From his Denver home, arrogant right-winger Brent Ziff (Abe Goldfarb) hosts a popular livestream trafficking in conspiracy theories and other hot-button topics — you know, loves crypto, hates pronouns. It’s the kind of show where phrases like “big simp energy” get uttered on the reg. Twenty minutes in, he connects with a longtime listener, First Time Caller.

That would be Leo (voiced by Brian Silliman, Men in Black: International), who points Brent to a feed of a concert in Seattle, because in a few minutes, it will be wiped out by a surprise tsunami. Brent figures Leo for yet another crackpot … until the unexpected event actually occurs. According to Leo, his words aren’t predictions, but proclamations.

And his psychic gift feels like a massive bowel movement, so there’s one thing Matt Damon’s similar soothsayer in Clint Eastwood’s Hereafter didn’t have.

Although slick in production, First Time Caller lacks more than a hyphen. At an abbreviated 75 minutes, it’s essentially a real-time exercise of two people conversing in one room, and our eyes meet only one end of the line. (Comedians Greg Proops and Kevin Pollak play other callers in brief spoken cameos.) No matter how much co-directors Goldfarb and J.D. Brynn gussy up the screen — notably with superimposed audio patterns — the situation isn’t arresting enough to sustain itself.

The movie’s biggest handicap is not that Brent is an exceedingly obnoxious, even odious character. (Although he is.) It’s that this concept’s legs are built to stand as a short film, a short story or perhaps a single episode of TV or a podcast. (In fact, this is based on a podcast called The Earth Moves, two eps at 53 minutes total.) Once Brent and Leo start speaking in circles, the more obvious First Time Caller is biding time until reaching its shit-or-get-off-the-pot conclusion. We want to see the story through — just without several trips ’round the same ol’ mulberry bush.

Compare Brent to shock jock Barry Champlain of Oliver Stone’s Talk Radio: Barry (Eric Bogosian) is every bit as unlikable, right down to his venomous political views and haughtiness toward everyone else. Even with markedly lower stakes and an extra half-hour, Talk Radio is more compelling because Bogosian’s script gives Barry what Brent sorely lacks: multiple points of conflict with multiple characters. Or in short: subplots. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Although cartoonist Lee Falk is best-known for creating The Phantom, his Mandrake the Magician arrived first. Even before the more popular Phantom leapt from the comic strips page to the big screen to slam evil in his own serial, the latter beat him to it … and then resurfaced one undistinguished Wednesday night on NBC in the pilot pic Mandrake. Like The Phantom, Mandrake comes with an orphaned origin, being raised by a Tibetan monk with the unmistakable voice of James Hong.

In the present day, Mandrake (Anthony Herrera, 1976’s Helter Skelter) enjoys the high life as a Vegas stage illusionist, looking not unlike David Copperfield if he neglected combs. One night, Mandrake’s chintzy act is interrupted by the death of an elderly scientist in the audience. Before croaking, the old man manages to gasp the name “Arkadian,” a tycoon played by Brady Bunch patriarch Robert Reed.

Among other business ventures, Arkadian owns an amusement park, eventually allowing Mandrake to have a showdown atop the world’s fastest, tallest, bestest roller coaster, once he starts investigating the scientist’s “heart attack.” With the help of his sorcerer sidekick (Ji-Tu Cumbuka, Mandingo) and sexy stage assistant (Simone Griffeth, Death Race 2000), Mandrake uncovers a whole Manchurian Candidate conspiracy involving Arkadian employees as sleeper agents.

Mandrake boasts the power of hypnosis by touching people’s heads, thereby projecting their memories on the wall. More often, he touches the gaudy medallion hanging from his neck and — presto! — an object appears to confuse his adversaries. Among the illusions used are a tiger, a bird of prey and a brick wall. This being made for TV, the effect is hardly cinematic. And this being 1979, Mandrake plants an unexpected kiss on the scientist’s daughter (Gretchen Corbett, The Savage Bees), then explains, “That was the only thing I could think of to shut you up.”

Helmed by another Falk, the no-relation Harry (High Desert Kill), the telefilm doesn’t have much production quality — example: cheap kitchen timers sub for bombs — which Herrara nearly matches by having even less to offer as a leading man. Watching Mandrake won’t hurt (much), even as it fails to do the trick. —Rod Lott