Each of the three principals goes a bit deeper than skin: Bruce Dern earning some sympathy for the former P.O.W. who conforms to the popular notion among scriptwriters that all Vietnam veterans are psychopaths; Marthe Keller striking a blow for womanpower as the Black September terrorist who masterminds and single-handedly holds together a plot to assassinate 80,000 American football fans; and Robert Shaw, as the battle-fatigued Israeli commando, putting on some melancholy airs in a weary-warrior role that is just his meat (that is, canned ham). The editorial content of this topical thriller, though, is about on a par with David Brinkley's smirk. And the credibility of the tale is dissipated by an overabundance of callous, bang-bang-drop-dead violence and an overelaborate Super Bowl finale involving a hijacked Goodyear blimp, a diabolical homemade dart-bomb, and a buccaneer-style ship-boarding in mid-air, all of which would look more at home in a Batman comic. Directed by John Frankenheimer. (1977) — Duncan Shepherd
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