Showing posts with label hoodlums. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hoodlums. 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!

    Sunday, December 16, 2018

    No such place

    We can muster enough suspension of disbelief to get through most movies, no matter how thoroughly science may have refuted their premises. No one will be walking around on Venus anytime soon; wasps don't make royal jelly; there isn't an island where tigers and lions coexist; you can't freeze a turtle in ice and bring it back to...

    ...uh, never mind on that one.

    Still, these next two films -- which also happen to be the last two black-and-white movies we watched in 50 Sci-Fi Classics -- really pushed our limits by setting their action in places that literally, paradigmatically don't exist. (At least you can land on Venus.)



      Planet Outlaws (1939/1953)

      Grade: D+

      Planet Outlaws isn't just the last of the B&Ws, it's also the last example on the 250-movie pack of that beloved format, the edited serial. Sigh.

      At least it's not coy about its origins:

      Someday we'll learn to keep Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon straight -- and it doesn't help that Buster Crabbe played both roles, of course.

      At least now we've got the basics down, and know that Buck was the one who got hit with knockout gas in the 20th century and woke up in the 25th: hence Duck Dodgers.

      We first encountered Sherman S. Krellberg when he brought us The Lost City via his company "Super-Serials", which now sounds like a line from an episode of South Park but whatever. To freshen up this 14-year-old release, Krellberg decided that a wraparound narration would be just the thing -- isn't it always? -- and that he was just the guy to do it.

      (IMDb doesn't make it 100% clear that it was him, but here's a picture of Krellberg with, we kid you not, Budd Rogers. Looks like the same guy to us.)

      So there he sits, intoning banalities about UFOs, Jules Verne, da Vinci, and atomic power on the way in, while wrapping things up with a rousing "God bless America!" at feature's end. Heavy duty.

      It's not really fair to judge a serial that's been hacked down from nearly 4 hours to 71 minutes -- and "hacked" really is the word: Planet Outlaws moves along at a pace so blistering that transitions are sometimes botched completely, as if the film were skipping forward (but it's not).

      End of a music cue from the previous scene left in? Dialogue chopped out mid-sentence? No problem!

      Even in this chopped-down form, though, it's evident that the original Buck Rogers serial had one hell of a lot of repetition. Some of that is inherent in the format (since people need to catch up), while some was no doubt done to save money.

      The most amusing sign of the film's economizing ways: we don't just get scenes where actors watch previously filmed material on a screen, as recently seen in The Lucifer Complex. We get scenes where actors watch screens that show actors watching other actors on screens.

      Yes, it's literally a case of "As I watched 'as I watched'..." -- which we don't envy Google Translate in its attempt to render for our non-English-speaking visitors.

      In Planet Outlaws, Buck's main task is to broker an alliance with the Saturnians, in hopes that they'll help the beleaguered forces of the Hidden City to defeat evil dictator and "super-racketeer" Killer Kane (Anthony Warde).

      Among Kane's many crimes, perhaps his most heinous is placing his enemies under permanent mind control, using specially designed helmets to turn them into "living robots, men robbed of all willpower". He pronounces it ro-bits, natch.

      So Buck flies to Saturn, dodging blockades and security forces along the way...

      ...and then, later, he flies back to Earth...

      ...and that's pretty much how this thing goes. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, with every trip bringing a new stratagem to evade Kane's goons -- except the stratagem is usually just "steal a ship and hope they let you through the perimeter".

      If we were ten years old in 1938, and seeing Buck Rogers in its original format, this might be exciting. Compressed down to a little over an hour and seen in one sitting, the formula becomes painfully repetitive, like one of those video games where you spend 75% of your time backtracking through landscapes you already know well.

      Speaking of landscapes, apparently Saturn has a surface that looks a lot like a California state park, and you can live and breathe there without protection. Who knew?

      In fairness, we're not sure when it became clear that Saturn was a gas giant, or that there was no solid surface to stand upon. Were these things known in 1938? We don't know. (This book, though interesting, doesn't help much.)

      On the other hand, the Saturnian Prince Tallen doesn't carry any ethnic stereotype baggage, even though he's portrayed by Korean-American actor Philson Ahn. He's just a good guy from another planet. So in that way, Planet Outlaws is refreshingly not of its time, whether you define that time as 1939 or 1953.

      Even knowing this version is hopelessly compromised, we can't say we're too excited by what the Buck Rogers serial appears to have offered. We probably shoulda just played it on the Co-lee-co, but we were too busy with a certain boy and his pancake. $500 and it's yours.



      Unknown World (1951)

      Grade: D

      Look, we know Unknown World means well. We're sure it does. But before committing this particular journey to the center of the earth (ahem) to the screen, couldn't you people have talked to a geologist -- or a coal miner?

      Even if the screenshot above were referring to 2500 meters below sea level (and it ain't), we'd be talking about one hell of a temperature increase. The TauTona mine goes to about that depth (from a starting point of 1500 meters above sea level), and it's over 130°F down there without air conditioning.

      So, Dr. Morley (Victor Kilian), if your mission is to find a place where people can live and thrive while a nuclear holocaust goes on somewhere over their heads --

      -- then 2500 meters underground isn't the place to do it. And 2500 miles underground certainly isn't the place to do it, not even if you're a Horta.

      Funding denied! There'll be no saving civilization for you!

      The end!

      ...well, except it's not, since Unknown World uses the Citizen Kane trick of starting out with a lengthy newsreel item about its own characters.

      So when the cash runs out, who do you turn to?

      Why, everyone's favorite, of course: the good-looking, dissipated heir with a heart of gold (Bruce Kellogg). Always up for a lark, millionaire playboy Wright Thompson Jr. sponsors Morley's expedition -- as long as he gets to come with. He's got a buck or two to spare, and after all, having adventures is exactly what the buck is for, right?

      So it's off to the fictional Mt. Neleh, which is apparently near Mt. Lefat...and the cryptic crossword solver in us immediately wonders: did screenwriter Millard Kaufman have a crush on a woman named Helen Tafel?

      There seem to have been a number of Helen Tafels out there, and we found at least one obituary with an age-appropriate birth year attached. So maybe she was the one: ah, lost love!

      Even though we're sympathetic to tales of subterranean exploration, we don't feel especially inclined to recap the slow, dull journey that Morley's team makes as they progress from the chilly surface -- see, it's windy --

      -- into the bowels of the earth. Spoilers would be inevitable, you see, and we'd prefer to evit them.

      At least their vehicle is a wacky combination of tunnel-boring machine (bet you wish you had that Horta now, huh?) and submarine -- though it looks more like someone hybridized a kitchen implement with a particularly baroque sex toy.

      The tedium is alleviated here and there by a few decent scenes -- like when the contamination of the team's water supply makes them exceedingly grateful for some drippy stalactites.

      By the way, the actor playing Dr. Morley is uncredited thanks to the blacklist, making it NO KILIAN I for him.

      Nuclear wars that have no victor, and blacklists that assuredly did have a Victor: these were some of the threats facing the American 1950s, when everything so often seemed to be hanging by a thread.

      Isn't it nice that we've moved past those days of political persecution and pointless saber-rattling?

      Haven't we?

      ...oh, James Seay, did you do it again?