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Horror, Movies, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[January 28, 1970] Cinemascope: Just a Poe Boy (An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe, The Moebius Flip, Sole Survivor, and The Dunwich Horror)

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An author's headshot of a white woman with blonde pigtails.  She is wearing black glasses, a pale blue button-down shirt, a dark green vest, and a pendant on a chain necklace.
by Fiona Moore

An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe

An evening of Edgar Allan Poe is written across the top of the poster in yellow capitals on a black background.  The initial A and the word 'Poe' are written in a fancier, medieval-looking font.  The A and the P are superimposed over red squares.  The O in Poe has a drawing of a skull in it. Beneath the title, a color photograph of Vincent Price looking at the camera, cut off at the forehead where it intersects the title . A clock's hands are floating in front of his face.  The Roman numeral XII is projected across his forehead.  In the background there is the ghostly silhouette of what might either be a castle or some pine trees.Theatrical poster for An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe

An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe is an hour-long film in which four Edgar Allan Poe stories are recited by Vincent Price. Originally made as a television play (and in a way which suggests it was based on a theatrical production, albeit with the addition of some new visual effects), it’s reminiscent of the BBC’s A Ghost Story For Christmas segment, and I was recently asked to view it as a possible acquisition as a teaching tool by my university’s English Literature department.

A color film still of Vincent Price, wearing a white bow tie and black tails,and made up to look older with white hair and beard.  He is seated at a high-class dining table with a white tablecloth.  The room is dim and only the table and Price are clearly visible.  In front of Price there are a variety of bowls and dishes stacked up, and past them at the front of the frame is a fruit basket with grapes and bananas visible.  Two candelabra with three candles each sit one on either side of the fruit basket. Price appears to be gesticulating while speaking.
The Cask of Amontillado

The programme is split into four segments, in each of which Price recites a different Poe short story. Fairly predictably, these are “The Tell-Tale Heart”, “The Sphinx”, “The Cask of Amontillado” and “The Pit and the Pendulum”. Each segment is performed with Price in character as the narrator of each story, with appropriate costuming and sets. Although Price does show a decent range in playing different characters, they’re all very much within Price’s repertoire as an actor, so, although none of the performances are bad, there are no real surprises to be had here.

A film still of Vincent Price, this time with dark fluffy hair and a van dyke beard. He is wearing a brown sport jacket over a brown plaid waistcoat with matching brown plaid trousers and necktie. He is sitting in a brown leather wingback armchair with his hands gripping the ends of the chair arms, looking at the viewer.  The chair sits in front of a round side table with glassware on it.  In the background is a pair of diamond lattice windows, of which three diamonds have colored glass instead of clear.The Sphinx

I felt the best segment was “The Cask of Amontillado”. Price really seems to relish the role of Montressor and plays him with a wicked twinkle in his eye, surrounded by luxurious draperies and furniture and a banquet-table of food. The weakest for me was “The Sphinx,” which struggled to hold my attention, though it did have an effective use of special effects when we briefly see a skull overlaid over Price’s face at a crucial moment.

A blurry film still of Vincent Price sitting on a bench at the bottom of the pit, looking up at the viewer.  There is a large support column behind him and straw covering the floor. A blurry line that may be the pendulum is to the right of the frame, as though it had just swung past Price's face.The Pit and the Pendulum

By contrast, “The Pit and the Pendulum” was a good enough dramatization of an exciting story, but the problem was that the producer seemed to feel it needed jazzing up with effects shots of Price falling into the pit, Price helpless before the pendulum, Price faced with colour separation overlay ("chroma-key" to yanks) flames, and so forth. The rats were far too cute, with inquisitive little faces and glossy fur, for me to find them horrific.

Finally, “The Tell-Tale Heart” was a good choice as the opening story, told simply with the set a bare garret, with Price steadily ramping up the hysteria as the narrator follows his path into murder and madness.

A color film still of a sparsely furnished 19th century room.  A chair and threadbare carpet are in the foreground, a basin and towel on a stand in front of a window to the left, and a bed or table with rumpled white fabric on it to the right. Vincent Price stands facing the carpet, looking down at it.  He is wearing a white shirt with black waistcoat and black trousers.  His hands are stretched out toward the carpet as if spasming or gesticulating.The Tell-Tale Heart

One great benefit I can see from this production is a chance to show audiences who may just know Poe from the cinematic productions loosely based on his work, just how skilled a horror writer Poe was in real life. The issue with something like “The Pit and the Pendulum” is that one can’t really get an entire 90-minute film out of it without adding a lot of material, which, while it can work as a movie, means you lose the terrifying economy of the original story (although if anyone wants to adapt “The Cask of Amontillado”, I think one could spend at least 90 minutes exploring the buildup of resentment in the two characters’ relationships that led up to the final murder). For this reason, I’m recommending that the English Literature department acquires a copy, and would also say that, if it turns up on TV in your region, it’s worth a watch.

3 out of 5 stars.

A black-and-white headshot of a white woman with dark hair, dramatically arched eyebrows, and dark lipstick. She is looking at the camera with an unreadable expression.
by Victoria Silverwolf

There's A Signpost Up Ahead . . .

Two films I caught recently reminded me of Rod Serling's late, lamented television series Twilight Zone.  Let's take a look.

The Moebius Flip

The title card from the film

Less than half an hour long, this skiing film is the sort of thing that might be shown at a college campus, before the main feature in a movie theater, or to fill up time on television in the wee hours of the morning.  The brief running time isn't the only thing that reminds me of Serling's creation.

We begin with scenes of people skiing, edited in a jumpy way.  Jazz, rock, and folk music fill up the soundtrack.  The skiers also fool around in the snow, eat some fruit, and so forth.

Suddenly, we see a news announcer.  He tells us that scientists have determined that every subatomic particle in the universe has reversed polarity.  I'm not sure what that means, but let's see what happens.

A color film still of a white man with brown hair wearing a plaid suit and red tie sitting in front of a red background with brown acoustic tile on the right side.  He is holding a stack of papers from which he is reading into a black microphone.

Somehow, this is supposed to change the way people perceive things.  That means the film turns into a negative of itself.

A negative image of a color still.  A man in a top hat wearing a cardigan is standing in front of an orange background gesticulating at the screen.  The hat is white instead of black, the man's face green, and the cardigan a bright teal with black +s.

This goes on for a while, then the movie goes back to normal.  Once in a while, it turns back into a negative.  I guess that's a Moebius Flip.  Along with more skiing, we get folks at an amusement park and eating in a restaurant.  This part of the film features some pretty impressive and scary scenes of dangerous winter sports.  People ski over huge crevasses, wind up on top of a tower of snow, and hang from cliffs.

A color still of a person hanging from the underside of a cliff overhang. The person is supported by several ropes and a rope ladder.

Is it worth twenty-odd minutes of your time?  Well, if you like psychedelic images or are a big fan of skiing, it could be.  The science fiction premise is just an excuse to reverse the colors of the film, and there's no real plot at all.  I've never been on a pair of skis, so I can only appreciate the athleticism on display here as an outsider.

Two stars.

Sole Survivor

The title card of the movie SOLE SURVIVOR, written in black capitals with white shadows in a stencil font.  The title is superimposed over a photograph of the silhouette of a wrecked airplane against an orange sky, with the low sun just touching the top of the plane.

This is a made-for-TV movie that aired on CBS stations in the USA earlier this month.  It begins with five men in World War Two uniforms standing around a wrecked American bomber of the time.  They seem to be in pretty good shape, given that they're in a desert wasteland.  Things get weird when we find out they've been waiting to be rescued for seventeen years.

A color film still of five white men in World War II era military bomber jackets. They are standing in front of pieces of wrecked airplane.  The man on the left wears a flight helmet. The man next to him wears a baseball cap.  The third and fourth men are wearing officers' caps. All four look at the fifth man on the far right of the frame, who is facing them and appears to be speaking.
The crew of the Home Run.

It quickly becomes clear that they are ghosts, waiting for their bodies to be found so they can stop haunting the wreck. 

I should note here that the premise is inspired by the case of the Lady Be Good, a bomber that crashed in the Libyan desert in 1943 and was not discovered until 1958.

A color photograph of the wreck of the bomber 'Lady Be Good' as it lays on the sand in the Libyan desert. The back half of the plane lies at right angles to the front half, and there are several small items scattered around the main wreck.
The real wreck.

Fans of Twilight Zone will remember the episode King Nine Will Not Return, which was also inspired by the fate of the Lady Be Good.  That tale goes in a different direction, however.

Two men in an airplane discover the wreck.  (By the way, the fact that the ghosts have been waiting for seventeen years means that the movie takes place in 1960 or so.  There's no other indication that it's set a decade ago.)

Two white men sitting in the tan interior of a small plane.  The passenger wears a tan hat, a white shirt, and dark jacket, and is adjusting a camera. The driver wears sunglasses, a pink shirt, and a brown jacket.
The discoverers, who look more 1970 to me.

This leads to an official investigation by the United States Army.  (Remember that the Air Force was part of the Army, and not a separate branch of the service, until a few years after World War Two.) Two officers are in charge of the mission.

Two white men in black army dress uniforms and hats sitting in the back of a car and having a conversation. They are looking out the front of the car rather than at each other.
William Shatner, fresh from Star Trek, as Lieutenant Colonel Josef Gronke and Vince Edwards, best known as Ben Casey, as Major Michael Devlin.

They pay a visit to the sole survivor of the Home Run.  This fellow parachuted out of the plane and landed in the Mediterranean Sea, managing to make it out alive to continue his military career.  (More details of what happened later.)

A blonde white man in general's dress uniform stands in front of window with a flower-print curtain.  The man looks pensive.  The view outside the window is dark and rainy.
Brigadier General Russell Hamner, as played by Richard Basehart, recently the star of the TV series Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea.

Hamner agrees to accompany the two officers to the North African desert.  He claims that all of the crew of the Home Run bailed out into the ocean, so the plane must have continued without them for several hundred miles before it crashed.  Unlikely, but possible.  Flashbacks tell us the real story.

A white man, the top of his face obscured by his hat, sitting scrunched up in the bomber. He is wearing a communication headset and appears to be speaking urgently.
Hamner as the navigator of the Home Run during the war.

The bomber was damaged in an attack by the enemy.  The captain ordered Hamner to plot a course back to base, but he panicked and bailed out against orders.  Without a navigator, the crew went off course and the plane crashed. 

Tension builds as Devlin casts doubt on Hamner's story, and Gronke tells him not to make waves, lest he ruin his career.  Both officers have their own concerns about their pasts, adding depth of character.  Without giving too much away, let's just say that the truth comes out because of a harmonica, a rubber raft, and Hamner's guilty conscience.  There's a powerful and poignant conclusion.

A white man with brown hair and a bomber jacket (the fifth man from the second photo from this segment) holds a baseball in one hand and a baseball glove in the other.  He is standing in front of the airplane.
The last ghost faces an eternity playing baseball alone.

This is quite a good movie, particularly for one made for TV.  I like the fact that the ghosts appear as ordinary men, rather than being transparent or something.  The actors all do a good job.  You'll never hear the song Take Me Out To The Ball Game again without having an eerie feeling.

Four stars.

A white man with dark short hair and a dark van dyke beard sits on a yellow couch reading a fantasy periodical.  A window in the background shows an empty suburban street.
by Brian Collins

Over the past several years, AIP has adapted stories by H. P. Lovecraft for the big screen—or at least the drive-in. The results have been mixed, but they could certainly be much worse. The first and still the best of these was The Haunted Palace (adapted from The Case of Charles Dexter Ward) back in '63, directed by Roger Corman, with a script by the late Charles Beaumont, and starring an especially tormented Vincent Price. It was a very fine picture. Now we have the latest entry in this "series," The Dunwich Horror, taken from the Lovecraft story of the same name, although it's a pretty loose adaptation.

The Dunwich Horror

The title card from 'The Dunwich Horror.' The title is written in white capitals, and includes the quotation marks. behind the title are abstract silhouettes of trees with short, spiky branches stand against a dark blue background.

One warning I want to give about this movie, one which has nothing to do with sex or violence, is that, aside from being generally a pretty strange film, there are several scenes featuring flashing lights, or a color filter changing rapidly to give one the impression of a strobing light. Some people (thankfully not many) are susceptible to epileptic fits if subjected to such stimuli.

Now, as for the film itself, once we get past what I was surprised to find is an animated (as in a cartoon) opening credits sequence, we start with what seems to be a flashback of a woman giving birth, surrounded by two elderly sisters and an old man. We then flash forward to Miskatonic University, that college of the occult and Lovecraft's making, in Arkham. Nancy Wagner (Sandra Dee) is a student who, in the college's library, meets a good-looking but unusual young man named Wilbur Whateley (Dean Stockwell), who is terribly interested in the Necronomicon. I'm sure his interest in the accursed book and his strange deadpan way of talking are perfectly innocuous. A certain professor at Miskatonic, Henry Armitage (Ed Begley), gets a bit of a hunch that Wilbur is up to no good, but for now does nothing about it.

A color film still. A man in a black shirt, his face visible only from the mouth down because of the camera angle.  He reaches into a glass case to gently lift out a large black hardbound book with metal fittings and a lock on the pages. The label at the top of the case reads 'The 'Necronomicon' ' in white capitals. A woman in a white shirt stands behind the man, her hands raised, watching what he is doing.  Her face is visible only from the eyes down.
The Necronomicon, kept in a cozy glass case.

"The Dunwich Horror" is one of Lovecraft's most celebrated stories, but it's also one of his trickiest. As with "the Call of Cthulhu," Lovecraft wrote "The Dunwich Horror" as if it were a report or an essay, a work of journalism or academia, rather than a fiction narrative. There's no protagonist, properly speaking, although Wilbur is certainly the story's nucleus. This remains sort of the case with the film, although Nancy and Armitage now serve as our eyes and ears, or rather as normal people in what becomes an extraordinary situation. However, it's not Sandra Dee or Ed Begley who caught my attention, but Dean Stockwell as Wilbur, who gives almost what could be considered a star-making role (to my knowledge his most high-profile roles up to now were film adaptations of Sons and Lovers and Long Day's Journey into Night), if not for the movie that surrounds him. Unlike his short story counterpart Wilbur here is not physically deformed, but instead talks in a strangely deadened tone, as if human emotions are foreign to him. Stockwell as Wilbur manages to be uncanny simply through how he talks and acts, which is a major point of praise.

A color film still of a young white man with brown curly hair and a mustache and a young white woman with blonde hair.  They are staring to the left of the viewer with apprehensive looks on their faces.  The man wears a blue shirt, dark tie, and brown jacket.  The woman wears a black blouse and tan jacket.  Some dark wooden furniture is behind them, along with teal wallpaper.
Dean Stockwell as Wilbur Whateley and Sandra Dee as Nancy Wagner.

Director Daniel Haller and his team of screenwriters have opted to streamline Lovecraft's story while giving it a sort of romance plot, as well as a dose of sex and violence. Sex and Lovecraft have always been uneasy bedfellows, even in something like "The Shadow Over Innsmouth" which explicitly involves sex in its plot. Wilbur is one of two twins, the other having supposedly died in childbirth, with the father being unknown, and his mother having been kept in an asylum for the past two decades. Wilbur lives with his grandfather, Old Man Whateley (Sam Jaffe, who some may recognize as that one scientist in the now-classic The Day the Earth Stood Still), who seems convinced his grandson is also up to no good, but arbitrarily (the film does nothing to explain this) does nothing about Wilbur being a scoundrel. For his part, Wilbur sees Nancy as a pretty fine girl—for a dark ritual, that is. The idea is that if he can steal the Necronomicon and impregnate Nancy (the implication, via a mind-bending scene, is that he rapes her), he can bring one of "the Old Ones" into the human world.

Two older white men stand in front of a house with dark wooden siding and a four-paned window.  The man on the left has curly hair and a beard and wears a white shirt with blue stripes and a bugundy smoking jacket.  The man on the right wears a fedora, a black suit, and a dark gray overcoat.  They both look to the right offscreen with disturbed expressions.
Sam Jaffe as Old Man Whateley and Ed Begley as Professor Henry Armitage.

As this point the plot splits in two, with one half focusing on Wilbur and Nancy's "romance" while the other sees Armitage tracking down the mystery of Wilbur's birth, since it becomes apparent the young man and the Necronomicon are somehow connected. One of the strangest (sorry, "far-out") scenes in the whole movie is when Armitage goes to see Wilbur's mother (Joanne Moore Jordan), who apparently had lost her mind many years ago upon giving birth to Wilbur and his dead twin. When it comes to this movie, there are two types of strange: that of the unnerving sort, and that of the cheesy sort. There are parts (sometimes moments within a single scene) of this movie that do a good job of spooking the audience, and others where it's rather silly. With that said, the nightmarish effect of Jordan's performance combined with the changing color tints in this scene make it one of the most effective. This is a movie that generally shines brightest when it focuses on Stockwell's performance and/or the Gothic cliches (including a creepy old house) that clearly also influenced Lovecraft's writing. Maybe it's because they didn't have the budget for it, but the lack of an on-screen monster for the vast majority of the film's runtime also works in its favor.

An old woman with unkempt white hair and a blue one-piece hospital gown huddles in the corner of a padded cell looking upward with a frightened expression.  The buttons of the padding - like on a mattress - are visible on the walls and floor. The metal frame and springs of a bed are in the foreground.
Joanne Moore Jordan as Wilbur's mother, who's spent the past two decades as a mental patient.

When Old Man Whateley finally decides to take action, Wilbur kills him for his troubles, along with imprisoning one of Nancy's friends and turning her into some kind of abomination. Meanwhile Wilbur gives his grandfather a heathen burial and in so doing provokes the wrath of the Dunwich townspeople, who never liked the Whateleys anyway. It's revealed, or rather speculated, that Wilbur's twin may not have died after all, but instead gone to the realm of the Old Ones while Wilbur got stuck on Earth as a human. Armitage and the townsfolk succeed in stopping Wilbur from completing his ritual with the unconscious Nancy, Armitage being well-versed enough in the Necronomicon to use the book against Wilbur, killing him with a blast of lightning. So the last of the Whateley men is dead. Unfortunately, the final shot, eerily showing a fetus growing inside Nancy (which is odd, because she's probably only been pregnant a day or two), implying an Old One may be born after all.

A white man with brown curly hair - the same one from the earlier photo - stands among trees at night.  He looks off to the left, seemingly in concentration.  He is wearing a black cultist robe and rests his hand on top of a metal wine goblet which is standing on a wooden board.  A hand, presumably attached to a body lying on the board, is visible at the bottom of the screen.
Dean Stockwell at his most devilish.

Lovecraft purists will surely be much disappointed with this movie, and even as someone who is not exactly a Lovecraft fan, I have to admit it's by no means perfect. Even at 90 minutes it feels a bit overlong, and it tries desperately to contort one of Lovecraft's more unconventional stories into having a three-act structure. I also get the impression that the addition of blood and breasts was to appease those (people my age and younger) who are suckers for AIP schlock. Not too long ago we had Roger Corman's so-called Poe cycle, which for the most part did Edgar Allan Poe's (and in one case Lovecraft's) fiction justice on modest budgets. I would say The Dunwich Horror is on par with one of the lesser of Corman's Poe movies.

A high three stars.

[New to the Journey?  Read this for a brief introduction!


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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

[January 22, 1970] Sergeant Pepper's New Wave Writers' Club Band: New Worlds, February 1970

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by Fiona Moore

February’s rain and sleet freeze the toes right off the feet, as Flanders and Swann once sang. Still, there’s reason to celebrate: the Family Law Reform Act has come into effect, reducing the age of majority from 21 to 18 for most purposes, homosexual sex being a notable exception. Decimalisation continues apace, with the half-crown coin being taken out of circulation (don’t worry, you can exchange it at most banks).

Term has resumed at Royal Holloway College and my students are attacking the writings of Margaret Mead with their usual enthusiasm. However, there is also widespread unease among our Nigerian foreign student community over the capitulation of Biafra: many of them have had no news of their families, and are also concerned about when they will be able to go home. The university is rallying round to make sure everyone is housed, and there are jobs aplenty in Southwest London if they need to stay a while, but it is still an anxious situation for them.


Jubilant street scene in Lagos upon the news of surrender, January 12, 1970

No news of Yoko Ono after December’s festive anti-war campaign. Rumour has it she and her husband have gone off to New York for some reason, so I expect I’ll be covering her activities less often. What all this means for her husband’s band, I’m not sure.

On to New Worlds, which continues its trajectory back to being an SFF magazine, but unfortunately almost every story is suffering from a lack of originality this month.

Cover of New Worlds, February 1970. The text is red, the background is black. In the centre is a black and white image of a car running over a nude female torso.Cover by Roy Cornwall

Lead-In

Mostly introducing new writers and illustrators to the magazine, as well as showcasing the pieces by Ballard and Watson, and drawing the reader’s attention to a new, presumably ongoing, feature of the publication—of which, more later.

Journey Across a Crater by J.G. Ballard

A black and white image of the left side of a White androgynous face photographed through distorted glass.

A piece about a crash-landed astronaut finding his way to civilisation. There are resonances with Ballard’s earlier story “You and Me and The Continuum” (Impulse Magazine 1:1, 1966), and also some vivid sexual imagery about car crashes, which makes sense given that the Lead-In tells us Ballard is currently working on a novel about these. Interesting enough as a revisitation of familiar Ballard themes but no new ground broken. Three stars.

Soul Fast by Gwyneth Cravens

A black and white photocollage of kitchen utensils.Illustration, artist uncredited (possibly Charles Platt)

A story by a woman in New Worlds is always worth remarking on, particularly a woman who is a current editor of the New Yorker. However, I can’t help but notice that women writers in New Worlds always seem to get pigeonholed into writing about domestic or otherwise nurturing themes. This one, for instance, is about food and the role it plays in relationships. There are some interesting satirical commentaries on race and how over-privileged White Americans with superficial attitudes towards spirituality crib from Black and Asian cultures, which makes it worth checking out. Four stars.

Japan by Ian Watson

A series of black and white cartoons depicting impressions of Japan
Illustration by Judy Watson

This is the standout piece of the issue. Watson, a Tokyo resident, introduces Japan to English readers in a surreal, outré travelogue emphasising the weird SF-ness of living in a country where the atmosphere isn’t breathable, earthquakes and fires are endemic, sexual fetishes are catered to in the mainstream media, and consumerism takes on the status of art. The illustrations are by Watson’s wife Judy. It’s beautifully written, though, having been to Japan once or twice myself, I worry that it’s over-emphasising the strangeness of the country to a point where it might simply confirm Europeans’ stereotype that the East is a bizarre and hostile place. Nonetheless, five stars.

Apocrypha by D.M. Thomas

A poem about the life of Jesus. It’s not terribly original, but I did find it engaging and nicely written. Three stars.

6B 4C DD1 22 by Michael Butterworth

A black and white illustration depicting a face with tentacles emerging from the forehead and cranium.Illustration by Alan Stephanson

Another not-terribly-original piece in the vein of “let’s drop acid and describe the resulting trip as an SFF story.” The mind-altered protagonist lurches back and forth between several different realities, some more surreal than others, with recurring characters playing different roles. I like Butterworth’s way with prose, and some of the metaphors and descriptions are genuinely arresting, but I’d like to declare a moratorium on anyone using Alice in Wonderland as an acid trip metaphor; it’s been done to death. Similarly, while I really like the accompanying art, it looks exactly the same as every other set of illustrations intended to show an acid trip (see above). Four stars.

A Spot in the Oxidised Desert by Paul Green

A black and white line drawing of a rust patchIllustration by John Bayley

A short prose poem from the point of view of a dying sentient tank in a future desert battlefield. Possibly the most innovative piece this issue. Four stars.

The Bait Principle by M John Harrison

A black and white illustration of a small stylised human figure menaced by giant, but very cute, cats.Illustration by Ivor Latto

Patients in an asylum begin to share each other’s delusions, and, in doing so, bring them into reality, leading to an ailurophobe being tormented by human-sized cats. This is an amusing twist on the familiar crazy-people-are-actually-seeing-the-truth genre, but at the end of the day that’s all it is. Two stars.

The Wind in the Snottygobble Tree: Conclusion by Jack Trevor Story

Black and white photograph of a double decker bus in an urban streetIllustration by Roy Cornwall

Finally this serial lurches to an end, with some heavy-handed satire about the Catholic and Scientologist churches, spies and the police. I have the feeling that the story-so-far summary is in fact retroactively adding elements, but I’m not interested enough to go back and find out. The eponymous tree finally appears (it's a species of yew, apparently), but I don’t think it’s got much to do with the story apart from being a bit gross. One star.

A Vid by James Sallis

A short poem which didn’t really do much for me. Two stars.

Books

By Mike Walters, John T. Sladek and Douglas Hill. There’s a delightfully excruciating pun on the first page, although Walters has to contort his review in order to fit it.

Music

As regards the new feature I mentioned above: New Worlds now has a music column! This is certainly a welcome innovation, and I look forward to seeing whether the New Wave has a particularly distinctive take on album reviews.

Overall, I’d say the magazine is suffering this month from a lack of originality. Everything is competently written at worst and sometimes really beautiful, but most of it is things that have been done before. Even the music column is something we see over and over in other magazines, and whether the fact that the reviewers are from the usual New Worlds crowd will make a difference is uncertain.

Is the New Wave played out? Can it (and Mr. Yoko Ono’s musical career) survive into the new decade? Time will tell.

[New to the Journey?  Read this for a brief introduction!]


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Movies, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[December 28, 1969] Cinemascope: Two if by Sea, Three if by Space! (Captain Nemo and the Underwater City and Marooned)

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by Fiona Moore

Captain Nemo and the Underwater City

I had low expectations for Captain Nemo and the Underwater City, thinking it would be a bit of enjoyably fluffy escapism. For the most part this is true, but it does have a few things to recommend it beyond that.

Poster for Captain Nemo and the Underwater City
Poster for Captain Nemo and the Underwater City

The Nautilus rescues a small band of survivors from a shipwreck, and takes them to, yes, an underwater city founded by Captain Nemo (Robert Ryan) called Templemer (everyone pronounces it Temple-mere, which makes it sound like a small town in the Home Counties or possibly a plantation in the Old South). They include a plucky and intelligent widow (Nanette Newman) with a young son (Christopher Hartstone), a rugged-faced American senator (Chuck Connors), two comedy Cockney wide-boys (Bill Fraser and Kenneth Connor), a cute and suspiciously well-behaved kitten (name unknown), and an engineer who is clearly about to go over the edge of sanity (Allan Cuthbertson).

Templemer is a utopian community where food and drink and education are free, everyone lives their best lives, and gold is as common as steel is for us. At this point I rolled my eyes, expecting that the surface people would all decide that There’s No Place Like Home and plot to escape this perfectly decent hippie paradise; however, in fact, the newcomers are divided on that point, and their reasons for wanting to leave or stay are all in character and plausible.

Characters from the movie Captain Nemo and the Underwater City.Nemo's guests are less than thrilled at their accommodation.

The movie explores the frequently-asked question of our time: whether it’s better to engage with the problems of society or just to tune in, turn on and drop out, building a better world outside instead. Nemo and his cohorts have definitely chosen the latter, while Senator Fraser’s reason for wanting to return to the surface is to do the former. The story explicitly takes place at the time of the American Civil War, and Nemo has undergone an ethnic shift to become an American. This gives the implication that Nemo is rejecting his own country’s troubles by retreating to Templemer and, consequently, inviting comparisons with the modern USA (and with Ryan himself, well known as a pacifist and an outspoken critic of the American government). Although the movie seems to want us to side with Senator Fraser, I personally remain unconvinced.

Model of the Nautilus.There's also some nice modelwork, even if it's often hard to see.

Of course, there are a lot of preposterous things that are overlooked or else are simply there to drive the story along. There’s a giant manta ray for our heroes to fight, which I suppose is a change from the usual giant squid. There’s only the briefest explanation of where Templemer’s population come from. The engineer’s mental collapse is so heavily telegraphed that I kept wishing someone would try and help the poor man rather than let him become another plot complication. There’s also a very long and very boring sequence where Nemo shows his guests around Templemer’s undersea farming setup, which contributes little to the story and isn’t particularly engaging and mostly seems to be there to show off the fact that MGM spent money for an expensive and complicated underwater shoot.

In short, I wouldn’t urge you to rush out and see it, but if it’s on at your local cinema and you have time to kill during the holidays, you could do worse. Two and a half stars.

BW photograph of Jason Sachs. He's a white man, with short light hair, rectangular glasses and a surgeon mask.
by Jason Sacks

Marooned

What if the real heroes of NASA weren’t the astronauts but instead the ground crew? What if the astronauts were all either bland or jerks, while Mission Control were all brave, steadfast problem solvers to a man? What if a movie with those premises promised a thrilling story but delivered leaden action?

Imagine that movie, and you’ll get something like Marooned, a new film from director John Sturges seemingly released to capitalize on America’s fascination with the space program and our incipient worries about space failures. We might expect Marooned to be a thrilling and au courant film about man's perils in space. But Marooned is more concerned with the men on the ground than the men in space. That fact helps make for a slow trudge of a film.

Movie poster. The illustration has a space module and an astronaut on a blue background with some Zodiac constellations represented. The text includes the movie title "Marooned" in all caps, the tagline "The Saga of Ironman One!", as well as the main cast of the movie listed below the image: Gregory Peck, Richard Crenna, David Janssen, James Franciscus, Gene Hackman, co-starring Lee Grant, Nancy Novack, Mariette Hartley.

As the film begins, three astronauts played by Richard Crenna (The Real McCoys, Slattery's People, The Sand Pebbles), James Franciscus (The Investigators) and Gene Hackman (Hawaii, Bonny and Clyde) have completed their assignment to spend several months working in an orbiting laboratory. As the pilots begin their efforts to return to Earth, however, they find the thrusters malfunctioning on their rocket. It will take a heroic effort from the ground crew, led by Gregory Peck (needs no introduction) and David Janssen (The Fugitive), to return the astronauts to Earth. But will that dedicated crew succeed before oxygen runs out in the space capsule? And how will a hurricane at Cape Kennedy affect the rescue efforts?

It's an intriguing narrative for a movie (not to mention a book), and it's certainly very on-target for our country’s current obsessions. Marooned had the promise to be something pretty special; instead, it is a conservative, hide-bound, badly-acted failure.

Much of the film’s failure comes from an odd decision by the filmmakers: instead of focusing on the astronauts, the film spotlights their ground crew, particularly the efforts of their brave leader, Gregory Peck, to save the spacemen. In theory this could be a logical approach to the story which harnessed celebrity charisma to add seriousness to the rescue effort. Peck is a longstanding, proven screen presence. He gives the film a feeling of gravitas. But, come on, film fans: would you rather watch Gregory Peck struggle though rescue contingencies or spend more time with the astronauts trying to come up with plans? Without Cronkite (or even Chet and David) to spice things up, I can't imagine an audience is interested in watching the efforts of a bunch of white-shirt-and-tie men reading long lists of protocols off checklists, scene after tedious scene.

A promotional image of the movie. Three characters are seen in a huge room with a circular ground/wall. There is a technical console and a chair, camp beds. One of the characters is exercising on a stationary bike.

All that focus on protocols makes the film feel slow. But that very same slowness feels like a deliberate approach to the story. This is a workmanlike film which focuses on the amazing power of bureaucracy to solve complex problems. Solving these problems takes time, and it’s important to be able to be systematic and mark important items off a checklist. If only this movie had been cut to a crisp 90 minutes, the filmmakers’ gambit might have worked. Instead, Marooned is sluggish.

Peck seems to phone his role in. The intended gravitas from his role comes across  more as torpor than as professionalism.  Janssen and Franciscus bring their usual decent TV-level acting to their roles. But Hackman is especially badly selected for his role – his character, Buzz Lloyd, is impulsive and self-centered.  Viewers grow tired of Buzz's histrionics and wonder how in the world someone like that made it through astronaut school. It's surprising to see Hackman perform so poorly after he recently delivered fine performances in Bonnie and Clyde and Downhill Racer, so hopefully this was just an anomaly. With his rugged good looks, Hackman looks more like a cop than an astronaut.

The film offers viewers a few small moments with the astronauts' wives. Those moments perhaps convey the most sense of the astronauts' peril, since the wives are allowed to actually emote. Veteran actresses Lee Grant (Peyton Place, In the Heat of the Night), Mariette Hartley (Star Trek: All Our Yesterdays) and Nancy Kovack (Star Trek: A Private Little War) have all done good work in the past. Here they are called upon to do little more than look concerned and show a little attitude. The actresses actually execute their assignments with aplomb. I especially enjoyed Kovack's frustrated resignation about the life she signed up for as the wife of an astronaut. She conveys a lot in small gestures and facial expressions.

A character in a brown suit is standing in front of several microphones for what seems to be a press conference. The wall behind him consists of a world map with red parallel curbed lines.

The ending, again slow, is genuinely captivating nonetheless, and takes a few surprising twists. I became very invested in this film in its last 20 minutes and wish we had more scenes like these. Though it was a bit hard to root for these dull men to be rescued, the attention to detail around astrophysics and international cooperation were stellar.

John Sturges is usually an excellent director of action movies – see Bad Day at Black Rock, The Magnificent Seven or The Great Escape. But he probably shouldn’t have journeyed into space with our boring astronauts. Marooned just never comes alive like The Magnficent Seven did: the characters never popped, the action never coruscated, and the direction lacked flash.

German promotional picture for the movie. There are three characters in spacesuits in a tiny space. One seems tense, one excited and one focused.

But there’s a deeper problem here as well. One of the reasons The Great Escape was such a smash hit was that many viewers could see themselves in the zealous Steve McQueen, endlessly looking to escape his prison life. McQueen’s Virgil Hilts felt like a counterculture hero on the run, not dissimilar to the characters in Easy Rider or Bonnie and Clyde. But Marooned is a conservative, conventional movie. Its message is to trust the government, pray for the best to happen, and follow rules. Marooned is a film for Nixon’s Silent Majority and feels woefully out of place next to this year’s big hit films like Butch Cassidy, Midnight Cowboy, and Goodbye, Columbus.

Two stars.




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Magazine/Anthology

[December 24, 1969] At Last The 1980 Show: New Worlds, January 1970

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by Fiona Moore

Here it is, nearly 1970! What does the UK have to look forward to in the next decade? Already we’ve got a new Doctor Who, a new all-live-action series from the Andersons, and a new currency is coming in. I hope we’ll join the common market and help build a revived Europe. I for one am feeling optimistic.

Meanwhile, what is my favourite provocative pop artist up to? Miss Ono and her husband have launched a festive anti-war campaign, with a giant poster in Piccadilly Circus (and eleven other cities around the world) reading WAR IS OVER IF YOU WANT IT. It makes a change from adverts for American soft drinks and I appreciate the sentiment.
Poster with the giant words: War Is Over! If You Want It. In smaller print: Happy Christmas from John & Yoko. Below the poster is an attribution to the website Imagine Peace dot com.None of the photos I took turned out, but here's the art for the poster.

On to New Worlds. Who are making up for the last couple of issues by giving us some actual SF, with actual illustrations. There’s even a story by a woman! It’s not Pam Zoline though; she’s contributing to this issue, but as an illustrator not a writer. I’ll take what I can get.

Cover for the magazine New Worlds, number 197. On a purple background is a drawing of an angry, snarly face in blue. The words on the cover say: Forget 1970. What about 1980?Cover by R. Glyn Jones.

Lead-In

Saying (rightly) that the media is overwhelmed with predictions of 1970, which are becoming “as dull as the next moonshot” the editors are celebrating their theme of looking forward to 1980. How many (if any) of the stories actually follow the theme? Let’s find out!

Michael Butterworth: Concentrate 3

Drawing of an astronaut wearing a helmet. Stars are reflected on the helmet visor.Illustration by Charles Platt.

A very short prose piece followed by a poem. I like the imagery of an astronaut freaking out with the feeling of stars crawling over his face but otherwise it seems to read like several opening lines mashed together. Nothing to do with 1980. Two stars.

Graham Charnock: The Suicide Machines

Drawing that references the sitting naked woman from the painting Luncheon on the Grass by Édouard Manet. Next to the woman sits a man in a suit and tie and only the most basic outline of a face, with two dots representing eyes.Illustration by R. Glyn Jones, who gets everywhere this issue.

A more developed imagining of a near-future Britain, in an Oxford which has been given fully over to tourism by dull and tedious businesspeople, with “feedies”, a sort of android, as guides and entertainers. Jaded with sex, they seek instead to force the feedies to commit suicide for their pleasure. No indication that this takes place in 1980. Three stars.

R. Glyn Jones: Two Poems, Six Letters

As the title says. Two quatrains, containing only six letters. Not sure the experiment does all that much. Nothing to do with 1980. One star.

Ed Bryant: Sending the Very Best

A fun short piece about near-future man buying a holographic sensory-stimulation greeting card, which leaves the reader wondering wickedly about the recipient and the occasion. Nothing to do with 1980. Four stars.

Hilary Bailey: Baby Watson 1936-1980

Close-up black-and-white photograph of the face of a baby with open mouth, possibly yawning or crying.Photo by Gabi Nasemann.

This is one of the standout stories for me this issue, if one of the least SF (though one of the only ones to involve 1980). It’s a story in the Heat Death of the Universe vein, making the familiar strange by looking at the lives of ordinary women, with the same surname and born in the same year. It’s a sad story for me, highlighting the way in which the scientific and creative potential of women is squandered on a world not yet ready to accept them as equals. Five stars.

Harlan Ellison: The Glass Teat

Drawing of a rounded rectangle like the screen of a cathode television set, with big letters saying THE GLASS TEAT.Design by unknown artist.

Ellison saves himself some work by writing his usual TV column, but as if it were 1980. Although I wouldn’t have known that if the Lead-In hadn’t told me. It’s a 1980 where the US is at war in various developing nations, has a liar for a President, and is subject to rampant acts of terrorism at the hands of its own citizens. I suppose it’s a “if this goes on…” piece. Two stars.

John Clark: What is the Nature of the Bead-Game?

Grainy black-and-white photograph of an airplane seen from behind. The lower third of the photograph has a metallic fence.Photo by Roy Cornwall.

An experimental essay, containing 25 statements and questions the writer apparently posed at the 1969 Third International Writers’ Conference. The aim appears to be the usual New Worlds trick of juxtaposing sentences and having the reader discern meaning from the juxtaposition. Nothing to do with 1980. Three stars.

Michael Moorcock: The Nature of the Catastrophe

Nice to see Jerry Cornelius back with us, though I confess after the efforts of other writers Moorcock’s original version is a little disappointing. Too few descriptions of Jerry’s clothes, I think. There’s a brief mention of 1980 in order to keep this in with the theme, though there are also brief mentions of 1931, 1969, 1970, 1936 and many other years. Otherwise it’s just your usual Cornelius stuff. Two stars.

Thomas M. Disch: Four Crosswords of Graded Difficulty

Not really my favourite Disch (ha ha) of the year. Experimental poems; the first one made me laugh but the others seemed not very interesting. Nothing to do with 1980. One star.

J.G. Ballard: Coitus 80: A Description of the Sexual Act in 1980

Collage illustration of a female body. It is composed of parts of incompatible sizes and positions, including one gigantic breast, additional breasts on the legs, a mechanical knee, a liquid-seeming hand, and a baby-shaped foot.Illustration by Charles Platt.

Familiar Ballard stuff this: a brief description of a sexual encounter interspersed with clinical descriptions of plastic surgery related to the genitals and breasts, in order to convey a sense of scientific alienation behind a simple, familiar act. I confess I hadn’t thought what goes into a vaginoplasty or phalloplasty before. It at least takes place in 1980. Three stars.

Brian W. Aldiss: The Secret of Holman-Hunt

A mock essay about an incredible breakthrough taking place in 1980 (yes!). The narrator discovers a way of unlocking the potential of the mind using the art of pre-Raphaelite painter William Holman-Hunt. No more implausible than The Stars My Destination, I suppose, but it failed to hold my attention. Two stars.

John T. Sladek: 198-, a Tale of ‘Tomorrow’

Drawing of a chaotic agglomeration of outlines of people and rockets, the rockets being of comparable size to the people. The illustration is oriented sideways. Text on the right margin says: Things in the World. 1980 Drawing, Zoline.Illustration by Pam Zoline.

Sladek gives us a plausibly dystopian 1980s where computers can call each other up from anywhere in the world, where people’s fertility and happiness are controlled by drugs, and where everything is made of plastic. I find this vision of the future sadly compelling, though of course Sladek has to remind us that he’s Sladek through cutting the columns up and putting them out of order and sideways. Four stars.

M John Harrison, The Nostalgia Story

Another of these stories that are made up of disconnected snippets with the reader invited to make their own connections. One of these is entitled “Significant Moments of 1980” so I suppose it’s on theme. Two stars.

Joyce Churchill: Big Brother is Twenty-One

Drawing of a man's face. The upper right corner of the illustration appears to be missing; the outline is rugged, and a big rodent is drawn on that space, as if it were eating the illustration.Illustration by James Cawthorn.

A short essay on Nineteen Eighty-Four, concluding that Huxley was closer to the mark than Orwell: the coming dystopia will most likely be a capitalist one in which we convince ourselves we are happy through the acquisition of material goods, rather than a socialist one based on a war footing. Not exactly looking forward to 1980, but at this point I’ll stretch the definition. Four stars.

Jack Trevor Story: The Wind in the Snottygobble Tree part 3

Black-and-white photograph of a man taking a garbage can to the back of a garbage truck.Photo by Roy Cornwall.

This isn’t getting any better as it goes on, though Story is making it clearer what the situation is with his protagonist (he’s not actually a secret agent, just pretending he is, however, in doing so, he’s wound up being mistaken for a genuine one). Nothing to do with 1980. One star.

Book Reviews: M John Harrison and John Clute (rendered as “John Cute” in the table of contents)

The usual suspects review the usual volumes. Nothing to do with 1980.

Obituary for James Colvin

Spoof obituary for a pseudonym of Barrington J. Bayley and Michael Moorcock. Nothing to do with 1980.

Out of 17 items, eight actually have something to do with the 1980s, broadly defined, and only five have anything to do with 1980 specifically. Nonetheless, this does feel like a more SF-related and livelier New Worlds than we’ve had in a while. Perhaps the new decade will give them a new lease on life? We can only hope!

[New to the Journey?  Read this for a brief introduction!]


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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[November 24, 1969] The Wind That Shakes The Snottygobbles O: New Worlds December 1969

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Tune in at 12:45 pm Pacific for LIVE splashdown coverage of Apollo 12!

Photo portrait of Fiona Moore. She is a white woman with long curly dark blonde hair. She has glasses and is wearing a light blue blouse under a sleeveless green velvet vest.
by Fiona Moore

Once again, greetings from London. The big news this month is that Britain is now a space power! Yes, thanks to the launch of the Skynet 1-A satellite, we now have our very own presence in orbit. Can regular rocket launches from Woomera be far behind?

BW photograph of Skynet 1A satellite. It is cylindrical with solar panels making out all of its visible shape.
Skynet 1-A is GO!

In news that’s closer to home, Royal Holloway College has acquired a colour television for the student lounge, and I’ve been taking advantage of my position as Staff Advisor to the Film Club to make use of it. The students’ new favourite programme is a delightfully surreal children’s stop-motion SF tale called The Clangers, featuring aliens that look like pink mice and live on an asteroid. I much prefer it to Monty Python, myself. One of my more enterprising students has worked out a knitting pattern to make her own; I’m sure an official one will be not long in coming. I shall keep an eye on the Radio Times.

Photo from the show. Standing on a desert grey ground, pink mice-shaped aliens with red and gold vests are looking up and raising their arms. There are a few stars visible in the sly. The aliens seems to be made out of fabric.The Clangers, I love them all

On to this month’s, sadly rather thin, issue of New Worlds. Sadly, Britain’s new space-faring ways are not reflected in the magazine’s content. I tend to like New Worlds best when it’s being a SF magazine with a literary sensibility, but this month it is thinking of itself as a literary magazine with a few weird or surreal touches, so I found this issue disappointing. I even found myself missing the Jerry Cornelius segment!

Cover of New Worlds for December 1969. There is the shape of a person with unkempt hair in black on yellow. The cover reads: New Worlds Number 196 3s 6d Special new writers issue Plus: Ballard on Hitler Sladek on God Harrison on Pot Moorcock on Neophiliacs Platt on the Underground & more!Cover of New Worlds for December 1969

Although it is advertised as a “new writers’ issue”, only two new writers are actually included. Once again, book reviews take up almost a third of the publication. There is no art this issue, only photographs, and by only two photographers, which makes me wonder if they’re saving money by not commissioning drawings.

Their 1970 preview advert suggests they should be back in more SF territory with the next issue, which purports to “look ahead to 1980”, and I hope that’s not wrong.

Lead-in

A short one this issue, mostly highlighting the two new writers, C.R. Clive and Michael Biggs, and encouraging people to buy the abovementioned 1970 first issue, promising us Brian W. Aldiss, Pam Zoline and Thomas M. Disch as well as the usual suspects. We all know how well that went last time, so I’m not holding my breath.

Rise and Fall by Marek Obtulowicz

BW photograph of a man with closed eyes. He seems to be sleeping.Photo by Gabi Nasemann

A man named Lykke goes on a few dates with his neighbour, Janet. They have sex and a lot of rather pretentious conversations about autumn leaves. It’s all really rather banal. I struggled to see the point of it all. Two stars.

Hemingway by Michael Biggs

As the title suggests, a Hemingway pastiche about a reporter going to Vietnam. It’s a skilful enough evocation of Hemingway’s style and fairly exciting, and I suppose it’s got the subtext of comparing the current ongoing, seemingly neverending, conflict with the wars Hemingway himself covered. I’m not a huge Hemingway fan but it at least held my attention. No illustrations. Three stars.

Graphics and Collages by Ian Breakwell

Illustration by Ian Breakwell A collage with patterned paper, BW photographs and a text in capital letters covering the whole piece. The text reads: Follow my lead said the old electrician have a stake in the wrecked roomOne of the better collages

As the title suggests: collages of text and pictures forming illustrated short-short stories or prose poems. A portrait of squalor, a joke about an electrician, something about sports and physical culture, a factual article about skin grafts juxtaposed with images of radios and televisions, a piece of what looks like found poetry about business. As with a lot of these things it didn’t really appeal to me, though apparently it appeals to the editors of New Worlds. Two stars.

The Last Awakening by C.R. Clive

Photo by Gabi Naseman BW photograph of a white man. He's looking down to the left of the picture.Photo by Gabi Nasemann

This is the only story this issue that could really be described as SF, a postapocalyptic narrative mostly involving a forty-four-year-old man leching over a teenage girl with the excuse that they’re the only ones left alive. If I didn’t know the author was 27 I would have put it down to wish fulfilment. The prose is pretty good, with some nicely evocative touches about the postapocalyptic landscape, but I wish it had been put in the service of something less predictable. Two stars.

The Wind in the Snottygobble Tree Part II (a Jack Trevor Story)

Photo by Roy Cornwall BW photograph of a street. There are houses and vehicles. A pedestrian is crossing the street in the background.Photo by Roy Cornwall

Not much of an improvement on part I, really, other than that there’s less improbable sex and more time devoted to making it ambiguous whether our protagonist, Marchmont, is a secret agent or just an innocent caught in the crossfire. Apparently it’s to be continued next month. I can’t say I’m terribly looking forward to it. One star.

Book Reviews

Our esteemed editor has told me that I don’t need to review the book reviews, so I won’t go into too much detail about these. However, there are a couple this issue that are worth checking out. J.G. Ballard reviews Mein Kampf by Adolf Hitler, treating it as a psychological portrait of a man obsessed with hygiene and pseudo-biology. Elsewhere, John T. Sladek reviews Erich von Daaniken’s Chariots of the Gods, getting more and more scathing as he gets further and further into the weeds; as someone who absolutely loathes that book and rues the impact it has had on some of our more impressionable undergraduates, I giggled all the way through it. Finally, Michael Moorcock has a go at The Neophiliacs, which is somewhat more long-winded than Sladek’s review of von Daaniken but no less scathing.

Advert for John and Yoko's Wedding Album. BW purple tinted photograph of Ono and Lennon in front of a flight of stairs. They are looking at the camera and surrounded by people in suits.Advert for John and Yoko's Wedding Album, because I can.

In closing, I shall torment the Yoko Ono anti-fan club in my audience by revealing that the last page is an advert for her and John Lennon’s Wedding Album. Sorry, people; she’s here to stay. I understand that her husband is handing back his MBE in protest at the British government’s positions on Biafra and Vietnam. Sadly, I don’t think it’ll make much difference.

[New to the Journey? Read this for a brief introduction!]


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Movies, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[November 4, 1969] A Dazzler (Bedazzled, 1967)

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by Fiona Moore

With so little decent science fiction and fantasy film available this year, I’m back at the second-run cinemas again, catching up on movies I missed the first time round. Bedazzled is a modern take on the legend of Faust in the inimitable style of Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, accompanied by Eleanor Bron as an up-to-date Gretchen who doesn’t sit around pining at the spinning wheel. It’s got a couple of nice psychological character studies at its heart and a few wry things to say about human nature, though coming to an optimistic conclusion on the subject.


Original movie poster for "Bedazzled"

Moore plays Stanley Moon, working as a cook in a Wimpy Bar and living in a grotty London bedsit, consumed with desire for his coworker Margaret (Eleanor Bron) but unable to work up the courage to ask her out. This makes him easy prey for Satan, aka “George”, played by Peter Cook, turning up initially in a stylish black and red cloak, little sunglasses and velvet dinner jacket.

After Stanley has signed away his soul in exchange for seven wishes, the rest of the movie is mostly sketches in which Stanley’s wish comes true—he is a witty intellectual, a millionaire, a pop star, a fly on a wall, and other things—and yet he fails to win Margaret. These are interspersed with more metatextual sketches in which George goes about his business of spreading unhappiness and misery in petty but effective ways (sending pigeons out to defecate on pedestrians; issuing parking tickets; conning little old ladies; scratching LPs) while Stanley trails after him, complaining, but finding it hard to take the moral high ground. Over the course of the story Stanley gradually comes to realise some things about himself, Margaret, and George, and, without revealing the ending, it’s fair to say that he comes out of the experience a better man than he went in.

Stan, about to strike out with Margaret again

Like Oh! What a Lovely War, this is a movie which makes a virtue of a low budget. It’s shot around London but with a sometimes witty and surreal choice of locations: the Devil’s headquarters is a cheap nightclub, Heaven is the Glass House at Kew Gardens, George at one point takes Stanley up to the top of the Post Office Tower in a visual joke about the Devil showing Christ the kingdoms of the world. Modern takes on the Seven Deadly Sins all turn up, with Raquel Welch typecast as Lust (and we learn she’s married to Sloth), and Vanity represented by a man with a mirror physically growing out of his chest. There’s a delightful parody of pop hits programme Ready, Steady, Go!, and there are clever little touches like a record scratched by George in one sketch putting Stan off his game with Margaret in another, or a headline, “Pop Stars in Sex and Drugs Drama”, shifting by one letter to become “Pope Stars in Sex and Drugs Drama”.

Within all of this, though, there are running themes about human nature and our ability to make ourselves contented or miserable. Stan, at one point, rails at George, “you promised to make me happy!” and George counters, “no, I promised to give you wishes.” Throughout the sketches, Stan keeps screwing things up with Margaret not through George’s intervention but through his own personal failings: as an intellectual, he completely misreads her willingness to sleep with him; as a millionaire, he keeps giving Margaret expensive gifts but no personal attention. He never fights to win her away from his rivals; he never takes an interest in her as a person. He whines that freedom of choice is all a lie, citing the fact that he had no choice where he was born, or to whom, but it’s obvious the problem is less Stan’s lack of opportunities, and more his inability to take advantage of the opportunities he has. It’s only when he recognises that being himself is better than the alternatives, that he can finally escape George’s grasp.

The Top of the Pops parody is spot on.

But, as the film continues, we also get a sadder insight into Stan and George and why they are the way they are. Stan tells George that George is the only person who has ever taken an interest in him, or done anything nice for him, showing how people can fall into temptation and sin not through moral depravity, but simple loneliness. George, for his part, eventually shows his own vulnerability: he is bitterly envious of God and wishes he could once again be among the angels, but at the same time is unable to rise above petty game-playing and point-scoring and can never understand why Heaven is closed to him. There’s also a running critique of modern life, with the Devil being associated with things like parking meters and tedious slogans like “Go To Work On An Egg”. Peter Cook gets in a rant about the evil of the banality of Wimpy Bars and Tastee Freezes and advertising and concrete, whose sentiment at least recalls Tati’s visual skewering of the sameness of global cities in Playtime.

Sermon on the postbox

All that having been said, it’s not a perfect movie. The metatextual sketches tend to go on a bit too long, and, although the message of the film is in part that Stan needs to stop viewing Margaret as a prize to be won and instead let her be her own person, we don’t really get much of a sense of her except as a prize to be won. The message—appreciate what you’ve got and don’t go looking for more—also doesn’t feel very aspirational. I suspect that if you don’t happen to like the humour of Peter Cook and Dudley Moore more generally, you’ll find the movie offputting. If you do like them, though, check Bedazzled out when it shows near you.

Four stars.




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Magazine/Anthology

(October 26, 1969) Loose Change: New Worlds, November 1969

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by Fiona Moore

The big news over here this month is the introduction of the fifty-pence piece, replacing the ten-shilling note. It’s the beginning of decimalisation! Finally they are bringing us into line with the rest of the world.

My students are currently enamoured of a new wacky surreal sketch-comedy programme, a spiritual descendant of At Last The 1948 Show, called Monty Python’s Flying Circus. What I’ve seen of it suggests it’s a bit hit-and-miss, but it’s early days yet.

Anyway, on to New Worlds! Who, readers may notice, have missed a month. There’s an apology in the Lead-In for the “slightly erratic” publication schedule, and I hope it’s not more signs of trouble for the mag. Which, once again, has a table of contents bereft of women. The cover promises us JACK TREVOR STORY’S NEW NOVEL—don’t worry, it’s serialised, not the whole thing.

Cover of New Worlds, November 1969Cover of November 1969 issue, by John Bayley

Lead-In

This month, the Lead-In mostly introduces Jack Trevor Story and his exciting background, which includes suing the police for terrorisation. The relevance of this fact will become obvious shortly. Elsewhere, I’m pleased to read that Langdon Jones has a new anthology coming out, but sorry that Thomas M. Disch’s Camp Concentration hasn’t been well received, since he’s one of my favourite New Wave writers. Finally, I’m glad that Ian Watson, a young British writer living in Tokyo with whom I’ve cultivated some acquaintance on trips to the Far East, has a story this issue.

The Wind in the Snottygobble Tree, by Jack Trevor Storey

Art by Roy Cornwall and definition of Snottygobble

Despite all the buildup, I didn’t really like this one. A man who works in a travel agent’s is either correctly or falsely suspected of abetting espionage, and goes on the run from Special Branch, during which time he has rather more sex than one would imagine a fairly boring and egotistical fellow like this would have in real life. Two stars.

New and Reasonably New Poems, by Thomas M. Disch

art by J MyrdahlArt by J Myrdahl

I like Disch as a prose writer, but hadn’t read his poems before. There are seven, and they’re what you might expect from Disch; full of body horror and sharp wit, with themes like politicians, surgery and really bad sex. Four stars.

The Girl Who Went Home to Sleep…, by Jannick Storm

Art and words by Jannick StormArt and words by Jannick Storm

This is an experimental/concrete piece, with verses underneath photographs of a girl, as advertised, going home and sleeping. It took me two tries to work out how to read it (start with the sentence in block capitals, then read the three above it in reverse order, and then the three below it in normal order– you can follow along at the illustration above) but once I did it was fine. The story itself is a little vignette about a woman having an affair and maybe regretting it, or maybe not. Three stars.

Roof Garden under Saturn, by Ian Watson

art by R Glyn JonesArt by R Glyn Jones; wow.

This piece is set in a future world under Saturn (presumably on one of its moons), which is a giant department store, where capitalism has run riot and is taken to its logical but most absurd extremes. Our protagonists, Suzuki and Kim, try in various ways to escape or resist this culture: One succeeds, the other fails. It’s refreshing to read a story with Asian protagonists (one of them Korean!), and it’s also mostly free of Orientalist imagery. Clearly, it helps to have stories about Asia from people who actually live there! Four stars.

Alien Territory, by John T. Sladek

Text of first page of "Alien Territory"The first page of "Alien Territory" by John T. Sladek

Another of these concrete poems/stories/literary experiments that New Worlds likes. The story, about a photojournalist covering a war and becoming increasingly traumatised by it, consists of fragmented paragraphs which can be read in several different orders, and it was fun reading it a few different ways and seeing how the results compared. Again, you can see what I mean from the above picture. Three stars.

Travel to the Sun with Coda Tours, by Chris Lockesley

art by Peter Southernart by Peter Southern

A charming short piece about a man overcoming suicidal despair and coming to realise there’s joy in the world after all. The prose is lovely and the descriptions of finding beauty in a drab high street are worth reading. Three stars.

The End of the Cycle, by Langdon Jones

art by R Glyn JonesArt by R Glyn Jones

This is the Jerry Cornelius episode for this issue, and the New Worlds team seem to be becoming bored with them, as it’s in the form of a poem. It reads almost as self-parody, with verses about Jerry’s clothes, and sex, and time travel, but at least it’s a) a novelty and b) short. Two stars.

Books: John Clute, “Pouring Down”

John reviews Unspeakable Practices, Unnatural acts, a short fiction collection by Donald Barthelme; Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut; Barefoot in the Head by Brian Aldiss; Steps by Jerzy Kosinski; Babel by Alan Burns; and The Novel on Yellow Paper by Stevie Smith.  He couches it all in terms of the American versus the European novel, which gives the piece thematic unity. He’s ambivalent about most of them, but quite likes the Kosinski and the Burns (though he warns the latter might be offputting to Burns neophytes). He really doesn’t like the Vonnegut.

M John Harrison, “The Tangreese Gimmick”

John reviews The People Trap, a short fiction collection by Robert Sheckley; The New Minds by Dan Morgan; Emphyrio by Jack Vance; The Best from Fantasy and Science Fiction (Eighteenth Series); and The Herios Gamos of Sam and An Smith, by Josephine Sexton. He really likes the Vance and the Sexton, heavily recommending the latter, and it does sound like something that’s worth checking out.

R Glyn Jones, “Coke Culture’

pop artAn example of pop art; well, something is popping anyway.

Glyn reviews Pop Art Redefined, by John Russell and Suzi Gablik and Image as Language by Christopher Finch. He finds the former overstated, and praises the latter for not trying to fit art into “movements” but instead approach artists individually.

So, will we get an issue next month or won’t we? I’ll leave readers on a cliffhanger…just as they've left me!




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Movies

[October 18, 1969] Cinemascope: We'd Be Tickled to Death to Go (Moon Zero Two and Oh! What a Lovely War!)

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by Fiona Moore

The SF, fantasy and horror genre films of 1969 continue to disappoint, with most being competent at best and risible at worst. The exceptions seem to come in areas which are not normally considered genre; this month, the better movie in our scope is one that I would consider fantasy, but I suspect most would think that's a bit of a stretch.

Let's get the other film over with first.

Moon Zero Two

Moon Zero Two is Hammer Films’ attempt to branch out into sci-fi. While I do generally approve of people and organisations expanding their repertoires, and I'm always happy to support my neighbours in Bray, I’m afraid this isn’t really an encouraging example, and I think they ought to stick to horror.

The story is essentially a Western, set on the Moon in 2021. Our hero, Kemp (James Olson) is a former space explorer for a corporation, which has now abandoned exploration in favour of more ordinary Earth-to-moon travel. Rather than become a shuttle pilot, Kemp is working as a salvager in a beat-up spaceship (the titular Moon 02). He is approached by a wealthy businessman (Warren Mitchell) who wants to secretly crash an asteroid made of pure sapphire into the Moon in order to mine it, and a pretty girl (Catharina von Schell) who is looking for her missing miner brother. Naturally the two plots tie up together in an exciting, if not really very believable, way.

Still of Catharina von Schell in Moon Zero TwoFuture fashions: must they *always* involve coloured wigs?

The main problem with the movie is that it can’t make up its mind if it wants to be a serious movie or a spoof, with decently-researched elements like water mining on the moon to provide oxygen, and a character being murdered by swapping out his suit’s oxygen cylinder for one containing cyanide gas, to comedy scenes like Catherina von Schell walking in on James Olson in the shower or a fistfight in zero gravity consisting of slow-motion combat. We’re told that space travel is “fairly new”, and yet there’s a hotel, saloon and boutiques on the Moon. There’s a troupe of dancing girls who seem to be on stage day and night, with dull choreography that’s not going to give Raumpatrouille Orion any sleepless nights.

The adventure plot is enjoyable but predictable, with a bad guy straight out of James Bond; the modelwork is very nice; the design is pretty but derivative. There are a lot of girls in wigs (including one that looks suspiciously familiar from set photographs of Gerry and Sylvia Anderson’s new live-action series) and very brief outfits. Presumably in the name of women’s lib, one of the men gets his kit off too, but since it’s James Olson, nobody really cares. There’s also a little cartoon sequence in the opening credits which has very little to do with the movie itself, but is cute.

Zero Two stars.

Oh! What a Lovely War

By contrast, Oh! What a Lovely War is a delightfully creative object lesson in how to make a brilliant film on a tiny budget. Based on the stage play of the same name, itself built around the popular songs of World War One, and shot around Brighton of all places, the movie takes surrealism and absurdity to new levels, deploying the current mania for zany comedy, folk music and all things Edwardian to pointed political ends.

The nature of the movie makes it difficult to summarise. The events and impact of World War One are unfolded through quotes from letters and speeches of the day and musical numbers featuring popular songs of the period, but in bizarre, surreal staging. Britain’s entry into the war is shown through happy punters queueing up to buy tickets to Brighton Pier (with a lit-up marquee designating it WORLD WAR ONE). Characters who are about to die have this fact symbolised by their being handed a poppy. An “everyman” family, the Smiths, form our point-of-view characters, representing the working-class Britons lured into the war by political propaganda and then treated as brute cannon-fodder by their supposed betters. Starkly realistic scenes of trench life are interspersed with darkly comic interludes where, for instance, the French cavalry ride cheerfully to their deaths on a fairground carousel. Troop numbers, casualties, gains and losses are totted up on a football scoreboard. And so forth.

A cavalry charge on a merry-go-roundThe French cavalry charging on merry-go-round horses

All of the surrealism and humour has a sharp point, though. As well as laying bare the absurdity and waste that is war in general and World War One in particular, the movie has some pertinent things to say about class, capitalism, and the way in which the poor are induced to die so the rich can live comfortable lives. A scene where a French soldier begins narrating his letter home, and then, partway through the scene, the same letter is narrated by a German soldier, belies the divisive language of the officers and politicians to show the common humanity of the troops. A fireworks show at a party for the gilded wealthy at home becomes the shelling of a trench in Belgium. The parallels with the experiences of our characters and the events currently unfolding in the Far East are uncomfortably clear, of course, but also with twentieth century conflict more generally. Just as it’s easier, sometimes, to get sensitive political messages across by setting the story in the far future or in a fantasy world, so the surrealism allows the movie to get sharper than a straight production might have done.

Maggie Smith in Oh! What a Lovely warMaggie Smith sets a honeytrap for unwary recruits

The cast blends veterans of stage and screen like John Mills and John Gielgud with relative newcomers like the beautiful Maggie Smith, Vanessa Redgrave, Susannah York and Maurice Roeves. The director, Richard Attenborough, is an established actor who is making his directorial debut, and I hope we see much more of him behind the camera as well as in front.

Musical highlights include “One Staff Officer”, featuring infantry officers skipping and leapfrogging; a bitterly ironic rendition of “Pack Up Your Troubles” by a troop of the injured, and the title number, where General Haig and his field staff show their complete indifference to the suffering of the men at the front. I particularly liked the rendition of “Bombed Last Night” by a trenchful of soldiers keeping the horror of their experiences at bay with gallows humour. But the culmination comes in a service in a bombed-out church where parody hymns and an insipid service show starkly how church and state are suborned in the service of war and how the soldiers are, truly, lions led by donkeys.

Five stars.




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Movies

[September 20, 1969] Cinemascope: Stitched from the past; schemed from the future (Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed and The Italian Job)

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by Fiona Moore

1969 continues to disappoint on the genre cinema front, at least in the UK. So here we have a middling horror picture, and a very good picture which is sort of SF, if you squint at it right.

Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed

Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed Poster
Poster for Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed

After too long an absence from Hammer, it’s good to see Terence Fisher back at the helm of another Peter Cushing Frankenstein movie. This one sees the eponymous Baron on the trail of his former assistant Brandt (George Pravda), who has been confined to a lunatic asylum somewhere in Mitteleuropa. Frankenstein plans to extract from Brandt the secret of preserving brains on ice, in a homage to Frankenstein’s conviction in the first movie that he could use his technology to indefinitely prolong the lifespans of geniuses by transferring their brains from body to body. Frankenstein inveigles his way into the lives of a young doctor at the asylum, Holst (Simon Ward), and his fiancée, Anna (Veronica Carlson), using a combination of blackmail and psychological manipulation to gain their assistance. However, Brandt suffers a heart attack, meaning his brain must of course be transferred into another person’s body (Freddie Jones), and further violence and chaos ensues.

Hammer have clearly been taking notes from the recent success of Witchfinder General (1968), as the movie’s main strength is the psychological horror of the way Frankenstein encourages his victims on to more and more awful crimes. Frankenstein’s hold over Holst is that the latter has been secretly dealing narcotics in order to pay for medical treatment for Anna’s mother, a development which speaks to contemporary concerns about the ready availability of drugs and the moral questions surrounding their use. I should also warn viewers about a graphic rape scene which just about manages to stay within the bounds of being played for horror and not titillation, but is still rather disturbing.

Peter Cushing as the Baron in Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed
Peter Cushing terrifies as the sinister Baron Frankenstein

Cushing is genuinely and credibly terrifying in the title role, giving the Baron a more physical performance while retaining the psychopathic coldness and inhumanity of the previous films. Fisher retains his fondness for startling but appropriate juxtapositions, for instance following Anna’s remark to the Baron “you’ll find it very quiet here” with a cut to a screaming madwoman in the asylum. There’s a nice bait-and-switch early on regarding the Baron’s identity (and one which seems like a callback to the familiar saw about the Baron really being the monster), and we also get a suitably comic morgue attendant at one point. Production values are high for a Hammer film, with some very good creature makeup and a pyrotechnic ending.

The Creature in Frankenstein Must Be DestroyedFreddie Jones as The Creature cuts a pathetic figure

Nonetheless, the movie suffers from some annoying plot holes and character contrivances, as well as an opening scene which goes nowhere and adds nothing to the plot, and a resolution which I found lacking in credibility and, indeed, closure. There are also a number of Dickensian coincidences (a doctor at the very lunatic asylum the Baron wants to get into having a fiancée who runs a boarding house, for instance), which might be forgiveable as an element of the genre but do tend to grate. I would place this as the third best of the franchise, after Curse of Frankenstein and Frankenstein Created Woman: however, in a year where decent horror movies have been thin on the ground, it’s a welcome relief. Three and a half stars.

The Italian Job


Poster for The Italian Job

The Italian Job is a joyous heist comedy and a welcome counter to some of the divisive language finding its way into British social and political discourse. Britons from all walks of life—Cockneys, aristocrats, homosexuals, immigrants, professors and others—come together to pull off a clever theft and raise the proverbial two fingers to rivals on the Continent.

When his Italian partner in crime meets a surreal end on a mountain road courtesy of the Mafia, Charlie Coker (Michael Caine) enlists the help of Bridger (Noel Coward), a mastermind who doesn’t let a long-term prison sentence stop him from running a criminal empire, by appealing to his patriotism. Coker and a diverse variety of colorful associates plan and carry out a daring raid on a secure convoy carrying $4 million in gold, under cover of a traffic jam and an England v Italy football game. After a delightful set-piece involving red, white and blue Mini Coopers racing through, above and below the streets of Turin, the criminals seem to have gotten away with it—but have they?

Coker (Michael Caine) briefing his diverse band of criminals.Criminals from all walks of British life, in a planning meeting

The movie is technically SF, in that it contains a scene showing the way in which a computer might be compromised using a piece of malicious software on a magnetic tape—which, when introduced into the Turin traffic system, interferes with the cameras and allows our protagonists to conduct their raid. Happily this seems to be only a theoretical possibility at this point, but it’s an intriguing idea. The movie also draws liberally on the surreal comedy of recent television series like The Prisoner and The Avengers, which are often considered at least nominally science fiction.

The movie’s strengths lie in its pace, its spectacular driving set-pieces and its humour, which manages to be simultaneously proud and self-deprecating. Coker’s motley crew are variously dim-witted, incompetent, oversexed and lacking in foresight, and yet they manage to pull off a daring raid against the clearly much more organised Italian Mafia. The movie also makes satirical comments on the connections between crime and the Establishment in both Britain and Italy, and there’s a suggestion of Tati’s playful anti-technology message in the way in which the traffic system is brought to a standstill and joyous chaos erupts in its wake.

Mini Coopers driving through an Italian palazzo.The Minis! They're amazing! They go everywhere!

It's a little sad, though, that all this joy and unity comes at the expense of disliking our neighbours. Given that the current political situation suggests we need to join the Common Market, the jocular but nonetheless pointed sense of Britain isolated, fighting against Europe and, indeed, the world, could strike a worrying note. I also observe that Coker’s crew contains no one from the Celtic Fringe of this country (relatedly, women also seem to be excluded from the merry band, except as sex objects). However, to be fair, Coker’s raid is initially planned as a joint Italian-British enterprise, the money is coming in to Fiat from China, and there’s a long speech about the relevance of the Italian immigrant community in Britain. So perhaps I’m reading too much into it.

I suspect joining Europe is an inevitability for the United Kingdom. If so, it’s good that we’re coming in with a clear sense of common identity and national pride, showing everyone that we can laugh at ourselves and drive our tiny cars alongside the best of them.

Four stars.




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Book, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[September 16, 1969] September 1969 Galactoscope

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[And now, for your reading pleasure, a clutch of books representing the science fiction and fantasy books that have crossed our desk for review this month!]


by Victoria Silverwolf

Ye Gods!

Two new fantasy novels, both with touches of science fiction, feature theological themes.  One deals with deities that are now considered to be purely mythological, the other relates to one of the world's major living religions.  Let's take a look.

Fourth Mansions, by R. A. Lafferty


Cover art by Leo and Diane Dillon.

The title of this strange novel comes from a book written by Saint Teresa of Avila, a Spanish Christian mystic of the sixteenth century.  This work, known as The Interior Castle or The Mansions in English, compares various stages in the soul's spiritual progress to mansions within a castle.  From what I can tell from a little research, the Fourth Mansion is the stage at which the natural and the supernatural intersect.

(I'm sure I'm explaining this badly.  Interested readers can seek out a copy of Saint Teresa's book for themselves.)

I understand that Lafferty is a devout Catholic, so this connection between his latest novel and what is considered to be a classic of Christian literature must be more than superficial.  Be that as it may, let's see if we can make any sense out of a very weird book.

Our hero is Fred Foley, a reporter who is said to be not very bright, but who seems to have some kind of special insight or perception as to events beyond the mundane.  (A sort of Holy Fool, perhaps.) He gets involved in multiple conspiracies of folks, who may be something other than just ordinary human beings, out to change the world.

There are four such groups, said to be not quite fit for either Heaven or Earth.  Each one is symbolized by an animal.

The Snakes, also known as the Harvesters, are a group of seven people who blend their psychic powers to influence the minds of others.  They are intent on bringing about a sort of hedonistic apocalypse.  Their connection to Foley and other characters allows for telepathic communication, and sets the plot in motion.

The Toads are folks who are reincarnated, or somehow take over new bodies.  (It's a little vague.) Foley's investigation into one such person starts the novel.  They intend to release a plague, wiping out most of humanity and ruling over the survivors.

The Badgers are people who are something like spiritual rulers of a kind of parallel world that most ordinary people can't perceive.  Foley pays a visit to a couple of these seemingly benign people for information.  In one case, this involves a trip to a mountain in Texas that shouldn't be there.

The Unfledged Falcons are would-be fascists, military leaders trying to take over the world by force.  Only one such person appears in the book, a Mexican fellow named Miguel Fuentes.  He gets involved when the Snakes try to influence an American named Michael Fountain (see the connection in names?) and wind up entering his mind by mistake.

I would be hard pressed to try to describe all the bizarre things that happen.  Lafferty has a way of describing extraordinary events in deadpan fashion.  (We're very casually told, for example, that one character brought a dead man back to life when he was a boy.  One very minor character is a demon, and another one is an alien.)

The book's combination of whimsey and allegory is unique, to say the least. There's a lot of dialogue that sounds like nothing anybody would ever say in real life.  Did I understand it all?  Certainly not.  Did I enjoy the ride?  Yep.

Four stars.

Creatures of Light and Darkness, by Roger Zelazny


Cover art by James Starrett.

Zelazny's recent novel Lord of Light offered a futuristic twist on Buddhism and Hinduism.  This one makes use of ancient Egyptian gods, as well as a bit of Greek mythology.  There are also a lot of original concepts, making for a very mixed stew indeed.

The time is the far future, when humanity has settled multiple planets.  Don't expect a space opera, however.

We begin in the House of the Dead, ruled by Anubis.  He has a servant who has lost his memory and his name.  Anubis gives him the name Wakim, and sends him to the Middle Worlds (the physical realm) to destroy the Prince Who Was A Thousand.  Meanwhile, Osiris, who rules the House of Life, sends his son Horus on the same errand.

You see, Anubis and Osiris keep the population of the Middle Worlds in balance, bringing life and death in equal amounts.  The Prince threatens this system with the possibility of immortality.  Although the two gods have the same goal, they are also rivals, so their champions battle each other as well as the Prince.

This is a greatly oversimplified description of the basic plot.  A lot more goes on, with many equally god-like characters.  There's a sort of scavenger hunt for three sacred items, with the protagonists hopping around from planet to planet in search of them. 

Zelazny experiments with narrative techniques, from poetry to a play.  There's some humor, as demonstrated by a cult that worships a pair of shoes.  (They actually play an important role in the plot.) The pace is frenzied, with plenty of purple prose.

Full understanding of what the heck is really going on doesn't happen until late in the book, when we learn the actual identities of Wakim and the Prince.  Suffice to say that this requires a lengthy description of apocalyptic events that took place long before the story begins.

Some readers are going to find this novel disjointed and overwritten.  Others are likely to be swept away by the richness of the author's imagination.  I'm leaning in the latter direction.

Four stars.


by Fiona Moore

Damnation Alley

Roger Zelazny’s been busy this month! His new novel Damnation Alley expands his novella of the same name into an action piece which is exciting enough but ultimately unsatisfying, a sort of postapocalyptic pony express with futuristic vehicles and implausible characters.

Cover of Damnation Alley
Cover of Damnation Alley by Jack Gaughan

The story is set in a relatively near-future USA after a nuclear war which has split it into isolated states within a radiation-ravaged wasteland, the only relatively safe passage through which is a corridor known as Damnation Alley. There are pockets of radiation, giant mutant animals and insects, tornadoes and killer dust storms. The descriptions of these is the book’s real strength, with some of them verging on the genuinely poetic. Our protagonist is Hell Tanner, a former Hell’s Angel who is offered a pardon for his crimes by the State of California, if he’ll deliver a shipment of vaccines to Boston, which has been hit by an outbreak of plague. Of course, this necessitates driving through Damnation Alley, but never fear, Tanner is also driving a super-tough vehicle bristling with weaponry.

The whole thing is almost laughably macho in places, and I say that as someone who really quite likes both cars and adventure stories. Tanner is that implausible archetype, the bad guy who nonetheless somehow has other people’s best interests at heart. However, there’s also some nice contrasts set up between Tanner and the criminal world he inhabits and the much more normal parts of society he encounters on his journey, where people seem to be on the whole generally decent and kind, making Tanner’s casual violence seem all the more out of place.

The book has a lot of problems. Some are clearly the result of padding it out to novel length, with several episodes which go nowhere and add little to the story. The characterisation of everyone aside from Tanner is weak to nonexistent. In particular, the main female character, Cordy, is a frustrating cipher: she is a woman who Tanner essentially abducts, and yet she shows none of the emotions one might expect under the circumstances, while Tanner seemingly comes to think of her as his girlfriend despite neither of them making any moves in that direction.

However, the biggest problem is that there are too many holes in the story for it to stay afloat. Despite the devastation of the land around it, the state of California somehow still has the resources to build giant armoured cars bristling with every kind of weapon from bullets to flamethrowers. Only two human beings are apparently capable of making the trip from California to Boston, which is surprising given the aforementioned level of technology and that there is clearly no shortage of young men with a death wish. Tanner makes it almost to Boston before encountering anyone who makes a serious effort to steal the vaccines, which I also find somewhat implausible. And so on, and so on.

Damnation Alley held my attention for the duration of a train journey and had nicely surreal, well-paced prose in places, but it was just too unbelievable for me to really enjoy it. Two and a half stars.

by Brian Collins

Since he returned to writing some half a dozen years ago, Robert Silverberg has tried to reintroduce himself as a more “serious” writer. This is not to say his rate of output has slowed down in favor of more refined work; if anything the past few years have been the busiest for him since the ‘50s. This year alone we have gotten enough novels from Silverberg that a bit of a catch-up is in order. The first on my plate, Across a Billion Years, hit store shelves a few months ago, from The Dial Press (I believe this is Silverberg’s first book with said publisher), and it seems to have flown under the radar—possibly because there’s no paperback edition, and also it might be aimed at younger readers. The second book we have here, To Live Again, is from Doubleday, and it too is a hardcover original; but unlike Across a Billion Years, To Live Again is a new release, fresh out of the oven.

Across a Billion Years, by Robert Silverberg

Two faces framed within a circle.
Cover art by Emanuel Schongut

It’s the 24th century, and humanity has not only spread to other worlds but encountered several intelligent alien races along the way. Tom Rice is a 22-year-old archaeologist on an expedition to find the ruins of a bygone race called the High Ones, who apparently lived a billion years ago (hence the title) but who have since vanished. Whether or not the High Ones have gone extinct is one of the novel’s core mysteries, although Silverberg takes his time raising this question. The novel is told as a series of diary entries, or rather messages Tom sends to his sister Lorie. In a curious but also frustrating move, Lorie is arguably the most interesting character in the novel, yet we never see or hear her, as she’s not only away from the action but stuck in a hospital bed for an indefinite period. Lorie is a telepath, and enough people are “TP” to make up their own faction, although telepathy only works one-way and Tom himself is not a telepath. The one positive surprise Silverberg includes here is finding a way to tie telepathy together with the mystery of the High Ones, but obviously I won’t say how he does it.

As for bad surprises, well…

Even taking into account that Tom is a young adult who also has personal hang-ups (his father wanted him to enter real estate), his treatment of his colleagues is abhorrent in the opening stretch. He dismisses the aliens on the team as mostly “diversity” hires and has a standoffish relationship with Kelly, the female android on the team, whom he more than once compares to a “voluptuous nineteen-year-old.” Why someone of Tom’s age would make such a comparison is befuddling…unless you were really a lecherous man approaching middle age and not a recent college graduate. There are a few other humans here, but the only human woman present is Jan, whom Tom gradually takes a liking to—just not enough to do anything when he sees Leroy, a male colleague, sexually assault Jan near enough that he could have intervened. This happens early in the novel, and I have to admit that Tom’s indifference regarding Jan’s wellbeing, a weakness in character he never really apologizes for, cast a cloud over my enjoyment of the rest of the novel. I kept wondering when the other shoe would drop. That Tom and Jan’s relationship turns romantic despite the former’s callousness only serves to rub salt in the wound. The bright side of all this is that while some of Silverberg’s recent work has bordered on pornographic, Across a Billion Years is relatively tame, almost to the point of being old-fashioned.

Indeed, this feels like a throwback to an older era of SF, even back to those years when Silverberg (and I, for that matter) had not yet picked up a pen or used a typewriter. In broad strokes this is a planetary adventure of the sort that would have been serialized in Astounding circa 1945. We’re excavating alien ruins on Higby V, a distant planet where High Ones artifacts have been supposedly found. During a drunken escapade one of the alien diggers stumbles upon (or rather breaks into) a piece of High Ones technology, something akin to a movie projector, not only showing what the High Ones look like but revealing a clue as to the location of their homeworld. This should sound familiar to most of us, and I suspect Silverberg knows this too, because this novel’s biggest problem and biggest asset is how it uses perspective. We’re stuck with Tom as he sends messages to Lorie, recounting events in perhaps more detail than he has to, knowing in advance that his sister won’t receive these messages until after the fact. As with a disconcerting number of Silverberg protagonists, Tom can be annoying, and honestly quite bigoted; and since he is the perspective character we’re never relieved of his oh-so-interesting remarks. But, and I will give Silverberg this, he does put a twist on the epistolary format very late in the novel, which does the miraculous thing of making you reevaluate what you had been reading up to this point.

In other words, this is not an exceptional novel, but it does have its points of interest, and with the exception of an early scene and its ramifications (or lack thereof), nothing here made me want to throw my copy at a nearby wall. For the most part this is inoffensive—possibly even decent. Three stars.

To Live Again, by Robert Silverberg

A minimalist drawing of a half-silhouetted faced.
Cover art by Pat Steir.

Those who want a bit more sex with their science fiction can do worse than this one, which looks to be the fourth (or maybe fifth—I’ve lost count) Silverberg novel of 1969. It’s the near-ish future, and the good news is that for those with enough money, death is not necessarily the end. Courtesy of the Scheffing Institute, a person can have their memories stored periodically, making copies or “personae” of themselves, which can be transplanted to the brain of a living host. The host and the persona will cooperate, lest the latter erase the former’s personality and become a “dybbuk,” using the host’s body as a flesh puppet.

The infamous businessman Paul Kaufmann has recently died, with his persona waiting to be claimed. Paul’s nephew, Mark, and Mark’s 16-year-old daughter Risa each see themselves as ideal candidates for Paul’s persona, but one of the rules at the Institute is that close family members can’t host each other’s personae: the implications of, for example, a teen girl hosting her grandfather’s persona, would be…concerning.

While we’re on the lovely topic of incest, let’s talk more about Risa, who must be one of the thorniest of all Silverberg characters, which as you know is a tall order, not helped by the fact that Silverberg describes, in almost poetic detail, every curve of this teen girl’s nude body—and she does strut around naked a surprising amount of the time. Risa is such a depraved individual, despite her age, that she at one point tries seducing an older male cousin and rather openly has an Electra complex (they even mention it by name), which Mark is understandably disturbed by—with the implication being that Mark has lustful thoughts about his own daughter. This is the second Silverberg novel I’ve read in two months to involve incest, which worries me.

The only other major female character is Elena, Mark’s mistress, whom Risa sees as a rival for her father’s affections and who (predictably) starts conspiring against Mark. Not content to ogle at just 16-year-olds, Silverberg also takes to describing the nuances of Elena’s body in wearying fashion, which does lead me to wonder if he was working the typewriter one-handed for certain passages. It’s a shame, because there’s an intriguing subplot in which Risa acquires her first persona, a young woman named Tandy who had died in a skiing accident—or so the official record claims. Tandy, or rather the persona of Tandy, recorded a couple months prior to her death, suspects foul play. Of the women mentioned, Tandy is the least embarrassingly written, but then she is only tangentially related to the plot and, what with not having a physical body, Silverberg is only able to ogle at her so much.

I’ve not even mentioned John Roditis and his underling Charles Noyles, business rivals of Mark’s who are clamoring for Paul’s persona. You may notice that this novel has more moving parts than Across a Billion Years, and certainly it’s the more ambitious of the two, the problem being that its shortcomings are all the more disappointing for it. Silverberg raises questions that he can barely be bothered with answering, and he alludes to things that remain mostly unrevealed. Much of To Live Again is shrouded in speculation, which is to say it uses speculation as a night-black cloak to cover things we sadly never get to see.

Another rule at the Institute is that a persona has to be of the same gender as its host, a rule that characters mostly write off as bogus. And indeed why not? Why should a male host and female persona not be able to coexist? Or the other way around. The prohibition has to do with transsexualism, which is certainly uncharted water for the most part. There has been very little science fiction written about transsexualism or transvestism—the possibility of blurring and even crossing gender lines. Unfortunately the novel does little with the ideas it presents. There are multiple references to religion and mythology (the word “dybbuk” refers to an evil spirit in Jewish mythology), including lines taken from the Tibetan Book of the Dead. There’s a minor subplot about white Californians appropriating Buddhist practices, in connection with the Institute, but this is so tangential that the reader can easily forget about it.

Finally, I want to mention that I was reminded eerily of another novel that came out this year, Philip K. Dick’s masterful and deranged Ubik, which I have to think Silverberg could not have known about when he was writing To Live Again. Both take cues from the Buddhist conception of reincarnation, although in Dick’s novel people who have died are kept in a state of suspended animation called “half-life,” whereas Silverberg’s characters die the full death, or “discorporate,” only that their personalities (up to a point) are kept intact. Not to make comparisons, but given that Silverberg’s novel is longer than Dick’s I have to say he does a fair bit less with the shared material. Of course, these are both talented writers, who at their best do very fine work indeed. Silverberg has become a major writer, but sadly he is not firing on all cylinders with either of the novels I’ve covered.

Hovering between two and three stars on this one.


by George Pritchard

The Glass Cage by Kenneth W. Hassler

The mockery for this book writes itself:

  • This book made me think of a Bulwer-Lytton novel for the Space Age.
  • This book could make Damon Knight take back everything he said about van Vogt.
  • This book made me long for the complexity of Commander Cody shorts.
  • This book’s style is so out of date that I think it fell out of the TARDIS.
  • This book wishes it had the character depth of a Lin Carter work.

And yet, I can't hate it the way I hated Light A Last Candle. That book was one mass of forgettable hate, but The Glass Cage is not hateful. It's incompetent at every turn, from line editing to plot development (I really don't know how it got the hardcover copy I received), but the overall effect is an oral record of a children's game.

There's this guy, Stephen, he’s twenty! He's a neophyte to the priests of the computer, TAL! It keeps life going in the city beneath its glass dome! Stephen is a perfect physical specimen, and his only flaw is being too curious about things. But that's because he’s secretly a spy for the Rebellion outside the glass dome!

The sentences are short and rarely have the benefit of internal punctuation. The characters are, generally, exactly how they appear — wicked characters with their close-together eyes, good characters with their strong jaws, straightforward manner, and perfect blonde hair. If this is chosen for adaptation, Tommy Kirk is made for the lead part.

The treatment of nuclear power seems to come from another time, where the leaders of interstellar development are in the Baltimore Gun Club rather than NASA. The giant computer, TAL, is attached to a nuclear bomb, to go off at a certain date, destroying the whole glass dome and the people within! No need to worry, though, Stephen and his various Rebellion people get most everyone out in time, except for the bad guy head priest of TAL, who is determined to die with his machine. Stephen and the gangster leader of the in-Dome Rebellion try to get him out, but to no avail! The nuclear bomb is about to go off, so the two of them hop on their air-sled, turn it skyward, and smash through the glass dome, just as the nuclear bomb goes off! Luckily, the nuclear bomb just pushes them a few miles away from the blast, where they are safe and unharmed.

One point of the book that is surprisingly forward-thinking is its treatment of one of the main characters being severely disabled. Despite being paralyzed from the neck down, he is a leader of the Rebellion, commanding through his immense psychic ability. But that cannot keep me from giving it…

Two stars

[A bit of a downer note to leave on, but at least there's some fine stuff upstream. See you next month, tiger!]




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