Let’s be honest — if Michael’s calling, you’re better off letting it go to voicemail.
This made-for-television thriller, which aired as part of ABC’s Movie of the Week series, stars Elizabeth Ashley as Helen Connelly, a woman who begins receiving disturbing phone calls from her long-dead nephew. The only real mystery here is how a cast this talented ended up trapped in such a molasses-paced snoozer.
Haunted by a Telephone and a Script That Needed CPR
Based on the novel by John Farris, When Michael Calls promises intrigue, suspense, and maybe a little supernatural creepiness. Instead, it delivers something closer to a soggy soap opera with a rotary phone subplot. The film seems to think that a ringing telephone is inherently terrifying. Maybe it was in 1972 — but now it feels about as menacing as a robocall from your cable provider.
The story creeps forward like it’s wearing ankle weights: Helen’s nephew supposedly died 15 years ago. Now she’s getting calls from someone claiming to be him. Is she cracking up? Is someone playing a cruel prank? Could Michael be… not dead?
You’ll stop caring about halfway through, because the film keeps posing questions it has no real interest in answering — at least not until the last five minutes, and even then only with a half-hearted shrug.
Ben Gazzara Deserved Better
Ben Gazzara plays Doremus, Helen’s estranged husband, who seems to have wandered in from a better movie. Gazzara is always interesting, but he’s utterly wasted here. His performance is sturdy, professional — and completely irrelevant. Michael Douglas, looking about 12 years old and pre-Streets of San Francisco fame, fares slightly better, mostly because he spends the film looking like he knows this script isn’t going to win any Emmys.
Elizabeth Ashley, tasked with doing all the emotional heavy lifting, swings from anxiety to full-blown hysteria with the frequency of the phone ringing — which, given the film’s obsession with its one gimmick, is often. It’s not her fault the script treats mental illness, grief, and supernatural trauma with all the depth of a soggy tissue.
TV Horror at Its Flattest
This is horror boiled down for broadcast TV in the early ’70s — which is to say, not scary, not gory, and not memorable. The “scares” amount to tight camera shots, overwrought music stingers, and lots of close-ups of Ashley looking vaguely distressed in soft focus.
There’s no real atmosphere, just drab lighting and uninspired direction from Philip Leacock, who might’ve thought he was directing an extended PSA about phone safety. The pacing is glacial, and the tension is thinner than hospital soup. A horror-thriller should at least try to thrill. This one settles for gently prodding.
A Hallmark Movie in a Black Wig
Despite its ghoulish premise, the film often feels more like a slow-burning family drama with mild hallucinations than a horror-thriller. You could almost imagine it airing right after The Waltons if not for the occasional nod toward spookiness.
The central mystery — is Michael dead or alive, and who’s making the calls? — isn’t nearly enough to sustain 73 minutes of runtime. There are better urban legends told around campfires, and they take five minutes tops. The film even botches its climax, revealing the culprit and motives with all the enthusiasm of a grocery store cashier announcing your total.
A Movie That Rings, But Nobody Should Pick Up
When Michael Calls is a relic from a time when television networks would churn out horror-lite movies to fill a Tuesday night time slot. Some of those films aged into cult classics. This one aged like milk in the sun.
It’s not campy enough to be fun, not creepy enough to be scary, and not smart enough to be engaging. It’s cinematic Ambien — a sleep aid with a soundtrack by a dial tone.
Final thought: If you’re looking for something from the golden age of TV horror, skip this one. Unless you’re writing a thesis on why horror doesn’t work without stakes, style, or a pulse.
