Fashion, music, politics, sports

[July 15, 1960] Controlled Chaos (The 1960 Democratic Convention)

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Democracy is strange, particularly as exercised by the Democratic Party.

Six months ago, it was anyone's guess who might be picked to have the privilege of running for the Presidency of the United States under the Democratic Party banner against Vice President Richard Nixon.  Hopefuls included perennial candidate Adlai Stevenson, fiery liberal senator Hubert Humphrey, affable ex-Air Force chief Stuart Symington, and ruler of the Senate roost Lyndon Johnson.  Oh, and a young, good-looking senator with a Harvard accent and a hidden set of rosary beads named Jack Kennedy.

Each candidate had his planned path to the nomination.  Stevenson, Johnson, and Symington stayed out of the primary fracas, hoping to curry favor at the convention proper.  Kennedy and Humphrey, on the other hand, took their causes directly to the people.  There were actually very few primaries this season, but Kennedy won all the important ones.  After delivering Humphrey a surprise upset in Wisconsin, right next door to Humphrey's native Minnesota, Kennedy went on to a victory in West Virginia, proving that a Catholic can win over the general public.  Humphrey took the loss graciously, bowed out of the race, and went on to stump for his former rival.

The convention was a horse of an entirely different color.  While many of us saw the external glitter of the event, the dancing girls, the cheers, the smoke, the banners, we were not privy to the last-minute back-dealing going on inside the dark corridors of the Los Angeles Biltmore Hotel.  At first, it seemed Adlai Stevenson's star was rising.  Thousands of supporters crammed the hotel (including my new friend Rachel, who went straight from Comic-Con to the Biltmore) and shouted endless chants of "Stevenson!  Stevenson!" 

But we don't live in the Roman Empire, and a mob is insufficient to laurel a leader these days.  Rather, it takes supreme organizational skills and the kind of political connections Kennedy has cultivated over many years.  It was a tense wait as the states pledged their fealty in alphabetical order during the first vote on the 13th, but it was all over when the last on the list, Wyoming, pushed Kennedy over the required 760 delegate limit.  There would be no second ballot, no free-for-all on the convention floor.  The senator from Massachusetts was the clear winner.

Thus, the drama then turned to the speculative choice for Vice-President, that much maligned but occasionally crucial second banana role.  Favored candidates included Symington and Washington senator Henry Jackson.  And yet, the name announced yesterday morning was Lyndon Johnson.

On the face of it, this seems a rational choice.  After all, while the South may be a Democratic stronghold for decades to come, cool and erudite Kennedy seems hardly the fellow to rally their support.  Johnson, on the other hand, is a good ol' boy from Texas, and a master of politics.  If Kennedy wants to change his address to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue come November, picking Johnson is a canny decision.

On the other hand, I can't imagine that the two will work together very well, being so different in nature and background.  Moreover, it's hard to believe that Johnson would give up running the Senate for what is generally considered a lesser position.  This is one of those moments in history that won't be clarified until many years have passed.

Tonight, Kennedy is scheduled to give his acceptance speech.  I've heard the man before, and there's no doubt he will be riveting and poetic.  I'm sure we'll all stay up late tonight to watch him on the television or hear him on the radio.

The Republican convention, starting on the 25th, will not be as outwardly dramatic.  It's a foregone conclusion that Nixon will be nominated, no one else having thrown his hat into the ring.  But there will be turmoil behind the scenes.  Anyone following the news knows that New York governor Nelson Rockefeller has been doing his utmost to influence what gets written into this year's Republican platform.  He may also be angling for the Vice Presidency.  We'll just have to wait and see.

Of course, I haven't forgotten the primary function of this column–to keep you abreast of all the latest science fiction and fantasy in film and print.  Stay tuned for the dope on the August 1960 Galaxy!

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Conventions/Performances

[July 12, 1960] Pages Come to Life! (Comic-Con '60)

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Two conventions in as many weeks!  What as I thinking?  And yet, despite the undoubted difficulty of the undertaking, it was well worth it.  San Diego's intimate little science fiction and comic book convention, aptly titled "Comic Con," was the most fun I've had at a convention in 1960. 

There was plenty to see and do, including a well-stocked exhibit hall, fascinating panels with opportunities to meet creators–like the new Marvel (formerly Atlas) Comics hotshot, Stan Lee, and, of course, people in costume.  There was a refreshing number of female and juvenile attendees–and not just Millie the Model fans, either! 

One could say that D.C. (Detective Comics) ruled the roost, with big exhibits devoted to perennial favorites like Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman, though there are rumbles that Marvel Comics may return to superhero comics next year.  I remember the brief revivals of Sub-Mariner, The Human Torch, and Captain America with fondness, so here's hoping they can pull it off.

Now, they say that a picture is worth a thousand words, so let's take a look at these lovely (color!) photos I took at the convention, speedily developed for my eagerly awaiting fans.

Note: On a lark, the convention organizers printed all of the badges to say "2015" on them.  I suppose that's appropriate for a science fiction convention!

There was the contingent that came dressed in their everyday clothes:

These included a few of comic book creators:

Eric Shanover, creator of a comic retelling of the Trojan War.

Todd Nauck, an exciting new artist.

Joe Phillips, an artist of the "blue" variety.  Not for children…

Then you had the attendees who came in elaborate outfits.  Some were inspired by the pulps of the '30s and '40s:

Others came from a variety of venues–see if you can recognize them all!

And possibly the specialist of guests, Latin American revolutionary Che Guevarra!

Finally, we have The Traveler, himself:

It was lovely meeting so many like-minded fans, and I hope to run into all of you again in the years to come!

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Magazine

[July 10, 1960] Eye of the Storm (August 1960 Analog)

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Once again, I find myself on vacation in my home town.  San Diego is hosting two science fiction conventions back to back this July, and this second one promises to be the larger of the two.  Of course, neither of these conventions holds a candle to the big one starting in Los Angeles tomorrow, the one that will determine our next Democratic candidate for President of the United States.

But that's a topic for another article.  You came here to find out about this month's fiction, right?

John Campbell is continuing his magazine's slow transitioning of names from Astounding to Analog.  Both names are still on the cover of this month's issue, superimposed upon each other in a confusing mess, but the spine now unequivocally says Analog, so that's how I'll refer to it from now on.  R.I.P. Astounding.  Here's to 24 years of an influential, if not entirely consistent, existence.

It's not a bad mag.  Poul Anderson's The High Crusade continues to be excellent, if wholly implausible.  This story of a 14th Century English village transformed into a nomadic band of universe-conquering marauders is played completely straight, with lovely characterization and an authentic ear for the language.  I find it hard to imagine that I won't enjoy it through all three parts at this point.

The magazine fares less well in its shorter pieces.  The lead novella, Mack Reynold's Adaptation, for instance, doesn't quite work.  A galactic Terran federation is trying to bring old, backward human colonies into the fold, but first, these wayward settlements must be brought to modern status sociologically and technologically.  Two planets are the subject of a 50-year project, one of which has reverted to a European-style feudalism, the other emulating Aztec culture and advancement.  Of course, the inhabitants all speak English and are descended from American stock. 

The team dispatched to elevate the planets to galactic standard splits in twain.  They determine that a healthy competition is in order, one of them championing a controlled economy a la the Soviet Union.  The other employs capitalism.  While both divisions manage to raise the economic output of their charge planets, they are accompanied by serious growing pains, and it is not clear which course is better (or if either be optimum). 

The set-up is terribly forced, but I just pretended the contact team was really trying to improve the lot of a couple of real cultures from the past, perhaps in alternate timelines.  The characterization is largely incidental, and there are no female characters at all.  Still, Reynolds does get you from point A to B, and he does get you invested in the outcomes of the experiments.

Next up is Pushbutton War by brand-newcomer Joseph P. Martino, and it reads like someone's freshman work.  It's the story of an Air Force pilot, who zips around at Mach 25 in a rocket-powered anti-missile interceptor.  Not only is the concept silly, but the story alternates between walls of actionless dialogue and soulless action.  And yet, despite this, it's not horrible.  I'd have suggested a rewrite or two, however.


by John Schoenherr

John Brunner has the exceedingly slight, Report on the Nature of the Lunar Surface, a few-pager that exists solely to set up the punchline.  In short (as there is no long), a technician's sandwich ends up on the Moon, the result of carelessness around a lunar probe.  The bacteria in the dairy products thus introduced to Earth's celestial companion result in a transformation of the Moon's crust of a decidedly viridian and odorous nature…

Since the magazine is now Analog Science Fact and Fiction, it is apt that there are two science articles in this issue.  One is a comprehensive summary on Venus by R.S.Richardson, the fellow who recently wrote a similar piece on Mars in a recent issue.  The current scientific consensus seems to be that we still really don't know much about "Earth's Twin" save that it has an impenetrable veil of clouds.  As we get better at radar studies, and once we send a spacecraft out to the solar system's second planet, perhaps the Goddess of Love will reveal her secrets.

The other article is an interesting, if dry, essay by Alastair Cameron on how elements heavier than helium were formed in the universe.  The popular theory these days is that everything north of atomic weight two on the Periodic Table formed amidst the unimaginable pressures existing in the center of stars.  The idea that our bodies are composed of the remains of long-dead suns is a romantic, mind-boggling one, I think.

Last up is Christopher Anvil's A Taste of Poison, about a canny businessman who convinces a set of alien would-be invaders that the inhabitants of Earth are a far tougher conquest than our comparatively primitive technologies might indicate.  A typical Anvil story that might pass the typical editorial filters of Campbell.

All told, it's a 3-star issue buouyed by the Anderson and the non-fiction articles and shackled by the pedestrian shorter fiction.  Still, that's two thirds of a winning combination.  If Campbell manages to get a decent new set of writers, he could pull his magazine out of its recent nosedive.

See you very soon with a gallery of photos from "Comic Con."  Don't let the name fool you–it's a general science fiction/fantasy convention.

Stay tuned!

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Book

[July 7, 1960] Frankenstein's Timeline (Brian Aldiss' Galaxies like Grains of Sand)

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Themed collections, a book containing stories by the same author in a common universe, are interesting things.  Isaac Asimov's Foundation is one of the more famous examples, and when a collection of Zenna Henderson's The People stories comes out, that will be one of the best ever.

Sometimes, an author is tempted to shoehorn a number of unrelated stories into a single timeline.  Then the stories can be re-released as a "novel" rather than as just a compiled group of shorts (of the type Sheckley releases). 

It can work, but not always.  Every story is written with a set of assumptions in mind, and it is often difficult to do a polished rewrite such that the original assumptions can be masked.

Galaxies Like Grains of Sand is a new book from seasoned young British writer Brian Aldiss.  It contains eight previously published stories stitched together in timeline chronological order with italicized linking text.  The book ostensibly covers some forty million years of future history.  It's a cute conceit, but does it really hold up under scrutiny?  Let's look at each of the parts and see if the whole is greater than their sum (it should be noted that I hadn't read most of these stories before since they came out primarily in British mags):

The War Millenia was originally published as Out of Reach in Authentic Science Fiction.  In this first story, humanity is in the midst of atomic destruction and has burrowed into shelters deep beneath the Earth where they convalesce in a narcotic dream haze most of the time.  On the eve of the global war, Earth is visited by a race of advanced humanoids called "Solites", who take a keen interest in salvaging as much of Earth's creatures and cultures as possible.  One Solite even marries a human and transports him to the Solite world, a futuristic but bleak place.  Tired of being kept in the dark as to the true nature of the secretive Solites, he hijacks a matter-transmitter and beams himself back to Earth, where he ends up in a dream house for therapeutic treatment.  The kicker to the story (and it's easily predicted) is that the Solites are not aliens–they are simply evolved humans from thousands of years in the future. 

In The Sterile Millenia, (All the World's Tears, published in Nebula Science Fiction), it is four thousand years after the war described in the first tale.  The "color war" is over, and the "Blacks" have won.  But only just.  The Earth is largely a wasteland, and breeding is strictly, coldly controlled by committee.  Emotionless logic (with the occasional stimulated bout of hatred to promote vigor) characterizes human personality.  One prominent politician has a daughter who is a throwback: not only does she feel, but she's an albino to boot.  Her abortive affair with another throwback ends abruptly and fatally, genetic freaks being equipped with bombs to preclude their breeding.

Flash forward countless thousands of years to The Robot Millenia (Who Can Replace a Man from Infinity Science Fiction), my favorite story of the book.  Humanity has been on a continuous decline since the war, increasingly supported by vast networks of more-or-less sentient robots.  When it is rumored that the last human has died (at least on Earth–the stitching text describes an exodus to the stars) the robots attempt to strike out on their own.  They make something of a hash of it.  Aldiss captures the conniving relationships of an emotionless race quite nicely.

This is followed by The Dark Millenia (Oh Ishrail! in New Worlds Science Fiction).  It is not specified when this takes place, but it is some time after the Solite period of ascendancy described in the first story.  The tale revolves around Ishrail, a fellow banished to Earth by the interstellar confederation of galactic colonies.  At least, we're led to believe it is Earth, recolonized by one of the diasporic groups. 

Close on this story's heels, chronologically, is The Star Millenia (Incentive in New Worlds Science Fiction), in which an emissary of the aforementioned confederation visits the Earth, on a whim changes its name to "Yinnisfar", and teaches us "Galingua", a universal language that not only allows mutual intelligibility throughout the galaxy, but also instant interstellar travel.

This proves problematic, however, in The Mutant Millenia (Gene-Hive or Journey to the Interior in Nebula Science Fiction) when it turns out that too much facility with Galingua leaves one vulnerable to assimilation into a cancerous mutation of humanity that tries to absorb everyone it touches.  Per the subsequent interstitial explanation, baseline humans win by giving up Galingua.

That takes us to The Megalopolis Millenia (Secret of a Mighty City in Fantasy and Science Fiction, which I do remember reading).  This story is really a satire of the modern television industry, in which the work of a visionary filmmaker/anthropologist, who exposes the seamy underside of a sprawling megacity, becomes the subject of a new show twenty years later–with all the meaningful bits removed.  Of all of the stories that make up the book, this one's inclusion feels the most contrived, and it is probably not a coincidence that it is preceded by the most new linking material.

Finally, we have The Ultimate Millenia (Visiting Amoeba or What Triumphs from Authentic Science Fiction).  It turns out that the energy of our galaxy is slowly dwindling toward heat death, though its inhabitants are unaware of this decay.  It also develops that the human diaspora went beyond our galaxy, and humanity's children exist in other island collections of stars.  One of them contrives to assemble a large fleet on the edge of the Milky Way, blast his way spectacularly to old Earth, and deliver the message that humanity, at least all of us in our home galaxy, are doomed.  Thanks.  So ends forty million years of history.

Does it work?  I have my reservations.  The style is inconsistent throughout.  Sometimes Aldiss takes care to create alien lexicons and names.  Others, he seems to fall on 20th Century convention.  There is no chronological rhyme or reason to his choices.  Also, I feel as if baseline humanity stays awfully human throughout–except when we evolve into unbelievably different creatures as described in the Mutant and Ultimate Milennia. 

So, as a whole, it isn't a complete success.  As for the pieces, with the exception of story #3 (and perhaps #7), I found the book to be something of a difficult bore to plow through.  And while I find it admirable that Aldiss includes non-Whites as protagonists in some of his stories (a thread that disappears by story #4), women are virtually absent. 

2.5 stars.  As always, your mileage may vary, and I welcome your thoughts.

I'm off to another convention this week, but I am taking my trusty typewriter with me.  Expect pictures and more fiction reviews in a few days!

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Conventions/Performances

[July 4, 1960] Coming Home (Westercon SD convention)

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What is it that makes a con?  Is it the chance to meet published authors and prominent fans?  Is it the spirited discussion of high-minded concepts deep into the night?  Is it the opportunity to engage in salacious activities? 

Ultimately, what a convention all comes down to is building a community.  We all live in disparate locations around the country, and even with the gleaming new interstate system that allows us to travel in minutes what used to take hours, the density of fans in any given location is not particularly high.  So we all congregate in one place so that, for a brief shining instant, we can imagine a world where the fan is the norm.

It's a beautiful (and sometimes frightening) idea.

The convention I just came back from was Westercon SD (not to be confused with the "true" Westercon, currently still going on in Boise, Idaho and known this year as "Boycon").  All of the traditional con activities were present: the filk sings, the masquerade, the dance (a sock-hop, of course). 

I was present at none of these, however.  Instead, I simply ambled back and forth between the Dealers' Hall and the Hospitality Suite, occasionally dropping in on a panel.  I really go to cons just to meet people, and it's great to strike up conversations on esoteric topics with total strangers.  And you can, at a con, because you know that any given attendee will share several of your interests.  Mine, as my readers know, include increasing the inclusiveness of our clique, thus increasing the diversity of our membership; being something of a legal maven, the issues involved in copyrights are also near and dear to my heart. 

There were also many conversations on these three perennial topics:

1) "It's not as good as it used to be."

2) "Where did you buy that?"

3) "How do we get more people to be fans?"

As I stated above, a convention is all about its attendees, so let's have a look at some of the folks who comprised Westercon SD's short-lived but happy community:

This lovely gentleman is Doug Richards, that rare breed of writer who has made the big-time.  We met in line for registration, and we quickly became fast friends.  A really great fellow.

Ben has been attending Westercon virtually since its inception.  No fan like an old fan!

Here's Stuart, sampling the wares at the Dealers' Hall.

The brand new character, Supergirl!

Gotta love Tone's style!

Not to mention Her Majesty (perhaps inspired by this story?)

Another dapper gentleman tending booth.

Jennifer makes an amazing Morgan le Fay…

Cindy, selling first edition Oz books.

This is Chris, an historian and aeroplane enthusiast.

Gabrielle, again, as well as Kit (the merchant), and the lovely Janice.

Here is Janice again.  I was so taken with her, that I invited her to come home with me.  Of course, it was something of a sure thing–we've been married nearly twenty years!

And the Traveler, himself. 

See you soon with a load of print fiction reviews.  And then… off to the movies!

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TV

[July 2, 1960] Bottom of the Cup (Twilight Zone 1st Season wrap-up)

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Gabrielle and Chelsea–dig that futuristic dress the latter has on!

Greetings from Westercon San Diego!

Now, with an opening like that, I expect you're expecting a convention report.  Well, this is just day one of a four day extravaganza, so not quite yet.  Just know that I'm having a lovely time, and I've already swept up many fellow travelers.

No, instead I want to talk about the end of an era.  After a successful run of 36 episodes, The Twilight Zone has come to a finish.  Well, for this season, anyway.  I can't imagine that it won't be renewed in Fall 1960. 

This latest one will review just two for the simple reason that there ain't no more:

First up is Rod Serling's The Mighty Casey, possibly the least inspired of the season's line-up.  Here's the set-up: The Hoboken Zephyrs are deep in the cellar, easily the losingest team in the National League.  Along comes a applicant with the goofiest face imaginable.  He is accompanied by a elderly gentleman who makes no obfuscations about the fact that the rookie is, in fact, a robot.  Interestingly, this is the second Twilight Zone to star the quite talented Jack Warden, and both times, a robot co-stars.

Well, the young artificial man, 22 years old in appearance yet just three weeks in existence, proves to be an amazing pitcher, and the Zephyrs come to have a solid shot at the pennant.  Until, of course, it is learned that Casey isn't human.  Now, this is where I expected an interesting debate over what qualifies a player as a "man," and the fine line between natural and artificial sapience.  Instead, I got a dopey resolution where the stellar pitcher is given a heart (so as to gain human status) and then subsequently doesn't have it in him to strike anyone out. 

"Mediocre," was my daughter's assessment. 

A World of his Own, by Richard Matheson, fares a bit better.  Keenan Wynn is a famous but somewhat nebbishy playwright with the uncanny ability to make characters come alive–literally.  In fact, as the episode opens, he is caught by his wife (Phyllis Kirk) in the arms of a mistress of his own creation (Mary La Roche).  Well, that's what the wife sees through a window, but by the time she enters the writer's study, the mistress has vanished.

Eager to save his marriage, the writer explains his talent, but his wife remains dubious, threatening to lock him up so that she can collect all of the community property after obtaining a divorce.  Ultimately (as telegraphed from the first minutes of the show), it turns out that Kirk is also one of Wynn's creations, and Wynn is compelled to destroy her by tossing the dictation tape that contains her description into the fireplace.  He contemplates bringing her back with a fresh dictation, but instead, he resurrects the less shrewish Mary. 

Rod Serling then appears to deliver a rare on-screen coda… only to be disposed of by Wynn in the same fashion as all of the playwright's other creations.  Cute.

There is a rushed, claustrophobic element to these two stories, as if the show had run out of budget, and the Serling/Houghton production team was forced to make them on the cheap.  Here's hoping CBS funds the show more lavishly in Season Two.

Still, there's no cause for complaint.  We got more than 15 hours of some of the best television has to offer, and strong indications that we can look forward to many more in the years to come!

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Science / Space Race

[June 30, 1960] On a roll! (Space Race Wrap-up)

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Something very exciting happened this week: Spaceflight became routine.

Remember just a couple of years ago?  The press was full of flopniks, grapefruit-sized spacecraft, and about a launch every other month.  Every mission was an adventure, and space was the great unknown.

All that has changed.  Not only are we launching more, and more advanced scientific satellites, but we are launching satellite systems.  Only two months ago, the Navy launched the first of the Transit satellites.  These satellites allow a ground-based observer to determine one's location to a fair degree of accuracy.  But since there's no guarantee any one satellite will be overhead at a given time, you need a constellation of Transits.

Number two was launched last week on June 22.  The age of reliable space utilization has dawned.

The news gets even more exciting: The launch of Transit also marked the first piggyback mission.  A little scientific probe called Solrad hitched a ride along with the navigation satellite.  How's that for efficiency?

Solrad is actually quite a neat little device.  For a while, scientists have been trying to study the Sun in the X-Ray spectrum, but the devices carried by Explorer 7 and Vanguard 3 were swamped by the charged particles swirling around the Earth in the so-called Van Allen Belts; thus no useful data was obtained. 

Navy scientists solved this problem in two ways.  First, they put the probe in a lower orbit, avoiding the worst of the Belt radiation.  Second, they employed the simple expedient of placing a large magnet on the front of the detector.  This swept out the unwanted electrons leaving the satellite's sensors clear for observing the Sun.

Solrad doesn't take pictures, mind you.  It just measures the raw value of solar X-ray flux.  But already, the probe has contributed significantly to science–in a rather unexpected field. 

Long distance communications on Earth are largely conducted via radio.  Sometimes, signals will fade out for no (hitherto) discernible reason.  Solrad has found out why–the level of solar X-ray emissions directly affects the radio-reflective properties of the Earth's ionosphere, that upper atmospheric layer of charged particles that causes radio waves to bounce across the planet rather than simply flying off into space.  Thanks to Solrad, and probes like it, I can imagine a time in the near future when we'll not only have a daily weather report, but also a radio reception report.

Speaking of communications, the Air Force reports that, in about a month, it will be launching a real communications satellite (unlike SCORE which just broadcast a prerecorded message).

It's not all good news on the Space Front, however.  I present to you the Galactic Journey obituaries for the month of June:

The Air Force has lost yet another Discoverer satellite: Discoverer 12 never made it to orbit; its booster suffered a second stage failure and crashed into the Atlantic.  Better luck next time.

Transit 1 went offline the day before Transit 2 launched.  I don't know if that was intentional or coincidental.

TIROS 1, the world's first weather satellite, threw in the towel on June 18, 1960.  It is my understanding that the probe did not perform as reliably as had been hoped, but we should see a TIROS 2 in the near future.

Pioneer 5, the first deep space probe, appears to have passed beyond the range of radio reception.  My sources inform me that the last telemetry was received on June 27.  STL engineers will continue to try to resume contact, however.

Services will be held next Sunday at 12:00 PM.  In attendance will be the currently functioning satellites: Vanguard 1, Explorer 7, Transit 2, and Solrad 1. 

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Science Fiction/Fantasy

[June 27, 1960] July Sneak Preview!

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The end of June is here, and it's time for the Galactic Journey preview listings for July.  This way, all of you who have joined the Journey, can share my adventures:

For reading material this month, we have the usual line-up of magazines in the order in which I'll read them:

July 1960 Astounding

July 1960 Galaxy

July 1960 Fantasy and Science Fiction

I've decided not to order a subscription to Amazing after last month's rather dismal example.

As for books, it looks like the only new one that's coming out is Brian Aldiss' Galaxies Like Grains of Sand. 

On the other hand, it looks like July will be a great month for movies.  This is good since The Twilight Zone's last episode for this season airs in four days.

Lined up, we've got:

The Lost World

Beyond the Time Barrier

Dinosaurus

Stay tuned for a stellar Space Race roundup in two days.  You won't want to miss it.

In the meantime, tune in to KGJ–now broadcasting through the end of January 1959 over your local radio and television stations (February 1959 coming soon!)

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Movies

[June 25, 1960] Sting in its Tale (The Wasp Woman)

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Necessity is the mother of invention.  What is a review writer to do when all the literary science fiction material to review has dried up?

Why, it's time to head to the drive-in and sample the visual science fiction material!

Now, I've been dreading this avenue because the Summer blockbuster line-up hasn't hit the silver screen yet, and all the schlock-houses are filled with, well, schlock.  Like 12 to the Moon.  Moreover, my daughter is away at camp, so I don't have my usual date for the movies.

Still, I have a duty to provide entertaining reading and listening material for my fans, now that you number over ten.  It wouldn't do to take a week hiatus just because my queue is empty.  So I scoured the listing in the local paper and found a cinema in Oceanside that still had The Wasp Woman (paired with another film, in which I had no interest) and resigned myself to a lonely, miserable evening with naught but Roger Corman and a bag of popcorn. 

Imagine my surprise when my wife, who normally has an allergic aversion to sci-fi drek, offered to come along! 

As it turns out, the movie was surprisingly decent (and very short–about an hour), and we never got to emulate our parked neighbors by engaging in a proper bout of necking.  Here is what we got for our troubles:


Africanized Honey Wasps

I was expecting one of those rural numbers where a bunch of badly acted cops chase after a rubber-suited monster, the kind that feasts on young couples in lover's lane.  The sort of thing that Ed Wood is (in)famous for.

Instead, Wasp Woman takes place almost entirely within the board room and offices of the Starling Cosmetics Company, a business with an 18-year history of success that is currently suffering a precipitous downturn.  Why?  The ad execs (not all of whom are men!) and the company executive (a woman!) are in agreement that the lag in sales occurred when the owner of the company, Janice Starlin, stopped supporting the product lines with her own face.  Ms. Starlin believes that a 40-year old, no matter how lovely, cannot be a convincing glamour girl.


Absolutely hideous

This sets up a plausible motivation for Starlin's next actions.  She has recently received a letter from a Mr. Zinthrop, an eccentric old scientist who claims to have found the secret to eternal youth: enzyme extracted from the wasp royal jelly.  She is skeptical, at first, but he convinces her by reverting a cat to a kitten and a guinea pig to… a rat.  Well, I suppose it was meant to be a guinea piglet.  Starlin then requests that Zinthrop test the product on her.  He is reluctant to begin human trials so soon, but he ultimately gives in.


Sherlock Holmes: The Later Years

Starlin gives Zinthrop carte blanche, and he proceeds to produce enough enzyme to restore Starlin's youth. 


Job title?  Er… how about 'mad scientist'?

Over the course of several weeks, the elixir begins to work, but its progress is not quick enough for Starlin, who feels (perhaps justifiably) that her company is teetering on the brink, and only her face can bring it back.  After Zinthrop mentions off-handedly that he is working on a stronger version of the formula for use in topical creams, Starlin sneaks a dose.


Heroin is good for the skin, you know

The new concoction works a miracle, restoring Starlin to her early 20s.  She announces that, not only will she be launching the new line of Starlin cosmetics, but she intends to market this astounding new product. 

But all is not well in mad science land.  One of the cats injected with the new formula grows vestigial wasp wings and attacks Zinthrop.  He survives, but he is crestfallen.  Unusually, he's got a conscience, and he wants to tell Starlin as soon as possible, but he is involved in an automobile accident before he can convey the message.

Starlin, desperate to retain her youth (it's never stated that multiple doses are necessary, but perhaps she's just become addicted to the formula), quickly runs through the rest of Zinthrop's injections, unaware of the danger to herself… and others.

Meanwhile, Starlin's staff continue to worry for their bosses' physical and mental health.  At first, they are concerned that Zinthrop is a simple confidence man.  Then they become convinced he is a quack, and that his promises will do irrepairable harm to Starlin's psyche.  When Starlin rejuvenates, their worries allay briefly, but then she begins suffering from piercing headaches.


"She retracted her support for Kennedy right after she started taking wasp extract…"

The oldest of the execs decides to snoop around in the laboratory and see what's up.  There, he is attacked by a hideous wasp woman, who beats him unconscious and devours him completely.  This effect is as low-budget as one might expect from a movie with a $50,000 bankroll.  Still, the transformed Starlin does look sufficiently creepy, and Corman wisely keeps her in the shadows.


The New Face of Starlin Cosmetics!

After the susbsequent grisly death of the company's night watchman, concern rises.  Zinthrop is found and taken to the company building, but he can't remember what he was going to tell Starlin.  She pleads with him to help her, but he cannot. 


"Blink twice if I should stop taking wasp extract and killing innocent people."

Agitated, she turns into a wasp woman again and kills Zinthrop's nurse.  Starlin's secretary and her boyfriend show up shortly thereafter.  Starlin bites and drags off the secretary, but the wasp woman is stopped by a combination of carbolic acid and a velocitious defenestration before she can kill again.

Cue credits.

This is such an odd movie.  I've said many times that my favorite part of a horror film is the first twenty minutes when it seems that things will be hunky dory for all concerned.  The stronger extract isn't even introduced until halfway through the movie's running time, and the wasp woman doesn't make her debut until the last 20 minutes. 

As a result, what you really have is an interesting sort of character drama.  Aging cosmetics company queen must cope with an increasingly desperate situation.  What sells this drama is Ms. Susan Cabot (originally Harriet Shapiro).  Yes, the Ms. Cabot who was the paramour of the young King Hussein of Jordan last year before he found out she was Jewish.  She takes the role seriously, and I found myself caring less about seeing the wasp monster and more about her dilemma.  In fact, the whole thing feels a bit like an episode of The Twilight Zone: a personal crisis with a detour into the surreal. 

It's hardly perfect, of course.  It's a clear filching of The Fly, even down to the utterance of "Heeeelp me!"  The frenetic jazz soundtrack, a hallmark of a lot of movies these days, will either be your cup of tea or it won't.  While Cabot is generally good, the rest of the cast has its uneven moments, though rarely distractingly so.

On the other hand, the film's watchability is aided by its rather progressive attitude.  The cast is balanced quite evenly, gender-wise, and there is very little of the sexism that characterizes our culture these days.  Starlin is a quite sympathetic character, with the sort of strength and poise one would expect of a corporate head.

Add to that the not-unsuccessful moralizing (an anti-drug message, an anti-reckless science message), and you've got a thoroughly enjoyable hour of entertainment.  Of course, it's just that.  It's not art for the ages.  But as we saw in I married a Monster from Outer Space, one can find quality in the oddest of places.

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TV

[June 22, 1960] Here comes Summer! (Twilight Zone wrap-up)

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Summer is here, and that means the television season is wrapping up, freeing time for a slew of blockbusters.  But the small screen hasn't quite finished with all it has to show us–between Maverick, Bonanza, and The Twilight Zone, there's still plenty to enjoy.  I must confess a guilty affection for What's My Line, too.  I like to close my eyes when they display the guests' professions so I can play along with the contestants in guessing.

Twilight Zone, in particular, continues to impress.  The latest three episodes (there was another gap in the schedule for some reason) are all interesting, and they break from the early season mold of featuring a fellow descending into madness and screaming through the second act.

In fact, it's rather hard to pick a favorite from this bunch.  Perhaps you can help:

Jack Klugman stars in A Passage for Trumpet as an alcoholic, down-on-his-luck trumpeteer with a real talent for horn.  His rendezvous with the bottle has killed his career, spiraling him into a depression for which booze is his medication.  Seeing no way out of the vicious cycle, he throws himself in front of a speeding car.  Surprisingly, he seems unscathed… except now no one can see him anymore.  Is he a ghost?  Perhaps the mysterious trumpeteer named Gabe knows the answer…  Klugman is particularly great in this role, but he is great in everything (q.v. 12 Angry Men).

Mr. Bevis is an altogether different sort of episode, though like the last, it is excellent and marked with more than a little touch of the supernatural.  The eponymous protagonist, played by Orson Bean, is eccentric in the extreme.  He wears a mismatched suit topped with an archaic bow-tie.  He drives an ancient Rickenbacker.  His apartment hasn't a square inch of free space, so crammed is it with half-built models, random toys, instruments, clocks.  He plays football in the street with urchins.  He listens to zither music.  His demeanor is uncommonly, unhealthily cheerful and engaging.  At work, he's a disaster, bouncing from job to job with seasonal frequency.  He rarely makes rent on time.

In fact, the episode begins with Mr. Bevis being fired, evicted, and losing his vehicle.  But then he's offered a second chance by his family guardian angel.  Will he trade his happy-go-lucky lifestyle for security and success?  Would you?

After Hours, starring mostly women (at last!  In this case, Ann Francis and Elizabeth Allen), throws a curve ball.  A young woman goes to a department store looking for a gold thimble to give her mother as a present.  She is taken to the all-but deserted ninth floor… of a building that has only eight floors, where she is sold the item by a most unsettling saleswoman.  When she later sees the retailer is just a mannequin, she faints, waking up after the employees have departed and the store has been locked up.  It's set up like a conventional episode with a mystery, an increasingly distraught protagonist, and a manic second act.  The ending isn't what you think it will be, however.

My contacts at the studio tell me there are only two episodes left before the season is out.  I'll cover those, and pick out my favorites for the season, in just a few weeks.

Stay tuned!

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55 years ago: Science Fact and Fiction