I'll Never Forget Whatsisname: John Vernon, Page 3

I'LL NEVER FORGET WHATSISNAME:
A TRIBUTE TO CHARACTER ACTORS

JOHN VERNON, PAGE 3

THE BLACK WINDMILL (1974)

Vernon played one of his signature roles - possibly his second most recognizable, behind Dean Wormer - for the great Don Siegel when he appeared in Dirty Harry as the mayor of San Francisco, the first in a long line of criminal-coddling authority figures who didn't cotton to Callahan's DIY shenanigans. Although that meaty minor role was quintessentially "Vernon-esque" and preceded his flustered figurehead in Animal House, Siegel gave him an even better part playing mob middleman Maynard Boyle in Charley Varrick, for my money the great journeyman's best film. Vernon has plenty of classic villainous roles under his belt, but Boyle was tailor-made for him: intelligent, intimidating, even potentially dangerous, yet primarily pathetic. Despite being a big shot banker, in truth he's a passively embittered subordinate to the mob - more or less a glorified secretary. He's the bad guy, but pretty much by default: he acts like everything is a pain in the ass he'd rather not deal with, that he'd really just prefer this whole heist business hadn't happened, and not just because he knows he's the top suspect for masterminding an inside bank job that was actually pulled off by Walter Matthau's Varrick. Varrick is designated "the last of the independents," ostensibly a reference to his self-employment in a land where all the crop dusting jobs have been commercialized, but also to his singular resourcefulness and self-reliance. The label really emphasizes the vast difference between our hero and Boyle, who is hardly the last of the put-on bootlickers. Boyle would never even realize he's missing out on the freedom Varrick's crafty outlaw represents. In the world of Varrick, crime has been confederated into one big corporate body, much like The Organization in Point Blank, of which Boyle - like Mal Reese - is a stagnant middleman. (If Vernon's managed to move one rung up from Reese, it's only for the sake of being killed like a mob middleman: Boyle's death in Varrick resembles the way Walker tricks a planted sniper into shooting Carter during a similar money exchange.)

"If you're a nice fellow, nice things happen to you," Boyle assures a fellow underling, but in the same scene he expresses the wish to trade places with a cow. He can't improvise the way an independent like Charley Varrick can and feels uncomfortable outside the insular kingdom of cubicles he's set up for himself. Which isn't to say that Boyle isn't the master of his tiny kingdom, as shrewdly assured and business-oriented as any Vernon villain. Every mannerism is calculated, particularly the way Boyle strategically places himself in every scene. To show contempt for the investigator from the D.A.'s office, he focuses on pushing some random kid on a swing while talking to the guy, refusing to make eye contact. Talking to the timid bank manager, he hoists himself atop a fence to look down on him. Hanging out with murderous hitman Molly in a bar, he casually tickles the ivories of a piano to show he's at ease and not scared of what Molly might do. Humorously crushing his can of Fresca (that he drinks with a straw!) as he waits for Varrick's cropduster to land during the film's climax is characteristic of his cool, measured composure. Even when he's not aware of it, he's been strategically positioned: in an amazing visual gag that I dearly love, his blonde secretary (who playfully calls him a bastard) has a framed, apparently autographed picture of her boss next to the circular bed within which she and Varrick have just "boxed the compass." It's an incredible, understated moment that inspired me to put my own framed (sadly unsigned) picture of John Vernon on the nightstand in my bedroom for the sake of enhanced love-making.

You get a strong sense that Vernon's fed up with all this organized crime nonsense in The Black Windmill, his third successive and sadly final role for Siegel (I wish he had been in The Shootist, or been cast as the chrysanthemum-crushing warden in Escape from Alcatraz instead of a wooden Patrick McGoohan; I can just imagine the cold inflection he'd of given the line "Some men are destined never to leave Alcatraz...alive.") This time Vernon is his own self-made malefactor, a cryptic crook named McKee. Or Drabble. Honestly, his character remains so frustratingly cryptic throughout that it's difficult to tell what his name is - even Siegel can't keep it straight when he summarizes the plot in his autobiography's chapter on the movie, initially referring to Vernon's character as McKee, then later as Drabble. Siegel does go on to explain that he wanted to keep the "Drabble" indentity intentionally ambiguous, without revealing whether it was one dude or a whole lot of different guys within the same evil organization exchanging the role. And while it's mentioned more than once that Drabble's disguised voice over the phone sounds different from one call to another, it's still confusing when Michael Caine comes looking for McKee and then the mastermind behind the plot turns out to be Drabble, both of whom are apparently John Vernon.

This confusion more or less illustrates the movie's main problem: its overall inconclusiveness in terms of who people are, how they're supposed to be feeling, what their motivations might be. In his book, Siegel specifies the definition of the word drabble - "to become wet and muddy" - and that's exactly how a lot of the movie feels, kind of slushy. And often hopelessly murky. In fact, in a rare stroke of misguidance from the practical veteran filmmaker, Siegel claims that he fought to keep Drabble as the title of the movie, and blames the film's failure on the studio for changing it!*

Hearing Michael Caine shout "Drabble!" though...that's actually pretty great. Caine plays emotionally barricaded MI6 agent Major John Tarrant, Donald Pleasance his uptight superior who resents MI5 sticking their nose into his department's affairs - Scotland Yard subsequently resents being saddled with MI6's "dirty work." Caine's son is kidnapped (appropriate, since Caine and Pleasance had previously worked together on Delbert Mann's adaptation of Kidnapped** three years earlier) and the abducters demand a little over half a million in uncut diamonds for his return, which Pleasance just so happens to have recently procured for use in some other secret mission. The Drabbles' knowledge of the MI6 players, their methods and the exact amount of diamonds to request as ransom tip off Pleasance that there's gotta be a rat in the house - he suspects Caine of masterminding the whole thing from the inside and refuses to fork over the rocks.

Caine does appear unnaturally apathetic at the news: when his estranged wife calls to tell him their kid's gone missing his response isn't to Liam Neeson his way across Europe to find him, but rather to hang up the phone and wait to be excused by his superior! "Oh, my son's in trouble? Yeah well I'm kind of tied up in a meeting here..." It took a second viewing for me to realize that this was kind of the point of Caine's character: company man who's grown too hardened working for Her Majesty's government and must reconnect with his empathic side in order to actually care enough to go rescue his boy. You can't blame his fellow spies for being suspicious of Caine, especially considering the cold Carter-like expression he maintains observing his son's drugged and beaten school chum writhing and ranting the lyrics to "Underneath the Spreading Chestnut Tree" from a hospital bed. But whatever, it works - the fact is, when Caine resorts to professional efficiency, he suddenly develops impressive spy powers such as effortlessly locating the bugs planted in his apartment. The movie makes the argument that being a good spy makes you an empty person, even spelling it out a little too broadly at one point:

Pleasance: "You seem remarkably composed for a man in your position."

Caine: "Isn't that what I've been trained to do? Hide my feelings?"

Aw - he just needs a hug! The real problem with making this Caine's character arc is that, once he breaks out of his fuddy duddy birdwatcher routine and takes it upon himself to steal the diamonds to pay the ransom, his emotions are just what the bad guys are relying on to trip him up. And they do: Caine meets with Vernon's McKee/Drabble and manages to get the better of him, but his anticipation at seeing his son causes him to make a false move so that they're able to capture and frame him for the whole business. Then it's only by once again reverting to his callous, all-business spy attitude that he's able to escape and ultimately rescue his son. So what was the point of him breaking out of his sociopathic shell - apparently if he'd stuck to it, he'd have had his son back by the end of the first reel.

It's impossible to sympathize with Caine when he doesn't seem to give a shit what happens to his kid, and the fact that he's portrayed as a fairly lousy spy certainly doesn't make up for his apparent lack of humanity. He's not clever: he's introduced as a dangle trying to sweet talk his way into the villains' inner circle, but his cover's blown before he walks through the front door (I think Caine has a little of the Harrison Ford-in-Blade Runner problem of making his character's acting skills a little too obvious, as if he's worried the audience will mistake that performance for his). From that point on the bad guys are always ahead of him; in fact they're using him the entire movie. Most egregiously, when Caine meets with them to hand over the diamonds, Vernon flatly states that the son isn't there - that he's being held at "two strange windmills." Caine then gets the drop on Vernon, who under the gun states "Oh actually your son's in the cellar"...and Caine believes him! Then later, he remembers the reference to the two strange windmills and treats it like it's some abstract clue he's just solved: "Hm...I wonder if 'Your son is being held at two strange windmills' means that my son is being held at...hang on a tic...two strange windmills!"

While I don't doubt that the character's lackluster skills and unsmooth moves were intentional decisions by Siegel and Caine, the whole "realistic, salaryman spy played by Michael Caine" gimmick had already been done in The Ipcress File, which also opens with a kidnapping that leads to embezzlement and a plot to frame bespectacled, trenchcoat-wearing Caine for the very international crimes he's been investigating; a planted body in the hero's apartment, a daring escape and final shootout with the head baddie are all elements Black Windmill also share with the 1965 film. Windmill's tagline - "The ultimate experience in controlled terror" (huh??) - would have made more sense in the context of Ipcress File's terrorism-by-hypnosis plot, and there's a slight feeling of Windmill wanting to one-up the previous film (Major John Tarrant even outranks Sgt. Harry Palmer). But the real redundancy of Siegel's movie when one considers The Ipcress File is its clear stance as an ironically downbeat, deglamorized alternative to the Bond series. Bond producer Harry Saltzman made the conscious choice to contrast his famous franchise's universe of suave secret agents in tuxedos armed with fancy gadgets by bringing a little kitchen sink realism into Ipcress' business of espionage, portraying Caine's Harry Palmer as a flawed, vulnerable peon working for a dull and corrupt government agency. Siegel obviously wanted to do something similiar with Windmill, although he reverts to what at times seems like full-on parody. In one scene modeled after the Bond series' "Q" sequences, a lab tech demonstrates a briefcase that fires a concealed, lethal burst on a firing range. It plays like a winking, throwaway, Naked Gun-type gag, but Caine ends up taking the briefcase with him to his rendezvous with Drabble. The fact that it ends up being rather incompetently misused by Caine (more on that in a minute) also suggests a satire of the Bond staples, but rather than simply "dressing down" the hero it makes him seem that much more hopeless.

Incidentally, the tech guy demonstrates the briefcase by firing at a mannequin - the shot descimates the dummy's groin, to which Pleasance responds, "Better than being shot up in the whatsisname!" So waitaminute...I took the name of this "character actor" series from the English movie I'll Never Forget Whatsisname, naturally assuming the phrase referred to someone whose name you don't remember. I never considered that "whatsisname" might be English slang for a schlong. Have I been unwittingly publishing a series that translates to "I'll Never Forget Penis?" No wonder my British friends all snicker knowingly after they've read my new entries...

If Tarrant could be considered heroic at all, it's only because of the company he keeps. If Pleasance's character were to spin-off into the world of James Bond, his callsign would be F for "fusspot" - his neurotic, humorless manner suggests this is where Caine's buttoned-up personality will one day lead him (man, good thing his son was beaten, drugged and kidnapped, eh? That was a close one.) "If he hasn't completed the crossword by 10:00 he has to go to his doctor for a check-up," his saucy superior derides behind Pleasance's back, and indeed his face registers mild shock when the same man's swinger wife teasingly offers him a controlled substance. Pleasance underplays his part beautifully: in one of the best little moments of the movie, fussy Pleasance fastidiously drops his hankie in the paper shredder. Guess he wants to make sure that precious phlegm don't fall into the wrong hands!

Pleasance - who speaks a little French in the film to make up for all he missed out on by dying in The Great Escape - would work with Siegel again in Telefon, in which he makes fiendish phone calls to trigger Soviet sleeper agents to blow up outmoded U.S. targets. In Black Windmill, he's the target rather than the instigator of clandestine prank calls. Caine manages to get the upper hand through two different turns of the dial: one where he does a crappy Pleasance impression to trick a bank manager into releasing the diamonds, the other where he pretends to be the bad guy to ensnare the real traitor within MI6 (thankfully he doesn't attempt to mimic Vernon's trademark voice). It's fitting, given how many awful Michael Caine impressions we've all heard throughout the years, that Caine himself stinks at imitating other actors ("Donald Pleasance calling you say? Why do you sound like Michael Caine with a handkerchief over the handset?") And as John Vernon's fate is sealed through a phone call received in a bar setting up the climax of Charley Varrick, you'll notice a slight telephone motif in Don Siegel's work of the 70's. Telephone poles and wires are symbolic of the West being modernized in 1901 Carson City in The Shootist (typically the symbol of change in westerns is the coming of the railroad) and John Wayne dispatches telegrams to invite his old fashioned gunfighter foes to the climactic shootout and their ultimate deaths.*** I already mentioned in my Telefon article how the body snatchers' invasion of the telephone service impeded any attempt to seek help outside the town; in the 70's version Philip Kaufman voice-cameos as a voice on the phone who tells Donald Sutherland that everything's gonna be all right - man, it would have been perfect if that had been Siegel's bit part instead of playing the cabdriver.

Siegel, as always, holds his own in the action department - it's amazing to find yourself pulled into a chase even though you couldn't possibly give a shit what happens to the guy being chased. There's an escape from an armed car and climatic shootout that aren't the least bit boring. And in spite of the character's underdevelopment Siegel has a lot of fun with what an incompetent agent Tarrant is, especially when Caine arrives to drop off the money, meeting Vernon & co. at a winery. The comical (and again, Bond-ian) concept of threatening an armed man with a briefcase isn't lost on Siegel: instead of being used against its intended target, Vernon trips his gullible adversary and the briefcase blows a hole in a giant flagon of wine, causing a flood of pinot to sweep a hapless Caine off his feet. The exploded wine fills the room and covers the screen like blood being ejected from the elevators in The Shining - in fact, Kubrick was living in England in 1974, he may very well have pinched the effect from Siegel's film. There's enough in the movie to show that Siegel put his best foot forward - the material is just less than inspiring. Black Windmill was based on the first novel by British writer Clive Egleton, and remains the only of his 39 books to be adapted for the screen (although he did pen the novelization of George P. Cosmatos' Escape to Athena), even in his native country. When I wrote about Telefon, I opined that Siegel's an American director who was meant to tell stories of American characters, and that's even more evident in Windmill. Whether it's corrupt cops or conspiring convicts, killer duos or body snatchers, ball-busting mayors or mob middlemen, Siegel's best characters are inescapably sons of U.S. soil. Telefon was a little easier to accept because, although Bronson's character was Russian, he was still Bronson. But Don doesn't have to sweat this one: he churned out eight movies in the 70's, at least three of them flat-out masterpieces, and can certainly be forgiven a minor work that came out between two of them.

If producers Richard Zanuck and David Brown lost part of their collective ass on this one (Brown: "How in the world can you have a thriller starring Michael Caine, directed by Don Siegel, and not make money?"), they were able to collect the pieces and sew them back on one year later when their wave came in thanks to a little movie called Jaws. In 1980, they tried to put Caine together with their JAWS cash cow Peter Benchley - the result was the box office bomb The Island (then of course Caine came back for more in Jaws: The Revenge - the man's a glutton for critical punishment apparently).

It's also not surprising that Windmill has since fallen between the cracks of Caine's super-prolific 70's output. The actor starred in a staggering 23 movies released that decade: who the hell remembers The Last Valley, Pepper or The Romantic Englishman? In fact, the good Caine-starring films from that era were directed by largely forgotten or underrated journeymen like Cy Endfield, Sidney J. Furie, Lewis Gilbert, Guy Hamilton, Peter Collinson - even Mike Hodges belongs more to this category than the auteur club - while most of the unremarkable ones were helmed by well-known directors like Otto Preminger, Vittorio De Sica, Ken Russell, Robert Aldrich, Joseph Losey and John Sturges**** (go ahead, I dare you to remember which movies I'm referring to here). Siegel and his movie obviously fall into the latter category, and Caine's work in the 70's serves as yet another example to anyone who's surprised at future appearances in movies like Journey 2: The Mysterious Island: even during his best period, Caine clearly wasn't above hack work and would apparently agree to be in anything (although he did turn down Frenzy, saying the character was disgusting and that he "didn't want to be associated with the part.") Incidentally, at one point in Windmill, there's a shot of theater playing the five-year-old Battle of Britain...a Michael Caine movie. That's kind of weird.

The Oscar-winner offered his own take on why Windmill doesn't work: "I think the gentility of England rubbed off on Don Siegel. It became too sentimental and convoluted." I don't understand the sentimental comment - if anything, Windmill's problem is that it's so unsentimental you almost don't care about any of the characters at all. It's more sentimental than, say, Get Carter, but even if the message the audience is meant to take home with them is "lighten up and love your kid, you cold government pawn you," it's not exactly a warm reunion as Caine exits the titular flabellum holding his drugged and tortured son in one arm and a still-smoking machine gun in the other. And Caine can't possibly mean that Siegel got sentimental over the geography: London looks as colorless as ever, while the countryside is overcast and unpleasant, and populated by stuffy, backstabbing bureaucrats. I wouldn't say "convoluted" is exactly the right word either - moreso, the whole thing is just undercooked. The main character isn't sympathetic or interesting enough, the villain is too cryptically sketched and the bad guys' plot doesn't make much sense. Sorry, Michael Caine - I don't like your character in this movie, or agree with your assessment of its problems.

So here we've got another Topaz-type situation where the hero is pretty much a dud and the famous director couldn't find a way to make the boring plot interesting, but the real disappointment of a dull yet largely inoffensive miss from Don Siegel is the casting of John Vernon as such a boring bad guy. Being the boss may have been liberating for him (he does do pretty much whatever he wants in the movie and gets away with it) but it doesn't give his character much motivation. He's introduced coldly blowing up two cohorts in a jeep without any obvious reason - theoretically it's so they won't talk, but considering his reliable intel as to the competence of MI6, what's Vernon worried about? He murders sexy sidekick Delphine Seyrig***** in order to frame Caine, apparently never considering the pointlessness of that act: isn't Caine already wanted for stealing the diamonds from MI6? Then after Caine's been successfully framed and arrested, Vernon breaks him out - why?? Why go to all the trouble of framing Caine, then help him escape? To compound his guilt in the eyes of his superiors? To kill him so he doesn't talk? All it does is give Caine the chance to flee and come kill Vernon later. Are all of Vernon's plans so gratuitous and poorly executed****** simply because he has no real reason to hate Caine? Aren't Vernon's best bad guys stirred to act by a combination inferiority complex/resentment of liberated independents like Charley Varrick?

Caine's Tarrant is nothing like Charley Varrick: he's a government stooge, he's not resourceful (he relies on his gadgets, which he can't even use properly) and is still tethered to the wife he's separated from - I can't imagine him boxing the compass with a lowly secretary let alone someone like Seyrig. Nobody would want his problems, all of which he sets to solving joylessly. Even when he finally grows a pair and steals the ransom diamonds, there's no sense of adventure: it just feels like, to get the job done, the most he's willing to do is expand his mechanical methods to include poor vocal impressions. Tarrant doesn't actually do much in the film: he has to be pushed into making a move to save his son, he doesn't escape by himself, he even has to have the bad guy tell him where his son is to force a final showdown. Whereas Charley Varrick cruises around in his own charming old cropduster, Tarrant hides in the back of a bus that rolls off the ferry - he may as well be a piece of discarded gum under the seat. You get a picture of how the quality of the hero effects the credibility of the supporting villain, at least one played by John Vernon: if the hero doesn't arose a genuine hatred in Vernon's dark soul, there's something missing. A big part of his appeal is that he's not just some evil badass: even when he's in a comedy there's an obvious source of his rancor, an opponent targeted by Vernon specifically for that little hint of rebellion that makes his crusty company man feel inadequate as a living human being. Maynard Boyle wouldn't feel the least bit inferior to a John Tarrant - probably eats nerds like him for breakfast.

For me that more or less sums up the movie: Tarrant is too British for Siegel, too much of a pencil pusher to make a formidable adversary for Vernon. Siegel was the only major director to use Vernon more than once (Vernon also played the bad guy in Coogan's Bluff rip-off Brannigan), and I have to admit that 2 out of 3 great roles ain't bad. And though it fails to create a successful Vernon character, Windmill at least recognizes other Vernon traits. What better place to introduce a theory I'd like to put forward called "character actor memory" (or, C.A.M.) Essentially, it's the idea that a great character actor evolves over his multiple movies from one role to another, even "learning" from previous parts. In the piece I did on Topaz, I talked about the hot Cuban revolutionista who broke Vernon's heart and arguably gave birth to the personality we all best recognize in the actor's signature performances. It wouldn't be the last time a Vernon character is betrayed by women: in other films, his wife either cheats on him (Animal House, A Special Day) or puts him in jail (Angela). I submit that these double-crossings by dames awoke a dangerous awareness in Vernon's C.A.M., which is bad news for Seyrig, who's dispatched off-screen by boyfriend/co-villain Vernon in Windmill. This makes the second movie in a row for this series where Vernon executes a girlfriend, and this time it means so little to him we don't even get to see him do it. We've already seen Vernon's cool attitude towards sex in a scene where he strolls confidently into Caine's flat to snap and plant an incriminating polaroid of nude Delphine Seyrig in the most business-like manner possible. Not many notable Vernon characters from this point on will show the slightest interest in women, more interested in the job at hand (hunting Josey Wales, berating drug dealers, destroying Camp Kikadee) than a hand job. This instinct wasn't born in John Vernon: it built up through the years. I direct you again to that moment in Point Blank where he takes a second to look at Angie Dickinson, the girl who seduced him into the front of Lee Marvin's gun barrel, with utter contempt before he melts into a blubbering of fear and self-pity before Marvin. If you don't buy my C.A.M. theory, just compare these shots from Point Blank and Black Windmill:

And - for extra convincing - this shot of the actor's baby blues, so similar to the extreme close-up reaction to Dorfman barfing on his desk from Animal House:

Sadly, hatred of women can only get you so far. Vernon, undoubtedly foiled by his own indifferent scheme, is ultimately defeated by Caine in a MAC-10 shootout at the Clayton Windmills near Brighton. (Why is Vernon there? Why hasn't the son been killed? Vernon, what's going on with this plan??) Standing one level above Caine, Vernon appears to have the drop on him. But a little blood trickles through floorboards and lands on Caine's hand, causing him to whirl around and shoot up, quite literally blowing Vernon's balls off. Turns out the "Q" scene wasn't a total waste after all: it was a foreshadowing of Vernon getting shot in the ol' whatsisname. Man...I'll never forget that scene!

* I'm willing to give Siegel the benefit of the doubt and assume he just wanted to maintain his streak of movie titles featuring a character's name. But come on - would Drabble's Bluff have been as memorable a movie? Or Charley Drabble? Or Two Mules for Sister Drabble? Or The Drabbeguiled? Actually: Dirty Drabble...maybe Siegel would've had something there.

Still, good thing he changed the title to Black Windmill, thus sparing himself the potential zinger: "Don Siegel's London sure brings out the 'drab' in Drabble!"

** Pleasance also co-starred in 1984, in which Vernon provided the voice of Big Brother. Since Pleasance talks to Vernon on the phone but never sees him in Black Windmill, this marks the second film in which Pleasance hears Vernon without ever actually seeing him.

*** I always wondered how that telegram must have read..."HEY SWEENEY - SHOWDOWN AT THE OL' METROPOLE FOR A BULLET-FILLED BIRTHDAY BASH - STOP. BRING LOTS OF GUNS - STOP. LOVE AND KISSES J.B. BOOKS."

**** Interesting to note that the opposite was the case for Caine's filmography in the 80's: his best movies were helmed by such prestiguous dudes as Brian De Palma, Woody Allen and Neil Jordan, whereas the stinkers are courtesy of Bob Swaim, Simon Langton, Dick Clement, Joseph Sargent and Jerry Belson. The questionable ones are Michael Ritchie, John Huston, Oliver Stone and Sidney Lumet - they all made movies with Caine that aren't awful, but definitely don't represent the respective director's best work. Stanley Donen made Blame It On Rio...I know he did Charade and Singin' in the Rain, but do we consider him a certified auteur? Gonna need a ruling on that one.

I couldn't find a good place to mention this about Windmill, but the music by Roy Budd, whose Get Carter score is one of the best ever, is completely. unmemorable.

***** Michel Piccoli in Topaz, Delphine Seyrig in Windmill - how many Luis Buñuel alum will turn up in the next John Vernon movie I write about?? (Answer: none.)

****** As for the plan to kidnap Caine's son, it all falls into place way too smoothly. The boy and his schoolyard pal trespass onto an abandoned air force runway to fly a model plane, where Vernon picks them up in a jeep wearing the uniform of an RAF officer. How could he have possibly known the boys, who are playing hookie from school, were going to trespass on that particular airfield and still have enough time to set up the jeep and the phony uniform? Seems like tremendous foresight on his part. His scheme is revealed when one of the boys, in the dark of an airplane hangar, notices Vernon's fancy shoes...nice observation junior, yet the entire time you remained oblivious to this officer's Canadian accent??

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