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[September 21, 1963] Old Horror and Modern Women (Robert Wise's The Haunting)

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by Rosemary Benton

When I read that there was to be a film adaptation of Shirley Jackson's 1959 novel The Haunting of Hill House I was over the moon. In this time of character driven thrillers blasting onto the silver screen thanks to Alfred Hitchcock and Orson Welles, I was excited yet apprehensive to have one of my favorite author's books translated into a film script. Upon learning that the talent of Robert Wise, director of The Day the Earth Stood Still and West Side Story, was going to be attached to the project I felt I could rest easy. Now that I have seen the end result I confidently predict that this movie will be remembered for the horror genre treasure that it is! Simply put, Robert Wise's The Haunting pays homage to its predecessors of gothic horror, yet breaks new ground in what has been an increasingly campy genre.

Like many horror movies before it, The Haunting sticks with the tried and true premise of a group of persons trying to maintain their grip on reality as they weather several nights in an allegedly cursed manor. Ultimately one of them snaps, but whether or not it was a mental breakdown due to desperation or supernatural forces remains the crux of the mystery. In the case of The Haunting, anthropologist Dr. John Markway leads a group of volunteers through an experiment to instigate supernatural events within the old Hill House estate for the sake of scientific discovery. They attempt to endure the terror of ghosts hauntings, cryptic messages scrawled on the walls, and subtle poltergeist events. Some more successfully than others.

If Robert Wise had left The Haunting with just these bare essentials the whole experience would have been simply average. Thankfully he and the screenplay adaptor, Nelson Gidding, did not settle for something so mundane.

Everything about The Haunting speaks to the clash of modernity versus old beliefs. All aspects of the story incorporate this battle in some way. Perhaps most blatantly we have Luke Sanderson (Russ Tamblyn), the college-boy heir to Hill House who is determined not to be put off by the house's colorful past. Stubbornly flippant and skeptical, we see that Luke is still deeply unnerved by the progressively frightening hauntings, yet unwilling to abandon the hope of turning the house into financial profit.

Richard Johnson's character Dr. John Markway holds the role of leader within the small group staying at Hill House. In speaking with Eleanor "Nell" Lance (Julie Harris) he admits that he rebelled against the idea of becoming "a practical man" like his lawyer father, instead choosing to study anthropology in combination with his long held interest in ghosts. It is his hope to further his understanding of spiritual powers by finding a logic to hauntings – to put a scientific understanding of spirituality in line with human evolution both past and future. Dr. Markway never lets go of his belief that scientific theory can be applied to Hill House, even at the end. But he does come away from the experience with a healthier respect for the forces he is toying with.

And then there is Claire Bloom's character Theodora aka "Theo". "Theo" is an enigma of a person, both guarded yet warm, and possessing either a mastery of cold reading or powerful psychic abilities. She fills the group's role of the femme fatale, and by all genre traditions should be the corrupting influence of the party who leads the men astray with her fashionable beauty and strong will. Yet Theo is not given a romantic role with either Luke or Dr. Markway. Indeed, she seems indifferent to them in an aloof, but not snide, way. Her sexuality is nonexistent, and other than regularly embracing and comforting Eleanor (who enthusiastically returns the gestures and seeks out Theo on her own at all hours of the day and night) she does not physically interact with any other character. It is also revealed that she is an independent, insightful woman who lives in her own apartment and does not have a boyfriend.

Theo is well aware of her disquieting insightfulness. Though she presents herself as confident, even indifferent, she is sensitive to how the others perceive her. She is especially hurt when Eleanor tells her that she is a "mistake of nature". Although it is implied that this could simply refer to her psychic abilities, the comradery and tension that exists in their friendship especially with regard to Eleanor’s growing friendliness toward Dr. Markway, would lead the audience to make other conclusions. Yet she continues to try to help Eleanor from hurting herself. As an implied lesbian character she is refreshingly not predatory nor joyfully cruel. She is a modern woman of many layers, and a very different queer character from other popular cultural representations that are circulating via pulp novels, comics, television and movies.

Which brings me to Eleanor Lance. Like everyone else she is a mess of mixed messages, although her story is particularly heartbreaking. Unlike the independent and powerful Theo, Nell is a frightening portrayal of what subjugation under the traditional roles of a woman can do to a person. Emotionally fragile due to a lifetime of societal isolation by her controlling mother and judgmental sister, Julie Harris' fascinatingly fills both the roles of the spinster and the romantic lead. After her mother passes and she no longer needs to serve as her caretaker, Nell is clearly left without a purpose and resented for it. She's so desperate for a shred of independence that she steals the family car knowing full well that it will mean she is no longer welcome at her sister's house. She is so starved for human connection that she simpers right up to the strangers she meets at Hill House, even though her deep rooted insecurity causes her to constantly question their dedication to looking out for her.

Nell's desire for deeper affection and understanding causes her to fall in love with the bright future Dr. Markway represents. But when she finds out he is married and is determined to "save her" by sending her away from Hill House, her mental breakdown becomes complete. If she can't find love with people, then she reasons her destiny must be with the house – to be there for it to love, to need, and to keep close. All of this culminates in the evil of the house claiming her for itself and adding her to the many tragedies it has already collected. Perhaps most heartbreaking of all is the audience's understanding that Nell never really had a chance in the first place, and will only be truly remembered as more than a passing thought by her friend Theo.

From a film theory perspective The Haunting is a daring, modern reinvention of the classic gothic thrillers which propelled Universal Studios to horror stardom in the 20s-40s, and Hammer Film Productions in the 50s. The film features a cast of classic horror film archetypes: a sheltered young woman whose romance we follow through the film, a femme fatale, a dapper and worldly man of reason, and a snide fool with more money than sense.

The set of the film is even faithful to the tastes of earlier horror films complete with a brooding Neo Gothic mansion decorated in opulent Rococo fit for any villainous monster or malevolent spirit. Even the story setup has resonances of earlier horror stories. In particular I would point to the paranormal investigation story thread that leads our cast of eclectic persons to gather at Hill House. We see a similar beginning in William Castle's film House on Haunted Hill (1959) and Roger Corman's House of Usher (1960), both of which likewise feature the examination of a cursed property and the doomed people within it.

But in this cornucopia of tributes to the haunted house subgenre and gothic horror in general, there is a subversiveness that is absolutely thrilling. The Haunting restlessly vibrates with a need to break away from the obvious tricks of the genre to which it belongs and create something new, and I believe that by the end of the film it does just that. Unfortunately, it seems that initial reception of the film is not wholeheartedly in agreement with me.

So far The Haunting has been received with subdued enthusiasm. Bosley Crowther of The New York Times, bemoaned the fact that the atmospheric, antique setting and chilling near-misses of Julie Harris barely kept the film afloat. Crowther concluded that the The Haunting, "makes more goose pimples than sense", and doesn't work to its gothic strengths by falling back on more classic horror moments. 1 Crowther, Bosley. "The Screen: An Old-Fashioned Chiller: Julie Harris and Claire Bloom in 'Haunting'." The New York Times [New York] 19 Sep.1963: Print.    

What seems to be the most obvious missed point about such criticism is that The Haunting is not a period piece, and that a gothic setting does not come with an obligation to conform to the now cliché horror cinematography/story structure/character arcs of other haunted house stories. And really, how would doing so play better for the audience? Yes, it would give them something more familiar, but in horror unpredictability makes for a far more memorable experience. I award five stars to this atmospheric and challenging film.

[September 21, 1963] Old Horror and Modern Women (Robert Wise's The Haunting)

1963, horror, film, Rosemary Benton, Robert Wise, haunted house, The Haunting, The Haunting of Hill House, Shirley Jackson
   

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[September 19, 1963] Out of Sight (The Man with the X-Ray Eyes)

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by Lorelei Marcus

When a new science fiction movie comes out for me to review, my father usually proposes it as, “There's a new movie to watch.” This means I go in blind with nothing but the title and a few actors' names to fill me in on what to expect. What I hope for is a movie so horrendously bad I can laugh my way through and then write an easy article with a comedic spin about how terrible it was. What I often get is a mediocre movie that leaves me feeling like I could’ve spent my time in better ways, but gives me easy enough content to fill my articles with.

However, once in a while I get a very good movie that makes me think and is enjoyable all the way through. In this case our diamond in the rough is The Man With the X-Ray Eyes, a movie so good that, as I sat down I was left at a loss for words. See, I was ecstatic to have witnessed such a great movie, but that also meant I was going to have to write a great article to go with it. A movie with this complex a story is not an easy beast to tackle, but that won’t stop me from trying!

Our movie follows Dr. Xavier as he develops (and like any good doctor, tests on himself) a serum that will allow him to enhance his eyesight. At first the serum seems to have simple x-ray effects, removing clothes, looking through walls, etc., but that's only the beginning. He uses his new-found powers to operate on a little girl, saving her life. However, the serum is also potentially dangerous; in one scene, he tests the serum on a monkey (a scene that caused both me and my dad to shout ‘Konga!’), and the animal dies immediately after taking a large dose.

I won't say any more because frankly, this movie threw me and my father for a loop with how simply unpredictable it was! We were expecting the classic plot of “Man gets power that eventually drives him crazy and turns him into a monster,” but this movie is anything but. Nearly every moment had us guessing what would happen next. The story was truly something new and refreshing that took the cliché of x-ray vision down a new intriguing path.

This movie is especially impressive considering the budget wasn't super large. Like Panic! In Year Zero (Another movie starring Ray Milland) it made up for what it lacked in effects with provocative storytelling instead. That’s not to say the special effects were bad, though I did find it tiring when they kept showing the “x-ray vision” — basically a glorified kaleidoscope filter. The most effective effect, I'd say, was when we got to see a room of people doing the twist — naked! It was the one time it truly felt like we were seeing the world through x-ray vision.

The linchpin that made this movie so great was definitely the characters and the actors portraying them. Ray Milland gave an excellent performance, as always, and played a convincing balance of under stress but not quite crazy. Don Rickles effectively played a corrupt circus worker (especially interesting considering he’s known for his Vegas Comedy act).

Finally, Diana Van der Vlis plays Doctor Diane Fairfax, one of the best characters in the movie. It was incredibly refreshing to see a strong , intelligent woman played as something much more than a simple love interest, in fact, she’s Xavier’s boss! Doctor Fairfax was a complex character who was critical to the story and very enjoyable to watch: I hope other movies feature similar characters.

In sum, this movie has a deep and compelling plot, potent special effects, and fantastic acting. It was a roller coaster of an experience, keeping me and my dad on the edges of our seats the entire time. A solid film, deserving of four out of five stars. I would recommend you watch this and try to predict the end. I'd love to hear responses of how far off your predictions get!

This is the Young Traveler, signing off.




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[September 17, 1963] Places of refuge (October 1963 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Every animal needs a safe place.  A refuge from the violence and competition of the natural world in which to evade danger, to regather one's strength in security.  The groundhog and the sand crab burrow.  The gazelle seeks the center of its herd.  The cat finds a private place to devour its prey (often just outside your back door).

Humanity, too, needs its sanctuaries.  We've built castles and moats, erected Great Walls, forged mighty nations defended by vast militaries.  Humans also create spiritual refuges, places that couldn't resist the mildest physical attack, but nevertheless provide an island of calm in which we can find shelter from chaos.  Churches.  Temples.  Libraries. 

On the morning of Sunday, September 15, 1963, one of those sanctuaries was violated: someone, or several someones, planted dynamite in the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama.  It went off during services, killing four girls (Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson and Carol Denise McNair) and injuring 22 more. 

It is unknown who is responsible, but the motivation is clear, for the victims share a trait beyond their humanity and their gender — they are Black.  And there is an evil set of Birminghamians, undoubtedly White, who would deprive their neighbors even of the dignity of refuge.  It is terrorism, plain and simple.

I heard the news of the bombing in the same manner as most of you, I'm sure.  There was a special bulletin over the radio.  At first, the significance of the event was difficult to parse.  The South has been wracked with violence for years, ever since Blacks dared to challenge the social order and demand the equality that should be their unquestioned right.  Firehoses, police dogs, stonings, lynchings, assassinations — these attacks have become all too commonplace. 

But this latest hideous act involved the mass slaughter of children, in the one place they should have been expected to have been safe.  I'm certain its perpetrators felt it would be some kind of rallying call for White racists to resist the tide of integration.  If public reaction be any indication, it will have the opposite effect.  This nation, already moving toward championing the cause of equality, already committed to deploying soldiers to ensure the civil rights of Black students, can only be spurred with greater urgency to destroy segregation and bigotry before it claims as victims more children, more sanctuaries.

That's the view from 50,000 feet.  On Sunday morning, I was incapable of analysis or even hope.  All I could think about was the horror that had happened, and the families who'd lost their little girls.  One of the dead was the same age as our Young Traveler.  I wasn't ready to process the tragedy.  I needed my own place of refuge, a moment of peace to collect myself.

So I shut out the world and picked up a book. 

The visions of other worlds afforded by the "All Star" October 1963 Fantasy and Science Fiction might not turn out to be pleasant, but they would at least let me visit different ones. 

As it turned out, the excursion was just what I needed.  This month's issue is a good one:

Girl of My Dreams, by Richard Matheson

The first tale was, for me, a bit of "out of the frying pan and into the fire."  It's a thoroughly unpleasant tale about a thoroughly unpleasant fellow who marries a possessor of the second sight.  Said wife sees the catastrophes that will befall others in her nightmares, and her scoundrel husband then uses this knowledge to fleece the upcoming victims.  Having a conscience, the clairvoyant sabotages one of her husband's plans on the eve of success.  It is only after he batters her to death for her trouble that he learns that she has foreseen his death and no longer can tell him how to avoid it.

Matheson never writes poorly, but the Twilight Zone twist combined with the rampant domestic cruelty (never lauded, mind you) make this a story you may well want to skip.  Three stars.

Epistle To Be Left In The Earth, by Archibald MacLeish

The low point of the magazine is another "Tell those who come after us that Earth was once a lovely place" poem.  It don't even rhyme.  One star.

Deluge, by Zenna Henderson
(poetic sting by Jeanette Nichols)

Now we come to the part I was most looking forward to, the return of Zenna Henderson's The People.  This episode of the saga is chronologically the first, showing what caused a family of humanoid espers to depart from Home and take refuge in the ruralities of America. 

Henderson's stories are always poignant, emotionally laden pieces.  The problem with this one is there is no real dramatic tension.  Like a movie about the Titanic, we know how it's going to end from the start.  Moreover, it lacks that delicious tension implicit in the stories set on Earth: the worry of discovery, the friction with locals, the adaptation to a new environment. 

Deluge is thus a series of evocative, poetic scenes in an inexorable and rather dull narrative, a piece that would have been better left unwritten, or perhaps simply incorporated in other stories.  Three stars.

(Since we've now gotten the beginning and the (also lackluster) end of the series, one wonders if it's time for Henderson to move on to other subjects.  On the other hand, an official meeting between The People and the people of Earth would be nifty to read.)

Faed-Out, by Avram Davidson

Followers of this column know that I was once a big fan of Davidson's work but feel his latest stuff has been too somber, incomprehensible, or both.  Faed-Out is a return to form, about a veteran B-movie villain with a heart of gold, who helps bring to rest the soul of a departed fellow thespian.

This workmanlike plot is elevated by being a wonderful character piece brought to poignant conclusion in its last paragraph.  Four stars, and welcome back, sir.

How to Plan a Fauna, by L. Sprague de Camp

De Camp has been a writing fiend, lately.  This time around, he points out the typical flaws in science fiction ecologies and gives a broad, if cursory, account of terrestrial predator/prey ratios to be applied to other planets to make convincing faunas.

It's a bit of an argument with a strawman — the examples De Camp draw on are Burroughs and other pulpish folk; truly outdated stuff.  Plus, the survey of Earth's food chains is rather glib and superficial.  Three stars, and I'd rather see the Good Doctor Asimov's take on the subject.

Special Consent, by P. M. Hubbard

Hubbard returns with a tale as different from his pleasant Cornish ghost storyThe Golden Brick as he could get.  Consent tells of a post-atomic world in which women are ascendant and the gender balance is strictly enforced by law.  Would-be mother of a daughter, Madi, must obtain special consent from her husband — by force, if necessary — for the birth.

It's a strange story, and very opaquely written, but it does make you think.  Three stars.

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, by Isaac Asimov

I see Editor Davidson has given up on preambling Asimov's articles, now letting Isaac do the honors.  This development is to the good.  The current month's article is (appropriately) about stars, and it puts paid the notion that our yellow dwarf sun is at all insignificant.  When compared to the red dwarfs that make up the majority of the stellar population, our star looks quite impressive.

It's a good piece, and the bits about sub-stellar objects (stars too small to shine — he calls them "black dwarves") are fascinating, but I was disappointed that he went through all the trouble to tell us about white dwarfs, incredibly dense objects with the mass of a star but the volume of a planet, but didn't bother to explain what they are.  If you don't know already, white dwarfs are the end result of stellar evolution.  Once a star has fused all of its hydrogen, it collapses in on itself, becoming composed entirely of squashed neutrons with shared electron shells.

Four stars that really should have been five.

They Don't Make Life Like They Used To, by Alfred Bester

Last up is the tale I read first, a Garden of Eden analogy set in post-apocalyptic New York.  Call it The World, The Flesh, and the Devil, but instead of Mel Ferrer, you've got aliens.  And Harry Belafonte's White.

Actually, it's quite good, which surprised me since I've got a long-running animosity toward Alfred Bester.  You may be off-put by the assiduous adherence to gender roles in the piece, although I got the impression that the two protagonists were playing up these clichés rather than falling into them unconsciously.  I particularly appreciated the complete absence of romance between the characters throughout the vast majority of the piece.

Detractors: At the conclusion, aliens shatter the post-atomic Eden, and the protagonists commence to screw.  Though I get what Bester was doing, it cheapened the story for me.  The worst bit of the piece, however, comes right at the beginning: The female protagonist is driving to get supplies (in a masterfully told set up that only gradually reveals the post-apocalyptic setting), and it is noted that "her bosom danced enchantingly."  Since the only viewpoint is the owner of the bosom, one has to wonder just who was watching.  Did she notice the enchanting movement herself?  Isn't it unsafe to admire one's jiggling while operating a vehicle? 

Anyway, it kept my interest and, for the most part, I liked it.  Four stars.

I put down the magazine and take a deep breath.  It is September 17th, and I find myself able to once again acknowledge and take on the world's strife.  If you are need of some solace from the storm, try finding it where I found mine: within the pages of this month's F&SF.

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Movies

[September 15, 1963] The Silent Star: A cinematic extravaganza from beyond the Iron Curtain

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by Cora Buhlert

In my last article, I gave an overview of science fiction novels from beyond the Iron Curtain, including the works of Polish author Stanislaw Lem. Today I will take a look at a recent East German/Polish movie based on one of Lem's novels.

It will probably surprise you that Eastern Europe has a tradition of fantastic cinema, particularly stunning fairy tale movies that can wow even Western audiences. In fact, the state-owned East German DEFA studios has produced lots of live action fairy tale movies and stop motion puppet films since 1946.

Eventually, the DEFA decided to use the technical expertise gained from making fairy tale movies and apply it to science fiction. In 1957, director Kurt Maetzig announced that he planned to adapt Stanislaw Lem's novel Astronauci (Astronauts), published as Planet des Todes (Planet of Death) in German. Maetzig even hired Lem to write an early draft of the script.

Kurt Maetzig is not a natural choice for East Germany's first science fiction movie, since he is mostly known for realist fare and even outright propaganda films. Though the fact that Maetzig is a staunch Communist helped him overcome the reservations of DEFA political director Herbert Volkmann, who doesn’t like science fiction, since it does not advance the Communist project and who shot down eleven script drafts as well as Maetzig’s plan to hire West European stars.

Slated for 1958, the film, now called Der schweigende Stern (The Silent Star), finally premiered in February 1960. Stanislaw Lem reportedly did not like the movie at all. Nonetheless, it became a success and also played in West Germany under the title Raumschiff Venus Antwortet Nicht (Spaceship Venus does not reply).

The Silent Star begins in the not so far off future of 1970, unlike the novel, which is set in the somewhat further off future of 2003. During excavation work, a mysterious coil with a recording in an unknown language is found. Scientists realise that the message originates on Venus and came to Earth when a spaceship crashed in the Tunguska region in Siberia in 1908.

Once humanity is aware of a civilisation on Venus, they try to establish communication. However, Venus does not reply. Therefore, it is decided to send a spaceship. Luckily, the Soviet Union just happens to have one and kindly donates it to an international Venus mission. This spaceship, the Kosmokrator, must be the prettiest rocket ship ever seen on screen. It looks as if a Hugo Award sprouted three baby Hugos.

The multinational crew consists of Russian astronomer Professor Arsenyew (Michail N. Postnikow), Polish engineer Soltyk (Ignacy Machowski) and his robot Omega, German pilot Raimund Brinkmann (Günther Simon), Indian mathematician Professor Sikarna (Kurt Rackelmann), Chinese linguist and biologist Dr. Chen Yu (Hua-Ta Tang), African communications technician Talua (Julius Ongewe) and the only woman on board, Japanese doctor Sumiko Ogimura (Yoko Tani).

The Kosmokrator crew even includes an American, nuclear physicist Professor Harringway Hawling (Oldrich Lukes), who joins the mission against the wishes of a group of cartoonish American capitalists. The only American willing to support Hawling is his mentor Professor Weimann (Eduard von Winterstein), who hoped to harness nuclear power, but was forced to build nuclear weapons instead. Weimann tells the assembled cartoon capitalists, "Hiroshima was your adventure. His adventure is the mission to Venus."

This is not the only mention of Hiroshima in the movie. Sumiko lost her mother in Hiroshima and was rendered infertile due to radiation exposure, which causes her a lot of angst and also torpedoes her budding romance with Brinkmann, who thinks that she shouldn't be aboard the ship because a woman's place is to bear children. Meanwhile, the fact that the Soviet Union has nuclear weapons and that the People's Republic of China is working on them is not mentioned at all. Apparently, nuclear weapons are only bad when in the hands of Americans.

These propaganda bits are eyerollingly blunt, but the Kosmokrator's multinational crew offers a positive vision of a future where the world's powers are no longer rivals in the space race (cartoon capitalists notwithstanding) but work together. Furthermore, the Kosmokrator's crew includes members from the emerging nations of Asia and Africa, which is a big step forward compared to the all-male, all-white and all-American crew seen in Forbidden Planet. I wonder when we will see Russian, Japanese or African astronauts aboard western spaceships, whether in fiction or reality.  

A crew of scientists, every single one of them the very best in their respective fields, seems like a good idea in theory, but the characters remain bland and I had to dig up my program book to recall their names.

Arsenyew and Brinkmann are both square-jawed and heroic to the point of caricature. The balding engineer Soltyk is memorable because he doesn't fit the image of a heroic astronaut. Sikarna and Hawling are serious scientists. Chen Yu and Talua are given little to do until the end. Sumiko, the only female character of note in the film, mainly exists to angst about her infertility. Even the robot,Omega,is dull.

Once the mission gets underway, the Kosmokrator crew faces the usual perils of space travel such as a meteorite shower and a risky repair in space. They also manage to decipher the message and realise that the Venusians had planned to nuke Earth from orbit in 1908, when their ship crashed. The crew withholds this crucial information from the authorities to avoid causing a panic. They also decide to continue their mission to see if the Venusians have learned the error of their warlike ways.

When the Kosmokrator reaches Venus, the crew still cannot contact anybody and their sensors cannot penetrate the dense cloud cover. Brinkmann and the robot scout ahead, but lose contact with the ship and so the Kosmokrator lands after all.

The crew finds a bizarre Venusian landscape, including a radioactive "glass forest", a glowing sphere and a cave full of metallic spiders, which they initially mistake for lifeforms, but which turn out to be mechanical and part of a Venusian archive.

Chen Yu figures out that the radioactive forest is not biological either, but a gigantic nuclear cannon. Chen Yu and Sikarna also decipher the Venusian archive and realise that many recordings abruptly break off, as if Venus was hit by a massive catastrophe.

You'd think that these alarming discoveries would persuade the Kosmokrator crew to get the hell out of there. However, our brave astronauts continue their explorations and discover a ruined city. They also finally catch a glimpse of some Venusians in the form of humanoid blast shadows. And just in case the viewer might have forgotten, Sumiko reminds us that she saw similar blast shadows in Hiroshima.

The Venus scenes – shot in Agfacolor and Totalvision – are the highlight of the movie and can compete with anything Hollywood produces. The DEFA team managed to create a dreamlike alien landscape that is reminiscent of modern art. The radioactive forest and the ruined city are influenced by the paintings of Salvador Dalí, Joan Miró and Paul Klee. The glowing sphere is based on the geodesic dome designs of Buckminster Fuller, while the Venusian blast shadows are reminiscent of the sculptures of Alberto Giacometti.

In the ruined city, Arsenyew and Hawling come upon the targeting system for the nuclear cannon, while Brinkmann, Soltyk and Sumiko are chased up a spiralling tower by a burbling mass (portrayed by the entire annual East German production of glue, which must have screwed up the plan fulfilment of several industries), which recedes when Soltyk fires at it. At the same time, both the sphere and the targeting system activate. Uh-oh.

Though the Kosmokrator's crew consists of Earth's best and brightest, it takes them a long time to catch on to what is happening. In fact, I suspect that many viewers have figured out the mystery long before the crew does, namely that the Venusians managed to blow themselves up during their attempt to nuke Earth in 1908. However, their cannon is still functional and still aimed at Earth. And our blundering astronauts managed to reactivate it.

The rest of the movie is a race against time, as the Kosmokrator crew scrambles to deactivate the nuclear cannon and the glowing sphere which turns out to be a gravity device holding the Kosmokrator captive. And as if all that wasn't enough, the radiation also causes the robot Omega to run amok.

Chen Yu and Talua deactivate the system, but Chen Yu damages his space suit. Brinkmann takes off to rescue him, but it's too late. The gravity field created by the sphere reverses and hurls the Kosmokrator back into space. Brinkmann is lost and Chen Yu perishes, while Talua is left standing alone on a dead planet.

These heroic deaths should be a lot more affecting than they are. But the climactic scenes feel rushed, especially compared to the staid pace of the rest of the movie. The crew seems unaffected as well. Hence, Sumiko tells the dying Chen Yu that the Venusian seeds he found have sprouted, which will be a great comfort to him as he suffocates. Finally, the film cuts straight to the landing on Earth, where the surviving crewmembers sum up the moral of the story, before the movie ends with everybody holding hands.

"War will only destroy the aggressor" is a popular theme in East European science fiction and may also be found in the West. Rocketship X-M has a similar plot, but set on Mars rather than Venus. Forbidden Planet features another alien civilisation that managed to destroy itself, though by harnessing the power of the mind rather than the power of the atom. I have no idea if Lem or Maetzig have seen either movie, but the similarities are striking. Fear of nuclear war is another common theme in both East and West, which I find heartening if only because knowing that both sides share this fear makes it less likely that someone will press that button.

Spaceships with multiracial and multinational crews can be found in both Eastern and Western Europe, whether in the works of Stanislaw Lem, Eberhard del'Antonio and Carlos Rasch and West Germany's Perry Rhodan series. I wish that American science fiction would follow suit because the future should have room for everybody and not just for Americans and Russians.

American and British viewers did have a chance to watch The Silent Star, for the movie was distributed in the US and UK under the title First Spaceship to Venus, though the US/UK edit is about ten minutes shorter than the original, because the propaganda bits such as the scene with the capitalists as well as all Hiroshima references were cut.

So if you happen to come across The Silent Star a.k.a. First Spaceship to Venus in a movie theatre, should you watch it? I'd say yes, because in spite of its weaknesses, The Silent Star is an interesting science fiction movie with stunning visuals. British and American viewers lose ten minutes of propaganda dialogue, but that's not that much of a loss.

Three and a half stars.

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[September 13, 1963] COMING UP FOR AIR (the October 1963 Amazing)

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by John Boston

So, there was a big civil rights march in Washington—quarter of a million people, the papers say. Lots of eloquent speeches and fine sentiments. It could make you think that the racial caste system that America was built on is finally starting to change. But I wonder. I work after school and on Saturdays at the local public library here in this small Kentucky town. Every now and then some of my fellow high school students drop in and spend some time at the magazine rack. One of the magazines they always look at is Ebony, which as you probably know is sort of a Life magazine for the Negro community: large-sized and glossy, with articles about famous or distinguished Negroes, social problems of interest, etc. It runs the same ads as Life and other slick magazines, but with Negro models.

These students leaf through Ebony looking at the ads, and snickering. Nothing is more hilarious to them than a Negro wearing a well cut suit, sipping an expensive whiskey, or behind the wheel of a prestigious car. These scoffers are not the local hoodlums; they are kids from respected families who make good grades and don’t get in trouble with the police—the Leaders of the Twenty-First Century, as they like to put it on the Mickey Mouse Club.

So marches in Washington are nice, and the proposed civil rights legislation will be great if it passes, but how much difference are they going to make along the back roads of Kentucky and similar places where attitudes like these prevail? I guess we’ll know in a few decades.

The October 1963 Amazing, on the other hand, is right here and we can pass judgment now. It’s a considerable improvement over last month’s, since there’s nothing in it that’s grossly stupid or offensive (Robert F. Young is nowhere in sight.) There’s nothing outstanding either, but at least some of this material falls short in more interesting ways than usual.

The lead story is Cordwainer Smith’s Drunkboat . Smith’s last seven stories—his production over the past three years—have all appeared in Galaxy, If, or Fantasy & Science Fiction, and this one’s appearance in Amazing strongly suggests that it was rejected by those higher-paying and at least slightly more prestigious outlets. It’s not hard to see why: it’s a mess. On the other hand, a Cordwainer Smith mess is more interesting than many other authors’ successes.

Sometimes with Smith, there is in the end a fairly straightforward story, but it’s told backwards or sideways, and swathed in stylistic antics and bizarre inventions, and the reader’s task is to appreciate them without becoming too distracted to figure out what the hell is going on. Here, the basic idea is one you hear every day on Top 40 radio, 30 or 40 times if you leave it on long enough: guy wants his baby back. Another guy, a Lord of the Instrumentality, has figured out a way to exploit this desire into a world(s)-changing discovery. To get there, you navigate a series of flash-backs and –forwards; an absurd if lively series of events at a hospital of the future, which offers some of the more bizarre medical techniques ever proposed; and a court of inquiry of the Lords of the Instrumentality, along with a rather alarming expository lump about how the Instrumentality actually operates. Much of this is told in a rather affected style that lies somewhere between saga and baby-talk. (First sentence: “Perhaps it is the saddest, maddest, wildest story in the whole long history of space.”)

The problem is the center doesn’t hold.  The distractions overcome the story rather than seasoning it; it’s basically out of control. On the other hand, maybe that’s the point: the main character (the guy looking for his love) is called Artyr Rambo, seemingly named after a French poet who I gather was pretty far out of control himself. He was also fond of absinthe, which may have something to do with the story’s title (otherwise very poorly accounted for).

Anyway, three stars for the entertainment value of sorting it all out. A nod also goes to cover artist Lloyd Birmingham, who picks up on the story’s overtones of childishness with a cover that reflects a close reading of the story and is done in a style reminiscent of what children might do with scissors, construction paper, and glue, though of course much more complex and better executed.

The other novelet represents (be very afraid) the Return of the Classic Reprints, in the form of The Prince of Liars by one L. Taylor Hansen, from the October 1930 Amazing. The L is allegedly for Louise, though Sam Moskowitz says in his introduction that it’s not clear whether Louise actually wrote the several stories under this byline or whether she was fronting for her brother. This question might be more interesting if the story were. It starts out with a disquisition on relativity, then turns into a drawing-room frame story in which the narrator recounts what he was told by a mysterious character whose rooms are full of old books and artifacts.

The story proper starts out with more about relativity, then segues into one about a young Greek man, kidnapped by pirates, who escapes and takes refuge in a temple, where he encounters an extraordinarily beautiful woman, who isn’t what she seems, and soon enough he’s on an alien spaceship, and relativity comes back into play, etc. etc. It’s quite well written and is more the stuff of 1900-vintage scientific romance than of 1930s magazine SF, halfway between Wells and Edgar Rice Burroughs I suppose, but lacking the intellectual incisiveness that keeps Wells interesting even at this late date. Three stars for literacy and readability, but pretty dated.

Philip K. Dick is here with his first short SF in almost four years, Stand-By . He’s been busy in the interim with his Hugo-winning novel The Man in the High Castle and with All We Marsmen, now being serialized in Worlds of Tomorrow.  He's also, rumor has it, made a few unsuccessful attempts at contemporary novels. Stand-By starts with a brilliant small notion: the news clown (can’t you just see it down the road?) but then mostly throws it away. Instead, we are shown a world in which the American Presidency is occupied by a computer, with a stand-by President in case Unicephalon goes out of commission.

Stand-by dies, and his place is taken by lazy schlumpf Max Fischer, because he’s next on the union seniority list. Then Unicephalon goes on the blink, so it’s Max into the breach just as an extraterrestrial invasion fleet breezes into the Solar System. Unqualified President Max learns to enjoy power and its abuses in ways that I am sure could never happen here. News clown Jim Briskin becomes his completely serious antagonist, and upon Unicephalon’s resuscitation, Max is out and the alien invasion fades into the background. This reads more like a rambling stand-up routine than a story, but nonetheless it’s clever, amusing, and readable enough. Three stars, and a hope that Dick regains the form of some of his older and more penetrating stories like Autofac and The Father-Thing.

Roger Zelazny is back with The Misfit , a minor item on a familiar theme that might seem better if we didn’t know he’s capable of more. Protagonist is trapped in an artificial reality; he wants out to the real one; how will he know if he’s found it? Zelazny has the good sense to keep it very short. Three stars for insubstantiality well turned.

Larry Eisenberg contributes his second SF story, The Fastest Draw, which is clever but contrived and a bit turgid. An electronics genius is hired to perfect a simulated old-West gunfighter game for an eccentric millionaire and succeeds too well. For something this trivial, Eisenberg should take lessons in brevity from Zelazny—then maybe he’d rate more than two stars.

Sam Moskowitz has another SF Profile, this one of Edmond Hamilton, which is well below his usual standard both in substance and execution. It ignores major stretches of Hamilton’s career (all of the 1950s,  and most of the 1940s, and his entire engagement with comic books) and is also execrably written, even for klunkmeister Moskowitz. Consider this sentence: “Romance and marriage was approached via many delays and detours.” Two stars, Sam, and you’re getting off easy. Don’t come back until you take some remedial English!

So, once more, this magazine seems to be looking up. But . . . from the Coming Next Month squib: “From the long-locked safe of Edgar Rice Burroughs comes a never-before-published manuscript” in which the protagonists “sail the fiery seas of Molop Az in the search for Hodon the Fleet One and Dian the Beautiful”! I’m scheduling my lobotomy now.

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Comics

[September 11, 1963] Has Marvel Comics become Mighty?

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[While you're reading this article, why not tune in to KGJ, Radio Galactic Journey, playing all the current hits: pop, rock, soul, folk, jazz, country — it's the tops, pops…]


by Jason Sacks

Fellow travelers, I have a confession to make.

No, I’m not moving to Russia to work for Khrushchev, I’ll never give up my anger about the Dodgers moving to Los Angeles and I will always hate the music of that ugly-voiced Bob Dillon. But I’ve changed in other ways. See, I’ve had a change of heart with my comics book collecting ways.

Though it pains me to admit it after my previous posts to this fanzine, I’ve grown to enjoy the latest offerings from Marvel Comics. 1963 has been a very good year for Stan Lee’s small publishing line. That growth makes me wonder if Marvel just might emerge as one of the premier publishers of the 1960s.

I know that comment may come as a shock, after I’ve relentlessly mocked and ridiculed that quirky, homegrown comics company in previous articles on Galactic Journey. Those feelings were honest. My complaints were sincere. But time has a way of changing things.

They say some cigarette smokers would rather fight than switch, but sometimes life throws you surprises.

Why am I changing my mind about a topic about which I seethed just a few months ago? It’s simple. These comic books are good. Amazingly, in the span of the last few months, Stan Lee and company have produced comics that are almost as compelling as some of my favorite television shows. (Heck, some of these comics are better than Bonanza or good ol’ Dr. Kildare.)

Last week’s edition of Fantastic Four, issue #21, shows the growth that creators Lee and artist Jack Kirby have brought to this title of late. Featured villain Hate-Monger is one of the spookiest villains to appear in comics since Captain America’s vicious enemy the Red Skull.

When I first saw the cover of this issue, with a giant image of the Hate-Monger zapping the Fantastic Four with his ray-gun, it really took me aback. With his ersatz purple Ku Klux Klan hood, the Monger immediately catches the eye and brings a suitable level of terror to the proceedings.

Flipping to the first page of the story, its splash delivers a tableau of dramatic intensity. The Hate-Monger, clad in chain mail and boots with his eerie hood, is situated against a background of fire and barbed wire. His body, shown in an aggressive stance, is surrounded by cameo faces of the Fantastic Four, all looking furious and spoiling for a fight. This bold image sets the tone for one of the most memorable tales of the year.

As the story begins, the Fantastic Four are hanging out in their skyscraper tower, each occupying themselves with their hobbies. One member works on an invention, another throws darts at a picture of Spider-Man, a third tries on wigs. But their daily reliquaries are interrupted by anger from the brutish Thing. “I’m so cotton pickin’ mad, I’ve gotta do something,” he rants. “That crumb who calls himself the Hate-Monger has been causin’ trouble wherever he goes because he’s too smart to break any laws.” Mr. Fantastic replies, “He’s the worst kind of menace! He preaches class hatred, race hatred, religious hatred!”

In that moment our heroes show what is at stake in this story and show that the stakes are higher than mere super-hero battles. This is a story that could have been ripped from the headlines, as the John Birchers do their best to try to stop Democratic efforts to improve America’s immigration and race relations. (I just hope President Kennedy can succeed in improving those aspects of our country, even if it takes his entire second term to do so.)

As the story proceeds, our heroes wander through New York, following the noise to hear the Hate Monger preach his hate. “We must drive all the foreigners back from where they came from! We must show no mercy to people we hate!” The Invisible Girl comments, “Reed, it’s unbelievable! He seems to have the crowd in a trance! They — they’re actually agreeing with his un-American sentiments!” Thank goodness our heroes are exemplars of our post-War consensus on race and immigration. They represent sanity and our great respect of diversity. In that way they show themselves to be real heroes.

That is, until the Monger zaps our heroes with his all-powerful H-ray.

Very quickly the Fantastic Four begin fighting each other, and rapidly the team parts ways with each other due to their anger at each other. Thankfully Reed Richards’s old war buddy Nick Fury, now working for the CIA, shows up and sends the team to help stop a revolution in the South American country of San Gusto.

What ensues reads like a comic version of Castro’s revolution, though with the Fantastic Four on one side of the battle instead of President Batista’s troops. Nick Fury, yelling about how the CIA won’t interfere in other nations’ affairs is able to help Richards escape the power of the H-ray, and soon the rest of the team is healed of its pernicious effects. As they finally defeat the Hate-Monger, our heroes unmask the arch villain. A last page climax reveals the Monger has the face of… Adolf Hitler.

Fantastic Four #21 is a dervish of a tale, a wild mix of politics, heroic action and surprising twists. This story feels both young and traditional with its focus on good and evil juxtaposed against real world concerns. It’s hard to imagine National Comics producing a comic that even mentions any level politics, let alone one that shocks readers with a cameo from Adolf Hitler or revolutions in banana republics. This issue also demonstrates another charming feature of Marvel at late: inter-character continuity. Lee and Kirby throw readers treats by including moments featuring characters like Nick Fury (whose World War II series premiered just last month) and Spider-Man. It’s almost like all these Marvel characters live in one universe!

Though not every issue of FF is so overtly political, most recent issues have been as kinetic and action-packed, and have featured equally adroit character moments. I’ve been bowled over by how thrilling these reads have been.

I’ve also come to enjoy Amazing Spider-Man, a series I once loathed. Before I was frustrated with the angsty life of problematic Peter Parker, but now I’m beginning to gain a love for this humble hero. In issue 7 of the series, former villain The Vulture returns from an earlier appearance and escapes from jail, seeking revenge against Spider-Man.

In a delightful demonstration of the small man become large, bespectacled Peter Parker finds he must sacrifice his social status at his high school in order to fight the Vulture. He also must take photographs of the battle between Spider-Man and the Vulture for a New York newspaper so he can help his elderly aunt pay her mortgage. This element gives the fight higher stakes than another hohum battle between the Flash and Captain Cold. Peter even breaks his arm during the battle with the Vulture, forcing him to lie to everyone in his life about the injury and his secret identity.

I’ve read heroic fiction for most of my life and can’t remember any hero going through such a level of personal pain in order to triumph in battle. This is a brave step out of the norm. It took some time for that angst to move from goofy pastiche to true drama, but creators Lee and Steve Ditko are continuing that journey. Ditko’s brusque art can’t compare with the slick work of Infantino or Kane on DC’s headliners, but it seems fitting for the grittiness of the story.

Thus far we’ve looked at two Marvel books released the week of September 10th that offered intriguing combinations of rough grittiness and seat-of-the-pants storytelling. But the highlight for me from last week comes in the pages of Tales of Suspense #48.

Previously, the millionaire Tony Stark dressed himself in a bulky golden suit that ill-suited our super-heroic Rockefeller. That monochrome monstrosity seemed a magnet for any villain who could melt, smash or mangle metal — or who was blinded by the sheer hideousness of a hero who dresses like a banana.

In contrast, Lee and Ditko debut dynamic new duds for Iron Man in this story. His new red-and-gold armor is a surprising and delightful treat. I love the new modern design, with its complementary colors, its open eye-slits and its nicely placed rivets. The suit looks like millionaire Tony Stark commissioned it from Pierre Cardin. If Steve Ditko of Spider-Man fame designed this suit, he’s delivered another winner.

Sadly, the story in which the suit is introduced is nowhere near the level of last week’s Spider-Man or Fantastic Four. it’s a paint-by-numbers yarn involving an evil puppet master with odd hoodoo powers. In fact, aside from the change in clothing, this issue could pass for one of the better National Comics edited by Julius Schwartz, whose work I praised in previous columns. That’s a high level of quality, one I wish the other National editors could keep up, but isn’t as good as the core Marvel books I’ve grown to love.

Marvel’s mighty releases make for a spectacularly good week for new comics, made all the more so when one considers what my former favorites at National delivered the same week. In comparison, “The Human Starfish” in Blackhawk #190 and “The Terrible Tree-Man” in Tomahawk #89 are embarrassingly juvenile.

National has delivered some wonderful comics in the last few weeks, with the pairing of Hawkman and Adam Strange in separate anthology stories in Mystery in Space #87 providing a tremendous frisson. However, it seems increasingly obvious that, with few exceptions, National’s comics are intended for children as opposed to the more adult-oriented feel of Marvel’s new heroic line. This growth in presentation has resulted in a growth in my appreciation for them, and shows that maybe, just maybe, The Traveler was right about his opinion on these comics (which I shoulda known since I value his opinions on sci-fi so much).

So yes, I’ve changed a bit as I’ve read more Marvel Comics over the last few months. The more I read comics like Fantastic Four, the more I appreciate them. With the super-hero line expanding in recent months with The Avengers, The X-Men, Dr. Strange, and the Master of Black Magic, maybe we will move into a Marvel Age of comics over the next few years after all!

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Magazine

[September 9, 1963] Great Expectations (October 1963 Galaxy)

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by Gideon Marcus

Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, is a time of renewal and new beginnings.  This year, it falls on September 18, and it can't be coincidence that the Fall TV season starts around then.  After all, this year is going to see a bumper crop of science fiction television, including the debuts of the anthology show The Outer Limits, My Favorite Martian, and the Japanese import Astro Boy.

In fact, the first episode of the last show premiered just the day before yesterday and, to all accounts, it'll be a big hit.  That was certainly the reaction I observed at the preview showing during this year's Worldcon.  Look out for an article on Astro Boy next month!

In the meantime, you've got plenty of good stuff to occupy your attention.  For instance, Margaret St. Clair has an exciting new book out called Sign of the Labrys — expect a review soon.  There is also the October 1963 issue of Galaxy, an extra-thick pile of fiction that'll give you good company for a day or two.  I've just finished the mag, so let's take a look, shall we?

The Men in the Walls, by William Tenn

Imagine an alien conquest so terrible and comprehensive that humanity is reduced to living in the walls of the extraterrestrials' homes like rats.  Civilization shattered back to the Stone Age, forced to survive on the leavings of the aliens.  The world before has disappeared into legend, and artifacts from the before-time are like magic, their original purpose unknown.

This is the setting veteran author, William Tenn, gives us in the short novel, The Men in the Walls.  Our protagonist is "Eric the Only," a youth on the edge of manhood, who embarks on his first Theft in alien territory.  Originally intending to play it safe and just steal food, he is persuaded by his ambitious uncle to try for the hardest of targets: alien technology.

The components may sound familiar: Tenn's creation shares a great deal of feel with Galouye's Dark Universe (burrow-dwelling humans turned savage) as well as Aldiss' Hot House (humans are tiny in comparative scale, and they commonly give birth to "litters" rather than individuals.) Nevertheless, Tenn delivers his story in a fresh, page-turning manner, and it's a worthy read.

That said, The Men in the Walls is only half a story, ending just as it gets really interesting.  One has to wonder if a sequel or an expanded novel is planned.  Moreover, the writing gets a little repetitive in points; the story could probably have been ten pages shorter.

Three and a half stars. 

For Your Information: King of the Rats

Willy Ley brings us a discussion of the Rat King, a near-mythical phenomenon in which a dozen or more rats are found with their tails spontaneously fused.  It's a weird topic and an oddly short piece.  I wonder if Willy's getting tired of doing these.  Three stars. 

On the Gem Planet, by Cordwainer Smith

On a world composed solely of precious stones, a lone horse wanders masterless through a crystal valley.  The Dictator of the planet and his beautiful heir entreat a young visitor, a crusading exile whose sole goal is to regain the throne of his home planet, for an explanation of how the horse came to his current condition.

Nothing more need be said of this piece save that it is another tale of the Instrumentality by the inimitable Smith, and it does not injure the reputation of the series or its writer.  Four stars.

A Day on Death Highway, by Chandler Elliott

On the other hand, Elliott's would-be whimsical tale of bad drivers in the future is a clunker.  Rendering a piece in artificial slang is always a dicey prospect, and there isn't enough of interest in this story to make it worth the slog.  One star.

Sweet Tooth, by Robert F. Young

Two giant aliens, all head and no body (or all body and no head) terrorize a rural part of the country with their insatiable taste for chrome-plated automobiles.  Are they the vanguard of an invasion…or just a couple of kids in the candy shop?

Robert F. Young has produced some of the most sublime pieces of fiction as well as some of the worst pieces of hackneyed crud I've ever read.  This tale is neither.  Three stars.

Med Ship Man, by Murray Leinster

Calhoun, intrepid healer to the stars, encounters an ominously empty colony.  Why did the entire population flee their homes in a mad rush, often mid-meal?  And is there a connection with the coincident arrival of Allison, a ruthless businessman from the cattle planet of Texia?

I was trepidatious about this story because the previous Med Ship story had been a disappointment.  Thankfully, Leinster is back to form.  Sure, he still writes in that slightly plodding, repetitive fashion that shouldn't work, but it does as the voice of Calhoun, a man I perceive to be fastidious, peevish, and utterly competent.  Four stars. 

In short, this month's Galaxy gives you plenty to look forward to.  Take in the Tenn, the Leinster, and especially, the Smith.  And then pick up the St. Clair.  That should hold you through to the new year!

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Conventions/Performances

[September 5, 1963] Oh Brave New World (the 1963 Worldcon)

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by Gideon Marcus

This has been a year of many firsts.  My first year as a full-time writer, my first published fiction story, and now, my first Worldcon.  Ever since I became a science fiction fan back in 1950, Worldcons have been mysterious, half-magic events that happened to other people.  I'd read reports in Fanac or Science Fiction Times or heard summaries from attendees, but they were never real for me.

Until now.

On August 31, 1963, I walked through the doors of the Statler-Hilton in Washington D.C. and attended Discon I, August 31 – September 2, 1963.


The Statler-Hilton in Washington D.C.

It was a weekend of panels, shopping, heated debate, raucous partying, fantastic costumes, and writers.  There, in the flesh, I saw some of the titans of a field I am just entering.  Most of them were somehow apart from me, beyond my ability to connect with at more than a perfunctory level.  Others were more than happy to mingle.  For instance, rising star Bob Silverberg, shared banter and contact information. 

Of course, Silverberg is the fellow who wrote the second-most offensive story I've ever read, the one that turned me off of the magazine Venture forever.  One can only hope he's grown out of his reactionary mindset.


Silverbob, himself! (from fanac)

But in addition to the cavalcade of celebrities, there were, of course, the hundreds of fans, and boy did we have fun together.  The names of a few with whom I connected: Denise Head, Al Jackson, Myriam Warren, Larry Niven, Joe Haldeman.  I even spent a little time palling around with young Astrid Anderson (daughter of Karen and Poul — I never quite managed to cross their path).  Precocious kid.  She's going places.

As usual, Galactic Journey presented a panel on the current state of fandom.  The room was packed, and the questions were excellent.  There was just one moment of heat: an attendee took umbrage at our less-than-flattering comments regarding Barry Goldwater.  Well, it's a free country.


Leiber, Emsh, Ley, Scithers, Brackett, Asimov, De Camp (from locus)

On the last day, we crammed into the main hall for the award ceremony.  The highlight of the luncheon was, without a doubt, the final award for "Dramatic Presentation."  You see, Isaac Asimov was presenting, as he usually does (a rumor that it would be Ted Sturgeon turned out to be unfounded — he wasn't there).  He made his little introductions for each of the winners, with increasing irritation as the night wore on. 

You see, he really wanted a Hugo, and he was upset that he had never gotten one in his 25 years of writing.  And now that he'd transitioned to mostly writing science articles, it was becoming clear (to him) that he never would. 

Once he reached the last envelope, he took a moment to treat us all to a tirade.  He knew, he said, why he had never gotten the golden rocketship.  It had nothing to do with merit.  It was anti-semitism, plain and simple.  We were all Nazis.  Yes, even me.

And with a snarl, he ripped open the final envelope and called out, "The award goes to I…" and froze, his tongue tripping on his own name.  It turned out that there was no Dramatic Presentation award this year.  Instead, Asimov was given a Hugo for his F&SF science articles — "putting the science in science fiction," the award read.

The laughter lasted quite a long time. 

As for the rest of the Hugos, well, here's how they went:

Best Novel

The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick [Putnam, 1962]

Nominees

Sword of Aldones by Marion Zimmer Bradley [Ace, 1961]
A Fall of Moondust by Arthur C. Clarke [Harcourt, Brace & World, 1962]
Little Fuzzy by H. Beam Piper [Avon, 1962]
Sylva by Vercors [Putnam, 1961]


H. Beam Piper in tie at the convention (from zarthani)

This selection is truly remarkable.  Not a single one of these books made our Galactic Stars list this year (though, to be fair, A Fall of Moondust was on our list the prior year).  The Dick is decent, but not Hugo-worthy; ditto the Piper.  The Bradley is just awful.  None of us read Sylva, a French novel about a woman who turns into a fox, so we can't judge that one.

Short Fiction

The The Dragon Masters by Jack Vance [Galaxy Aug 1962]

Nominees

Myrrha by Gary Jennings [F&SF Sep 1962]
The Unholy Grail by Fritz Leiber [Fantastic October 1962]
When You Care, When You Love by Theodore Sturgeon [F&SF Sep 1962]
Where Is the Bird of Fire? by Thomas Burnett Swann [Science Fantasy Apr 1962]


Costumes of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser at the convention (from fanac)

Here, we're on more common ground.  Of course, the WorldCon committee only picks five sub-novel length stories to award while the Journey gives out fifteen, which allows more opportunities for overlap between the two sets of awards.

The Vance is really an excellent novella, and I understand a sequel may be in the works.  The Leiber is definitely deserving, and its warm reception appears to have spurred a host of new Fahfrd and Mouser stories.  The Sturgeon is a reasonable choice, though it was not one of ours. 

We were not so taken by the Jennings, and we missed out on the Swann.  Would any of our fellow travelers like to clue us in?

Best Dramatic Presentation

No Winner

Nominees

Burn, Witch, Burn (1962) (alt: Night of the Eagle) [Anglo-Amalgamated/Independent Artists] Directed by Sidney Hayers; Screenplay by Charles Beaumont & Richard Matheson and George Baxt; based on the novel Conjure Wife by Fritz Leiber

The Day the Earth Caught Fire (1961) [British Lion/Pax] Directed by Val Guest; Written by Wolf Mankowitz & Val Guest

Last Year at Marienbad (1962) [Argos Films] Directed by Alain Resnais; Screenplay by Alain Resnais and Alain Robbe-Grillet; based on the novel The Invention of Morel by Adolfo Bioy Casares

The Twilight Zone (TV series) by Rod Serling [CBS]


From The Twilight Zone episode Little Girl Lost

As described above, no program managed to secure the gold rocket ship this year.  In any event, I am dismayed that we only covered two of the finalists.  We will endeavor to Do Better!

Best Professional Magazine

The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction ed. by Robert P. Mills and Avram Davidson

Nominees

Analog Science Fiction and Fact ed. by John W. Campbell, Jr.
Galaxy ed. by H. L. Gold
Fantastic ed. by Cele Goldsmith
Science Fantasy ed. by John Carnell

Once again, the names are the same but the order changes.  There just aren't that many magazines around these days, though there has been a resurgence lately (and I just read that Wonder Stories may be back!)

I wonder if we should start covering Science Fantasy…

Best Professional Artist

Roy G. Krenkel

Nominees

Ed Emshwiller
Virgil Finlay
Jack Gaughan
John Schoenherr

Krenkel's is a name I was unfamiliar with until recently.  He's the one responsible for the beautiful cover work on the Edgar Rice Burroughs reprints.  The others are, of course, staples of the magazine world.

Best Fanzine

Xero ed. by Richard A. Lupoff and Pat Lupoff

Nominees

Warhoon ed. by Richard Bergeron
Mirage ed. by Jack L. Chalker
Yandro ed. by Robert Coulson and Juanita Coulson
Shangri L’Affaires ed. by Fred Patten, Albert Lewis, Bjo Trimble and John Trimble

"Where is Galactic Journey?" you cry.  After all, it was widely reported that our beloved journal would be on the ballot this year.  Sadly, due to some arcane rule I don't quite understand, Galactic Journey was not eligible for the Hugo in 1963.  Maybe next year…

Despite our not having officially been on the ballot, the Journey was invited to the Sunday night reveling that is traditional for Hugo losers.  We sent a representative; however, the Traveler and Editor decided to get some much-needed rest.  It had been a roller-coaster of a week, and we wanted to be fresh for the return to San Diego. 

Nevertheless, Worldcon was a blast.  We loved the venue, the friends, and the programming.  We will definitely attend next year.  Hope to see you there!

[We'll be discussing the Hugo winners, losers, and shoulda-beens all week, starting now, at Portal 55! Come join us!]

—

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Book

[September 3, 1963] An unspoken Bond (Ian Fleming's On Her Majesty’s Secret Service)

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By Ashley R. Pollard

Last month I talked about spies. Spies that were cool, and those who betrayed their country. With the Profumo affair still rattling around the news, I opined that spies and spying would sweep into the public consciousness. Scandals have a habit of doing that.

So, please excuse me, while I take the time to talk about another spy-centric non-SF book for this month's episode on Galactic Journey.

With the success of last year's film adaptation of Ian Fleming's Dr. No., I continue to predict that the next James Bond film, From Russia With Love, which is coming this October, will further raise the public's interest in the heady delights of techno-thrillers featuring spies. So far all I’ve seen are a couple of stills from the set, so it’s hard to make any judgment on the adaptation of the story by the filmmakers.

But until the film arrives on the big screen we have a new Bond novel to sate our appetites.

On Her Majesty’s Secret Service is the tenth James Bond novel, a sequel to the previous novel (once removed), Thunderball. I was lucky to get hold of a copy of OHMSS when it came out at the beginning of April, because both the first and second print runs, totaling over 60,000 copies, sold out in the first month. This should give readers some insight into how popular James Bond has become in Britain.

Since OHMSS is a sequel to Thunderball, a quick reprise of the former novel's plot is in order.

Thunderball centred on the theft of two atomic bombs stolen by a shadowy organization called SPECTRE: SPecial Executive for Counterintelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion.  SPECTRE is the replacement for SMERSH, MI-6's nemesis organization that appears in the earlier novels. These villains were originally loosely based on the real life Soviet counterintelligence organization SMERSH.

The name is a Russian portmanteau, created by Stalin from the words SMERt and SHpionam. Translated it means "Death to Spies."

Why the change? My understanding is that the film producers and Fleming decided to make the villains apolitical. In an interview Fleming said that he wanted to show that the cold war had thawed and changed the name to reflect this.

This criminal organization is led by the nefarious villain Ernst Stavro Blofeld, who returns in OHMSS to cause our hero more pain and suffering. This time round Fleming fleshes out his hero with some fascinating revelations about Bond's character. For example, he discloses that Bond visits the grave of Vesper Lynd every year.  Lynd was a character that appeared in Fleming's first James Bond novel, Casino Royale, where she kills herself rather than betray Bond.

James Bond's relationship with women also breaks new ground, but I don't want to spoil the plot by giving anything away. All I'll say is that OHMSS deals with grief and loss. And most affecting it is too.

As is usual in an Ian Fleming novel, real places are used to add verisimilitude to the narrative, though some of the names are changed. In this case, the description of Piz Gloria makes clear that it is based on the Nazi German eugenic research facility Schloss Mittersill.

Its inclusion as a setting for the plot therefore adds a certain emotional darkness to the story. It's a chilling foreshadowing of the reveal about the purpose of the centre. We later discover that the villain is brainwashing young women he's treating for food allergies. Blofield's plan is to send them home to Britain where they will release a bioweapon to destroy our crops.

Cue loud cackling.

OK. That was probably a tad unfair of me, but the plan strained my credulity to its limits. James Bond stories are not subtle. However, OHMSS is a lot of fun to read. Once I started I had to keep turning the pages to find out what happened next. OHMSS demonstrates Fleming's increasingly assured touch and storytelling confidence.

I will freely admit that the SF trappings are not strongly in evidence in this novel. However, the machinations of the plot are driven by technological developments driven by science. Had this novel been written before the war, it would have been derided for its fanciful SF trappings. Ideas that SF fans take as a given, like rockets, robots, and ray-guns, are now taken for granted.

All right, perhaps not ray-guns, but the terms that used to mark out the genre are now increasingly appearing in everyday usage. In a few short years, SF ideas have moved from the pages of the Pulps and post-war magazines into everyday life. Therefore, in the wake of the success of Ian Fleming's "Bond", what I predict we will see is more techno-thrillers, spy stories with futuristic trappings.

After all, why should Ian Fleming have all the fun?


The Jamaica home where Fleming wrote OHMSS during the filming of Dr. No

[Want to talk to the Journey crew and fellow fans in real-time?  Come join us at Portal 55! (Ed.)]

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Magazine

[Sep. 1, 1963] How to Fail at Writing by not Really Trying (September 1963 Analog)

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by Gideon Marcus

A few years ago, I began trying to write fiction.  I'd been reading science fiction regularly for eight years at that point.  I figured if all those other guys and gals could do it, surely I, with hundreds of published pieces under my belt would find the transition an easy one.  So long as I came up with some clever twist, maybe showcased some unique visions of technology, that'd be enough.

I quickly found, as I collected rejection after rejection, that it wasn't.  I started running my stories past my wife and my daughter, both talented and discerning individuals.  It became clear that I was missing the things that make any story good, regardless of genre: pacing, compelling characters, dramatic tension.  A science fiction story must be, first and foremost, a story.

I took that lesson to heart, rewriting all of my salvageable pieces.  The end result?  Last month, I got published, and the future looks bright for my other works.  Now people want to read my stuff.  Heck, even I like my stuff now.


Sadly, this month's issue of Analog, with one notable exception, is chock full of the type of stories I know now not to write.  They are a series of technological travelogues with the barest attempt at fictioneering.  This kind of thing might tickle editor John Campbell's fancy, but it won't win any Hugos.  Moreover, this isn't the first time this has happened.  If this trend keeps up, at some point it's got to impact subscription numbers.  Right?

Take a look and tell me if you agree:



Which Polaris Do You Mean? by Robert S. Richardson

Every planet has got a north pole — that place where you can stand and watch the world rotate counter-clockwise below you.  But do other planets have a "North Star," a bright star like our Polaris that lies directly in line that pole and always points north?  And do Earth and other planets have South Stars?  Robert Richardson offers up an article that answers these questions.  I found it pretty interesting, but astronomy's my bag.  Three stars.

Industrial Revolution, by Winston P. Sanders

A few months back, Sanders wrote a story about planet-divers who plunged into the atmosphere of Jupiter to retrieve valuable industrial gasses.  I don't know how the author managed to turn such an interesting premise into a dull piece, but he did. 

In Revolution, he does it again, butchering the tale of a small venture that tries to turn an asteroid into a profitable fuel trans-shipping concern.  Earth's government sends a battleship out to stop the attempt at space capitalism, but doughty Jimmy Chung (the Chinese guy) and Michael Blades (the Irish guy, and hero) outsmart those evil bureaucrats.

Along the way, we are treated to excruciatingly long explanations of technology, pages of trite dialogue, and that perennial Analog specialty: lousy portrayals of women.  All told in a smug, self-satisfied manner that is also typical of the magazine. 

Those with any knowledge of our genre know that "Winston P. Sanders" is a pen name for old hand, Poul Anderson.  Perhaps he knew that this tale was a stinker and didn't want his name attached to it.  One star.

The Last Straw, by William J. Smith

Months after a deadly plane crash that took the lives of more than seventy passengers, Inspector Kessler still can't give up the investigation.  Was it sabotage?  A drunk passenger?  Or perhaps some kind of conspiracy?  All of the leads come up short…until a final clue puts the mystery in focus.

Straw is just three separate dialogues, and yet, the writing is so deft that we learn everything we need to know just from conversation.  The rule is generally "show, don't tell," but an experienced author can "show by telling" without it feeling expository.  I'm impressed.

As for the story, it's a fine, short "who-dunnit."  Or perhaps "what-dunnit" is a better description.  Four stars.

i>Chrono-Control, by Frank A. Javor

In the future, incorrigible prisoners are stuffed into one-person satellites and subjected to a life of privation and strict time-management.  One such convict decides he can't take it anymore and hatches a plan to break his mechanical warden.  But is Heaven in a pod better than Hell?

Aside from the utter implausibility of the setup, the pages upon pages explaining the prisoner's plot are incomprehensible.  The ending is silly, too.  In other words, Javor commits all of the sins described in my preamble. 

Two stars.

The Thirst Quenchers, by Rick Raphael

A hundred years from now, science has transformed every profession but one — that of the hydrologist.  These intrepid measurers must still manually plant sensors in remote locations to ensure an accurate picture of our water budget.  And in the 21st Century, water is such a precious commodity that no drop can be spared.

A fellow reviewer described this tale as "A cross between a railway timetable and a mail-order catalogue," which I find hard to improve upon.  It reads like an educational film views, and when the "action" starts, half-way through, it is stripped of all excitement. 

Some points that stood out, though:

1.  In the future, won't satellites be able to monitor our water supplies? 

2.  If water is in such short supply, and power so abundant (nuclear fission is ubiquitous, and dams have been abandoned), why aren't there large-scale desalination operations?

3.  Analog is a particularly masculine magazine with few/no female characters or writers.  Sometimes this quality approaches self-satiric levels, as with this sentence spoken by a ranger who is rebuffed when he offers a hydrologist a cup of substandard coffee:

"Man's drink for a real man," the ranger grinned.  "Us forestry men learn to make coffee from pine pitch.  Makes a man outta you."

One star.

Am I Still There?, by James R. Hall

This year saw the first successful lung transplant, easily the most significant organ transfer operation to date.  One can easily foresee a future in which every part of the body can be exchanged, granting a kind of immortality.  But what happens when your brain starts to wear out?  Can a new one be regrown, imprinted with your memories, and implanted?  Are you still you after such an operation?

It's a fascinating concept, but you won't find it well-explored in this story.  After a competent setup, Hall simply leaves the central question unanswered.  Two stars.

We are left with the question: Do Analog's stories stink because the writers can't write, or do Analog's contributors write poorly because that's what Campbell wants?  The fact that Anderson, at least, often turns in good efforts suggests the latter — or at least, they just don't try as hard for Campbell's mag. 

Anyway, here are the numbers for this month: Analog garnered a dismal 2.2 stars, beaten to the bottom only by Amazing, which got 2.1 stars.  F&SF was also a disappointment this month, though its sins tend to go in the opposite direction of Analog.  It got 2.6 stars.  Fantastic rounds out the losers with a 2.9 average.

On the winning side, Worlds of Tomorrow features solid works by Laumer and Dick, though the balance of the issue drags things to just 3 stars.  Experimental IF, which featured two woman authors (F&SF had one, the others, none), clocked in at 3.3 stars and had my favorite story.  And New Worlds scored a surprising 3.4 stars and the top spot, in large part due to its continuing serial by John Brunner.

All in all, August wasn't a great month for science fiction, but as usual, there was enough quality to see us through.  Speaking of which, Worldcon 21 has begun, and we will soon learn what the fans thought was the best of SF published last year.  There will be a full report when it's over…

[Want to discuss the Hugo winners in real-time?  Come join us at Portal 55! (Ed.)]

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