Fiction: The Adventures of Chelsea the Social Worker, Part 12!

 It's been up in the air if I was even going to blog this week. Here's what I have, which is even more Chelsea! Once again, the table of contents is at the end.

It was a day before their anniversary when they came before the judge. Shad finally sat with Chelsea before the judge. She looked over to the doctor, who had long since quit the department. He merely scowled. She felt a chill when she saw the old woman who led the family, staring ahead without expression. “We find that the concerns raised in the original protective order have been resolved,” a panelist told the judge. “We further grant both Parties a Class 4 protective order against Lynn O’Connell Feaghan.” That made the old woman wince.

They spent the night at Shad’s apartment in Aster Plaza. It was a relatively large unit on the 50^th floor of the west tower, in the middle of a curve that swept to either side. It turned out that Diane and Frank had been keeping it occupied. The four of them spent the time packing Shad’s things, mainly his stop-motion models and tools. In the midst of it, Chelsea said to Diane, “I thought you were separated.”

“We are,” Diane said. “You’re the one whose husband is mental. You’re mental. Shut up.”

It was into the night when they finished. Diane and Frank unapologetically took the main bedroom. Chelsea and Shad set themselves up on the dinette. “Listen, Bluebell,” Shad said, “why don’t we just, you know, take it easy tonight? Talk, maybe?”

“We can skip the talking if it comes to that,” Chelsea said as they slid under the sheets. “It wouldn’t be the same, with Diane in the other room; best friends and all…”

“We used to hear things in the module,” Shad mused. “And we were all in on Kloe’s sessions…”

“That was nice, once,” Chelsea said. “Not here, let’s just leave it at that.”

“Hey, I’m not arguing, just thinking,” Shad said. “Really, I was wondering if the sound-proofing would work if they do anything…”

“Probably,” Chelsea said drowsily. “As long as they shut the door…” Her eyes came open as they heard Diane and then Frank. It sounded like a fight, and it was, after a fashion. Nevertheless, it became clear that she was giving instructions, loudly and specifically.

“Well,” Shad said. “This is different. I’ve got an idea… sing to me.”

When Diane was silent again, Chelsea sang ballads to Shad as he drifted in half-sleep, in a subdued contralto he had only heard a handful of times. She started with “Angel of the Morning”, then went on to “The First Cut Is The Deepest”. She made her way up to Jefferson Airplane, singing, “I’m so full of love, I could burst apart and start to cry…”

It was then that Shad opened his eyes. “Bluebell?” he said. “Could you do something for me?”

“Yeah,” she said, just a little surprised.

He fumbled in his leather tote and came up with a sheaf of papers. “Read this,” he said. Chelsea turned on a tiny pen light. “Try to read like you sing.”

A glance confirmed that it was the narration for a Therapy Division instructional film. “Across every continuum of time and space, every race and civilization has faced the same struggles and strove toward the same achievements,” she read, in a very different voice and tone than she used in conversation. “Faith. Morality. Partnership. Procreation. And with it, the physical and mutually pleasurable act of romantic love…”

“You have a good voice,” he murmured. “Keep reading…” By the time she finished, he was asleep.

She woke him up.

* * *

 

In the morning, Percy and Hector were waiting at the door. Deve was with them. “Your supervisor here thought you might need help,” Percy said succinctly. “Hector can carry your things. I’ll move your vehicle once it’s loaded. All the two of you need to do is wait at the curb.”

Chelsea gave the law AI the electronic key for her fan. His partner, a giant echidna, carried all their boxes in his two arms. They followed the curving corridor to the end, where it intersected with a cross-passage. There were two sets of elevators, one directly ahead and the other at the end of the side passage. Hector gestured mutely to the left. The echidna took the main elevator, joined by Frank, while the others took the smaller passenger lift in the side passage.

Chelsea gazed out from the flexiglass-lined shaft. She tied to convince herself she had learned to be alert for any threat. To that end, she looked down at a parking structure that filled in the arc created by the aster itself, still far below. “That is funny,” she said out loud. When Shad gave her a curious look, she pointed to a very tiny vehicle tootling toward the entrance. “I don’t think I’ve seen one of those before.”

Shad took out a small set of binoculars. “It’s a Goggomobile,” he said. “I’ve seen them here and there. It was built in Ancient Europe. Here, it’s only caught on with small non-humanoids.”

Deve peered down. “Yes,” he said. “I’ve seen a few myself. There aren’t many of them.” As he spoke, he gave his wrist organizer a single tap.

* * *

 

Percy was backing Chelsea’s Fiat into a loading area on the west end of the Aster when his own visor chimed. He waved to a non-descript individual standing beside a City van. “Something came up,” he said. “Wait here for Hector.”

Chelsea and her companions emerged at the far end of a shopping plaza that filled out the bottom floors of the center. A stern, non-descripte officer was waiting for them, in fact identical to the one waiting beside her van. On one side, a couple small but very high-end shops occupied the corner. On the other side was an open market floor, loosely divided into bookend shops, booths, kiosks and a dining area just inside an entryway in the middle. The companions took a table by the entrance. The officer took a seat a few meters away. Deve remained in the midst of a display of para-Asiatic statues nearby, so still that several customers paused to look for a price tag. Chelsea relaxed, but Shad only grew more tense. Diane looked between them. “Were you really expecting trouble?” she said.

“I honestly don’t know,” Chelsea said. Shad just shook his head.

* * *

The car looked like a toy, a stylized, almost crude imitation of what a vehicle should be.  Its body was white and boxy, less than 3 meters long and barely 1.3 meters tall. The front was large enough for a hood, but there was no grill between the round headlights. At the rear, there was only a suggestion of a compartment for the engine. In any event, there was no sound but a thin hum as it circled the roof of the parking structure a second time. It circled around once more before backing into an empty space two down from a stairwell.

That was when Percy emerged from the stairs. “You know,” he said, “there’s a point where a small car stands out as much as a big one.” He unlimbered a fat, short tube that looked like a rocket launcher. “I may be a lousy shot, but it takes work to miss with this. Come on out, and we can talk.”

Though the windows were untinted, little could be seen of the interior or the occupant beyond a hunched figure with a ten-gallon hat and some kind of high-collared coat. The door swung open on a rear hinge, only to strike a huge and ugly car that protruded well over the line. The figure that emerged was  stocky and short. The trench coat came to his ankles, while the comical hat still barely brushed the top of the doorframe. But as he squeezed through the half-opened door, he seemed to twist unnaturally, and then he changed. Legs, arms, torso and even the head lengthened and stretched unnaturally, while the coat seemed to shrink. In a matter of a moment, a grotesquely thin humanoid well over 2 meters tall stood beside a car that did not even reach as high as his hips.

Percy looked up with no sign of surprise. A bandana covered the figure’s face. “Skinny McCoy,” he said. “You know the drill, we do it the easy way or the hard way.”

“Dis is notta your fight,” Skinny answered. “Go-a home.”

“You threatened an employee of the City,” Percy said. He eyed a strangely shaped holster at the assassin’s hip, and a boxy leather case more than half a meter long under his left arm. “You know I can’t walk away.”

“Den you die-a today, Simamons,” Skinny hissed. In a fraction of a millisecond, he drew a weapon that combined an archaic pistol with a huge blade and a tiny computerized sight. A pull of the trigger launched a tiny rocket from the 14 mm muzzle. In the same instant, Percy launched a rapidly expanding net that contracted again as it enveloped the wraith-like target. He twisted as the slug struck the breastplate of his ballistic vest, its engine still spewing white smoke. He got one glimpse of an impossibly small globe hurtling right over the guardrail.

Percy dropped the tube and hastily removed his vest. He flung it aside, just before a blast tore a fist-sized hole in the backing plate. He raced to the rail without giving it further attention. He peered over the railing. Directly below was a bed of ornamental cactus, now badly flattened. Two more officers were already converging. One of them held up the remnants of the net, slashed to pieces. By then, Percy had turned away. “Frink of a frink,” he said. “All officers, execute lockdown!”

* * *

 

Frank, Hector and the officer who identified himself as Hexley quickly loaded the boxes. They had piled in, with the 100 kg echidna filling the back seat, when the alarm sounded. Frank turned to the human officer. “What are your people doing?” he said.

“They will blockade through traffic on the aster,” Hexley said. “Most likely, the interior and exterior gates in the shopping plaza will lock automatically. Our agents will move in from the sides and secure the area section by section.”

“Yeah?” Frank said. “Then what if the bad guys are already in there with them?”

“Then my brother will take care of them,” Hexley said.

* * *

 

As time dragged on, Chelsea became more aware of the activity around her. There was a maintenance AI taking care of an out-of-order automated kiosk, an older model that had tried too hard to look human. A huge creature usually known only as a Woolie pushed a cargo pallet. A helmeted figure rode by on a motorized unicycle that wasn’t supposed to be used indoors, but was rarely challenged. Outside, there was a honk as a Dodge A108 cargo van did a U-turn. “I don’t like this,” she said. Shad put a hand on her shoulder.

“What are you gonna do?” Diane said. She looked at Chelsea, then put her head in her hands. “Dear Logos, I’m sorry…”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Shad said. “We aren’t going to judge anybody else…” He and Chelsea kissed.

Suddenly, there was a chime that Chelsea knew was the same as a red alert klaxon for the police and city personnel. “This is a notice that security protocols are in effect,” a soft, feminine voice said. “There is no reason to be alarmed. Please remain where you are and wait for further instructions. There is no reason to be alarmed…”

Chelsea looked toward their escort. He was still seated, muttering into his wrist organizer. She turned the other way, and saw only an idling van. She glanced across the marked area, and saw that the AI had risen to its feet, holding a pry bar. Then she turned her head at the whine of a motor. She saw the rider on the unicycle on the far side of a central aisle, whom she now saw wore a helmet that concealed face and features, though she pegged it as a male. He seemed to return her gaze as he slowed… and then the first shots rang out.

Hexley drew in a moment. Shad was even faster, knocking Chelsea to the floor. Something whizzed overhead and hit the window, where her eyes were already fixed on a spiderweb where a slug had hit heavy flexiglass. Then she looked up and saw Deve, already standing over at least two wounded or stunned miscreants, brandishing at least one and sometimes two or three blades from each of his four hands. As he reversed his upper and lower arms, a third pair appeared above them both. From below came a fourth and then a fifth appeared. From every single one sprouted still more blades, accompanied by a now-familiar sound like the crack of a metal bat. A blue-white light like the flicker of distant lightning flashed in his eyes as he spoke. “I am many, yet we are one!” he said, with a voice that seemed doubled. “Behold, I am revealed Death, the Destroyer of Worlds!”

Part I: The romance!

Part II: The parking violation!

Part III: Capsule hotel destruction!

Part IV: The Kelsiraptor, and Harryhausen monster bureaucrat!

Part V: The restraining order!

Part VI: The trial, part 1!

Part VII: The trial, part 2, with the King Kong Moral Contraband film!

Part VIII: The goon!

Part IX: The religion!

Part X: Kloe!!!

Part XI: The Arcostate Zoo, plus Spike's Southside Motorcycle Gang!

The Legion of Silly Dinosaurs: Therizinosaurs!

 

It's the last day before a big vacation, and I decided it was time to clear out some backlogged material. As it happens, I have a new acquisition and something I've had for a long time that I had meant to cover a while ago. To start things off, here's a Jurassic World Therizinosaurus in package.

This came out, of course, with the Fisher Price Imaginext side of the Jurassic World Dominion toy line. The movie gave a prominent role to Therizinosaurus (see T. Rex Vs. Everything), which was a nice choice for a semi-obscure dino. Of course, the movie makes the dino far more menacing than it is, though what's actually shown amounts to the herbivore either slicing up carnosaurs that would happily feed on it or crossing paths with humans who run away before it can react either way. (For real silliness, see the "deadly" dicynodont.) I decided I liked this one better than the bigger "realistic" representation from Mattel, so I put in an order. Here's another pic of the packaging.

What I really like about this is the simple color scheme and very solid construction, which truly give the feel of a 1980s FP toy. The design also leaves things open-ended whether this is a hostile creature. The big gimmick is the button that lets it break loose from its bonds. Here's some pics of the thing unboxed.

"I'm a hugger, not a slasher! Mostly..."

This all reminded me of something I already had lying around. I had previously acquired a therizinosaur from a museum gift shop, along with one a raptor from the Odds And Ends post that I'm sure came from the same manufacturer. It's a pretty typical product of the 2000s, with a lot of "realistic" detail that isn't that accurate.  It was nice enough at the time to see a protobird with feathers that looked like they were meant to be there rather than added on. (See also the Retro Raptors post.) As it happened, I saw the same dino when I recently discovered Your Dinosaurs Are Wrong, a fine show/ channel from a guy I believe would cry if he saw the things I deal with. Here's a few pics of the thing.

"You say dinosaur ground sloth like it's a bad thing..."

That still leaves the Jurassic World Dominion movie. I have to say I kind of liked it, certainly better than the previous entry. It's odd and goofy, which is a tone that has served the franchise better than its self-serious "message" installments. (See my JP video rant while you're at it.) I especially liked the locust subplot everyone else has complained about. Notwithstanding the ludicrously oversized bugs on-screen, it's the kind of thing that could actually be done with existing and foreseeable tech, and the overall flavor of the scheme would fit a Bond movie as much as a JP sequel. The biggest improvement is bringing back the original cast and giving them something to do. For the moment, it wraps things up on a relative high note. With that, I can call it a day. That's all for now, more to come!

No Good Very Bad Movies Special: The one that was the worst movie on MST3K

 

Title: The Eye Creatures aka Attack of the Eye Creatures aka Attack of the the Eye Creatures

What Year?: 1965 (copyright)/ 1967 (US release)

Classification: Parody/ Anachronistic Outlier

Rating: Dear God WHY??!! (1/3)

 

In the course of my reviews, one thing I have regularly said from the beginning is that I do encounter movies I consider too bad to review. On that point, I have cited no less an authority than Frank Conniff, the self-described odd-job man of Mystery Science Theater 3000, who has recounted rejecting movies as unsuitable for the show’s purposes at a rate of 20 to 1. More recently, I have finally gone through the MST3K library to see what movies might be worth my time (see The Brain That Wouldn’t Die; also Space Mutiny). With this review, I’m condensing my research into one egregious offender that truly made me feel that even that crew had lowered their standards by acknowledging it. I present The Eye Creatures, a movie that on top of other flaws thought it could be funny.

Our story begins, after a tense exchange between surprisingly competent government men, with alleged teenagers making out at a lovers’ lane and several pervy elders wasting government time and resources spying on them. One particular pair of idiots are on their way to elope, only to run into a UFO that the authorities are well aware of but haven’t bothered to respond to. It turns out that the aliens are already on the loose, specifically tall, pale humanoids covered in lumps that are apparently supposed to be eyes with permanently open mouths. When one of the creatures gets run over by the idiots, the lawmen are somehow unable to find the body, though they do find a deceased drifter whose death is pinned on the kids. It’s up to the pair to break out of jail and stop the aliens, but the hardest part will be finding someone who actually cares!

The Eye Creatures was a science fiction/ comedy film directed by Larry Buchanan, as one of several films produced by AIP (see Futureworld, Meteor, etc.) for syndicated television. It was widely regarded as a remake of AIP’s 1957 film Invasion of the Saucermen, itself a parody of alien invasion films. The film was made in 1965 but not released until 1967. Its budget was variously estimated at $40,000 or under $25,000, either of which would be far lower than the $60,000 budget of Plan 9 From Outer Space in 1956. In some versions, the title was changed to Attack of the Eye Creatures, resulting in an error where “the” was shown twice. The film starred B-movie veteran John Ashley, then age 30, as the lead Stan, with Cynthia Hull, then about 18, as the love interest Susan. The music was credited to Les Baxter, a pioneer of the “exotica” genre, and film composer Ronald Stein. Ashley would describe the film as among “the all-time worst films ever made”, though he spoke well of Buchanan. The film was featured on season 4 of Mystery Science Theater 3000, in an episode apparently withdrawn from authorized distribution. The original film is available on multiple platforms.

For my experiences, my frame of reference is Mystery Science Theater, yet another pop culture phenomenon I was aware of but never into. At the time I started doing reviews for this blog, I had watched a few episodes, and found them just not my style. As I delved further into the show more recently, that feeling cemented, especially in terms of my standards and preferences for movies to review. Of the movies featured and in many cases made notorious by the show, the vast majority are the kind I would go easy on or simply ignore. The outliers that I found most worthy of attention were the relatively late films, especially from the 1960s. These definitely included the very worst ever featured on the show, like Manos Hand of Fate, The Creeping Terror and The Wild World Of Batwoman. But the present movie stood out to me very early as a very uniquely inept and offensive, and as usual, I’m going to spend a lot of time analyzing why.

Moving forward, one more background detail of note is the career of Larry Buchanan, nominated by 1000 Misspent Hours as “the worst professional director who ever lived”. It’s the “professional” part that indeed gets to a number of the core problems. The worst movies of the 1950s, per my usual refrain, were made by people who simply had no idea how to make a movie. This feels from the start like a different kind of animal entirely. The actors, for the most part, are people who can act. The shots are what you would expect from people who knew something about a camera beyond what it cost to get one. Above all, the writing and direction are clearly from by people who should know how to either do this right or let us in on the joke if they are trying to be “bad” on purpose. This is precisely where the movie pushes into the intolerable. The lead actor is simply too old, while his lady love is actively irritating. (And dear Logos, that hair…) The soundtrack, otherwise the one redeeming virtue, is comically exaggerated compared to what's on screen. Worst of all, both the plot and the alleged "jokes" repeatedly hinges on the authority figures being stupid, lazy and perverted. The most baffling offense against intelligence and taste then or now is a comment about movies presenting matrons off as youthful maidens, disregarding the fact that the pair on screen here are an actual teenager paired with a man old enough to be her teacher who looks old enough to play her father. (One more dishonorable mention goes to a “girl” who appears to be wearing a wedding ring...)

And that still leaves the elements that are actually inept. The obvious offenders are the aliens, which are incredibly bad even apart the prominently noted appearances of zippers, seams and shoes. The irritating part here is that the obviously bad suits distract from some promisingly creepy concepts, particularly the mobile severed hand (see… The Hand?). The real question here is whether there is a point where this should be considered part of the actual or attempted comedy. My answer is that these just don’t look like anything but guys in wonky suits, which is a peculiar flaw even among the most awful creature effects ever made. The gremlin in “Nightmare At 20,000 Feet” also had shoes showing, but he still looked like a gremlin. The alien in Dark Star was an actual beach ball complete with seams, but it still looked like an animal/ vegetable hybrid thingy.  The final insult here is that there are no more signs of distinguishable eyes than there were on the Alien rig. Meanwhile, the real star is the mindboggling “nighttime” lighting, all the more incongruous given the aliens’ posited weaknesses. What’s easily missed is that there are just enough shots that get things right to prove that the crew knew how to do it right. Once again, however, this just make the failures inexcusable, culminating in a finale where the “night” doesn’t look any darker than 6:30 on a winter morning.

That still leaves the “one scene”, and I’m going with the opening pre-credits sequence. It all begins with a guy carrying a briefcase chained to his wrist, who will remain by far the most actually professional presence in the entire movie. Even Crow and Tom Servo don’t deny the genuine tension as he passes through security in the standard top-secret facility. The unnamed G-man remains competent and assured as he opens the case, revealing a film inside. In a further “meta” moment, he sets up a projector, raising a certain vague hope that whatever he is taking so seriously is the same thing we’re going to see. Then, just in case you were feeling optimistic, you see the gimmicky lettering of the title, which if you have the MST3K cut will say, “Attack Of The The Eye Creatures”!

In closing, I come back to the challenge I set for myself, can this or indeed any other film truly be considered the “worst” of MST3K. In my opinion, with the further handicapping I would apply in my own reviews, I suppose I would call it a tie between this and Wild World of Batwoman, which were tellingly featured before and after major changes in the show itself. (Yes, they did much worse than Manos Hand of Fate.) However, this is where one will find fundamentally different kinds of “bad” in play. Batwoman (the one where Servo literally screams “END!!!”) still had enough outright weirdness and actually amusing moments that I can credit it with trying to be “so bad it’s good” on purpose. The present film is marginally more polished and quite a bit more conventional, but the net effect is like hearing a twisted dirty joke from a smarmy old gentleman with a smirk on his face. For the decisive personal hate factor, this is the one that “wins” by a landslide. While I am sure I will be dealing with MST3K again, for now, this review will be enough. Onward and upward, when possible.

Fiction: The Adventures of Chelsea the Social Worker, Part 11!

 Needed a midweek post before my big vacation, went with another installment of Chelsea. This has one more character who went with Percy all along, except he started out as a guinea pig. As usual, there's a table of contents at the end.

Chelsea and Diane ended up at the Arcostate Zoo. It lay beneath the city center, directly south of the Trilon complex where they worked, laid out as a ring 1.8 kilometers wide. Frank was waiting. He whistled as they got off the train. “Who’s the hot blonde?” he said.

Chelsea stroked her newly golden hair. “A lady who will kick you where it hurts the most if you do that again,” she said with a smile.

They went down a passage to the zoo. The sounds of the terminal were quickly dissipated, until the noise became indistinguishable from the soft sounds of running water, distant rain and chirping insects. Instead of cages, the zoo had clusters of ecologaria, ranging from tiny glass boxes to enclosures with a volume of thousands of cubic meters. Spiraling sidewalks and tramways ran from one area to another, lined with trees, monitors, lesser exhibits and shops. Visitors could and did spend days wandering the zoo without completing a circuit, as testified by the occasional capsule kiosk. “I came here when I was a girl,” Chelsea said. “It hasn’t changed at all…”

The entrance went by one of the largest exhibits, a habitat that held a sauropod dinosaur. At the moment, it was lit as bright moonlight. Chelsea squinted without seeing anything, until she double-checked the camera and realized that a stand of trees she had been looking among were in fact the dappled pattern of the creature’s hide. She still could not guess its size, until she further realized that the birds foraging between its legs were as tall as she was. “It’s a little one,” Frank said. “18 metric tons. It’s from the same place the oviraptors came from. They say they went extinct, but the birdbrains figured out how to clone them from DNA in old bones. Shad would tell you about it if he was here. You’d probably have to tell him to shut up.”

“The Department manual says to call them Oviprotectrix,” Chelsea said without really thinking. “The other name was because of a fossil somebody found next to a nest. It turned out, they were its own eggs…”

Frank soon went his own way. “Are you really staying with him?” Chelsea mused as he left.

“No,” Diane said. “We’re separating. But the therapy’s too good to quit.”

Chelsea and Diane took a tram to the prize exhibit at the heart of the zoo, an entire old-growth tree from the jungles of a world that had never known human nor ape. Staircases and elevators ran hundreds of feet above and below, all the way up to the park above where the topmost branches broke the surface, allowing guests to peer in at everything from the highest branches to its roots. There wasn’t a lot to be seen in the dim light. Still, there were glimpses to be had of leaping rodents, darting lizards and a huge, glowering tree toad. Monitors showed night-vision and infrared camera feeds that captured everything in far more detail; Chelsea gave them no heed. She laughed at the shining eyes of a bushbaby that seemed to stare back at her. Diane smiled back at her as they descended. She started to laugh again as she bumped into someone. It was Diane who said, “Oh, my… god.”

It was only as Chelsea stepped back that she saw the red hair and piercing green eyes. “Shad,” she said, “Shad…”

“Blue Bell… you went blonde…” He had barely begun to speak before she threw her arms around him.

“I love you,” she said between kisses. “I love you I love you I love you…”

Diane met the stares of a red-haired woman and two escorts, frozen in mid-stride on the stairs. “I just got her a dye job,” she said. “What’s your excuse?”

 

Hours later, Chelsea and Shad were still racing around the zoo, chattering about nothing. Diane and the red-haired woman watched. Percy stood with them, clearly uninterested in intervening. Shad tried running through a hall of arthropods with Chelsea on his back. When she was dissatisfied, they ran back through with her carrying him. She veered aside at the last moment as they almost ran down a pair of oviraptorosaurs. They careened off a railing and came down laughing.

“He really does love her,” the red-haired woman said to Diane. She had introduced herself as Dhalia, Shad’s great aunt. “This was his favorite place as a child. He hadn’t been here in a while. We brought him here to give him peace of mind.”

“I think you did,” Diane said.

As they watched, Shad grabbed for Chelsea’s leg. She screeched as he pulled her to him, then flushed as he murmured in her ear. As they got back to their feet, Chelsea said, “What’s got into you? And since when are you the one who wants to go straight to a therapy booth?”

“All this was my mother’s idea,” Dhalia said. “She’s the one who made sure Shad never got into too much trouble. I told her to talk to your friend. She said a government girl was the same as a harlot.”

Diane turned to Percy. “Just how much trouble are we in?” she mused.

The law enforcement AI shrugged. “They met by chance in a public place, so it’s not a violation of the protective order,” he said. “Technically, they’re supposed to leave separately, but there would only be charges if the filing party makes a complaint. Oh, hey, Spike.”

Diane looked to an approaching fourth figure, a tall and muscular man with long hair and a beard just starting to go silver, dressed in an outfit dominated by black leather and metal studs. He shifted from foot to foot, looking embarrassed. “Who are you?” she said.

“You’re looking at the president of Spike’s Southside Motorcycle Gang,” Percy said. “Of course, they’re a completely legitimate hobbyists’ club that branched into security contract work, they just keep Gang in the name for tradition. How’d this happen on your watch, Spike?”

“Hey, look, we work with the family,” Spike said. “I sent a couple of my guys to keep an eye on things. I just told them, call if a lady with blue hair showed up. Huh. Blonde…”

Chelsea and Shad romped by, with him now on her back. “Hey, Spike,” Shad said.

“They can have tonight,” Dhalia said. “We’re all going to pay, but it’s what they deserve.”

 

A while later, Percy and Spike were conversing freely. “Sure, Plato’s theory of Forms implies that God is unknowable, if He or She or It exists at all,” Spike said. “But the whole point is that we can infer the nature of the Divine from the material world…”

“Yeah, and we can infer a titanosaur from a pile of kaka,” Percy said. “That still doesn’t get you anywhere…” Diane just shook her head.

Shad and Chelsea finally approached. “So, Aunt Dhalia, I’m ready to end the separation,” he said. “We want the protective order lifted, too.”

“It won’t be that simple,” Percy said. “It would have to be reviewed by a judge. You’ll be lucky to get that in less than a month. But I suppose we could get a waiver, if you can find a Level 3 Administrator at 11:30 at night…”

Chelsea and Diane looked at each other. “Deve,” they said simultaneously.

They found the administrator sitting in the petting zoo, feeding a dozen dicynodonts. “Ah, there you are,” he said. He stood up, still holding one of the rabbit-like creatures with three of his six visible arms.

“Hey, I know you!” Spike said, stepping forward. “I shoulda kicked your-!” He fell silent as a thick, almost trowel-like triangular blade sprouted from the bronze knuckles of Deve’s upper right hand with a metallic crack. It reached a full 46 cm length just short of Spike’s throat.

“I wasn’t actually expecting you, Spike,” Deve said. The strange multiple shoulders on his left side shifted as he raised what had been his middle hand. There was a second crack as another blade sprouted from his knuckles, a curved shape that looked half-way between scimitar and scythe. The dicynodont looked up, then resumed feeding from his last free hand. He held the points of both blades under Spike’s nose “I can appreciate that our first meeting left an unfavorable impression. But these are my subordinates and acquaintances, my `gang’, as it were. If you would try to harm them or interfere in their affairs, it would therefore be a challenge to me, to my authority and my power. I would then have no choice but to challenge both you and your own gang. Or, of course, you could ask the Special Inspector to arrest me, but that wouldn’t be the Code, would it?”

“Look, I’m here to represent certain interested parties,” said Spike, quite calmly. “Our instructions are not to do anything rough. Maybe we can reach an understanding.”

“Indeed,” Deve said. His blades retreated back to wherever they had come from. Percy had already gone to a public data terminal, and returned with a form the administrator quickly filled out.

“Everything should be in order,” he said. “Now, Mr. Feaghan will still need to return to his designated treatment facility at the end of his release period. I’m sure that was settled before this little outing. While he is free, however, he and Ms. O’Keefe may spend time together as they please. If you will just sign here…”

Chelsea and Shad scribbled in their signatures. She then turned to Spike. “Now what do they want?”

“Lady Feaghan is ready to make an offer,” he said. Shad scowled at that. The biker waved in the direction of the nearest exhibit. “Now, what you have to understand is, the Arcostate maintains research stations in other time-space lines. The kinds of things you see here, they study first-hand. It’s the work of a lifetime.”

Shad looked intrigued, for only a moment. “Yeah, but the catch is, it’s a one-way ticket,” he said.

Chelsea looked to Percy. “Is that true?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“It’s complicated,” Percy said. “The way it works is, we take people who come here through Immigration and Quarantine. The ones who go the other way go in with a temporal transceiver that sends in reports of what they find. It doesn’t have to be scientists, either. Really, anybody with the right temperament can operate the equipment. We’ve sent convicts before.”

“Sure,” Spike said. “They also send a full automated life support module, complete with a medical suite. It’s a good deal. So, the family has connections. They can get the two of you to the top of the list with one phone call.”

“All right,” Chelsea said. “Could we come home?”

Percy sighed. “Yeah, that’s the thing,” Percy said. “Most every place has some version of the saying, `You can’t cross the same river twice.’ What they are really doing is going upstream from where two rivers meet.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed again. “After they leave, our timeline branches into other timelines,” she murmured.

“And so do theirs,” Percy said. “It’s not quite the same for immigrants who want to go home, because all we really have to do is zero in on a timeline where they left. Even that’s dicey enough we try to talk them out of it. But once we try to take back one of ours, who’s to say which version of us takes them in? We might end up with two, or three, or ten versions of the same person begging to come, and what happens if we try to take all of them in?”

Shad looked to Chelsea. “What about children?” she said, already guessing the answer.

“We’ve sent couples before,” Percy said. “But they have to take precautions beforehand. Permanent precautions. We can’t do it any other way. Our laws forbid colonizing. The geneticists all say it wouldn’t work, anyway. Besides, if it did lead to a sustained population, who’s to say that sooner or later, they don’t find a way to come looking for us.”

“No deal,” Chelsea snapped. “And it takes a real piece of kaka to offer that as a compromise!”

“Hey, I’m just the messenger,” Shad said. “Take it or leave it, it’s not our call.”

“Well,” Percy said. “That gets you a security detail, for what it’s worth.” He hastily departed.

“I can live with that,” Chelsea said. “Now I’d like to be alone with my husband for a while.”

As they walked away, she said to Shad, “You know, everybody says I boss you around. So why don’t we do it your way this time?”

Shad nodded. “I picked up a few new things,” he said. “It would really depend on where we go.”

“All right, I can see that,” Chelsea said. "How about we both give our choice. Go!”

Shad turned to her with a wicked grin. “The Hellas!” he said.

“The Terminal therapy booths!” Chelsea countered. They both laughed as they ran.

 Not far behind them, Spike loitered with a coupled of his goons. He suppressed a start when a short figure appeared behind him. “I should shoota you dead righta here,” the newcomer said.

“Then good luck finding someone else,” Spike said indifferently.

“Oh, you will worka with us,” the figure said. “Justa wait tilla you are called.” When Spike turned, no one was there.

Table of contents

Part I: The romance!

Part II: The parking violation!

Part III: Capsule hotel destruction!

Part IV: The Kelsiraptor, and Harryhausen monster bureaucrat!

Part V: The restraining order!

Part VI: The trial, part 1!

Part VII: The trial, part 2, with the King Kong Moral Contraband film!

Part VIII: The goon!

Part IX: The religion!

Part X: Kloe!!!

Featured Creature: The one that was a sequel to a remake

 

 

Title: The Mummy Returns

What Year?: 2001

Classification: Weird Sequel/ Mashup

Rating: What The Hell??? (2/4)

 

In the course of my reviews, my hardest and fastest rule has been that “franchise” movies are not my thing. As a corollary, given the choice, I have usually favored sequels over whatever movie kicked things off. With this review, I have a case where I debated right up to when I started writing whether to cover the original or its sequel. (For that matter, I had considered it back when I was doing the Revenant Review.) What settled the matter in my mind was which one fit this feature best, and the verdict was for the sequel. I present The Mummy Returns, a movie that might well be the reason a franchise didn’t get off the ground.

Our story begins after another overlong prologue with our hero and heroine, Rick and Evie, back to high-pulp hijinks in search of Egyptian artifacts with a precocious kid in tow. Meanwhile, the secondary villainess Anck-Su-Namun has assumed a living body and set out to resurrect her consort Imhotep once again. This time, however, the object of their quest is the tomb of the Scorpion King seen in the prologue, a god-king who traded his soul for an invincible army of jackal-headed demon warriors. Imhotep and his expendable minions know the secret location of the tomb, but the nosy kid has the key to open it. When the bad guys capture the kid, it’s a race to the finish, with the world purportedly at stake, but if time runs out, whoever holds the keywill die!

The Mummy Returns was a 2001 film written and directed by Stephen Sommers (see Deep Rising), a sequel to 1999’s The Mummy, a loose remake of the 1932 film starring Boris Karloff. Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz returned as Rick and Evelyn, with Arnold Vosloo also reprising his role as Imhotep. Dwayne Johnson appeared in his first feature role as the Scorpion King. The soundtrack was scored by Alan Silvestri, replacing Jerry Goldsmith. The sequel was a financial success, earning $435 million against a $98M budget, but received poor reviews. The next nominal entry in the franchise was the 2002 film The Scorpion King, a prequel/ spinoff starring Johnson that did not feature or reference other characters and events from the earlier films. The next direct sequel, The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor, was delayed until 2008. No other development was attempted until the 2017 film The Mummy, an attempt at an independent remake of the Karloff film. All 3 films remain available on digital platforms.

For my experiences, the real background here is my view of sequels and why I usually favor them for review. My primary rationale was that I am concerned with obscure, neglected or notorious films, which is obviously a common fate of sequels. My deeper feeling, however, has always been that sequels are often far more interesting, for better or for worse. It’s here where ideas either flourish or crash and burn. In my unpopular opinion, many of the most reviled sequels are in fact the most genuinely creative, for better or worse, though that doesn’t stop people from criticizing them as lazy cash grabs. With the present franchise, what brought it on my radar was the unaccountable degree to which it has seemed to fade from memory. The first one was an end-of-an-era hit that blew everyone away; the second was a commercial success that didn’t make waves; and the third was too late to have made a difference either way. After acquiring all three by chance, I decided it was time to dive in, so I watched the two that mattered back to back. My strongest reaction was that this was the one that “should” have been the best, and the reason I am reviewing it is to analyze why it certainly was not.

Moving forward, this is first and foremost a sequel that goes far enough to change the very genre boundaries of its franchise. That, in turn, accounts for most of its comparative virtues. Beneath its humor and derring-do action, the first movie was still very much a horror film, to a degree that may prove uncomfortable for anyone coming back to it out of VHS-era nostalgia. The second installment comes much closer to fantasy. The crumbly undead, the creepy crypts and the body-horror beetles are all still here, yet the Lovecraftian terrors no longer outmatch the spirit of Robert E. Howard heroism. Of course, there’s still room to argue where this fits along the perforated lines of fantasy. The early rematch with the warrior mummies on the streets of London answers to urban fantasy, which was still catching on in film. The lush enchanted jungle that sprouts around the golden pyramid achieves the sense of wonder of high sword and sorcery, with overtones of “lost world” science fantasy. Then there is the completely incongruous airship, which feels like it drifted in straight from a steampunk anime. The fairly obvious problem is that these elements come together into a finale that seems more routine and formulaic now than it really was at the time, conspicuously the onslaught of the Anubis warriors that were in fact on screen months before the orc hordes of Lord of the Rings.

With those pros and cons laid down, it is still baffling why the movie doesn’t work far better than it does. The easy blame falls upon the characters, though even here, things are not so simple. Fraser is still at the top of his game. The romance of the villain and villainess is if anything more poignant than before, with a truly heartbreaking twist at the very end. The supporting cast members remain highly engaging, especially John Hannah as Evie’s never-do-well brother.  (Rick’s musing on why people so far unknown to him are trying to kill his in-law was up there for “one scene” material.) That leaves Weisz as Evie, and here, we are definitely in the right neighborhood. The most obvious issue is that Evie gets the worst of the movie’s mishmash of incompatible theology and mythology, complete with a gratuitous cat fight in ancient Egypt. (Occultists have long complained, nobody with past-life experiences ever “remembers” being a slave.)  While this is clearly no fault of the character or the actress, the resulting empty screen time reveals certain limitations that were probably already there the first time around. Before, Evie was the exposition generator in the first half and the damsel in the second. This time, the reincarnation mumbo jumbo just serves as a hasty substitute for real development, and the payoff is no better than if she stayed behind in the library.

That brings me to the “one scene”, and I’m going with the one that’s random even for a movie like this. At the onset of the finale, the heroes and the villains discover the magic jungle in the midst of the desert. As the minions fan out, one suddenly disappears into the brush, then another. Then one peers among the roots of a tree, where a close-up reveals a face that seems made of parchment. Suddenly, it comes to life with a screech as a sort of pygmy zombie pounces. It’s the first glimpse of the most cunning and ornery undead in the whole movie if not the franchise. Of course, there are many more, though they still manage to stay out of sight. Soon enough, they close in on Imhotep, who merely gestures. There’s real expression on the grungy faces as they pause and then retreat. Still, there’s ambiguity that invites more analysis that was presumably intended. Is Imhotep able to command these fellow undead by his knowledge or power? Are they actually afraid of him? Or have they simply assessed that they’re better off going after easier prey? The questions are quickly left behind in the quite memorable battle that unfolds, but as always, it’s the little details that matter.

In closing, what I find myself coming back to is the bigger picture on sequels. This has long been an almost reflexively cited “bad” sequel, and I can personally attest, it was every bit as unpopular when it came out. Yet, as I have outlined here, there is very little that can be considered “that bad”, and that too is in line with what people were already saying at the time. The real bottom line is that a sequel is subject to a literal double standard. If it plays it safe and repeat the formula of the original, it is quite justly dismissed as unoriginal. If it actually breaks new ground, however, it is liable to be condemned at least as harshly as somehow unfaithful to the source. Worst of all, per my standing rant, it remains far too convenient for casual commentators to smear them all with the same brush. With an entry like this, we can get to the real problems, if anyone will have the conversation. It’s not great, it’s not awful, it’s certainly not unimaginative; it just feels not quite complete, which is exactly what you get when the shots are called by people who only care about making more money. Most importantly, it shows the real cost when initially promising properties are pushed forward too fast, too far and/ or in an entirely wrong direction. For the world we have to live in, we are at least left with one great movie and one that’s good enough. (And heck, The Scorpion King is good fun!) I for one am glad to have come back to it, and glad to be done.

Mystery Monday/ Legion of Silly Dinosaurs crossover: Random dino box!!!

 

As I write this, I'm preparing for my one-item bucket list trip to the Field Museum. In the meantime, I already had a surplus of dino material, and it has been a while since I did a Mystery Monday post. To cover the backlog, I decided to cover some material that was already the subject of my first unboxing video. I present a completely randomized online lot of dinos, only some of which were clearly represented in the listing. To get things going, here's the one that got my grudging interest, yet another incarnation of the Hideous Abomination (also already the subject of a video), pictured with one that turned up in a dino bag featured here before I bought it.

"Daddy, when will I grow a foot that supports weight?"

As previously recounted, the Abomination is a knockoff/ bootleg of the "skinny" T. rex issued by Marx after retiring their original (see my actual science post from last month). The most significant feature carried over was a pose that had one foot lifted off the ground, which the unknown persons responsible botched badly enough that one foot looks like a sloth's and the other, raised foot looks like a frog's. It is often identified with the patchisaurs, though I believe it is of independent origin. On the whole, it is if anything even more mysterious than the patchis, to the point that even its age has been difficult to assess. In my further opinion, it probably isn't much younger than the patchisaurs, but I have been hard-pressed to prove it. The best I had done up to this point was find pics here and there of specimens that were evidently older and definitely of far better manufacturing standards than those I had previously acquired. Notably, some of these had halfway decent painted detail, such as white teeth. I decided to acquire one, and ordered this lot because it had the most extensive and interesting additional material. Here's more pics.

On examination, this proved to be indeed a better specimen than any I had encountered before. The "feel" alone is a vast improvement, solid and far more pleasant. It has a number of details that are hazy or lost on newer examples, particularly extensive scales and bumps on the feet. The differences are most pronounced in the head, where the very silhouette is different. What looks like a wonky Kanamit brain on the copyis here a robust and well-defined cranium. Alas, the old version already has all the worst features, from the misshapen feet to the wonky ears. You can kind of see that whoever did this was really trying, but the only place to go from there was back to the drawing board. Here's a last detail pic.

Of the rest, the one that really convinced me to buy was a Carnotaurus of uncertain vintage. The photos provided in the listing were no help; I could only just tell what it was. As matters stood, it seemed very possible that this was the first toy to represent this very remarkable dinosaur, so I paid the price and waited to inspect it. What I got turned out to be smaller than I expected, and strange even compared to the creature. Here's a pic.

My immediate assessment was that it looked like a cake topper, a description that was repeated when I went looking for other examples. The quality and feel were on par with a "big mouth", though it lacks the characteristic open mouth and exposed hollow body. Beyond that, my best guess was that this was from sometime in the 1990s, at which time its "tripod" stance was already outdated. The most curious part is the head, which only looks as goofy as it does because it captures and even exaggerates the very unusual shape and proportions of the actual dinosaur. Here's a couple more pics.

"Bunny ears and buckteeth? We prefer lagomorphic and premaxillary enhanced."

For the remainder, it was a matter of course that a random box would have a few Marx clones. And here they are, a nicely colored stego and an Allosaurus.

Then there's a sampling of sauropods. The littlest of these is by my assessment the most interesting in the whole lot. It seems to be loosely based on the Marx Brontosaurus, scaled down and heavily stylized. The final product is attractive enough that I would very much like to know who made this and what their other products may have looked like. The largest one also shows a certain Marx influence. The third, however, is just odd, as if someone was given the description "long neck" without understaning that the tail was at least as long.

One more thing that might be expected is erasers. I got these two, which might or might not be erasers, but are very flexible rubber. They bear more than a passing resemblance to the Diener dino erasers, with detailing that is in some ways better. The only major con is that the stego is badly discolored on one side.

I also got a pair that seem to be of common origin with another group I've had backlogged for a very long time. These look like a Brachiosaurus and a Corythosaurus, and I'm sure the later is the same as one in a set of arcade prize dinos I picked up in the early 2000s. This just might be what gets me to post about this bunch.

And here's the last two, which are very different but fit together to me. The first is a big mouth that's practically unobjectionable (apart from the teeth), with a sculpt that's a good compromise between realism and stylization. The other is a quite modern stego that's very nice apart from the missing tail spikes. Here's a few pics.

And one more pic of the stego. Beautiful!

And how about an extra shot with the Battle Mountain?

That's all for now, more to come!