Hume Cronyn reprises his role as Lewis Avery Filer, a "gentleman bandit" previously seen in Season Three's "Over Fifty? Steal!" Because Filer was sent away at the end of that episode, this one begins with his breakout from Oahu State Prison, done in typically clever Filer-fashion. From there, Filer insinuates himself into an effort by smuggler Moose Oakely (Lane Bradford, playing a character who has a perpetual three-day growth of beard) to deliver $4 million worth of cocaine from an offshore fishing boat into the hands of sinister mobster Goro Shibata (played by Jiro Tamiya, but dubbed throughout by voice artist Paul Frees). The episode happily brings back not only Cronyn as Filer, but also what might be called "Filer's theme," a jazzy, audacious melody that fills out almost every scene he's in, and is as brassy as the character himself.
The episode has its factual improbabilities (for example, are we really supposed to believe that the doors to the cells at the State Prison can be unlocked with nothing more than the end of a spoon?) and Filer bears an uncanny resemblance (of course) to a supposedly deceased mobster from Miami who may have faked his own death, and who had a reputation of being able to "fix" uncomfortable situations. Compounding this is that Filer's cell mate just happens to have a photograph of the Miami "fixer" character in his cell! It raises additional questions, such as how Filer knew that the Miami "fixer" might have faked his death so that he could "borrow" the man's identity -- or how he was able to find out details of the cocaine smuggling plan.
It's all a little too convenient, as is McGarrett's easily figuring all of this out -- but that's not the point of this episode. It's an excuse to allow Cronyn to have even more fun with the dapper and too-clever-for-his-own-good character Filer, who must have been irresistible for the script writers not to pick up yet again. (Indeed, David Wayne was tapped to play a similarly tongue-in-cheek role two seasons later, as a hotel room burglar also moving into his golden years.) Filer switches makeup and identities more often than a stage quick-change artist, each more outrageous than the last.
This time Filer does seem to have a bit of an edge. He convinces Shibata and his men (two exceedingly large Polynesians -- including future series regular Moe Keale -- whom the 5-0 men refer to as "the twins") to hand over their guns with a somewhat daring ploy involving a stopped elevator and a potentially lethal sonic device. Filer apparently *does* set the device to a deadly level in order to convince Shibata and his men to cooperate, and the camera suggests that, if the circumstances called for it, he would have pressed the fatal button. (This raises another improbability, however -- since Filer is only a few feet away, and the device is not particularly focused -- wouldn't he suffer those same effects, even with ear protection?)
What eventually does him in -- as in the original episode -- is Filer's own hubris and willingness to believe in his invincibility. This leads to a memorable moment when Filer opens his hotel room door expecting to find a messenger and instead is confronted by McGarrett, leaning almost casually on the door frame, completely silhouetted. It's a beautifully-done moment, and -- like both of the episodes featuring this character -- one has to admire that, if such a delightful criminal must be caught, it was at least done in a way befitting Filer's own sense of style.
The episode has its factual improbabilities (for example, are we really supposed to believe that the doors to the cells at the State Prison can be unlocked with nothing more than the end of a spoon?) and Filer bears an uncanny resemblance (of course) to a supposedly deceased mobster from Miami who may have faked his own death, and who had a reputation of being able to "fix" uncomfortable situations. Compounding this is that Filer's cell mate just happens to have a photograph of the Miami "fixer" character in his cell! It raises additional questions, such as how Filer knew that the Miami "fixer" might have faked his death so that he could "borrow" the man's identity -- or how he was able to find out details of the cocaine smuggling plan.
It's all a little too convenient, as is McGarrett's easily figuring all of this out -- but that's not the point of this episode. It's an excuse to allow Cronyn to have even more fun with the dapper and too-clever-for-his-own-good character Filer, who must have been irresistible for the script writers not to pick up yet again. (Indeed, David Wayne was tapped to play a similarly tongue-in-cheek role two seasons later, as a hotel room burglar also moving into his golden years.) Filer switches makeup and identities more often than a stage quick-change artist, each more outrageous than the last.
This time Filer does seem to have a bit of an edge. He convinces Shibata and his men (two exceedingly large Polynesians -- including future series regular Moe Keale -- whom the 5-0 men refer to as "the twins") to hand over their guns with a somewhat daring ploy involving a stopped elevator and a potentially lethal sonic device. Filer apparently *does* set the device to a deadly level in order to convince Shibata and his men to cooperate, and the camera suggests that, if the circumstances called for it, he would have pressed the fatal button. (This raises another improbability, however -- since Filer is only a few feet away, and the device is not particularly focused -- wouldn't he suffer those same effects, even with ear protection?)
What eventually does him in -- as in the original episode -- is Filer's own hubris and willingness to believe in his invincibility. This leads to a memorable moment when Filer opens his hotel room door expecting to find a messenger and instead is confronted by McGarrett, leaning almost casually on the door frame, completely silhouetted. It's a beautifully-done moment, and -- like both of the episodes featuring this character -- one has to admire that, if such a delightful criminal must be caught, it was at least done in a way befitting Filer's own sense of style.
