up TV show) that never came, a nice example of the form. Casting the all-American Doug McClure as our Soviet deep cover spy on the run is certainly a nice touch, particularly since McClure (mostly known for his magic fists around here) is pretty good at projecting the character’s underlying ruthlessness without making his actual humanity unbelievable.

The plot – based on a Whit Masterson novel, apparently – is not terribly original and rather too straightforward in its clarity about Paul’s true, decent and upstanding character, but does still build a nice net of differing emotional loyalties for him to get caught in. Moxey, as was his wont, manages to pack a lot of incident and character work into a seventy minute running time, even finding time for a bit of 70s kitchen sink psychology in between the espionage shenanigans without things ever feeling too superficial or the plot too cramped.

As a McGavin fan, I got a bit of a kick of the specific kind of asshole he’s playing here, with his haircut fifteen years out of style, his unempathetic character, all squinty little eyes suggesting a man of limited intelligence who mostly gets through life by rote, a badge, ruthlessness and a total lack of belief in his fellow man. Which is a weird and interesting way to portray the US intelligence community in a film about a highly capable Soviet spy who retired himself for moral reasons.