Tag Archives: 1968

[April 28, 1968] Chimes of Freedom or Rivers of Blood? (Race Relations in the UK)

[If you saw To Sir with Love or read the book on which it's based, you know that the protagonist very quickly learned that racism was alive and well in the UK, just more often hidden behind a handshake than a white sheet. But read on, and you'll see that bigotry in the UK is also right in plain sight…]


by Mx. Kris Vyas-Myall

Martin Luther King. shortly before his death

It has been over three weeks since the horrific assassination of Martin Luther King in Memphis, Tennessee, and it has continued to cast a focus on the Black Americans’ struggle for equal rights.

I, however, want to talk about an area that has not got as much focus here at the Journey. The current state of Race Relations in Britain.

The Long Arc of History

Whilst Black and Asian people have been recorded in Britain for centuries it is only in the last few decades that the numbers have been more than minuscule. This started first with the arrival of servicemen from across the Empire during the Second World War.

SS Windrush

After the war ended, there was encouragement for people across the Empire to come to Britain to help with jobs, particularly in the newly nationalised transport and health sectors. Notable was the arrival of SS Windrush in June 1948, carrying 500 people from Jamaica.

This continued to increase in 1952, following the passing of the restrictive McCarran-Walter Act in the US, and the expansion of British passport availability in India in 1960. In response the Conservative government passed the Commonwealth Immigrants Act on 1st July 1962, adding quotas to immigrants from “New Commonwealth countries” (which, coincidentally, happen to be predominantly non-white).

Black Man looking at sign in window saying: "To Let: No Coloureds Need Apply"

Life has not been easy for many immigrants. An unofficial colour bar exists that stops them from receiving service, getting jobs or fair housing. Meanwhile, racist attacks took place at the end of August 1958, in both Nottingham and London, over the relationship between a black man and a white woman (and where police did little to intervene).

In spite of this, middle class white liberals could pretend that things were only temporary and would improve soon. Racist attacks were condemned by even the old-fashioned judges and right-wing press, non-violent protests like The Bristol Bus Boycott helped produce some change, and the incoming Labour Government had promised to end the Commonwealth Immigrants Act.

But this all changed with Smethwick.

If You Want A Racist For A Neighbour, Vote Tory

Campaign leaflet for Smethwick in 1964 reading: "Face The Facts: If you desire a coloured for your neighbour, vote Labour If you are already burdoned with one, vote Tory. The Conservatives once in Office will bring up the Ministry of Repatriation, to speed up the return of home-going and expelled immigrants."
Campaign leaflet for Smethwick in 1964

After scandals, stagnation and economic troubles it seemed obvious Labour would get in to power. One seat that would not seem to be of much notice was Smethwick, an industrial town near Birmingham held by Labour for almost 20 years with the Shadow Foreign Secretary as the MP with a comfortable 9 point majority.

However, Peter Griffiths was chosen as the candidate for the Conservative Party and ran on an anti-immigration platform, with supporters putting up posters with intents such as “Keep Britain White”. Whilst they were not distributed by the party, Griffiths (and indeed the central party) stated that they would not condemn people making these statements.

Griffiths out campaigning.
Griffiths out campaigning.

On election night, even though the whole country swung towards Labour by 6%, Griffiths won Smethwick by almost 2000 votes. Although some have suggested that this may have owed more to a resurgent Liberal Party candidate standing there for the first time since 1929 resulting in a vote split, at the very least it is certain that racist messaging did not put anyone off voting for Griffiths.

Spraypainted on a wall "Get Out N-Word"
Racist graffiti in Smethwick

So, it was now impossible for anyone to truly pretend Britain was not a racist society. This had profound effects on Britain, the most obvious and immediate to the incoming Labour Government.

An Unsuccessful Balancing Act

Although winning the election, the loss of Smethwick, and gaining a majority of only 4, changed the direction of the Labour party. Not only was the policy of revoking the Commonwealth Immigrants Act dropped, in 1965 the quotas were tightened even further.

Times Cartoon criticising the competition to be the most anti-immigrant politician by showing three politicians on a podium in positions 1, 2 and 3
Cartoon in the Times criticising the competition to be the most anti-immigrant politician.

This was taken a step further earlier this year. Following the policies of Jomo Kenyatta, many Asians were fleeing from Kenya for refuge in Britain. After scare stories appearing about this, a new Commonwealth Immigrants Act was passed requiring demonstration of a “close connection” to Britain. Even the more right leaning publications condemned this move.

At the same time, the government attempted to address some of the concerns of the Black and Asian communities by instituting the Race Relations Act of 1965. This made it a civil offence to bar service or be discriminatory in this service to anyone on the grounds of “colour, race, ethic or national origin”. In addition it made Incitement to Racial Hatred a criminal offence.

However, the impact of this has been limited. It only covers discrimination in “places of public resort”, such as pubs or hotels, and leaves out key areas, such as housing, jobs and finance. In addition, the Race Relations boards created to oversee complaints have been set up very slowly and, those that are in existence, have proved incapable of making any meaningful impact in most cases.

British Nazi Colin Jordan with his Francoise in 1965
British Nazi Colin Jordan with his wife Francoise in 1965

Although there have been some prosecutions on the grounds of Incitement to Racial Hatred, these have been few and far between, and were probably not what the affected communities were wanting. Whilst the leader of the British Nazi Party was sentenced to 18 months in prison on his second offence after distributing leaflets entitled “The Coloured Invasion” (he was fined previously for inciting arson on synagogues) other prosecutions have not been as successful. Christopher Britton was originally convicted for sticking a pamphlet to an MPs door saying “Black Not Wanted”, but this was quashed on the grounds that MPs and their families could not be treated the same way as the general public. And a group distributing a racist newspaper were not convicted on the grounds that the area they were distributing it in was predominantly White.

At the same time, harsh sentences have been handed out to Black activists for hyperbolic speeches. Michael X is in prison for describing White people as “nasty and vicious” and Roy Sawh was convicted for saying “we must band together and kill the White man” (more on both these people later). Given that during the passing of the act MPs asked questions to ensure that Black people could be prosecuted for making such statements, I cannot help but think this is not so much a flaw, but rather by design.

If Harold Wilson’s aim was to appease black activists and declaw the far-right, then he has utterly failed. The former seem to be more outraged and the latter emboldened.

The Whip Hand

If the government was in retreat after Smethwick, racist groups were in advance. In the election's aftermath, the British Ku Klux Klan was formed in Birmingham and cross burnings were reported that summer in towns only a couple of miles from Smethwick.

On the more overt political front, a merger of smaller far-right political groups, The League of Empire Loyalist, The British National Party and some parts of the Racial Preservation Society, have formed the National Front. This party is to attempt to be a more serious electoral force than previous groups, standing on a platform of “repatriation” of non-white people and supporting South African and Rhodesian governments.

Enoch Powell making The Rivers of Blood speech
Powell making his infamous speech

These events were, however, merely small rumblings of the main event to come out of Birmingham this month. Conservative Shadow Cabinet member Enoch Powell made the most incendiary speech made by any major MP in my lifetime, responding to the current debates on expanding the current Race Relations Act (predominantly designed to extend coverage to private property). Pulling out a couple of quotes to give you a flavour of his arguments:

“It is like watching a nation busily engaged in heaping up its own funeral pyre. So insane are we that we actually permit unmarried persons to immigrate for the purpose of founding a family with spouses and fiancés whom they have never seen.”

“For these dangerous and divisive elements the legislation proposed in the Race Relations Bill is the very pabulum they need to flourish. Here is the means of showing that the immigrant communities can organise to consolidate their members, to agitate and campaign against their fellow citizens, and to overawe and dominate the rest with the legal weapons which the ignorant and the ill-informed have provided. As I look ahead, I am filled with foreboding; like the Roman, I seem to see "the River Tiber foaming with much blood.""

Coming from such a high-profile MP, this has been front page news ever since, and the reactions have exposed a split in British society.

Powell was immediately fired from the shadow Cabinet and leaders of the three major parties condemned his speech, with an MP from his own party saying he has become the George Wallace of Britain. It should not be forgotten, however, that the Alabama Governor has supporters.

Many members of his own party also praised Powell’s speech for “raising important issues” and his own local party membership affirmed support of him (although given a club in his town officially voted to allow only white members, Wolverhampton is proving to be one of the less progressive areas of the country).

Just some of the many pro-Powell marchers with signs saying: "We Back Enoch" and "Smithfield backs Enoch"
Just some of the many pro-Powell marchers

More troubling is that some workers have gone on strike to show their opposition to Powell’s suspension, and over 1,000 Dock Workers marched to parliament holding up slogans such as “Don’t knock Enoch”.

Opinions polls on this issue appear to be all over the place. Before Powell’s speech, one showed 58% of people agreed with the provisions of the new Race Relations Act. However, in the immediate aftermath one reportedly showed that 74% of the population agreed with the content of Powell’s speech. Whilst it is possible a third of the population drastically changed their opinions, I think it is more likely that there is a large section of the British public that hold contradictory views about race and equality, and it will depend how you ask the question.

However, it should not be thought that the minority populations of the UK have been sitting passively whilst this has been happening. Many have been looking to fight back!

I'm Going to Build Me a Heaven of My Own

Martin Luther King in London 1964 walking through a park whilst onlookers watch from a bench.
Martin Luther King in London 1964

As it was impossible to deny that Britain wasn't immune to the racism seen in America, the first ideas were for an American style response. Inspired by a visit of Martin Luther King in December 1964, Campaign Against Racial Discrimination (CARD) was formed. Designed to be a broad organisation like NAACP or SCLC in the US.

Although it has been one of the largest organisations pushing for racial equality and at the forefront of media coverage, it has not proved as effective as the American equivalents for a few reasons. First off, rather than external direct action, it has focused on lobbying and had strong connections with Members of Parliament, as such it has been seen by some as the voice of the establishment. Secondly, whilst there have been some important organisations working with CARD (most notably the Indian Workers Association) there is simply not the breadth of pre-existing groups in the UK compared to the US, primarily because many of the people affected have only been in the country for less than a decade. Finally, many of the leadership members were White and the overwhelming majority of them were middle class. As such, they could often be seen as coming from a privileged position compared with the average Black person.*

*NB: Unless the group is specified otherwise I will often be using "Black" as a signifier of non-White membership. The reason for this is that membership of explicitly Black groups commonly consists of many Asian people along with other ethnicities. It has come in the UK to have a political meaning among these groups beyond claiming African heritage.

Malcolm X in Smethwick
Malcolm X in Smethwick

Martin Luther King was not the only major American civil rights figure to visit Britain in the aftermath of the Smethwick election. Malcolm X came to the UK in February 1965 and even took time in his schedule to visit the constituency, following an invitation from the IWA. Whilst he was tragically assassinated 9 days later, his visit had an impact on many.

Michael X at the Dialectics of Liberation Congress
Michael X at the Dialectics of Liberation Congress

One such person is Michael X (taking his name from his hero) who heard Malcolm speak and was inspired to found his own organisation, the Racial Adjustment Action Society (RAAS). Whilst his organisation remained small, it had an outsized impact thanks to Michael’s ability to court press coverage, such as getting the Nation of Islam to employ him as a chaperone to Muhammed Ali in 1966, and running of local social welfare programmes, such as a day nursery and black barbers. If the authorities hoped his arrest would reduce his profile, this backfired enormously. Even those Black activists who previously criticised him as self-aggrandizing are angry at his unjust imprisonment.

There has been a further growth in Black British civil rights groups starting last summer. The first, and perhaps most important of these, has been the formation of the Universal Coloured People’s Association (UCPA) by Obi Egbuna. Egbuna is a playwright and activist who had been part of Committee of African Organisations that had organised Malcolm X’s trip to Britain. Partially inspired by what he had seen at SNCC in America, Egbuna wanted the same kind of energy in the British scene.

Stokely Carmichael speaking at Dialectics of Liberation
Stokely Carmichael speaking at Dialectics of Liberation

This was formed around the same time as the Dialectics of Liberation took place in London: a two-week event that hosted many major figures from the US counterculture. One such speaker was the major figure in the Civil Rights movement, Stokely Carmichael. Even though he was asked to leave the country and had to cancel a planned meeting with RAAS, his influence was keenly felt.

UCPA Leaflet named: Black Power in Britain: A Special Statement by Universal Coloured People's Association. On the cover is a Black Panther symbol
Just a few weeks afterwards the UCPA published Black Power in Britain. Inside we can see how far they are from the more establishment lobbying approach taken by CARD:

We know the only difference between the Ian Smiths and Harold Wilsons of the white world is not a difference in principle but a difference in tactics, it is not a quarrel between fascism and anti-fascism but a quarrel between frankness and hypocrisy with a fascist framework.

The Black Panther on the cover is not merely stylistic, either. Inside they also contain their own ten-point programme and Egbuna recently broke away to form The British Black Panther Party. (Its former deputy Roy Sawh had also broken away to form United Coloured People and Arab Association before his arrest).

Perhaps the biggest sign of this new militant stance among some in the Black community was also in July last year, at CARD’s annual meeting. There, the members voted off the entire leadership panel and they were replaced by more radical activists.

It should be noted that when I use the terms “radical” and “militant”, I am merely talking in terms of a contrast with the mainstream white liberal efforts for equality via the legislative route. There has been no evidence of any violence or plans for revolution among any that have been investigated and we are certainly far away from any attempts at armed struggle.

Instead, they are primarily concerned with setting up their own support networks where they feel the system has let them down. Islington’s branch of CARD sends out unarmed groups to patrol the streets in order to help lower crime and monitor incidents of police misconduct. Self-defence classes in martial arts have been created to ensure young black people can hold their own against racist attackers, but not for any attacks of their own. Social programmes like those set up by RAAS are being expanded by other groups.

Even with all these groups and splits there does not appear to be any evidence of factionalism yet. Today there has been the announcement of the formation of the Black People’s Alliance where a variety of ethnicities and issues are to be addressed without conflict, whether those be domestic or international. Another important point to note is that whilst inspiration is taken from American movements, these are not merely Xeroxed. Many of those involved also take from their own experiences, anti-colonial movements and even touches of Maoism.

Where to now?

Sikhs march in Wolverhampton
Sikhs march in Wolverhampton

Whilst reactionary groups and Black Power advocates indeed seem to be gathering strength, it should be noted that neither yet appear to reflect broad swathes of the population. Most of the above mentioned civil rights groups have only small membership to date and the thousand London dock workers marching for Enoch were dwarfed by the four thousand Sikhs peacefully marching in his own constituency to allow bus drivers to keep beards and turbans for religious reasons.

And although the problematic Asian Kenyan Immigration bill passed, so did the Race Relations Act that Powell so objected to. In addition, recently Harold Wilson has been hinting extra funding would be going to areas with larger non-white populations in order to help address some of the problems seen by its residents.

A scene from recent drama Rainbow City
A scene from recent drama Rainbow City

Given that last year we had the airing of the first British drama series with a predominantly Black cast (the wonderful Rainbow City) and Tyne Tees TV employed Clyde Alleyne as the first black reporter [not to mention Fariah in a recent Doctor Who serial (ed.)], is the slow and steady approach going to be the one that wins out? Or is a more radical approach the one that is required?

I am sure we will find out soon. As an article on the subject in The Times said:

For black men are not simply in search of power. They are also in search of justice.






[April 26, 1968] 2001: A Space Odyssey: Three Views

A Trip To Tomorrowland?


by Fiona Moore

People who don’t like trippy, confusing endings for their movies are in for a bad time of it these days. The ending of 2001: A Space Odyssey at least makes more sense than the ending of The Prisoner (the filming of which series overlapped with 2001 at Borehamwood Studios, meaning Alexis Kanner had to share his dressing room with a leopard). The question is, does this make it a better piece of SF visual art?

No, I don't know either.
No, I don't know either.

The plot of the movie is fairly thin. Millions of years ago, we see human evolution directed by a strange black monolith, in a premise strikingly similar to that of the recently-released Quatermass and the Pit. We then jump to the near future of 2001, where a similar monolith is discovered on the moon and another near Jupiter. A space mission is dispatched to check the latter out, but things go wrong in a memorable subplot when the sentient ship's computer, HAL 9000, goes mad and kills the astronauts before sole survivor Dave Bowman finally shuts it down. The psychedelic denouement contains the distinct implication that the next stage of human evolution has now been directed by the monoliths, and Bowman has become the first of the new species of elevated humans.

The monolith near Jupiter, about to mess with your head.
The monolith near Jupiter, about to mess with your head.

Interspersed with the plot is a lot of depiction of the future thirty-three years from now, with its space stations, ships and moonbases. Despite some very impressive and well-thought-through effects, with actors seeming to stand upside down or move at right angles to each other in zero-G environments, the overall impression was depressingly banal and rather like one of the corporate-sponsored imagined futures in Walt Disney’s Tomorrowland attraction. We may be able to travel to the moon, but we still have Hilton hotels and Pan-Am spacecraft. The characters are also banal, in the case of Keir Dullea and Gary Lockwood almost to the point of seeming robotic: HAL is much more of a character than either of the two astronaut dolls.

Captain Scarlet is much more animated than these two.
Captain Scarlet is much more animated than these two.

As an anthropologist, what interested me most was the film’s questions about violence and human nature. The message seemed to be that humans are inherently violent, however evolved we are: the first thing the ape-men at the start of the movie do once they discover tool use is to kill a tapir and then make war on a rival tribe. Bowman’s last significant act as a human is to kill a sentient machine, and we have no idea what the evolved Bowman will do as he approaches the Earth. While the current scientific consensus on the inherent violence of humans is more nuanced (I note that the film also espouses the now-outdated theory about the first tools being discarded bones, suggesting that Arthur C. Clarke isn’t as up on his anthropology as he is on his astrophysics), it perhaps works well as a cautionary note about our current political situation and the possibility that we might wipe ourselves out through nuclear warfare.

Raymond Dart came up with this theory in 1924; we're over it, Arthur.
Raymond Dart came up with this theory in 1924, we're over it, Arthur.

2001 is a beautiful and lyrical movie which raises some interesting questions about the nature of humanity, but which also bogs itself down in the dull minutiae of an imagined life in the future. Three out of five stars.


Love At First Sight


by Victoria Silverwolf

Unlike Tony Bennett, I left my heart in Los Angeles.

I happened to be in that city during the initial run of Stanley Kubrick's new science fiction epic 2001: A Space Odyssey. I understand that the director has cut the film slightly, to tighten the pace a bit and to add a few titles to the various sequences. (The Dawn of Man at the beginning, for example.) What I saw was the original version, and it knocked me out.

Instead of just gushing about the movie, let me introduce you to the little demon sitting on my left shoulder, who will do its best to convince me I'm wrong.

Giving the Devil Its Due

ZZZZZZZ. Oh, excuse me. I fell asleep trying to watch this thing. It's got the frenzied pace of a glacier in winter and all the excitement of a snail race.

Cute. Real cute. Some people are going to consider it boring, I'm sure, compared to an action-packed film like Planet of the Apes. But that's a matter of apples and oranges. I found every second of this leisurely movie absolutely enthralling.

No accounting for taste. What about the actors? What a bunch of bland nobodies! They could be replaced with wet pieces of cardboard and you wouldn't know the difference.

First of all, let me deny the premise of your objection in at least two cases. During the Dawn of Man sequence, a fellow by the name of Daniel Richter does an extraordinary job of playing the prehistoric hominoid who discovers how to use tools. (Of course, this character isn't named in the movie itself, but I believe the script by Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke calls him Moonwatcher. We'll know for sure when the novel comes out.)


Not even the demon can deny that the makeup and costuming for this sequence is fantastic, better than in Planet of the Apes.

Then there's my favorite character, HAL 9000. Canadian stage actor Douglas Rain's voice is used to magnificent effect. It's exactly how I expect a sentient computer to talk.


Like everything else in the film, the design of HAL's eye is superb.

OK, I'll grant you those two. And I'll even throw in the costumes, sets, and props that appear in this turkey. But what about the actors who aren't hiding in a monkey suit or behind a glowing red circle? They're as dull as ditchwater.

Unlike Kubrick's black comedy masterpiece Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, this film doesn't have any big name stars in the cast. I think that's deliberate. Nobody is larger-than-life; they all seem like very ordinary people involved in something extraordinary.

Let's take a look at the three main human characters.


William Sylvester as Doctor Heywood R. Floyd.

William Sylvester was born in the USA but has lived and acted in the UK since the late 1940's. He's done a lot of British low budget films. I know him best for his lead roles in the horror films Devil Doll and Devils of Darkness.

Ha! And that gives him the experience to star in a multimillion dollar blockbuster? You've been watching too much Shock Theater, lady.

I can't deny that, but let me continue. Consider the two astronauts aboard Discovery in the depths of the solar system.


From left to right, Gary Lockwood as Doctor Frank Poole and Keir Dullea as Doctor Dave Bowman.

Gary Lockwood has done a lot of TV, and had the lead role in the fantasy film The Magic Sword. Keir Dullea has been in a few movies, and is probably best known for playing one of the two title characters in David and Lisa.

Let me guess; he didn't play Lisa. Anyway, you've just offered up two more minor league players. You're making my point for me. Where are the famous actors who would dominate the screen?

That's the problem. They would dominate the screen, and this is a movie best appreciated for its images and its ideas. You want to escape into its world, and think I am looking at the future and not There's Charlton Heston.

Point taken. So what about that goofy ending? What's that supposed to be, a San Francisco hippie psychedelic light show? Groovy, baby, pass the LSD!

I won't deny that the final sequence of the movie is ambiguous and mystifying. It's also a dazzling display of innovative film technique. In addition to what you call a light show, there's the eerie scene of Bowman in what looks like a luxurious hotel room.


A stranger in a very strange land.

What does it all mean? Don't ask me. Maybe the upcoming novel will make things clearer. But I adore this movie, and I expect to watch it dozens of times in the future, assuming it keeps coming back to second-run theaters. Maybe even if it ever shows up on TV, although it should really be experienced on a very big screen.

And the music! Goodness, what a stroke of genius to make use of existing classical and modern art music instead of a typical movie soundtrack. The Blue Danube scene alone is worth the price of admission. And the recurring presence of Also Sprach Zarathustra! Magnificent!

Five stars, and I wish I had more to give.

***sigh*** No use arguing with a woman in love.

You Damn Beautiful Apes!


by Jason Sacks

Man, who'd a thunk it? Just a couple weeks removed from seeing Planet of the Apes, there's another science fiction movie in the theatres which involves apes.

You might have heard of it, because this new film has the portentous title 2001: A Space Odyssey.

loved Planet of the Apes. Just two weeks ago in the pages of this very magazine, I praised the film's restrained story, its tremendous special effects, its lovely cinematography and its spectacular use of music. Heck, I thought POTA was perhaps the finest science fiction movie in years. It's a thrilling, delightful sci fi masterpiece.

But 2001, man, wow, it's transcendent.

2001 is immaculate and powerful, smart and elliptical, with the greatest special effects I have ever seen in a motion picture. It tells a heady, fascinating story so vast it transcends mere humanity and expands into the metaphysical.

Many have criticized this film for being slow – heck, look at the devil on Victoria's shoulder to see just one example of that. But the slowness is obviously intentional. Director Stanley Kubrick clearly wants the viewer to see this film as stately and calm, playing astonishing space scenes juxtaposed with gorgeous classical music.

It's a work of genius to juxtapose Strauss's "The Blue Danube" with the image of a spinning space station. This juxtaposition and its stately pace allows the viewer to make connections, to see how a journey down a river in the 1860s will be as ordinary and beautiful as a journey into space in the year 2001. In the same way, using "Also Sprach Zarathustra" invites the viewer to imagine transcendence and evolution in an ecstatic way, bringing both a connection to the past and to the future in a way that perfectly suits Kubrick's themes.

Kubrick makes efforts to tether the viewer to his film with scenes like this.

What makes it even more thrilling is when he cuts that tether and demands the audience make connections ourselves.

What is the strange monolith that appears at different times of human evolution, and how does it propel us forward? Is the monolith a literal gift from alien beings (who might as well be gods – or God) or a symbol of mankind's evolution?

Why does the HAL-9000 computer, perhaps mankind's greatest achievement and an electronic being that achieves sentience, go crazy and destroy people?

What is the meaning of the trippy journey the astronaut takes towards the end of the film, and what is the meaning of the very strange place he finds himself? Why does he age? What is this place?

And what is that strange space baby we see at the end?

What do we make of any of this?

Kubrick asks the viewer to make up our own minds, to build our own interpretations of those scenes. 2001 feels overwhelming, in part, because it is participatory. This film demands we become involved with it as a means of determining some kind of truth and meaning out of it. Take this film in, interpret it, and determine your own truth. Like in life, there are no clear answers when considering the biggest questions.

Mr. Kubrick on the set with his actors.

Kubrick's previous film was Dr. Strangelove, a deeply cynical and polemical film (which is also hysterically funny) in which the director tells viewers what to feel. 2001: A Space Odyssey is the opposite. It's optimistic and ambiguous and highly serious. Strangelove was black and white and 2001 is glorious, rich color.

Stanley Kubrick is American's greatest living filmmaker. 2001: A Space Odyssey proves that fact.

Kubrick's film is an absolute masterpiece. Sorry, Fiona. The angel on Victoria's shoulder is right.

5 stars






[April 24, 1968] Terrifying Psychological Horror (Hour of the Wolf, by Ingmar Bergman)


by Jason Sacks

Ingmar Bergman is back in the cinemas at last! His last movie, 1966’s Persona, received rave reviews of its release, including by me. Persona is a fascinating, deeply haunting film about identity and personality. It is a demanding film in its style, pace and plot but is also an intensely rewarding viewing experience.

Hour of the Wolf continues exploration of many of the ideas he presents in Persona.

Again Bergman films his new feature in his usual black and white, a stark palette which gives his films a kind of painful emotional resonance. Again Bergman sets his film on a remote Swedish island far from most people. And again Bergman provides a meditation on identity, on memory and on the nature of personality.

There’s also one key difference between Persona and Hour of the Wolf that might interest the Galactic Journey audience: Hour is a horror film.

The film stars Max Von Sydow and Liv Ullmann as a married couple who go off to live on a small island off the Swedish coast. The Von Sydow character, named Johan Borg, is a painter who decides to travel to the island with his wife to find some peace and to do his work. He also wants to help his wife, Ullman as Alma Borg, find peace from what appears to be a recent psychological breakdown.

At first everything seems calm and ordinary on the little island, as the couple find happiness in their togetherness. But it soon becomes clear that Johan is fighting his own inner demons. He is a man of the bourgeoisie who does not belong in society, who has pain and torment from his previous life. It’s clear he has been sexually abused and is tortured by his own sexual inclinations. He becomes distant from Alma and seems to fall apart emotionally.

When the couple is invited to a party held by some other island dwellers, all of this angst comes to the surface in a phantasmagoria of psychological fear. At their castle, he is gawked at and treated like a freak by snobbish and condescending people who are also psychologically broken in their own ways.

The banal madness of the castle dwellers sends Johan into paroxysms of breakdown, imagining the castle dwellers laughing at him (delivered by Bergman in a beautifully componsed, tremendously spooky medium shot which could come out of  last year's terrifying Japanese film The Face of Another). From there we get a whole series of terrifying moments – a woman takes off her face like plastic and eyes like they're balls, a man crawls up walls, a man has wings, a character attacks Johan and we see blood. It all builds and builds with anguish and pain.

With all that, somehow there are two moments of deeply contrasting feel which nevertheless each create dread and fear in the viewer. During the dream sequence, Johann’s face is lathered in makeup and he is painted to be a frightening in-between of man and woman. He’s not quite one or the other, and that profound personal ambiguity makes the scene feel full of dread. His identity is nullified, and without identity what are we, anyway?

In the other terrible moment, Johann has a fateful encounter with a young boy while fishing, and the whole scene comes to a dreadful end, and it’s not clear if this is parable or actual, a distorted memory or a moment of terrifying breakdown.

Those scenes, together with the intense feelings of fear and confusion Alma displays on her face, describe a journey into madness and pain that help elevate this film above mere melodrama into something transcendently terrifying.

Though Bergman has never been known as a genre director, Hour fits comfortably in his oeuvre of work. Bergman has always displayed a deep fascination with the elusive nature of human psychology, exploring the nature of relationships in elliptical, often dreamlike ways which expand out perceptions of personality and truth. We see those ideas explored throughout Hour of the Wolf.

Tied to that is his attention to the nature of human relationships and individualism. Each of us is an island, but each of us has deep effect on our loved ones, Johann's breakdown affects Alma's breakdown, and each works in a cycle of cause and effect on each other. Bergman dwells on this topic frequently, and Wolf is no exception.

I've indirectly priased Von Sydow and Ullmann several times here, but I should also take a moment to single out the brilliant cinematography of Sven Nykvist. Nobody shoots a film with the austere beauty of Nykvist. He's the perfect collaborator for Bergman, and I'm so happy to see their collaboration continue with this powerful, starkly beautiful film.

Hour of the Wolf seems to elude meaning on a purely intellectual level. Bergman gives us a narrator whose intentions seem unreliable, so we never quite have a grounding in exactly why he takes the actions he does.

But who among us is always honest with themselves?

On the emotional and psychological levels, however, Bergman’s latest film displays his deep interest in the mysteries of the human soul. The darkest nightmares come from within, and those nightmares are on full display in this remarkable film.

4 stars






[April 22, 1968] Bored Of The Rigs (Doctor Who: Fury From The Deep [Part 2])


By Jessica Holmes

I am poorly, I am tired, and to add insult to injury, I had to review this dreary serial. I’m going to chug some cough syrup, and then we’ll take a look at the latter half of the latest Doctor Who serial, Fury From The Deep.

EPISODE FOUR

As the seaweed of doom continues to take down gas rigs, Victoria starts fretting. She’s starting to get sick of constantly getting dragged into dangerous situations. This is going to come up a lot over the latter half of the serial, and to be honest the scenes get a bit repetitive. It’s basically the same thing over and over: Victoria says she’s scared all the time, Jamie asks if she’s happy, she says she doesn’t know. It never goes any deeper or takes a different angle. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Meanwhile, Harris continues to search for his wife, and finds Robson alone on the beach. When asked where Maggie is, Robson cryptically assures Harris that he’ll find her soon. If you were expecting anything interesting to happen after the walking-into-the-sea incident, you will be sorely disappointed. Maggie Harris doesn’t show up again for the rest of the serial except for a very brief appearance at the end. Her involvement in the story dissolves like so much seafoam.

Speaking of characters disappearing from the story, Van Lutyens also makes an abrupt exit after going down into the impeller shaft to check for a blockage. Something pulls him into the foam, and he vanishes, never to be seen again. We’re later told that he isn’t dead, but his part in the story is cut short.

However, the moment he leaves, someone else shows up, because this story has found itself short one Outside Authority Figure. The new Outside Authority Figure is Robson’s boss, Megan Jones (Margaret John). I do rather like her, she’s quite no-nonsense but willing to listen to people. That said, Harris’ story of aggressive parasitic seaweed is a bit hard to swallow, so she authorises him to send out some helicopters to survey the rigs to verify his story.

While she’s discussing matters with Harris, the Doctor and Jamie are down in the impeller shaft looking for Van Lutyens, leaving Victoria alone with Oak and Quill. It may surprise you to know that she promptly gets kidnapped. I know. I’m shocked. Jamie finds her soon enough, and he fusses over her in a way that I find quite sweet.

The helicopter pilots sent by Jones to survey the rigs report back that the unresponsive sites are covered in seaweed. Harris’ proposed solution is to evacuate the remaining rigs and then reduce the whole complex to rubble.

As if summoned by the talk of potential harm to his precious rigs, Robson shows up to yell at everyone for even thinking about it, then storms off again just as abruptly. Having seen his odd behaviour for herself, Jones is now willing to entertain the Doctor’s theory that he’s being controlled somehow. He doesn’t believe that the weed itself is intelligent; rather it’s a plant simply doing what plants do: growing. However, it does have the ability to parasitise sentient beings who will then work in the best interests of the weed. It’s not explained very well, but I think this is what is happening. There is a kind of fungus that does a similar thing to ants.

Another rig falls to the weed, and now it’s the base’s turn to fall. There’s foam coming up the pipeline, and the weed is trying to break through. As the Doctor says, the battle of the giants has begun.

Wait.

What in the world is that even supposed to mean?

EPISODE FIVE

Luckily for Robson and his life’s work, the Doctor doesn’t believe that simply blowing up the rigs will be sufficient to destroy the weed. However, he does have another thought. Remembering how earlier Victoria came under attack in the oxygen stores by a man in a gas mask (to be honest I had forgotten that detail but in fairness to me I’m sick), the Doctor theorises that pure oxygen is toxic to the weed. They have a way to stop it!

Or rather, they did have a way to stop it. Having overheard the Doctor quite loudly explain his theory, Oak and Quill nip the oxygen problem in the bud by stealing all the canisters. Well, we can’t make it too easy for the Doctor. It’s only the fifth episode.

With Robson in his quarters under surveillance (for now) and Van Lutyens nowhere to be found, the Doctor realises that there must be some other agent of the weed present on the base. Fearing discovery, Oak and Quill immediately make a break for it. Jamie catches Quill, however. He feels quite pleased with himself, but the Doctor isn’t sure it’s the old McCrimmon punch that did the trick. Before he gets a chance to elaborate, the Chief Engineer calls everyone back to the impeller room. The weed is trying to break out.

Speaking of breaking out, Robson is no longer in his quarters, having subdued his guard with the power of his bad breath. Everyone’s too transfixed by the weed to notice him sneaking in the back of the impeller room and absconding with Victoria when nobody’s looking. Poor Victoria. Someone needs to get her some self defence lessons.

Robson boards a helicopter with Victoria, and eventually the Doctor realises his ward is missing. It doesn’t take him long to work out that she’s with Robson, and thanks to the base’s surveillance it’s not hard to find Robson’s helicopter and hail him on the radio. Victoria is once again a bargaining chip. If the Doctor offers himself up to the weed, Robson will let her go.

Taking another helicopter, the Doctor and Jamie head out to the rig complex, where they find one of the towers covered in a particularly large amount of foam. This is the nerve centre of the weed. Within the tower is even more foam and a rather sudded-up Robson.

I’m sorry, is that meant to be scary? It just looks like he’s been messing around in a bubble bath. Move over, Daleks. Doctor Who has a new recurring enemy: Fairy Liquid!

EPISODE SIX

As is typical for Doctor Who, the baddie of the month wants the Doctor’s assistance in its evil plan for matter to conquer mind. The Doctor protests that such a thing is against the laws of nature, but I can think of a few kinds of other ‘vegetable matter’ that have some very interesting effects on the mind.

Luckily for everyone present (except poor me, and my eardrums) Victoria has got an impressively loud set of vocal cords. The piercing sound of her screams is sufficient to incapacitate Robson, giving them the opportunity to escape.

Unfortunately, the Doctor can’t seem to flag down the pilot of the helicopter he arrived in, so rather than waiting a couple of minutes he settles for the next best thing: taking Robson’s chopper for a whirl.

The Doctor does not know how to fly a helicopter, but try telling him that.

Did you know that helicopters can do a loop-de-loop?

I do now.

This is quite a drawn out sequence. Clearly it cost the BBC quite a bit to hire the helicopter and stunt pilot and they were damned if they were going to leave a single second of footage on the cutting room floor.

By some stroke of fortune he makes it back to the base and lands the helicopter safely. However, the base is running out of time, and there’s still no way to defeat the weed. Or is there?

On their way back to Harris and Jones, the trio pass the medical centre, where they learn that Quill has made a full recovery from his weed problem. But what killed it off? Victoria, of course. Specifically, the fact that she screams at a specific frequency that is apparently deadly to the weed.

If they can harness the sound of Victoria’s screams, they can use her as a sort of sonic weapon. Well, her propensity for wailing like a banshee had to come in useful eventually. I’m sure she used to be good for more than just screaming and getting captured, but there you go. That’s Victoria in a nutshell: the one who screams a lot.

I do find it quite a pity. She had so much potential but lately she has been written as little more than the archetypal damsel in distress. It’s a waste of a perfectly good character, and I find it disappointingly regressive. It is possible, I believe, for a female character to be gentle and feminine without her primary role in the story being to give the men something to rescue from danger.

Daft as it is, the Doctor’s plan works, Victoria’s amplified screams echoing down the pipeline and destroying the weed at the source. With the nerve centre destroyed, everyone who was controlled by the weed returns to normal. Maggie’s fine, Robson’s fine, and even though he remains offscreen, Van Lutyens is tickety-boo too.

All’s well that ends well. Or is it? In an unusual turn of events, the Doctor sticks around for the denoument, joining everyone for a meal at the Harris’ house. It’s not him who is reluctant to leave, however; it’s Victoria. Tired of being thrust from one dangerous situation into another, Victoria has finally had enough, and she wants to stay in one place. The Harrises are happy to have her to stay for as long as she likes, but of course staying in one place isn’t really the Doctor’s style. He did promise her father that he’d keep Victoria safe, and now he has an opportunity to actually follow through on that promise. Jamie is concerned for her being alone in a time that isn’t her own, but it’s not like there’s anyone left for her back in the 1860s.

The Doctor and Jamie bid farewell the following morning, and I will say this for the episode: it offers a satisfying companion departure, which is not a given for Doctor Who. Remember when Dodo literally just vanished offscreen mid-serial and went home without as much as a toodle-oo?

The Doctor’s a little sad to see her go, but poor Jamie really struggles with Victoria’s decision to leave. I always did suspect that he might have had a soft spot for sweet Victoria.

Final Thoughts

I suppose it is quite interesting that immediately after facing an enemy of pure consciousness, the Doctor’s next fight is against an enemy with no consciousness of its own except that which it steals from others. Unfortunately, the weed feels nowhere near as menacing as the GI. It does have its moments from time to time (like with Oak and Quill), but much of the time the story asks the audience to try being scared of…foam.

Other than a mildly interesting villain concept and a surprisingly well-done companion departure, this story is the television equivalent of a lettuce sandwich. It’s flavourless, unsatisfying, and so dull. It is yet another base under siege, and not a very good one.

And what is there left to say about the base under siege plot that has not been said already? It’s formulaic, repetitive, has a tendency to go round in circles, and it’s repetitive. At the risk of repetition…I’ll leave it there.

2.5 out of 5 stars for Fury From The Deep.




[April 20, 1968] A treat for the senses (May 1968 Fantasy and Science Fiction)


by Gideon Marcus

Pleasures of the Flesh

There are lots of different kinds of science fiction, from the nuts-and-bolts problem-solving variety one might call the Astounding style, to the literary style of the British New Wave, to the softly surreal speculation that often characterizes GalaxyThis month's issue of Fantasy and Science Fiction is one of the more sensual mags I've read in a long time, putting you, the reader, firmly into the viewpoint of its protagonists.  From an SFnal perspective, the pickings are pretty slim, the speculations rather shallow.  But from a visceral point of view, well, each story sends you pretty far out, making for a perfectly satisfactory experience whose highlights come, welcomely enough, at the beginning and the end.


by Russell Fitzgerald (this suggestive cover is a little frustrating as it gives away the end of the story it illustrates…)

Strange New Worlds

Lines of Power, by Samuel R. Delany

First up, and rightfully so, is the latest novella by a man who has taken SF by storm.  It is set in or around the year 2050, when the world has been knit by endless power cables, providing no limit of electricity and prosperity.  The lines are laid out by self-contained crawler units (think the highway patrol motor homes from Rick Raphael's Code Three).  By the middle of the 21st Century, all of the world, from Siberia to Antarctica has been knit with energy.

But there are occasional holdouts.  One such Luddite concentration is in Canada, where a flight of future-day motorcyclists, soaring on winged choppers, have made their haven in the woods.  These "angels" are violently opposed to the encroachment of the self-described "demons" and "devils" that comprise the Power Corps crew of the "Gila Monster".

It is progressive in the extreme, with women bosses and free love: interracial, intergenerational, and any-sexual.  Modern-day (1968) hangups are completely discarded in a manner that Purdom pioneered and Delany has perfected.  At the heart of the story is the moral question, one we've seen explored on Star Trek several times–is it right to give the fruit of knowledge to those who actively reject it?

Like all Delany stories, this is a highly sensory piece, although it also requires close reading, as Delany likes to be a bit sparse with his linking sentences.  It's a simple story.  You will find no revelations, and the characters are bit shallow.  Chip (the name by which the author traditionally goes) has his kinks and tics, and they are all on display here, suggesting that this was a labor of love, but not necessarily too much effort.

Thus, a pleasant, but slightly hollow four stars.  You could start a magazine with much worse!


by Gahan Wilson

The Wilis, by Baird Searles

This is a beautifully told spotlight on an opera company, from the pen of someone as experienced with the field as, say, Leiber is with the theater.  Honestly, the supernatural components are almost superfluous, coming as they do at the end of the story, with little surprise and rather clunky integration.  But without them, I suppose the piece would not have been published, at least in this magazine.

Three stars, as well as the prediction that we won't ever see anything by Mr. Searles again–this was obviously a very personal piece, and I would be surprised if he has more ideas in him.  But you never know!

Gifts from the Universe, by Leonard Tushnet

Another fellow who writes what he knows is Leonard Tushnet, whose pieces have a delightful yiddish tinge to them.  Here, a retailer of gifts happens upon a wholesaler in ceramics whose stock is beautiful beyond compare–and at such a deal as to prices!  But the rather unusual wholesaler only accepts silver as currency, and his tenure and his wares have a definite expiration date…

You'll enjoy it; you'll even remember it.  A pleasant three stars.

Beyond the Game, by Vance Aandahl

The second-darkest piece of the issue comes from a young man who filled the pages of F&SF in the early '60s but then disappeared in 1964.  He returns with the tale of Ernest, a boy trapped in a sadistic game of dodge ball, huddled for safety behind the broad backsides of two of his teammates.  When the sadistic Miss Argentine (who may be a robot) notices the cowering tyke, she commands all of the kids to teach him a lesson.  In doing so, she unlocks the child's unearthly powers, which facilitate his escape.

Nicely told, this feels like it was conceived by Aandahl when he was quite young, and he waited until he was deft enough with writing that he could effectively put it to paper.  It's fine for what it is, which isn't all that much.  Three stars.

Dry Run, by Larry Niven

Now for the darkest piece, a fantasy from a fellow I normally associate with straight-forward "hard" SF (though I suppose The Long Night, which also appeared in F&SF, was also an exception).

Murray Simpson grips the wheel of his Buick, cigarette smoldering between his white knuckles, the stiffening body of his Great Dane in the trunk.  The dead dog is Simpson's doing, a dry run for the murder of his wife.

An accident forestalls the culmination of Simpson's plan.  Those who judge in life-after-death decide to find out how things might have otherwise played out.

Upon first reading this decidedly unpleasant tale (not just the subject matter; the depiction of a San Diego freeway traffic jam is too spot on for any local's comfort!) I was inclined to give it three stars.  After reading it aloud to my family as their bedtime story, the piece came to life for me.

Thus, four stars.

Backward, Turn Backward, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor takes a stab and planetary rotations and axial tilts in this month's science fact article.  I do appreciate that he advances his own theories as to what caused both the "direct" (counter-clockwise) rotations of most of the planets (the natural spiraling in of the bodies as they coalesced) as well as what caused Uranus to spin on its side and Venus to spin retrograde (perhaps collisions early in formation).

It's still a somehow dry and shallow piece.  I'm not quite sure what I want from Isaac, but he's not quite doing it for me these days.

Three stars.

A Quiet Kind of Madness, by David Redd

In the snowy winter wastes of Finland, lone huntress Maija comes across a strange creature, shivering and near death.  He looks something like a polar bear, but not quite.  As she nurses him back to health, she discovers he is intelligent, telempathic, and from an entirely different world.  When they sleep, her new Snow Friend takes her to his place-without-men, a warm place of perpetual sunshine.  It is a paradise to Maija, who would just as soon leave our world behind.

For a man pursues her, the relentless Igor, who six months tried to have his way with her, and is now back to claim her again.  But it is not just fear of Igor that spurs her on, rifle in hand, to fend off the man, but fear for Snow Friend, who will be just a pretty pelt to Igor.

As with Redd's previous story, Sundown (which also features a snowy landscape–Redd must have a deep familiarity with icy terrain), Madness is vivid and compelling, and more artfully told than Sundown.  It's almost a contemporary Oz story, with Snow Friend a refugee from a magical land.  It's also a beautiful character study, of the bitter and solitary Maija, of the not-entirely-bad Igor, of the well-meaning but still male Timo, and of the sweet, alien Snow Friend.

This time, it is not for lack of deftness that this piece falls just short of five stars, nor for its almost incidental fantastic qualities, but simply because the end is not quite satisfying–almost as if Redd, himself, was unsure how to conclude the piece.

Still, it kept me hooked.  A high four stars, and my favorite piece of the magazine.

Back to reality

As my colleague Kris puts it (and Kris insists it originated with me), Fantasy and Science Fiction's experiment at being a monthly version of Dangerous Visions appears to be paying off.  The May 1968 issue scores a solid 3.5 stars with no clunkers in the mix.  If none of the stories quite achieves classic status, well, maybe next month.

I only wonder where all the women went, given that the pages of F&SF were once the bastion of SFnal femininity.  Maybe they're all writing Star Trek scripts.

In any wise, pick up this issue and enjoy.  In this tumultuous day and age, it's nice to breathe the rich air of other worlds for a while.



Speaking of other worlds, come join us tonight at 8pm (Eastern and/or Pacific) for the rerun of "The Doomsday Machine", one of Star Trek's best episodes!

Here's the invitation!




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[April 18, 1968] "You Damn Dirty Apes!" (Planet of the Apes)


by Jason Sacks

Planet of the Apes is already one of the most talked-about films of 1968. My friends have been buzzing about this movie since it was first announced, and now that it’s appeared Apes is certain to dominate all the chatter until Mr. Kubrick delivers his long-promised science fiction film.

A lot of the conversation has been about the ending of this film. I can’t talk about Planet of the Apes without revealing the incredible climax ending in this review, so if you want the twist to be fresh to you, you will want to turn the page around paragraph twelve of this review.  You have been warned!

As you probably know, the movie stars Charlton Heston as George Taylor, an astronaut who journeys with his four compatriots to an alien planet via a deep sleep device. One companion dies along the way, so Taylor and his remaining pals journey across a desert. For three days (and thirty minutes of screen time), Taylor and his friends wander like Moses and the Jews across a desolate desert. Unlike wandering tribes of Israel, the astronauts eventually discover an oasis. This verdant area is beautiful and welcoming and perfect for a skinny dip. It’s also the absolute worst place they can end up.

After their spaceship crash lands in a lake, the astronauts have to flee and try to find civilization.

See, the astronauts' clothes get stolen and then the visitors become witness to an incredible tableau. It seems there are many living humanoids on this planet. They look like humans, in fact. They are dressed in rags, running around like savages, terrified of something even stranger.

The Apes rounding up humans as if people are mere animals.

What sparks their fear is something even more uncanny. What sparks their fear as gorillas. Riding horses. Attacking the humans, and slaughtering them like a big game hunter might hunt gorillas in Africa in our world. The apes are clearly the dominant species on this world. We witness the slaughter of hundreds of humans under the apes’ vicious attack. One of Taylor’s companions is killed in the massacre, while Taylor’s vocal chords are damaged by an ape rifle. Taylor is tied hands and feet, and brought to a very odd sort of jail.

The brutal aftermath of the hunt is reminiscent of the American colonization of the West

Amazingly, it’s a bespoke sort of jail, in which various ape species come to perform experiments on the humans. Scientist apes Cornelius (Roddy McDowell) and Zira (Kim Hunter) are amazing in their portrayals of these oddly humanlike creatures, full of empathy and confusion about Taylor and yet also a deep commitment to their own ape world. The script nicely walks a fine line with these characters.

The story squarely embeds Cornelius and Zira in the middle of this fictional world, explicitly having them react as members of their society first and foremost. Our hirusite leads react as apes with moral codes and professional ethics and wow is this a wonderful breath of fresh air compared with the way most science fiction movies portray societies.

"Take your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape!"

I’ll move away from this plot summary, at least for the moment (gotta talk about the astonishing ending!) because I must make sure I discuss the many other ways this movie stands out.

First and foremost, Planet of the Apes is a fun movie. It’s full of action and twists and surprises. The crowd at the Northgate Theatre seemed on the edge of their seats the entire time as we watched this film, and the buzz at exit was full of joy.

This scene directly alludes to history and traditions inside ape world. How many science fiction movies build such a complex world?

Which implies the film had a great script. Rod Serling of The Twilight Zone wrote the initial outline, but Michael Wilson completed it. Wilson has previously worked on the David Lean films Bridge Over the River Kwai and Lawrence of Arabia, and he brings this film a similar combination of epic feel and personal intimacy we get in those films. Specifically, he creates a complex and fascinating society for the apes. This society has a history, and a religion, and social castes, and even mythologies they’ve created. All of it feels smartly earned, based on how I would imagine an ape society would be constructed, and I keep finding myself pondering this world.

One of my favorite magazines has a great article this month about the makeup required to turn Roddy McDowell into a chimpanzee.

One of the most important things about Apes has been receiving a lot of buzz in Famous Monsters and other recent zines: The makeup in this movie is amazing. I know there’s no Academy Award for best makeup, but the category should be reinstated just for this film. I was initially skeptical about the design of these characters going into the movie, but Dan Striepeke and his crew at Fox deliver an amazing design.

Franklin J. Schaffner directs the film. I’m not familiar with any of his recent work, but I know he directed Heston in The War Lord, and it’s obvious their previous project built some tremendous trust between the men. The direction is solid, professional and not showy. I’ve been pondering what Kubrick might be showing us in his sci-fi film, and I’m sure it will be much slicker and showier than Schaffner’s work here.

Leon Shamroy’s cinematography delivers in every scene, whether the gorgeous vistas of the American desert, the weird interiors of the Apes’ abodes, or the claustrophobic cages. Jerry Goldsmith’s atonal music adds so much to the story being told, and the set design work by Walter M. Scott and Norman Rockett really brings this world to life.

Tailor is paired up in a cell with Linda Harrison (Nova), a primitive, mute woman.

Okay, okay, yeah this movie is fantastic. It’s full of some thrilling and hilarious moments. Heston screaming “get away from me you damn dirty apes” is already starting to enter our lexicon. Sock it to me!

But the biggest reason everybody seems to leave this film giggling, the “Frankly, Scarlett, I don’t give a damn!” or “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship!” moment which will go down in history, is that awesome tableau at the very end. Schaffner films the sequence perfectly. Taylor and his female companion Nova are riding a horse on a beach. We think they’re still on an alien world as the camera zooms up. We see a triangle on the edge of the screen, we witeness a pull back, and at last we get a stunning image and a powerful primal scream of anger from Heston…

"Oh my God. I'm back. I'm home. All the time, it was… We finally really did it. You maniacs! You blew it up! Ah, damn you! God damn you all to hell!"

Ohh yeah! If you’re not smiling thinking about this ending, you saw a different movie than I did.

This is clearly the best science fiction movie of the year so far. I don’t know much about what Stanley Kubrick has planned, but this odyssey to the Planet of the Apes is stunning.

5 stars.






[April 16, 1968] Tripods and Others (April 1968 Galactoscope)


by Victoria Silverwolf

Chalk and Cheese

I recently read two new science fiction novels by British authors that are otherwise as different as they can be. One takes place in the very near future. The other is set centuries from now. One never leaves England. The other ventures into interstellar space. One uses an experimental narrative style. The other is told in a traditional manner. One is New Wave, the other Old Wave. Let's take a look at both.

Bedlam Planet, by John Brunner


Cover art by Jeff Jones.

Before the story starts, unmanned probes discovered a habitable planet orbiting Sigma Draconis. A team of four explorers went to check it out. Everything seemed hunky-dory, so three big starships carried a bunch of colonists there. They named the planet Asgard.

One ship was to be used for raw materials. Another was to be kept intact, in case the colonists needed to get out quick. The third was supposed to carry our hero, one of the original four explorers, back to Earth.

Disaster struck when an error in navigation caused one of the ships to crash into Asgard's moon. Our protagonist, a born wanderer, is stuck on Asgard, a reluctant colonist who doesn't fit in with the others. While off on his own, he is stung by a local critter and spends several days hallucinating.

Meanwhile, a microorganism native to the planet gets into the bodies of the colonists, leading to vitamin C deficiency and thus scurvy. For various reasons, the only permanent solution to this medical problem is for folks to start eating local foodstuffs, not yet known to be completely safe. Half a dozen colonists are selected at random to test native foods.

When our hero returns, he finds the six people locked up, apparently insane and guilty of sabotaging the colony. The other colonists are in a very bad state, barely able to take care of their basic needs and unwilling to make even very simple repairs. Can one man whip them into shape, solve the vitamin C problem, figure out what happened to the six insane folks, and save the colony?

I should mention that the hero's hallucinations, as well as those of the six colonists who eat local foods, take the form of folklore from their individual cultures. A Greek woman, for example, imagines scenes from Greek mythology. A detailed description of these hallucinations is probably the most interesting and original part of the book.

The explanation for what's going on didn't fully convince me; it got a bit mystical for my taste. What is otherwise a problem-solving SF story that wouldn't be out of place in the pages of Analog flirts with things like racial memory. I'll give the author credit for having major characters of both sexes and multiple ethnicities.

Three stars.

Synthajoy, by D. G. Compton


Cover art by Diane and Leo Dillon.

It's nearly impossible to provide you with a simple synopsis of this novel, because it's narrated in a nonlinear fashion. In addition to that, the narrator may be insane, spends most of the day in a sedated condition, and is subjected to a form of therapy/punishment that definitely messes up her mind.

The narrator is the wife of a obsessive scientist, now dead. With the help of a brilliant electronics engineer (later the wife's lover, and also dead), he came up with a way to record the sensations experienced by one person and to allow another to share them. Originally used as therapy, it becomes a form of entertainment as well.

We slowly learn that the narrator has been convicted of a crime, and that she is subjected to mental recordings designed to make her contrite. With multiple flashbacks, some going all the way to the narrator's childhood, we see how the device was invented, how it was used, and how it was corrupted. We also receive varying accounts of how the two men died.

Alternating with these memories, which may be distorted, the narrator also relates events happening to her in the present. Her relationship with the Nurse and the Doctor is a complex one, with hidden motives everywhere.

This is a difficult book. Besides jumping back and forth in time, often from one sentence to the next, the text frequently breaks off in the middle of a line. Events are not only narrated out of order, but also retold in a completely different way. It's impossible to discover the real truth.

Despite the effort required on the part of the reader, and the inherent ambiguity of the work, this is a fine novel. The author happens to be male, but he writes from the point of view of a woman in a completely convincing manner. If you're looking for light entertainment, seek elsewhere. If you want to discover that science fiction can be serious literature, you're in the right place.

Five stars.



by Mx. Kris Vyas-Myall

The Tripods (The White Mountains, The City of Gold and Lead, The Pool of Fire) by John Christopher

The Covers of the Original Three Tripods Novels

H. G. Wells’ War of the Worlds casts a long shadow over the science fictional world. Whether fans see it as using invasion literature as a satire on imperialism or just an atmospheric horror tale, know it from films, radio or magazines, it is one of the core works of SF.

War of Worlds book cover, magazine cover and film poster

But what if Wells’ Martians came not to exterminate but enslave?

Whilst not officially a sequel to War of the Worlds, it is hard not to read it as anything else. In this version, the Tripods came and conquered more than a century ago. After millions were killed in the war what remains of humanity lives in a feudal society under their tripod overlords. Once people reach the age of 13, a metal “cap” is put into their head which ensures their compliance with the alien commands.

Will Parker, from a Southern English village, meets a vagrant who tells him of the location of free humans. Together with his cousin Henry they journey to The White Mountains, to both learn more of The Tripods, and to fight against them.

At their heart these are juvenile adventure stories, a cross between Ian Serallier’s Silver Sword and Andre Norton’s SF tales. However, juvenile should not be taken to mean shallow or hollow. These are dark tales of children trying to survive in an oppressive society.

The highlight for me is the second book, where we get to see life in a Tripod city and Will is treated as a pet by one of the aliens. It is insightful, vivid and very disturbing.

These do have one flaw and that is found in the final book. Christopher wants to tie up the trilogy in these short books and the ending feels incredibly abrupt and light, given what we see in the others. However, there is still much to enjoy here and worth checking out.

I actually feel the limitations of having to write for a younger audience benefit Christopher. He is forced to remove his tendency for gratuitous shock scenes for the sake of it, nor did I notice any of his usual prejudices against the Celtic nations of the British Isles. If he sticks within this field, I will willingly pick up more of his books.

Four stars



by Blue Cathey-Thiele

Ace Double H-56

Pity About Earth, by Ernest Hill

Pity About Earth introduces us to Shale, a callous, ambitious, often downright cruel man. He and Phrix, his alien assistant, work for the god-like Publisher, in advertising. His ship is automated, as is the rest of the universe. A mistress of his plots with a competitor, and Shale is forced to escape into a labyrinth. There he encounters cages inhabited by humans who have been conditioned to prove concepts in torturous and deadly ways. Shale feels no sympathy, up until a human-ape hybrid named Marylin catches his attention. He is strangely compelled by her. She helps him to escape the maze, and later, the planet.

Despite being a Groil, Phrix has been promoted to Shale's old position. In one of many instances where Marylin tries to redirect Shale from violence, she protects Phrix by setting Shale to go to Asgard, fabled home of the Publisher.

Upon reaching Asgard, they find the long dead remains of the Publisher. In his place is Limsola, a woman who has been gaining the secrets of Asgard executives just before their deaths. Shale is distracted by her allure, breaking Marylin's heart as he was the first being to show her a shred of care. Limsola encourages Marylin to Publish, to change the rules. Marylin confers with Phrix about how change could happen, and she takes up post as the new Publisher. On his homeworld, Phrix follows her lead, and together they begin to breathe life back into a world that had become frozen.

The world of the Publisher is automated to the point of inaction. Life is casually thrown aside even while there are means to prevent suffering. Advertising is a key function yet items only exist to *be* advertised. Phrix tasks himself with upending an entire universe. It is not a matter of ethics to him, only what is and what could be. Marylin has only abstract knowledge, no personal experiences, and yet she has more compassion and care than any other character.

Shale is hardly unique in his views, unwilling or unable to look beyond himself and care for others prior to meeting Marylin, and even after he begins to have some sense of shared "humanity" it is brief and confuses him. There is a special horror in his blasé approach to the labyrinth of experiments, food made of humans, and sexual violence. He doles out death and the dead are simply out of luck. He is a deeply unlikable protagonist; Marylin and Phrix provide far more engaging points of view.

I can't say I enjoyed it, but it left me with thoughts to chew on.

3 stars

Space Chantey, by R.A. Lafferty

Captain Roadstrum plays the part of Odysseus in a loose adaptation of The Odyssey. Along with Captain Pucket, he and the crew of hornet-men visit planets that serve as analogs to the islands on the way home from Troy. Roadstrum is not some wise general, he survives via luck, sheer force of will, and the rare moment of inspiration. Margaret the houri and Deep John the "original hobo", myths in their own right, join the crew.

Roadstrum finds Valhalla, where his crew feast and fight and die, all to rise up ready to fight again the next morning. Upon leaving, the crew have their tongues cut out and grow themselves replacement organs- Roadstrum opts for a forked tongue, which grants him clever speech. They speed through twenty years while being sucked into a black hole, escaping via a recently installed button that reverses time.

Helios' cows are replaced by an asteroid belt orbiting a sun, though that doesn't stop the crew from capturing and *eating* one of these asteroids like a prize calf.

Roadstrum takes over for Atlas, not carrying the physical weight of the world but perceiving existence in its entirety, as anything he drops his attention from ceases to exist.

The crew complains about the size and quality of the hell planet they've been sentenced to for their crime against Aeaea, a version of the witch Circe, before breaking out.

Roadstrum is in no great hurry to get home, and we don't even get the name of his wife or son (Penny and Tele-Max) until the last 15 pages.

There is a degree of self-awareness to both the story and Roadstrum himself, moments when he recognizes that he is acting out a story that has happened before, or even actions he seems to remember. He makes a determined break from repeating actions at the close of the book, choosing not to settle peacefully with his wife and son as the former version of Odysseus did, but to fly off toward more adventure.

Although Space Chantey, like Pity, has characters eating other people, casual killing, and brutality, it's in the format of a tall-tale and with barely half the gritty detail as the first book of this Ace Double. Even the characters who are dying often take it as a bit of a joke. Indeed, this book reads more as a folk story with space-travel trappings than science fiction. Characters die and return with little or no explanation, survive impossibilities and contradict themselves and the narration. It is larger than life and at times quite silly. It also has plenty of dubious poetry in the form of verse interludes.

This would have been better suited as a series of stories around a campfire than a sci-fi novel.

2.5 stars



by Gideon Marcus

Sideslip!, by Ted White and Dave Van Arnam

If you've been following Dave Van Arnam's First Draft 'zine, you're probably rooting for this fan-turned-filthy-pro.  I didn't get a chance to read his Star Gladiator, and this newest book is co-written.  Still, Ted White's name is magic to me, and who could resist this lurid cover.  Therefore, it was with no hesitation that I plunked down my four bits plus a dime to read Sideslip!

I was even more excited to see that the book starred Ronnie Archer, outsized private eye, who starred in the excellent short story, Wednesday, Noon.  Turns out he's a false cognate, however.  Per a letter Ted sent me:

Same name, different characters.  Ron Archer was my penname as a cartoonist in the early '50s, and got applied to subsequent characters, usually private detectives.  Ron was the protagonist in my never-written mystery novel, "The Stainless Steal."

Ah well.  The rest of the book was similarly a disappointment.  In brief, Ron Archer finds himself zapped into an alternate New York in a set-up quite close to that of White's Jewels of Elsewhen.  But in this New York, alien invaders conquered the Earth in 1938, turning our world into a colonial source for raw materials.  The "Angels", who look like tall, luminous humans, are protected by force fields and human collaborators known as Yellow-Jackets.  This does not keep resistance groups from forming, which in the Untied States are represented by The Technocrats (led by Hugo Gernsback and employing Albert Einstein–these are the folks who warped Archer to this alternate world), the Communists, and the Nazis (led by none other than Hitler, himself).

The first half of the novel details Archer getting captured by and escaping from each of the various groups, ultimately ending up in the hands of the Angels.  Well, one particular Angel.  The one female Angel, who of course immediately falls in love with Archer.  At this point, the story practically grinds to a halt as Archer is taken off-world to meet the Angels and argue for Earth's sovereignty.  There are lots of pop-eyed descriptions of advanced technologies that feel better suited to SF from the 20s or 30s.  Archer and Sharna, his Angel lover, have a fraught relationship written with the subtlety and skill of a teenager writing his first fanfiction.  The end is a brief, action-filled segment.  In between, there's a lot more sex and nudity than I've seen in an American SF novel.  I found it a bit embarrassing.

In short, we have the bones of a Ted White novel, but none of the feel.  Missing is the deft, sensual touch that White lends his pieces, as well as any semblance of good pacing.  This actually makes perfect sense–in another letter, White explained that the story was largely executed by Van Arnam:

This was a book which started in a writer's group.  I wrote an opening hook and passed it out to the others.  Dave Van Arnam picked up on it and suggested we collaborate on a book.  Which we did. I was not happy with Dave's writing early on, and heavily rewrote his first drafts, but as I fed these back to him he picked up on what was needed, and the last quarter of the book is mostly his. Pyramid liked the book well enough to ask us to write their Lost in Space book…

The real problem with the book, beyond the technical issues, is that Archer doesn't do anything.  At every turn, he's simply along for the ride, noting his surroundings, occasionally running.  Archer, himself, notes as much at the end of the book.  I suppose that speaks to some authorial awareness, though it doesn't fix the problem.

Still, the book is readable, in a hackish sort of way, and the concepts are fine, if as hamfisted as the cover.  Based on quality, I should give this thing two stars, but I did make it through Sideslip!, and I wanted to know what happened, so I'll give it three.






[April 14, 1968] In Unquiet Times: The Frankfurt Arson Attacks, the Shooting of Rudi Dutschke and Electronic Labyrinth THX-1138 4EB


by Cora Buhlert

Another Annus Horribilis

1967 was a terrible year of unrest and violence. So far, 1968 seems to follow suit, especially considering the horrible events in Memphis, Tennessee, last week.

Regular readers may remember my article about the devastating (and still unresolved) fire at the À l'innovation department store in Brussels last year. I expressed my disgust at the pamphlets distributed by the leftist activist group and alternative living experiment Kommune 1 in West Berlin. The Kommune 1 members not only expressed their glee that a department store full of people, whose sole crime was caring more about shopping than the war in Vietnam, burned down, but also hoped that more department stores would burn.

The West Berlin police viewed those pamphlets the same way I did, namely as a threat and incitement to arson. Therefore, two Kommune 1 members, Fritz Teufel and Rainer Langhans (who ironically are not even the people who claimed responsibility for the pamphlets) were arrested and tried for incitement to violence and arson. That trial concluded last month, when a judge acquitted Teufel and Langhans, accepting their explanation that the pamphlets were satire and never intended to be taken seriously.

Fritz Teufel and Rainer Langhans in court
Kommune 1 members Fritz Teufel and Rainer Langhans in court

It is possible that the Kommune 1 intended the pamphlets as satire, albeit in very bad taste. However, even if the pamphlets were intended as satire, there was always the risk that someone might take them seriously.

And then someone did…

Flames in Frankfurt

On the evening of April 2nd, the phone rang at the office of the press agency dpa in Frankfurt on Main. A woman's voice announced that fires would start in the Kaufhof and M. Schneider department stores as an act of political vengeance. Shortly thereafter, homemade incendiary devices ignited in the bedding and toy departments of Kaufhof and the women's wear and furniture departments of M. Schneider respectively.

Kaufhof in Frankfurt on Main
The Kaufhof department store in Frankfurt on Main.
M. Schneider department store
The M. Schneider department store in Frankfurt on Main decked out with Christmas lights.

Thankfully, the human and financial toll of the Frankfurt fires was far lower than that of the À l'innovation fire in Brussels. The arsonists used timers to make sure that the incendiary devices ignited after hours, when the stores were closed and the only person inside the building was the night watchman (who escaped with minor injuries).

Furthermore, the Kaufhof and M. Schneider stores, built in 1948 and 1954 respectively, are far more modern and safer than the seventy-year-old À l'innovation building. Unlike À l'innovation, both stores were equipped with sprinkler systems – something the arsonists were not aware of – and the fires were quickly extinguished, though they still caused considerable damages of approx. 282000 Deutschmarks at Schneider and 390000 Deutschmarks at Kaufhof.

Burnt cupboard at M. Schneider
Aftermath of the arson attack at M. Schneider: Even if it is a very ugly cupboard, that's no reason to burn it down.
Aftermath of the arson attack at Kaufhof
Police officers survey the aftermath of the arson attack at Kaufhof.

But who were the arsonists? Witnesses remembered a suspicious young couple and two young men hurrying up the escalators shortly before closing time. The same young couple was later seen in a student bar, celebrating and bragging. And so four suspects were arrested only two days later: twenty-four-year-old Andreas Baader, charismatic, bisexual, a failed artist with a history of car theft, who used to hang out with the members of the Kommune 1, twenty-seven-year-old Gudrun Ensslin, a clergyman's daughter from Stuttgart, student of German literature at the Free University of (West) Berlin, Marxist, occasional actress and publisher of poetry chapbooks, mother of a one-year-old son and current lover of Andreas Baader (who is not the father of her son), twenty-six-year-old Thorwald Proll, also a student of German literature and friend of Baader's and the Kommune 1 members, and twenty-four-year-old Horst Söhnlein, who runs an alternative theatre in Munich, which he trashed shortly before he was arrested, because he feared that his rival Rainer Werner Fassbinder would take it over.

Andreas Baader
Alleged arsonist Andreas Baader lounging in a café.
Gudrun Ensslin
Alleged arsonist Gudrun Ensslin

The common denominators that connect the four suspects are the Kommune 1 as well as Andreas Baader. People familiar with the West Berlin activist scene have told me that Baader is desperate to impress the Kommune 1 members, who don't particularly like him. So even if those disgusting pamphlets were intended to be satire, as Fritz Teufel and Rainer Langhans claimed in court, they did inspire four young people to commit a serious crime.

Public Enemy Number 1

Axel Springer headquarters in West Berlin
The ultra-modern headquarters of the Axel Springer Verlag in West Berlin, directly at the Wall.

However, the Kommune 1 are not the only ones who are using the written word to incite violence. Sadly, the West German tabloid press is no better. Of particular note are the various newspapers of the Axel Springer Verlag, including their flagship quality paper Welt and Bild, West Germany's biggest tabloid, sold at every newsstand, in every tobacco shop and every bakery in the country.

Bild editorial "Stoppt den Terror der Jung-Roten!"
One of the nastier Bild editorials demands: "Stop the Terror of the Young Reds".

Like all tabloids, Bild specialises in sensationalistic headlines that tap into the fears and desires of the West German population. Right now, a lot of older and conservative West Germans have decided that protesting students are to be feared. Bild as well as the other Springer papers feed those fears with lurid headlines, angry editorials with titles such as "Stop the terror of the young reds!" and political cartoons that frequently cross the line of good taste, all aimed at the supposed menace of left-wing student protesters.

Dispossession political cartoon
This political cartoon in Bild responds to the "Dispossess Springer" campaign by offering suggestions whom else to dispossess
Walter Ulbricht political cartoon
This political cartoon from Bild shows the spirit of East German socialist party chairman Walter Ulbricht marching with the student protesters.
Bild political cartoon 1968
In this Bild editorial cartoon, two long-haired students wonder if they, too, will make it into the papers, if they riot enough.
Political cartoon 1968
Officials of the far right party NPD praise student protesters as their best election campaigners.
Political cartoon 1938 and 1968
In a remarkable feat of mental contortion, this Bild cartoonist equates left-wing student protesters with Nazis attacking Jewish businesses during Reichskristallnacht in 1938.

Bild and the other Springer papers have singled out one man in particular as the chief menace to society, namely twenty-eight-year-old Rudi Dutschke. Originally from East Germany, Dutschke's idealistic and pacifistic Christian Marxism quickly clashed with the real existing Socialism of the German Democratic Republic. Only three days before the building of the Berlin Wall, Dutschke fled to West Berlin. He found work as a sports reporter for the tabloid B.Z., ironically owned by the Axel Springer Verlag. He began studying sociology, philosophy and history at the Free University of (West) Berlin, where he quickly became involved in the activist scene and joined the left-wing student organisation Sozialistischer Deutscher Studentenbund SDS.

Rudi Dutschke
Student activist Rudi Dutschke speaks at a protest march.
Rudi Dutschke political cartoon
This political cartoon in Bild shows Rudi Dutschke standing on his head and wondering why everybody else is wrong.
Rudi Dutschke in Hitler pose
This editorial cartoon in Bild shows Rudi Dutschke in Hitler pose. Just in case there was any doubt about the cartoonist's intentions, the letters "SDS" on Dutschke's belt are styled like SS runes.
Rudi Dutschke scientists
In this Bild political cartoon, rendered even more tasteless by recent events, several doctors try to peer into Rudi Dutschke's head to find out what's wrong with him.

Rudi Dutschke is not the most violent or radical of the West Berlin student activists, but he is the most visible, taking part in every protest and relentlessly organising marches, meetings and discussions. He was invited to join the Kommune 1, hub of the West Berlin activist scene, but declined, preferring a more traditional family life with his American wife Gretchen and their infant son Hosea Che. Dutschke also knows the Frankfurt arsonists and is the godfather of Gudrun Ensslin's young son, though it is not known if he was aware of their plans. Finally, Dutschke is a charismatic speaker, which is how he ended up in the crosshairs of Bild and became public enemy number 1 to the conservative press.

Rudi Dutschke in Amsterdam
Rudi Dutschke earlier this year at a peace protest in Amsterdam
Rudi Duschke wedding
Happier times: Rudi Dutschke and his American wife Gretchen at their wedding in 1966.

According to the old saying, "Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me." But, as the Frankfurt arson attacks show, words can incite people to do physical harm. And so the relentless attacks on Dutschke by the tabloid press led to threats and hateful slogans left in the stairwell of the apartment house where Dutschke lives with his young family.

Three days ago, they led to something far worse.

Shots in West Berlin

On April 11th, a young man – later identified as Josef Bachmann, a twenty-three-year-old unskilled labourer from Munich – rang the doorbell of an apartment on the quiet end of West Berlin's Kurfürstendamm boulevard that serves as the headquarters of the Sozialistischer Deutscher Studentenbund. Bachmann asked if Rudi Dutschke was there. The student who answered the door nodded and asked if Bachmann wanted to come in. But Bachmann just shook his head and left.

He loitered on the sidewalk outside the apartment block and waited for Dutschke to emerge. Dutschke only wanted to buy nasal drops for his three-months-old son at a nearby pharmacy and got on his bicycle, when Bachmann approached him. "Are you Rudi Dutschke?"

Dutschke nodded, whereupon Bachmann screamed "Dirty Communist Pig", pulled a gun and shot Dutschke three times, in the head, the neck and the shoulder. Miraculously, Dutschke survived and even managed to walk a few more meters, before he collapsed in front of an undertaker's office. Passers-by quickly came to his aid and lifted Dutschke onto a bench, where he lay calling for his parents, declared that he had to go to the hairdresser and hallucinated something about soldiers. He was taken to hospital and underwent emergency surgery. As of this writing, Rudi Dutschke is still alive, though in critical condition. Even if he survives, he will retain lifelong disabilities.

Rudi Dutschke's bicycle
Aftermath: Rudi Dutschke's bicycle lies on the sidewalk.
Rudi Dutschke shooting site
The police at the scene of the attack on Rudi Dutschke
Rudi Dutschke's shoes where he collapsed
Rudi Dutschke's shoes still lie where he collapsed in this crime scene photo
The spot where Rudi Dutschke collapsed
The place where Rudi Dutschke collapsed, right in front of an undertaker's office. Passers-by lifted him onto the bench, until the ambulance arrived.

Josef Bachmann fled and was eventually cornered by the police in a nearby backyard. Shot rang out and Bachmann was hit, though he, too, survived and is currently in hospital.

Police officers carry off the wounded assassin Josef Bachmann
Police officers carry off the wounded assassin Josef Bachmann.

The Smoking Gun

But who or what persuaded Josef Bachmann to shoot down a complete stranger in the street? To the West Berlin students, the culprit was clear. The various tabloids of the Axel Springer Verlag had incited so much hatred towards Dutschke that they inspired Bachmann to travel from Munich to West Berlin to shoot a man he'd never met.

The truth is more complicated. Bachmann was carrying a newspaper, when he shot Dutschke. However, it was not a Springer paper, but the far right Deutsche National-Zeitung, which contained a Wanted poster style headshot with the headline "Stop Dutschke now!" In Bachmann's home, the police also found a portrait of Adolf Hitler. Furthermore, the Springer papers are not a monolith. The tabloid B.Z. criticised the way its sister papers were turning Dutschke into public enemy number 1. And even Bild expressed their shock over the shooting in an article entitled "Millions fear for Dutschke's life".

The students, however, were too furious about the attempt on Dutschke's life only a week after the murder of Martin Luther King Jr. in Memphis and not even a year after the murder of Benno Ohnesorg to care about nuance. To them, the Springer tabloids had at the very least incited violence, if not helped to fire the gun. And so, protests erupted, first in West Berlin and then all over West Germany.

Protest in Berlin following the shooting of Rudi Dutschke
Students protest in the streets of West Berlin after the shooting of Rudi Dutschke.
"Bild fired, too" protest
Protesters in West Berlin carry a placard declaring that "Bild fired, too".
Student protest in Stuttgart
At this protest in Stuttgart, protesters carry placards comparing the Springer papers Bild and Welt to the Nazi papers Stümer and Völkischer Beobachter, proving that Springer does not have a monopoly on tasteless Nazi comparisons.

In West Berlin, protesters attempted to storm the Springer headquarters, only to find themselves confronted by angry printshop workers, armed with heavy tools. Kommune 1 member Dieter Kunzelmann got stuck in the revolving door of the Springer building, where workers emptied a bucket of red paint over him. When they found that they could not storm the publishing house, the West Berlin protesters torched stacks of newspapers and delivery vehicles. Meanwhile in Munich, protesters trashed the local editorial office of Bild.

Torched Springer delivery trucks
A West Berlin firefighter extinguishes a torched Springer delivery truck.
Overturned Springer delivery vehicles
Overturned Springer delivery vans. Even a van delivering the latest issue of Bravo, an apolitical teen magazine focussed on pop and movie stars, suffered the wrath of the students.
Police officers wade through newspapers
It's raining newspapers. Police offers wade through Springer papers thrown onto the sidewalk by the protesters.
Students attack the Bild office in Munich
In Munich, protesters trashed the editorial offices of Bild.

So far, the protests have spread to twenty-seven West German cities and also abroad and show no sign of stopping. The protesters are no longer just university students either, but high school students, apprentices and workers. As we've seen with other protests in recent years, the police responded with violence, escalating an already volatile situation even further.

Protests in West Berlin 1968
Protesters face off against the police in West Berlin, close to where Rudi Dutschke was shot.
Students protests Berlin 1968
Protesters and police clash in West Berlin.

Protesters attack a police water cannon.

Political Bild cartoon
The political cartoonists of Bild responded to the attacks on their headquarters with this cartoon showing student protesters attacking the Easter Bunny.

Dad's Cinema Is Dead

With West Germany burning and all the terrible things happening here and elsewhere in the world, it's easy to forget that there are bright spots as well. One of those bright spots is the 14th West German Short Film Days in Oberhausen.

14th West German Short Film Day

Poster West German Short Film Days 1968

The West German Short Film Days were founded in Oberhausen, an otherwise unremarkable industrial town in the Ruhrgebiet area, in 1954 as the first film festival in the world focussed solely on short films. The new festival gained international attention for its willingness to show experimental movies by young filmmakers and also as a place where one could see East European movies that have no distribution elsewhere.

The West German Short Film Days also became a flashpoint for radical filmmakers. In 1962, a group of twenty-six young West German filmmakers published the Oberhausen Manifesto, in which they declared "Dad's cinema", i.e. the largely entertainment focussed West German cinema of the postwar era, dead. Unfortunately, this flaming manifesto did not lead to better movies – instead the results were no better than the films the signatories criticised, but infinitely duller. A new group of young filmmakers issued a second manifesto in 1965, in which they criticised the dull problem movies championed by the first manifesto and called for making good and entertaining movies in the style of Howard Hawks and Jean-Luc Goddard. Three years later, this second group has at least made a few decent would-be noir films.

Signatories of the Oberhausen Manifesto
Some signatories of the 1962 Oberhausen Manifesto pose for a photo.

Talking Dicks

This year's festival was beset by controversy as well, when Besonders Wertvoll (Of Special Merit) was pulled at short notice, even though it had been previously approved. The eleven-minute film shows a close-up of a talking penis – portrayed by director Helllmuth Costard or rather his penis – reading out the new West German film grant law, which denies grants to movies deemed obscene. After reading out this very dry subject matter, the penis gets his deserved reward, while director Costard, this time fully clothed, attempts to confront the main sponsor of the bill Hans Toussaint.

Hilmar Hoffmann and Hellmuth Costard Oberhausen
Hilmar Hoffmann, head of the Oberhausen Short Film Festival, and Hellmuth Costard, director of "Besonders Wertvoll". The star of the film is hidden under the table and hopefully pants.

I have seen Besonders Wertvoll at an impromptu screening at the Ruhr University in nearby Bochum. It is clearly satirical and the true nature of the narrator isn't even immediately apparent. However, the festival refused to show the film, whereupon several West German filmmakers and a member of the jury withdrew in protest.

Besonders Wertvoll
A frame of "Besonders Wertvoll", showing the film's unique narrator.

I Have Seen the Future…

But even with several films missing, the 14th West German Short Film Days still offered plenty of interesting and innovative filmmaking.

Oberhausen Short Film Festival 1968
Hilmar Hoffmann, director of the West German Short Film Days, with the three young directors Werner Herzog, Heinz Badewitz and Rudolf Thome on stage.

One film that particularly impressed me is Electronic Labyrinth THX 1138 4EB, a dystopian science fiction film made by a young graduate of the University of Southern California's School of Cinematic Arts named George Lucas.

Eletronic Labyrinth THX 1138 4 EB

Electronic Labyrinth THX 1138 4EB plunges us into the nightmarish future of the year 2187, a world where humans have numbers rather than names tattooed onto their foreheads. The titular THX 1138 4EB (Dan Natchsheim) has been found guilty of the crime of "sexacte". His mate YYO 7117 (Joy Carmichael) is interrogated and denies ever having loved him. The unique naming pattern is based on California licence plates, by the way. THX 1138 happens to be the number of director George Lucas' licence plate, while YYO 7117 is that of Lucas' fiancée.

THX 1138 4 EB
Dan Natchsheim as the titular character of Electronic Labyrinth THX 1138 4EB
THX 1138 4EB
THX 1138 4EB on the run

Meanwhile, THX 1138 4EB is on the run through stark white corridors and what looks like an underground parking garage, tracked by countless cameras monitored by men in white jumpsuits in a white room filled with computers and screens. For most of the film, the only dialogue is the radio communication of the security personnel. They try to thwart THX 1138 4EB's escape, first by subjecting him to a high-pitched noise and then by having a guard attack him. However, THX 1138 4EB forces open a door and runs off into the sunset and hopefully freedom. Meanwhile, a voice informs YYO 7117 that they regret that THX 1138 has destroyed himself and that she may apply for a new mate – of either gender – at any time.

George Lucas THX 1138 4EB
Director George Lucas on the set of Electronic Labyrinth THX 1138 4EB.

Electronic Labyrinth THX 1138 4EB is a neat work of dystopian science fiction that manages to tell a complete and coherent story in only fifteen minutes. The film also shows that it is possible to make a science fiction movie on literally a shoestring budget.

Electronic Labyrinth THX 1138 4EB has already won the National Student Film Award and was also honoured at the West German Short Film Days. As for the talented twenty-three-year-old director George Lucas, he is planning to turn Electronic LabyrinthTHX 1138 4EB into a full-length feature film. I for one will certainly be watching. I'm am also looking forward to whatever Mr. Lucas does next.

Bild & Funk Easter 1968
The world may be terrible, but it's still Easter, so enjoy the cover of the TV magazine "Bild & Funk"
Bild und Funk Raumpatrouille Orion cover
The cover of last week's issue of "Bild und Funk" features some familiar faces, advertising a rerun of "Raumpatrouille Orion". Now where is season 2?





[April 12, 1968] Darkness (May 1968 Fantastic)


by Victoria Silverwolf

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

These are dark days.

I need not remind you of the recent shocking murder of a genuinely great man who dedicated his life to nonviolence. Nor is it necessary to mention the wholesale slaughter of soldiers and civilians in Southeast Asia, which shows no signs of abating.

As if the heavens wish to mourn for the horrors humanity unleashes upon itself, there will be a total eclipse of the Moon tonight, visible from almost all parts of the Western Hemisphere.


An visual depiction of the phenomenon.

It is tragically appropriate that light reflected from Earth makes the eclipsed Moon appear reddish; an event known as a Blood Moon.

Even in the frivolous world of popular music, we are reminded of tragedy. At the top of the American music charts is the melancholy ballad (Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay by the late Otis Redding, who died in a plane crash last December. It holds the unhappy distinction of being the first posthumous single to reach Number One.


Recorded just three days before Redding's death.

Better to Light One Candle Than to Curse the Darkness

It is tempting to sink into silence and depression. Instead, let us take what comfort we can from small pleasures. One such anodyne, at least for me, is reading science fiction and fantasy. Let's take a look at the latest issue of Fantastic and see if we can draw any solace from it.


Cover art by Johnny Bruck.

As has happened a few times before, the image on the cover comes from an issue of the popular German magazine Perry Rhodan.


That seems to mean The Little Men from Siga, presumably a fictional planet.

High Road to the East, by Christopher Anvil


Illustration by Gray Morrow.

In this trivial bagatelle an Admiral (clearly supposed to be Christopher Columbus) has a scheme to sail west from Europe to the Indies without bumping into the new continent in the way. He uses gunpowder to send his ship into the air.

Can you guess this won't work out the way he thinks?

This is a weak joke, hardly the outstanding new story promised on the cover. At least it's short and inoffensive.

Two stars.

The Little Creeps, by Walter M. Miller, Jr.

The December 1951 issue of Amazing Stories is the source of this tale of the Cold War turned Hot.


Cover art by Robert Gibson Jones.

We start off with an odd scene in which a huge number of tiny glowing things invade the Tokyo home of an American General at night. Only light drives them away. They manage to talk to the officer by invading his phonograph and manipulating the needle. These are, of course, the Little Creeps.


Illustration by Leo Summers.

China and the USA are in a shooting war. The Soviet Union is supposedly neutral, but gives aid to its Red ally. The Little Creeps tell the General not to do three things.

1. Don't fire a Japanese servant.

2. Don't listen to a visiting General from the front lines.

3. Don't bomb Chinese installations along a river that serves as the border with the USSR.

You can probably predict that the General doesn't listen to the annoying Little Creeps, and things go from bad to worse.

This is a strange story, with a strong antiwar message mixed up with bizarre science fiction content. The latter never really made sense to me.

The visiting General is a loathsome character indeed. Not only does he love war, he also endlessly harasses a WAC Sergeant. I understand that he's the story's villain, but he really gives me the creeps (if you'll excuse the expression.)

Very mixed feelings about this one. The author has his heart in the right place, and the escalating tension of the situation creates a great deal of suspense, but the Little Creeps are kind of goofy.

Three Stars.

Dr. Immortelle, by Kathleen Ludwick

From the Fall 1930 issue of Amazing Stories Quarterly we have the only story, as far as I can tell, this author ever published. I managed to take a look at a copy of the yellowing pages of the old magazine, and the table of contents lists her name as Luckwick. The introduction to the story refers to her as Miss Ludwick. I don't know which one is correct.


Cover art by Leo Morey.

Anyway, this is a horror story about a Mad Scientist who discovered a way to extend his life way back in the 18th century. (Did the title give you a clue?)


Illustration also by Morey.

He and his mulatto slave have kept themselves alive and young by transfusing the blood of children into their bodies. Even more improbable, and embarrassing for the modern reader, the transfusion of blood from white children has made the mulatto completely Caucasian!

Sometimes the children don't survive the sinister procedure. Justice finally catches up with the evil scientist and his servant (who developed a conscience about what they were doing over the decades) in the form of the grown sister of a little boy who died because of the transfusion.

It's easy to tell this yarn is nearly four decades old. Besides the stuff about the mulatto turning white, there's a lot of flowery language. The author uses a narrative technique I've seen in other antique works. We start with a narrator, who then quotes at length from another narrator. (In this case, the dying servant.)

Thirty-odd years ago, this could have been very loosely adapted into a cheap Boris Karloff movie, of the kind I eagerly seek out on Shock Theater. In print form, the years have not been kind to it. Whatever became of Miss Ludwick/Luckwick, she does not appear to have been a major loss to the literary world.

Two stars.

Spawn of Darkness, by Craig Browning

Never heard of Craig Browning? That's because he's really Rog Phillips, who gave us this story in the May 1950 issue of Fantastic Adventures.


Cover art by H. L. Blumenfeld.

Guess what? Gregg Conrad, whose name appears on the cover, is also Rog Phillips! The guy gets around!


Illustration by Edmond Swiatek.

In a future war, two death rays meet, causing an entity to appear out of nowhere. It takes the form imagined by a soldier; namely, a genie.

Forget the futuristic stuff. From this point on, we've just got a story about a guy and his genie. He might as well have found it in an old bottle in the desert.

Anyway, he wishes his way home. Things seem fine, but then the military sends his mother a telegram, stating that her son is missing in action and presumed dead. I guess the mother is pretty superstitious, because a self-proclaimed psychic convinces her the young man is a ghost. Complications ensue when the guy rather foolishly uses the genie to perform practical jokes that seem like the work of a poltergeist.

I don't know what to make of this thing. As I've indicated, the science fiction content is pointless. I guess the author is making fun of parapsychologists and such, but nothing particularly funny happens.

Two stars.

Spartan Planet (Part Two of Two), by A. Bertram Chandler


Illustration by Jeff Jones.

Let's recap. Chandler's series character John Grimes, a female ethologist, and a bunch of other folks have arrived on a planet without women, as far as the bulk of the population knows. The elite Doctors actually have a secret cache of women hidden away.

Our protagonist is a military police officer native to the planet. He becomes a secret agent for the head of Intelligence, assigned to keep an eye on the new arrivals while also investigating the Doctors.

In this installment, the officer finds himself strangely attracted to the ethologist, although he thinks of her as an alien. On a tour of the planet, they come across the place where girl babies (considered to be deformed) are left to be eaten by predators. Of course, the ethologist rescues the sole surviving infant.

Meanwhile, another woman from Grimes' spaceship is raped (blessedly, this is obliquely described) by a gang of locals. The implication is that men who have no idea that women exist, and who imagine the strange visitors to be bizarre creatures of another species, are irresistibly drawn to them.

Eventually, there's a huge mob of men trying to get at the women hidden by the Doctors. After the battle, Grimes offers a long speech explaining how the planet developed its unique society.

As you can see, this half of the novel is a lot darker in mood and a lot more violent than the first half. After plenty of action, Grimes' expository speech slows things down quite a bit. Overall, I didn't mind reading it once, though this segment is somewhat distasteful.

Three stars.

Something for the Woman, by Ivar Jorgensen

As you may know, Ivar Jorgensen is a name used by a whole bunch of different writers in various science fiction and fantasy books and magazines. In this case, my research tells me it's really Randall Garrett hiding behind the name, in the March/April 1953 issue of Fantastic.


Cover art by Richard Powers.

A family (Mom, Dad, and two little kids) go through the process of selling everything they own except the clothes on their backs and a few other small items. They're going on a long, long journey.


Illustration by Ed Emshwiller, often known as Emsh.

The story mostly deals with the woman's fear of leaving home for the unknown. A small gesture from her husband makes the impending voyage less terrifying.

I think I like this story more than it deserves. Yes, it supports the stereotype that women are timid creatures. (There's reference to a few rare women who are as eager for adventure as men.) But it's sensitively written, and it was a welcome novelty to read something that was unashamedly sentimental.

Four stars.

Brave Nude World, by Forrest J. Ackerman

A hint in the introduction to this reprinted article led me to track down the publication where it originally appeared. I hope you appreciate the effort and embarrassment it took to secure a copy of an old nudist magazine. Namely, the August 1961 issue of American Sunbather.


I have cut off the lower half of the cover, which features the young lady with the big smile completely unclad, in order to spare the delicate sensitivities of any Journeyers who might be offended.

Big Name Fan Ackerman chatters away about his experience of nudism, while also mentioning a few science fiction stories that deal with the topic. Notably, the original magazine featured drawings by another well-known fan, Betty JoAnne Trimble, universally known as Bjo.


Ackerman claims this is the title of a story by Spencer Strong (Ackerman himself), but I can find no reference to it. Maybe it appeared in a fanzine.


On the other hand, this is a famous story by Robert A. Heinlein. (Galaxy, March 1952.)

This tale appeared in the December 1956 issue of the girlie magazine Caper, attributed to Spencer Strong (Ackerman again) and Morgan Ives (Marion Zimmer Bradley.)

The author indulges his love of puns throughout. There's not really any point to this look at nudism in science fiction. It's kind of like Sam Moskowitz without the scholarship. Too bad Fantastic didn't reprint Bjo's cute cartoons, so I had to dig them out for you.

Two stars.

A Portfolio: H. G. Wells' When the Sleeper Wakes, by Anonymous

The magazine fills up a few pages with illustrations from the Winter 1928 issue of Amazing Stories Quarterly, which reprinted the famous novel in full.


Cover art by Frank R. Paul.

The drawings were themselves reprinted from the 1899 hardcover edition.


Cover art by . . . indulge me a while as I explain how I solved a mystery.


The introduction in Fantastic says the artist's identity was lost.


In fact, it says that even Amazing Stories Quarterly didn't know the artist's name.


I'm not sure I believe that. Maybe the magazine just didn't bother to give credit where credit was due.


Fantastic just attributes them to an English artist.


In fact, my research revealed that the artist was actually French, a fellow named Henri Lanos who often illustrated scientific romances.

Nice drawings, and the enigma of the artist's identity piqued my curiosity.

Three stars.

Fantasy Books, by Fritz Leiber

The master of sword and sorcery reviews books of that kind (Conan and King Kull) by Robert E. Howard, with much additional material by Lin Carter and L. Sprague de Camp. Leiber doesn't talk much about the two modern authors, and generally praises Howard while pointing out his poorest stories and offering an example of his worst prose.

No rating.

Light at the End of the Tunnel?

This issue offers only mild diversion from the terrors of the real world. Most of the stories were poor to mediocre, with only Jorgensen/Garrett rising a bit above that level. Maybe that's enough for now.






[April 10, 1968] Things Fall Apart (April 1968 Amazing)


by John Boston

Entering the Stengel Zone

The April 1968 Amazing displays a deep incompetence at the most basic tasks of assembling a magazine.  For starters, this April issue—identified as such in two places on the contents page—is dated June 1968 on the cover, a blunder that will likely cost the publisher when the next issue appears.  Further, Harry Harrison’s editorial, titled Unto the Third Generation, has apparently been accidentally truncated.  It describes “first generation science fiction, or SF-1” (up to the early forties, relying on novelty of ideas), and then “second generation science fiction, SF-2” (starting in the forties with—it says here—Kornbluth, Pohl, and Wollheim, and reexamining old themes), and then . . . stops.  Abruptly.  What happened to SF-3, the Third Generation of the title?  There’s no continuation anywhere in the magazine, nor is there any hint that Harrison meant to stop short of this third generation or continue the editorial in some future issue. 


by Johnny Bruck

Other evidence of chaos in the composing room is that the texts of two items in the magazine conclude on the inside back cover, which is usually devoted to advertising.  This inside cover has microscopic top and bottom margins, suggesting a last-minute effort to correct earlier miscalculations and cram everything in (except, of course, the end of the editorial, seemingly lost to follow-up).  And the proofreading, which has been routinely abysmal since before Sol Cohen took it over, if anything seems to be getting worse.  In particular: The very first sentence of the editorial reads “In the beginning there was the word, and it was scientifiction.” Except as printed it actually reads “scientification.” You’d expect in this specialist magazine that someone—especially the editor who wrote it—would notice an error that blatant if they looked at it.  Apparently, no one is looking.

Legend has it that Casey Stengel, manager of the hapless 1962 New York Mets, asked in exasperation, “Can’t anybody here play this game?” Amazing now prompts the same question.

The news is no better with respect to the magazine’s content.  Rumor has it that Harrison upon taking the editorship worked out some amicable arrangement with the Science Fiction Writers of America concerning Cohen’s use of reprints—presumably getting him to pay the authors something.  But reprints continue to dominate—they comprise six out of seven of the stories here.

There is new non-fiction material—another “Science of Man” article by anthropologist Leon Stover (see below), and a lively book review column by James Blish, under his pseudonym William Atheling, Jr.  Blish virtually disembowels Sam Moskowitz’s book Seekers of Tomorrow, which collects essays on major science fiction writers, earlier published in Amazing before Cohen.  Blish’s judgment: “inaccurate, prejudiced, filled with false assumptions and jejune literary comparisons, very badly written and utterly unproofread.  If this is scholarship, we could do with a lot less of it.” He makes his case in detail.  About the only defense remaining to the book is that it’s better than the competition, since there is none.  Blish also reviews Harlan Ellison’s anthology Dangerous Visions with measured praise.

And, on the front, there is another Johnny Bruck cover taken from Germany’s Perry Rhodan magazine, badly cropped, and featuring guys in spacesuits running around with ray guns.  Bruck’s work is colorful but cliched, and that is getting old.

All that, before we even get to the fiction!  Sheesh.

Send Her Victorious, by Brian W. Aldiss


by Jeff Jones

The only non-reprint story is Brian W. Aldiss’s Send Her Victorious, which at first seems like a slapdash, thrown-together story, but proves to be about a slapdash, thrown-together world.  It’s minor Aldiss, odd but quite funny in places.  Three stars.

The Illusion Seekers, by P.F. Costello

The Illusion Seekers, a “complete short novel” from the August 1950 Amazing, is bylined P.F. Costello, which is a “house name”—a pseudonym belonging to the publishing company and used by various authors as convenient.  This name is said to have been used often by William P. McGivern, but I don’t think this one is his, since McGivern is rumored to be a competent writer.


by W.H. Hinton

The story opens in a small and isolated colony of people suffering from deformities such as soft bones, woody skin plaques, and multitudes of miniature fingers growing from the backs of their hands.  But young Randy is normal.  Down the road from the east comes a guy named Raymond who calls himself an Illusion Seeker, but won’t explain what that means.  He warns that “death will breathe through the trees” in three days, but throws golden dust into Randy’s face and says he will be saved.  Sure enough, three days later everybody but Randy is dead.  So Randy sets off west following Raymond, discovering that the golden dust has left him with enhanced physical prowess as he fights off wild dogs with an axe.  He encounters two survivors from other groups who, hearing his story, tell him Raymond is responsible for the deaths.  They all continue west and catch up with Raymond.  Randy’s companions kill Raymond.  Then they start heading back east in a state of mutual murderous mistrust, have other picaresque but wearisome adventures, and eventually Randy gets the real story of how his world works, which of course makes very little sense. 

This story is both repellent and remarkably incompetent, written in a dead, flat style, with a pseudo-plot that rambles on and gives every indication of being made up as the author goes along, all set against a sketchy and implausible background.  Overall, it’s a reading experience sort of like the world’s least interesting bad dream, or like listening to a long and tedious monologue by someone who you gradually realize is not all there.  It made me wonder whether it’s Richard S. Shaver, Amazing’s foremost ex-psychiatric patient, making a few bucks behind the pseudonym.  In any case—one star, a burnt-out husk of a black dwarf.

The Way of a Weeb, by H.B. Hickey


by Robert Gibson Jones

H.B. Hickey contributes The Way of a Weeb (from Amazing, February 1951).  A Weeb is a frail humanoid creature native to Deimos who is always scared and always whining about it.  They’ve got one on space ship Virtus, to the great disgust of all the crew except Crag, who takes pity on him.  But things get tight when the evil Plutonians come after the Virtus, and the Weeb comes through and saves the day.  It’s a dreary bag of cliches, professionally rendered.  Two stars.

Stenographer's Hands, by David H. Keller, M.D.

The issue’s “Classic Novelet” is David H. Keller’s Stenographer’s Hands, from the Fall 1928 Amazing Stories Quarterly.  In broadest outline it follows the template of the earlier-reprinted Revolt of the Pedestrians and A Biological Experiment: humanity’s traditional ways of life get drastically altered, the results are disastrous, and there’s an upheaval to set things right (though the upheaval here is a little milder than in the others).


by Frank R. Paul

The president of Universal Utilities is bedeviled by the number of errors his ditzy stenographers make (apparently his business runs on non-form letters), and demands that his house biologist come up with a solution.  Easy-peasy: they’ll breed the perfect stenographer, by the hundreds or thousands, firing the less competent of the current flibbertigibets to make room for an army of promising males to balance the sexes.  Stenographers who marry and breed will get a free house in a special stenographers’ suburb among other perks.  There will be certain other undisclosed manipulations such as providing special food for the kids to help them grow up faster.

Two hundred years later, Universal has achieved world domination economically, with a torrent of flawless letters flowing out from a work force that matures at age 9, marries at 10, and reproduces quickly thereafter.  But the daughter and heir apparent of the current company president, having flunked out of college, says she wants a job as a stenographer.  She is then appalled at the sterility (metaphorical, of course) of the stenographers’ lives, and says when she’s in charge she won’t stand for it.  Conveniently, it is discovered that the stenographers have become so inbred that they are all starting to display nocturnal epilepsy.  Never mind!  The great experiment is reversed and once more the company's letters will be haphazardly produced by flighty young women of normal upbringing.

So, an obviously terrible idea is belatedly discovered to be terrible and is abandoned.  This is not a particularly dynamic plot and nothing else about the story is especially captivating.  Two stars.

Lorelei Street, by Craig Browning

Craig Browning is a pseudonym of Roger Graham Phillips (“Rog” to the readership), and Lorelei Street comes from the September 1950 Fantastic Adventures.  It's a facile but insubstantial fantasy involving a cop named Clancy who is asked by a passer-by for directions to an address on Lorelei Street, which he provides, later realizing that there is no such street.  There are more funny happenings about Lorelei Street.  A man who bought a big bag of groceries there was found later in a state of near starvation despite eating them.  A woman bought a suit which later disappeared, leaving her on the street in her underwear.  A Mr. Calva is the apparent proprietor on Lorelei Street, and Clancy arrests him for fraud.  Calva says he’ll regret it.  Next day the newspapers describe the arrest of “Calva the Great,” a “hypnotist swindler.” Calva vanishes from court on the day of trial, and when Clancy tries to go home, he finds himself on Lorelei Street, and it’s curtains. 


by Edmond Swiatek

There’s more to the plot than that, but not better.  Like Phillips’s “You’ll Die Yesterday!” from the previous issue, the story displays considerable cleverness to no very interesting end.  Two stars, barely.

Four Men and a Suitcase, by Ralph Robin

Ralph Robin’s byline appeared on 11 stories in the SF magazines from late 1951 to late 1953, most of them in Fantasy and Science Fiction or Fantastic, plus one in Amazing in 1936.  Later he made an appearance in Prairie Schooner, a literary magazine published at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln; the story wound up in Martha Foley’s annual volume The Best American Short Stories 1958.  He seems to have quit while he was ahead; he has not been heard from since that I can discover.

Robin’s story Four Men and a Suitcase, from Fantastic for July/August 1953, is about some Skid Row drunks discussing what to do with a mysterious object one of them has found.  It looks like a giant hard-boiled egg, and when yelled at threateningly displays diagrams on its . . . skin?  (No shell.) The first one illustrates the Pythagorean theorem.  After several further iterations, one of the characters slaps the egg, with large and regrettable consequences.  The main point here seems to be how hilarious poverty-stricken alcoholics are.  Sorry, can’t get with it.  One star.

The Mechanical Heart, by H.I. Barrett

The issue’s fiction winds up, literally, with The Mechanical Heart by one-story wonder H.I. Barrett, from the Fall 1931 Amazing Stories Quarterly.  Inventor Jim Bard has just learned that his heart could conk out any minute.  But he wants to complete his telephoto machine! (Actually more like television.) The solution?  Make an artificial heart!  His assistant Henry, trained in a Swiss watch factory, hops to it.  It’s a beauty!  And his doctor is persuaded to install it.  Jim will carry a case in his pocket with two six-volt flashlight batteries and a watch to time the impulses that drive it. Just wind the watch, and don’t forget to change the batteries!


by Leo Morey

After the surgery, Jim convalesces, and experiments with increasing the blood flow, which he finds highly stimulating.  “Have to be careful or he’d have himself cutting all sorts of didoes.” (Dido: “a mischievous or capricious act : prank, antic,” says Merriam-Webster.) But he can’t resist, and starts increasing the flow so he can stay up all night working on the telephoto, and then so stimulates himself that he scandalizes Hilda the Swedish maid and has to be restrained and briefly disconnected by Henry.

At the Associated Scientists’ meeting, to demonstrate both the telephoto machine and the heart, Jim gets stage fright, cold sweat and the works, and then realizes he can increase his blood flow.  He sets up the telephoto for a demonstration and discovers—he’s forgotten the C batteries!  In desperation, he snatches the batteries powering his heart, and the show goes on, with his machine relaying the picture from a distant movie theatre, while his unsupported heart races . . . for a while.  And then, time’s up.

This is the best of a bad lot of reprints—corny, but with at least a bit of period charm, while the others lack charm of any sort.  Three stars, grading on the curve.

Science of Man: Dogs, Dolphins and Human Speech, by Leon Stover

Dr. Stover takes on John Lilly’s claim that dolphins can learn to speak English in addition to their accustomed clicks and clacks.  He starts out with dogs, which communicate vocally, he says, “but the level of signaling is that of a call system, quite distinct from that of language.  A call system is no more linguistic than the system of visual signals dogs communicate to each other by means of facial expression, body movement, and position of the tail.” However: “Language and only language is a symbolic form of communication,” one which allows meaning to be assigned arbitrarily to symbols. 

Dolphins?  Same story. Their large brain size has more to do with body weight than with intelligence.  “How the brains of dolphins function to meet the demands of their environment is not yet known, but it is a sure thing that research will show that symbolic behavior, like language and culture, is not part of that adaptation.” And there’s the rub—“it is a sure thing that research will show.” Stover continues with arguments about the evolution of human intelligence in ways that exclude dolphins, but there’s no way for the lay person to tell how much of it is supported by research and how much is his admittedly informed supposition.  Two stars.

Summing Up

Editors change, formats change a bit, but the consistent mediocrity of this magazine abides, firmly rooted in the dominant and seemingly immovable prevalence of reprints of only occasional merit.  One wonders how long this can last.