Category Archives: Movies

Science fiction and fantasy movies

[July 17, 1960] Lost Time (The Lost World)

Let's play a name association game.  When I say "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle," what comes to mind?  Sherlock Holmes, I'll wager.  But did you know that, in addition to being a quite accomplished non-fiction writer (his The War in South Africa: Its Causes and Conduct won him a knighthood), Conan Doyle was also a science fiction writer?  Contemporary with Edgar Rice Burroughs, Conan Doyle wrote a series of adventures starring the irascible Professor Challenger.

The first one, The Lost World, involves a trip to a remote South American plateau where dinosaurs still thrive.  This was the sort of conceit one could get away with in Edwardian times, back when there were still blank areas on the map where dragons might reside.  Burroughs, for instance, placed an entire mini-continent in the Pacific Ocean, also populated with dinosaurs, in his Caspak series.

With giant lizards festooned with costume accoutrements now a fad (e.g. Journey to the Center of the Earth), it is no surprise that Hollywood is looking for vehicles to showcase this new advancement in special effects.  Hence, The Lost World has found its way onto the silver screen.

Now, I'd been looking forward to this flick, in large part because I mistakenly thought it was going to be a movie about Burroughs' Pellucidar series (sort of an updated Journey to the Center of the Earth).  I don't know where I got that impression.  Nevertheless, Lost World is in color, and it's a lovely Cinemascope production, so I kept my cinema tickets and, with little difficulty, enticed my daughter to join me for a night at the movies.

Would that I could turn back time.

Every movie starts with a reserve of good will.  In this case, Lost World had its esteemed provenance and an exciting premise going for it.  It then proceeded to squander this reserve by engaging in an interminable scene in which Professor Challenger announces his discovery of dinosaurs in Amazonia and his intention to launch a second expedition.  This takes up nearly a tenth of the movie.

At first, the Professor rejects the few volunteers he receives, with the exception of Lord John Roxton, a (putatively) British adventurer with a California accent.  Challenger is later induced to accept reporter Ed Malone at the urging of Malone's editor, who offers $100,000 to fund the expedition.  Challenger's plummy associate, Professor Summerlee, also tags along.

This meager group is augmented upon arrival in South America by the craven, bearded Costa, and the suave Manuel Gomez (Fernando Lamas).  Gomez, despite his unconvincing guitar-playing skills (which the movie showcases as often as it can), is easily the most compelling character in the movie.

The Challenger expedition also expands to include Malone's editor's two children, Jennifer and David Holmes.  As in Journey to the Center of the Earth, much is made of Jennifer's gender.  Sadly, unlike the strong female lead in last year's movie, Jennifer is largely relegated to mooning over Roxton, falling in love with Malone, and generally ending up in distress.

Thus completed, the party embarks on a helicopter trip to the prehistoric plateau.  Thankfully, the vehicle is far larger on the inside than on the outside, and also whisper-quiet, so the expedition suffers few of the difficulties of associated with air travel.

Upon arriving, we learn that Jennifer has brought along a companion, which my daughter immediately dubbed "Gertrude."  Once again, this character compares poorly to its Journey counterpart, the plucky waterfowl that was several times the Lindenbrook Expedition's salvation.  Gertrude the dog is just an accessory, like a purse or scarf.

That night, Challenger's camp is assaulted by a rampaging "Brontosaurus," which looks suspiciously iguana-esque.  Gomez' helicopter is destroyed, stranding the expedition on the plateau.  This does little to dampen Challenger's spirits, however, and the next morning, he leads his party deep into the jungle in search of more prehistoric beasts.

His search soon leads to fruition, though I am beginning to doubt Professor Challenger's academic credentials.  I am reasonably certain, for instance, that dinosaurs were not lizards.

Soon after, Challenger finds a lovely native girl.  She is, of course, captured by the party, presumably for later dissection and display, or perhaps as insurance against when provisions are exhausted.  The native falls in love with David, though there is never an indication as to why.

The plot thickens slightly upon the discovery of evidence that another expedition preceded Challenger's.  It turns out that Roxton was a member of that party, which had come to the plateau in search of the famed treasure of El Dorado.  All but Roxton perished in the endeavor, including a fellow named Santiago.  It seems Roxton abandoned Santiago, with whom Gomez had a strong connection.  The helicopter pilot even carries a locket with Santiago's picture.  At first, I thought this was going to be a particularly daring film, but it later develops that Gomez and Santiago were brothers.

The remainder of the film is a sequence of unrelated, action-filled vignettes of unbearable length.  First, we are treated to an interminable clash of dinosaurs, exhausting any remaining hopes the audience might have entertained that anything resembling a real dinosaur would appear in the film.

Then, the party is captured by cannibals, who imprison them in their cave pending an invitation to dinner. 

The party escapes with the aid of the smitten native girl as well as a member of Roxton's first expedition, who turns up alive but blind.

But they're not out of the woods yet.  First, the party must spelunk endlessly through the chambers of an active volcano.

And then, on the brink of safety, Gomez brandishes his pistol and vows to avenge his brother.  The Argentine is easily subdued, but the party is then visited by another saurian attack.  Costa is gobbled up, but Roxton saves Gomez from a similar fate.  The balance books now even, Gomez sacrifices himself for the good of the party, killing a dinosaur with a handy lava flow.

The party seems less than aggrieved by the loss of its latin companions.  Rather, they delight in having escaped with their lives, a significant number of roughcut diamonds, and a newly hatched "Tyrannosaurus."  The End.

It really is fascinating to compare Lost World to Journey.  On the surface, they are surprisingly similar films.  Yet the level of craftsmanship is so poor in Lost World, with the possible exception of the cinematography.  It just goes to show that "A" status is no guarantee of a movie's quality, just as "B" status does not necessarily reflect an unworthy effort (e.g. The Wasp Woman).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Africanized Honey Wasps

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

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


Absolutely hideous

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


Sherlock Holmes: The Later Years

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


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

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


Heroin is good for the skin, you know

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

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

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

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


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

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


The New Face of Starlin Cosmetics!

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


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

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

Cue credits.

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

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

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

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

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

[June 14, 1960] 12 Angry Astronauts (12 to the Moon)

Sometimes, the Journey goes to the movies; sometimes, we're sorry we did.

If you are a regular reader of this column, or you tune in to KGJ, you've probably read some of my film reviews.  An off-script discussion was broadcast recently summing up all the movies my daughter and I have watched since the Journey took off. 

We've seen some excellent flicks and some bad flicks, but I don't think we've ever seen anything quite so bad as what we saw last weekend, the newly released…

First, the summary.  12 to the Moon is, as one might expect, the story of the world's first lunar landing, some time near the end of the 20th Century.  The incredibly capacious spacecraft, Lunar Eagle One, features a truly international crew, and two of them are even women.  The leader of the expedition is, naturally, an American and the hunkiest of the bunch.  Other nationalities represented include the United Kingdom, France, Germany, Israel, Russia (not the Soviet Union), Poland, Brazil, Turkey, Japan, Sweden, and Nigeria.

The ship is atomic powered, so the whole flight takes all of three hours.  Yet, in that time, the crew feels compelled to take a shower (don't worry–they use waterless sonic showers to get clean).  I'm thinking the lead actor really wanted to do this scene, or perhaps the director really wanted to see him in this scene.  Why buy beefcake if you're just going to leave it in the freezer?

Along the way, the ship runs into a swarm of meteors that make little whizzing noises as they fly by.  Thanks to the skillful Nigerian navigator, and the help of a conventional two dimensional compass, they avoid the hazard.

The Moon turns out to be a place of wonders.  Water vapor sublimates from open vents.  Gold is found in giant nuggets.  Two of the crew, apparently lovebirds with a long history, find a cave with air inside.  They promptly take off their helmets to sample it, the most scientific method available to them, I'm sure.



But the Moon also holds its horrors.  First, the romantic pair disappear into a misty portal.  Then, the Russian scientist burns his hands on a stream of liquid.  Several of the crew get caught in a deep pool of pumice quicksand.

The crew returns to the ship at least three members short (it's hard to keep track).  Whereupon they begin getting teletype messages from the telepathic inhabitants of the Moon.  The script is ostensibly East Asian, and the Japanese scientist can read it.  But I can tell you as someone fluent in Japanese, that ain't no Kanji.

In any event, the Moon People are sick of humanity bombarding them with probes.  They've decided to keep the romantic pair for study of the emotion called "love."  They also want a couple of cats, which were thoughtfully brought along aboard Lunar Eagle One.  They don't ask for the dog or the monkeys.  Well, there's no faulting the aliens for taste.  Then, the aliens tell the remaining humans to go home.

On the way back, there is more drama.  They dodge another swarm of meteors–I guess they just sort of hang out in cislunar space.  The Israeli and the German, who started the journey wary of each other, become fast friends when the latter has a heart attack and reveals that his father was an inhuman Nazi, for whose memory he has devoted his life to atoning.

As the ship nears the Earth, an ominous silence greets the radio calls from Lunar Eagle One.  Upon closer inspection, it appears that the entire Western Hemisphere has undergone some sort of deep freeze, the obvious work of the Moon People.

The Russian hatches a plan to save the Earth–by dropping an atomic bomb into a big volcano.  Of course.  Why didn't I think of that?  And why, if it's so obvious, didn't anyone in the Eastern Hemisphere think of it?

The German and the Israeli, now the best of pals, draw the short straws to drop the bomb in a little shuttlecraft.  Their aim is true, but it has no effect on the alien ray.  Moreover, they die in the process.

But not in vain!  For the Moon People were watching their noble sacrifice, and they decide that people ain't so bad after all.  Thus, they turn off their freeze beam (which by this time was chilling Lunar Eagle One as well), and it develops that everyone who was frozen is actually just fine, thank you.

Cue happy music…

And…

So, that probably all sounds pretty good, doesn't it?  It looks pretty good, too, thanks to the cinematography of veteran John Alton.

But it's not.  It's stultifyingly boring.  The "plot" is just a series of events, one after another, with no real cohesion.  The acting is the worst kind of wooden.  The science is poor (though I did appreciate that the ship turned around half way to the Moon rather than accelerating the whole way).  There are concessions to the tiny budget–for instance, the helmets don't even have visors.  Halfway through, my daughter was pounding her seat in frustration and asking to leave. 

I'm a bad dad.  I wouldn't let her go.

[May 11, 1960] Spelunkers Unite! (Journey to the Center of the Earth)

With so much schlock crowding out the marquees at our local cinemas, it's nice to get a chance to see a quality production for a change.

Last weekend, my daughter and I managed to finally catch the Cinemascope epic, Journey to the Center of the Earth, loosely based upon (read: with the same title as) the Jules Verne classic.  Thankfully, mine eyes are virginal—I have never read the Verne novel.  Rather, I was always partial to Burroughs' Pellucidar series (about which a movie is coming out this Summer!), so while I am sure there are egregious departures from the original story, they did not and could not offend me.

There is much to like about this charming movie about a priggish Scotsman geologist (who sounds a lot like James Mason), a fresh-faced geology student (who sings a lot like Pat Boone), a strong-willed and competent widow, a strapping Icelandic farmer, and (the true hero of the story), a duck named Gertrude.  This team forms the Lindenbrook Expedition, which aims to penetrate the depths of the Earth.  The access point is an Icelandic volcano, this entry having been pioneered by Arnie Saknussemm decades before.


Four of the five intrepid explorers


Did you know Pat Boone could sing?  Who'da thought?

The science is silly, of course, but that's acceptable since this is based on a novel of Victorian (3rd Republican?) vintage.  Beneath the Earth, there are giant mushrooms (all edible, of course), ubiquitous phosphorescent algae, intelligent cannibal Dimetrodons, and a giant subterranean ocean.  And, of course, none of our heroes need shave or brush their hair.  Apparently, in the deep vaults of the Earth, little invisible gnomes keep chests, underarms, and coiffures in perfect order.

Less palatable is the rather artificial conflict between the Mason party and his rival, an Icelandic self-styled "Count," the descendant of Saknussemm, who attempts to derail and vanquish the expedition.  I would have been just fine with a Human vs. Nature spectacle rather than an obligatory Man vs. Man piece.



A most charming aspect, however, is the movie's streak of feminism.  The Widow Goteborg, who came to Iceland at her husband's request (Professor Goteborg having attempted to get the jump on Lindenbrook) convincingly argues herself onto the Lindenbrook expedition.  Lindenbrook sputters on about the uselessness of a female explorer, and is then shown up at every turn by the cleverer, more capable Goteborg.  The cleverest member of all, however, is the duck, Gertrude; she unerringly guides the team to safety and profit, and she was my daughter's favorite character. 

At one point, I noted, "The message of this film is that women are always right."  My daughter replied, "I'm fine with that message."


Gertrude leads the crew across the Nonestic Ocean

In sum, it is an absolutely stunning film, in gorgeous color and with fantastic visuals.  I was engaged throughout, even on the several occasions when the movie nearly careened into the musical theater genre.  Immediately upon finishing the movie, I wanted to find my own mustard-coloured traveling outfit.  Sadly, they are in short supply these days.

Coming up, more science, more television, more books, and more magazines.  May is proving to be a month of embarrassing riches.  Stay tuned!

[Feb. 1, 1960] Sand in my shorts (On the Beach movie review)

With the Hugo nominations already afoot, I felt I could not advisedly give my vote for Best Science Fiction in Media (1959) without giving last year's post-apocalyptic sleeper, On the Beach a watch.  It's just now leaving the theaters, so I caught it in the nick of time.  I did not take my daughter with me on this outing, as I felt the material might be a bit subtle for her.  Perhaps I don't give her enough credit.

In any event, just as I was sharpening my quills, I made the acquaintance of a learned and delightful young woman named Rosemary, who was just about to put her own thoughts on the film to paper.  I invited her to share them with my readers, and as she was interested in expanding her own audience by some five to ten persons, she graciously obliged my request. 

Without further ado:

Reaction to On the Beach (1959 film)
-Rosemary Benton

I first heard about Nevil Shute's On the Beach, depicting life in Australia after an atomic apocalypse, within the pages of the March 1958 edition of Galaxy Magazine. Floyd C. Gale's review was glowing. He even went so far as to say that On the Beach, “should be made mandatory reading for all professional diplomats and politicos” (120). Despite such high praise, I didn't take an interest in the title until United Artists announced that they would be releasing a film adaptation just in time for the 1959 Christmas season. Having just seen Stanley Kramer's masterful direction of The Defiant Ones last year in September I was very much looking forward to seeing how Mr. Kramer would do justice to Shute's tale of the acceptance of human failure and mortality in the face of certain, calendared, radioactive doom.

In preparation of seeing the movie I made it a priority to read the novel so I could contrast the two versions. While I did enjoy the cinematography, the musical score, and the acting of Gregory Peck and Ava Gardner, my largest problem with this adaptation was the melodrama that was infused into the film. Beginning from the dinner party scene when the scientist and politician argue over who is to blame for the atomic war, and remaining through the highly charged relationship between the self-described town drunk Moira Davidson and the US naval officer Captain Dwight Towers, the emotions of the characters run much higher than in Shute's novel. My impression is that this was done for several reasons. Firstly, to redirect the story's focus from the Australian naval family of Peter, Mary and their baby Jennifer Holmes to the more romantically charged friendship between Moira (played by Ms. Gardner) and Dwight (played by Mr. Peck). Secondly, to add more drama on the fatalistic situation that the characters find themselves in.

While the novel plays more on the angst of lost potential and hope for a better future that the young Australian family must come to grips with, the movie instead plays to the tried and true story of love lost and the inevitable divide between duty, country, and status. It's a shame that there isn't more time given to the lives of the Holmes family. Not only do they symbolize the struggle for new life through the already difficult early stages of marriage and child rearing, but they feel that they must hang on as long as possible despite the deadly radiation and inevitable death being carried into the last bastion of humanity. Moira and Dwight are more symbolic of desperate, grasping hope. As their friendship evolves both characters come to realize that what they want is holding them back and apart. Moira wants a romantic relationship with Dwight, but respects that he can not let go of the deceased family he left in Connecticut. Dwight, with his intense loyalty to his old family's memory and his determination to cling to the slight hope that he and his crew might find other people still alive in the irradiated lands of the Northern Hemisphere, effectively limits his ability to find happiness in his short time remaining. 

While I respect Stanley Kramer's ability to engage his audience, I think he played too much to the conventions of Hollywood. Disasters in movies tend to rend communities apart, while in reality they bring local people together. The more disruptive a threat, the more people will band together. Our own civil defense committees that formed across the nation during the Second World War showed a solidarity in small communities that counteracted panic. Even during the Great Flood of 1951, when disaster struck Kansas and ruined thousands of livelihoods, civilians still rushed to help those who were trapped. Shute, I believe, understands this human solidarity in his depiction of the calm equanimity that his characters display. Shute gives his characters addictions, socially awkward encounters, playful banter, and a grace that comes with the characters' acceptance (or flippant dismissal) of the coming extinction of humanity. Having been pushed into a corner through a mass extinction event Shute knows that his cast of players are not as irrational and/or oblivious to their situation as Kramer's movie would have the audience believe.


The starring cast… on the beach

Editor's prologue: Rosemary is far more charitable to the movie than I can be, focusing on a few, quite astute observations.  I found the film a dreadful, morose, melodramatic bore.  The endless variations of "Waltzing Matilda" (eternally heralding that We Are in Australia) punctuated by needlessly loud blasts of brass during the poignant bits, sent me diving for refuge in my Buddy Holly records.  Suffice it to say, this film will not be my recommendation for best science fiction film of the past year.

Galactic Journey is now a proud member of a constellation of interesting columns.  While you're waiting for me to publish my next article, why not give one of them a read!



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[Jan. 5, 1960] Perpendicular to Up (4D Man)

What is it that separates schlock from the sublime in a science fiction movie?  To the nondiscriminating, I suppose they all look the same.  The same may go for the discriminating, but for opposite reasons.  I know I have very high standards when it comes to my science fiction.  This is the price I pay for having read so many excellent stories.  Thus, for me the visual medium generally lacks, though there are exceptions.

So why do I keep going out to the drive-in?  Well, occasionally there are good films, and if I know what I'm getting into, I can enjoy a bad film.  Science fiction movies are generally dreadful, so I am well-prepared for the experience. My daughter, though only 10, is a discerning person, herself, so we always have good conversations about films afterward (and during!)

Last week, 4D Man was on the menu.  It was made by the same crew that brought us The Blob.  In brief, it involves a fellow who is convinced that, using the powers of his mind and some field-generating doohickey, he can force solid objects through other solid objects.  He brings it to the attention of his sober, scientist brother, who eventually masters the art.  In the process, the brother becomes a monster, for the application of said art causes rapid aging, and the only way to regain youth is to steal it from others.  He becomes a sort of vampire, and his ability to become insubstantial renders him all but invulnerable.


The trick is to push really hard.

Quite an odd duck, this movie.  For one thing, the sci-fi twist doesn't really get involved until halfway through.  Instead, we are treated to a love triangle between the brothers and the elder brother's colleague/assistant.  I say treated because I actually quite enjoyed this part.  In particular, I was happy to see that the colleague, played by the talented Lee Merriwether, was intelligent and independent.  When the younger brother, whose actor's name escapes me, attempts to nobly decline the lady's attentions in deference to his older sibling, she makes it perfectly clear that she is her own woman, and she chooses who she wants.  She is also, ultimately, the hero of the movie, managing to vanquish the monster rather cleverly. 


Scientists doing Science.


I think The World, The Flesh, and the Devil taught us how to resolve this situation.

There is a lot to enjoy about the movie.  Robert Lansing plays the older brother in a competent, understated manner, and he is a pleasure to watch.  As I mentioned upstream, Lee Merriwether's smart scientist character is a breath of fresh air.  The younger brother's actor is eager, if nothing else.  One might find the incessant jazz soundtrack somewhat off-putting, but I liked it.  The special effects are inexpensive but convincing.  It's in color, which is still uncommon for sci-fi films.


Big brother masters the art of pushing….


…and uses it predictably.


But is it worth the price?

But how was the science, you ask?  Well, it's ludicrous, of course.  The younger brother attempts to attribute the power of matter phase-through to a fourth-dimensional field that acts as an amplifier for the talented mind; hence, the movie's title.

I think it's hogwash.  It's easier to believe that both brothers are mutants, and that the older brother, with his more-disciplined psyche, is able to master the ability.  This hypothesis is strengthened by the fact that Lansing's character is able to phase even without the field generator.

From the reviews, it does not appear that 4D Man will beat out The Blob in popularity or box office.  I attribute this, in part, to the lack of a catchy theme.  It's still a fun 90 minutes if you look at it as a live-action comic book, however, and worth it for Merriwether and Lansing.

By the way, in case you've been under a rock the last few days, Senator Jack Kennedy has tossed his hat into the presidential race for this year.  It is encouraging to think that my chronological peer could run for this nation's highest office.  On the other hand, my political sympathies tend to be more in line with those of Hubert Humphrey and (the yet undeclared) Stuart Symington.  Or Nelson Rockefeller, whose star rose and fell last year.

Just please please don't give us Tricky Dick in November!

Note: If you like this column, consider sharing it by whatever media you frequent most.  I love the company, and I imagine your friends share your excellent taste!

P.S. Galactic Journey is now a proud member of a constellation of interesting columns.  While you're waiting for me to publish my next article, why not give one of them a read!



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What happened to 1-6? (The 7th Voyage of Sinbad; 8-25-1959)

Some movies are made with a huge budget and are expected to be big blockbusters.  Others are made on a shoestring and have much more variable luck.  I've taken a chance on a lot of "B-Movies" simply because their subject matter included science fiction and or fantasy topics.  I'm happy to announce that the lastest such experience, watching The 7th Voyage of Sinbad, was a completely satisfactory experience.

Sinbad has been in the theaters since last Thanksgiving.  Thankfully, movies have reasonably long runs, and Sinbad was such a success that it's no wonder it is still playing.  My daughter and I saw it in a real cinema, rather than a drive-in, to get the full experience. 

For those who don't know, Sinbad the Sailor is the protagonist of seven tales in 1001 Arabian Nights.  He's a bit of an Arab Ulysses, discovering wondrous things on his sea trips.  What I first noticed about Sinbad is how pretty it is, with glorious color, and costumes, sets, and monsters designed to take full advantage of it.


Sinbad and Perissa, the heroes of the movie

Sinbad starts right in the action with Sinbad's crew stopping at the island of Colossa to reprovision, only to be assaulted by a one-eyed half-satyr giant referred to as a "Cyclops."  It's truly a special effects triumph, thanks to the stop-motion expertise of one Ray Harryhausen.  I understand he spent 11 months on the optics in Sinbad, and they are excellent.


The Cyclops

Sinbad rescues the wizard Socura, who loses his magic lamp (complete with genie) in the escape.  Socura insists that Sinbad return to Colossa for it, but Sinbad has a more pressing errand to run–to transport his lovely fiancee, Perissa, to Baghdad.  Their marriage will preserve peace between the Caliphate and the belligerent realm of Chandra, Perissa's father being the king of the latter, and Sinbad being a prince of the former.


The wicked Socura

Once in Baghdad, Socura makes increasingly insistent demands to be transported back to Colossa, ultimately shrinking Perissa to a few inches in height (though he makes sure to have an alibi so he is not implicated).  Socura promises to restore Perissa if he is returned to Colossa, where he has the components to make a restorative potion.  Sinbad reluctantly agrees.


Itty Bitty Perissa

I shan't spoil the rest, but suffice it to say that Harryhausen's effects remain the star attraction.  He convincingly animates a genie, a two-headed roc, a dragon, more cyclopses, and even a fighting skeleton.  The plot is rather childish, as befits a fairy tale, and the dialogue and acting are no great shakes.  On the other hand, I greatly appreciated Perissa, who is daring and fun and saves the day several times.  She is as much the hero as Sinbad.


The skeleton fight

So head out to the movies and enjoy this film.  It has its problems, but there's no arguing that it is a delightful romp and a spectacle second to none.

Next time, I promise, the rest of Astounding, which isn't quite as bad as the first half, despite containing more Randy Garrett.

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They sure make kids old these days… (Teenagers from Outer Space; 7-16-1959)

I know I promised the dope on the latest Astounding, but it took me several sittings to get through the Garrett.  Like children at a Passover, I kept falling asleep.  Had I known there would be another Chandler Rim story after the Garrett, I might have persevered more strenuously.  Ah well.

Instead, I took my daughter to the flicks yesterday to watch the newest science fiction film.  Well, if there are "B" movies, this one was a "C" movie.

In brief, aliens land in the suburbs of Los Angeles planning to use our planet as pasturage for the ferocious but edible Gargons.  The youngest of the crew, "Derek," discovers that the planet is inhabited when he stumbles upon the disintegrated corpse of a dog, reduced to a skeleton by the bloodthirsty crewman, Thor.  As the boney puppy had a collar, it was clear it had been owned by a sentient being.  Derek rebels at the thought of condemning an innocent race to death at the hands of the Gargons and flees.  The alien ship leaves to summon a fleet of hundreds.


And already my daughter has decided this is the worst of the recent films.  Dog-killing doesn't sit with her.


Derek is horrified.  I think.  This is his only expression throughout the film.

Derek arrives in town to find a room to rent being let by the quite beautiful (if worryingly thin) Betty and her doddering grandfather.  Romance flares, but is quickly interrupted.  There ensues a wild chase with Thor pursues Derek and Betty, a trail of skeletal corpses lining his path.  Thor is wounded in a shootout at City Hall, but he coerces a doctor into saving him.  Luckily, Thor is incapacitated in a car accident (he is not the most skilled of drivers), but the Gargon left behind in a cave kills a man and breaks loose.


A wag in the audience says, "Must be from one of those parochial schools…"


"Zap!"


"It's 2:30!  I should be out on the golf course," I said, joining in the fun.

Derek frees Thor from a hospital and brings him back to the site of the first landing.  There, he convinces all that he has seen the error of his ways and asks to have the honor of guiding the alien fleet to a safe landing.  Predictably, he instead orders them to home in on his ship and accelerate.  Derek and the invaders are destroyed in a fiery blast, to the horror of the onlooking Betty.


Obligatory young love.


"Everyone gets to be a hostage in this film," comments another.


"I'm a lobster!  I like hugs!" says my daughter.


"You are clear for landing!"


"Ewww.  There's tiny bits of Derek everywhere!" says one of the attendees.

The end.

I think this movie would have been completely intolerable had not several of the attendees begun making pointed commentary throughout the film.  I usually hate it when people do that, but in this case, they added tremendously.  I caught up with them afterward and thanked them.  Their names were Joel, Tom, and… Crow, I think it was.  Anyway, I hope we'll meet again in the not too distant future.

To be fair, if I think of the movie as a college student's project, which it very much feels like, there is much to commend.  The acting is generally terrible, the plot silly, and the special effects quite bad (though the ray gun effect is clever in its simplicity), but there is a plot, and the editing is actually quite inspired.  The movie never drags.  It's just ludicrous.  But I could see Tom Graeffe (writer, director, and producer) helming a decent movie some day.  Maybe.

See you in two.  Promise.



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The World, The Flesh and the Devil (6-16-1959)

I wasn't sure what to expect going in to see The World, The Flesh and the Devil.  All I knew was that it was a doomsday flick, and that it starred the incomparable Calypso crooner, Harry Belafonte.  Let me tell you, it is one excellent movie.

It's really a three-act piece.  In Act 1, Ralph Burton (Harry Belafonte), an engineer and all-around great guy, gets caught in a coal mine cave-in while inspecting its telephone connections.  After rescue attempts peter out, Ralph excavates himself to safety only to find every person in the world gone.  He drives to New York, its streets eerily empty, and there he discovers the truth–some nation had released clouds of radiation with a half life of five days.  Virtually everyone and everything was killed; but the world Ralph emerged into is once again inhabitable.

Ralph quickly becomes the King of New York, restoring power to a city block, cavorting with and singing to mannequins, saving works of art and literature.  Act 2 quickly follows, with the lovely and spunky Sarah Crandall (Inger Stevens) finally introducing herself to Ralph after several days (weeks?) of silent stalking.  There is immediate romantic chemistry, culminating in a scene wherein Ralph clumsily tries to cut Sarah's hair.  It's clear that Sarah has fallen for Ralph, and Ralph does not deny that he feels the same.  But, then Ralph says, "If you're squeamish about facts, I'm colored.  And if you face facts I'm a Negro.  And if you're a polite Southerner, I'm a 'negrah,' and I'm a 'nigger' if you're not." 

Thus, the impasse.  Sarah couldn't care less about Ralph's color and says so, but Ralph, conditioned by decades of societal pressure, can't see it working.  Oh, over time, Ralph might have overcome his issues in this rebuilt world in which all the old rules had been wiped away, but then…

Act 3–Benson Thacker (Mel Ferrer) arrives in a boat, apparently having steamed all the way from South America.  Ralph saves his life, but the appearance of even a single white man seems to restore the old order, at least in Ralph's mind.  He practically throws Sarah at Benson, all the while being rather passive-aggressive about it.  The problem is that Benson, while a likeable fellow, isn't who Sarah loves.  Moreover, Sarah is peeved that the last two men on Earth are playing tug-of-war with her and not asking her opinion on the matter.

"I'm sick of you both," she explains to Benson.  "He doesn't know what he wants, and you don't think of anything else but what you want."

(At this point, my daughter leaned over to me and told me she didn't like the "triangle" part of the movie as much as the first two acts.  I had to agree, but wait.  There's a surprise.)

Enraged with the situation, Benson grabs a rifle and begins shooting at Ralph, who arms himself in defense.  So begins a quick cat and mouse through the streets.  Ralph ends up in front of the United Nations building in front of the quote about beating swords into plowshares.  Horrified with himself, Ralph tosses away the gun and confronts Benson, who is also unable to shoot.

Sarah arrives, quite happy to see Ralph alive, and she takes his hand, her expression adoring.  Cue the credits?  No!  She calls Benson over, too, and she takes his hand as well.  And they all walk down the street as the final card reads, "The Beginning."

Let me tell you what is so great about this movie.  Firstly, it is quite well made, easily the highest in production quality amongst the films I have yet reviewed in this column (though not in color, like The Blob).  The bleak cinematography, the sweeping score, the fine acting, the poignant script, these are all points to recommend it.

But it's the sheer progressiveness of the messages in this movie that really impresses me (and perhaps I should not be surprised that my daughter and I were the only attendees of that showing, and the film is on its way to being a financial bust).  This is 1959.  Jim Crow still rules the roost in much of the country.  The Montgomery Bus Boycott is just three years old.  A Black leading man, much less a romantic interest for a White woman?  Inconceivable!  Yet Ralph and Sarah are a couple in everything but name, and by the end, while there's no kissing (give it a few years), their bond is cemented.

The brilliant thing about the movie is that there are no (pardon the phrase) black or white characters.  Benton could easily have been played evil.  He even starts the movie with a moustache to twirl (along with a beard).  Yet Benton is smart and sensitive.  At no time does he force himself upon Sarah.  In fact, in an amazing scene, he even notes that it would be easy for him to do so, "all the boyscouts having left town," and then he asks if that's what she wants.  She makes it clear that it's not, and he backs off.  Benton doesn't hurt Ralph, even recognizes him as the better man.

Which is what makes the ending so standout: Sarah loves Ralph and vice versa.  The two are an item, that's clear.  Yet they make room for Benton, too, because when there are only three people left in the world, you don't shun one of them just because, before the disaster, he'd be the odd man out.  Not only are the rules that kept Black and White apart as dead as the old world, but so are the rules that say a relationship involves just one man and one woman.  Benton is a good guy.  He deserves to be happy, just like Sarah and Ralph.

What I find so incredible is that all of the people I've talked who've seen this film (about four or five, to be fair), no one drew the same conclusion from the last scene.  They thought it a cop-out that Ralph didn't get the girl.  My friends are progressive, but not quite progressive enough, I suppose.

So watch it while it's still in the cinema, because it won't be there for long.  I'd really like to know what you think.

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The Walking Dead! (Invisible Invaders; 5-19-1959)

What could be better than a trip to the movies?  A trip to a good movie, I suppose.  Well, beggars can't be choosers.

A few days ago, my daughter and I went out for what has become a routine treat: a night flick at the drive-in.  We arrived too late for the main feature, but the "B" movie was Invisible Invaders, a putatively science fiction film.  I'm sad to report that this was easily the worst of the films I have had the pleasure to report upon since I started writing this column.

The eponymous invisible invaders are rapacious imperialists.  Having conquered the moon and its former inhabitants(!) some 20,000 years ago, they have now turned their sights on Earth.  Before destroying us outright, they give humanity an ultimatum to surrender within 24 hours.  This is easily the best part of the movie.  You see, the aliens, being invisible (not just the creatures, but their spaceships as well), can't actually impress us with their presence; therefore, they must inhabit bodies to communicate.  This is revealed when the newly deceased Dr. Carl Noymann visits the moral Dr. Adam Penner, who has recently quit his job as a weapons scientist on principle.  Dr. Noymann/invisible alien delivers his threat and lurchingly departs.

Of course, no one believes Dr. Penner, except for his daughter, Phyllis, and her would-be paramour, the wimpy John Lamont.  24 hours later, the aliens start blasting the Earth (after one last warning, broadcast via radio), beginning an impressive string of disaster stock footage, one appearing to go back to the 1871 Chicago Fire!

In desperation, the remaining scientists of the world are ordered into underground bunkers to come up with a way to defeat the aliens.  Enter Major Bruce Jay, a pile of beef assigned as military escort.  He quickly wins his way into Phyllis' heart (my daughter made gagging noises at this), especially when he cold-bloodedly shoots a nervous farmer just because the farmer asked for a ride.  But the farmer gets his revenge by quickly becoming a member of the aliens' walking dead brigade.

In the underground bunker, Major Jay hatches a plan to spray acrylic plastic over one of the corpses to capture it.  He ventures out in a beekeeping suit (to ward off radiation–the corpses are radioactive, natch), and secures one of the zombies after a struggle.  Fortunately, the folks inside the bunker get to watch the whole thing on television as there are remote cameras that capture the entire scene.  You know, the kind of cameras that dramatically edit together events for the remote viewers.

It is quickly determined that certain annoying sounds cause the aliens to give up the ghost, quite literally.  Armed with a sound cannon, our heroes drive off into the swarm and defeat them.  Victory for humanity!


All of this is linked with an intrusive and redundant narration, the kind that is inserted when it is realized in post-production that not enough film was shot to make a coherent movie. 

The closing message of the movie is the idea, driven home by our friend, the narrator, that an alien invasion is sufficient common threat to unite the squabbling countries of Earth, though for how long is an open question.  I remember my father telling me long ago that, were he ever elected President, his first action would be to hoax an attack from outer space so as to end war on Earth.  Clever fellow, dear ol' dad.

So that's that.  Really just an excuse for a bunch of middle-aged fellows to stagger about menacingly.  It's a cheap special effect, so I imagine movie-makers will come up with more opportunities to present such spectacles with titles like Day of the Living Dead! or The Dead Walk! Can't wait.

Next week, my little girl and I will be heading back to the movies; until then, I've got plenty of fiction on which to report.  And it's a damnsight higher in quality than Invisible Invaders!

Stay tuned!

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