Showing posts with label aliens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label aliens. Show all posts

Saturday, December 22, 2018

The fourth estate

It's been over a decade since we started making our way through the 250 (ish) films in the Mill Creek Horror Collection. At long last, we've arrived at the tail end of the box, with just two movies left -- two! -- that neither of us have ever seen before.

And what do they have in common, besides aliens and space and other science fiction tropes? There are a few options, like blowing up heavenly bodies (happens in both), teleportation (ditto), or ripping off established science fiction classics (that's a hat trick).

But we'll choose this: in both films, press conferences are held in which the very fate of the earth is called into question.


    Warning from Space (1956)

    Grade: D

    These last two films in 50 Sci-Fi Classics really do bring us full circle, as Warning from Space amply demonstrates. Even if we didn't have the literal (and adorable) "star men" seen above, its Japanese origins and style would certainly remind us of the Super Giant films we watched near the very outset of our 250-pack quest.

    Once again the Mill Creek compilers show discernment by pairing Warning from Space on the same disc with They Came from Beyond Space. Perhaps we should have reviewed them together, as they really do share a lot of themes -- like having scientists as protagonists, and showing them in the field.

    Or aliens who, in need of a spokesperson, choose to inhabit a human female body.

    Or societies that conceive of themselves in terms of politeness and fair play, and that are left curiously defenseless against those who transgress those norms.

    Or weird stuff that pops up from a pond, while the soundtrack uses a grating electronic tone to make sure we catch on to its "alienness".

    Anyway, Warning from Space is basically Japan's version of When Worlds Collide with a dash of The Day The Earth Stood Still. There's a whole lot of looking through telescopes and firing off rockets --

    --  interspersed with philosophical arguments, cultural activities, and the occasional dance number.

    By deciding to make Japan their point of contact, did the aliens inadvertently guarantee that the rest of the world would drag their feet? There's a whiff of that in the film -- an aggrieved undertone of "Why aren't they taking us seriously? Why are they refusing our requests for help?" --


    -- to which the events of 1931-1945 might be a plausible answer. (Just saying.)

    Warning from Space might rate a notch or two higher if it weren't for the cavalier way it handles a crucial plot thread near the end. It cheapens the narrative, and would have been so easy to fix! And we can't blame the dubbing, since it's apparently quite faithful.

    The fun is also dampened by scenes near the end that show various animals in distress. The intention is to evoke our compassion by reminding us of how they too would suffer in the oppressive heat, but can we trust that none were harmed in the making of this film? Probably not.

    On the other hand, that alien chick has one hell of a serve. Naomi Osaka, watch out!



    Cosmos: War of the Planets (1977)
    [aka War of the Planets, aka Anno zero - Guerra nello spazio]

    Objective Grade: F

    Plus WTF Withal: D

    Cosmos: War of the Planets isn't quite the last film on the box set: that honor goes to Destroy All Planets, a Gamera film we already reviewed. But it's on the last side of the last disc, at least.

    And boy, did Mill Creek pick a doozy to finish things up -- because War of the Planets is one bizarre, scattershot, fever dream of a movie.

    There was always going to be some background weirdness since War of the Planets has the same director (Alfonso Brescia), and much of the same cast, as a film we've already seen, War of the Robots.

    Heck, it's even got Aldo Canti as an unexpectedly friendly alien who joins the starship's crew late in the film -- playing almost the exact same role he did in Robots.

    But War of the Planets is much, much weirder than either Robots or the other Brescia film we've seen, Star Odyssey. Those films at least made some attempt to present a coherent narrative (despite the swapped reel in Star Odyssey), but War of the Planets is just completely and utterly out-to-lunch from the start.

    It's never a good sign when you can barely understand the film's opening scene, in which the crew seems to be on a collision course with debris from a stellar explosion. Their computer refuses to route around it, confounding the crew and leaving them headed for certain doom --

    -- only to discover that the object hurtling toward them was, as the ship's computer tells us in an announcement whose beginning is obscured by the crew's cheers, merely "a refraction of a cosmic explosion occurring 10 million years ago."

    And that's why it didn't steer clear: the object wasn't even there. Guess Compy knows best, eh, folks?


    In the original Italian version of War of the Planets, the title sequence (which follows the scene above) had a song all its own. Its refrain:

    We are not alone here in space
    Because here in space we have brothers

    It's as hilarious as it sounds, but given the singer's thick accent -- and habit of switching between English and Italian -- it's understandable that "We Are Not Alone Here In Space" was pulled for the foreign dub (though a fragment of it pops up at around 8:45, who knows why?).

    Instead, we get an extended sequence of avant-garde electronic patter, which accompanies long shots of asteroids, starfields, spaceports, and some amazing attempts at Anglicizing the names of the Italian crew.

    Next, the film's protagonist, Captain Fred Hamilton (John Richardson), walks up to one of his co-workers, greets him, and clocks him for no discernible reason.

    When Captain Hamilton is called on the carpet for his fisticuffs, and arguments ensue about "a bunch of notes from an electronic hunk of metal" vs. "the greatest brain ever made by man", we know we're dealing with one of those man vs. machine movies. And contrary to some other reviewers, we wouldn't describe this as a hidden subtext of War of the Planets, because it's about as subtle as a sledgehammer.

    Does a guy nearly get himself killed while doing a space-walking operation? And does the Captain need to fly to his rescue, after the computer's automated assistance isn't nearly fast enough? It's all the fault of those damn machines, machines, we built them to serve us.

    Or does a couple engage in some sort of strange, alienated cybersex through a glass ball that looks kind of like the Death Star?

    "How long?"
    "Whatever."
    (flips switch)
    "Violent, or gentle?"
    "You decide."
    (flips switch)

    Yep, it's the machines, machines, they're gonna be our bed.

    Don't worry, some of us still know how to get it on properly. We don't even have to go to Tangie Town.

    And some of us are named "Oko" and have overdubbed Asian accents -- who knows if that was in the original -- despite strong evidence that we don't hail from that neck of the woods.

    The person who put together the soundtrack for War of the Robots really likes the Bach Toccata and Fugue in D minor. Eventually he caves in and just uses a recording of the Bach directly -- an excerpt at 23 minutes, and a long chunk around 51 minutes -- but it's present from the very first shot of the film, when the oscillations of a star are accompanied by a rapid-fire version of the Toccata's opening riff.


    At other times, it's sped up even further and used as a sound effect for computer alerts and big banks of blinkenlights. And when we're not hearing the Toccata, we're hearing Switched-On-style synth tunes inspired by Bach (but without any of his chops).

    The captain may hate computers, but his superiors happily take their orders from the supercomputer Wiz. When a mysterious interstellar signal disrupts communications on Earth, Wiz somehow knows that "behind this strange signal there's an alien intelligence that knows all", and "orders [them] to find the emission source and destroy it".

    (Perhaps the wise Wiz could also have noted that the signal is just the freakin' Toccata lick sped up by a factor of 20. Haven't you ever played Dark Castle, Wiz?)

    And guess who gets the job? OK, a mysterious woman has to persuade the Captain, though we get no backstory or explanation of why this Dr. Jane Frazier has such a sway on his judgment. Her appearance is so brief as to almost be a cameo, while the actress is uncredited and unknown to us.

    It's yet another example of the seat-of-your-pants style of scriptwriting -- and direction, and editing -- that War of the Robots seems to favor. No narrative conventions needed, just full speed ahead at all times.

    Soon enough, the captain and his crew get to the mysterious planet from which the emissions are coming. From there, things play out like a cross between War of the Robots and pretty much any episode of Star Trek where Kirk et al. encounter a "primitive" people. There's always someone pulling the strings, and if it's not a disembodied intelligence with godlike powers, it's usually a computer.

    Meanwhile his bosses back on Earth are being hounded by "newspapermen" (though they're certainly not all men).

    This prompts one of the only intentionally funny exchanges in the entire film. After the brass offer a reassuring explanation for recent events -- "I'm sorry for the headlines you had in mind, but Earth is not in any danger!" -- 

    -- the reporters scramble away to the nearest phones, with one man specifically shouting "Earth is in danger!" to his editor. The two military men look at each other and deadpan:

    Miller: Didn't buy it.
    Armstrong: Nope.

    The occasional chuckle aside, War of the Planets is a gigantic mess. It manages to both drag and rush, with botched transitions and sequences that go on too long. Characters talk over each other for no reason; scenes are interrupted mid-sentence; the action shifts from place to place, seemingly at random, leaving us uncertain as to what's going on or what's happened to whom. Seldom have we ever spent as much time glancing at each other and silently mouthing "WTF?"

    In other words, both the editing and direction are atrocious. (And the prop department kinda phoned it in too.)

    How much of the incoherence comes from the dubbing process is unclear, though seeing the Italian original would be the gold standard here. On a technical level the English dub is mostly decent (especially since some of the actors were speaking English anyway!), though we do get one or two gloriously ridiculous moments when a character takes a long, unnatural pause mid-sentence.

    And the cinematography is fine -- nice, even -- though maybe we're just responding to the pretty colors and flashing lights, since we haven't hit the Pink Floyd show at the planetarium and we're jonesing.

    As a side note, what on earth is this crucifix doing in a random explosion sequence? If there's a hidden Christian message in this film, it's buried pretty deep.

    War of the Planets completely loses its marbles toward the end, when it veers wildly from ripping off 2001: A Space Odyssey to ripping off who-knows-what-they-were-trying-for (Planet of the Vampires gets brought up a lot in other reviews, but we haven't seen it).

    But at least War of the Planets sticks by its core message: that humans shouldn't allow themselves to be too dependent on computers, lest we become weak, vulnerable, and alienated from our own humanity. Or something like that.

    Fortunately, there's absolutely nothing timely or relevant about that message, right? Sounds totally irrational to us.


    Don't you agree, Aldo Canti? You're everyone's favorite alien.



    Next up, the Umbrellahead Awards for 50 Sci-Fi Classics!

    Thursday, December 20, 2018

    Your mind and we belong together

    As we approach the end of 50 Sci-Fi Classics -- and the entire 250-pack! -- we come upon two movies in which characters are subject to unwanted mind probes from hostile groups, and are incapacitated by flashing lights and piercing sounds. How rude!


      The Brain Machine (1977)

      Grade: C-

      Proposition: when you think about it, almost every film hedges its bets in some way.

      Maybe the filmmakers just want to be liked; maybe they want to make money, or ran out of money and had to do the best they could with what was left. Or maybe it's an inheritance borne of Greek or Shakespearean principles of symmetry and balance: you have to have some of that to go with a lot of this.

      But seldom does a film start with a premise, mood, or worldview, and see it through every step of the way, without backing off or trying to lighten things up with "comic" relief or a romantic subplot...

      ...without, in other words, worrying about alienating some members of its audience. And there's a real bravery in that since, to quote an early episode of Futurama:

      "Clever things make people feel stupid, and unexpected things make them feel scared. Audiences don't want anything original. They wanna see the same thing they've seen a thousand times before."

      So it's refreshing, even bracing, to see a movie as relentlessly grim as The Brain Machine. The soundtrack literally sets the tone for us, since from the very first shot (and all the way to the last) we get echoing synthesizer wails, organ tremolos, and grinding guitar feedback -- all of which telegraphs something about the world the film inhabits.

      And that world isn't a very nice place.


      In the film's opening sequence we hear the clipped, humorless voices of military men who speak of "top-secret files" that involve a "Brain Machine" project. Suspecting a betrayal by one of the project scientists, the brass doesn't hesitate before ordering what sure sounds like an execution.

      Juxtaposed with this is the idle chatter of two scientists, Dr. Carol Portland and Dr. Elton Morris (Barbara Burgess and Gil Peterson), as they settle down to work.

      Having winnowed down a list of 447 applicants, they go over the biographical data of the four "lucky winners" chosen for their experiment, in which telling the truth is apparently of crucial importance...

      ...and telling a lie will be punished. But wait:

      "We've got all this truth business programmed, and punishment for the subjects if they tell a lie, but how are we going to know if they tell the truth?" asks Dr. Portland.

      "Don't ask me, love!" replies Dr. Morris. "We get the money to do what we wanna do, then we have to do some of the things the higher-ups want done."

      Hmm, could this have something to do with a certain "brain machine"? The world wonders.

      The actors portraying the four victims subjects include two unknowns who appear to have been local talent from Mississippi, where The Brain Machine was filmed.

      One looks a bit like a cross between Krist Novoselic and Andy Kaufman, and has the delightful name of Marcus J. Grapes (yes!). He had a handful of other appearances before disappearing from IMDb's radar.

      The other is Ann Latham as Minnie Lee Parks, who looks like everyone's ex-girlfriend...

      ...or, if you're less fortunate, that girl you wish you'd dated...

      ...or, if you're more fortunate, that girl you very wisely didn't date (to be fair, she was less attractive than Ms. Parks, but the type is the same, you know?).

      Oh, and she's described by Dr. Morris thusly: "Kinda cute! Kinda dumb. Just my type. (pause) Well, she is!"

      That gets a royal eye roll from Dr. Portland.

      As for the "name" actors, we have James Best, who later became Sheriff Roscoe Coltrane on The Dukes of Hazzard. Here he plays the tortured Rev. Emory Neill, a minister -- don't call him Father -- who feels out-of-step and burnt out. Don't we all!

      One gets the impression that something is deeply wrong in Rev. Neill's psyche, and he repeatedly tries to bail out on the experiments. Perhaps he's haunted by far-out faces from long ago; perhaps he's just a creep in a clerical collar.

      Finally, we have an uncannily young Gerald McRaney -- looking miles removed from his future as Major Dad, husband to Delta Burke, and shill for the Wounded Warrior Project (ahem).

      In The Brain Machine he's Willard "Willie" West, and he's every woman's dream: a handsome, athletic, literate overachiever who inherited a small fortune when both his parents were killed in a plane crash.


      Oh, did we mention that all these folks have no living relatives? Hmm again.

      With an unrelentingly atonal soundtrack and a cynical take on the human condition, one wants to recommend The Brain Machine as a hidden gem. It's rich in atmosphere, and its withering, paranoid outlook must have seemed even more apropos in 1972 (when it was filmed) than 1977 (when it was finally released). You know, Nixon and all that.

      But all the atmosphere in the world can't compensate for the fundamental predictability of its plot (not the exact details but the general gist), the contrivances of its script, or the difficulty the film has in making us care about its loveless characters in a loveless world.

      The Brain Machine has its cold, cold heart in the right place, and we love its aesthetic. It's just that, sadly, it isn't very compelling. Sorry, chaps.

      And speaking of chaps (sort of):


      They Came from Beyond Space (1967)

      Grade: D+

      When making a British horror movie (in the loose sense of the word "horror"), it strikes us that, basically speaking, there are two ways to play it.

      One is to treat the famous British culture of politeness as being a source of dread in and of itself, so that the protagonists inevitably (and awkwardly) have to violate its mores if they're to survive.

      We're not literate enough to cite any British examples, but American horror movies abound in such things -- Night of the Living Dead, for one.

      The other is to have the protagonists operate within, and thereby affirm, the values of their culture. Most American films of the 1950s played it that way: hard work, gumption, patriotism, humility, and neighborliness usually win out, while the opposite of those things usually loses.

      Thing is though, our protagonist in They Came from Beyond Space, Dr. Curtis Temple (Robert Hutton), isn't British: he's American.

      So when the evidence mounts that a recent meteor strike may have affected the minds of his colleagues, who have set up a mysterious armed camp around the impact zone, he has no qualms about barging in to check the situation out, over and over and over again...

      ...no matter how many times he's turned away at gunpoint. After all, he's American: one must forgive him, he's not been raised as we have.


      Boy, does Robert Hutton remind us of someone. Who, we're not sure: Shatner? Walken? That actor who played the mentally challenged guy on L.A. Law? Someone else entirely?

      Either way, the lopsided half-smirk he constantly deploys is certainly familiar -- and wears out its welcome quickly. Maybe it's a muscle issue, or a side effect of the silver plate he has in his head. (Chekhov, is that gun loaded?)

      Even though he was only in his late forties, Hutton feels too old to be a plausible action hero -- or a plausible love interest for Lee Mason (Jennifer Jayne), even though she herself was in her mid-30s. He seems like the kind of guy who would be sexually harassing his female colleagues, not successfully wooing them...

      ...and certainly doesn't seem to merit love at first pump from sex-starved petrol station workers à la Shatner.

      But, truth be told, Dr. Temple spends the bulk of his time surveilling and skulking around. He's more of an "As I watched..." hero than an "As I did..." hero.

      The problem with They Came from Beyond Space is that while Temple is playing by American rules, everyone else is playing by British rules. Time and time again he gets away with behavior that, were the movie's villains any good at their job, would result in his summary execution.

      Instead, his foes act out the old Robin Williams joke about the impotence of unarmed British police: "Stop! Or, or I'll say stop again!" Except these foes have guns, and more, and yet refuse to use them. It would be so impolite, you know.

      So there's no real tension in the plot -- but the good news is that They Came from Beyond Space is just off-the-wall enough to make it tolerable. Its strongest suit is probably the set design, which teeters pleasantly between "ridiculous" and "ingenious" on a scene-by-scene basis.

      Unusually, Farge (Zia Mohyeddin), the movie's best character, only pops up well after the halfway point. We enjoyed the scene in which he mournfully sacrifices his hard-earned equestrian trophies --

      -- to be melted down into headgear that protects you from alien intrusions and doubles as a handy way to drain your pasta.

      Less appealing is the film's soundtrack, in which at least one fight scene is accompanied by nothing more than a snare drum going rat-a-tat-tat over and over again.

      (Maybe the composer went on to score the battle sequences for Buck Rogers: Countdown To Doomsday on the Mega Drive? There he got fancy, and used two drums.)


      They Came from Beyond Space gets weirder and weirder as it approaches the end, with more and more outlandish props and costume design.

      And, as with the colander, we get some nice juxtapositions of the humdrum and the absurd.

      The film's conclusion feels rushed and tacked-on, though, and offers little reward for viewers who have stuck with it until the end...

      ...unless you have a thing for paunchy guys in very tight pants, in which case you'll be in clover.

      On the other hand, you could say that They Came from Beyond Space also sees its unwritten premise through: does any film more fully lay bare the tragic consequences that can happen when Ask Culture meets Guess Culture? Is the whole thing a metaphor for Anglo-American culture clash?


      Well, the thing of it is, it's awfully nice of you to, er, that is, what I mean to say is that I wish I, er, but I couldn't possibly, you understand, don't you? Now don't let's fight about it, come on, give us a smile, love.