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Science Fiction/Fantasy, TV

[November 10, 1967] Mudd in the computer (Star Trek: "I, Mudd")

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"And Thereby Hangs a Tale"


by Amber Dubin

"I, Mudd" follows the tradition set by three other episodes we've seen so far, in which the crew of the Enterprise has to out-logic a robot ("What are little girls made of," "Return of the Archons," "Changeling"). Even though this episode recycles many of the same themes we've seen in those episodes, it offers enough unique elements to make it my favorite of its kind.

We open on a hallway conversation between the ship's doctor and chief science officer where the ever-cynical medico's instincts lead him to correctly identify an interloper on the ship in the form of the newest crewmember, Lieutenant Norman.


"What did he call me?"

Unfortunately, Spock rebuffs Dr. McCoy's theory (logically) because his reasoning points out Norman's inhuman behaviors, many of which overlap with those of Spock himself. McCoy insists that "the ears make all the difference" but the damage is clearly done as the supposedly unemotional Spock abruptly extricates himself from the conversation with an acerbic retort.


"I mean, you're one of the good ones."

McCoy is immediately vindicated when Norman's next move is to hijack the ship. He single handedly dispatches two security teams, all of engineering including Scotty, rigs the controls to blow if the ship deviates from the course he assigns it, and barges straight onto the bridge to explain the now-captive crew's new situation. Norman presents Captain Kirk a "choice" to either go on a four day voyage to an unknown destination or face the immediate destruction of the Enterprise. Ever cool under pressure, Kirk demands to know the nature of his attacker. Norman responds only by peeling back a panel under his shirt to reveal an android abdomen full of wires.


An android's navel–note that these robots don't use integrated circuits…

Further inquiries over who sent him are met with "I am not programmed to respond in that area" before he immediately shuts himself off. So confident is he in his power play (pun intended) that Norman leaves his unconscious body standing in the middle of the doorway to the bridge. Apparently no one disturbs him for four days as the crew seems startled from their normal activities when Norman abruptly awakes and makes further demands. He acts as if he's giving the crew another choice as he requests a set of personnel to accompany him on the planet they're now orbiting, but again refusal means certain death. At least he said “please” this time.

It soon becomes clear why Norman was reluctant to reveal who sent him, because we next open up to a throne room centered around none other than the illustrious Harcourt Fenton Mudd. Undeterred by Mudd's declaration of newfound sovereignty, Kirk charges at him and commences a delightful volley of banter where Mudd catches the crew up on what he's been up to since they last left him in custody for his transgressions. Surprising no one, Harry's made a mess of every situation he's been involved in and has found himself marooned on this planet of 200,000 androids while fleeing the consequences of his actions. Through much childish bickering on Harry's part, Kirk manages to wrench the truth out of the scoundrel, soon discovering that Mudd is just as much a prisoner of the androids as the Enterprise crew is.


"They won't let me go!"

A strange detail comes into play when the crew is being led away and stumbles upon the shrine to Stella, Mudd's wife. It seems odd that Harry would be so sentimental as to make an exact replica of the nagging shrew he gratefully abandoned galaxies away. It must follow that either the loneliness of being the only human on an android planet compelled Mudd to seek security in the familiar or he is such an adversarial man that the ability to make a version of a nemesis he could program with an off button proved to be an irresistible temptation. The most ironic element of that situation is that Stella may be shrill and harping but with a husband like Harcourt, the audience can't help but be squarely on her side.

Unsurprisingly, the androids reject Mudd the second they have any other humans to compare him to, and devote themselves to providing everything the crew wants so they can better serve humanity. They explain that serving humans gives the androids renewed purpose and protects humans by taking care of their every need to save them from themselves. Elements of the gilded cage they're presented with tempt each of the crew members in turn, but whenever a wish contradicts the terms of their captivity, the crew begins to notice that the androids balk at the paradox by freezing in place, their ID necklaces flashing until the conflict is resolved. It is subsequently discovered that the androids are part of a partial hive-mind directed by Norman and that they defer to him to avoid overloading individual units when logical computation is stalled. Thus ensues a campaign to confuse and overload as many androids by whatever means possible. Fake music, subterfuge, logical fallacies, play acting and flat-out lies become weaponized against the unsuspecting computers; each crewman performs their ridiculous acts admirably, especially Spock, who befuddles several androids all by himself.


"Sorry, ladies.  I'm just too good for you."

The episode reaches a delightful climax as the crew's play-acting for Norman finally causes literal steam to billow out of his ears and he admits humans are too complex to be managed by anyone but other humans. In the even more satisfying conclusion, after reaching a peaceful solution to coexist with the androids, Mudd's punishment is revealed to be exile on the android planet so they can help him rehabilitate his nefarious ways. Mudd initially rejoices in this reward of a punishment, until the crew unveils his personal attendants: 500 copies of Stella, this time without her off switch.

Not one line of the script is superfluous and every crewman is at their most efficient and capable as they execute every plan flawlessly. The script, plot, performances and design of this episode click together as seamlessly as the gears powering a well-constructed android.

I am a self-confessed, dyed-in-the-wool robot-a-phile. It is thus inevitable that I give this episode…

5 stars

The Shrew in the Ointment


by Janice L. Newman

I’ll admit, the preview for this episode had me worried. “Mudd’s Women” had some good elements, but was overall one of the weaker episodes of the first season. Happily, this episode was much better than that first one starring Mudd. There was just one problem that took it down a star for me – a fly in the ointment, if you will.

It was an old, old, joke even when Shakespeare did it: the harridan wife and her ne’er-do-well husband. Despite the fact that the audience knows that Harry Mudd’s perspective is unreliable, and thus his version of his wife may not represent the real woman, upon seeing the cartoonishly-awful “Stella” android we can’t help but be repelled and thus sympathize with the charismatic Mudd. Yet a moment’s thought makes one realize how nonsensical it is in the context of Star Trek. This is the future. Is it really so hard to get a divorce if one is unhappy with one’s spouse? If two people are so miserable together, is it truly necessary for one of them to flee into outer space? And sure, another moment’s thought is all it takes to realize that Mudd likely married his wife to gain some kind of monetary benefit, and that if we were in her place, we might be shrill, too. Still, Stella isn’t particularly funny, and for me, even Mudd’s comeuppance was poisoned by her sour, nagging presence.


If Harry Mudd put you in a closet, you'd make this face, too.

The rest of the episode is great, though; one of the best “break the computer” ones we’ve seen. Four stars.

A little bit of Vaudeville


by Gideon Marcus

Something I love about the stellar anthology show, Star Trek, is how versatile it is.  One week, we're getting political commentary, with ramifications right from the headlines of today (e.g. "A Taste of Armageddon"), another we're getting a Halloween-themed piece ("Catspaw").  An episode might be a rendition of a classic war movie ("Balance of Terror") or a retelling of Hamlet ("Conscience of the King").

"I, Mudd" takes place almost entirely on a spartan subterranean set, and largely features entertaining characters conversing with each other.  It's like an extended Hollywood Palace sketch.  It really shouldn't work, but it does.

From Kirk's masterful exchanges with Mudd (with Kirk displaying just the right mix of exasperation, anger, and amusement) to Chekov's lively Cossack dances, to the halting…yet endearing…cadence of…the androids, to Uhura's silky mock betrayal (she really is getting a chance to shine this season!), to the grand finale filled with pantomimed absurdity–it's a stage-bound pageant of comedy.  Interestingly, the avante garde Marc Daniels was tapped to direct rather than the more stagey Joe Pevney.  You see his surrealistic influences particularly during the dance scenes.


No caption required.

That the story is actually pretty good is a bonus.  If the show doesn't quite reach five star status for me, it's because while I enjoyed the show thoroughly, it was a bit too frivolous to feel like "real" Star Trek–essentially the same complaint I had about "Catspaw", but with an execution that makes me all but forgive the lapse.

Four stars.

Tonight's episode seems like it will be more of a serious affair.  At least we'll find out what happened to Glenn Corbett after he left Route 66…

Here's the invitation! Come join us.

Also, copies of The Tricorder are still available — drop us a line for details!




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[November 8, 1967] Four to go (December 1967 Galaxy)

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by Gideon Marcus

The New Frontier

Tomorrow, history will be made: the first Saturn V, largest rocket in the history of the world, will take off.  If successful, Project Apollo's launch vehicle will be "man-rated", and one hurdle between humanity and the moon will have been cleared.

Of course, we'll have full coverage of the event after it happens, but this sneak preview makes a dandy segue.  For today's article is on a literary type of explorer: Galaxy magazine.  Unlike Apollo, Galaxy, which started in 1950, is a tried, tested, and even somewhat tired entity.  Back in 1959, Galaxy moved to a larger, but bimonthly, format.  This has not been an entirely successful endeavor, and in few issues are the problems more glaring than in this one.  For if an editor needs to fill up 196 pages every other month (not to mention the 164 pages of one or two sister magazines), that editor's standards must sometimes slip…

The Old Frontier


by Gray Morrow

Outpost of Empire, by Poul Anderson

Out on the edge of space lies the mineral-poor planet of Freehold. Thinly settled by humans, and then also by the alien Arulians, it lies just outside the Empire.  A growing insurgency threatens to topple the existing order, and Ridenour, an imperial troubleshooter, is sent in to monitor the situation.


by Gray Morrow

Sounds pretty nifty, but it's not.  The first twenty pages of this seventy-page piece are nothing but characters explaining the story to each other.  Skimming the rest of the tale, I determined that it's all more of the same.  Moreover, Poul doesn't even try to disguise what he's doing.  He spotlights it by having his endlessly explaining protagonist marvel at what a pedant he's being–and when other characters do the same thing, he inwardly notes how much a pedant they're being.

As Kris notes:

Rule 1 of writing: If your characters are finding what you are doing contrived, so will the reader.

The whole thing is written in that archaic style Poul reverts to when given the chance, though there's no reason to do so in this book.  He also can't resist being a bit sexist, even in a story that takes place thousands of years from now.  Dig this gem:

"But in the parks, roses and Jasmine were abloom; and elsewhere the taverns brawled with merriment.  The male citizens were happily acquiring the money that the Imperialists brought with them; the females were still more happily helping spend it."

Because in the future, women don't work; they are parasites on the real producers–the men.

Feh.  One star.

That already gets us nearly halfway through the book.  Things do not immediately improve…

The South Waterford Rumple Club, by Richard Wilson


by Jack Gaughan

Aliens drop bags of counterfeit money on a small American town.  Economic collapse ensues, facilitating an extraterrestrial takeover.

I was about to write that Wilson was an unknown name to me, but looking through the archives, I see he's made several appearances in science fiction magazines over the past two years.  He's just eminently forgettable.  This story does not change the trend.  For one, he spends a couple of pages giving a history lesson as to why an influx of fake currency is such a deadly weapon–akin to anthrax and mustard gas.  And then we get a tedious demonstration of such an attack, followed by a couple of pages of (not well thought out) aftermath.

This is the sort of inferior stuff that filled the lesser mags of the '50s.  It doesn't belong here.

Two stars.

Thank goodness for Silverbob.  From here on, out, the issue is quite good.  But you have to make it to page 96!  (or simply skip the dross)

King of the Golden World, by Robert Silverberg

Elena, a human, has married Haugan, chief of a tribe of aliens that lives on an island dominated by twin volcanic mounts.  Theirs is a genuine love, despite their divergent evolutions, but full understanding still eludes the Earth woman.  Though the mountain on which the village is sited is clearly about to erupt, Haugan seems in no hurry to evacuate his people.  It is only on the eve of disaster that Elena learns the true, alien nature of Haugan's people.  Will she embrace it or be repelled?

This is really quite a sensitive story, timeless and nuanced.  I suspect it was influenced by Silverberg's recent nonfiction histories of the original American inhabitants (collectively referred to as "Indians").

Four stars.

For Your Information: Astronautics International, by Willy Ley

Ten years ago, it was enough to keep up with the Soviets and the Americans if you wanted to know what was up in space.  These days, Earth's orbit has become a truly international province, and this month's article focuses on the efforts of the non-superpowers, of which there are many.

As a space buff, articles on satellites always score extra marks with me, so I hope our tastes are aligned.  Four stars.

Black Corridor, by Fritz Leiber

A man awakens, naked, without memories, inside a featureless corridor.  Ahead of him lie two doors: one is labeled "Water", the other "Air".  Behind him a wall moves toward him implacably.  Choose…or die.

But beyond the first pair of doors is another, and another.  Is this a test?  Will the test end?  And what is its purpose?

Less a science fiction story and more a metaphor for life itself, this piece's worth depends solely on the execution.  Thankfully, Leiber is up to the task.

Four stars.

The Red Euphoric Bands, by Philip Latham

A comet is heading straight for an Earth on the brink of atomic war.  Is it our doom…or our salvation?

On the one hand, the storytelling and the science are quite excellent.  On the other, the conclusion is silly.  Moreover, there is a fundamental fault in this otherwise accurate piece: a comet with a two light year orbit would have a period of around six billion years–too high to serve the purposes of the story.

Thus, three stars.

Galactic Consumer Report No. 3: A Survey of the Membership, by John Brunner

The first galactic survey, conducted by Good Buy magazine, turned out to be something of a fiasco–too many beings responded, and they were just too variegated to provide anything like a profile of "an average consumer".  Yet, you couldn't call the exercise less than successful…

This series tends to be silly and throw-away, but this installment I liked a lot.  Why?  Because it's almost like a Theodore Thomas article from his F&SF column–a couple dozen story seeds all in one piece.  So many stories feature aliens that are little more than humans in costume.  This one presents some real aliens.  It also made me laugh a few times.

So, four stars.

Handicap, by Larry Niven


by Jack Gaughan

On the former Kzin world of Down, orbiting a feeble red dwarf, humans have established an agricultural colony.  In addition to its colorful history, Down offers another attraction: the Grogs.  These are comical-looking, human-sized creatures that have two phases in life.  At first, they are four-legged creatures with a dog-like intelligence.  In this form, they rove the deserts of Down, hunting and mating.  Eventually, the females anchor themselves to a rock, where they stay the rest of their lives.

And yet, these creatures have enormous brains, suggesting a great intelligence.  Why did they evolve them, and what can they do with them?  Garvey, an entrepreneur whose line is making prosthetics for "Handicapped" species, ones without manipulative organs of their own (e.g. dolphins, the enormous Bandersnatchi of planet Jinx), smells an opportunity.

Handicap, like last year's A Relic of Empire, expands what is becoming a sweeping common universe, tying in the Kzinti of The Warriors, the Thrintun of World of Ptavvs, and the hyperdrive era of Beowulf Shaeffer.  What I really like about Niven is that he isn't in a hurry to tell his story.  There are asides and subplots, weaving a meandering course through entertaining vignettes, before tying everything together at the end.  Niven's universe feels lived in, and all of its facets are interesting.  That there's a nifty story at the heart of Handicap is a bonus…though my eyebrows were raised a bit by this exchange:

Garvey: "For as long as we expand to other stars we're going to meet more and more handless, toolless, helpless civilizations.  Sometimes we won't even recognize them.  What are we going to do about them?"

Jilson (a guide): "Build Dolphin's Hands for them."

Garvey: "Well, yes, but we can't just give them away.  Once one species starts depending on another, they become parasites."

This feels a bit like an indictment of welfare, foreign aid…or assistance to the handicapped.  I would not jump to concluding that Garvey's views necessarily represent Niven's views, but I also would not be surprised, as he is a hereditary millionaire, and the plutocracy often thinks ill of public demands on their wealth.  I will simply note that I think Garvey is being short-sighted.  Isn't it worth the investment of a little charity to create an entirely new potential market of both imports and exports?  If you give away limbs to the crippled, schools to the poor, food to the starving, will they really just sit on their duffs?  Or will they simply now be unencumbered members of society, ready to participate fully?  I submit that equalization of opportunity through government assistance and charity actually serves capitalism rather than subverts it.

Well, that's a tiny quibble, and again, just because Garvey thinks this way doesn't mean the author does.  If anything, I'm glad he gave me something to think about–along with a good story!

Four stars.

The Fairly Civil Service, by Harry Harrison


by Jack Gaughan

A day in the life of the postal clerk of the future.  A particularly bad, seemingly endless day.  The kind that tries a person's soul…or tests one's abilities.

Harrison is reliably good.  He does not disappoint here.  Four stars.

To the Black Beyond

Having trudged through a barren literary landscape for half the span of a magazine, it was comforting to have solid ground to trod for the latter half.  But now that the Galaxy is done, I am once again adrift.  Who knows what lies in store within the covers of the next magazine or paperback that will cross my desk?  Like the expanses of space, it's all an unknown adventure.

Luckily, there are still enough treasures waiting to be found to make the journey worth it!



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Science Fiction/Fantasy, TV

[November 6, 1967] Reaching the Peak (Doctor Who: The Abominable Snowmen [Part 2])

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By Jessica Holmes

It took a long time—far longer than it really should have—but The Abominable Snowman finally lurched towards a pretty good conclusion. Let’s take a look at the second half of the latest Doctor Who serial.

Credit: BBC Photonovels

EPISODE FOUR

As Victoria flees from the Yeti in the monastery, the Doctor and Jamie find another guarding the TARDIS—but neither of these perils pans out as you might expect. The monastery Yeti simply walks out the door (despite the monks’ attempts to stop it), and the one lurking by the TARDIS is apparently unaware of its surroundings, leaving the Doctor free to disable it. However, there is a very real danger on the mountain: whatever the Abbot is doing with the pyramid in the cave. Travers watches him curiously, but has no choice but to flee when the pyramid activates, producing a very unpleasant hum and a blinding light.

Credit: BBC Photonovels

As the pyramid activates, the disabled Yeti’s control sphere attempts to reconnect with its Yeti, prompting the Doctor and Jamie to realise that the missing orb in the monastery wasn't stolen…it moved by itself. They've left Victoria with a potentially active Yeti!

For her part, Victoria finds herself accused of resurrecting the Yeti herself. Unable to provide a good excuse for why she was hiding in the room with the Yeti, and with Thomni trying to protect her, Khrisong orders the pair of them to be locked up.

While in the cell together, the pair discuss how the Doctor came by the holy Ghanta in the first place, as he was under the impression that it was given to a stranger 300 years ago for safekeeping. Victoria braces herself for a tricky explanation of how the Doctor can travel through time and space, only for Thomni to be entirely unfazed by the idea. After all, with years of meditation, Padmasambhava himself learned to detach himself from his earthly body and travel great distances.

Astral travelling sounds pretty great. Shame I don’t have 300 years to dedicate myself to meditation. Or the patience. Or the capacity to sit still and quietly without anything to amuse me for longer than five minutes.

Credit: BBC Photonovels

Having completed his task, the Abbot returns to the monastery, where Padmasambhava tells him to prepare the monks to leave, as the Great Intelligence is starting to take on material form.

Now, I’ve seen episodes padded out in a lot of ways before. Sometimes there’s long establishing shots, sometimes there’s a filler scene, or perhaps a long fight sequence…or a musical number. By far the most annoying however is the technique used here. Every scene with Padmasambhava takes an absolute eternity to complete. Why?

Becaaaaaauuuuuse… heeeeeee… taaaaaalkssss… liiiiiiike… thiiiiiis.

I could go into the kitchen, stick the kettle on, make a cup of tea and drink it in the time it takes him to finish a sentence. (Indeed, I may have…)

On their way down the mountain, a group of Yeti corner the Doctor and Jamie, but like a pack of big potato-shaped dogs, they’re only interested in the ball. You’d think an entity called the Great Intelligence would create servants a little less mindless. Maybe he should be called the Mildly Smart.

Credit: BBC Photonovels

Victoria escapes from her cell by feigning sickness before the Doctor and Jamie make it back, which is unfortunate as it was apparently the Doctor’s idea for Khrisong to lock her up out of harm’s way in the first place (because we have to treat her like a delicate little flower, apparently), and now nobody knows where she is. At the same time, Travers makes it back to the monastery, ragged and babbling about the pyramid before fainting.

Although Khrisong is willing to hear the Doctor out, the rest of the monks still answer to the Abbot, and when the Abbot orders the Doctor, Travers and Jamie to be arrested, the monks see no reason not to comply.

And what of Victoria? She’s headed straight back to the inner sanctum, like a moth to a flame.

This time, Padmasambhava invites her inside.

Credit: BBC Photonovels

EPISODE FIVE

Padmasambhava takes this opportunity to hypnotise Victoria, before placing four Yeti (what is the plural of Yeti? Yetis? Yeti? Yetii?) in the courtyard. The monks are taking too long to leave.

Travers comes around from his fainting spell, but although he can remember the bright light and the noise (and the pain that came with them), he can’t remember anything he saw in his brief time away from the monastery. Before anyone can press him further, the monks learn that the Yeti have broken in, and most fall back. However, one insists on continuing to search for Victoria…and ends up squished by the Buddha statue for his troubles.

Well, if that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.

Admittedly, it was the Yeti who pushed it over. But still. A sign’s a sign.

Credit: BBC Photonovels

The monks don’t need any more encouragement to leave, but the Doctor is not so easily dissuaded. This is where Victoria comes in. She comes to the monks with the holy ghanta, speaking with the voice of Padmasambhava, and tells them that they must all leave. It seems redundant.

Realising that Padmasambhava is the same monk who was at this monastery the last time he visited, the Doctor figures it would be a good idea to check in on his old friend.

Padmasambhava is not enjoying his old age, it’s safe to say. Most people don’t have ‘bring an evil disembodied intelligence to life and end the world’ in their retirement plans, and neither did he. He was just trying to do some astral travelling when he came upon the Great Intelligence. He decided to help it gain corporeal form, which was kind of him…until it took over his mind and body. Now it won’t let him die. He begs for the Doctor’s help, but passes out before he can reveal where the signal controlling the Yeti is coming from. The Great Intelligence presumably keeps him on a short leash.

Quite a nightmarish existence, really. He’s almost a parody of old age. His mind is slipping away from him, with it his body. He must have seen everyone he cares about die before him. It’s a cruel fate indeed. I wish there was a bit more focus given to this aspect of Padmasambhava. It’s an untapped well of horror and interesting character potential.

Credit: BBC Photonovels

Having run into a dead end here, the Doctor returns to the others. Victoria is still under Padmasambhava’s hypnotic influence, stuck begging the Doctor to go back to the TARDIS. To save her from losing her mind (or perhaps because her repeated pleas are quite annoying), the Doctor reveals his own skill in the art of hypnosis. He puts her to sleep, then makes her forget everything that happened since she escaped from her prison cell. It seems to do the trick.

I might normally say something about hypnosis being nonsense but this is a story about robot Yeti so maybe I’ll give the sarcasm a miss.

The Doctor and Travers then head back up the mountain to try and trace the signal again, only to realise to their horror that the signal was coming from inside the monastery the whole time.

Well, yes. We know. It’s played as some kind of revelation, but we were already in on the secret. Dramatic irony can be good, but there’s a lack of the necessary tension in this story to make it work. The Yeti don’t really feel all that threatening, so it doesn’t feel particularly urgent to work out how they’re being controlled. The Great Intelligence is the root of the threat, but everyone’s still fixated on the Yeti.

Credit: BBC Photonovels

As if to underscore my point, it’s here that the Great Intelligence’s rapidly expanding corporeal form bursts out from the cave and spills onto the mountainside. If I were an incorporeal entity, my choice for a physical form wouldn’t be ‘gigantic glowing blob thing’, but who am I to judge?

The Doctor and Travers rush back down the mountain and warn the others that Padmasambhava is controlling the Yeti from his sanctum. Khrisong, realising that the Abbot is alone with the master and fearing for his safety, immediately runs off to look for him. It’s then that Travers remembers–just moments too late–what he saw in the cave. Khrisong is running to his doom.

See, that’s some good dramatic irony.

Credit: BBC Photonovels

EPISODE SIX

The Doctor rushes to the sanctuary too late to save Khrisong, who dies of a stab wound inflicted by the Abbot moments after his arrival. Padmasambhava/the Great Intelligence’s immensely unsettling laugh echoes across the monastery as the monks come to investigate the commotion. The Doctor and Thomni stick up for the Abbot, recognising that he was hypnotised and not responsible for his own actions. He tells the monks to go, remaining behind with Jamie, Thomni and Victoria.

Travers, for his part, is convinced that the mysterious pyramid in the cave must be destroyed, and heads up the mountain.

The Doctor takes advantage of the Abbot’s trance state to interrogate him, and learns that there’s a room behind the master’s throne where the controls for the Yeti are hidden.

Credit: BBC Photonovels

Meanwhile, Travers finds that the Great Intelligence’s light is spreading all over the mountain. Before long, it’ll engulf the monastery. However, the Yeti are behind him, and he’s trapped up on the mountain.

The Doctor confronts Padmasambhava, and demands entrance to the sanctum. As he struggles across the room against a howling wind (courtesy of the master’s incredible psychic powers), Jamie and Thomni come in behind him to start smashing up the controls, finding another pyramid in the hidden room. However, Padmasambhava still has the Yeti figures, and starts bringing reinforcements into the monastery. Though Victoria tries to stop him, she can’t shake off his psychic influence, even with a mantra ('Om Mani Padme Hum', one of the most popular mantras in Tibetan Buddhism) to help her.

Credit: BBC Photonovels

Calling the Yeti back to the monastery leaves Travers free to come back down the mountain. Finding the dire predicament that the others are in, he takes out his gun, aims at Padmasambhava, and fires. But the old man catches the bullet in his hand, which is undeniably very cool.

Jamie then smashes the pyramid in the control room, which simultaneously (for some reason) causes the pyramid in the cave to explode–along with the top of the mountain. With that, the Great Intelligence is destroyed, assuming it’s even possible to truly destroy an incorporeal disembodied mind. It’s all jolly exciting, but it’s a shame that it took five episodes before it started getting good.

Credit: BBC Photonovels

Free at last from the Great Intelligence, Padmasambhava thanks the Doctor before finally shuffling off this mortal coil.  With the evil finally purged from the monastery, the monks can return to their peaceful life, and the Doctor and company can return to the TARDIS.

There’s one last surprise as they head up to the ship, though. The group, with Travers, spot a hairy, shaggy creature out on the mountain. But it’s not one of the Great Intelligence’s robots. Could it be… a real Yeti?

Travers runs off to search for it, and the Doctor and company head into the TARDIS, hoping for warmer climes.

Credit: BBC Photonovels

Final Thoughts

It’s a shame, really. After a long slog to the last episode, we finally get to see something good happen—and then it’s all over. I shan’t beat the authentic casting dead horse any more than I already have, though I can’t really comment on the authenticity of the religious practices shown. Nothing sticks out as glaringly wrong, as far as I can tell, so that’s encouraging. I think the writers did do their due diligence to get things right and it at least appears that they’re trying to respect Buddhist beliefs. They’ve definitely done at least some research. Padmasambhava is the name of an Indian Buddhist master who is still revered in many Buddhist traditions to this very day. However, I don’t think our Padmasambhava is meant to be the same person (the real one lived over a thousand years ago) which is for the best, I think. Turning a revered religious figure into a villain possessed by an alien ghost would be a bad idea indeed. I don’t know why they picked that name specifically, but I found it quite interesting when I looked him up.

The last episode was good, I will give it that much. Other than that, this serial doesn’t do much for me. I didn’t feel enough threat from the Yeti to really engage with them, and they serve only to distract from the more interesting Great Intelligence. However, there’s not enough information to go on there. Where did it come from? What did it want, once it had a body? Some mystery is good, but with too many unanswered questions, there aren’t enough clues to ponder.

3 out of 5 for The Abominable Snowmen



 

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Science Fiction/Fantasy, TV

[November 2, 1967] Trouble and Toil (Star Trek: Catspaw)

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Such stuff as dreams are made of


by Joe Reid

For the first several episodes, this second season of Star Trek was solidly impressive.  We got to attend a Vulcan wedding.  We saw a mythological deity from human antiquity in a sci-fi setting.  We saw a transistorized deity faced and defeated.  Then a dark alternate universe, followed by a giant cornucopia of doom!  I regret that I must mention the episode with the red colored rock lizard worshippers, since that was undoubtedly the low point of this season.  Sadly, this week’s episode, titled “Catspaw” comes very close to hitting the low that “The Apple” achieved.

Dear readers, in my opinion, futuristic sci-fi shows should avoid doing holiday themed episodes.  I have no desire to watch sci-fi episodes about Christmas or Thanksgiving.  Nor Easter, the 4th of July, Passover, Saint Patrick’s Day, or Columbus Day.  So, watching what clearly stood out as "made for Halloween" was disappointing.  Especially since I do not feel that the episode was served by the inclusion of said theme.

We started this seventh episode of the second season on the bridge of the Enterprise as our heroes awaited a report from the landing party composed of Scotty, Sulu, and a Crewman Jackson.  A message came in from Jackson, with no word about the others.  As Jackson beamed up to the ship, he arrived on the transport circle dead on arrival.  Then from the non-moving mouth of the dead man came a ghostly warning to leave the planets and that the Enterprise was cursed.


"There is a curse on you!  Also, you've left the oven on"!

Determined to find out the fates of Scotty and Sulu, Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, and Dr. McCoy beam down to the planet to find their people.  Arriving on the surface they find that it was a dark and foggy night.  What comes next, I was not expecting: As the trio begin their search, they are confronted by three ugly witch apparitions, and wouldn’t you know it they have a poem to share.  “Winds shall rise, and fog descend, so leave here all, or meet your end.” Poetry so bad that it even garners a negative review from Spock.


"Hail Captain Kirk, Thane of Cawdor!"

If that isn’t a blatant enough holiday reference, Kirk and the others soon find themselves at a dark and eerie castle.  Upon entering they are startled by a black cat which leads Kirk to make the first explicit Halloween reference of the night about trick or treat.  They follow the cat hoping to see where it would lead them only to be knocked unconscious as the floor collapsed below their feet.


"There's my litter box!"

They awaken to find themselves chained to the walls of a dungeon next to a skeleton that looks exactly like what it is: a Halloween decoration, or maybe a model skeleton from my kid’s science classroom.  As the doors to their cell open, we get our first looks at Scotty and Sulu as they enter the dungeon.  Both are under some sort of magic spell and can’t speak but make it clear that they will take Kirk and the others to the people in charge.


I hope they weren't paid by the line for this one…

They meet two aliens that have taken the forms of a wand-sporting wizard named Korob, and the beautiful witch, Sylvia.  Kirk, Spock, and McCoy find themselves at the mercy of powers that could endanger the Enterprise in orbit, conjure items out of thin air, and mind control their crewmembers.


Korob and Sylvia–a tale of two coiffures

It is here that the spooky themes began to subside as the magicians reveal themselves as truly alien, with little understanding of humans or even having physical bodies.  They need humans and our minds to allow them more of the new experiences that they had created.  An interesting premise, but since this is Halloween, it is drowned in hocus pocus.

In the end, Kirk is able to learn about and destroy the magic wand…er…transmuter, the item that allowed their powers to work.  The defeated aliens returned to their original forms and promptly die.  The conclusion of the episode comes fast with virtually no transition, save for a brief explanation from Kirk to his newly liberated crew.


"The missing pages of the script are right there."

Outside of the unnecessary holiday theme, this episode managed to stay true to the elements of what makes Star Trek good.  The characters' behaviors were consistent with what we have come to expect.  Kirk was smart and brave.  Spock was insightful, and others, so long as they were not mind controlled, behaved as they should.  Also the aliens had actual, explained reasons for their actions. All this combined made this episode passable and not the absolute debacle that “The Apple” was.

3 stars.

A fool thinks himself to be wise


by Janice L. Newman

It wasn’t a surprise to learn that the same author who wrote "What Are Little Girls Made Of?", one of the worst episodes of the first season, also wrote "Catspaw". Robert Bloch is famous for his horror writing, particularly the movie Psycho. But his horror fantasy scripts simply do not translate well to the grounded science fiction of Star Trek.

"Catspaw" was a frustrating experience. Not just because it didn’t feel at all like a Star Trek episode (and naysayers in the fanzines will no doubt comment, as they did with "Miri" in the first season, that they happened to catch this episode and weren’t impressed), but also because it had the potential to be an interesting episode but simply couldn’t make it work.

Firstly, the idea that the ‘collective unconscious fears’ of our species would be reflected in a gothic castle, Shakespearian witches, and black cats, is simply ridiculous. If there is some kind of collective unconscious for humanity, the reflection of it must necessarily be both much more chaotic and universal to the human experience. This flaw could have been overcome either by saying that the aliens drew their ideas of us from our popular culture, or perhaps that they drew on one particular crewmember’s unconscious fears. Alternatively, rather than using the traditional gothic symbolism, the show could have tried something more innovative, imagining what might frighten any human anywhere throughout all of history.

Another flaw was the pacing. The scene of Sulu unlocking everyone’s chains took far too long, for example, while the final scene felt rushed. The scenes on the bridge were dull, especially with the wooden DeSalle in charge.


"I am acting!"

A particularly annoying problem with the episode was that it set up situations to be resolved and then didn’t follow through. The most egregious example of this occurs when the bridge crew finally manage to ‘dent’ the forcefield around them—only to have the forcefield lifted by one of the aliens before they can escape it on their own. While I would have been mildly irritated at the similarity to "Who Mourns for Adonais?" if the crew had cleverly managed to escape, I was far more irritated that the crew was set up to escape and then not given the opportunity to do. What was the point of those scenes on the bridge, then?

The ‘horrific’ aspects to the story often came across as comedic instead. Perhaps the ugly witches might scare a young child watching the show, but the room full of adults I was watching with chuckled at their appearance and their sung proclamations. One of the saddest pieces of wasted potential was the aliens’ true appearance. They looked like little birds made of pipe cleaners, and when they came on the screen they got the loudest laugh of the evening. A scene which could have and should have been poignant or grotesque was again turned comedic by poor writing, pacing, and framing.

I’m torn as to what rating to give this episode. On one hand, it didn’t even feel like an episode of Star Trek. On the other, there were some interesting elements, and it wasn’t confusing like "The Alternative Factor" or dully exasperating like "The Apple". Plus, there was a cat. Still, when all is said and done, the wince-inducing scenes between Kirk and the Sorceress canceled out what good there could have been. I can’t give it more than one star.

Signifying Nothing


by Amber Dubin

It's ironic that this episode is called "catspaw" because the plot is about as cohesive as a heavily pawed ball of yarn; a tangle of threads that don't hold together or go anywhere.

The acting quality of the episode peaks early with the deeply convincing collapse of ensign Jackson off the transporter pad. Yet the fact that he is the only non-essential crewman sent down to this clearly hostile planet makes less than no sense. Continuing the madness, after Jackson's corpse is used to deliver a message of warning that's immediately ignored, Kirk, Spock and McCoy are subjected to another gratuitous display from disembodied witch heads spouting Shakespearian-esque poetry. You would think this theme of theater-obsessed eccentric illusion-projectors would continue, but you would be wrong, as the only further theatrical implications come in the form of the heavily made up and costumed Korob, whose appearance is given no explanation.


Though you must admit: the camera loves him!

In further defiance of explanation, the crew wakes up chained to the walls of a dungeon after the floor of the castle they enter haphazardly collapses beneath them. Next ensues an absolutely mystifying scene where a zombified Sulu painstakingly unlocks their restraints cuff by cuff. This gesture is immediately made unnecessary when they are teleported into a throne room with Korob, one of their captors. As we've seen in "Squire of Gothos" or "Who Mourns for Adonais?" Korob reveals himself to be overpowered alien attempting to understand the nature of man. He doesn't get too far in his speech, however, before he is upstaged by the real star of the play, the necklace-wearing black cat that transforms into Sylvia, a beautiful woman.

I was hoping Sylvia's introduction would lead to a McCoy-centered episode, as Bones seems to be unable to take his eyes off her.. necklace.. from the moment she enters. That theory is immediately banished as they are all teleported back to the dungeon and McCoy re-enters as a zombie (a role to which he is well-suited). The task of seducing the femme-fatale then predictably falls on Kirk, who delivers his clunkiest and least believable performance in the series so far as he outright fails in his attempt to make her feel too pretty to harm them any longer.

Despite this entirely nonsensical plot, somehow the biggest disappointment of the episode is yet to come as the aliens descend into madness. Korob is killed by a giant door, which is as easily avoidable as it is imaginary, making it therefore harmless to a being capable of casting such illusions. Even more absurdly, these magical beings, who are said to be powerful conjurors with no abilities of sensory perception, are suddenly revealed to resemble tiny, delicate bundles of exposed nerves.


Jim Henson presents: rejected muppets!

The episode abruptly ends, nothing is resolved, no one understands anything better and I'm baffled by the fact that a simple framing device of a crewman explaining Halloween to Spock at the beginning of the episode could have cleared up where these aliens got material for all the imagery in the episode. Instead, we spent more time watching Sulu unlock imaginary restraints than we do deciphering the nature or motivations of crusty blue pipe-cleaner puppet-gods.

Ridiculous. Two stars.


by Gideon Marcus

The Play's the Thing

I must confess–I did not hate this episode.  Not because it was good; heavens no!  It wasn't even Star Trek.  Just our favorite characters having a Halloween lark.  In fact, in my mind, I've completely disregarded it as a Star Trek episode.  Just as Spock and Uhura sometimes jam together in the lounge (why haven't we seen that this season?), and just as Kirk insists that real turkey be served on Thanksgiving, I've concluded that it is an Enterprise tradition that Halloween is celebrated with a big todo.

I can see Sylvia actually being Lt. McGivers' replacement, and with a minor in theatrics.  Once aboard the Enterprise, she began penning her magnum opus: a play involving all of the senior officers of the ship.  Suddenly, all the nonsensical bits make sense.  The beaming down of Scotty and Sulu as a landing party, the spooky settings and effects, the endless kissing scenes ("Oh, but Captain, these are vital to the plot!  Really, it won't breach protocol at all…")


"Did I hear a door slam?  Darn.  We'll have to do the whole take over!"

Taken as such, suddenly the episode is palatable.  It does move pretty well. Theo Marcuse is always a delight (and a genuine war hero, and he has a great last name; he's probably my cousin).  The score was nifty, particularly in the fight scene.  Less so in the five minute bit when Sulu unlocked Kirk's fetters.

And there was abundant display of a cat.  That, alone, is worth a star.

So, again, "Catspaw" isn't a good episode.  But I would watch it in reruns three times before I suffered through "The Apple" again…

Two stars.

Something Wicked this way Comes


by Jessica Dickinson Goodman

I rather enjoyed this episode. As Amber said, it wasn't good. But it was fun. Maybe it's because I enjoy camp. I liked Theo Marcuse's silks and jewels and perfectly shaved eyebrows. I liked the kitschy sets – perhaps borrowed from a recent vampire flick? – and as other writers have noted, the cat was a special treat.

I was less impressed by how many of the so-called ‘collective unconscious fears' involved woman-hating. Crones and seductresses, liars and cheats, the non-crewwomen in this episode were like something from Jesse Helms' fever dreams, no collective I'm a part of.

Janice's proposition that the episode would have been better if it had featured truly universal fears sparks my imagination far more than anything in the episode itself. What truly scares everyone? In a world with apocalypse-worshiping churchgoers, can we say everyone is afraid of death? I would say that many, many of us are afraid of a nuclear attack from our friends across the Bering Strait, but people living outside of the blast zones could be reasonably excused from the universality of that fear.

Stepping away from the philosophical mindtwister Janice gives us and back to this rather silly episode, I am looking forward to seeing this one in reruns. There's just something so fun about our heroes getting tied up – several times – like maidens in a gothic novel.


I think the Captain is starting to enjoy it…

Watching Captain Kirk once again try to kiss his way out of trouble was made all the more fun when his captor/target caught him at his game and refused to play anymore. Despite Sylvia's embodiment of a mushy handful of cruel gender stereotypes, I found myself enjoying her time on screen more than almost anyone aside from the core cast. Cheers to Antoinette Bower for taking a two-dimensional role and turning it into something fun and memorable.

There were many, many, many ways this episode could have been improved. I would be disappointed if next week's episode shared in the same nasty stereotypes of women. I fear it will, as it centers on one of my least favorite characters in this series, Mr. Mudd.

Perhaps Sylvia will make a guest appearance and turn him into a toad before he hurts more women.

Three stars.

I don't know how likely it is that Mudd will get his comeuppance, but we can certainly hope!

The episode airs tomorrow night.  Here's the invitation! Come join us.

Also, copies of The Tricorder are still available — drop us a line for details!




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[October 31, 1967] Same ol' (November 1967 Analog)

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by Gideon Marcus

Iran's "new" King

This week's foreign news was dominated by affairs in the Middle East.  When the papers weren't talking about the United Nations futilely trying to hammer out a peace treaty between Israel and Egypt (whose conflict has become a continuous low burn rather than a short conflagration), they were gushing over the crowing of Persia's "King of Kings".

Shah Mohammed Reza Pahlevi, the uncrowned king of Iran for the last 26 years, chose his 48th birthday to crown himself Light of the Aryans, emperor of "the world's oldest monarchy."  Also crowned was his wife, Farah, who became the first empress of Persia since the 7th century A.D.

Taking place in the dazzling Hall of Mirros in Gole-stan Palace, the event was possibly the most expensive coronation in history, with newspaper accounts breathlessly describing the type and number of jewels employed in the various accoutrements of state and decorations.  The affair concluded with 101-gun salutes, kicking off a week of celebrations that are just wrapping up today.

According to the Shah, the reason for the long delay between ascension to rule and formalization of said rule was that he did not want to take the grand title until Iran had become a modern, prosperous state.

My only aim is to further the prosperity and glory of my nation, and make Iran the most progressive country in the world, resurrecting its ancient glory and grandeur. For this I will not hesitate to sacrifice my life.

While the newspapers and newsreels seem dazzled by the Shah's extravaganza, many of Iran's 25 million people were less impressed.  One young woman, student at the Tehran University, would have fit right in at this spring's protests of the Shah's visit to West Germany:

Why should he spend all this money on his coronation?  There are so many poor people.  He should give them the money.

It should also be noted that while the Shah did take the throne of Iran in 1941, his reign was not uninterrupted.  Unmentioned in all the newspaper accounts I could find of the coronation was the two-year tenure of Mohammed Mosaddeq, the democratically elected but leftist prime minister of Iran from 1951-1953.  During the Mosaddeq administration, the Shah fled the country, only returning when a coup removed Mossadeq from power—an event which, if not instigated with assistance from the United States and the United Kingdom, was certainly extremely convenient for both governments.

Magazine of Magazines

It has been a couple of years since Analog Science Fiction won the Hugo Award for Best Magazine, but there's no question that it still reigns supreme both in subscribers and general esteem.  However, some have complained that editor John Campbell does not do enough to mix up the contents of his publication, relying on the same bunch of authors every month, resulting in a somewhat tired affair.

This month, there are no old hands in the table of contents, but like the throne of Iran, has anything really changed?


by Kelly Freas

Coup, by Guy McCord


by Kelly Freas

What a strange opening novella this is: a long lost colony world is peopled by numerous bands of Scots, operating at an 18th Century technology level…but with an American Indian organization.  The latter seems eclectic, using terms like sachem, cacique, as well as counting coup, but no explanation as to why these marooned Celts adopted customs from the western hemisphere are forthcoming.

Anyway, this is the tale of John of the Hawks, a boy on the verge of manhood, who achieves maturity by counting coup on three cattle-rustling men of Clan Thompson.  His ascension is delayed by the arrival of men from another world.  They represent themselves as scouts, but what they really want is the abundant platinum deposits on planet Caledonia.

The outworlders don't actually play much part in this story.  Mostly, we get scenes of John of the Hawks riding horses, battling rival clansmen, facing off against and falling in love with Alice of the Thompsons–a lass who is Every Bit as Good as a Man.  It all reads like a dime Western.

And if "Guy McCord" isn't Mack Reynolds, I'll eat my hat.  From the interspersed history lessons to the trademark invented slang, it's got his fingerprints all over it.

A low three stars.

Prostho Plus, by Piers Anthony


by Kelly Freas

The writer of the execrable Chthon has thankfully returned to short stories.  This is a readable, if not particularly remarkable, tale of a dentist who is tasked with filling the molars of an alien.

A story like this would usually be played for laughs, but Prostho is done straight, with an underlying tinge of horror.

Three stars.

The Case of the Perjured Planet, by Martin Loran


by Kelly Freas

The interstellar librarian, name of Quist, is back for his second story.  Using the purveying of books as a cover, the librarian corps is really a division of agents whose job is to monitor the various governments of the galactic confederation.

This time around, Quist is investigating a planet with a secret: it's not that there's evidence that the drab, earthquake-riven world of Napoleon 6 harbors something hidden, but rather the lack thereof.  Quist, knee-deep in 20th Century style detective novels, decides to take a page from Sam Spade's book, and opens up a private detective agency on the planet in the hopes that the clues will come to him.

Like last time, it's not a tale that will stick with you, but there's a maturity to the story's telling that suggests Loran is 1) quite a good writer who just needs a better subject/venue or 2) "Loran" is as real a name as "Guy McCord", and a quite good writer is slumming in Campbell's mag.

Three stars.

Applied Science Fiction, by Will F. Jenkins

And now for the highlight of the issue.  Will Jenkins, better known to the science fiction community as Murray Leinster, is not only a renowned writer–he also is an inventor.  Here is the tale of how he conceived the incredibly useful technology of front projection, allowing actors to appear in ready-made projected scenery in a far more convincing and versatile manner than rear projection.

I really enjoyed this piece, and bravo Mr. Jenkins.  Five stars.

The Cure-All Merchant, by Jack Wodhams


by Kelly Freas

A doctor manages a successful practice by dealing in placebos, much to the horror of the straight man inspector assigned to investigate his activities.  This piece goes on endlessly, asserting that drugs are useless, and the human mind is all.

Ducks like a quack.  One star.

Mission: Red Plague, by Joe Poyer


by Kelly Freas

This last piece is a sort of sequel to Operation: Red Clash, again involving the mythical X-17 hypersonic reconaissance plane.  This time, the spy jet observes the deployment of a biological plague on the Sino-Soviet front.  The problem is the X-17 cockpit isn't completely airtight…

Poyer writes competent Caidenesque technophiliac stuff, but he has trouble hanging an interesting story on it.

Another low three stars.

Spot the difference?

On the surface, it appears Analog has gotten out of its rut, exploring the output of several new authors.  But it doesn't take much inspection to see that Campbell's mag offers more of the same, between the pseudo-Reynolds piece, the workmanlike Loran, Anthony and Poyer, and the truly bad (but Campbell-pleasing) Wodhams.  Only the Jenkins/Leinster is truly noteworthy, pulling the issue up to a three star rating.

That puts it below Fantasy & Science Fiction (3.25) and New Worlds (3.2) and above IF (2.8) and Fantastic (2.7) In other words, middlin', which one would expect of a mag doing the same ol', same ol'.

For those keeping up with statistics, the amount of superlative stuff this month could fill a Galaxy-sized mag; not terrific given that five magazines came out with a November 1967 cover date.  Women produced a surprising 12.5% of all new short fiction, an achievement rendered less impressive for those stories all appearing in one magazine–F&SF, which was the best magazine of the month.

So here's hoping Analog goes for real change next month rather than the veneer of change.  Maybe it'll be a failed experiment…or maybe Campbell will get to oversee a new Golden Age.  Be bold, John!




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[October 26, 1967] Duet in G(ray) (Star Trek: "The Doomsday Machine")

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by Gideon Marcus

Remember, thou are but a mortal

For the past year and a half, we've thrilled to the sight of the Enterprise, a graceful vessel that calls to mind the spindly beauty of tall ships and the blunt power of a battleship.  We've seen her proudly sailing the ether, shaken about by time streams, canted oddly after an attack.

But until last week's episode, we never saw one of her class utterly wrecked.

In the opening scenes of "The Doomsday Machine", when the Enterprise comes across the wrecked Constellation, accompanied by a most effective dirge, it is a gut punch.  The misaligned warp pods.  The charred saucer.  It calls to mind visions of Pearl Harbor, of kamikaze-ravaged ships.  A starship is mortal, we realize.

So, too, is its captain.  The sight of Commodore Decker, mute with shock when Kirk first beams aboard the Constellation, is all too believable.  This is a man we can believe has been stunned out of his mind first by the wreck of his ship by an enormous, extragalactic planet-wrecker, and then by the destruction of his helpless crew by the same implacable menace.  That he alone should be the sole survivor of this disaster is all the more painful–to him, and to us.

If we sympathize with poor Decker, ably played by the ubiquitous character actor William Windom, we can feel little but revulsion for the planet killer, a cross between Saberhagen's berzerkers and Marvel's Galactus.  Plated with impenetrable armor and self-regenerating, the juggernaut has the power of Nomad, but with none of the human-induced fallibility.  It is simply a mindless killing machine.

In the battle that ensues, we root for the crippled Constellation, helmed by Captain Kirk and held together by Scotty, Washburn, and two unnamed crewmen.  We root for the Enterprise, crippled by the presence of a maniacally driven Matt Decker, who assumes command over vociferous and constant objections by Mr. Spock.  If the three-cornered fight is occasionally hindered by inconsistent special effects, it is immeasurably helped by fine acting and an incomparable, Emmy-deserving score.

The drama that takes place on the bridge of the Enterprise is no less compelling, drawing strongly from The Caine Mutiny, complete with Decker fondling tape cartridges like Queeg's ball-bearings.  And unlike in that tremendous book (and less successful movie), Spock has no stomach for mutiny. Deliverance of the Enterprise must wait until Kirk can reestablish command.

"The Doomsday Machine" sees the death of Commodore Decker and the near death of Captain Kirk, both vital to the destruction of the planet killer.  Decker's suicide run with a shuttlecraft establishes the enemy's weakness; Kirk's determination to ram the Constellation inside the machine proves the strongest weapon against it.  But it is really the loss of the Constellation, sacrificed to immolate the destroyer from inside, that impacts the most.  One of the Enterprise's 12 sisters is dead.  Its skipper and complement of 400 will have no thrilling adventures, no end-of-the-episode laugh line.  And if one starship can die, any of them can.

While credit must be given both to the regular cast and this episode’s guest star, and I have already praised the music, there are yet laurels to pass out.  Marc Daniels has consistently impressed with his tight and creative direction, especially in contrast to the competent but rather staid work of the fellow he seems to alternate episodes with, Joe Pevney.  Whomever edited this episode also did a terrific job, often cutting seamlessly between two dialogues to ratchet up the pace.  And, of course, writer Norm Spinrad is no stranger to good science fiction, having been writing it since 1962.  It is probably him we can thank for the "hardness" and plausibility of this episode.

There are a few quibbles, a few scientific gaffes, and my comrades may discuss them.  But for my money, this was perhaps science fiction's finest hour on television.

Five stars.

Call him Ishmael


by Amber Dubin

The tale this episode follows is a well-worn one in sea-faring lore, but I was nevertheless pleasantly surprised to see Star Trek take on the classic story of Moby Dick. Commodore Decker is cast as Ahab, a shipwreck of a captain on a wrecked ship maddened by the obsession with the entity that took everything from him. His illogical pursuit of his white whale is just as turbulent as the protagonist of the famous novel, but what sets this retelling apart from the rest is the gracefulness with which the crew of the Enterprise strike a delicate balance between adherence to duty and survival.

This is on full display in the way Spock does his best to ignore the commodore's obvious madness in order to follow the rules of his station. I found myself shouting, "just nerve pinch him!" as I was forced to watch Decker spit on every opportunity Spock offered him to choose a logical path. Kirk, on the other hand, ever the space cowboy, immediately undermines all the subtlety of the crew's struggles by exclaiming "blast the rules" and outright calling the commodore a ship-stealing tyrant. I found this to be a refreshing deviation to the plot, because Kirk was very much speaking my mind and I was grateful to see the crew rally behind him in exhausted, fearful relief.


A happier crew

While I wasn't thrilled about the spacial reasoning behind the climactic battles, it's incontestable that the score and cinematography in this episode were phenomenal. The last scene, when the transporter kept malfunctioning up until the last seconds before the explosion, had me literally biting my nails with suspense. Likewise, the pulsating droning of the music that started when the crew boarded the shipwrecked vessel left me authentically unsettled and made me wonder what horrors they would stumble upon. This thematic wariness provided the perfect backdrop to introduce the commodore, as he was essentially a discarded shell of himself, a dead man cursed to haunt the abandoned halls of his once mighty and powerful ship.

The place where this episode lost points for me was the forced simile Kirk kept pushing about the killer robot being a doomsday device like an H-bomb. It felt like a ham-fisted attempt to force relevance to our times, which I found unnecessary when a story of a powerful man driven mad by failure was timeless in itself. Moreover, stating that this robot must have been used as doomsday device is a view as limited as the potential usages the H-bomb, or the power behind it. True, the mahine has the destructive power of a powerful bomb but the robot could just as easily have been once used to convert inert material into energy to feed a planet, not destroy it. I'm most disappointed that there's a gaping hole in Kirk's logic over the origin of this device and Spock isn't even tempted to close it. Possibly Spock doesn't challenge his captain's theory because he has been burnt out from challenging illogical authority figures all day, but I have to stretch to make this explanation fit.

Four Stars

There but for the grace of God…


by Janice L. Newman

The Traveler nicely summed up how painful it was to see a sister-ship of the Enterprise fatally wounded. But what held my attention was Commander Decker’s plight and performance. Though some of my companions gently mocked his scenery-chewing tendencies, I found his first appearance and his explanation of what had happened to his ship to be compelling. This was a man at the end of his rope, who had endured the greatest loss any starship captain could imagine: the loss of his ship and crew.

If Captain Kirk should ever live through such a nightmare, I firmly believe he would behave in much the same way. Starfleet must choose captains who have a certain, shall we say, obsessive streak when it comes to their ships and crews. We’ve seen Kirk become aggressive and irrational when his ship is threatened. We’ve also seen him brought back from mind-altered states more than once when giving in would have meant the loss of his ship. For Kirk, the Enterprise and its complement mean everything to him. It’s all too easy to picture him in Decker’s place, a broken, desperate, suicidal, and vengeful man.


Would Kirk face the death of his own ship so calmly?

Four stars.

By the way, we're just burning to see what happens in the next episode of Star Trek, coming out tomorrow night!

Here's the invitation! Come join us.

Also, copies of The Tricorder are still available — drop us a line for details!




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[October 22, 1967] Equal Opportunity Employer (November 1967 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

It is the Policy of the United States Government

Say what you will about LBJ's unfortunate Vietnam policy, there's no question but that his last four years in office have seen more progress on the Civil Rights front than any four decades since the 15th Amendment.

Case in point: just over a week ago, on October 13, 1967, the President signed Executive Order 11375. 

It is desirable that the equal employment opportunity programs provided for in Executive Order No. 11246 expressly embrace discrimination on account of sex.

Hencefoth, in the federal government, and in any federally contracted organization, there must be no discrimination on the basis of sex.


Dorothy Hudson Jacobson, USDA Assistant Secretary for International Affairs


Evelyn Brown; starting in 1963, she was the first woman since WW2 to deliver mail in the nation's capital

It does not immediately solve the rampant inequality and sexist structure in our society, but it is the first step.  An important one.  Not just for justice and quality of life, but for the prosperity of our nation.  For when half the population is allowed to participate without fetter, the fruits in terms of production and innovation, must necessarily more than double, but perhaps even quadruple.

It is the Policy of F&SF

This is something the editorial staff at The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction has always known.  While women have only produced 10% of all published science fiction stories, F&SF has always printed a disproportionate number of them.  When there were thirty monthly magazines, F&SF alone published half of the stories by women.  I daresay its a big reason why F&SF has both managed to remain in the top tiers of the SF digests, and also why F&SF seems to have the highest readership of women.

Nearly half the text in this month's issue (including the only book column penned by a woman) is female-made.  It is perhaps not a surprise that this is one of the better issues of the magazine this year.  After all, when one opens up the lists to all comers rather than just half of them, there's more quality to choose from.


by Gray Morrow

The Sword Swallower, Ron Goulart

But first, a slight misstep.  Ron Goulart is pretty good at witty stories with an element of earthiness.  In particular, his stories about his occult detective, Max Kearney, and the tales of the shapechanging agent, Ben Jolson, are generally something to look forward to.


Ron Goulart

Swallower is a story of the latter, but sadly, it is not up to Goulart's usual standard.  In this piece, Ben is sent to a planet that specializes in sanatoria and funerals–life and death in one package–to investigate the disappearances (and presumed kidnappings) of several government officials.  It reads like someone ghost wrote a Goulart story, containing all the requisite elements, but failing to deliver on humor or interest.

Two stars.

Ballet Nègre, Charles Birkin

The next story is something of a failure, too, about an investigative reporter who must interview the star duo of dancers in a Haitian troupe.  Their ability to walk in flames, their complete silence, and their ghostly pallor intrigue him.

Well, of course they're zombies, and bog standard zombies of the type we've seen in fiction and on teevee for decades.  It's all sort of breathless and lurid, and entirely unsurprising.

Two stars.


Gahan Wilson

Ah, but beginning with the book column (in which Judy Merril promises she will soon have another volume of her controversial but always genre-broadening "Year's Best" anthologies soon), the magazine takes a decided turn for the better.

The Vine, Kit Reed

In a rustic somewhere and somewhen, the vine grows.  It produces the most sumptuous grapes, the most viridian foliage.  But the vine is not for use by humans.  Quite the opposite.  For generations, the Baskin family has cared for the vine, maintaining its elaborate greenhouse, keeping the pests off, ensuring its propagation, in a way becoming intertwined with it.  The other town-dwellers at first resented this unnaturally demanding growth, but in time, it became a tourist attraction.  Soon, the entire economy was based around the now-sprawling vegetable.

However, the vine hungers, and one family can no longer sate it…

Kit Reed has always delivered a large dose of atmosphere with her writing.  This one stays with you.

Four stars.

Nothing Much to Relate, Josephine Saxton

I think this is Saxton's second story; she first appeared in Science Fantasy, so I assume she is from Britain.  It's a cute tale involving a new mother with a talent for automatic writing, and a would-be-yogi who bites off more than he can chew.

It's a rather frivolous piece, but fun all the same.  Three stars.

When the Birds Die, Eduardo Goligorsky (translated by Vernor Vinge)

Here's a rather straightforward and simple after-the-bomb piece about a hobo who, for a little while, lives like a king thanks to his stockpile of vital supplies.  This one's all in the telling, which is particularly remarkable given that it's a story in translation (so, good job Vernor).

Three stars.

The Little Victims, Hilary Bailey

Bailey is another import from the UK, known for her many appearances in New Worlds.  This novella is easily the highlight of the issue.  Rose Dalby is a pregnant young woman who flees a drug den only to be swept into and confined in some sort of weird maternity hospital.  Each of the many mothers gives birth to some kind of monster, either idiotic or preternaturally advanced.  Something sinister is afoot, and Rose is determined to be no part of it.  Fortunately, the world is not entirely composed of evil men.

Not only is the story quite excellent, but the format is rather novel, told as multiple transcripts in an official inquiry document.  The only failing is the rather talky ending.  Still, good stuff, and more please.

Four stars.

Knock Plastic!, Isaac Asimov

Doc A seemed to have fallen into a rut recently.  His articles were either about the most inconsequential and trivial of things ("What latitude can the cities of St. John and Paris be found at?") or, worse, long lists that one could find in the back of any good atlas.

This month, he breaks the mold, detailing the six primary superstitious fallacies.  I enjoyed this piece enough to read it aloud to the Young Traveler.

Five stars.

A Message from Charity, William M. Lee

Finally, the story of a long communication across the centuries.  The telepathic penpals: young Charity Paynes of 18th Century Annes Town, and slightly less young Peter Wood of a 20th Century suburb occupying the same space.  Brought upon by a bout of summer typhoid (in both eras), the two slowly form a bond that goes beyond the sending of messages, including even the exchange of sensations.

Of course, a girl who speaks to unseen things in 1700 New England tends to arouse suspicion.

I first expected this story to be routine (even cliché); then I feared it might become unpleasantly dark.  Lee adroitly manages both outcomes.  I'm not sure if I would give it a fourth star, but it certainly lands in the high threes.

By Virtue of the Authority

Excluding the first two stories, one has a cracking good read for four bits.  Even including them, the November 1967 issue of F&SF clocks in at 3.25 stars.  Given that even Analog is getting into the equal opportunity act, I think we may be headed for a new golden era of science fiction.

Or should that be "Rose Golden"?

Speaking of which, I think you'll very much enjoy Journey Press' newest release:

You've probably heard of Marie Vibbert, one of the biggest names in SFF magazines in the far off 21st Century.  Her book, The Gods Awoke, is what I've been calling "a new New Wave masterpiece".

Do check it out.  You'll not only be getting a great book, but you'll be supporting the Journey!




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Science Fiction/Fantasy, TV

[October 20, 1967] Spoils the Bunch (Star Trek: "The Apple")

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by Gideon Marcus

The Aper

My brother likes to quip that "imitation is the sincerest form of mockery", and boy howdy did last night's episode make a mockery of this amazing show we've come to love.

There has now been a season of Star Trek plus five episodes in season two.  As often happens with brilliant new shows, we're starting to see repetition of plotlines, reliance on clichés rather than innovation.  "The Changeling" recalled "Return of the Archons."  "Who Mourns for Adonais" recalled "Space Seed" and "Charlie X".  However, these mild echoes are nothing compared to what is easily the worst episode of the second season thus far, and possibly of the entire show: "The Apple".

Investigating the planet Gamma Trianguli VI (a real star – one of the three that make up Triangulum, a somewhat obscure constellation most noteworthy for containing the lovely galaxy M33), Kirk beams down with a whopping eight other crew to enjoy what appears to be an absolute paradise planet a la "Shore Leave".  Why the captain, first officer, and the chief medical officer are required for this mission of preliminary exploration is never explained.  The garden aspects of the planet are mostly conveyed by dialogue; unlike "Shore Leave", Gamma Trianguli VI is composed of an obvious set with lots of potted plants.


"Captain, you might stop playing with every flower.  One did just kill a crewman."

For the next twenty minutes, we watch the hapless party mowed down in turn by: 1) spore-shooting plants (like "This Side of Paradise" but deadly), 2) exploding rocks, and 3) lightning bolts.  Eventually, Kirk concludes that it's too dangerous for the ship's senior personnel to stay any longer, but now the Enterprise has no power because something from the planet has drained it.


"Cap'n!  This is the fifth week in a row something's kept us in orbit!  Are ye sure it's not in the Writer's Guide?"

It is only then, almost to the third act, that the story begins.  Kirk captures and slaps "Akuta", a red-skinned caucasian tribal chief with Peter Graves' hair, who is "the eyes and ears of Vaal".  Vaal, it turns out, is a giant Gorn head made out of papier mâché with steps leading into his mouth.  Said head controls the weather, the flora, and the people, using immense machines located underground a la Forbidden Planet.  And yet, it requires that the natives periodically shovel explodey rocks into its mouth to top off its gas tank (with music lifted from "Amok Time").  In return, Vaal grants peace, tranquility, and virtual immortality.  Like Landru in "Return of the Archons."  The only difference is, unlike "Archons", where the citizens get a night of wild abandon every so often, the Triangulans must abstain from sex.


"But it's been 20,000 years!  Can't we go steady now?"

Which is why Vaal doesn't want Earthmen around.  They just can't keep their hands off each other.  But, instead of telling Kirk and co. to go home, it kills the landing party one by one, ultimately ordering the tribesmen (but not the women, despite their not being involved in child rearing or motherhood by order of Vaal, so there's really no basis for discrimination) to kill the rest of the starmen.  Despite their ineptitude at violence, they do manage to brain the last male security guard, though the lone female guard displays an unusual degree of competence in fending them off.  I think I know what changes I'd make to the Enterprise's duty roster…


Kato's got competition…

Finally, with the Enterprise spiraling into the atmosphere due to Vaal's grasp (no green hand as in "Adonais", but the effect is the same), and with Kirk's team depleted by half, the captain hits upon the idea of denying Vaal food.  This makes Vaal mad, so Kirk orders that the Enterprise shoot Vaal with phasers.  In a scene lifted directly from "Adonais", complete with special effects shots AND MUSIC, the Enterprise deactivates Vaal.


"Tyrannosaurus!  Diplodocus!  You were right.  Triceratops… you were right…The time has passed. There is no room for dinosaur gods."

This despite the fact that Scotty said he'd tied "everything but the kitchen sink" into the impulse engines to try to break away from Vaal.  I guess he meant "everything but the kitchen sink and the energy from the most powerful weapons ever invented." Which, by the way, we know can be transferred to engine power because we saw Scotty do it in "The Galileo Seven".

Anyway, now the people of GTVI are free to experience the joys of hard labor, disease, and death in childbirth.  Of course, there is some hand-wringing about violating the "non-interference directive", mostly by Spock, and countered by McCoy, who feels a world without sex isn't one worth living in.  Never mind that the point is moot–Kirk has no choice but to destroy Vaal lest he lose his ship.  Which makes the whole conundrum both repetitive and pointless.

Add to that a really tic-laden performance from Shatner, and "The Apple" sinks to the bottom of the barrel, recalling and, at the same time, displacing last season's "The Alternative Factor".

One star.

One rotten apple…


by Janice L. Newman

What is there to say about The Apple that hasn’t already been said above? It was bad, offensively so. Not just because the story was inconsistent and at times nonsensical. We’ve come to accept such stories with varying degrees of equanimity on other shows, like Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. What made this episode particularly bad and offensive was that it didn’t have the quality we’ve come to specifically expect from Star Trek. Other shows rarely, if ever, give us the well-written science fiction we crave. "Star Trek" has set a standard for itself, especially with two of the early second season episodes, "Amok Time" and "Mirror, Mirror", both of which my fellow Journeyers rated highly. To know that it can be better and watch it fail spectacularly was far more painful than if we’d had low expectations going in. After waiting all week to watch the new episode and inviting friends to watch it with us on our new color television, we ended up wasting an hour of our lives.


I don't think RCA is going to sell many sets with this episode…

There were a couple of bright spots. Apparently the writer wanted to see Spock get hurt repeatedly. In the course of the 50 minute episode, Spock gets shot with poisonous spores, nearly blown up, struck by lightning, and zapped by a force field. While this series of events almost became comedic, Nimoy’s low-key performance is excellent as always.


"I said I like my steak well done, not my Spock!"

McCoy, too, delivers a snappy and acerbic comment that was one of the highlights of the episode ("So much for paradise"). And as annoying as I found her romance with Chekov, I was thrilled to see Martha-the-security-guard successfully flip and subdue a man much larger than she was. It’s about time we see a little equality in the security forces on the ship. We have an equal-opportunity bridge crew, yet the people wearing red are almost always men.

These pinpoints of light were few and far between, like stars at the edge of the galaxy. Unfortunately, they couldn’t save the vast stretch of nothing that was the rest of the episode.

One star.

Something Borrowed


by Joe Reid

The other day I saw a TV advertisement for a child’s toy.  It was a hat with propellers on it.  The children in the commercial ran around and laughed.  They behaved as if these hats were the most fun that they had ever had.  Conversely the child in me looked at that hat and said, “that has got to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen.” The creator of the propeller hat didn’t appear to have put much thought into making a toy that was either interesting or fun, or God-forbid, educational.  He likely saw a child in an old comic strip with a propeller beanie on and thought, “This must be what real children think is fun.  There’s a child in this comic strip with one.  Think of what we could do with two props!”


(not with "The Apple", he didn't)

This week’s episode of Star Trek felt very much to me like that hat.  It looked and felt uncomfortable.  It was utterly pointless and in the end, it just wasn’t very fun at all.  It was a collection of pieces of what one may have thought a good episode of Star Trek was made up of without actually being good, nor relevant, nor consistent.  It was just empty.

“The Apple" was penned by Max Ehrlich, known for his acclaimed non-SF novels, The Takers and Deep is the Blue.  He must obviously be up on Star Trek, because he couldn't have cribbed so many bits from other episodes so far, otherwise.


(not with "The Apple", he didn't)

Up until now, episodes of Star Trek showed our heroes going to strange and amazing settings.  To worlds that have histories and that have been shaped by powerful forces.  They traveled to a ruined world where only children exist, due to a disease that killed the adults.  To a paradise where a lonely god waited millennia for humans to re-join him.  To a ranch where an intelligent fungus gives you perfect health but mind controls you with euphoria.  These were stories set in fantastic places where strange things happen for reasons that serve those worlds.  “The Apple” blatantly lifts elements from these previous episodes.  Story elements that grounded and explained the worlds of the episodes exist in this episode devoid of what meaning they held before and bearing no meaning for the story we saw them in this week.

Ehrlich is like the marketing executive who came up with the idea for the propeller hat.  After all, hats are big; propellers are keen; surely, combining them would be a gas.  All that's needed to sell the idea is to show kids having a blast wearing it!

And so, Ehrlich takes elements from beloved episodes, gussies them up with exploding rocks, giant lizard heads, and innocent naïve natives turned killer, and hopes we'll buy "The Apple" because, hey, it's Star Trek, ain't it?

Sure. Like the 40th copy from a ditto machine is the original.  And efforts to include new elements fall flat, too.  I'm thinking of the uncharacteristically forced romance that we witnessed between Chekov and the female Ensign, and the awkward attempts at comedy at the expense of the same Ensign, which even flustered the ever-logical Spock.  The one exception to this being any comedic line delivered by Mr. DeForest Kelly, Dr. McCoy.  That man is so funny he makes even bad dialogue work when he performs it.


"Jim, I've got an idea.  Why don't you give me all the lines?

At the end of the day, “The Apple” was unfocused, derivative, and uninteresting television.  Borrowing good story points from others that do not serve a new story does not make for a good episode, any more than sticking fans on a beanie makes a good toy.  Instead of things happening for a reason they simply existed so that something happened.  Without the reasons why things were as they were, “The Apple” came across vapid and empty.  Here’s hoping that next week we return to tales that have more meaning than this. 

1 star

Well, maybe the next episode, airing TONIGHT, will be better.  Looks like the Enterprise is in for a bumpy ride..

Here's the invitation. Come join us!



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Movies, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[October 18, 1967] We Are The Martians: Quatermass and the Pit, Bonnie and Clyde, The Day the Fish Came Out and The Snake Pit and the Pendulum

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by Fiona Moore

This month sees the release of a film I’ve been anticipating for a long time: Quatermass and the Pit, the final instalment in Hammer Film Productions’ adaptations of Nigel Kneale’s Quatermass trilogy. With a whole new cast of actors and a very different look and feel to Hammer’s earlier movies starring Brian Donlevy, The Quatermass Xperiment (1955) and Quatermass 2 (1957), this represents a concerted effort to bring Quatermass into the 1960s.

While reportedly this film was considered as another outing for Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee, Andrew Keir as Quatermass and Julian Glover as Breen provide great interpretations. Keir is the most likeable of the Quatermass actors, while still managing a bitter world-weariness in keeping with the character. Rising star Glover is a bold choice as Breen, being considerably younger than Anthony Bushell in the TV serial, but this casting shifts the interpretation from an old officer too set in his ways to acknowledge the impossible, to an immature, overpromoted man falling back on rigid denials to cover the fact that he is out of his depth. Barbara Shelley as Barbara Judd is more sexy than the usual Quatermass women, wearing outfits that one would think not very sensible for an archaeologist.

Likeable: Andrew Keir as Quatermass and Barbara Shelley as Miss Judd

The basic narrative has had only a few updates. For instance, rather than a new building, the construction work which revives the ancient horrors is the digging of a new Underground extension, something which many Londoners are having to put up with right now. The story has been compressed from six half-hour episodes to a lean 97 minutes, meaning that the plot cracks along at a ripping pace without every feeling overpadded, and we lose most of Kneale’s excruciating working-class stereotype characters. On the more negative side, the film lacks the slow buildup of tension that the TV serial had. Crucially, the themes of the original are all present. Perhaps because Kneale is here adapting his own screenplay, we do not lose the sense of anger at military proliferation, colonialism, and humanity’s self-destructive tendencies.

Colonel Breen, representing humanity's negative side.

One aspect which remains unchanged, however, leads to a rather specialised criticism I have of this movie, speaking as an anthropologist. While in 1959 the dominant theory about human evolution was, indeed, that large brains would precede upright walking, more recent discoveries by Louis and Mary Leakey in East Africa are starting to move the consensus more towards the idea that the opposite was true.

The colour film and production values give the film a much more lavish feel than the austere Donlevy movies, but are a mixed blessing. The alien spacecraft is a thing of beauty compared to the crude cylinder of the serial, but this makes the idea that it could be initially thought to be a German V-weapon less credible. The simple ground-shaking effect in the TV serial when Sladden (played here by Duncan Lamont) accesses his primitive side was somehow more terrifying than the wild poltergeist activity seen here. However, the climax of the film uses its production values to build on the sense of terror as humanity succumbs to the Wild Hunt: we have a chilling scene where a group of people surround a man and beat him to death telekinetically with stones and masonry. Rather than concluding with an explanatory speech by Quatermass, the film simply lingers on the image of Quatermass and Barbara sitting among the ruins, shattered by what they’ve experienced.

Hammer's take on the Martians.

Quatermass and the Pit provides evidence both that the themes of the original Quatermass stories remain fresh and relevant almost a decade later, and that Hammer are still capable of producing a decent horror film without relying on gore and nudity to bring in the shocks. It’s a shame there’s unlikely to be a Quatermass 4.

Four out of five stars.


by Jason Sacks

Bonnie and Clyde

And while Fiona praises Quatermass and the Pit for its lack of gore, I have to praise Bonnie and Clyde for its copious use of gore.

You're probably aware of this newest film starring Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway. In the two months since its New York premiere, perhaps you've seen the numerous newspaper articles focusing on the highly violent nature of Bonnie and Clyde, or articles which have condemned the idea that the film makes heroes of its bankrobbing protagonists.

Or perhaps you've read the rhapsodic review of Bonnie and Clyde in the latest issue of The New Yorker by their new critic Pauline Kael and possibly dismissed it because of your annoyance with Kael's now legendary condemnation of The Sound of Music three years ago in McCall's.

I've had the most amazing experience since I saw Bonnie and Clyde last weekend after it premiered at the Northgate Cinema: I've been raving nonstop to my friends about this film.

Like Kael, I was thrilled to see a film which is so bold, so intense and somehow so contemporary feeling. Despite–or perhaps because of–its setting in during the Great Depression, this film feels like a deconstruction of the myths we have told ourselves about the past. Bonnie and Clyde makes villains out of the brave federal men who chase our heroic criminals. This isn't an episode of The FBI. This is an inversion of what it means to be a hero. And in that inversion I saw myself in the faces of people who lived and died 35 years ago.

Because the world in which Bonnie and Clyde live feels like a real world. It's dusty and ugly and people wear worn clothes. Some banks have collapsed and others are near collapse and peoples' lives are miserable. In that misery, ordinary people are desperate for someone, anyone, who is able to triumph against all odds, even if the fate of those heroes seems horribly preordained.

Like all of us, the characters in Bonnie and Clyde are deeply flawed. I was especially swept up in Clyde's foibles. We're all used to seeing Warren Beatty as the smooth handsome lover in movies like Promise Her Anything and Splendor in the Grass, but here Beatty plays a man who's just not interested in love, or maybe more truthfully Clyde is a man who gets his thrills from robbery and not from women. Faye Dunaway is thus not quite Beatty's girlfriend on screen as much as she is his accomplice, fascinatingly contrary to what we expect.

With its echoes of the French New Wave and its shattering of cliche and audience expectations, Bonnie and Clyde feels like a revolution–a harbinger of the types of films I hope to see as the new decade dawns.

4½ out of 5 stars


by Victoria Silverwolf

Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts

Filmmaker Michael Cacoyannis had an international hit with Zorba the Greek a few years ago, which was nominated for seven Academy Awards and won three. With that success behind him, I guess he figured he could do just about anything he wanted. He decided to do something different.

The Day the Fish Came Out

The film starts with an unseen narrator telling us about the tragic incident last year when a B-52 bomber collided with a tanker during mid-air refueling, killing most of the crew. Four nuclear bombs fell out of the doomed aircraft, three of them landing near the Spanish village of Palomares and one falling into the sea. Since this movie is a black comedy, this frightening story is accompanied by three flamenco dancers.


They also have the ability to sing with subtitles, giving away the plot.

In the future year 1972, a plane carrying a pilot, a navigator, two atomic bombs, and a mysterious metal box crashes near a tiny Greek island. The unfortunate pair of flyboys lose their clothing, and spend most of the film in their underpants.


Colin Blakely (left) and Tom Courtenay (right) offer a little beefcake.

A bunch of military types, pretending to be folks interested in building a hotel on the island, search for the bombs and box. They get the bombs back, but it seems a local fellow found the box and thinks it has a treasure inside. Unfortunately for him, it's sealed tight and can't be opened except by a laser or a special chemical. (Keep that latter possibility in mind.)

Meanwhile, a bunch of tourists, attracted by the rumor of an upcoming hotel, flock to the island. Like almost everybody else in this movie (not including the locals or the barely dressed airmen), they wear clothes that would be rejected by Carnaby Street as too extreme. They also dance a lot.


In fact, if you get a chance to watch the trailer for this movie, you'll think it's a beach movie.

After more than an hour of this stuff, the plot gets going with the arrival of Electra Brown, played by Candice Bergen, the beautiful daughter of ventriloquist Edgar Bergen. She's supposed to be an archeologist, but the way she behaves with one of the military guys makes me think she's more interested in human biology. Bergen made her film debut as a lesbian in the classy soap opera movie The Group, but here she is very heterosexual indeed.


Electra Brown in one of her more conservative outfits.

Electra has this weird device that uses a special chemical (sound familiar?) to cut through metal in order to make replicas of ancient objects. (No, that didn't make much sense to me either.) Long story short, the guy who found the box steals the gizmo, opens the box, and . . .

Well, without giving away too much, let's just say that the depressing ending finally explains the title. This movie badly wants to be Dr. Strangelove and it fails miserably. The comedy isn't funny, the satire falls flat, and there are long stretches where nothing much is happening.

Two stars, mostly for the wacky costumes.


Designed by the director, who also wrote and produced.

Stay away from this one unless you want to laugh at it. Read a book instead.


Maybe not this one.


by Cora Buhlert

Horror in the Real World

1967 is certainly turning out to be a year of disasters.

Belgium has barely recovered from the devastating fire at the À l'Innovation department store in May and now two express trains and a local passenger train collided near the village of Fexhe-le-Haut-Clocher in the French-speaking part of Belgium on October 5, leaving twelve people dead and 76 injured.

FEXHE LE HAUT CLOCHE traincrash
Aftermath of the train crash of Fexhe-Le-Haut-Clocher in Belgium.

The photos of the wrecked trains bring back memories of another terrible railroad disaster that happened only three months ago in East Germany. A barrier at a railroad crossing near the village of Langenweddingen malfunctioned. As a result, a passenger train crashed into a tanker truck, setting the train on fire. 94 people died, 44 of them school children en route to a holiday camp. The Langenweddingen train crash is the worst railroad accident not just in East Germany, but in all of German history.

Langenweddingen train crash
Aftermath of the devastating railroad crash in Langenweddingen, East Germany. Note the burned out train cars.

Horror on the Silver Screen: Die Schlangengrube und das Pendel (The Snake Pit and the Pendulum)

Compared to the many horrors of the real world, watching a spooky movie in the theatre feels almost cathartic. And so I decided to get away from the real world by watching the new West German horror movie Die Schlangengrube und das Pendel (The Snake Pit and the Pendulum) at my local cinema.

As the title indicates, the film is a (loose) adaptation of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Pit and the Pendulum". Of course, we already had a very good (loose) adaptation of that story by Roger Corman only six years ago. And indeed, The Snake Pit and the Pendulum intends to be West Germany's answer to Roger Corman's Edgar Allan Poe adaptations, the UK's Hammer horror films and the lurid horror films from Italy, all of which are popular, if not necessarily critical successes in West German cinemas. So how does The Snake Pit and the Pendulum hold up?

Snake Pit and the Pendulum 1967
Judge Richard von Marienberg (Lex Barker in a wig) setnences Count Regula (Christopher Lee) to death.

Pretty well, it turns out. The movie starts with a bang, as a bewigged judge and a scarlet-masked executioner visit Count Regula (Christopher Lee) in his cell. The judge informs Count Regula that he is sentenced to death for murdering twelve virgins in his quest for immortality. However, the immortality elixir requires the blood of thirteen virgins and the final virgin managed to escape the Count's clutches and alerted the authorities.

Snake Pit and the Pendulum
The bodies of the twelve murdered virgins are arranged in a censor-friendly way, covering up any stray breasts.

The death sentence is to be executed immediately and a most bloody sentence it is, too. First, a bronze mask lined with spikes is nailed onto Count Regula's face – reminiscent of Mario Bava's 1960 horror movie La Maschera del Demonio a.k.a. Black Sunday. Then Count Regula is led onto the market square of the fictional town of Sandertal – portrayed by the Bavarian town of Rothenburg ob der Tauber, which is famous for its medieval architecture – where his body is torn apart by four horses. Of course, we have seen similar scenes in Italian and French historical and horror movies many times, but by the rather tame standards of West German cinema, this is a remarkably bloody opening.

Snake Pit and the Pendulum
The judge (Lex Barker) and the thirteenth virgin (Karin Dor) oversee the execution of Count Regula.
Snake Pit and Pendulum
The executioner is ready for action.

The movie continues in the same vein. For true to form, Count Regula has vowed bloody vengeance from beyond the grave, not only on the judge who sentenced him to death and that pesky virgin who escaped his clutches, but also on their descendants.

Snake pit and the pendulum
A creepy extra in "The Snake Pit and the Pendulum"

Vengeance from Beyond the Grave

The story now jumps forward by thirty years, from the early nineteenth century into the 1830s. A mail coach is traveling to Sandertal. The passengers are the lawyer Roger Mont Elise (Lex Barker), Baroness Lilian of Brabant (Karin Dor), her maid Babette (Christiane Rücker) and Fabian (Yugoslav actor Vladimir Medar), a highwayman masquerading as a priest. Roger and Lilian have both been summoned to Castle Andomai via mysterious letters. Roger, who is an orphan, is supposed to learn more about his parentage, while Lilian is supposed to receive the inheritance of her late mother. Both letters are signed by Count Regula, the very same Count Regula whose bloody execution we just witnessed.

Snake Pit and the Pendulum
Lilian of Brabant (Karin Dor) and Roger Mont Elise (Lex Barker) compare the latters they received from Count Regula.
Snake Pit and the Pendulum
The mail coach makes a pit stop in the woods, so Lilian of Brabant, her maid Babette (Christiane Rücker), Roger Mont Elise and Priest Fabian (Vladimir Medar) disembark
Schalngengrube und das Pendel
The woods around Sandertal are certainly spooky.

En route to the castle, the coach and its passengers must not only travel through a spooky forest where the bodies of hanged men are dangling from every tree, but are also assailed by bandits intent on kidnapping the two women. Roger and Fabian manage to fight off the bandits. But even more trouble awaits them at the castle, where the undead Count Regula and his equally undead servant Anatol (played by the delightfully creepy Carl Lange) are about to make good on the Count's dying threats.

Snake Pit and the Pendulum
The undead servant Anatol (Carl Lange) is about to revive his master Count Regula.
Snake Pit and the Pendulum
Roger Mont Elise meets the undead Count Regula (Christopher Lee) and his equally undead servant Anatol (Carl Lange).
Snake Pit and the Pendulum
Anatol harrasses Lilian.

For unbeknownst to them, Roger and Lilian are the descendants of the judge who sentenced Count Regula to death and the virgin who escaped the Count's clutches (and clearly did not remain a virgin). A gruesome fate awaits them at the castle, a fate that involves a pit full of snakes and a razor-sharp pendulum.

Snake Pit and the Pendulum
Roger and Lilian explore the spooky dungeons of Castle Andomai.
Snake Pit and the Pendulum
The ladies' maid Babette (Christiane Rücker) is about to meet an unpleasant end.
Snake Pit and the Pendulum
Count Regula and Anatol don't just employ pits and pendulums. Here they are about to guillotine Lilian.

The Snake Pit and the Pendulum is not quite up to the high standards set by Roger Corman's Edgar Allan Poe adaptations on the one hand and the Hammer movies from the UK on the other. However, it is an enjoyably spooky film that will send a shudder or two down your spine.

Harald Reinl is a veteran of the Edgar Wallace, Dr. Mabuse and Winnetou movie series and probably the best director working in West Germany right now. His skills are on full display in this movie and he uses existing locations such as the medieval town of Rotenburg ob der Tauber or the Extern Stones in the Teutoburg Forest to great effect.

The cast is excellent. Christopher Lee has graced many a Hammer movie and now brings his horror skills to West German screens. Carl Lange has specialised in playing dubious characters and outright villains for a long time now and his performance as a hangman forced to execute his own son in Face of the Frog is unforgettable. I'm always stunned that Lex Barker never got to be the A-list star in Hollywood that he is in Europe, but their loss was our gain. That said, at 48 Barker may be getting a little too hold for hero roles. Finally, I'm very happy to see the always reliable Karin Dor back in a West German production and with her natural brunette hair after the James Bond movie You Only Live Twice wasted her talents on a cliched femme fatale role and foisted a terrible red wig on her, too.

Snake Pit and the Pendulum
Lex Barker and Karin Dor are enjoying themselves on the set of "The Snake Pit and the Pendulum".

Almost fifty years ago, the horror film genre was born in Germany. But like so many other things, horror film making in Germany died with the Weimar Republic. Let's hope that The Snake Pit and the Pendulum heralds a revival of a film genre that was pioneered here.

Four stars

Snake Pit and the Pendulum



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Science Fiction/Fantasy, TV

[October 16, 1967] A Frosty Reception (Doctor Who: The Abominable Snowmen)

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By Jessica Holmes

After a thoroughly entertaining serial last month, sadly things take a sharp downturn in the latest serial of Doctor Who. It’s got big hairy monsters and mysterious monks, but what about it has left me so cold? Let’s plough through The Abominable Snowmen.

EPISODE ONE

The first episode starts off with snow, wind, a lot of screaming…and the Doctor arriving in the Himalayas. With Jamie refusing to wear anything warmer than his kilt (because he’s a Highlands lad, and doesn’t see why the Himalayas should be any different), the Doctor dons a big fur coat and heads out alone. With him he takes a ghanta (a kind of bell used in some religious practices), which he assures his companions will grant them a warm welcome at the monastery further down the mountain.

However, this might not be a simple outing. The Doctor’s trip down the mountain takes an uneasy turn as he comes across giant footprints, an abandoned campsite, and a dead body.

And about time too. The pacing of this serial is downright glacial. It’s just full of long stretches of practically nothing happening.

The Doctor helps himself to a rucksack lying beside the dead man, and continues down the mountain.

Meanwhile, a bored Victoria grows tired of waiting for him to come back and goes to explore outside, coming across more giant footprints.

Before anything interesting can happen there, we’re down at the monastery, which at first seems abandoned (potentially exciting, mysterious!) but after some poking around turns out to be full of monks who, I suppose, just couldn’t be bothered to answer the door. I don't care for fake suspense. It's cheap and it's unsatisfying.

There is also an English anthropologist, Travers (Jack Watling. And yes, he is related to Deborah Watling; he’s her dad!), who is here looking for the elusive Yeti. However, his expedition went awry when their camp was attacked, his associate brutally murdered in the night by something with masses of fur. And here comes the Doctor, wearing a big fur coat, and carrying the dead man’s rucksack.

Jumping to conclusions, Travers accuses the Doctor of being their attacker (the Yeti are far too gentle to attack a human…as far as he knows, anyway), and the monks’ lead warrior Khrisong (Norman Jones) takes him prisoner.

While the Doctor mopes about in his cell, Jamie and Victoria follow the footprints to find a cave…and an angry Yeti!

Travers comes to the Doctor in his cell and accuses him of being some agent of the press sent to sabotage his expedition. It’s the usual ‘I’ll show them all!’ explorer spiel. You’ve heard it a thousand times before.

Meanwhile, the monks speculate that although the Yeti are usually peaceful creatures, the sudden appearance of the Doctor may have turned them savage. In a first, they have actually cast actors of Asian descent to give a faithful interpretation of the fascinating culture of Tibetan Buddhist monks.

Just kidding. Of course it’s a bunch of white English blokes with their eyelids taped and some accents that are varying degrees of dodgy.

But wouldn’t it have been nice?

EPISODE TWO

With the Yeti approaching, Jamie knocks out a support holding up the cave’s roof, burying the beast under tonnes of rock. You’d think that would be the end of the matter, but it turns out that the Yeti is harder to kill than that. Jamie and Victoria don’t get much exploring done before the creature starts getting back up, and they flee the cave. However, they don’t leave empty-handed: they found a shiny ball. The ball will be important later.

Meanwhile, it seems that the Doctor is not entirely without friends at the monastery. Upon learning of his presence, the master of the monastery, Padmasambhava (Wolfe Morris) orders that the Doctor be released from his captivity and treated with kindness. However, there’s something very off about Padmasambhava. He remains always off-camera, and his voice seems to have a hypnotic effect on all who hear it. It’s quite creepy.

On the mountain, Jamie and Victoria coming down meet Travers coming up, and warn him about the great hairy beastie roaming the peaks. They manage to convince Travers that the Doctor isn’t actually there to sabotage anyone, and so Travers accompanies them back down the mountain to apologise to the Doctor.

Jamie and Victoria show the Doctor their shiny ball, which is just as befuddling to the Doctor as the Yetis’ behaviour is to Travers.

But… I’m sorry. I am. But I absolutely cannot feel even slightly afraid of some monsters which can only be described as big fluffy potatoes on two legs. Give them a small push and they’d bounce down the mountain.

A Yeti comes up to the gate, and as the monks rush to repel it, it suddenly drops dead, another of those shiny balls rolling away from it.

The group haul it inside, and it turns out that if there really is a creature called a Yeti…this isn’t it. It has a metal body, and a hole where a control unit is supposed to go. This is no creature of flesh and blood, but a robot!

EPISODE THREE

Noticing the round shape of the slot for the Yeti’s control unit, the group speculate that the silver balls are for controlling the Yeti. However, the one they showed to the Doctor appears to have vanished, though nobody has touched it as far as they can work out.

That’s not the only thing gone walkabout. Determined to find out where the robot Yeti are coming from, Travers sneaks out and heads up the mountain.

Unable to find the control unit inside, the Doctor and Jamie want to go out and search for the other control unit which must have dislodged from the Yeti, but Khrisong won’t let anyone leave the monastery. He’s not entirely unreasonable though, and goes out himself to have a look.

There are forces at play, however, that wish to keep the control units from falling into the Doctor’s hands. It’s revealed that Padmasambhava is controlling the Yeti from his chambers, moving them around like pieces on a chessboard. And now they’re moving in on Khrisong…

The Doctor and Jamie rush to help him, but the Yeti have little interest in Khrisong himself, throwing him aside as they snatch the control unit from him. Wanting to know where the control signal is coming from, the Doctor and Jamie head up towards the TARDIS to find some tracking equipment. Victoria, meanwhile, just sort of pokes around the monastery and keeps trying to get into Padmasambhava’s inner sanctum out of an abundance of curiosity and perhaps a deficit of respect for sacred spaces.

With the Yetis’ work done, they retreat, and Padmasambhava can attend to other matters, like giving the Abbot a present. Presenting the Abbot with a small glass pyramid, he tells him to take it up to the cave, so at last the ‘Great Intelligence’ can take form.

But who or what is this Great Intelligence? Well, we’ll have to wait and see…

Final Thoughts

There’s not really much to say about this serial other than listing synonyms for tedium. The pacing is just glacial, and the monsters just aren’t threatening, so it can’t even claim to be suspenseful. That said, Padmasambhava does intrigue me, and perhaps this Great Intelligence can offer a more interesting monster than a bunch of hairy potatoes. Maybe things will pick up in the second half.




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