The Betsy (1978)

The Betsy is the kind of glossy, adult 1970s melodrama they simply don’t make anymore: a Detroit dynasty in crisis, where boardroom power plays and bedroom betrayals share the same oxygen. Daniel Petrie stages it like a high-stakes soap with real heft, letting Laurence Olivier chew on the role of a ruthless patriarch as if it were Shakespeare, while Robert Duvall and a young, magnetic Tommy Lee Jones bring grit and volatility to the family’s imploding orbit. The vibe is opulent, cynical, and unabashedly steamy—part corporate saga, part romantic wrecking ball—so you’re watching for the performances, the atmosphere, and the deliciously messy human behavior more than for subtlety. It won’t be for everyone if you’re allergic to lurid twists and explicit sexuality, but if you miss big-star, big-emotion dramas that dare to be this shamelessly entertaining, it’s a fascinating time capsule with teeth.

The Betsy is aiming for a glossy, high-stakes saga about old-money power, corporate warfare, and messy desire in 1970s Detroit, with big stars trying to sell it as serious adult drama. The problem is it plays less like a gripping epic and more like an overstuffed soap: melodrama piled on melodrama, with “shocking” sex and scandal used as fuel when the character work and pacing can’t quite carry the weight. If you’re hoping for a smart automotive-industry thriller or a grounded romance, this will likely feel corny, bloated, and oddly self-important. Still, if you enjoy lurid, glossy star-driven trash with Laurence Olivier and Robert Duvall chewing scenery while the plot swerves wildly, you might find it watchable in a guilty-pleasure way.