John Kenneth Muir's Reflections on Film/TV

CULT TV BLOGGING: The Fantastic Journey: "Children of the Gods" (February 24, 1977)

2012-01-29T03:03:00.002-05:00

In The Fantastic Journey's fourth episode, "Children of the Gods," our wayward travelers in the Bermuda Triangle -- Varian, Scott, Lianna, Fred, Willaway and Sil-El -- happen into a strange province that reveals signs of both the ancient past, namely Greek ruins from 500 BC, and the distant future, particularly a bombed-out, ruined metropolis on the horizon.

Very soon, the travelers learn that the city remains inhabited, but only by a tribe of uniformed, militant teenagers and children. All the grown-ups -- "The Elders"-- have been driven off by "the Power," a particle beam weapon, after making some children their slaves. Entrenched in the society then, is a deep-seated mistrust of adults of all stripes.

When Willaway enters the sacred Greek temple and finds a cache of high-tech laser weapons, he is promptly sentenced to death by Alpha, leader of the children, for his trespass.

Realizing only he can save Willaway from impending execution, Scott prepares for ceremonial combat with Alpha. If he wins, he can take the leadership role in the society and save his friend's life...

In reading the synopsis of "Children of the Gods," you'll probably recognize several literary and TV influences. In terms of literature, the episode harks back to William Golding's 1954 novel, Lord of the Flies, which involved a society crafted solely by children. In the novel, that society was designed to serve as a microcosm for all of human society, and the author debated human nature. In "Children of the Gods," the same issue is broached.

Specifically, The Fantastic Journey appears to subscribe to the idea that power corrupts. Here, Alpha is just as much a tyrant as any adult who ruled before him. "You've become the very thing you say you hate," Varian informs Alpha, near episode's conclusion, sounding very Captain Kirk-like.

Another issue roiling in "Children of the Gods" is clearly the Generation Gap, the notion that adults and teens are literally enemies, locked in a war for all time. There can be no peace between them, apparently.

If you're a fan of Star Trek and other televised science fiction, "Children of the Gods" may strongly remind you of the first season Trek episode, "Miri," which also concerned a society where children had graduated to positions of power and authority, and deeply disliked adults, or "Grups."

In both stories, the children are finally reminded of their common humanity, and of the fact that the "leader" will soon be an adult, himself.

The Lord of the Flies premise also appeared throughout science fiction film and television in the 1970s quite a bit, from the "cubs" in Logan's Run (1976), to the "Children of Methuselah" episode of The Starlost in 1973.

In terms of The Fantastic Journey's continuity and development, "Children of the Gods" accents a number of elements that would appear again and again in the series. Here, Willaway's curiosity gets the better of him, and he inserts himself into the middle of a crisis. We'll see that again. Perhaps more importantly, Willaway is often utilized by writers as the informal historian of the group. In "Children of the Gods," he recognizes the Greek ruins, and quotes Pindar (522 - 443 BC), a lyric poet and author of choral songs. Uniquely, Pindar often wrote of athletic victories and championships in Greece, and his "temple" here is the site of the society's combat rituals.

Willaway also gets to demonstrate again his characteristic world-weariness when he wonders: "Are people ever going to stop killing each other?"

In terms of other character touches in "Children of the Gods," Varian again uses his handy sonic energizer, which is able to "manipulate matter" this week, and Lianna demonstrates the ability to render enemies unconcious by placing her hands on their temples. It's sort of a Vulcan nerve pinch variation, I guess you'd say.

In both instances, these "tools" feel a little bit like crutches. They are easy outs for the characters (and for writers...) when confrontations occur.

Other than Willaway -- who is featured in a great visual composition as he appears from behind a Greek bust -- Ike Eisenmann's Scott probably comes off the best in "Children of the Gods." His character boasts a strong sense of morality, and a sympathetic heart. Here, Scott volunteers for ritual combat with Alpha -- a much taller, stronger teenager -- knowing he will lose, but that he has no choice but to make the attempt. He's a brave and likeable kid. This is not a small accomplishment in terms of performance and character development since a lot of "sci fi kids" like Wesley Crusher or Adric end up somehow angering sci-fi fans, and, I think, unconsciously activating a sense of fandom's own deep-seated self-loathing.

Meanwhile, our young doctor Fred (Carl Franklin) is as under-utilized as ever in "Children of the Gods," though the beginning of a Spock-McCoy bickering relationship between Fred and Willaway has now begun in earnest. At least that gives him something to do, other thanmerely recite hip 1970s slang.

Taken in toto, "Children of the Gods" is a solid if somewhat uninspiring episode of The Fantastic Journey. The theme about endless war -- and children repeating the mistakes of their fathers -- is a good, if familiar one. There's not a lot new to see here, and so the episode plays as a little flat. Some of the same issues of war and peace would be better handled in the next installment, "A Dream of Conquest," with guest star John Saxon.

Next week on cult-tv blogging: "A Dream of Conquest."

Saturday with Sinbad: Jason and the Argonauts (1963)

2012-01-28T13:00:00.000-05:00

Ray Harryhausen's Jason and the Argonauts (1963) looks more beautiful than ever on the high-definition Blu Ray format, and after the relative disappointment of Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977), I felt much relief over that fact.

I wasn't yet born when Jason and the Argonauts was released theatrically, but it was a staple of my youth nonetheless. Whenever the film aired on national or local TV, I always tried to catch it (remember, this was the age before VHS, before Cable TV, even...). It's nice to see that the fantasy has held up so well, even after nearly fifty years. It's like revisiting an old friend and finding him still in fighting shape.

Watching Jason and the Argonauts again in 2012, I liked it better than any of the Sinbad films, except for Golden Voyage (1974), which remains my favorite Harryhausen fantasy because it accounts for Sinbad's ethnicity and features a darker story about the "cost" of black magic.

Jason and the Argonauts is, perhaps, nearly as simplistic as 7th Voyage was in terms of characterization, but the film still holds together well. This may be so because it has Greek mythology to fall back on as a rich resource for creature origins and compelling story points.

Jason was the Greek who, in Argonautica, embarked upon a dangerous quest for the Golden Fleece. The men who accompanied him on the journey, including Hercules, Hylas and Orpheus, were called "The Argonauts." On the journey, Jason fell for the high priestess, Medea, but their lives went rather badly down hill after he brought her home...as you may recall.

In broad terms, the quest for the Golden Fleece forms the basis of the Harryhausen film, directed by Don Chaffey. Here, Jason of Thessaly (Todd Armstrong) seeks the fleece to help "heal" his war-torn country and assume his rightful place on the throne. To dp so, he must defeat the tyrannical usurper, Pelias (Douglas Wilmer). With the help of Hera (Honor Blackman), Jason makes sail with a team of heroes for the end of the world, where the Fleece is reportedly housed (and protected by a multi-headed beast called the Hydra).

En route to the Golden Fleece, the Argo encounters a giant bronze statue, Talos. A confrontation with the living statue costs Jason two of his most valuable crew members, Hylas and Hercules. Later, Jason defends the fallen King Phineas (Patrick Troughton) from vicious Harpies in direct defiance of Zeus's will and in exchange for exact details about the location of the Fleece. The rescued Phineas reveals that the Golden Fleece resides in distant Colchis, and Jason sets sail.

After reaching Colchis, Jason falls in love with the gorgeous priestess Medea (Nancy Kovack). She helps him steal the Golden Fleece and defeat the Hydra.

But Colchis's king, Aeetes, is not ready to give up his treasure. Using the Hydra's mystical teeth, he "grows" an army of sinister skeletons to confront and challenge Jason....

If you boast any familiarity with Greek myth, you'll notice some changes in the old lore here. For one thing, Talos was encountered on the way home from Colchis in myth, not on the beginning stages of the voyage.

For another thing, the film glosses over the inconvenient plot point that Hercules and Hylas were likely lovers. In the film, Hercules goes off in search of Hylas, and never returns to the Argo, but the two men are just *ahem* devoted "friends." And in myth, Hylas was not crushed to death by Talos either, but had an entirely different fate...which is why Hercules went in search of him in the first place. Here, you wonder where Hercules could possibly go to search for Hylas since the island is so small, and since Hylas's corpse is stuck underneath the fallen Talos...

And, of course, this 1963 film ends incredibly abruptly after Jason and Medea return to the Argo. Therefore, we don't get to see Jason reclaim the throne, or the bloody, murderous falling out between Jason and his new love. As an adult, I would have loved to see some of those mythic elements incorporated.

Still, one can pretty easily detect that the significant changes made in Jason's story were an effort to keep the material appropriate for children. Also, the encounters featured here make the most of Harryhausen's stop-motion capabilities. The movie features a battle with Talos, a last-minute rescue from Poseidon, a struggle with flying harpies, and, of course, the famous skeleton sword fight.

I'm still in awe of that particular sword fight. It is choreographed and executed with deftness and even brilliance. The skeletons seem very much alive in terms of movement and demeanor, but the human actors really out-do themselves too in "selling" this particular special effects set-piece. You can usually tell if an actor misses a mark, is looking in the wrong place, or is holding back with his sword thrusts and parries. None of that occurs here. The battle seems virtually flawless. Perhaps not surprisingly, this battle is my son Joel's favorite Harryhausen set-piece, and probably mine too. A real show-stopper.

I believe where Jason and the Argonauts probably gets the nod over The 7th Voyage of Sinbad is in its deliberate subtext about man and the Gods. Here, we see a terrific depiction of Mount Olympus, one that looks a lot like Harryhausen's Clash of the Titans in 1981.

But beyond that, the film gives us the unique example in 'blasphemer' Jason, a human who attempts to make his way without the interference of the Gods, and yet uses Hera's help some five times to achieve his victory.

It's kind of hypocritical for Jason to lambast the Gods, and then accept their help, but still, an important idea is transmitted. Man must chart his own course in the world, without the luxury or curse of interfering Gods.

I feel that this is actually a message you can detect throughout all the Harryhausen fantasy films, and a prime reason they survive and are remembered with such fondness. All of his fantasies, whether they involve Sinbad, Perseus or Jason, concern brave men fighting out-sized odds with resourcefulness, humility and decency. The Harryhausen hero vanquishes monsters and magicians not for famor n glory, but because he must help others. There's an optimistic undercurrent to these films; the idea that man is absolutely indomitable, even in the face of Harpies, Cyclops, the Minoton, living statues, dragons, and skeletons.

That's a message I hope Joel has intuited and internalized during the course of our Harryhausen film odyssey.

Movie Trailer: Jason and the Argonauts (1963)

2012-01-28T00:01:00.002-05:00

The Films of 1982: Class of 1984

2012-01-27T03:03:00.249-05:00

Some movies appeal to the intellect and others go for the heart.

Or, in the case of Class of 1984, right for the jugular.

This visceral 1982 exploitation film lives up to its sub-genre in spades. Mark Lester's Class of 1984 gamely exploits widely-held "generation gap"-styled fears, happily stokes extreme paranoia and anger towards failed American institutions (such as the police and public school sysstems) and finally descends into bloody violence the likes of which one usually expects to see only in a rape-and-revenge film

If dissected, coldly, rationally and intellectually in the cold light of day, Class of 1984 hardly holds together as a film at all. It doesn't make sense even on a basic narrative level. But in the darkness of a movie auditorium -- or your living room -- the film veritably pulsates with wild, anarchic energy. It "feels" dangerous to watch, and puts you on edge from the very first frame. Class of 1984 emerges from an era when exploitation films like this were made not merely with commendable gusto, but absolute fearlessness, plus a strong grounding in film style.

Given the film's emotional approach to its subject matter, it's an authentic surprise that Class of 1984's most valuable player is not a bomb thrower (like Van Patten's effectively dramatized gang leader, Stegman), but a perfect gentleman. The late Roddy McDowall here plays a put-upon biology teacher, Terry Corrigan, just about at the end of his rope. McDowall crafts his character with the sensitivity and intelligence one expects from this great actor. In fact, his performance grounds Class of 1984 in understandable, relatable humanity, when only blood and guts appeared to be on the syllabus.

And yet even McDowall's appeal is an emotional, not intellectual one. We feel the guy's pain almost as our yet, yet still want to ask him logical questions like: how about looking for another job? Or not attempting vehicular homicide...?

Breathing life into Class of 1984's rambunctious tale of students gone wild is an old, widespread, real-life fear, a generation gap if you will. Basically, the adult generation demonizes and "fears" the up-and-coming generation as a wild, apocalyptic, uncontrollable one. Since the 1950s, teenagers have been an easy scapegoat for society's problems in this regard. You can find generation gap films in the fifties, sixties, seventies, eighties, and nineties without conducting a wide or deep search.

But in the late 1970s and early 1980s, it indeed looked like things were falling apart to some folk, and this element of American culture played into the fear about the future, and the future generation. New York City became a hub for urban blight and ruin in efforts such as The Warriors (1979), Fort Apache: The Bronx (1981), Escape from New York (1981) and Wolfen (1981).

In terms of teens, about a thousand murders a year were committed by them in 1982, and the trend grew worse until about 1994, when the trends sharply reversed. But the early 1980s remains the age of an irrational fear of teenagers, some of whom were even termed "super predators" in the mainstream press. Similarly, the media often recounted horrific tales of skyrocketing drug abuse and prostitution among teens. This Zeitgeist is perfectly captured by student thug Stegman's immortal line (put to music by Alice Cooper in Class of 1984):

"I am the future."

The narrative model for Class of 1984 appears to be director Richard Brooks' Blackboard Jungle (1955). Often described as the very first "rock and roll" movie, Blackboard Jungle follows an English teacher, Rick Dadier (Glenn Ford) as he takes a new teaching job and runs afoul of violent juvenile delinquents including Miller (Sidney Poitier), Artie (Vic Morrow) and Stocker (Paul Mazursky).

At home, Dadier's wife, Ann (Anne Francis) suffers from extreme anxiety over her husband's teaching assignment, and this anxiety could jeopardize her pregnancy. During the course of the film, a gentle math teacher, played by Richard Kiley, sees his record album collection destroyed by the out-of-control students. The film ends with Dadier earning the respect of his students after winning a knife-fight with Artie.

Blackboard Jungle opened with a passage that contextualized this strange tale of students gone crazy: "We in the United States are fortunate to have a school system that is a tribute to our communities and to our faith in American youth. Today, we are concerned with juvenile delinquency -- its causes and its effects. We are especially concerned when the delinquency boils over into our schools. The scenes and incidences depicted here are fictional."

Class of 1984 apes Blackboard Jungle significantly. Here, there's another new teacher as protagonist, his pregnant wife, several out-of-control teenagers, and a teacher friend who undergoes a terrible loss, in this case the murder of his school room rabbits. Even the didactic Blackboard Jungle prologue has a corollary in Class of 1984.

Specifically, a title card informs audiences that "last year" (presumably 1981...), there were "280,000 incidents of violence by students against their teachers and classmates." The card concludes with an ominous note; that the "following film is based partially on a true event." And yes, the word "partial" certainly leaves the filmmakers quite a degree of wiggle room, and they exploit the loophole to its fullest.

In plot and thematic focus, Class of 1984 is much like Blackboard Jungle on speed. The films are of different generations, and from different narrative and cinematic traditions, and yet they both reveal a disdain and fear of teenagers, the "next generation." That's apparently a recurring value in American culture, but Class of 1984 is the more hardcore presentation. This 1982 film descends into violence and death, rails against failed institutions (such as law enforcement) and resolves not in amity, but in bloody, mortal combat between the generations. It's final title card, which I won't reveal here, is a testament to the film's cynicism, and yet, it's impossible to deny that the film's finale -- gory as it is -- satisfies the heart.

"Face the music, teacher, teacher..."

Written by Tom Holland, Class of 1984 depicts the story of Mr. Andrew Norris (Perry King), a high school music teacher who has just transferred to the difficult Lincoln High...where students must go through metal detectors before entering the school house.

Very quickly, Mr. Norris runs afoul of a violent gang, one led by the brilliant but psychotic Peter Stegman (Timothy Van Patten). Stegman is not only a bully, but an entrepreneur of sorts, running drugs and a prostitution ring in school. He is always protected by a gang of enforcers, including a grunting neo nazi, and a skinny heroin addict.

When a music student dies from a drug overdose-spawned accident, Norris vows to punish the "pusher," Stegman (Van Patten). Although Norris's friend and fellow teacher, Terry Corrigan (Roddy McDowall) urges caution and restraint, Norris ignores his advice and spurs a a war between gang and teachers. The warfare eventually takes Terry's life, and causes another music student, Arthur (Michael J. Fox) severe injury. On the night of a big school concert, Stegman and his goons break into Norris's house and gang rape his very pregnant wife, Diane (Merrie Lynn Ross).

Realizing the impotent local police and school administration can't help him seek justice, Norris exacts bloody vengeance with fire, table saw (!), and automobile.

"What's the matter with you? What's the matter with me? What's the matter with matter?"

I wrote in my introduction that Class of 1984 doesn't really hold together on a logical or cerebral level. In part, this is because the film really stacks the deck in Stegman's favor. In doing so, it makes school bureaucrats and policemen look like ineffectual idiots.

Al Waxman's detective, in particular, informs Norris that unless someone "sees" Stegman committing a crime, nothing can be done to stop him.

This fact (ahem) is abundantly untrue in our legal system, and has never been true in our legal system, as I hope discerning viewers would realize. Eyewitness accounts, forensic science (finger prints!) and even confessions are also helpful when putting away bad elements. Much of Class of 1984's emotional argument about bad kids stems from this fully-expressed idea of helplessness; this idea that even the law itself is powerless to stop teenage super predators on the rampage. It's the same irrational thought that underlines much of the cinema of Charles Bronson, and appeals mainly to paranoids. Our laws just protect criminals!

In more specific terms, the film must jump through some wacky hoops to keep Stegman and his thugs out of jail. Arthur -- the very young Michael J. Fox -- has witnessed a drug deal, but won't testify as to this fact, thus allowing Stegman to remain on the loose. Norris spends much of the film trying to get Arthur to testify against Stegman, but he won't. Then, Arthur is stabbed by one of Stegman's new lackeys, and finally, Arthur agrees to testify. But here's the rub: he only apparently testifies against the lackey who stabbed him, not against Stegman, whom he witnessed selling drugs. It makes no sense at all. In for a penny, in for a pound, right Arthur? Sensibly, there's no reason why the kid wouldn't tell the police everything he knows, at least to get Stegman off the street for the length of an investigation.

The worst aspect of the film, however, is that it lives up to the Principal's critique of his own school, that "the bad ones take so much of our attention."

This idea is literalized when, during a brilliant concert performance of the 1812 Overture by the school band, Stegman's corpse -- hanged by a rope -- breaks through a stain glass window on the ceiling.

In other words, the students who have done well and achieved a victory in the concert see their thunder utterly stolen by the bad kid...one more time. But Class of 1984 doesn't recognize this. It treats the finale as a triumph, a victory. It is, I suppose, in the sense that Stegman dies and Norris and his wife survive. But what about the kids who staked their futures on the concert?

A better ending, I submit, would have seen Norris dispatch the gang, and then return to conduct the orchestra triumphantly. Instead, the movie just reinforces the idea that good kids get lost in the battle, and are treated with less importance than the bad ones. Since the film makes you root and support the music students, the visual reiteration of the school principal's negative point is odd and counterproductive, to say the least.

And yet, of course, none of this matters a lick.

Class of 1984 is an effective and brutal little film, one that activates the primitive impulses of your mind, and makes you absolutely long for vengeance. This blood lust is achieved not just through violent acts, but through some pretty fine acting. Once more, I must pinpoint Roddy McDowall's performance, which lifts the whole enterprise. In particular, he has a scene in which he explains to King's newcomer, Norris, why he became a teacher in the first place. It was to touch young lives in a meaningful way, to offer students a real connection to a world larger than their concerns. But his hopes have been quashed and destroyed. The students of Lincoln High want nothing from Corrigan. Nothing. There's no fact, no theory, no idea, no message about life that he can impart to them, and so his life has become meaningless.

Accordingly, Corrigan (McDowall) decides that the best way to teach these kids is not with a carrot, but with a stick. He holds his class at gunpoint and begins implementing a snap quiz about biology wherein the students better answer correctly. Or else.

In these two scenes, McDowall affords Class of 1984 its human heart. I realize that movies such as this one don't get nominated for Academy Awards, but goddamn if McDowall didn't absolutely deserve one for his work here. Sometimes the great work of an actor involves not taking high-falutin material and simply giving it just due, but working on a more problematic script, and elevating the whole affair. As foolish, illogical and anger-baiting as the rest of Class of 1984 remains, McDowall represents a stark contrast. Through Corrigan, we see the human toll on the teachers at Lincoln High, and this quality absolutely grounds the picture and makes it more than a simple reach for blood lust.

But you'll feel blood lust too.

I think that's because, inherently, all human beings covet justice. We want to see the good rewarded and the bad punished. And yet our legal system doesn't universally reach a just conclusion. So we get angry when we see bad people get away, and good people hurt. We get angry when we see the law, and our schools, and policemen, fail in what we perceive as their duty.

On this front, Class of 1984 turns Stegman into an absolute monster, one who has escaped the law and operates with no fear of being caught. By the end of the film -- after gang rape and other crimes -- you really do thirst for the deaths of the gang members. The film obliges in a glorious, bloody denouement.

You may regret your blood lust after the film ends, but during it, Class of 1984 brilliantly plucks all the right notes of indignation and outrage. It certainly leaves you feeling...emotionally sated.

You may rightly ask yourself why you want to see a movie that doesn't make sense if you step back and examine it rationally. Or one that provokes your most animal instincts and thirst for vengeance. Or that simplifies a real, mult-ifaceted problem so much that it becomes the basic law of the jungle: kill or be killed.

I don't believe I can satisfactorily answer those questions, except to suggest that all human beings possess a multitude of psychological shades. As evolved and civilized as we might like to believe we are, there is still that part of our psyche that longs for the re-assertion of justice, even if it is bloody justice. Bluntly described, Class of 1984 resonates with something powerful in the psyche. The film is extremely effective in delivering what it sets out to give us, and the one-two assault of humanity (in McDowall's performance) and inhumanity (in Van Patten's) makes the bloody movie almost impossible to resist.

Rationally, I can see how Class of 1984 panders to the worst in human nature. Emotionally, I don't care that this is the case because the film does speak to some basic truth about our human need to see justice prevail. I can't deny feeling a thrill when Roddy McDowall picks up a gun and begins to lecture his out-of-control class about biology. It's not rational, but when I write here, I'm supposed to level with you, and express myself honestly. For me, this movie worked.

In my book, irrationality aside, Class of 1984 gets a passing grade. But Roddy is the one who did all the extra credit.

Next week: Poltergeist (1982)

Movie Trailer: Class of 1984 (1982)

2012-01-27T00:01:00.002-05:00

Sci-FI Wisdom of the Week

2012-01-26T00:01:00.001-05:00

"Life is pain. Pain is everything."

- Class of 1984 (1982), to be reviewed here tomorrow.

Collectible Update: The secret origins of Freddy Krueger

2012-01-25T14:05:00.001-05:00

Last Halloween, I blogged about the Matchbox Talking Freddy Krueger doll from the 1980s that was so scary it was removed from toy store shelves (for frightening children...).

Well, the Internet can be a most amazing place, and recently, I was contacted via e-mail about this great 1980s collectible by the toy's original sculptor, Rich Roland.

Mr. Roland wrote me to provide some new background about the toy, including photographs of his Freddy sculpt.

He writes:

"I took a few photos for you to see the original size of Freddy's head, close up and un-painted."

"It's my artist's proof casting at full scale of the polished wax sculpt super-master I created, that eventually would be burnt out of the mold, lost wax method. This way they have bunches of seamless vinyls to use as masters and go into production. Castings shrink 3.5% each time, so by the time it gets to market it's 7% smaller than my original."

"At the risk of boring you any more with this techno talk, just imagine how washed out and small Talking Freddy doll was by the time it was bought out from Matchbox and sold at Spencer Gifts by a new manufacturer years after the toy was banned from the shelves because of the AFA and conservative mentalities you mentioned. Right on. It was a first! Ha. The news even made it to Entertainment Tonight. I have the event somewhere on VHS packed in the attic somewhere..."

Mr. Roland also passes along the news that his love of monsters runs in the family. His daughter, Tina -- who at age 5 was terrified of the Freddy Doll in her living room -- has gone on to design several interesting characters and creatures of her own. You can check out Tina Roland's web site, here.

I want to thank Mr. Roland for sharing with me and the readers some more history behind the creation of such a memorable 1980s collectible...

Collectible of the Week: Zeo Deluxe Pyramidas (Bandai; 1996)

2012-01-25T03:03:00.002-05:00

"The new ZEO ZORDS: To help the ZEO RANGERS defend the world from the new menace of MACHINE QUEEN, ZORDON gives them the ZEO ZORDS - robotic battle machines. When more power is needed, the ZEO ZORDs morph together to form even stronger combinations. Will they be powerful enough to defeat MACHINE QUEEN?"

- The legend that appears on Pyramidas's toy box.

Power Rangers Zeo (1996) -- a sequel or continuation to Mighty Morphin Power Rangers -- brought new suits, new gadgets, new robots, and most importantly, new toys to the rapidly expanding Power Rangers (Super Sentai) universe.

Among the most unique -- and most awe-inspiring due to its scale -- was Pyramidas, a crucial element of the new "Zeo Zord System."

Specifically, Deluxe Pyramidis, the "carrier Zord," could combine with the Deluxe Red Battlezord and the Deluxe Zeo Megazord to form the devastating Zeo Ultrazord.

Got that?

The colossal Pyramidas, who is well over a foot tall, could even transform into four modes on his own:

Pyramid mode, carrier mode, attack mode (as a robot) and "open mode" where he could hold all the Zeo Zords inside three separate and distinct interior chambers.

My five year old son and I both enjoy not just giant combining robots, but play sets, and Pyramadis is, effectively, both.

The only problem is that Pyramidas is so large, Joel has some trouble manipulating him. I can't stress it enough...this thing is huge. He's a goliath in our living room (much to my wife's chagrin).

Although I'm not a huge fan of the Power Ranger TV series -- I simply haven't watched enough of them to really get into that universe -- I'm an absolute sucker for the franchie toys, and the Zeo Zords seem like some of the best in terms of design. Joel seems to agree. He already has the Deluxe Zeo Megazord, Pyramidis, the Super Zeo Megazord and Warrior Wheel. On the look-out for Auric...

Interestingly, Joel also boasts no interest in the actual Rangers or the "evil space aliens" they fight.

Nope. This is all about the toys, and Pyramidas (as I hope the photos reveal) is a pretty darn amazing one.

Cloned from a Mutual Zygote # 4: Dragos and Lord Dredd

2012-01-25T00:01:00.002-05:00

(First suggested by Dr. Howard Margolin, host of Destinies: The Voice of Science Fiction)

CULT MOVIE REVIEW: Apollo 18 (2011)

2012-01-24T03:03:00.004-05:00

"Fate has ordained that the men who went to the Moon to explore in peace will stay on the Moon to rest in peace..."

- Apollo 18 (2011)

Nearly every movie critic in the world apparently hated Apollo 18 (2011), a found-footage horror movie about a doomed, 1974 NASA mission to the moon.

The film's narrative involves two American astronauts, Anderson (Warren Christie) and Walker (Lloyd Owen), who -- over a span of days on a secret, D.O.D. supervised moon mission, -- come to grapple with malevolent alien critters on the lunar surface.

As the situation grows more desperate, the alarmed duo seeks to rendezvous with their orbiting capsule, unaware that a larger conspiracy hangs over the mission...

The Boston Globe called Apollo 18 a "snooze," The Orlando Sentinel noted it "flat out does not work," New York Magazine called it "80 minutes of dead air," Variety said it was a "stunt," Village Voice used the film to suggest the subgenre of found footage horrors "should remain lost," and Entertainment Weekly opined that Apollo 18 had "no atmosphere."

On and on, down the line, Apollo 18 has been totally reviled.

Which means, to me anyway, it must be worthy of closer inspection...

Actually, I read a great many reviews of the film before I saw Apollo 18 and tallied some of the criticism ahead of time. For instance, one critic argued that the astronauts featured in the film don't appear to bounce around the moon, but walk normally, as they would on Earth. In our gravity.

Patently not true.

You can clearly see the astronauts bouncing right along there on the lunar surface, as if out of an episode of Space: 1999 (1975 - 1977).

Another critic diminished the film on the basis that the surviving crew members attempt to mate a Russian lunar lander and American space capsule in space, when "everybody knows" (!) their systems wouldn't be compatible for such a rendezvous.

Again, this description is patently untrue in terms of the specifics the movie actually establishes. In the film, the astronauts -- attempting to meet up -- plan to get close enough in space so that the astronaut in the CCCP lander can "space walk" to the American capsule from the Russian lander. A ship-to-ship link-up is explicitly dismissed on-screen as impossible.

Another outraged apparent science "expert" argued that the film doesn't feature a time-lapse between the men on the moon and mission control on Earth during radio transmissions.

I'm certain this so-called science expert also complained in Star Wars when there were sounds and explosions reverberating in space, right?

And besides, this argument doesn't bear much scrutiny given the details of how Apollo 18 is intentionally presented. The film we are witnessing here consists of "uploaded" footage from a truth-seeking group called "lunar truth." Said footage (hours of it; days of it...) has been heavily edited by this group (hence the film's many jump cuts), and some compositions even showcase white spotlights or irises around background alien movement; revealing how the footage has been augmented by editors to make certain some visual aspects are "easier" to parse.

In other words, the footage we are seeing (as the film) has been intentionally organized and assembled, and we are seeing that assembly. Thus, a time-lapse could have been edited out for viewing ease.

Given this fact, and the exigencies of dramatic license in movie-making, is it really such a stretch to accept an abbreviation of the Earth/moon time lapse in terms of radio? Or is this "mistake," as the critic states, a disqualifying factor in terms of overall quality?

One after the other, an attentive viewer can absolutely demolish a great many of the absurd complaints hurled at Apollo 18, if he or she just actually, you know, watches and listens to what happens on screen.

Now, I'm not declaring this movie is an unheralded masterpiece. Rather, I merely assert that this film is in no way, shape, or form the dreadful enterprise so many reviewers enthusiastically described. And, it's certainly an intriguing twist on the now-popular found-footage formula; one much more original, interesting, and intelligent, for instance, than the umpteen Paranormal Activity movies.

In fact, Apollo 18 is a moderately effective, eminently respectable horror film and certainly worthy of your time, if only for one viewing. You may leave a screening feeling it doesn't quite come off, but you may also be pleased that you've witnessed, essentially, an ambitious failure.

And indeed, Apollo 18 is a remarkably ambitious effort in terms of the burgeoning found footage genre. Consider that the found footage-type film (Blair Witch Project, [REC], The Last Exorcism] is frequently a low-budget exercise primarily about transforming weaknesses (such as lack of budget and no big name actors) into a kind of expressionistic, experiential strength. Cloverfield (2008) stands as a notable exception to this trend in terms of scope and budget.

Now, I don't know the budget for Apollo 18, but I can readily assert, after watching it, that tremendous attention has been paid to making certain that the film's sets and wardrobes are appropriate and correct to the 1970s time period. The film grain is right too. The movie looks like an actual vintage space program mission. So if you enjoy that era of the American space program, you'll likely find plenty of retro (low) tech wonders to enjoy here, from the Lunar Lander interior to the Rover mock-up. The Russian LK capsule also really looks like it could have been a product of that era.

Even more dramatically, the creation of the moon's environment is visually stunning. I can't begin to imagine how this vast, desolate landscape was recreated so ably, so authentically on a low budget, but the makers of Apollo 18 didn't just easily pinch something off here (as is the case with some found footage films). Instead writer Brian Miller and director Gonzalo Lopez-Gallego made a serious period-piece...on another fucking planet (or rather, natural satellite, I guess). How many other found-footage films go so far to build a complete context and world around their horror milieu?

Not many.

In terms of the found footage approach, Apollo 18 by-and-large sticks to the rules it sets up. There's one scene wherein an exterior camera runs out of film during the middle of a scene, and suddenly we're in another scene all-together, in an entirely different conversation.   No explanations, no exposition. It's a good touch that feels realistic.

Many moments in the film are also distorted by static and other picture disruptions. In fact, some of the visual disturbances take away from the viewer's ability to follow the narrative and identify fully with the characters.   There's indeed something a little distancing here. But again, that's the price for a found-footage film in these circumstances. Apollo 18 must seem like a real moon mission, and truthfully, it accomplishes that feat.

I suppose the most legitimate question about the film is: how did this footage get back to Earth? The only reasonable answer comes in the form of paranoia and conspiracy. On several occasions, Mission Control on Earth claims it knows exactly what's happening on the moon; meaning that Earth is somehow (mysteriously) receiving visual transmissions from the astronauts.   Again, I don't necessarily see this omission as something that destroys the entire film, but rather a mystery.

Look, I can complain about the dopey, out-of-proportion critical response to this movie till the cows come home, but in the final analysis, the film must stand on its own as a work of art. And on its own terms, I would argue Apollo 18 is at least moderately interesting in terms of narrative, highly dynamic in terms of visuals, and indeed quite suspenseful. The film works hard at a slow, steady-build towards terror, and features two absolutely nerve-jangling jump scares. I'm an old-hand at anticipating this kind of thing, and yet I popped up from my seat at two separate instances.

The "dead air" that so many critics complained of -- the authentic, work-a-day approach to the space program -- is actually the very thing that makes these jump scares so blazingly effective. The jolts arrive in contrast to the almost boring minute-to-minute operation of the space capsule. We're not expecting such moments, and so when they arrive...we're walloped. Again, I feel this approach is, at minimum, respectable. The film attempts to ape the work-a-day feel of the real Apollo missions, and then uses that grounding in a reality we all recognize to leap off into breathtaking, heart-pounding horror.

The story details of Apollo 18 certainly owe something to an old Outer Limits episode, "The Invisible Enemy," about another space mission that unexpectedly finds hostile alien life on a seemingly deserted world. In both cases, the monsters actually hide in plain sight, and boast a kind of sinister brand of intelligence. What differentiates Apollo 18, again, is the visually-dynamic presentation of the setting, the horrifying nature of the alien threat, and the astronaut's bewildered response to it.

But Apollo 18 thrives most powerfully on the fact that the two astronauts on the surface really have no options for long-term survival. They are alone, outnumbered, abandoned, running low on air, and increasingly desperate. There's a moment inside a deep crater -- lit only by sporadically flashing lights -- that gets, most powerfully, at this atmosphere of total vulnerability.

The found-footage genre reaches its apex of success, in my opinion, when it transports you so successfully into another life or world that you start to get a little panicky yourself. Like you are actually there....and unsafe. I felt that way in The Blair Witch Project (1999), as the kid filmmakers neared the weird, isolated house in the middle of the forest, and I felt it here too, when one astronaut was alone, trying to help his friend at the lip of a crater, and on the very cusp of being the last human being alive on the Moon...with no possibility of help or escape.

Now, I don't know if the critics who hated this movie possess a deficit of imagination or I possess a surfeit of it, but I found this element of the film very effective; a brand of throat-tightening terror that is hard to shake off or invalidate. Imagine being alone out there...separated from...everything. In many ways, Apollo 18's central scenario is the ultimate horror crucible, the ultimate human nightmare. The movie has a great high-concept, and a great, dynamic visualization of it. In a few shots, we see Earth hanging in the black sky, thousands of miles away and tiny, and this composition is almost unimaginable in terms of the loneliness it projects.

Apollo 18 asks you to live, essentially, in an extended moment of fear and total isolation, and there's a touching moment during which one astronaut -- knowing he shall never see home again -- plays a tape recording of his wife and son over and over again; reaching out for something, anything human and comforting. Again, critics want to tell you the characters in the film are indistinguishible and you never care about them. Watch and experience this scene of human longing and sepration and then see if you think that claim is entirely fair.

I should also add, perhaps that Apollo 18 exists within in the milieu of "conspiracy" films about the space program (think: Capricorn One [1978]). Here, Watergate gets an explicit mention too. We live in a similar age of suspicion today, obsessed on Trutherism, Birtherism and the like. Today's widespread fear of big, out of control, arrogant government, is also reflected, to some extent in Apollo 18's depiction of patriotic Americans left callously to die on the moon. Is this the best we can do for our national heroes? For those who dare to expand the frontiers of human knowledge? Are we failing our best men and women?

So Apollo 18 speaks to the Zeitgeist of the day, is authentically scary at points, and is visually unlike any found-footage film ever made. Those are the strengths it brings to the table. The weaknesses, in my opinion, stem from the fact that you know too early where the film is headed (and how it will end), and that some moments of the deliberate space program "vibe" drag on too long (a claim which one might also legitimately make, by the way, of Kubrick's masterpiece, 2001: A Space Odyssey).

So, a good attempt that falls a little short, or a total, horrible flame out? I'd vote for the former. In my opinion, it's too bad so many folks believe Apollo 18 should have been scrubbed before lift-off, when, in some respects, it clearly points out a new trajectory for found footage films; one that may help the subgenre expand and grow beyond the current reach and scope of so many...paranormal activities.

Nighttime nurseries can only be explored so many times before ennui sets in, but the dimensions of space are, of course, limitless.

Theme Song of the Week: Dark Shadows (1966 - 1971)

2012-01-24T00:01:00.001-05:00

The Cult-TV Faces of: The Duel to the Death

2012-01-23T03:01:00.004-05:00

Identified by Le0pard13: The Outer Limits: "Fun and Games"

Identified by Hugh: Star Trek: "Amok Time."

Identified by Dave Colahan: The Starlost: "The Goddess Calabra"

Identified by Dave Colohan: Planet of the Apes: "The Gladiators"

Identified by Dave Colohan: Space:1999: "The Rules of Luton."

Identified by Hugh and Dave Colohan: Blake's 7: "Duel"

Identified by Hugh: Buck Rogers: "Buck's Duel to the Death"

Identified by Dave Colohan: V: "The Champion"

Identified by Randal Graves: Angel: "The Ring"

Identified by Woodchuckgod: Farscape: "That Old Black Magic"

Identified by Hugh and Dave Colohan: Star Trek: Voyager: "Tsunkatse"

Identified by Hugh: Firefly: "Shindig"

Not Identified: Smallville: "Dominion"

Television and Cinema Verities: In the Words of the Creators # 3

2012-01-23T00:01:00.002-05:00

"I was asked, 'Do you want to do a musical episode of Angel or Firefly?' And I said, 'Not in a million years.' Those shows don't lend themselves to it. The thing about Buffy is that you do the musical episode without violating the reality of Buffy. That's the most important thing to me. What's hilarious about working in fantasy is that you can say 'The evil twin thing? That's not reality, that's bullshit! Who buys that? But the dwarf going out of someone's head is fine.'...You have this seemingly arbitrary, but in fact very strict sense of what can go on in this world.

And Buffy is so sophomoric, romantic, colorful, tense, sexual...I think half the episodes feel like they're about to burst into song anyway...So to say a demon has come who causes musicals make perfect sense in that world. It doesn't make sense in the Angel world to me. It definitely makes no sense in the Firefly world. It's a different kind of choice."

- Joss Whedon discusses the Buffy the Vampire Slayer musical, "Once More With Feeling" with me in 2004's Singing a New Tune: The Re-Birth of the Modern Film Musical (Applause Books, 2005, page 282).

CULT TV BLOGGING: The Fantastic Journey: "Beyond the Mountain" (February 17, 1977)

2012-01-22T03:03:00.061-05:00

The third episode of The Fantastic Journey, "Beyond the Mountain" introduces the final piece of the series' character equation: Roddy McDowall's temperamental scientist, Dr. Jonathan Willaway, a man whose plane disappeared over the Sea of Japan in 1963.

The character of Willaway would promptly become an important one for The Fantastic Journey, offering the writers another viewpoint to explore, and another way of handling crises.

Where Varian, Lianna, Scott and Fred tend to agree easily on how to grapple with any given situation, Willaway is a bit more independent...and feisty. In short, he adds the element of the unpredictable, and that's important for the entertainment value of the series, as well as the emerging character development.

"Beyond the Mountain" also perfects another component of its equation here: social commentary. Historically, this is a critical facet that all great science-fiction series are wise to develop: the capacity to comment on contemporary culture (safely) by projecting that commentary into an alien or fantasy realm. We saw a bit of that brand of social commentary emerge in the class warfare dynamic of "Atlantium," but the commentary is at full flower in "Beyond the Mountain."

In "Beyond the Mountain," Varian, Fred, Scott and Lianna are joined by Lianna's loyal cat, Sil-El, and then promptly engulfed in an eerie red-colored storm -- a close relative to the green one that stranded the crew and passengers of the Yonder in the Bermuda Triangle. Lianna is promptly separated from the others, and Varian laments that the time zones are not as "predictable" as he'd prefer.

Lianna ends up in a paradisaical, luxury villa, where Dr. Jonathan Willaway -- a very "strong willed man" -- is tended to by subservient humanoid androids. He calls the androids his "family" but rules over them like a very strict father. His pleasant and welcoming demeanor hides a darker streak.

Meanwhile, Fred, Varian and Scott are cast down into a misty swamp of gnarled trees and fog. The swamp (which looks like Dagobah...), is impressively-presented here, having been constructed on a sound-stage and seeming very atmospheric, especially in contrast to Willaway's sun-lit world, where the grass is literally always greener.

Before long, Willaway decides he wants to marry Lianna and attempts to keep her from searching for her friends, even as his android "son," Cyrus (John David Carson) also begins to develop human emotions for the lovely woman.

Lianna rejects Willaway's advances, and he drugs her to keep her prisoner at the villa. He then attempts to re-program Cyrus to eliminate the android's feelings for her.

Down in the swamp, Scott, Fred and Varian encounter a race of green-skinned humanoids, aliens called "Arujians" (think Indians). Their leader is deathly ill from a "bacterial disease" -- malaria -- and Varian and Fred heal him.

Once recovered, the leader explains that Willaway -- "the man from beyond the mountain" -- came to their land some time ago, subverted their androids, and banished the green-skinned humanoids to the primitive swamp.

"He does not think of us as beings of any worth," the leader comments about Willaway, and from this remark one can see how the episode's central metaphor is crafted. "Beyond the Mountain" is a comment on, for lack of a better word, "the white man's burden," and here a white westerner has re-located a race of "lesser beings" off their land for his own benefit. Just substitute green skin for red skin, and you understand the historical analogy.

It isn't just the historical relocation of Native Americans that "Beyond the Mountain" comments on, at least obliquely, but also the very concept of slavery.

Here, Willaway keeps a society of androids serving him and is unable to countenance the idea that they could be sentient creatures deserving of the same rights and freedoms he enjoys.

They are only "an amalgam of simulated flesh and bone," he declares at one point. Willaway even tells his son, "your marrow is transistorized; your heart is a battery; your veins and arteries are wire filament." This might be another way of saying that because their skin is different than his; they are "less" than human, a widely-held belief of slave owners in America a hundred-and-fifty years ago.

Adding to the depth of the commentary, Willaway generally treats his android slaves with what he believes is love and kindness, even though he is still firmly master and they still obedient servants. You've certainly heard the argument that pre-Civil War South, slaves were treated "well" and cared for affectionately. Perhaps that was indeed true in some instances; but the slaves were still slaves, susceptible to the whims and wishes of a master who believed them nothing more than property. A cage is a cage, even if the warden isn't overtly cruel. Because some slaves were treated with kindness does not make the institution of slavery morally acceptable.

Here the darkest side of the historical slavery equation is made plain when Willaway, challenged by a female android (Marj Dusay), warns her that if she misbehaves, he will "take her apart." When the enslaved androids finally do rebel against him, Willaway is baffled by their revolt. "I gave you a beautiful place to live. I even made you my son..." he says, feeling betrayed, unaware that his "children" are ready to chart their own destinies.

Again, it's not difficult to read this analogy as one akin to slavery in America. Many slaves did live on beautiful estates, and many masters did give their slaves their family name But once more these are not qualities equal to freedom, self-determination, and liberty.

So, in the course of one episode, Willaway displaces one ethnic group (the green-skinned swamp dwellers), and enslaves another (the androids).

Or as he puts it at the denouement, society and he "do have problems."

I'll say.

You'd think, given his actions, that Willaway would be played as an out-and-out villain, and left defeated and vanquished by episode's end. But The Fantastic Journey, to its credit, offers a bit more dimensionality in its treatment of Willaway.

In the end, with the help of the series regulars, both subjugated races are freed. But surprisingly, Varian shows mercy to Willaway and allows him to travel with the group.

Again, this was the final piece of the character dynamics: Varian, Fred, Lianna and Scott are all likable, heroic characters, whereas Willaway (as this episode reveals) is more flawed; and more willing to strike off with his own agenda. He isn't a constant foil (like, say Lost in Space's Dr. Smith), merely a fly in the ointment and wild card. The ending solution, Willaway joining the team, works well story-wise and is even believable because Varian is a man from a peaceful future; one where men don't hold grudges or act in petty fashion. He is the series' version of the peaceful and enlightened Spock, and a great character because he calls to the better angels of our nature.

In the spirit of Star Trek's "Requiem for Methuselah," Space: 1999's "One Moment of Humanity," Star Trek: The Next Generation's "The Offspring," and the new Battlestar Galactica's "Downloaded" this Fantastic Journey episode also involves the idea of an android (or androids, plural) attaining humanity or understanding humanity. Willaway's son, Cyrus, in this episode dies (in love with Lianna), a "tear" falling from his cheek. This image seems akin to the one of Zarl attaining "one moment of humanity" in the 1999 story, and the image of Lol dying after learning to feel love towards her father, Data, in the absolutely heart-wrenching and brilliant "The Offspring," surely one of the most affecting Next Generation episodes produced. Practically speaking, however, it's hard to imagine an android crying...unless tear ducts were installed.

Kidding aside, the idea of androids grappling with sentience and emotional awareness is handled well enough here; though the depiction of the androids (lanky men and women in gold lame jumpsuits with circuit panels on their backs...) dates the series somewhat dramatically. Still, "Beyond the Mountain" is likely the best The Fantastic Journey episode of the first three aired, and probably a serious contender for best episode of the short-lived series.

Next episode: "Children of the Gods."

Fantastic Journey Promo

2012-01-22T00:01:00.002-05:00

Saturday with Sinbad: Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977)

2012-01-21T03:01:00.004-05:00

I first saw Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977) in theaters when I was seven or eight years old. I absolutely loved it as a kid, and have thought of the film fondly for decades since...but without actually re-visiting it.

A recent re-screening of the film, however, for this Saturday series, reveals Eye of the Tiger to be the least successful of the Ray Harryhausen Sinbad trilogy.

In Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger, Sinbad (now Patrick Wayne) must stop a diabolical sorceress -- "as malicious as a shark" -- named Zenobia (Margaret Whiting), who has turned the soon-to-be-coronated Caliph, Prince Kassim, into a baboon. She has done so in hopes that her own son may assume the throne in Kassim's place.

Engaged to Kassim's sister, Farah (Jane Seymour), Sinbad sets sail to find a cure for the transformed Kassim. He meets up with a legendary Greek scientist, Melanthius (Patrick Troughton) and his lovely daughter, Dione (Taryn Power), and together they make for the foreboding ice cliffs of Hyperboria, where a cure may await.

Meanwhile, Zenobia pursues Sinbad with her frightening automaton, the Minoton...

Directed by Sam Wanamaker, Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger was released in American theaters just six weeks after Star Wars premiered in 1977, and so it's clear that a dramatic shift was occurring in terms of movie fantasies. Unfortunately, Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger looks old and tired compared to Star Wars, with several disastrous scenes featuring unnecessary rear projection.

I'm not certain what occurred here, but in several scenes it looks as though the major cast members (Wayne, Seymour and Troughton) never went on location, and so all of the exterior scenes on Melanthius's island reek of visual phoniness. It's so bad as to take you out of the movie's reality for several minutes.

Secondly, Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger is the only Sinbad movie where the stop-motion animation itself proves a little tiresome. The first fight in the film -- Sinbad against three insectoid/skeleton creatures from the underworld -- is dire.

As Clash of the Titans also revealed, stop motion animation works less well in night-time settings (something about the mismatch in lighting between live and animated elements, I presume...).

But what makes this battle with the insectoids worse than anything in Clash is the monsters' relative size compared to Wayne's. They look just a tad shorter and smaller than Sinbad. Not small enough to be homunculi or some other diminutive fantasy creature, mind you, but just short enough to make it appear as though the perspectives in the mating of the footage are wrong.

Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger would have also worked a lot better, in visual terms, if a real baboon had been used as Kassim, instead of a stop-motion figure. The same thing with the Minoton. There are instances here wherein a full-scale statue/person-in-suit (seen briefly, I think....) could have more effectively brought the creature to life for longer spells. The poor visuals involving the baboon and the Minoton give one the impression that the Sinbad movies have fallen into a creative rut; one where the creators seem to think stop-motion animation is the only solution to a special effects problem. No one was thinking outside that particular box.

On top of these flaws, we've gone back to the 7th Voyage of Sinbad's non-ethnic, western portrayal of Sinbad, and Patrick Wayne seems to lack the intensity of John Phillip Law. He's cheery and kind of bland. This film is also the longest of the Sinbad features clocking it at nearly two hours, and the plot is so simplistic that much of the film feels like a drag. Then, when we finally get to the happy conclusion (Kassim's delayed coronation), the film displays end credits over the footage so the audience can't make out what's happening.

God, I hate writing any of that, because Joel (my five year old son) enjoyed the heck out of Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger, and it was for kids like him that the movie was made. I understand that, and I'm thrilled he loved the film.

Therefore, I'm going to try to focus now on the things I liked most about the film. First and foremost is the Troglodyte creature of Hyperboria.

This humanoid "monster" remains one of Harryhausen's greatest efforts, perhaps, and is absolutely brimming with humanity and personality. The creature gives up its life to save Sinbad and his group in the climax, and it's a sacrifice you really feel. It's amazing to countenace the idea that a "miniature" or sculpted model can make you feel strong emotions, but that's precisely what occurs with this sympathetic monster.

Secondly, the Minoton is an absolutely awesome villain and creation, and represents Joel's big imaginative "takeaway" from the movie. More than anything in the world right now, my son wants a Minoton action figure. The Minoton is actually a kind of golden bull robot, and cuts quite the imposing figure in the film. But again, I must note that something goes amiss with the character's use: he's killed removing a brick from a pyramid (!) and never given the chance to challenge Sinbad in combat.

Bummer.

This is a villain that absolutely required a more fitting and dramatic end. The film's climax should have involved a brawl between Sinbad and the Minoton. Even Joel, at five years old, knew something wasn't right. He kept asking if the Minoton was going to pop up at the end. But he didn't.

The other monsters in the film are a little underwhelming, a giant bee, a smilodon and a giant walrus, among them. They look fine, but somehow lack an overt sense of menace. The scene involving the bee happens to be spectacularly bad. Troughton's character creates a giant bee to test Zenobia's transformation serum, and then it promptly runs wild, and allows for Zenobia to escape. Ugh.

After having watched all the Sinbad movies now, I must say that Golden Voyage stands out as the best, with Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger bringing up the rear. This film's most eye-opening (and unexpected effect), at least for a forty-something dad, is a nude scene by the gorgeous (and apparently never aging...) Jane Seymour.

Somehow, as a seven year old, I didn't pick up on that.

I must have been too busy ogling the Minoton.

Next week on Saturday with Sinbad, a real classic from Harryhausen: Jason and the Argonauts (1963).

Movie Trailer: Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977)

2012-01-21T00:01:00.002-05:00

The Films of 1982: Firefox

2012-01-20T10:27:00.000-05:00

Tense, cerebral, and confident in a kind of glacial, calculating fashion, director Clint Eastwood's Cold War techno-thriller Firefox was one of the unique offerings of the great summer of 1982.

A literate and respectable adaptation of Craig Thomas's 1978 novel of the same name, Firefox took on the Soviet Union -- the "Evil Empire" of President Reagan's famous conjuration -- and also imagined some chilling, futuristic developments in the dangerous international game of technological and ideological brinkmanship.

Although today Firefox seems a bit drawn out at two-hours-and-fifteen-minutes, and even a little emotionally flat in some respects, I believe Eastwood's intelligent decision to eschew traditional movie sentimentality and mock heroics actually augments the film's artistic success, and notably strengthens its case for American-style freedom and democracy.

Although Firefox concerns an American pilot going undercover in Moscow to steal a high-tech warplane, in terms of substance, much of the narrative involves Eastwood's pilot, Gant, interacting with Soviet rebels; rebels who -- without flinching, and noticeably without narcissism -- give up their lives for a cause greater than personal success, wealth or gain.

Again and again, these courageous dissidents do what is necessary, what is hard, and what is truly heroic (but not selfish...) to bring freedom not just to their country, but peace to the world at large. The depiction of the Soviet Union in Firefox may or may not be entirely accurate -- Gant and his comrades are asked for their papers so often you'd swear you're in a World War II propaganda film -- but Eastwood's (and, incidentally, President Reagan's...) case is forged masterfully. Deny a people their freedom, their individual liberty long enough, and, eventually, you'll be consigned to the ash heap of history. Your "control" won't be a match for their dedication.

Unlike the James Bond films, which sometimes positioned SPECTRE or some other criminal organization as the real force of terror in the world while the U.S. and U.S.S.R were merely competitors, Firefox rather decidedly chooses sides in the Cold War struggle, recognizing that one nation embraces personal freedom while the other squelches it. Although this may sound too black-and-white for some viewers, Eastwood has focused so intently and so masterfully on details of technology and espionage, -- and so masterfully cut-out all dramatic histrionics -- that the film often plays as quasi-documentary.

In the film's final sequence, replete with masterful effects from John Dykstra, Firefox literally and metaphorically takes flight...and proves utterly rousing.

"If the Soviets can mass produce it, it will change the structure of our world..."

A former pilot and head of a U.S. military "aggressor" squad, Mitchell Gant (Eastwood) is recruited by American intelligence officials to go undercover in Moscow and steal a newly designed, experimental warplane, Firefox.

The matter is one of national security because the Soviet craft can travel faster than Mach 5, and is virtually invisible to radar. Perhaps more dramatically, the plane is controlled by "brain emissions" and "thought impulses" through helmet sensors, meaning that pilot response time in battle is greatly reduced. "The greatest warplane ever built," Firefox could change the worldwide balance of power.

Though Gant is an outstanding pilot, he has precious little experience in the world of espionage, and worse, he's still haunted by a traumatic experience in the Vietnam War, during which he saw a young Vietnamese girl firebombed by American planes. In moments along and in quiet, Gant often experiences seizures, reliving the troubling memories.

Gant travels to Moscow, masquerading as a business-man, but his cover is soon blown, Helpful dissidents soon come to his aid, arranging again and again his safe passage, often at the expense of their lives. When Gant finally reaches Firefox's hanger, the scientists who developed the plane also sacrifice themselves to give him cover, for escape and Gant takes off in the technological Goliath.

Unfortunately for Gant, there is a second Firefox ready to launch, and it soon takes to the skies in pursuit...,

"This is very important: You must think in Russian."

What I admire most about Firefox is its streamlined, no-nonsense nature. There's no ameliorating romance here, no juvenile comedic relief, and no pandering to the audience in terms of making the action easy or simple.

This is a complicated film, like an old Mission: Impossible episode in some respects, and the film encourages engagement and attention in a way that few thrillers today manage. We understand now that Eastwood is a great director, but that fact is also plain here. He stages a number of elaborate sequences (including one in a Moscow subway station) with tremendous aplomb and visual clarity. This is a far cry from last week's 1982 feature, Megaforce, which couldn't be bothered to lay out for viewers the spatial, geographical details of battle.

Even better than the film's visual distinction, it's clear that Firefox also has something important on its mind. The film's overriding leitmotif is stated in the line of dialogue I excerpted above in the section break. "You must think in Russian."

On a literal level, of course, this admonition applies to Gant's mastery of Firefox's control systems. It is a plane controlled by thought, but it was made in Russia, so Gant must phrase his mental commands in Russian. That alone would be challenge for any pilot.

But on a metaphorical level, Eastwood's character is forced, while in the Iron Curtain, to think like a Russian in terms of what it means to live in a totalitarian regime. He doesn't understand this distinction at first. He can't think in Russian, because he's from an entirely different culture, a "free man." At least twice in the film, Gant seeks to understand why the dissidents are so willing to buck the system, to fight City Hall when the end game is only death. "What is it with you Jews, anyway?" he asks, rather insensitively. "Don't you get tired of fighting City Hall?"

Later, when Gant asks a dissident what will happen to him, the rebel replies "It doesn't matter," and Gant takes the remark like a slap across the face. Of course his life matters. Every life matters. But for the dissident, what remains of import here is doing something positive for the country, for his people....in the cause of freedom.

Some audiences may see this whole subplot as propagandistic or nationalistic, but remember the context: this film was produced at the height of the Cold War, after the Soviet Union had advanced into Afghanistan. The film reflects that worrisome time, and more so, reflects the American perspective of that conflict. There's no moral equivocation or relativism in Firefox, only a journey in which a hero is exposed, on his journey, to what it means to live without freedom. He learns to "think like a Russian," to see life in a place where liberty is absent. The film picks sides, and it's hard to disagree with Firefox's conclusion. Freedom is universally the superior paradigm.

Many audiences of today's vintage may find Gant's tragic flaw -- his PTSD seizures -- woefully cliched. We've seen this particular idea repeated so many times in 2011 that it is trite, and even a little silly. And yet, in context of the picture, I'd again suggest that it works just fine. The game here is to make a realistic thriller about a flawed man fighting for his country. The PTSD takes the edge of invincibility off the familiar Eastwood persona, and makes him more dimensional. Again, you must contrast Firefox's approach with the likes of something like Moonraker (1979), an espionage/spy film that leaves reality behind (not there's anything wrong, intrinsically with that approach).

Here, reality comes first and foremost, and people are portrayed as innate courageous...but also innately flawed. There's a great moment late in the film when Gant brutally takes down a Soviet pilot. He ambushes him, but then stops, mid-beating, and reveals his humanity. "Hell," he says, "you didn't do anything." Mercy is a human trait, and one that many screen heroes of today, in their darkness and angst, eschew.

Of course, that good deed is punished when the beaten pilot -- angry over his treatment -- pilots the second Firefox in pursuit of Gant. But still, the point of Gant's humanity is made very well.

The last forty-five minutes or so of Firefox involve Gant in the cockpit, in the sky, attempting to fake out, evade, and survive dedicated Soviet pursuit. It's quite a strong third act, and it features some absolutely exhilarating first-person flight footage. The special effects by Dykstra (involving miniatures) are not as dated as I thought they were before I re-screened the film, and in fact, very impressive. The design of Firefox, for instance, is fantastic. I'd love a model kit.

I also wondered for the first time while watching this film for this review, if Airwolf was not actually a Blue Thunder knock-off (and a good one), but a Firefox knock-off. Both productions involve the theft of a high-tech aircraft, both feature protagonists who are traumatized by the Vietnam conflict, and both crafts feature an element (air or fire) and mammal (wolf or fox) in their name.

Where the final, climactic segment of Firefox falls down, at least a little bit, is in the perhaps-unconscious but nevertheless obvious aping of Star Wars in one dramatic moment.

At one point in the aerial combat, Gant takes his Firefox down into an ice trench (like the Death Star technological trench), while his opponent pursues. During the chase, we get a voice-over from Ben Kenobi, er Freddie Jones reminding him to think in Russian. The voice-over is obvious and unnecessary, and the similarity to the Star Wars' climax merely takes away from all the respect Firefox achieves with its high-integrity, low-drama approach to storytelling.

Late in the film, the oily, villainous First Secretary of the U.S.S.R. taunts Gant with the questions "are you enjoying your ride, Mr. Gant? Like our new toy?" In terms of the movie, the answer would have to be affirmative. Firefox is a solid, well-crafted, intelligent ,techno-thriller, even today, and it earns your respect scene-by-scene. More than that, it boasts a smart, contemplative core, asking its (predominantly American...) audience to think like a "Russian," and imagine what it means to live in a world without freedom, one where you can't fight City Hall.

Next Week on The Films of 1982: The Class of 1984.

Firefox (1982) Trailer

2012-01-20T00:01:00.001-05:00

TV REVIEW: Alcatraz: "Pilot" (2012)

2012-01-19T03:03:00.078-05:00

To describe Alcatraz in a convenient shorthand, the new sci-fi mystery series from creators Elizabeth Sarnoff, Steven Lilien, Bryan Wynbrandt and executive producer J.J. Abrams is a lot like Brimstone (1998) meets Lost (2004 - 2010).

Don't remember Brimstone? If not, a true shame, because it is worth remembering.

Brimstone was a terrific but short-lived Fox horror series (that aired on Fridays with Millennium) and concerned a laconic cop (Peter Horton) working with Satan himself (John Glover) to send back to Hell some 200+ demon prisoners who had escaped from the underworld.

Each week, there was a a different prisoner to catch, each with his or her own story and unique modus operandi.

What made Brimstone authentically great, however, wasn't necessarily the somewhat repetitive premise, but rather the scintillating chemistry between the stars, and the fact that the series dwelt much on the personal life of Det. Ezekiel Stone (Horton), who had also been a prisoner in Hell himself, and returned to Earth to find that his wife (Stacy Haiduk) had moved on.

I wish the series had been more popular, or that Fox had shown a little faith in it and given it more time on the air. One of these days, if I can get my hands on all the episodes, I should cult blog the series as I'm currently doing with The Fantastic Journey. An official DVD set would sure be nice.

But back to Alcatraz. The series premise is eerily similar. In March of 1963, Alcatraz was closed and "officially speaking" all the prisoners were transferred to newer facilities. But "that's not what happened. Not at all." Instead, in some kind of Philadelphia Experiment way, all the prisoners disappeared...never to be seen again.

Until now...

For some reason, these deadly criminals are re-appearing in 2012, and wreaking havoc in nearby San Francisco. The prisoners not only seem to be following their own modus operandi, but appear to be working for some unknown group or conspiracy, in furtherance of some diabolical agenda. They haven't aged a day since 1963, and appear to be performing tasks for some unknown overlords.

Working to apprehend the 300+ criminals is police detective Rebecca Madsen (Sarah Jones) and her partner, author and geek Diego Soto (Jorge Garcia). They work for the mildly sinister Emerson Hauser (Sam Neill), who was a guard at Alcatraz the night the prisoners vanished from sight and knows much more than he is currently revealing.

So thus far, each week...another prisoner to catch, each with his distinctive methods. "Ernest Cobb" was the Wichita Sniper, for instance, with a pattern of killing three innocent victims every three days, as per the second episode. He gets caught in the second episode.

The Lost comparison comes into play because Alcatraz, at least in its pilot and first regular episode (the aforementioned "Ernest Cobb") heavily involves character flashbacks. We see the prisoners' time on Alcatraz before disappearing, for instance, which serves as clue to the larger mystery. The overall setting -- an island filled with temporal mysteries -- also clearly harks back to the earlier Abrams series, as does (the inspired_ casting of Garcia.

Although Alcatraz is mired in familiar elements from Brimstone, Lost and about a dozen police procedurals currently on the air, I must admit I found it modestly intriguing, and it held my interest for two hours I was particularly gratified in the casting of Sarah Jones as Madsen and Garcia as De Soto. They are an unconventional but intriguing pair, cast for their solid acting abilities, not merely their looks. In fact, I found Sarah Jones quite fetching. She's not traditionally beautiful (though she is lovely), yet she projects a distinctive personality and quality of reality that I appreciated. Her casting reminded me a little bit of Gillian Anderson on The X-Files. She's a woman who -- the more you look at her and spend time with her -- the more you see her inner and outer beauty.

What's the point? Well, even with all its derivative qualities, I sense that Alcatraz may be worth sticking with simply for the character interplay. The performances of the actors and personalities of the characters may overcome some of the admittedly routine material. That's my hope, anyway. Sometimes watching a TV show isn't about a premise, or about a particular narrative, but about spending time with people who intrigue you.

In general, I must admit, I also found the pilot of Alcatraz smarter than anything I ever saw on the re-made V, Terra Nova or Flash Forward. Again, I realize that this compliment is like being voted the nicest inmate in prison (on Alcatraz?), but I suppose it's something. Watching Alcatraz, I didn't feel that my intelligence was overtly being insulted (as was surely the case with both V and Terra Nova).

My wife, who watched both the Alcatraz pilot and "Ernest Cobb" with me was not so excited by the possibilities of the program. When I asked her what bothered her, she stressed J.J. Abrams' involvement and noted her fear that Alcatraz was going to lead us around by the nose but never truly come together; that the central mystery was never going to be resolved satisfactorily.

Good point. I hope the show doesn't just lead us on. I hope it goes somewhere amazing; somewhere that is internally consistent, makes sense, and really wows the audience. Let's have not only a grand mystery...but a grand, mind-blowing investigation and resolution too.

Is that too much to ask?

Sc-Fi Wisdom of the Week

2012-01-19T00:01:00.001-05:00

"Mr. Gant, you are an American. You are a free man. I am not. There is a difference. If I resent the men in London who are ordering my death, then it is a small thing when compared with my resentment of the KGB."

- Firefox (1982), to be reviewed here tomorrow.

Collectible of the Week: Star Trek: The Next Generation action figures (Galoob; 1988)

2012-01-18T03:03:00.028-05:00

This year is the 25th anniversary of Star Trek: The Next Generation, and I've been featuring episode retrospectives here on the blog to celebrate the occasion.

Today, I want to diverge from that mission a little bit and remember the first line of toy action figures from the program, which were released in 1988 (near the end of the first season) and produced by Galoob.

Years later, of course, Playmates produced a line of figures based on the series that far exceeded Galoob's in terms of selection and popularity. But the Galoob Star Trek: The Next Generation figures remain cherished collectibles for me.

In part, this is because I remember the excitement and anticipation accompanying the premiere of Star Trek: The Next Generation -- the first new Trek series since 1973 -- and the thrill of seeing toys and model kits on the market anew. My sweet and loving mother promptly ordered all the crew action figures for me, as well AMT's model kit of the Enterprise-D from a toy vendor in Florida, and I still remember the thrill of the toys arriving in the mail one afternoon

Six crew members from the Enterprise-D were included with the first Galoob release in 1988. These included Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Commander Will Riker (still beard-less at this point), Lt. Commander Data (in both golden speckled face and blue face variation, for some reason...), the ill-fated Lt. Tasha Yar, Lt. Geordi La Forge (before he became chief engineer), and Lt. Worf.

These crew figures are all very much "show accurate" to employ a popular phrase, right down to the middle crease or ridge down the middle of their first season Starfleet uniform tunics. Also, the figures, like their namesakes, were of different heights and builds.

The likenesses to the actors are also quite good, in my estimation.

Each of the crew members came equipped with a phaser 2, Dustbuster variation (the one seen in nice close-up in "The Arsenal of Freedom") molded in hand, and a tricorder (with strap) to sling over their shoulders. I suppose the latter point was actually an inaccuracy, as characters only carried tricorders on straps in the Original Series, not in The Next Generation.

In addition to the stalwart crew members, Galoob released a group of early first season villains to challenge the crew, including Q in his judge's robes from "Encounter At Farpoint," the Ferengi from "The Last Outpost" and two singularly unmemorable races from "Lonely Among Us:" The Anticans and Selay.

The line didn't stop with action figures, either. Galoob also produced a Shuttlecraft Galileo vehicle for the Enterprise team and a neat but show-inaccurate Ferengi fighter for the bad guys.

A smaller, die-cast metal Enterprise-D was released, and it boasted the capacity to separate the saucer section. Also released was a phaser one toy that acted as flashlight when activated.

Left widely unproduced and sold were planned figures, including a Romulan (seen in "The Neutral Zone") and acting ensign Wesley Crusher.

I also vividly remember that the mail-order vendor from whom we purchased the available toys also offered for a time two or maybe three cardboard play sets, one of the Enterprise interior, and one -- if memory serves -- of the inhospitable planet surface from "The Last Outpost."

Alas, those sets were never produced, and my money was refunded. I would love to see photos of these play sets today, as I've become quasi-convinced over the long years that I hallucinated them. Only a Toy Collector magazine article from 1996 confirms I haven't lost my mind...

As I've written before, we normally associate Star Trek toys with Mego and Playmates, but I've always appreciated the Galoob line quite a bit. The action figures look great hanging on my office wall, and make a nice counterpoint to the larger, somewhat strange-looking Playmates figures.

Cloned from a Mutual Zygote #3: Borellian Nomen and TMP Klingons

2012-01-18T00:01:00.002-05:00

CULT MOVIE REVIEW: Don't Be Afraid of the Dark (2011)

2012-01-17T03:03:00.001-05:00

Another week, another horror movie remake.

Seriously though, as I hope to have established in previous reviews (notably my recent review of Fright Night [2011]), I work hard to assess remakes on a case-by-case basis rather than simply trashing all of them, out-of-hand.

Such a measured approach is the only way to prevent errors of critical judgment in an age when Hollywood feels that every horror film should carry name brand identification and the possibility of franchise-a-fication.

All these (seemingly endless...) remakes exist for a reason: because it is less risky to market a tested title than a fresh one. But the crux of the matter is that some remakes are indeed better than others....and even downright good They should be lauded for that achievement, not dismissed because they part of -- as a whole -- a mangy breed. In the past, I have enjoyed and appreciated such remakes such as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003), Dawn of the Dead (2004), and The Ring (2002).

So I'm not a remake hater just for the sake of it.

Nonetheless, Don't Be Afraid of the Dark (2011) just ain't one of the good ones. It not only fails to understand why the original version of the material scared us as children, it fails to make much internal sense. It's a double failure, then, first as re-imagination, and then, additionally, as an original work.

Co-written by one of my genre heroes, Guillermo Del Toro, and directed by Troy Nixey, Don't Be Afraid of the Dark (2011) is an elaborate remake of a 1973 TV movie of the same name. You can read my review of that film here, which I posted a second time on the day last year the remake was released. John Newland directed the original made-for-tv film, and it starred Kim Darby.

The meat of my review of the original establishes that Don't Be Afraid of the Dark is:

"...essentially the tale of a woman trapped in an unhappy and lonely marriage...and slowly but surely losing her grasp on reality (see also: Something Evil).

Sally's husband is mostly absent, and treats her as though she's a slow-witted child. All Alex cares about is that she's the "perfect hostess" for a dinner party, and the film functions literally as a metaphor of an unhappy marital relationship. Little things - literally, little monsters - keep getting in the way of the relationship, driving a wedge between the couple.

The terrifying notion at the heart of Don't Be Afraid of the Dark is the opening of a Pandora's Box, the fear of breaking down a wall and releasing something that can't be put back in its place.

Again, without putting too fine a point on it, there's a psychological equivalent to this Pandora's Box (the fireplace...) in the film too."

The 2011 remake fails so egregiously because it takes a relatively simple and yet resonant tale (as diagrammed in the excerpt above) and then heaps more and more unnecessary story detail atop it.

In other words, this movie does what all bad remakes feel the inexplicable need to do: it embellishes and embellishes until a once-sturdy foundation can no longer support the weight of all the new additions.

Consider: the original film concerned a country estate that was impressive, but not colossal or overwhelming, and involved little monsters about whom the audience knew almost nothing. They were little devils, certainly, and they wanted to drag poor Kim Darby's Sally into a furnace...and perhaps Hell itself.

That's pretty much everything.

But that simple blueprint is not enough for the re-told story. In the spirit of Jan De Bont's The Haunting (1999), the reasonably-proportioned country estate of the original has been turned into a goliath mansion of impossible interior decoration and dimension. This mansion interior is so ornate, so over-sized that it would be difficult to imagine such a place actually existing. It is a fantasyland castle. This problem in presentation and tone is exacerbated, in fact, by the film's very first shot. We open with a CGI view of the mansion exterior in the past, in the 1880s. The view is abundantly phony, and immediately colors the film as fantasy, rather than as horror. Reality is absent.

Beyond the fantasyland coloring and dimensions of the mansion in the new Don't Be Afraid of the Dark, the film slathers on more detail, more exposition, and more background. The audience receives a lengthy prologue revealing the monsters, the monsters' lair in the furnace, their 19th century victims, and their peculiar need for childrens' teeth.

Later in the film, the star's protagonist, Kim (Katie Holmes) visits a library and a special collection that explains the rest of the monsters' story. The creatures are historical "fairies" who require children and their teeth to replenish their dwindled numbers. We see artwork of the monsters, and learn of their interactions with the historical papacy in Europe. The only thing we don't get is a specimen for our own personal dissection.

All of these informational, spoon-fed touches are absolutely antithetical to the generation of suspense and terror in horror cinema. A good general rule of thumb in horror is that the less we know about certain elements of a narrative (namely what the monsters are, and what, precisely they want), the more successful the film is. Horror rests in not-knowing, in ambiguity. Why? Because that's the essence of human life. We don't always understand why fate chooses us to suffer, or why bad things -- such as a car crash, or diagnosis of cancer -- occur. The good horror movies reflect such real life ambiguity by not sharing absolutely everything about their menace, whether that menace is Michael "The Shape" Myers, the birds of Bodega Bay, or the xenomorph in Alien (1979).

Mystery enhances horror; knowledge diminishes it.

Conceptually, this remake just never surpasses this needy, continuous desire to make everything bigger, more elaborate, and more-spelled-out than the original. If you look at such classics as Psycho, Halloween and The Blair Witch Project, you understand the fallacy of such thinking. We don't require impossible interior decoration to be scared. We don't have to know the 'why' of a monster's behavior, either.

But I should be absolutely clear about this fact: Don't Be Afraid of the Dark doesn't even work on its own terms; even if you don't take the original into consideration. The problem is sloppy writing. The story just doesn't hold together, and the film will have you screaming over its multitudinous oversights and missed opportunities.

For instance, late in the film, the young heroine, Sally (Bailee Madison), is trapped in a dark library with the rampaging monsters. She battles them valiantly, while outside the library, the dinner guests of her father, Alex (Guy Pearce) try to break in and rescue her.

At this point in the narrative, everyone believes Sally is merely a disturbed or troubled child, and that the monsters are figments of her troubled imagination.

Eventually, the dinner guests break into the library, but not before Sally crushes one of the creatures against a library book shelf. We see a severed arm fall to the floor as the monsters scurry away into darkness. Instead of showcasing this rather dramatic evidence of her questionable story about monsters, Sally proffers a blurry photo, which is never revealed to the audience.

So why doesn't Sally show the disbelieving adults, including her father, the severed arm?

Incontrovertible proof of monsters would have rather niftily supported the child's case at this juncture. You can be damn sure that if I were trying to make people believe I had seen a monster, I'd be waving around that severed arm to the high heavens.

This is only one problem of internal logic and consistency. Another involves the monsters themselves. Throughout the film, there are perhaps a half-dozen of them. Just a handful. But then suddenly -- and conveniently in time for the over-the-top climax -- there are literally dozens. Where did the rest come from? Where were they hiding during the rest of the film? Lounging in the underworld? If your population's survival depends on accomplishing one task, such as stealing a child, do you leave the bulk of your army languishing in the furnace until the last minute?

And if the purpose of stealing Sally and dragging her down into the furnace is indeed to replenish the monsters' dwindled numbers, then how the heck did there get to be so many of these hobgoblins down there in the first place? The surfeit of monsters in the climax undercuts the monster's established motivation: the desperate need to reproduce. By elaborating so fully about the monsters and their needs, the movie writes itself into a corner. When suddenly a dozen monsters appear, it doesn't ring true; it smacks of gimmickry.

Thirdly, the finale of Don't Be Afraid of the Dark sees a character dragged down into the furnace; down, down underground, into a seemingly endless (but navigable...) tunnel of dirt, clay and earth. In the original TV movie, Sally was dragged down into the furnace when nobody else was nearby...so no one saw where she went and could rescue her. She just...disappeared. Her husband might easily have believed she had left him; that she had run away.

But here, two characters witness a family member dragged down into the hole, and do absolutely nothing in terms of follow-up. In this day and age, the police would surely have excavators and work crews ripping up that basement to rescue the missing citizen in short order.

Why doesn't Alex call the local fire crew and report that one of his family members has fallen down a deep hole, and that he requires assistance rescuing her?

Seriously, would you leave a loved one down in a hole, and make no attempt to rescue him or her, especially if he/she was alive (and kicking...) when falling in? I realize, of course, that Alex can't immediately follow the missing family member down the hole himself, because he has another family member to look after, and he may consider the danger from the monsters far from over. But he could drive away, make a cell phone call, drop off the family member, thenand go back and save the missing person from the well. It makes absolutely no sense that this doesn't occur. This is yet another example of embellishing a story to the point that it can't stand up on its own.

Grievous errors of internal consistency and believability occur again and again in Don't Be Afraid of the Dark. A groundskeeper, Mr. Harris, fights off the monsters about mid-way through the film. They get into his toolbox and go at him with scissors, a utility knife, and other deadly implements. He manages to escape, climb the basement stairs, and seek help from Sally and the housekeeper. He still has scissors jutting out of his shoulder.

Well -- incredibly -- the police, and Sally's Dad write off all of this carnage as a "work accident." Really? Scissors jutting out of the neck? Bloody cuts all over the man's body?

And it was a workplace accident?

Boy do I hate it when horror movies pull this shit, one of the dumbest of all genre movie tropes. Nobody in their right mind would believe the attack was an "accident," but all the characters in the film automatically assume the unbelievable instead of the patently obvious.

Another flaw worth mentioning: Alex and Kim have been re-fitting and restoring this historic mansion for months. They have sunk their financial fortune into this task. There are groundskeepers and workers all over the premises, working around the clock for a photo-shoot in Architectural Digest.

You'd assume the couple has actually seen the original blueprints of the home if they are so enmeshed in an authentic restoration process, right? Yet, a little girl, Sally, wanders onto the premises and on her second day there discovers a heretofore unknown basement! Something architects, landscapers, painters, and historians all missed. Again, all sense of reality just crumbles, and horror must possess a level of reality before layering on the scares.

Then, of course, there are flaws here originating from the fact that the remake attempts to be "faithful" to the original in some misguided way. In the climax of the original TV film, for instance, Sally utilized the flash of a polaroid camera to try to injure the photo-sensitive beasts. At that point in history (the 1970s), polaroid cameras were commonplace, so the idea was pretty clever. Sally used what was on hand to inventively attempt to save herself.

In the remake, Sally's Dad is a collector of polaroid cameras (!) so that there happens to be one on hand to fight the ghouls; one which possesses seemingly endless flash capacity. But here, the polaroid is such a damn stupid thing to use. If you were Sally, in this film, would you decide to use the ammo-limited Polaroid camera to fight these light-sensitive monsters, or would you pick up a flashlight ,which projects a steady stream of light and is pretty unlimited in terms of duration, assuming new batteries?

Of course Sally keeps snapping pictures with the camera...instead of acting logically and using the flashlight. Again, contextually-speaking, the polaroid made sense in the original. It was an inventive weapon of last resort. But it's resurrected here in a context that is nonsensical.

Finally, the ending of the new Don't Be Afraid of the Dark doesn't make sense in terms of the background story the characters have been told about the monsters. The audience has specifically been notified that the fairies want to take children to replenish their small numbers. At the end of the film, the monsters abduct somebody, but it isn't a child, and add her to their ranks. She is transformed into a monster (off-screen). How does this work, precisely? Aren't kids the the magic bullet? Why bother to laboriously explain the rules of these monsters' existnece, if your movie isn't even going to stick to them?

All of these problems established, Don't Be Afraid of the Dark is impressive in a few regards. The movie boasts a humdinger of a jump scare involving a monster underneath Sally's bed covers. Alas, if you've watched the film's trailer, you've already seen this bracing moment. It's a major plot point -- the reveal of the monster -- and the impact of it is utterly ruined by the preview trailer. I can't blame this issue on the film makers, but they must have surely been disappointed to see their big "boo!" moment ruined by advance advertisements.

Still, the monsters have been (masterfully) designed with a faithful eye towards the original creatures. The gnomes/trolls are much more convincing and real here, and are genuinely scary in movement and look. The wee beasts scurry around, and are truly malevolent, hateful little things. You come to fear them. And if you look closely at their faces...they share visages with their TV-movie counterparts.

Also, I can readily detect how this update attempts to craft a new and meaningful story about a child's alienation from parents, rather than the original's commentary on spousal alienation. Little Sally is not really wanted by her mother or father, and is shifted about from house-to-house with little thought. She is warned to be "gluten free" and take her "Adderall," dialogue points which convey the idea that her parents don't want to be bothered with her.

Just take your behavior-modification medicine, and shut up.

Given this leitmotif, Sally's bed in the impossibly ornate mansion is represented as a kind of gilded, golden cage, and that's the point. The child possesses everything (material) a kid could want, except love and affection. So when those monsters tell Sally that "they [meaning her parents] don't want you, but we do," the line carries some resonance and power. We all want to be with people who love us. The monsters manipulate Sally at first to make her believe they care for her, and the attempted corruption of a child is indeed frightening.

I suspect this element of the film explains Del Toro's involvement. He has almost universally featured children in his films and always evidenced a dramatic sensitivity towards a child's point of view. The same is true here. The jump scare I mentioned above works so well because it involves a universal dread. As children, we all imagined strange worlds beneath our bedtime blankets. Sally explores one such world here, and it is monstrous, nightmarish and recognizable to our collective subconscious.

Yet even the conceit of a "lonely child's world" is carried out unevenly, as Sally is shunted to the periphery, and Kim becomes the main character. Does she have the mettle to be a Mother? What about her own tough childhood? These new ideas are half-developed, and the final resolution of the story is not nearly as powerful as it should be because the movie spends so little time developing the growing bond between Kim and Sally. The real question to consider: is this Sally's story, or is it Kim's? The movie doesn't ever truly decide. If this were a legitimate fairy tale, Sally would likely end up with the beasts in the furnace, finally finding her sense of "belonging" there which would serve as a lesson to all parents who neglect their children. You either care for your kids and give them attention...or they could end up a monster.

A shame this movie doesn't have the gumption to follow through with its theme, and go in that unsettling direction.

Don't Be Afraid of the Dark showcases dramatically all the common fallacies of modern horror remakes. It girds a simple story with too many bells and whistles, and it plays it safe in terms of its final act, sparing the child and spoiling the story.

Embellishing isn't necessarily improving, and the new Don't Be Afraid of the Dark gets so big and fat, it forgets totell a story that makes sense, or that is capable of truly disturbing our slumber.

The original 1973 telemovie did so much more with so much less.

Theme Song of the Week: Forever Knight (1989 - 1996)

2012-01-17T00:01:00.002-05:00