Glenn Close and Sarah are back for 'Winter's End'

Hallmark is advertising this weekend's "Hall of Fame" broadcast of "Winter's End" as the end of Patricia MacLachlan's "trilogy" of "Sarah, Plain and Tall" stories. Of course, MacLachlan originally wrote only one story - and a short one at that - but CBS has a way of inspiring authors to dig deep for sequels they never dreamed of doing. (Larry McMurtry was similarly moved after the adaptation of his novel Lonesome Dove became a runaway hit mini-series for CBS.) Thus the tale of a flinty New Englander (Glenn Close) and the Flint Hills farmer who finds her through the classified ads (Christopher Walken), which first aired in 1991, spawned "Skylark" in 1993 and now, six years later, a second sequel. Close and Walken are joined by Jack Palance and Tony winner George Hearn for "Winter's End," airing at 8 p.m. Sunday on Channel 5. As the film opens, it is March 1918, or about nine years since the original "Sarah. " (The Hallmark series has aged in real time, allowing actors Lexi Randall and Christopher Bell, the older children, to grow up.) The rural Midwest is no longer so isolated from the rest of the world; halfway across the globe Kansans have been drawn into the seemingly endless bloodletting of World War I; closer to home, influenza is taking its toll. But at the farm of Sarah and Jacob Witting (Close and Walken), the most important crisis they and their family must confront - besides the inevitable storm, of course - is triggered by a mysterious stranger (Palance). As becomes obvious immediately, the white-haired fellow is Jacob's father, long estranged from the family and presumed dead until now. Despite Jacob's frosty reception of his deadbeat dad, you sense things in the end will work out - mostly because all those involved want things to work out. Like the two other films, "Winter's End" is a simple story, simply told by a fine children's author. And I don't think it will spoil anyone's Sunday night viewing to observe that these "Sarah" movies could keep going on forever, provided MacLachlan were still interested in writing the teleplays and Close and Walken were still available. (In keeping with the project's overall continuity, MacLachlan wrote this teleplay, and "Winter's End" was shot once again near Emporia, Kan.) Certainly CBS wouldn't mind. When this November ratings period is over, the three biggest hits will likely be: yet another revival of "Annie"; a 1950s game show concept, also revived; and this enduring story of family love and the power of hope. Like winter on the Plains, some things just never change. Two thoughts come immediately to mind when watching "Everest," the IMAX movie sensation adapted to the small screen and debuting 7 p.m. Sunday on TNT: I wonder how this looked on a five-story screen, and why am I having trouble pulling for these people? The bigger the screen, the better when viewing "Everest," which follows an ill-fated 1996 expedition up the world's highest mountain. Eight of the 50 climbers died near the summit in what was described as the region's worst blizzard in years. For all the spectacular beauty of a pristine slope - captured in all its vertical glory by "Everest" - it's an unsettling view. Most of the mountain footage is taken on brilliant, cloudless days; yet you know that a few young thrill-seekers are about to march voluntarily into the teeth of a killer storm on this same hill. "Everest" is not very long, meaning the story of the 1996 tragedy is compressed into what seems like an unjustly short time. For these two reasons, "Everest" seems surprisingly diminished in stature and this film an unsatisfying portrait of both its majesty and terror.