The Anthology Anthology: The very modern horror of Ambrose Bierce

 

As I write this, I’m looking at another week of posts, and I’m far enough ahead that it is still technically the weekend. As it happens, I was already working on something that spun off into another post, the fiction of Ambrose Bierce, which was transformed into the “true” tale of Oliver Larch. Here, I’m giving a wider, still anecdotal survey of his work.

 

For introduction, I’m not going to try to cover the author’s life or his place in American literature. What I was interested enough to run down is the background of the two collections I consulted, The Ghost And Horror Stories of Ambrose Bierce, which I bought in ebook form, and the more luridly named Terror By Night. The former has an introduction by one Dan Hawks, the latter by David Stuart Davies. Both otherwise appear almost identical (I’ll get to that…) both to each other and to the 1964 publication The Ghost And Horror Stories of Ambrose Bierce, edited and introduced by E.F. Bleiler, a scholar of science fiction and fantasy. On working this out, I was immediately satisfied that the 1964 book was one which I had read during college. (I distinctly recall reading it the same night I saw the end of Eight Legged Freaks on TV, because my superpower is my torment.) So, here’s a rundown of the ones that have stayed with me all this time.

 

“Moxon’s Master”- This is the most historically significant story by Bierce, a proto-science fictional tale about a chess-playing automaton that takes losing badly. In an unfortunate common denominator, it’s not really his best work. A good chunk of it is a monologue that lays out a kind of pantheism as a rationale for machine intelligence. The actual bout between man and machine is well-paced and intriguing, but there just isn’t much here.

 

“A Vine On A House”- This is an example of the formulaic side of Bierce’s work, done better than usual. On stopping at a crumbling and ill-reputed house, two travelers notice a vine shaking without explanation. An investigation leads to a grisly discovery. Surely based on the actual case of Rhode Island founder Roger Williams, it’s another story with overtones of animism, quite effective and still understated.

 

“Stanley Fleming’s Hallucination”- This is perhaps the most oddly prescient of Bierce’s stories, concerning a man who is threatened by nightly visions of a menacing hound in his bedroom. His roundabout confessions reveal a darker backstory that will end in supernatural revenge. One can find in it the conceptual bedrock of the Nightmare On Elm Street franchise (which I had previously traced through the work of Robert E. Howard). In a running theme, it feels underwhelming placed in context, which here more than usual is clearly our fault, not Bierce’s.

 

“A Fruitless Assignment”- Now we have Bierce’s true masterpiece, a brief misadventure of a journalist sent to investigate a supposed haunted house where mysterious yet decidedly unghostly figures come and go. It’s startling for how weak it should be on paper, less than 3 pages with a buildup that’s too long and never makes sense. But there is an incalculable impact in the utterly savage climax and the even more frustrating aftermath, with a deceptively well-realized and decidedly unsympathetic protagonist. On top of everything else, it’s a chillingly early treatment of PTSD. Here, the greatest horror is to live and learn nothing.

 

“The Spook House”- A longer piece by Bierce’s standards, another pair of travelers venture into a deserted house whose original owners disappeared. Only one will come out. It’s more of the economical savagery that the modern reader could easily overlook in familiarity, both atmospheric and gruesome. What impresses even now is the “ambiguous” ending, which Bierce truly excelled at.

 

“The Suitable Surroundings”- Here, we see Bierce in full-blown deconstructionism, tweaking the Gothic horror genre still in its prime. A writer challenges a reader to read his latest story under uniquely unsettling conditions, with deadly and comical results. I freely admit I didn’t try to re-read this one; what I remember is enough.

 

“The Difficulty of Crossing a Field”- A much better entry in Bierce’s cycle of eerie disappearance tales, a man disappears without a trace just outside his own front door. Again, the deeper horror is the exploration of the aftermath.

 

“A Jug of Sirup”- An entry in the “disappearing shop” niche genre as much as anything else, a storekeeper returns from the grave, so much himself that it takes a while for his old customers to notice. It’s another satire, not quite as subversive as “Suitable Surroundings” but correspondingly more unsettling. This is incidentally the epitome of Bierce’s view of the revenant dead, neither angelic nor vengeful, but merely acting the parts they did in life.

 

“Visions of the Night”- And this is the one that was only in the ebook, which I remembered from the 1964 edition. The author narrates a series of visions supposedly from his own dreams, the last being a seemingly whimsical encounter with a talking horse. One can take the authenticity with a heaping helping of salt, yet it is a convincing picture of the world of dreams that lays out a path for much to follow. (Fine, I’ll mention House…)

 

And that’s enough for me. Needless to say, there are many, many more that I am passing over, including supposed “classics”, but these are by all means representative of the stories that have impacted me. It should be obvious that I hold this author’s work in the highest regard, where it truly deserves it, and equally obvious that I am well aware of the flaws. In the proverbial light of day, Bierce stands out first and foremost as an author who didn’t and perhaps couldn’t pick a lane between satirizing what was wrong with a genre and actually doing it well. He also gives an early preview of the cycles of excess, self-parody, and revitalizing deconstruction that have afflicted horror fiction. But he also does offer some of the very best genre tales of his own or any other time, which are even now a breath of fresh air for anyone who has truly gone through the trash heap of history. Read him with my highest recommendation, perhaps ideally in small doses. The one thing you will not do is forget.

Image credit ISFDB.

The Classics File 2: The one with Humphrey Bogart

 

 

Title: Petrified Forest

What Year?: 1936

Classification: Prototype

Rating: It’s Okay! (3/3)

 

As I write this, I am once again thinking about bringing my No Good Very Bad Movies feature to an end. For this lineup in particular, I have been proceeding slowly because I’ve really been working this out as I go. I really started with one particular film I have meant to get to last, and will still need a little more time to obtain and examine. For the actual opening, I got in Dracula, which I was satisfied to be deserving even sight unseen. That still left the middle opening, and the real problem was that “classics”, overrated or otherwise, aren’t really what I do. If there’s anything I don’t like to do, it’s talking about movies everyone else is already talking about, and the thing about “classics” is that even the haters are unlikely to say anything that hasn’t been said many times before. So I let several promising candidates slide while I waited to see if something different crossed my path. Sure enough, I got one that was truly the kind of film I would take on. I present Petrified Forest, the most classic film you may never have heard of.

Our story begins in a café in the deserts of the southwest, where nobody seems to live except colorful characters such as a would-be football hero and an old-timer who insists he was shot at by Billy the Kid. In the midst of it, the lovely waitress Gabrielle reads great books and dreams of a better life, notwithstanding the best efforts of the football player to woo her. Her hopes are rekindled by the arrival of Alan, a very British literati/ proto-Beatnik who wavers between wooing her and admitting his own dashed hopes. Unfortunately, another new arrival is Duke, a criminal whose gang takes the patrons and staff hostage. As the authorities close in, the prisoners try to bond with their captors. But Alan already has a plan to be a hero and make Gabrielle rich- even if he has to die doing it!

Petrified Forest was a 1936 drama by Warner Bros, directed by Archie Mayo. The film was based on a 1935 play of the same name by Robert E. Sherwood, previously adapted for Lux Radio Theatre. The movie starred the English actor Leslie Howard as Alan and Bette Davis as Gabrielle, with Humphrey Bogart in his first major role as the criminal Duke Mantee. Howard reportedly insisted on working with Bogart after they performed the same roles together in stage productions of the play. The film was successful enough to be credited with launching Bogart’s career, though it received mixed reviews from contemporary and later critics. Howard died in 1943 at age 50, in the midst of promoting the Allied cause in World War 2. Davis continued with a successful career that arguably peaked with the 1962 film Whatever Happened To Baby Jane? The film has remained available and generally known, notably being referenced and/ or parodied in media such as Merry Melodies/ Looney Tunes and The Carol Burnett Show. It is available for digital rental or purchase on multiple platforms.

For my experiences, my main frame of reference for this one is that I grew up on a fair diet of Bogart movies. My favorite was Treasure of the Sierra Madre, in hindsight a good candidate for the first “anti-Western”. I also saw at an early date the likes of Casa Blanca, The Maltese Falcon and Key Largo, I’m sure among others. (And I’ll give you one guess which one I really don’t like…) At any rate, I heard of the present film not long ago from a close friend who follows old-time radio. It interested me enough to land in my snail-Netflix rental queue, along with a certain other film I have plans for. I checked to see if anyone wanted to watch it with me, then watched it all on my own. I mostly just found it odd, all the more so for being largely unremarkable.

Moving forward, the description that best fits this film is “mannered”, if not entirely stilted. The cast of characters are a little too developed to be called cliches, yet the things that differentiate them from “stock” are predictable in their own way. Gabrielle, by far the most likeable character, wants to get out in the wider world while clearly lacking any frame of reference for it. Her would-be boyfriend is obviously going nowhere, whether or not he knows it. Alan is simply a mess, which I will get back to. Most curiously, Bogart is strikingly uncomplicated. We don’t learn anything about his backstory except a possible weakness for women with no qualms about turning on him. As far as his on-screen behavior, he isn’t charismatic enough to work as a “Robin Hood” type, nor is he sadistic enough to indulge in evil for its own sake. Finally, we aren’t given any reason to think better of him by the end, beyond the fact that he makes his last stand in front of the diner rather than hiding behind the civilians. Ultimately, he is simply a stock villain who by all indications was never meant to be anything else, which would certainly have been making a statement at a time when outlaws were being elevated to folk heroes.

Beyond these considerations, the simple fact is that this is far more talk than action, albeit with very good dialogue. The fundamental “problem” is that out of all the characters, the focus falls on Alan and Gabrielle. By any realistic or reasonable appraisal, Alan has even fewer evident redeeming qualities than Duke, and the fact that he freely admits his faults and failings just exposes him as self-centered. His nominal romance with Gabrielle is farcically short even by Hollywood standards, which they both clearly know. Where I call foul is his emerging fixation on sacrificing himself for Gabrielle’s benefit, long after it is clear that neither of them are in danger apart from stray bullets. His eventual scheme is, at best, subjecting her to a traumatic experience for limited financial benefit, and at worst, a bid to place her psychologically in his debt indefinitely without making any commitment to take care of her. This is literally psychotic, and on top of that, it’s emotional blackmail. If he wasn’t bent on self-inflicted martyrdom, this could easily turn far, far uglier if the relationship went on for any length of time.

That leaves the “one scene”, and I’m going to have to go from memory. Early on, Gabrielle is outside reading when the football hero arrives; that would be Dick Foran, a stage, film and TV actor who was also an accomplished singer. When she gets up, he follows her and goes for a kiss with no encouragement from her. It’s even more uncomfortable than might be expected in a more enlightened time. Still, the lady does talk to him, and he backs off enough to count as conceding to her wishes. As things continue, we get a sense of somewhat dysfunctional familiarity that I doubt I could describe even if I could find the clip. It’s a low-key example of good dialogue and character development for its own or any other time. I have to say I find it to be the most natural interaction in the entire film.

In closing, I come back to the simple question of what makes an “overrated” film. This film is the kind that approaches that description without quite getting there, for better or worse. Its fame is too modest to be called undeserved, while still clearly owing far more to the later fame of its stars than its own merits. Yet, it equally clearly remains watchable and generally entertaining, which is certainly more than can be said for many far younger films. Ultimately, it’s the kind of movie where praising it as a “great” movie would be more of a disservice than calling it a bad one, because it is that kind of hype that sets viewers up for disappointment. If it is instead approached as an interesting film, especially as an early sample of the stars involved, then it could easily prove a pleasant surprise. That is the kind of “classic” I can get behind.

Fiction: The Evil Possum prologue/ demo and adventure index

 Because I'm really bad at followup, I've just been getting around to editing the Evil Possum adventure that started this blog. In the process, I decided to write out something I had thought of before, a quick prologue to introduce the character, setting, and plot point or two I cut from my first draft because I didn't want to take extra space explaining them. (I had trouble enough already...) Here's the vignette that resulted, in case it wasn't clear enough this was supposed to be a spaghetti western. While I'm at it, there's links at the end.

The scene could be timeless, except for the shape of the participants. Four figures crouch around a table, peering intently at the cards in their hands and the crudely stamped coins on the table. Their whiskers gleam in the sunlight, and their tails twitch behind them. The cards are quite large, bigger than paperback novels in proportion to their clawed hands, and the printing is all black. After a moment, one of them squeaks in triumph. He reveals his hand to the other players, briefly silencing their chittering. But then, as he leans in to scoop up the pot, a card pops out of his vest. Teeth and red eyes flash. In a moment, the table is upended and the other patrons are engulfed in the brawl. When the door opens, the rest turn on the newcomer as a matter of instinct.

It took just a few busy moments for the newcomer to reach the counter, where a pair of the more grizzled patrons still sat on their barstools. The others mostly lay sprawled about the saloon floor. Two had departed through the windows. Another had exited through the door, without opening it in the process. The bartender looked up almost calmly at the figure before him. The newcomer stood a third again his height, topped by saucer-like ears and a slicked back mane that did not quite conceal a very high forehead. His right arm ended in a hook, the other was thickly muscled. The bartender was calm enough to further note that his clothes were made from the hides and pelts of creatures larger than even himself.

“I am looking for a town called Ninguna Parte,” the newcomer said. “Is there anyone here who can give me directions?”

It was one of the patrons at the bar who spoke up first. “Say, I know who you are,” he said. “I ‘eard you were ‘alfway across the Oldlands. They say you’re one of a kind, maybe the only one that ever was.” He started to rise, but his companion restrained him.

The bartender spoke up. “No, that’s not right,” he said, nose twitching. “There were others. Once.” Only then did he address the newcomer. “I know who you are. What you are, too. I’ll help you, any way I can.”

“Very well,” the newcomer said. “Then tell me, is there a town called Ninguna Parte? And if there is, how do I get there?”

It was the second patron who spoke. “’Tisn’t no town,” he said. “But there’s a place by that name, not too far off. If you follow the road that brought you here, if’n you came from the north and not the east, you’ll find an abandoned road. Go east on that, all the way to Hell’n’ gone, you’ll find the way to Ninguna Parte.”

The bartender nodded. “That’s right, as far as I know,” he said. “I’ve never been that way myself, but I’ve served people who were going there. Some of them came back.”

That was when the first patron did rise. “See, there’s something I can’t help thinking,” he said as he rounded the corner of the bar. “They say you’re the only one of your kind, and then they say nobody ever beat you. So it seems to me, whoever takes you down is Number One for all time…”

The next moment, the newcomer lowered a booted foot. The patron had departed, leaving a hole in the wall behind him. The newcomer surveyed the other patrons. “Leave,” he said. It took bare moments for them all to comply, or haul away those who couldn’t. He turned wearily to the bartender. His hook sank abruptly into the countertop. “How often do you open a bottle of poison in the presence of your guests?”

The bartender backed away. Then, belatedly, he held up a very small bottle. “It’s insurance,” he said. “Same as you have. Only if you wouldn’t leave.” His eyes darted to a revolver at the newcomer’s hip.

“Fair enough,” the newcomer said. “Have you used it before?”

“I opened it once before,” the bartender said. “For Long John Raeder. I suppose you know about him. Then you’ll know why I didn’t have to use it.”

The newcomer nodded. “Show me,” he said succinctly. The bartender put a stopper in the bottle and handed it over. “It would not have harmed me,” he said, then amended, “Not in a quantity I could not taste.” He set it on the counter.

“I will go now,” the newcomer said. “I suggest you return to the north. This place does not suit you.”

Within a day, the bar would be sold, for a tidy profit. For the remainder of his career, everyone would say the bartender was the most fearless of all in his line of work. The only time anyone asked, he just said that he had met the Unconquered King, and the questioner never came to his establishment again.

And here's the full link list for the 1st draft of the adventure:

Part 1 The original intro.

Part 2 The overlong exposition, introducing a vehicle I would have cut just to tow something else.

Part 3  The 127 Hours homage, so tasteful you might not figure out on your own.

Part 4 The least read chapter!

Part 5 The most read chapter after the intro, where the Possum crashes a human church!

Part 6 The final showdown, in a drainpipe under a church

Part 7 The twist ending I assumed was obvious, if anyone read it!

And why not the "sequel", the Evil Possum Vs. The Eurypterids, which is kind of a Die Hard knockoff?

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6 

Part 7

Finale!

Mystery Monday: Unidentified Hong Kong terrible cowboys and Indians set

For this month, I've been planning to return to my old, masochistic time table of a blog post every weekday, and to get things in gear, I decided it was time for another round of mysteries after not doing one since April. This time around, I decided it was time for yet another block of material I've had backlogged, as a further reminder that not being mysterious does not translate into merit. To start off, here's a closeup of a few of the group with the Timmee battle mountain, which has been a little neglected itself.

For the backstory on this one, I inherited this set from family who are long gone. I remember playing with them occasionally as a kid myself, mostly as targets for a dart gun set that was included. (More on that momentarily...) For provenance, my best guesstimate is that they date from the 1960s, almost certainly not later than the early 1970s. Whatever their original date, the figures, the guns and the darts were all packed together for as long as I knew of them in a repurposed candy box I'm sure is from the 1980s or later. By the time I started this blog, they were already long since packed away and half-forgotten. I suppose they really came back to mind after I posted about the 6-inch Marx wild west figures, starting with the giant Indian I had forever. (See also the gunfighters and weird Ukrainian pioneers.) After a while, I decided to break the old set out; I never doubted I still had them, and I knew I had found them as soon as I saw that damn box. I was genuinely excited when I opened the box. The could have been Marx figures, or copies thereof. They could have been Timmee/ Processed Plastic figures I barely remembered having myself. They could have been MPC, Lido, or some other brand I had only heard of. What they actually were is absolute kaka. Here's a lineup to show just what I mean.

"We must repel the white men, or our sacred Battle Mountain will be turned into plastic Mount Rushmore!"

On inspection, the one consequential thing I discovered is that their only manufacturer's mark was "Hong Kong", which as I commented with the cartoon animals is only somewhat more specific than Planet Earth. It was also all too clear that they were appallingly awful, to a degree I'm not sure I can capture in these pics. Here's a lineup of the cowboys, which are represented by half as many sculpts. This is possibly because they were meant to be outnumbered, or it may just be that more of them got broken or thrown away.

And because it was driving me nuts, I've gone back and added a pic of the cowboys with the Galaxy Laser Team commander. As previously discussed, he's a bit smaller than most "army man" figures at exactly two inches, but still taller than these guys. And the guy on the left is actually shorter, not much bigger than the original/ mini astronaut. And what the Hell is on the end of the green guy's gun is anybody's guess.

Finally, here's a small grouping of horses and riders. These are all that I found, without any extra horses or riders on their own. As you can see, there was one sculpt of a cowboy and one of the Indians, though there are two of the latter to one of the former. If you looked at just these, you might think the set is okay, but I still have more to show you.

At this point, I'm backing up. Of course, I have tried looking these guys up. I got as far as finding some pics from online listings that I'm sure are from the same set of molds, including at least one additional cowboy sculpt. The one really interesting discovery was a group that were painted, but not enough to break my usual policy against copying from or linking to sales pages. I did make somewhat more headway, however, with the dart guns. Here they are, in full glory and indifferent lighting.

The markings on the guns identify them as from Placo, a manufacturer evidently prolific enough that a search or two for information produced an auto complete for "dart guns". They were making these and similar guns from the 1950s to the 1970s, which in itself is no help at all. The darts, however, are marginally helpful: Where the earliest sets  would have had suction cups on plastic shafts, these are all rubber, so probably from the 1960s. As a further curiosity, a single gun of apparently the same design was included in a Spider Man dart gun set from 1981, which I'm absolutely satisfied is of later manufacture than these. Here's a closeup of a gun with the manufacturer's mark.

Now to bring this to some kind of conclusion, here's a few closeups, starting with a gunslinger. Not bad, but why is his hat over his face? And why do his revolvers look more like ray guns? And speaking of, it's still not obvious how little detail is in the face, basically eyes and sort of a nose, no more.

And it's still better than this guy, a gunfighter even more unthreatening than the Lido draft dodger. It looks like he's holding something in the other hand, but that's just "flash", which I found in exactly the same place on another figure. Is he supposed to be surrendering? Or a "casualty" figure??? The people making these clearly didn't care. 

Then there's the rifleman, here with a defect that actually makes his weapon look more modern. Here you just might be able to see how little went into the detailing. I tried to convince myself he was supposed to have a bandana over his face, but I just don't see it. Then there's the thing sticking out at his hip; it's clearly supposed to be a holster, but just try working that out from the shape. I can further confirm, other copies of the sculpt are no better.

Finally, here's one of the Indians. The pose is very similar to ones I have seen in Marx sculpts. What I can't work out is the thing under his right foot. It's definitely supposed to be vegetation, and to me it looks like nothing so much as a prickly pear cactus, but again, just try working that out.

"Of course I'm rushing forward screaming! There's a cactus on my foot!"

With that, I'm wrapping this up. These guys are just the kind of awful that can be amusing for a while, but I've been at this longer than I planned on and the fun factor is already wearing thin. The one thing I'm still tempted to do is chamber a round and see if the dart guns still work, except as an adult, I don't want to have to check where an errant dart might go. So, I'm quitting this trip down memory lane while I'm ahead. As always, more to come, and hopefully better!

Space 1979 Prototype Trilogy 1: The other one about a cyborg assassin from the future

 

Title: Cyborg 2087

What Year?: 1966

Classification: Prototype

Rating: What The Hell??? (3/5)

 

In the course of doing this feature, one thing that caught me by surprise is that I never made that many exceptions for films before the intended 1970s-‘80s timeframe. This time around, I’m starting a mini-series to cover that gap, and the first entry of all hails from the most counterintuitively underrepresented period, the late 1960s. When I started this, I didn’t even see this period as a major exception, but the only ones I got to were The Green Slime and The PhantomTollbooth, with the latter in a gray area because of a delayed release. For this review, I finally have one more, and it happens to be one of the most bizarre arguable coincidences on record. Here is Cyborg 2087, a film with nearly the same premise as Terminator from almost 20 years earlier.

Our story begins, after a view of a 1964 World’s Fair-style futuristic cityscape that will have no part in the rest of the movie, with a view of a woman and a man in a control room and an older gentleman climbing into a sort of pod. As the countdown approaches, the future police burst into the control room, but the lady operator presses one more button and the pod disappears, headed for the very current and hip year of 1966. We then find our time traveler in what looks like an Old West town, until a couple sightseers show up in a jeep. He commandeers the vehicle using a ray gun that stuns people, and seeks out the lab of a scientist researching telepathy. He manages to make contact with one of the scientist’s assistants, a spunky woman in a will they/ won’t they relationship with her colleague, and reveals his mission: He is a cyborg, sent back in time to kill the scientist, whose research will become the basis of mind control by a future dictatorship that he served before being reprogrammed. However, two more cyborgs have already been sent to stop him, with weapons that don’t just stun, and meanwhile, the lady is getting the hots for the gentleman. Can he succeed, and if he does, will he ever exist?

Cyborg 2087 was a film by United Pictures Corporation, part of a nominal series from director Franklin Adreon and screenwriter Arthur C. Pierce. The film starred Michael Rennie as the title cyborg Garth (??), with Karen Steele as the romantic interest Sharon Mason. Other cast included Harry Carey, Jr, John Beck (see The Time Machine 1978), and Jo Ann Pflug of the movie MASH as a future resistance fighter. While it would later be known for its similarities to the Terminator franchise, the film received limited interest in near-contemporary reviews, with Philip Strick deeming it among the “more conventional” treatments of time travel. Adreon and Pierce went on to make Dimension Five, another film involving time travel that starred Jeffery Hunter. Rennie died at age 61 in 1971, only 5 years after the release of Cyborg 1987.

For my experiences, my interest in this film really starts with the controversies surrounding Terminator and particularly its association with Harlan Ellison’s story “The Soldier” and the adaptation of same for the original Outer Limits television series. My reaction has always been that this is a distraction from more interesting works, notably to Philip K. Dick’s story “Second Variety”, which didn’t get an official adaptation until Screamers (which I will review if I have to make a new feature to do it). Then there’s other Outer Limits storylines dealing with time travel, like “The Man Who Was Never Born” and Ellison’s own “Demon With A Glass Hand”,The most purely random parallel I ever ran across is a totally obscure 1942 story titled “Barrier” (by the sometimes-great Anthony Boucher) in which a time traveler goes to the future in the nude. It will be clear from even anecdotal evidence that there was already plenty of groundwork for this movie and Terminator to have developed independent of each other. What’s strangest and truly inexplicable is that this movie’s setup in many ways comes closer to that of Terminator 2 than the original, meaning that the charge of a direct “ripoff” still doesn’t explain why key elements were left out in the first run.

Of course, these considerations don’t address the quality of the movie. I went in with singularly low expectations, and the best thing I can say coming out is that it does indeed “feel” like an Outer Limits episode, which if you’ve seen any is high praise indeed. Between the loopy premise, good camerawork, low-tech effects, and slightly over-dramatic music, it could all be taken as an earnest tribute to the show, which crashed and burned about a year before this movie came out. Of course, that leaves plenty of awkward and dated elements. The first act is slow-paced and heavy on tech talk. The two hostile cyborgs, referred to as “Tracers”, look more silly than sinister, and the action sequences are correspondingly slow-paced and toned down. There’s also an extra what-the-Hell factor in the use of the Old West town, culminating in a final showdown that comes across like High Noon with ray guns. Still, the one thing that comes closest to derailing the movie is a group of hip, partying youths (including Beck’s minor character) packed in around the middle. Fortunately, the lot of them are left behind after a little character development as soon as the story gets back in gear.

That leaves the central premises, the time travel plot and the cyborgs. If anything, the latter are better developed. Rennie makes a dapper and eloquent superhuman, all the more striking in the kind of role that would normally by given to a much younger actor. He declares that he is partly human but beyond human emotion, which we can well believe based on his subdued account of the future. At the same time, he acknowledges becoming a “free thinker” after the resistance freed him from mind control, implying that he has some capacity for freewill and gratitude. His opposite numbers are impressive in their own way. As mentioned, they look surreal as they chase after their quarry, but this is in no small part because of their total focus on their mission, to the point that surprised bystanders and suspicious authorities are simply ignored. (Ironically, avoiding attention is the counterintuitive rationale of Boucher’s protagonist.) They become more sinister when the surviving Tracer takes Sharon hostage, revealing a ruthlessness that doesn’t quite reach the point of outright sadism. By comparison, the time travel plot doesn’t get much further than the premises laid out at the start. The one thoughtful touch is that the hero and his allies try to reason with the scientist. However, it’s a poor balance against a resolution that is virtually a copy of what Outer Limits did just as nonsensically but with far more visual flare.

That still leaves the “one scene”, and the problem I faced this time was that the story’s developments are spread out enough that what would be solid sequences are instead interspersed with each other. Nevertheless, the standout is definitely the main effects sequence. After Garth reveals his mission to Sharon, she appeals to her colleague and potential romantic interest Carl for help, including the removal of an implant that Garth warns can be used to track him. When Carl is skeptical, Garth reveals a set of motors in his forearm and a plate with blinking lights on his chest. Carl remarks, “I don’t know what I believe, but I know what somebody who saw it might think.” He still objects that he cannot administer anesthetic, to which Garth answers that his nerves are “sealed off”. After an interlude with the tracers and the youths, we find the implant removed, in the closest parallel to any scene from the Terminator movies- specifically one that was cut from theatrical release!

In closing, I must say this is the one entry in this lineup I hadn’t already seen in whole or part. As such, it was a pleasant enough surprise, enough that I felt charitable enough to consider a higher rating. Yet, at the proverbial end of the day, this is a film where “good enough” is more disappointing than “bad”. I would have loved to celebrate this movie as an overlooked classic or roast it as a justly forgotten stinker, but the truth is that it is neither, and wasn’t trying to be. Comparison with Terminator in particular is simply a disastrous disservice. The later movie certainly had its problems, in some ways as bad as this one, yet nobody can dispute that it has stood the test of time. This movie, by comparison, is a self-dated artifact that never pretended to be anything else. It gets a passing grade, but it remains in its own time, and the people who made it can at least be credited for letting it remain there.

Miniature Giants Part 6: Marx By Marxists???

This feature's back, with something that was literally a long time coming. In a previous installment, I mentioned that I had found an offer for Marx figures claimed to have been made in the former USSR. Very soon after that, I decided to order the lot for a quite good price, from a seller in a former Soviet "satellite" republic. Unfortunately, recent events have caused as much disruption over there as over here, and my package apparently ended up sitting at an airport for a good deal of time. Eventually, however, officialdom caught up, and I received my order, consisting appropriately of a Soviet infantryman with a less explicable group of "Wild West" figures. Here's some pics of the infantryman with other Soviet figures previously covered.

It should be apparent from these pics that the Soviet-produced figures are entirely comparable to authentic Marx figures. If anything, the unique dark brown color makes it somewhat difficult to capture the full extent of the detail. (The gun is a very good representation of the PPSh-41 submachine gun.) I also confirmed that the infantryman and one of the other figures has marks in Cyrilic, a clear confirmation that they were made somewhere in eastern Europe. I further assess them as made from harder plastic than vintage Marx specimens; my now standard "clack" test produced a uniquely resonant sound when the figures were struck together. Here are pics of base of the infantryman with a Marx figure and another from the lot.

The other figures, as noted, were Western-themed figures, but not what could be considered typical examples; they are specifically absent from known Plastimarx and later "afterlife" Mexican production. Marx Wild West designates them as a group called "Pioneers", likely based on army man-scale figures released in 1955 as a tie-in with a Davey Crockett movie. I have considered the possibility that the 6-inch figures were meant to tie in with the 1960 John Wayne production of The Alamo, though my own investigations indicate that no large-size figures were made before 1963. Their reappearance in the Soviet sphere might be related to the influence of "osterns", a genre of frequently revisionist Westerns made in the USSR and other eastern nations. Here are pics of one of these figures, noteworthy as the only one with a standard "cowboy" hat, with a vintage Indian for reference.

The remainder of the set all share a coonskin hat. I find them notably less dynamic than other Marx figures, though the designers were clearly trying to impart a sense of action. The inclusion of a histrionic "knife guy" only reinforces my assessment. Here's a pic of two more of them, and an extra reference shot.

"I am not affiliated with him."

"Chief say, don't make eye contact with crazy guy with knife."

Last but not least, we have yet another "casualty" figure, this time with an arrow instead of a bullet hole. It's all graphic stuff, though notably toned down. Here's pics front and back.

As with the specimen of the gunfighter, this figure has an exit wound that has impressed collectors. However, I find it a misfire, as it looks more like a funky barnacle. It also doesn't line up at all with the arrow, though I could put that down to imposed censorship. I suspect the placement of the arrow in the shoulder was at least partly a way to simplify production, as it puts the shaft on the seam between the halves of the mold. Marx must still be given credit for an extra level of messed up.

As for the deeper mystery of how these came to be, I admit I am currently at a dead end. Both the seller and other sources report that these and other Marx soldiers were made in Donetsk, Ukraine beginning in the 1970s,. It is claimed that this was under license from Marx, which I find reasonably believable simply based on the relative obscurity of the known products. A vivid recollection from a book called Everything Is Normal by Sergey Grechishkin recounts that Marx soldiers were especially valuable in the USSR and usually only available to those with political connections. Intriguingly, the author also mentions that more typical army men were of the infamous "flat" type, which Marx had produced in the very early 1950s. The big question mark is how long they were in production, with the most specific dates being 1991. If true, then the eastern copies outlived Marx itself by over a decade, a good run for a spinoff.

For links, here's the previous installments:

Part 1: Enemy Marx (Japanese figures)

Part 2: Marx Marxists! (Soviet figures)

Part 3: Marx on the Moon (Apollo/ astronaut set)

Part 4: The Good, the Marx and the Ugly (Wild West and "'casualty" figures)

Part 5: Not Marx Is Still Good Marx (Mexican Marx toys and other large-sized figures)

Miniature Giants Part 4: The Good, the Marx and the Ugly

In this series on large-size Marx toys, this post brings things full circle. When I was a kid in the early to mid 1980s, sci fi/ fantasy toys were the rage, and my choices in toys certainly reflected it. But there were a fair number of usually ill-fated attempts to revive Western-themed toys, presumably fueled by parents and grandparents.who were nostalgic for the cowboys-and-Indians crazes of their own childhoods, and these too came into my toybox in enough numbers to make an impression. There were playsets from the larger Little People and Playmobil lines, which tended to blend in with farm-themed sets from the same manufacturers. There were old-style "army man" figures, including a "swoppet" set I'm still fishing out pieces of. I even had a few figures including a horse from the merchandise line for The Legend of the Lone Ranger, which I must have received years after the movie had come and gone. But the one that really made an impression was a giant Marx Indian, featured on the far right, which I now know was originally released in 1964. Here's another pic of the figure with one of the Japanese soldiers.

This is one where I have a particularly clear recollection of how I obtained the figure. In 1987, I played with the toy in a doctor's office and convinced the doctor to let me take it home, which I now hope means it wasn't an uncommon item. As I figured out what it was (around the time I acquired and then identified the Japanese soldiers), I took it as a given that it was a reissue or copy; I even thought it might have been even bigger than 6 inches, based on recollections of holding it in much smaller hands. However, it was only in the course of preparing this series that I fished it out for closer inspection,  and was a little unnerved to see the authentic Marx stamp on the base. I ordered the two other featured figures in hopes of comparison, and am now satisfied that it most likely was manufactured during Marx's later days, perhaps the mid-70s or later, I have further noted a little bit of translucent "flash" around the base, similar to that on the Soviet officer. Here's some closeup pics of this and a second Indian I obtained.

Yeah, I'm putting my money on the guy with the gun.

Along with the second Indian, I acquired a cowboy/ gunslinger, clearly sculpted as one of Marx's particularly notorious "casualty" figures (covered in a previously referenced article here), which I will be getting to in more detail. What both figures have in common is that they are posed on one foot with an unusually small base that I found noticeably springy. Despite this, the figures are quite stable. I further determined that both figures were missing parts, specifically two feathers on the Indian's head band and a revolver that would have been dangling from the gunslinger's open hand. On closer inspection, I could not find unequivocal signs of breakage, particularly on the Indian, suggesting that the molds may have been streamlined at an early date. With a little further research I found pictures of specimens of the gunslinger missing the gun without other apparent damage, including one still in packaging, which I will also get to below.

As for the gunslinger itself, there is really very little that can be said. The pose in itself is stereotyped and almost tame, clearly based on the movie convention of a defeated villain dramatically clutching his chest before dropping tidily to the ground. The expression, however, is truly horrid, almost but not quite to the point of being comically grotesque. There is also even more detail than usual, including separately sculpted fingers. Here are few more pics.

Now, we can get to the usual postscript, with a little bredth and depth than usual. By the late 1980s,the Western genre had been dragged down by a series of high profile failures, including the above-mentioned Lone Ranger film and the even bigger bomb Heaven's Gate. Some of the last noteworthy Western productions were science-fictional crossovers, and even then the results were uneven. The most notable and ambitious was surely the 1987-1988 cartoon Bravestar, produced by Filmation with possibly more weirdness than usual. That experiment lasted long enough for a modest toy line, but ultimately left more of an impression on those (admittedly including myself) who saw ads and clips years later than on anyone who watched it at the time.  The one inarguable success was Back to the Future 3, released in 1990, which on top of being a critical and commercial success managed to provide at least a fair compromise between movie/ TV conventions and comparatively realistic depictions of Old West life.

Meanwhile, Marx continued production of Western toys to the very end and ultimately beyond. Wild West playsets continued well into the 1970s, while others reused parts from earlier Wester sets, egregiously the surreal 1960s Guerilla Warfare set. The company even released the "Ready Gang" line of Wild West action figures in 1977-1978, among the first of a boomlet of Western figures that the Lone Ranger tie-in line marked the end of. Then, even Marx slipped away, its Mexican affiliate Plastimarx ground on with Western products including large-size figures. I am sure that this is the source of the most significant artifact of the line,  the above-mentioned bagged sets, which are sighted easily enough in online auctions. Typical specimens consist of easily recognized Marx figures identified as made in Mexico and sold under the generic label "Cowboys And Indians". Unfortunately, I was unable to find any further information about them, the chief reason I am not including links to any image of the set, but I have no doubt these sets were made well after 1980, and might even be in production today.

Finally, let's take one more look at the ill-fated gunslinger from a different angle. Not much more to see, just more Marx detail… Wait a minute...

Truly, the past was more messed up than we can imagine.

Here's links for the earlier installments

Enemy Marx

Marx Marxists!

Marx on the Moon!