[May 22 1966] O.K.? No Way! (Doctor Who: The Gunfighters)


By Jessica Holmes

I love musicals. I love — despite its flaws — this weird little science fiction show: Doctor Who. You’d think if you put the two together you’d end up with something I adore. It didn’t work.

Yes, this is essentially a musical serial– or rather, a serial with musical narration and more than one actual on-screen musical number. It sounds completely bizarre, and that’s because it is.

Rather than the usual incidental music peppering Doctor Who’s serials, this time around the action is interspersed with a ballad written by Tristram Cary and performed by Lynda Baron. Cary has provided music for Doctor Who before, in The Daleks, Marco Polo and The Daleks’ Master Plan. I wish I could say I remembered any of the music in those serials, but I can’t. All the same, I have found that his latest offering has wormed its way into my brain, and I keep catching myself humming the tune… much to my dismay.

This one’s also an alleged historical with more inaccuracies than I can count, so to save us all a lot of time I’ll quickly explain the very basics of what ACTUALLY happened in Tombstone on October 26, 1881.

Image: Tombstone in 1881

THE GUNFIGHT NEAR-ISH TO THE O.K. CORRAL

The conflict in Tombstone had been a long time brewing, the result of a long feud between the lawmen of Tombstone and the outlaw Cowboys finally coming to a head. That’s a long story and not really relevant, but it involves exciting things like stagecoach robberies, smuggling, political rivalries, and all that good stuff. What really kicked things off, however, was a drunken argument and a new gun-control law.

The night before the fight, Doc Holliday and Ike Clanton got into an argument, which Town Marshal Virgil Earp put a stop to before things could get out of control. However, Clanton didn’t drop the matter, and threatened both Holliday and the Earp brothers. The town of Tombstone had recently made it illegal to carry a weapon within the town limits (unless you were just passing through), giving Virgil the pretext he needed to pistol-whip and disarm Clanton. Virgil hauled Ike before a judge, who fined him for the offence, and then let him go. Clanton, none too pleased about being disarmed and whacked on the noggin, fetched five of his Cowboy buddies, including his brother Billy and the McLaury brothers.

Having got wind of the Cowboys being in town and apparently armed, Virgil deputised his brothers Morgan and Wyatt. Along with Doc Holliday they went to disarm the outlaws, finding them at an empty lot near the Old Kindersley Corral. It didn’t go well.
It’s not clear who shot first, but when the smoke cleared Billy Clanton and the McLaury brothers lay dead, and the only uninjured man on the opposing side was Wyatt Earp. Ike, for his part, had run from the fight.

In the aftermath, Ike brought charges against the Earps and Holliday for killing his brother, and following an investigation and trial, they were found to have acted within the law.

This is all a massive oversimplification of a very complex situation, but I’ve distilled it as best as I can.

And now for Doctor Who’s version of events.

Image: The main street of Tombstone, the sign of the OK Corral visible in the background.

A HOLIDAY FOR THE DOCTOR

Welcome to Tombstone, Arizona. It’s a nice little frontier town, mostly quiet until today. The notorious Clanton brothers (of which there are three: Ike, Billy and Phineas) have ridden into town to settle a score with Doc Holliday, noted gunfighter, gambler, and… dentist.

My American friends, I am so sorry for what you’re about to endure. Much as I often find American attempts at an English accent to be grating, I have to admit we’re much, much worse at yours. Some of these chaps are overshooting America, crossing the Pacific and landing in Australia.

Image: Stephen and Dodo in bad cowboy costumes, with the Doctor clutching his jaw in the foreground.

The Doctor and company arrive and soon make the acquaintance of Town Marshal Vir–sorry, WYATT Earp. Virgil won’t be turning up until much later, sorry.

The Clantons discuss their plans to find Doc Holliday with their associate Seth Harper, but they're overheard by the bar singer, Kate. Kate immediately hurries off to warn her lover, Doc.

Doc, for his part, looks like they’ve tried really hard to make him bear a believable resemblance to the Doctor, despite the fact he was only thirty years old at the time of the fight. Kate and Doc get into a contest over who can overact the clumsily-written dialogue the hardest. That scenery must be really delicious.

Image: Kate and Doc

I have to give credit where it’s due– the set is large and detailed enough to be believable. It’s even big enough to safely gallop a horse through.

Wyatt introduces the Doctor and company to local Sherriff Bat Masterson, and the Doctor claims that they’re a travelling band of players: Steven ‘Regret’, singer, Miss Dodo Dupont, pianist, and he of course is Doctor Caligari. This bit is quite funny, I’ll give them that.

The Doctor finds Doc canoodling with his lady friend in the back room of his parlour, and is not reassured to learn that he’s Doc’s first customer. Meanwhile, Dodo and Stephen try and fail to blend in with the locals as they swagger over to the saloon. It would help if their outfits weren't more fit for a fancy dress party than the Old West.

Image: Kate and Doc stand either side of the Doctor, who is sitting in the dentist's chair.

However, the Cowboys overhear the young pair talking about the Doctor, and under the mistaken assumption that they’re associates of Doc Holliday, confront the pair.

Stephen and Dodo try to protest, but the Cowboys are having none of it. If they're really musicians, why not entertain everyone with a song?

With a couple of handy hostages at the saloon, Seth waylays the Doctor as he emerges from his appointment looking rather the worse for wear. He extends a cordial invitation for a get-together at the saloon, which after some insistence the Doctor accepts.

Having overheard this, Doc insists that the Doctor take his gun. He’s not being charitable, mind you, he just wants to make sure that the Cowboys mistake the Doctor for him.

Image: Stephen and Dodo look at a songbook while being held at gunpoint by one of the Clantons.

Back at the bar, the Cowboys confront Stephen and Dodo, who insist they’re really musicians, nothing to do with Doc Holliday. Well, if that’s so, how about a song?

Dodo mimes along to the player piano quite convincingly as Stephen sings the same ballad that’s been narrating all the goings on. He’s not bad, considering he’s being held at gunpoint. His commitment to maintaining a bad American accent isn’t doing him any favours though.

DON’T SHOOT THE PIANIST

The ever-so-heroic Doc Holliday watches as the Doctor heads to the saloon, anticipating that the Clantons will kill him in Doc’s place. However, Kate also heads back to the saloon, much to the relief of Stephen who has been made to sing the same song four times over.

So of course we all want to hear it yet again from her, don’t we?

Image: Stephen sings for the Clantons

In comes the Doctor, completely oblivious to the tension in the room until he hears the name Clanton and gets some inkling of the trouble he’s in.

His protestations that he’s not Holliday fall on deaf ears, but luckily for him Holliday had a change of heart. Hiding upstairs, Holiday fires off a few well-placed shots at just the right moment to enable the Doctor, Kate and Stephen to disarm the Cowboys.

Image: The Doctor and Kate hold the Clantons at gunpoint.

Wyatt and Bat turn up, taking the Doctor into custody for his own protection– a fact that seems to be lost on Stephen, who immediately falls in with the Cowboys in the hopes of breaking him out. Of course, the Cowboys are only helping him so that they can get at ‘Doc’, but it takes the poor lad a while to catch on.

As for Dodo, she’s ended up with Doc Holliday, who won’t let her out of her room in case she gives away the ruse. After all, he’ll be safe with Earp.

Image: The Doctor sits in a jail cell.

It is at this point that the musical narration started to wear out its welcome. No, that didn’t take long at all, did it?

The Cowboys coach Stephen on what to do at the jailhouse to break the Doctor out, and Stephen finally realises that he can’t trust them, though he doesn’t let on. He sneaks off to the jailhouse and passes the Doctor a gun through the window of his cell, telling him to bluff his way out and escape before the Clantons come for him.

So what does the Doctor do? He hands the gun over to Wyatt and tells him about the escape plan.

Image: Stephen talks to the Doctor through the window of his cell.

Methinks the Doctor ought to swap his cowboy hat for a dunce cap. It’s also here that I noticed that the Doctor consistently calls Earp ‘Wearp’. Why? The Doctor knows who Earp is, and it’s too consistent to be a line flub, so I don’t really get it.

The Clantons catch Stephen sneaking back from the jailhouse, and poor Stephen finds himself being carted off by an angry mob intent on stringing him up as an associate of Holliday.

Dodo and company spot them heading away, so Doc leaps into action to rescue… his dentist chair. Seth spots him as he comes down the stairs, but Doc is a quicker shot. Leaving Seth dead on the floor, he has Kate saddle up three horses; Dodo will be leaving town with them.

The Clanton-led mob arrives at the jailhouse with an ultimatum: hand over ‘Doc’, or Stephen will swing in his place.

Image: Wyatt stands in front of Stephen, brandishing his gun. Stephen has a noose around his neck.

JOHNNY RINGO

Though the Doctor is more than willing to meet the mob’s demands, Earp isn’t about to give in. He sneaks around the back of the mob and knocks out Phineas Clanton, taking him into custody as the barman comes running up to tell everyone that he’s just seen the real Doc Holliday shoot Seth.

With their brother in custody, the other Clantons back off, heading to the saloon to drink it dry. They need a new associate. They need Johnny Ringo.

Because I can’t resist adding in a historical note: Johnny Ringo was a real outlaw, but he wasn’t involved in the gunfight at the O.K. Corral, but later incidents involving Doc Holliday and the Earps.

Image: Stephen and the Doctor talk to Charlie the barmman.

Doc, Kate and Dodo take a room in the next town, out of immediate danger but close enough that they can get back to Tombstone at a moment's notice. I say out of danger, but Doc manages to get into a brief offscreen shootout in the two minutes it takes him to scrounge up some supper.

Back in Tombstone, Johnny Ringo rides into town. Rather serendipitous, given that the Clantons didn’t have a way to contact him. It just so happens that he, too, has a score to settle with Holliday. Suspicious that Charlie the barman might warn the Earps about his presence, he shoots him dead.

Image: Johnny Ringo lights a cigar with a gas lamp.

Just in case we weren’t paying attention, the singing narration reiterates what just happened to Charlie in a desperate attempt to make us feel sad.

Meanwhile, Dodo wants to go back to Tombstone so badly she’s willing to hold Doc at gunpoint. He’s far more amused than threatened, but he does agree to take her back.

The Doctor and Stephen meet Ringo in the saloon and find the dead body of poor Charlie the barman. Seeing as they’re both looking for Holliday, Ringo takes Stephen to search for him. Stephen is apparently fine with teaming up with the very obvious outlaw.

Image: The Doctor talks to Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson

Ringo and Stephen soon arrive in the next town and head for the saloon, figuring that Holliday will be in there gambling. However, they don’t find Holliday, but Kate.

Say, if Holliday and Dodo are on their way back from that town, wouldn’t they have passed Stephen and Ringo on the road?

The narration, long having worn out its welcome, thoroughly gets on my nerves. It is very rare that narration is even necessary in the first place. For an extra helping of lazy writing, the song tells us that Kate and Ringo were once lovers. Apparently there is no other way of conveying that. It’s not as if they could simply ACT as if they have a romantic past. Oh, wait, they do.

Image: Ringo points a gun at Kate

And because I’m already annoyed and on my high horse, I want to note that I have been unable to find any evidence of the real Kate and Ringo having ever been involved with one another, romantically or otherwise.

Kate tells Ringo that Doc headed out for New Mexico, hoping to throw him off the trail. However, Ringo has other ideas. He’ll be heading back to Tombstone, and Kate’ll be coming with him.

In the Tombstone jailhouse, Wyatt has left his younger brother Warren to guard the imprisoned Clanton. The other Clantons come by the jailhouse, and poor young Warren is too slow to get the draw on them. Leaving him bleeding on the floor, the Clantons break their brother out of jail.

Image: Warren Earp lying face down on the floor.

The music and narration try to make it sad, but you can’t manufacture an emotional response to the death of a character I have absolutely no reason to care about.

Here’s another departure from history. Warren Earp was real, but not only did he have nothing to do with the fight at the O.K. Corral, the Clantons never did a thing to him! He died in 1900, long after this whole incident.

THE OK CORRAL

Someone, anyone, I beg of you. Please shoot the narrator.

At the saloon, Wyatt makes the Doctor a deputy, and his brother Virgil finally turns up to lend a hand. They soon find out what happened to Warren, and the dying man manages to tell them who did this to him before going to the great rodeo in the sky.

Image: The Earps kneel over their dead brother.

A furious Wyatt sends Virgil to tell the Clantons they’ll be waiting for them come sunup.

Ringo tells the Clantons to do as Virgil says. While they’re facing off against the Earps, Ringo can come up from behind and shoot them in the back. Well, that’s hardly sporting, is it?

Image: Virgil Earp delivers his message to the Cowboys.

Virgil gets back to Tombstone and tells the others that although he didn’t see Ringo himself, he saw his horse. So much for secrecy, eh, Ringo?

The Doctor despairs at this development. It seems like they’re hopelessly outgunned. However, he didn’t count on Doc Holliday.

He’s back, and he’s itching for a fight. Now that Doc’s here, the Doctor quite eagerly hands over his badge and gun. He’s not really cut out for all this wild west stuff.

Later that night, the Doctor frets over the coming duel. Shouldn’t the Clantons get a fair trial?

Image: The Doctor speaks to Pa Earp

The Sheriff is relieved to hear he’s not the only sane man in town, so he sends the Doctor to try talking to the Clantons. Yes, I’m sure they’ll be perfectly reasonable and this can all be solved over tea and crumpets.

Hold on a minute. Is the Doctor trying to meddle with history? The one thing he always says he cannot and WILL NOT ever do?

All the same, it doesn't amount to much, given he only speaks to the Clantons' Pa, and the brothers have already left.

Image: The Earps walk down the street to meet the Clantons

As the lawmen and the Cowboys assemble for their final standoff, the ballad warbles on, undermining the dramatic framing of the scene.

Doc almost gets caught out by Ringo, but the timely intervention of Dodo saves him. There’s a tense moment as Ringo grabs her and takes her hostage, leaving Doc with no choice but to drop his gun.

However, what self-respecting gun-toting sharp-shooting wild west hero would carry only one gun? Not Doc Holliday, that’s for sure. As Ringo stoops to pick up Doc’s gun, Doc whips out another and shoots him dead. Telling Dodo to get to safety, he joins the firefight.

Image: Doc Holliday aims his pistol

The half-hearted anti-violence message the Doctor keeps attempting to bring up would be a lot stronger if Doc didn’t look so darn COOL when he’s shooting people.

When the smoke settles, the Clantons are all dead, and the lawmen don’t have a scratch on them. The goodies beat the baddies, and violence solves everything.

Image: The Earps and Holliday stand side by side. Only their legs are visible.

The Doctor laments the injustice of it all, but nobody cares. I don’t even think the writer cares. Doc sees them off, giving the Doctor a wanted poster as a souvenir. As for the Earps, they don’t show up again. It’s unclear what will happen to them.

As the travellers leave, they hear Kate off in the saloon, singing that bloody ballad. I’m sure it’s a coincidence that the Doctor starts immediately hurrying the others into the TARDIS.

They depart to parts unknown, landing on an unknown world in the far future. According to the Doctor, this is an age of peace, enlightenment and prosperity. If that’s so, then who is that caveman-looking fellow approaching the TARDIS?

Image: The TARDIS viewscreen. On the screen is a hunched man dressed in furs.

Final Thoughts

I don’t know anyone who actually liked this serial. I don’t really know who it’s for. It’s too ahistorical to appeal to anyone who watches for the history aspect. I can’t imagine many parents were all that pleased with the amount of on-screen violence, though their children might have found it exciting.

The only attempt at a message or moral is that ‘violence is bad’ and I think we’ve seen how thoroughly it undermines itself on that count. As for the musical narration, that’s just baffling.

I get the feeling that this story wants to be a fun, comedic and light-hearted wild-west romp. The problem is that it’s not that fun. Take out the singing and people would probably see it as unusually dark and gritty for Doctor Who. There’s a few funny bits, but not really enough that landed for me to call it a successful comedy.

This feels like an attempt by Donald Cotton to recapture the success of his earlier story, The Mythmakers. It even repeats the plotline of the Doctor being mistaken for someone else. I am not sure what exactly is different here. Did the Mythmakers simply have a funnier script? Better comedic actors? I think a combination of the two is quite possible. Also possible is that it doesn’t have a singing narrator– sorry, I know I keep going on, but the narrator really did annoy me.

Basically, The Gunfighters doesn’t succeed at being anything other than a mildly diverting time-waster.

I do hope that there will be something better in store next time.

Text reads: Next Episode | DR. WHO AND THE SAVAGES

2 out of 5 stars



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[May 20, 1966] Things to Come and Things that Are(June 1966 Fantasy and Science Fiction)


by Gideon Marcus

The Future

Over in England, they're swimming in science fiction anthology-esque shows, from Out of the Unknown to Doctor Who.  What have we got Stateside?  Lost in SpaceMy Favorite Martian?  Ever since The Outer Limits and The Twilight Zone went off the air, TV has been something of an SF wasteland.  That may all be changing come Fall.

A new show, called Star Trek is supposed to be kind of an anthology/serial — the same crew every week, but wildly different stories, many by actual science fiction authors.  It could end up being like Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea or Forbidden Planet (i.e. pretty but dumb), or it could be the revolution necessary to bring science fiction to the masses.  We won't know for another four months.  I'm prepared for disappointment, but I also can't help being a little excited.

The Present

Until then, I've got a pocket full of futures right hear in front of me with this month's Fantasy and Science Fiction.  As usual, it's a grab-bag of good and ho-hum, the latter in greater proportion… but whaddaya want for four bits?

Dig it:


by Hector Castellon

This Moment of the Storm, by Roger Zelazny

Zelazny has made a name for himself with his fantastic but punchy prose, sort of an SFNal Hemingway, the vanguard of the American New Wave.  For me, he's hit or miss, though his hits are worth waiting for.  Storm looked like it was shaping up to be a hit, but I'd say it's a near miss.

Dozens of light years from Earth lies Tierra del Cygnus, a rustic "stopover" colony where folks on decades-long STL interstellar trips can break out of hibernation and stretch their legs before embarking for their final destination.  Our protagonist, Godfrey Justin Holmes, is a Hell Cop, responsible for civic peace and weather safety with his 130 floating, autonomous metal eyes.  He'd settled on Cygnus after fleeing a tragic personal loss, and on Cygnus, he believes he has found the key to mending his heart.

But in the midst of solving this long term problem, an acute short term one arises: the biggest storm his area of the planet has seen in recorded history is brewing.  And for a week, it lashes with unabated fury.

I have the same problem with Storm that I did with Keith Roberts' Lady Anne: I'll be reading right along, enjoying the evocative prose, but after a few pages, I find myself wondering, "What the hell is all this?  Get to the point, man!"  Pretty writing isn't enough.

Beyond that, Storm feels utterly conventional.  Take out the spaceflight trappings, which is easy to do as they are not central to the story, and you've got a thoroughly terrestrial story. 

It's not bad, mind you.  Zelazny does a masterful job of introducing the world and the relevant considerations in subtle snatches of detail rather than a single burst of exposition.  Others might also enjoy the blunt, first person perspective; I eventually found it a little tiresome and too reminiscent of the better …and call me Conrad.

So, a minor work from a major player.  Three stars.

The Little Blue Weeds of Spring, by Doris Pitkin Buck

A winged woman commits the horried crime of breeding outside her caste.  Her punishment is exile to ground-bound humandom on Earth.  But a plucked bird can still find ways to soar…

A nice poetic piece that's perhaps a bit too trivial.  Three stars.

Care in Captivity Series: Tyrant Lizards Tyrannosaurus Rex, by Barry Rothman

This is one of those non-fact pieces, in this case, about raising a tyrant lizard what had been frozen for 70 million years.  Very slight stuff.  Two stars.

The Adjusted, by Kenneth Bulmer

A pair of caretakers mind the last vestiges of humanity, locked in cages, fed porridge, clad in rags, but hypnotized to think they are leading fulfilling lives.  It's all part of the computers' plan, you see — a way of dealing with the hordes unemployed and pointless humans. They can't just be killed off, but they also can't be left to their own chaotic devices.

Of course, there's a sting in the story's tale, one that you'll see a mile away.  It's not very clever, at first, but there's something compelling about a world of humans under the thrall of machines, all living in a shared fantasy world, slave to some sinister but inscrutable purpose.

It might make an interesting movie someday.  Three stars.

Migratory Locusts, by Theodore L. Thomas

Thomas suggests that since locusts are just grasshoppers that get too crowded together, maybe humans will turn into something else altogether when Indian/Chinese conditions become the worldwide norm.  I suppose there's an SF story in there somewhere.  In this case, there's not enough here here to provoke much thought.

Two stars.

Memo to Secretary, by Pat de Graw

Pat de Graw offers up an ode to bureacratic paperwork, Stone Age style.  Nicely done, particularly the line about the wing/ed/itorial bull.

Four stars.

A Quest for Uplift, by Len Guttridge

A carny agent out looking for freaks in a world where access to health care has largely addressed unwanted deformity follows a tip that leads to a genetic lineage of true levitators.

Unfortunately, elevation turns out to be involuntary — and communicative.

Guttridge's narrator tells the story in an unbroken harangue that will glaze your eyes over by page three.  It also manages to be casually and offputtingly offensive several times over.

One star.

Forgive Us Our Debtors, by Jon DeCles

Ah, but then we have a rather sublime tale of an empath whose job is planetary evaluation.  On the world of Red Kitra (a fine name), said empath is tasked with attuning to a world's entire ecology to determine if the glimmer of sentience lies therein.  He ends up in a literal and metaphorical web of karma, learning the value of life, as well as the meaning of charity, in the process.

I may be a little biased as I happen to be friends with Jon, but I think this is inarguably the best piece of the issue.  Four stars.

The Isles of Earth, by Isaac Asimov

Another list article from Dr. A, this time on the size and distribution of Earth's islands.  Diverting, I suppose, but nothing you won't find at the beginning of any decent atlas (of which I have about two dozen — I like atlases!)

Three stars.

The Pilgrims, by Jack Vance

We wrap up with the penultimate tale of the ordeals of Cugel the Clever, hapless magical errand boy in the far future setting of The Dying Earth.  As related in prior episodes, this is a set of stories that gets less appealing as it goes on, though Vance does mix in some amusing literate ribaldry.

This particular installment doesn't even have a proper ending.  Let's hope the series as a whole does.

Three stars.

The Edge of Tomorrow

All told, the latest F&SF merits a drab 2.9 stars, definitely one of the weaker entries of the past year.  But every month offers a chance at redemption, and the next issue is only a few weeks away.  Will the July issue offer a collection of immortal classics or more of the humdrum same?

The anticipation, waiting to find out, is half the fun!



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[May 18, 1966] What's the Difference? (Two versions of Mindswap by Robert Sheckley)


by Victoria Silverwolf

What's The Big Idea?

Science fiction writers often take novellas that have appeared in magazines and turn them into novels, to be published as books. Sometimes this doesn't require any expansion of the original at all, particularly if it's half of an Ace Double.

Case in point, as Rod Serling might say, is The Unteleported Man by Philip K. Dick, which appeared in the December 1964 issue of Fantastic.


Cover art by Lloyd Birmingham. It's not really a complete short novel, but you'll rarely see the word novella in a magazine.

It showed up as half of Ace Double G-602 without any changes. (In case you're wondering, the other half was something called The Mind Monsters by somebody named Howard L. Cory.)


Cover art by Kelly Freas. It's still not a complete novel.

On the other hand, an author can make use of the big (and profitable) idea of reusing old material by adding new stuff to it. One example is The Whole Man by John Brunner. The first half is original, while the second half makes use of two previously published novellas.


The cover art is anonymous, and deserves to be so, in my opinion.

With that background in mind, let's take a look at a recent example of stretching a novella into a novel.

What's The Story?

I'll start with the magazine version of Mindswap, Robert Sheckley's comic tale of a fellow whose consciousness goes bouncing around the universe from body to body. It appeared in the June 1965 issue of Galaxy.


Cover art by George Schelling. The table of contents calls Mindswap a, you guessed it, complete short novel.

Our Gracious Host didn't care for it, awarding it only two stars. That's a matter of taste of course, as I'll discuss later. For now, let me outline the plot, so we can compare it with the novel.

Marvin Flynn is a fellow who wants to travel to other planets, but who can't afford the extremely high price of space travel. Fortunately, the process of switching bodies with somebody, even over interstellar distances, is a lot cheaper. (Maybe not the most plausible premise in the world, but let's go with it.)

He answers an ad from a Martian who wants to mindswap with an Earthling. The bad news is that the Martian is a crook, who has already sold his body to a previous customer, and who runs off with Marvin's body. Marvin has to mindswap again, in order to avoid dying when he gets kicked out of the criminal's body.

Having no other choice, he winds up in an alien body, working as an egg catcher. These aren't ordinary eggs. They talk, for one thing. In addition to that, the dinosaur-like beings who produce the eggs hunt down those hunting the eggs. Facing a very unpleasant demise in the jaws of one of these creatures, Marvin mindswaps once more.

This time he's in the body of an insectoid alien, and he has a ticking ring in his nose that might be a bomb, ready to go off in the near future.

Things are already complicated enough, but it gets a lot weirder. You see, the act of mindswapping tends to cause the swapper to perceive reality in odd ways. The story turns into a parody of cowboy fiction when Marvin hallucinates that he's in the Old West.

Without going into too much detail about a complex plot, let me just say that Marvin falls in love, loses the woman he adores, searches for her with the help of a peculiar companion, confronts the villain who stole his body, and winds up back on Earth. There's a twist at the end.

What's New?

Mindswap just came out as a hardcover novel from Delacorte Press. Is it worth paying the three dollars and ninety-five cents they're asking at the bookstore? Let's find out. (Or you could just wait for the paperback edition, which should cost just about as much as the magazine did.)


Cover art by James McMullan. By the way, The Game of X isn't science fiction, but a comic spy novel.

At first, there seems to be very little difference between the novella and the novel. That changes at Chapter 24 (out of 33) or, if you prefer, on page 151 (out of 216.) Either way, that means that not quite one-third of the book is new.

In the short version, Marvin runs into the Martian crook a lot quicker. In the long version, there's a major section of the book where he gets involved in a swashbuckling adventure. Reality has completely broken down at this point, so you'll just have to accept the fact that he starts acting and talking like somebody in an Errol Flynn movie. After that, we get the same twist ending as in the magazine.

What's So Funny?

Appreciation of comedy is very much an individual thing; more so, I think, than appreciation of any other form of art. Maybe I like the Marx Brothers and you like the Three Stooges. Each of us would have a difficult time convincing the other of the superiority of our differing preferences. Without arguing for the merits of Sheckley's work, allow me to discuss the various forms of humor he employs.

Slapstick

Maybe we can define this as amusement at another person's woes, as long as they're ludicrous. When Marvin is about to get his head bitten off by a dinosaur, or when he expects to have the bomb in his nose explode, we can laugh at his anxiety.

Parody

I've already mentioned the spoofs of Western and swashbuckling fiction. There's also a section where, for ridiculous reasons, characters start speaking in pseudo-Shakespearean verse. The novel as a whole seems to be a parody of science fiction itself.

Wordplay

This occurs all through the book. Right at the start we hear Marvin and his buddy talk in futuristic slang that borrows from other languages. (Might Sheckley be making fun of the Anthony Burgess novel A Clockwork Orange?)

The author delights in silly names, of which there are dozens, if not hundreds, scattered throughout the novel. Marvin's companion during his search for his lost love alternates speaking in a thick, stereotypical Mexican accent and formal English. During the swashbuckling section, everybody talks in a highfalutin' fashion that you'd only hear in a romantic novel or a Hollywood movie.

Illogic

Reminiscent of Lewis Carroll's Mad Hatter, Sheckley's characters often reason in ways that might seem superficially logical, but which expose their inside-out and upside-down thinking.

The Martian detective searching for the criminal (I didn't mention him, did I?) figures that probability is on his side; he's failed to solve 158 cases, so he's bound to solve this one.

The hermit who mindswaps Marvin from the egg hunter's body into the insectoid body (I didn't mention him either, did I?) speaks in verse because he thinks it protects him from the dinosaurs. His proof? That he hasn't been killed yet.

The pseudo-Mexican helping Marvin in his search (I did mention him, didn't I?) has an unusual theory of searching; just go somewhere and wait, so that the searcher becomes the searchee.

Overall, I have to say that the book amused me. It doesn't have quite the same satiric bite as some other Sheckley works, but it made me smile all the way through.

Three and one-half stars.

What's Next?

I'm sure that other writers will continue to turn stories into novels. (The series of linked stories by Robert Silverberg that started with Blue Fire and which recently ended, or so it seems, with Open the Sky cries out to be a novel.)

My sources in the publishing industry tell me that Larry Niven's impressive novella World of Ptavvs has been expanded into a novel, and will appear in a few months. Here's a sneak preview.


Cover art by Norman Adams

And just to prove that authors aren't the only ones to reuse old material, just take a look at this book from 1963.


Look familiar?

All of us should heed the example of writers, artists, and publishers, and reuse whatever we can. It's the patriotic thing to do.


Junior looks like he might be searching through old science fiction magazines.



If you want to hear some great current music, then tune in to KGJ, our radio station! We never reuse the old songs!




[May 16, 1966] Spies, Poets and Linguists: Babel-17 by Samuel R. Delany


by Cora Buhlert

Crashing Starfighters

Before heading into the planned book review, I have sad news to relate: on May 10, two Lockheed F104G Starfighters of the West German air force collided over the North Sea and crashed into the waves, killing both pilots.

Lockheed Starfighter
A Lockheed F104G Starfighter, actually flying for once.

This would be a tragedy in itself, but what makes it even worse is that only eight days before, on May 2, another aircraft of the same type crashed near Rendsburg in the far north of West Germany, killing the pilot. Nor are these isolated incidents. All in all, the West German air force has lost fifty-four Lockheed Starfighters since 1961, twenty-six of them in 1965 alone. By now, the aircraft has a terrible reputation in West Germany, is nicknamed "widow maker" or "flying coffin," and also gave birth to tasteless jokes such as "How do you become the owner of a Starfighter? – Just buy a meadow and wait."

Starfighter crash Mörsen
This Starfighter crash in Twistringen, some 25 kilometres from where I live, cost not just the life of the pilot, but also that of a woman and her two daughters as well as a volunteer firefighter.

After so many crashes and avoidable deaths of both pilots and civilians on the ground, the West German parliament has finally launched an inquiry into why these accidents keep happening. Reasons include inadequate safety equipment and maintenance, general issues with the aircraft as well as the fact that West German Secretary of Defence Franz Josef Strauß, probably the worst German politician since 1945, requested alterations and add-ons, which the light fighter aircraft cannot handle.

Franz Josef Strauß
West German Secretary of Defence Franz Josef Strauß poses in the cockpit of a Starfighter. A pity he won't be the one who's in the cockpit when the next Starfighter crashes.

Spies in Space

With so much grim news in the real world, you just want to escape into a book. So I was happy to find Babel-17, the latest science fiction novel by Samuel R. Delany, in the spinner rack at my local import bookstore. The blurb promised a mix of space opera and James Bond style spy adventure, which sounded right up my alley.

Babel-17 by Samuel R. Delany

Babel-17 starts with a poem, and there are further poems scattered throughout the novel, used as chapter epigraphs. This is something you occasionally find in vintage pulp magazines, but rarely in contemporary science fiction. However, the use of poetry is entirely appropriate here, because Rydra Wong, protagonist of Babel-17, is a poet.

Rumour has it that the character is based on Samuel Delany's wife, the poet Marilyn Hacker, and that the poems found throughout the novel are her work. This is supported by a scene where Rydra Wong remembers the two men with whom she was in a triple marriage, a fellow writer named Muels Aranlyde and a geologist named Fobo Lombs. Muels Aranlyde is not just an anagram for Samuel R. Delany, he is also the author of a novel called Empire Star, which just happens to be the title of a novel Delany published earlier this year (reviewed here by our own Jason Sacks). Fobo Lombs is an anagram for Bob Folsom, a friend of the Delanys, to whom Babel-17 is dedicated.

Marilyn Hacker
The poet Marilyn Hacker, wife of Samuel R. Delany and model for Rydra Wong

After the poem, the novel proper opens with General Forester of the Alliance musing about invasions, embargos, hunger and cannibalism. From this, the reader deduces that Babel-17 is set in a galactic empire in the far future, which is at war. Later, we learn that warring parties, the Alliance and the Invaders, are both human.

The General is at bar, waiting to meet the above mentioned Rydra Wong. At twenty-six, Rydra Wong is not only the voice of the age and the most famous poet in the five explored galaxies, but also a linguistic genius with perfect verbal recall as well as breathtakingly beautiful. Oh yes, and she can read minds as well. Normally, characters this perfect simply annoy the reader. Rydra Wong, however, is endlessly fascinating, not just to the reader, but also to any man she meets. She has the magnetic charisma of James Bond, if James Bond were a brilliant female poet.

The military has hired Rydra Wong to solve a mystery. Factories and military installations have been experiencing mysterious accidents, which appear to be due to sabotage. Just before every accident, a burst of radio signals occurs. The signals seem to be encoded messages, but no one can crack the code, named Babel-17.

This is where Rydra Wong comes in. Using her linguistic genius, she determines that reason no one can decode Babel-17 is that it's not a code at all, but a language. Once Rydra realises that the messages are a dialogue, not a monologue, she makes headway in translating them and figures out where the next accident will occur. And since Rydra Wong also happens to have a space captain's licence, she is determined to go there.

As Rydra begins to translate more messages in Babel-17, she finds that her thoughts speed up to the point that regular English seems hopelessly slow and clumsy to convey meaning. Furthermore, Rydra realises that her uncanny abilities to guess what others are thinking from involuntary muscle movements are becoming more accurate and that she has also developed the ability to determine weak spots in anything from restraint webbing to attack patterns. Learning Babel-17 is literally changing the way Rydra perceives the universe.

A Multicultural Future

The next few chapters are given over to Rydra Wong recruiting her spaceship crew in various dodgy bars. These chapters are not only a lot of fun, they also serve to enrich the world Delany has built. We learn that cosmetic surgery is commonplace in this universe to the point that some people barely look human anymore and that walking around naked or nearly naked is not only perfectly acceptable, but socially expected. We also learn that there are so-called triples – marriages of three people – that are required for certain jobs aboard spaceships and that there are other jobs aboard spaceships that can only be done by what are essentially ghosts.

The reader also learns that Babel-17 is set in a multilingual and multiracial world. This is not your typical science fiction future where everybody speaks English – instead, there are myriad languages in this universe, snippets of some of which make their way into the novel. Our heroine Rydra Wong is an Asian woman, one of her three navigators, as well as Dr. Marcus T'mwarba, a psychologist who took in young Rydra after she was orphaned by the invasion, are black. None of this should sound unusual – after all, we live in a multilingual, multiracial and multi-ethnic world, so why should the future consist solely of white Americans? However, in practice science fiction all too often still offers up white monolingual all-American futures. Samuel R. Delany, however, is a black man and chose to show a more diverse future.

Samuel R. Delany
Samuel R. Delany is not just one of our most talented writers, he's also a very handsome man.

Treason Close to Home

Rydra's mission runs into problems almost immediately and her ship Rimbaud (named after French poet Arthur Rimbaud) suffers sabotage before it has even left Earth orbit. There is a traitor on board, but who?

Once the Rimbaud reaches her destination, the Alliance War Yards at Bellatrix, more trouble awaits. Delany goes into full James Bond mode here. First, he has Baron Ver Dorco, director of the War Yards, show off the secret superweapons developed there to Rydra, only for the Baron and several members of his staff to be murdered during a dinner party, when one of those superweapons, a shapeshifting android assassin, goes awry. The saboteur has struck again.

Rydra and her crew are not targeted by the saboteur, even though Rydra later notes that the murderous android had every chance to kill her. However, once Rydra and her crew return to the Rimbaud, they are struck by sabotage again, causing the ship to launch prematurely. Rydra muses that someone on board must speak Babel-17 and that this someone must be the saboteur. If you're thinking at this point that there is only one person aboard the Rimbaud who speaks Babel-17, you're on the right track.

Left adrift with their generators burned out, Rydra and crew of the Rimbaud are rescued by the pirate vessel Jebel Tarik. Though for a pirate ship, the Jebel Tarik has a surprisingly literate captain who is eager to discuss literature with Rydra. However, Rydra quickly impresses Captain Tarik in other ways as well, when she uses her Babel-17 derived abilities to aid the pirates during a raid and to save Tarik from an assassination attempt.

Rydra also bonds with Tarik's lieutenant Butcher, an amnesiac ex-con who was tortured by the Invaders and who cannot understand the concepts of "I" and "you". Rydra tries to teach him those concepts in a stunning dialogue where "I" and "you" are reversed throughout.

Rydra's next destination is the Alliance Administrative Headquarters. But before they can get there, they are attacked by the Invaders. Rydra, her crew and Butcher escape after a thrilling hand to hand battle in deep space. If you're thinking by now that Rydra Wong is remarkably unlucky, you're on the right track.

However, Rydra is not just remarkably unlucky, she is also very smart and so she eventually puts the pieces together in a nigh psychedelic and erotically charged scene where Rydra and Butcher merge both their bodies and minds. The saboteur and the traitor aboard the Rimbaud are revealed. So are Butcher's missing memories.

Reprogramming Human Brains

As the title implies, the solution to the mystery is Babel-17. For while Babel-17 is a language, it functions like a programming language, only that it programs not computers but human brains. Exposure to Babel-17 can turn people into unwitting traitors and replace their entire personality.

However, those who fell victim to Babel-17 can be deprogrammed. Furthermore, Rydra Wong has realised that what makes Babel-17 is so destructive is the lack of personal pronouns and the concepts of self and others. However, changing the language to include those concepts will also correct its flaws and stop the sabotage and the war. And so Rydra, Butcher and the rest of Rydra's loyal crew take off in a stolen Alliance battleship to put everything right and end the war. If only wars in the real world, such as the ongoing conflict in Vietnam, could be ended so easily.

Soft Science and Hard Linguistics

Space opera is often less scientifically rigorous than other types of science fiction. Babel-17, however, is based in real science. Though that science is not physics, chemistry or astronomy, but linguistics.

Campus Uni Vechta 1966
The newly built campus of the Pedagogic College Vechta, where I taught linguistics.

I'm a translator and linguist by training and even taught English linguistics at the Pedagogic College in Vechta, a town in Northwest Germany (which also suffered a Starfighter crash, by the way). So I'm familiar with the linguistic theories behind Babel-17.

The concept that underlies Babel-17, both the novel and the fictional language, is the theory of linguistic relativity, which postulates that the structure and vocabulary of a language determines the speaker's thoughts, worldview and perception.

Edward Sapir
Edward Sapir
Benjamin Lee Whorf
Benjamin Lee Whorf

The theory of linguistic relativity goes back to Enlightenment era thinkers such as Johann Gottfried Herder and Wilhelm von Humboldt. Nowadays, it is mostly associated with the American linguists Edward Sapir and particularly Benjamin Lee Whorf (who also coined the term linguistic relativity) to the point that the theory is sometimes referred to as the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, even if Sapir and Whorf, though influenced by each other, did not actually develop the theory together. Working independently of Sapir and Whorf, West German linguist Leo Weisgerber has developed the similar theory of "inhaltsbezogene Grammatik" (content-related grammar), which is still influential in both West and East Germany.

Leo Weissgerber
Leo Weissgerber

Weisgerber's work is little known in the English-speaking world, but I am certain that Samuel R. Delany is familiar with both Sapir's and Whorf's work. The concept of allophones – variations of a spoken sound that belong to the same phoneme – which Rydra explains to General Forester early in the novel, was taken straight from Whorf's work.

The theory of linguistic relativity is popular among science fiction writers. Jack Vance also used it as the background for his 1957 novel The Languages of Pao. The idea that language determines thought and perception is certainly seductive and I can understand why science fiction writers keep using it. There is only one problem. The theory of linguistic relativity is not only controversial, but also very likely wrong.

Satellite Science Fiction

The Languages of Pao

Particularly Whorf comes in for a lot of criticism these days, some of which, e.g. the fact that too many of his hypotheses are based on anecdotal evidence, is justified, some of which, e.g. the sniffy disdain for the fact that Whorf was a chemical engineer by training and never actually completed a linguistics degree, is not.

Neither I nor most other linguists would go so far to declare that there is no link at all between the structure, grammar and vocabulary of a language and the perception and worldview of its speakers. After all, everybody who speaks more than one language has experienced that one language uses words and grammar to express concepts that the other does not even have. However, the link between language and worldview is not nearly as strong as Benjamin Lee Whorf and Leo Weisgerber claim.

Nor does the fact that a language does not have a word for a certain concept or perception mean that its speakers don't experience that perception. For example, English does not have an equivalent to the German word "Feierabend" (the time after work, literally "celebration evening"). Nonetheless English speakers are familiar with the joyful feeling of leaving the office or factory to head home, even if they don't have a word to describe it.

Meanwhile, the central concept of Babel-17, namely that learning and understanding a language can influence a person's thoughts and actions to the point that they lose their memories and identity and turn traitor, is – pardon me for being so blunt – nonsense and likely born out of Cold War fears about Manchurian Candidate style brainwashing and Communist sleeper agents. It does, however, make for a great story. Besides, science fiction thrives on extrapolating far-fetched and often impossible ideas from solid scientific theories. If we accept faster-than-light travel, then we can certainly accept Babel-17.

Babel-17 is many things: an action-packed space opera in the tradition of Planet Stories and Thrilling Wonder Stories, a James Bond style spy adventure in space, a meditation about language and how it influences our thoughts and identities and a primer on linguistic theories. Above all, however, it is a great science fiction novel, the best I've read this year so far.

Five stars.

[May 14, 1966] Seeing Double (The She Beast and The Embalmer)


by Victoria Silverwolf

Two For The Price Of One

The tradition of double features in American movie houses goes back at least as far as the early 1930's. Under the old system, theaters were forced to purchase a lower budget movie (the B film) in order to be allowed to purchase a higher budget movie (the A film.) Often, there would also be cartoons, newsreels, short subjects, and so forth.


A typical double feature from 1934.

That began to change with the court case United States v. Paramount Pictures, Inc. (1948.) The United States Supreme Court decided that the practice of studios owning their own theaters, and having full power over what films a theater could show, violated antitrust laws.

As a result, major studios no longer had an incentive to produce B movies. Audiences still wanted double features, so smaller studios supplied low budget films that could be shown with A movies from the big companies. Eventually, theaters started showing two B movies together.


A typical double feature from 1955.

Doubled And Redoubled

Once I saw the trailer for a double feature of horror movies that opened early this month, I knew I had to rush out and see it. It turned out that each film was, itself, something of a double. I'll explain what I mean when I discuss them in turn.


Do you prefer Horror or Terror?

Nerves Of Steele

I've spoken elsewhere about the striking British actress Barbara Steele, who has appeared in a number of horror films, particularly in Italy. Her latest starring role is in The She Beast, a British/Italian co-production, filmed in Italy and Yugoslavia.


The Italian title, which even I can translate.

We begin with pretty simple opening titles, accompanied by the usual scary music.


Simple, but at least you know you're watching the right movie.

The words Transylvania — Today pop up, setting the stage. This helps, because the first thing we see is a nifty bright yellow motor car that looks like it rolled right out of the 1920's. Add to that the fact that the driver, an older, professorial type, with gray hair and beard, is wearing the kind of shortened trousers that I believe are known as plus fours, and which I associate with golfers of the same era.

This fellow drives up to a cave and enters, where he picks up a very old book and starts reading. (It turns out that this is the man's home, complete with a skull here and there to add the proper mood.) This conveniently gives us our back story in the form of a flashback.

Cut to the late 18th century. Some folks are at an open-coffin funeral, when a young boy rushes in to say that she has taken his brother. Everybody seems to know exactly who she is; the local witch, who looks more like a monster than a human being.


Jay Riley as the She Beast. Yes, she's played by a man, under very heavy makeup.

Depending on who's talking about her, the witch's name is either Vardella or Bardella; it's hard to tell. Anyway, a typical mob of villagers, carrying torches and pitchforks and such, grab the witch and strap her into the seat of a wooden thing that kind of looks like a catapult. After driving a long metal spike through her body, which you might think would be enough punishment, they dunk her into the adjoining lake several times.


A couple of guys watch the fun going on below.

Cut to 1966. A couple of young folks are driving around in a black Volkswagen. They're newlyweds, who have decided to spend their honeymoon in Transylvania. (Obviously, they've never seen a horror movie.) They discover that a highway to Bucharest shown on the map doesn't actually exist, so they're stuck here for the night.


Barbara Steele as Veronica and Ian Ogilvy as Philip.

A local fellow directs them to the only hotel in the vicinity. It's run by a creepy guy who gives them tea with garlic bulbs in it.

That bit of goofiness gives me the opportunity to explain what I mean by this movie having a double nature. It constantly makes wild changes in mood from deadly serious to silly, as if it can't make up its mind if it's a spoof or not. This goes far beyond the occasional touches of comedy relief often seen in this kind of film, and is rather disconcerting.


Mel Welles as Ladislav Groper, the innkeeper. Hey! He was in The Little Shop of Horrors, too!

The fellow we saw at the start of the film shows up and starts chatting to them. It turns out that he's Count Von Helsing, the scion of a local family of aristocratic exorcists. Veronica jokingly asks if he knows the Draculas, and he replies that his ancestors exorcised them. We'll find out later that he lives in a cave because the Communist government took away his ancestral castle.


John Karlsen as Count Von Helsing. Hey! He was in Crack in the World, too!

Mister Groper — the surname seems to be a deliberate reference to his lechery — gets his kicks by peeking at the newlyweds during a moment of intimacy.


What the butler — I mean, the hotelier — saw.

Philip beats the guy up badly — we even see a big blood stain on the wall after he bashes the voyeur's head against it — and the couple decides to leave early the next day. Apparently, Groper fiddled with their Volkswagen, because it doesn't start at first. Once they get it running again, it turns out that the steering wheel doesn't work. They nearly run into a truck, and wind up crashing into the lake where the witch was killed.

Von Helsing rescues Philip, but Veronica appears to be drowned. Dredging up what they expect to be her body, it turns out to be the witch instead. Barbara Steele fans, among whom I count myself, will be disappointed to find out that she disappears from the film until the very end. Rumor has it that she only worked on the movie for one grueling eighteen hour day.

If I was able to follow the plot correctly, it seems that the only way to bring Veronica back is to revive the dead witch, then exorcise her and drive her back into the lake, where the body exchange can take place again. Von Helsing brings the witch back to life, but she attacks him and escapes.

The witch starts killing people. In particular, she slices up Groper with a sickle. (We've just seen him attempt to rape his niece — see what I mean about changes in mood? — so you won't feel too sorry for him.) In the movie's most outrageous joke, the sickle falls to the floor, right on top of a hammer, forming a perfect image of the famous symbol of Communism.


Comrade!

Philip and Von Helsing drug the witch into a coma, then stick her in a refrigerator. The local cops find her, so it's up to our heroes to steal her back, while also absconding with a police van. The cops have to use Von Helsing's yellow roadster. At this point, the movie becomes pure farce, with the police acting as the Kommie Keystone Kops.


Our heroes in the police van.


The cops in the roadster. Note that the same guy on a motorcycle passes them both.

After this slapstick interval, Philip and Von Helsing dump the witch in the lake and Veronica returns, apparently without any knowledge about what happened, and surprised to find herself soaking wet. Then the movie concludes with one of those Is it really over? kind of endings.

Besides failing to decide if it's a comedy or a thriller, this movie suffers from a lack of Barbara Steele. Despite having top billing, she has less screen time than any of the other main characters. I just hope that the thousand bucks she reportedly earned for a hard day's work makes up for what this mixed-up little film might do for her reputation.

Canals of Carnage

Our second feature is The Embalmer, an Italian film from last year, just now making its way to the New World.


The original Italian title, which is also easy to translate.

After a brief introductory scene showing our title character at work, we get the opening titles.


Nice blood-dripping effect.

The movie establishes the basic premise right away. Some kook, disguised in a monk's robe and skull mask, kidnaps young women and drags them to his underground lair, where he embalms them with a secret formula in order to preserve their beauty. (We learn all this because the lunatic constantly talks to himself.)


One tube of embalming fluid, coming right up!

Because the setting is Venice, the way he does this is by swimming around in the canals while wearing a scuba diving outfit and pulling his victim into the water.


What the well-dressed maniac wears, when not scuba diving.

Lucky for him, there are plenty of young women walking along the canals all alone late at night.


She should have taken a taxi — I mean a gondola.

Even though more than one woman disappears this way, the police think they just fell into the canal. Only our protagonist, the usual heroic newspaper reporter, thinks there's a killer at loose. Meanwhile, the embalmer adds to his collection.


What the well-dressed victim wears, after embalming.

After all this scary stuff, the movie slows down for quite a while, as we introduce more characters. Besides the reporter, we've got his boss, the cops, a couple of comedy relief canal workers, and a few others. A group of young female tourists shows up. The reporter starts smooching on the very slightly less young chaperone of the group pretty quickly. There's also an older woman and her nephew, who is interested in antiquities.


In one of many time-wasting scenes, aunt and nephew do the Twist.

Along the way, we'll get a hotel worker who uses a one-way mirror to spy on one of the tourists while she's undressing, and an Elvis-like singer who starts his act by coming out of a coffin. The main reason we have so many minor characters is that somebody has to turn out to be the murderer.

That reminds me of why this movie also has a double aspect. The premise of a mysterious figure in disguise, who will later be revealed as somebody we've met before, is very similar to the sort of thing that comes up in the German krimi films adapted from the works of Edgar Wallace. (My esteemed colleague Cora Buhlert has discussed these movies a couple of times.)

On the other hand, the emphasis on horror rather than mystery suggests a new kind of Italian thriller, best exemplified by the recent shocker Blood and Black Lace. Although this is a very recent subgenre of horror, some folks are calling such movies giallo films. (The word just means yellow in Italian, and comes from the fact that mystery and suspense novels often have yellow covers in Italy.)

The Embalmer has aspects of both krimi and giallo, I think, and maybe it points the way to future combinations of the two.

Back to the movie at hand. In parallel plots, both the reporter, via the canal, and the chaperone, via a secret panel, make their way to the embalmer's lair. (I forgot to mention that the nephew also found it, but paid for the discovery with his life. Oops! I gave away the fact that he wasn't the killer. Sorry about that.)


The comedy relief guys help the reporter find the embalmer's hideout. At the risk of ruining the suspense, neither one of them is the killer either.

Near the end, the movie moves along at a rapid pace, as the chaperone finds herself trapped with the embalmer, and the reporter desperately tries to save her. After a surprisingly downbeat ending, the identity of the killer is revealed.


The chaperone with one of the embalmer's companions.

There's quite a bit of padding in the film, because the plot is very simple. There's some nice black-and-white cinematography, and the climax is exciting, if you have the patience to wait for it.

Coming Attractions

Although this wasn't the greatest double feature I've ever seen, I'm sure that I'll slap down my dollar (movie ticket prices are getting out of hand!) the next time a similar one comes around. Maybe it'll even be a new color film paired with an older black-and-white import, just like this time.


Coming soon!


I understand that this two-year-old German black-and-white film will show up on a double bill with the one above it.



After your trip to the movies, tune in to KGJ, our radio station! Nothing but the newest hits!




[May 12, 1966] Equal & Opposite Reaction (The Symmetrians)


by Mx. Kris Vyas-Myall

The Pushback

We have been living in a more permissive society over the last few years, with less censorship and more flexible norms, particularly as displayed in our media. However, this kind of change is always going to bring a reaction. And this has come in the form the National Viewers and Listeners Associations (NVLA) led by campaigner Mary Whitehouse.

Mary Whitehouse (r) during the Clean-Up TV campaign, the forerunner to the NVLA
Whitehouse (r) during the Clean-Up TV campaign, the forerunner to the NVLA

A former art teacher, she has declared the director general of the BBC to be “the devil incarnate” and that they are putting out “the propaganda of disbelief, doubt and dirt… promiscuity, infidelity and drinking” when they should be trying to “encourage and sustain faith in God and bring Him back to the heart of our family and national life.”

Since being founded last year, the NVLA has been growing, with over 100,000 member and around 600 churches being associated. As they hold their annual conference at the start of next month, it might be worth looking at what they are objecting to.

The Kinks
The Kinks, dangerous to Britain’s moral health?

Speaking at the conference, Rev. E. L. Taylor took aim at popular rock musicians, declaring that Christian songwriters were needed to “out-compose Tin Pan Alley” and Christian singers should appear on television to out-sing The Animals and The Kinks, comparing the latter to “savages” from Africa.

War Journalist
Television coverage of war, too pacifistic?

Factual programming has also come under fire. Whitehouse herself has objected to a documentary episode on the concentration camps in Belsen as “filth”, the production of The War Game for it prejudicing “the effectiveness of our Civil Defence Services, or the ability of the British people to re-act with courage, initiative and control in a crisis”, and to the coverage of warfare in the world as too pacifistic.

Up The Junction
Up The Junction, not promoting clean living?

However, BBC Drama seems to draw the most ire from the group. In her speech to the conference, she declared that in the name of the word “reality” viewers were asked to accept a tiny part of human experience as the reality of the world we live in. For example, objecting to Neil Dunn’s play Up The Junction for not demonstrating that all abortion is wrong and that it could be prevented through “clean living”.

Whether the more liberating or conservative forces will win out over British media remains to be seen, but where could this kind of reactionary and totemic obsession with morality lead? That is one element that is discussed in the latest book from Compact, The Symmetrians.

The Symmetrians by Kenneth Harker

The Symmetrians Cover

Starting with the situation, the book is set after a great disaster (strongly hinted at being a nuclear war from the start), people in Britain now living in a feudal society where symmetry is worshiped as a religion and any deviation from this is punished. Those with non-symmetrical faces are sent to work camps. We follow the young DavaD RaiMMiaR as he begins to question the society he lives in.

The Chrysalids

For British readers, they will probably find John Wyndham’s The Chrysalids (apparently published as Re-Birth in the US) brought to mind. In Wyndham’s text, a fundamentalist society in a post-nuclear Canada obsesses about normality and considers that any deviation from the norm should be killed; but David and some other telepathic children begin to dream of a society outside.

Whilst I don’t agree with the curmudgeons of SF that think every book needs to have a new idea central to it (even though they seem to be happy using the same situations over and over again), it would be easy to see Compact trying to cash in on Wyndham’s current success with a pale imitation. After all, they did it with Bradbury\Moorcock’s turgid Kane of Mars novels. However, though there are a number of obvious similarities, I think Harker manages to make it his own skillful piece of fiction.

First of all is the extent of world he has built. The Symmetrian religion has grown to a point that it encompasses so many facets of life. Mirrored surfaces are banned, fields have to be ploughed symmetrically with the emblem of symmetry in them, and all names have to be symmetrical. By which we don’t just mean palindromes, but they have to be symmetrical in three dimensions. There is an in-depth explanation on this in the book which I don’t want to repeat in this section, but it makes sense and really shows the effort gone into this.

Secondly is the real-world critique of religious reactionism and eugenics. As I cited above, the conservative religious pushback is emerging to the current liberalism of British culture. Seen as people sticking to rigid codes of what is pure and good and enforcing this belief on the rest of the population, there is a large degree of overlap between the Symmetrian authorities and the aims of the NVLA. At the same time the field of eugenics was a big part of the cultural discourse until the last war. Even today we see still see an idolization of the symmetrical face as a symbol of beauty and physical health. And there are still far too many people who still believe in pseudo-scientific justifications of racism (just read one of the many editorials John W. Campbell has written on the subject). The horrible truth is that these beliefs will probably not die off in our lifetime and it is all too reasonable to see a catastrophe resulting in this kind of prejudice returning to the mainstream.

Beyond these points, The Symmetrians is a really great adventure and coming of age story. The journey DavaD goes through is relatable in the tragedies he goes through and the realization that he does not have to blindly accept the teaching of his elders, reflecting the real-life experiences of so many of us. Whilst there is much that will still appeal to the adults, it is an excellent story to give to a teenager who reads Catcher in the Rye or A Clockwork Orange.

Kenneth Harker has stated this book was just created to entertain rather than convey a message. On the strength of this and his great recent short story in New Worlds The Cog, I cannot wait to see what happens when he tries to produce something even more spectacular.

A very high four stars; eagerly expecting a fifth in his next novel.



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[May 10, 1966] Rocky Jaunts (June 1966 Galaxy)


by Gideon Marcus

Real-life Adventures

Out in the southeast corner of California is a hidden treasure, a beautiful national park known as Joshua Tree, named for the surreal plants that characterize the region.  And in the heart of a tiny, unincorporated community there, resides the place called Space Cowboy Books.

Jean-Paul Garnier, the Space Cowboy, invited us out to see the spring bloom in the wilderness.  We were able to take him up on his offer too late to see the flowers, but we did see some amazing petroglyphs and water/wind eroded facades.  Even better was the absolute quiet of the place, the aural equivalent of a dark sky (which they also have there).

Of course, it was a several hour trip up Highway 395, over Highway 60 to Interstate 10, and then up Highway 62, which terminates at Joshua Tree. 

But we had beautiful scenery, each other for conversation, and a brand new 8-track player in the car for music.

I also had the newest issue of Galaxy, which I was able to read while the Young Traveler drove.  Ah, the luxury of having children!

And so, a tour of the trips I went on while on a trip:

Fictional Adventures


by Gray Morrow

Heisenberg's Eyes (Part 1 of 2), by Frank Herbert


by Dan Adkins

Frank Herbert is back.  Hooray.

Actually, the setup's not too bad: It's the far future, and humanity has complete control of its genetic destiny.  Society is divided between the dronish "Sterries" (sterile humans), the occasional persons who can have potentially viable offspring, and the immortal (but also sterile) Optimen, who run everything, a triumverate's administration lasting a century.

Children cannot be borne the natural way; for an embryo to make it to maturity, a doctor's intervention is required.  So begins Eyes, on the eve of a "cutting" that will turn the artificially united progeny of a Mr. and Mrs. Durant into a human being — perhaps even an Optiman.

But before the horrified gaze of the assigned surgeon, some external force modifies the fertilized ovum, making the modification to immortal perfection impossible.  An expert is called in, who salvages the embryo, but in the process causes it to become that rarest of beasts: a nascent human that can reproduce on its own.  Such a thing is strictly forbidden, yet the expert and his accomplice nurse take pains to ensure that the contraband embryo's nature is hidden from the world.  Or so they think.

This takes up about half of this installment, and so a quarter of the book.  I have to give credit to Herbert's ability to spew a half dozen pages of medical jargon and keep it interesting. 

Things slow down in the second half, when we meet the ruling trio and discover that the plot has wheels within wheels.  It also involves an underground race of Cyborgs, who have been biding their time for tens of thousands of years to regain ascendancy over the planet, though they are as clueless about how the modification of the Durant's child occurred as everyone else.  Part 1 ends with the first shots being fired in a renewed war between the Optimen culture and the Cyborgs.

A couple of issues: Eyes is written in typical Herbertian style, which is to say in this weird third person omniscient viewpoint that switches characters every sentence and overuses italicized depiction of internal monologues.  Perhaps, as one of the oligarchs states in Eyes, "Efficiency is the opposite of Craftsmanship," but I still think the story could have been a lot better at half the length in the hands of someone else.  Like Dune.  Also, no society remains static for tens of thousands of years — not Egypt and not the weird world of Eyes.  And then, of course, there's the pseudo-telepathy the Durants enjoy that involves a code of finger presses.  It reminds me of shows where a paragraph of Morse code can be deduced from four dots and a dash.

Anyway, three stars for now.  Herbert's done worse, and I've yet to see him do much better.

Priceless Possession, by Arthur Porges

In the depths of space, the 23rd Century equivalent of the ambergris-bearing whale is the anenome-like "Star Sailor" or "S-2."  Its micron thin sail, produced over thousands of years, is the most valuable commodity in the universe.  On board a particular merchant ship, an Ensign and a Lieutenant find their cupiditous designs hindered by a captain who believes he is in telepathic communication with the current prey.

It's not a happy story, but it's pretty good.  Three stars.

For Your Information: Brownian Motion, Loschmidt's Number and the Laws of Utter Chaos, by Willy Ley

Beginning with an explanation of the word 'gas' (which is as deliberately coined as 'radar' or 'Kleenex'), Ley goes on a whirlwind trip through the history of fluid dynamics.  It's one of Ley's better pieces, though a little rushed and occasionally following the pattern of the Brownian Motion he ultimately explains.

But then, that's history for you.  Four stars.

The Eskimo Invasion, by Hayden Howard


by Jack Gaughan

Out in the wilds of Canada, an anthropologist has made a terrible discovery: a tribe of "Eskimos" are really something else, the female of their species infinitely appealing…and able to have children every month.  And they worship the Great Bear, a Cthulhu-esque entity that will devour/conquer/lead the world.  Can Dr. West make it back in civilization to warn humanity?

This is a well-written tale, but the premise is so dumb that I found myself irritated with it after a night's contemplation.  Two stars.

Galactic Consumer Report No. 2: Automatic Twin-Tube Wishing Machines, by John Brunner

The second in Brunner's Consumer Report series (the last dealing with budget time machines), this piece offers recommendations for and cautions against various models of "Wishing Machines," which are supposed to be able manufacture anything.  Not as amusing as the last one, but diverting enough.

Three stars.

This piece is followed by Algis Budrys' books column, which I am increasingly enjoying.  I read this latest one, describing Sheckley's Tenth Victim, Wilhelm and Thomas' The Clone, and Brunner's The Squares of the City for its humorous commentary and the illustration of the signs of good and bad editing and publishing.

When I Was Miss Dow, by Sonya Dorman

On a planet of amorphous proteans, a young, sexless being destined to become Warden of its people, takes on a human female form in order to more easily interact with the Terran mission to the planet.  As Miss Martha Dow, said creature falls fake head over custom-built heels with an elderly biologist — and ultimately, the feelings are reciprocated.

I found myself really enjoying this unrestrainedly emotional piece, intertwining human and alien feelings in a vivid manner.  This is the first published piece by Dorman using her full first name (previously, she had simply been "S"), and I'm delighted that she finally feels comfortable enough to use it.  I know I always look forward to her byline!

Four stars.

Open the Sky, by Robert Silverberg


by Gray Morrow

At long last, we come to (what I believe to be) the conclusion of Silverberg's Blue Fire series.  It's been a long trip, with five entries spanning more than a half-century of history.  We've seen the Vorster religion arise, a spiritualist cult of the atom worshiping the blue flame of a cobalt reactor.  We've watched as the cult schismed and the green-robed Harmonists made their sect more overtly religious and converted the colonists of toxic Venus.  Last installment, the Harmonist martyr, Lazarus, was ressurected by Vorst for purposes unknown.

Now we know why: on Venus, the genetically modified human espers have developed faster than light teleportation.  Vorst wants to use them to power the first interstellar starship.  To do this, he needs to reunite the religions — and Lazarus owes him a favor.  Luckily, Vorster knows this will all work out: he is a precog, after all…

The writing of this final installment is as good as ever, and it's nice to see all of the pieces fall into place.  However, the story as a whole suffers from the common failing of all stories involving precognition.  When you know how a story will, nay, must end, the tension is gone.  All that's left is the exposition.

By itself, Open the Sky will be confusing and unengaging to the new reader.  As the capstone to an epic, it serves its purpose adequately but not stunningly. Thus, I award three stars for the section, and four stars for the work as a whole, treating it as the serialization of a novel whose publication is as inevitable as Vorster's trip to the stars.

Journeys' End

All in all, it's been a good weekend, both in the real world and within the world of fiction.  While Pohl's magazine could not quite consistently offer the spectacle that Jean-Paul of Joshua Tree treated us to, nevertheless, it did end up on the positive end of the ledger.

In any event, two trips for the price of one is a good deal!  Why don't you take the June Galaxy along with you on your next jaunt and enjoy the same experience?



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[May 8, 1966] A Respite (June 1966 Amazing)


by John Boston

Hope Springs Eternal

. . . but, as Groucho Marx might put it, hope springs can get rusty, too.

The June Amazing on its face presents bad news and good news.  In the first category is the beginning of a new two-part serial by Murray Leinster, generically titled Stopover in Space.  One can only hope (that word again!) that there is more to it than the empty blather of Killer Ship from last year. 


by James B. Settles

All the shorter stories are reprints.  But two of them are by very reputable authors, Arthur C. Clarke and Henry Kuttner, taken from the magazine’s ambitious false spring of 1953-54 (the Renascence), and two others are from the immediately post-Ray Palmer times (the Liminal Period), by writers who later made pretty good names for themselves, Walter M. Miller, Jr., and Kris Neville.  The fifth is the last published story by G. Peyton Wertenbaker, who commendably learned to write after the fiascoes of The Man from the Atom and its sequel.

Of course the Clarke and Kuttner stories are not exactly rediscoveries.  Clarke’s Encounter in the Dawn, retitled Expedition to Earth, was the title story of the first collection of his stories, published by Ballantine in 1953 and pretty widely known.  Kuttner’s Or Else was the lead story in his collection Ahead of Time, also from Ballantine in 1953.  It was anthologized in the UK in Edmund Crispin’s first Best SF volume, and reprinted again in last year’s The Best of Kuttner from the UK’s Mayflower Books.  These stories will probably be familiar to those well read in SF.

The rest of the package is as usual: another inanely self-serving editorial by editor Ross and a few letters mostly praising the reprint policy, though one of the correspondents also says don’t overdo it with the reprints, it’s time for more Robert F. Young and Ensign De Ruyter.  He appears to be serious.  The cover, simultaneously dull and busy, is reprinted from the back cover of the July 1942 Amazing.  It’s called Satellite Space Ship Station, and artist James B. Settles provides a rather pedestrian view of space travel. 

Stopover in Space (Part 1 of 2), by Murray Leinster


by Gray Morrow

As is my habit, I will hold off reading or commenting on the serial until I have both installments.  I am struggling to reserve judgment, but can’t fail to notice that the same egregious padding that so distinguished, or extinguished, last year’s Killer Ship shows up in the first paragraph here: “Scott ran into the situation on a supposedly almost-routine tour of duty on Checkpoint Lambda.  It was to be his first actual independent command as a Space Patrol commissioned officer.  Otherwise the affairs of the galaxy seemed to be proceeding in a completely ordinary fashion.  On a large scale, suns burned in emptiness, novas flamed, and comets went bumbling around their highly elliptical orbits just as usual.”

If This Be Utopia, by Kris Neville

First after the serial is Kris Neville’s If This Be Utopia, from the May 1950 issue, a slightly heavy-handed satire about a regimented future in which everyone is assigned to a job and pressured mercilessly to perform, and those who don’t measure up—or are made examples of by their superiors—get demoted to worse fates.  Our hero is a middle manager who is cracking under the stress and taking it out on his underlings until his superiors take it out on him.  It’s a bit too obvious, but still decently done.  Three stars.

Encounter in the Dawn, by Arthur C. Clarke

Encounter in the Dawn, from the June-July 1953 issue, is fairly typical for Clarke, a sort of lecture-demonstration of the stuff of SF and his understanding of the cosmos, without too much in the way of plot.  But that’s OK.  Clarke’s writing skill and his restrained sentimentality about the vastness of the universe and the depths of time carry the reader along.  He’s the antithesis of Ray Palmer’s policy of “Gimme bang-bang.”

This one begins: “It was in the last days of the Empire,” which is threatened by an unspecified “shadow that lay across civilization.” Three regular guys of the Galactic Survey, continuing their quest for knowledge despite the doom overhanging their homes, arrive at a new solar system and land on what is obviously Earth.  They take a look around and befriend Yaan, a primitive human or proto-human, with gifts of game killed by their robot.  They get the call to come home for the Empire’s last stand, leave Yaan a few high-tech gifts like a flashlight, and take off.  Tragedy looms over them, but life and intelligence will go on.  Three stars.

Or Else, by Henry Kuttner

Kuttner’s Or Else (August-September 1953 issue) is well done also, as one would expect, but there’s not much to it.  A couple of Mexican subsistence farmers are shooting at each other, contesting the ownership of the only source of water in their valley.  An alien drops in by flying saucer, demonstrates various superpowers, says his race has appointed themselves peacekeepers of the solar system, and Miguel and Fernandez have to stop trying to kill each other because violence is wrong.  They agree and shake hands, the alien buzzes off, and they start shooting again because there’s still only one water hole in the valley.


by Dick Francis

Profound, huh?  While SF may occasionally contribute to the global dialogue on war and peace, this one is best described as chewing less than it purports to bite off.  It also relies on cartoony ethnic stereotyping—but then everything in the story is pretty cartoony, and Kuttner at least lends the viewpoint character, Miguel, some shrewdness.  Thinking the alien is really a norteamericano, he says, “First you will bring peace, and then you will take our oil and precious minerals.” Two stars for execution, not much for substance.

Secret of the Death Dome, by Walter M. Miller, Jr.

Walter M. Miller, Jr.’s first published SF story, Secret of the Death Dome (January 1951 issue), is another kettle of sweat altogether, the kind of thing you’d expect to find in a magazine whose cover depicts a hairy-chested guy wrestling with a crocodile. 

The Martians have landed, and how: they have plunked down a large and impervious dome in the desert (actually, a couple of feet above it), where they engage in cryptic communication, and snatch anyone who comes too near and vivisect them.  One guy came back without his legs.  The newly wed Barney came back without his genitals, falling off his horse and dying on arrival.  (The Martians are surveilled by the military on horseback.)


by B. Edmund Swiatek

This makes Jerry mad.  Barney was his best friend and Barney’s new wife was Jerry’s old flame.  So Jerry, who can’t sleep, saddles up and heads out, to do . . . what?  He has no idea.  The Martians scare his horse away, and he hears from base that when it came back riderless, Betty—the widowed Mrs. Barney—took it and is on her way.  So he heads toward the dome and crawls under it looking for a way in. 

You can guess the rest.  He’s captured, gets control of the situation through brains and guts, rescues the by then-captured Betty, sowing death and destruction among the Martians all the way, learns why they are here (the secret of the title, including what the Martians wanted with Barney's genitalia), and drives them away forever.  Whew!  The details don’t matter.  At the end, the just-bereaved Betty tells Jerry not to contact her—“. . . for a couple of months, anyway,” the back of her neck flushing as she turns away.

The style is consistent with the content, cynical tough-guy-isms all the way down.  For example, when the colonel gets the call that Barney has returned, he sends Jerry to check things out.  “Jerry was just a sergeant, but there wasn’t any need for brass.  Death is for privates.” And so on.  Two stars for this testosterone-soaked epic.

Elaine’s Tomb, by G. Peyton Wertenbaker

G. Peyton Wertenbaker’s Elaine’s Tomb, from the Winter 1931 Amazing Stories Quarterly, is, in its quaint way, the best of this issue’s short fiction, and a vast improvement over his earlier work.  Alan, the narrator, teaches at a small college and falls in love with Elaine, one of his students.  Of course he doesn’t do anything about it, and hares off to Egypt with his colleague Weber who has a line on some ancient temples hardly anybody else knows about.  He confesses his romantic situation to Weber en route.  In a temple, there’s a preserved ancient Egyptian king, and a carved curse against anybody who molests him.  Alan touches the recumbent body, and shortly comes down with a fever that shows no sign of abating.  But Weber has found the secret of suspended animation, and promises to put Alan under at the moment of death, and revive him when he finds the secret of life, which must be around the temple somewhere, and unite him with Elaine.


by Leo Morey

Alan awakens, and it’s the far future, Wellsian variant, populated by people who have forgotten most of the know-how of civilization; the machines take care of them, and when one breaks down, they just put another one in its place.  They live pleasant lives and some of them even write books.  In one of these, Alan learns of Elaine’s Tomb, up north near what used to be called Chicago, in the frozen barbarian-populated wastes.  Turns out Weber couldn’t revive him, but he could suspend Elaine to wait for him.  Further adventures and reunion (or union, in this case) follow.

The story is archaic in attitude but modern in its plain style, well imagined and visualized without wasted verbiage, with enough plot to sustain its 40-page length, and altogether a pleasure to read.  Am I really going to give this antique four stars, as I did with another of Wertenbaker’s late stories, The Chamber of Life?  Guess so. 

Summing Up

So, hope fulfilled—admittedly, to expectations lowered by experience.  That's because editor Ross this time selected modern stories, plus an older one that is written in a modern style and not centered around the cranky crotchets of bygone decades, unlike some earlier selections I would prefer not to name.  The result is mostly pretty readable, with a couple of stories better than that, and nothing bloody awful.  But the specter of the Leinster serial still looms over the next issue.  We shall proceed with trepidation.



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[May 6, 1966] Blaise-ing Wreckage (Modesty Blaise)


by Mx. Kris Vyas-Myall

Eye Spies
Modesty Blaise Poster

Spies are everywhere these days. James Bond is now just one of many secret agents dominating cinema.

John Steed & John Drake
Steed or Drake? Choose your favourite John!

On TV you are spoilt for choice, whether you prefer John Steed, John Drake, Richard Cadell, Napoleon Solo or even Amos Burke.

The Spy Who Came In From The Cold, Funeral In Berlin, Somewhere In The Night
Just a few of the spy books that dominate UK bookshelves

You can go to any bookshop and pick up the latest thriller from people like John Le Carre, Len Deighton or even by Michael Moorcock (under one of his many aliases).

George Victor Spencer
The late George Victor Spencer, alleged spy

But also, in real life news. A 92-page document was made public in Vancouver yesterday, detailing the allegation that George Victor Spencer, recently deceased, had been assigned to look into farms near the US border in order to find a suitable property to set up a site that could possibly have been a base for Soviet intelligence operations.

Mr. Spencer had denied these allegations and called for a public enquiry before his death. I imagine the debate about whether he was really a Russian agent or just a falsely accused man will continue for some time.

With all this intrigue happening around us, it is perhaps unsurprising that the first ever British comic book adaptation is another spy tale: Peter O’Donnell’s Modesty Blaise.

An Unlucrative Medium

Garth
Garth, deserving of a Republic serial?

Comic books have not been ones for adaptation in Britain. We did not have the 30s/40s film serials like the United States, so we did not get a Garth Conquers The Universe or The Return of Buck Ryan.

Dan Dare
Would Belvision fancy having a go at Dan Dare?

Nor is there a strong enough animation field to produce The Adventures of Dan Dare or The Rupert The Bear Show.

Roy of the Rovers
Maybe a Roy of Rovers sports film would sell better?

Whilst comics remain popular the idea that we would ever get a Roy of the Rovers or Bash Street Kids film would seem beyond remote. But Modesty Blaise has changed that.

A Pop Culture Icon

Modesty Blaise Novelization
Peter O’Donnell’s “novelization” of the film script

The first strip of Modesty Blaise was only released 3 years ago, but she has already become a massive success. So before talking about the new movie I think it is important to talk about the original strip.

Romeo Brown Strip
A Romeo Brown story in which he gets hit with a golf ball and loses his memory

At the same time as working on the beloved adventure strip Garth, the Daily Mirror further employed Peter O'Donnell to takeover Romeo Brown, their comedy comic strip about a bumbling detective, usually involved in silly situations with various young women. The quality of the strip is not that memorable, but it is there he began collaborating with Jim Holdaway.

Modesty Blaise's Beginnings
Modesty Blaise's Beginnings

After Romeo Brown finished, Peter O’Donnell decided to create a more serious strip where a woman would be a capable hero rather than simply an object of desire or a damsel for the man to rescue. Apparently inspired by an orphan girl he met when stationed in Persia during the war, he teamed up once again with Holdaway to create Modesty Blaise.

Modesty & Marjorie
Modesty reassures Willie’s girlfriend Marjorie that she has no romantic feelings for him.

Starting in 1963, Blaise feels like a totally new type of hero. Both Modesty Blaise and Willie Garvin (her loyal sidekick) are both former criminals neither from privileged backgrounds. Modesty grew up in refugee camps in Persia and other Middle Eastern countries, whilst Willie is very much a working-class character. There is also no suggestion that she has any romantic interaction with Willie, instead they are loyal professional colleagues.

Modesty Blaise Action
An excellent action sequence where Willie rams a lorry into Gabriel’s mansion

It is not just the initial concept that is fresh, the quality of the strip feels ahead of anything else I could easily pick up. O’Donnell’s plots feel fresh and complex, varying significantly from story to story. One week she will be investigating drug running in the Vietnam war, the next dealing with psychic espionage. These are combined with characters that feel deep and real. O’Donnell’s writing and Holdaway’s art also come together to give a really cinematic presentation with a real eye for direction.

James Bond
The Daily Express’ James Bond strip: A more old fashioned kind of spy story

Whilst it can often feel like comic books lag behind literature (most science fiction strips seem to be barely coming to grips with the Golden Age), Modesty Blaise often feels like it is closer to the new wave of British espionage literature. Rather than the old-fashioned heroics of James Bond, Blaise owes something to the George Smiley tales or The IPCRESS File, with a certain level of cynicism about intelligence operations.

Modesty comforts Weng after he shoots his sister
Modesty comforts Weng after he shoots his sister

The prospects for the film seemed good at first. Peter O’Donell wrote the initial story for the film, although it was changed significantly for the screen (his novelization is based on his script rather than the finished product) with the main writer and director representing a reunion of Joseph Losey and Evan Jones, the team behind the brilliant Hammer Film The Damned.

So, I went in to see it on the first day of release quietly confident…

An Outrageous Mess

Modesty Blaise Titles
Modesty Blaise Titles

…and I am honestly not sure what I got. It is almost like every scene was made by a different director, none of whom talked to each other, and all footage edited together in five minutes at midnight.

It is quite an experience to watch and hard to believe it was ever released. Is the intention meant to be satirical? Artistic? Serious? I cannot see it particularly working with any reading.

Modesty Blaise Fashions
Just a few of the numerous outfits on display (along with her magical color changing hair)

If I were to praise anything about it, it is the look. The design work in it is beautiful, taking full advantage of being in colour to showcase bright locations and fashions. But even that gets wearying quickly. I believe Modesty changes outfit in almost every scene, only briefly wearing her iconic comic outfit for the sake of a cheap joke about how to change out of it. At times it feels less like they consider Blaise to be a spy than a model for Marissa Martelli’s designs.

Rather than the serious tone of the newspaper strip, Losey’s film has a large dose of comedy inserted into it. Some is absurdly silly, some is satiric, some is very dark. None of it really landed for me.

Modesty Blaise Comic Fights
Modesty Blaise Film Fight

One of the core points of Modesty's character is how skilled a fighter she is. Here the only evidence we see of that is a really poorly choreographed fight scene. For much of the film she is reduced to being a damsel in distress. This is a common problem in British media, I am aware, but that doesn’t make it any less disappointing to see here.

Modesty and Willie
Modesty and Willie discuss their romantic feelings through the medium of song.

Willie now seems to have transformed into some Alfie-like lothario in a modish bachelor pad rather than an ex-criminal who runs a pub. They also break one of the most interesting elements of the original strip by involving them in a romance. Inexplicably told through musical numbers taking place in between or during action scenes.

Gabriel Comic Strip
Gabriel Film

Gabriel was previously a Moriarty style figure with an enlarged forehead and walked with a limp. Much like Lex Luthor is to Superman, he seems designed to be the brain to match Modesty and Willie’s brawn. Yet in the film he just appears to be an eccentric, upset about any snag in his plans whilst launching rocket missiles that shoot lasers.

MB23
MB24

The movie also uses scenes from the original comic but without any real explanation or context. The opening scene appears to be taken from The Gabriel Set-Up but whilst there it is a key plot-point about a device to extract people’s secrets, in the film it appears to be an advanced printer which, in another attempt at humor, is unable to give information she requires and has no relation to the rest of the story.

At the start of this section, I said trying to get a read on what this film is trying to do is tough. As an adaptation it has barely any faithfulness. As a silly comedy the jokes are not directed well enough to land.

If it is a satire I am not sure what of? Imperialism? It is more imperialist than anything. Spy films and TV? The meta-fictional jokes don’t really make sense for that. I never thought a problem with all the espionage thrillers coming out is that they have obvious continuity errors, break out into musical numbers at random or even that they take themselves too seriously. The awful carry-on films do a better job at mockery of popular media than this.

I have heard it is trying to be artful but, honestly, I am not convinced by that either. I am fan of the cut-up approach of Burroughs, Ballard and their ilk but they do this to tell a story as a whole in an interesting way, not to make something non-sensical. Whilst we can debate the true value of Duchamp’s Fountain, I can see the point he was making. The only point here seems to be it is a plainly bad film.

The End…Thankfully

Modesty Blaise End
As the Sheikh’s troops advance on Gabriel’s stronghold, Willie and Modesty sing once again.

I do not even know if you can truly rank this on a star system. I cannot even be sure what I just watched was actually a film. The only evidence seems to be I paid money to see it in a cinema. The whole thing, whatever it is, is almost worth seeing in order to appreciate how bizarre an experience it is.

However, I come down on the side of staying at home instead. There you can spend your time reading O’Donnell and Holdaway’s wonderful comic strip in comfort. Find out if a newspaper anywhere near you is syndicating it, I hear that it has been picked up all over the world and it is one of the true greats.

Unlike the shambles Losey served up.

One Star



[May 4, 1966] Pushing the Envelope (The State of Music: 1964-66)


by Gideon Marcus

It's been three years since our last survey of the American music scene. When last we took the pulse of Top 40, music was in a weird in-between stage with a dozen different genres and influences competing for ascendance. What we didn't see back then was the great tidal wave of musical influence that was about to crash on our shores from across the Pond. I think it's safe to say that 1964 was a watershed year, and the pop scene at least can be divided into the eras BBI and ABI…

The British Invasion

The tip of the spear was, of course, The Beatles. The right combination of talent, variety, and infectious tunes, all in a slick gray-suited, mop-topped package, the Fab Four were a hit in the U.S. from the moment they appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show in February '64.

What made The Beatles so compelling was that they had so much to offer. From their surprisingly diverse debut album, to their rocking second album, and on through their movie soundtracks, A Hard Day's Night and Help!, the British quartet had three score songs to enjoy, almost all of them hit-worthy.

And shoulder to shoulder with the boys from Liverpool was a host of other bands: The Dave Clark Five with their hard-hitting Glad All Over and Bits and Pieces, the delightfully varied and somewhat cynical The Kinks with hits ranging from All Day and All of the Night to the wistful Sunny Afternoon, the bluesy The Who with their anthemic My Generation, and The Rolling Stones, who certainly provide Satisfaction, Eric Burdom's soulful The Animals, the unusual The Zombies. More recently, The Hollies have impressed with I'm Alive and especially Look through any Window.


I enjoyed the sardonic A Well Respected Man quite a lot.


There are many Animals songs to choose from, but We Gotta Get Out of This Place is relentless!


Look Through Any Window blew us away!

Plus all the lighter Merseybeat gang, from Gerry and the Pacemakers to the goofy Freddy and the Dreamers, Peter and Gordon to Chad and Jeremy. The utterly gormless yet inexplicably popular Herman's Hermits. Not to mention the more musical theater-type stars like Petula Clark, Dusty Springfield, and Lulu.


Downtown is both upbeat and melancholy at the same time.

All in all, it's been a musical smorgasbord, so delightful that you almost don't mind how many former musical greats got cut off midcareer: who listens to Neil Sedaka or Rick Nelson anymore? And Elvis is barely hanging on.

Domestic Resistance

Nevertheless, the Yanks have both resisted and embraced the invasion. The Beach Boys have kept on plugging away since their 1962 debut with album after album, and they don't seem at all fazed by the foreign influx.

Motown remains King (Queen?) too: Acts like The Supremes, Martha and the Vandellas, The Four Tops, The Impressions, Dionne Warwick, etc. fill the Top 10 as often as any English band.


Stop in the Name of Love — we got Tony Randall, too!.


Sadly, Martha and the Vandellas were shortchanged to promote The Supremes — their Nowhere to Run To is a modern classic.


Walk on By is one of the loveliest songs ever recorded.

If there's anything that marks this era of music, it's how quickly it's changed. As doors open, they also close. 1964 saw the acme and crash of the surf guitar craze. Acts like The Ventures still steadily produce albums, but the rest of the scene has evaporated, again evolving into garage-y endeavors. The Chiffons, The Shirelles, The Ronettes, and many other girl bands have mostly dropped off the radar, Phil Spector's "Wall of Sound" being supplanted by the new raw aesthetic.

Folk to Folk Rock

Since the last wrap-up, folk music swelled to a crescendo and spawned a hybrid child with rock. In 1963, Bob Dylan hit it out of the park with his magnum opus, The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan. Though he continued in acoustic vein through 1964, by last year he had picked up an electric guitar, rasped his voice a bit more (yes, it was possible), and completely changed his sound. From Like a Rolling Stone to widely covered It's All Over Now Baby Blue, Dylan's harmonica-fused electrica has transformed the radio (whether you like it or not.)

Sure, there are still straight folk acts out there, including Joan Baez, Judy Collins, the superlative Donovan, and the recent Gordon Lightfoot, but rocking folk is where it's at.

To wit, The Byrds released two of the more exciting records last year, featuring the hits Mr. Tamborine Man and Turn, Turn, Turn. Those are good songs, although they have lots of others that I like as well or better. For instance: It's No Use, I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better, and It Won't be Wrong. The group's jangle and close harmony are really appealing, though their Dylan covers tend to be limp.

Then there's the appropriately named We Five whose You Were on My Mind was everywhere (and deservedly so).


We saw a great performance of it on Hollywood Palace last year!

Simon and Garfunkel released an acoustic folk album at the end of 1964 that was pretty good but went nowhere. Lorelei and I liked the song, The Sound of Silence, so much that we played it at coffee shops and gigs for a while. Apparently others shared our taste because the song got air play on a lot of college stations, and a Byrds-ified version came out in September, dominating the charts. The duo, which apparently had broken up, got back together to release a new album: The Sounds of Silence (natch). It's quite good, though a bit downbeat, and more than half the songs incorporate electric guitar.

And in the same realm are The Mamas and the Papas and the closely associated Barry McGuire, evolved from the purely folkishy New Christy Minstrels. The M & Ps' California Dreamin' is destined to be an anthem for the decade, and McGuire's controversal Eve of Destruction and his even more goose-bump inducing This Precious Time mark two of the absolute highlights for 1965.


And we got to see BOTH of them on Hullabaloo late last year!

Given the success of the folk-rock genre, one can expect that the remaining "pure" folk acts may go in a rockish direction. But not necessarily…

Psychedelic

There's a new kind of music surfacing, filled with unusual effects, exotic instruments, and the impact of recreational drug use. For want of a better word, and because this is what several outlets and bands are calling it, the genre is "Psychedelic Rock."

Of all the bands I listen to regularly, probably the one that emblemizes this new style is the London-based The Yardbirds. Originally an uninteresting blues band, with the departure of guitarist Eric Clapton (who left because they stopped playing blues — don't let the door hit you in the a…mplifier on the way out) the band became something really far out. For Your Love, Heart Full of Soul, Still I'm Sad, and especially the latest single, Shapes of Things, are filled with atypical movements, eerie vocals, and just plain weirdness (but good weirdness) that indicates music has long since departed Kansas.

Other bands have begun experimenting with psychedelica, for instance, the formerly folk-rockish The Byrds with their brand new single, Eight Miles High. The frenetic, almost unfocused guitar work, the Indian inspired riffs, and the haunting vocals spell a huge departure from last year's output. The Beatles haven't whole-hog embraced the new style (yet), but the use of sitar on their last album, particularly on Norwegian Wood, is definitely part and parcel with it. I understand even The Beach Boys and The Rolling Stones are flirting with psychelica.

Next you'll tell me these bands are actually partaking! Le gasp!

Where to?

I don't think it's as hard to guess where things will be in 1968 or 1969 compared to how incomprehensible 1966 would have been to 1963 me. I'm guessing music will get weirder and heavier on one side, along a concurrent thread of smoother, poppish stuff. We might see two different radio formats arise by the end of the decade: one devoted to the experimental rock sound and one emphasizing smooth crooning and harmonies.

I sometimes marvel at how much I'm enjoying all of these new sounds. Many folks of my generation still cling to their jazz or even their classical albums and look at the new music as so much junk.

But to my ears, this is what I've been waiting for my whole life. Bring it on!



If you want to hear all of this great music, then tune in to KGJ, our radio station!  Nothing but the newest hits!




55 years ago: Science Fact and Fiction