Fiction: Off-brand retro gaming fan fiction demo!

 It's Monday night and I still don't have a weekend post. What I wasted my time with was an ancient fan fiction idea certain developments knocked loose. Yes, as far as I know, this was edgy when I came up with it. So, here goes. And by the way, the Latin is all real...

In another world, it would have looked like a sailing ship of old. Its sides were made of stout and weathered beams, shaped in the gentle curve of a long, narrow hull. From its multitiered deck and its sides, dozens of cannons of every size pointed outward. But the white swells it sailed over were not waves, but clouds, and in place of sails, it bore huge yet gracefully curved screws that swirled the stratocumulus as it descended. Two more skyships sailed on its flanks, with five more in a second formation behind. Scattered among them were dozens and hundreds of caravels, barges and frigates of every size. Ahead rose a grim, black mountain that towered above the clouds, topped by a smoldering cone. Around the peak, an even larger flotilla circled, all black. And on the deck stood Lord Ajax of the Red Kingdom, once independent contractor Alexander A. Papadpoulos of Boston, now ruler of the Low Plains and Reed Isle and Regent of the Realms of the Mushroom Men.

“The Flagship of the Lindorm Realm and its fleet approach,” the Navigator reported. “What are your orders?”

The black ship was already clear to the naked eye, half again their width and nearly three times their length. Ajax turned to the slightly younger, noticeably taller man at his side. “What do you think, Hector?” he said.

“Stay the course, brother,” the other man answered, “until we know more.”

Ajax nodded. “Extend the banners,” he said. On either side extended the gilded banners of his kingdom, displaying an eight-pointed star on a field of scarlet. The ships to the right and left did the same, unveiling banners of green and brown.  The ships to the rear unfurled their own banners, lavender, navy blue, yellow, orange and white. The dark ship answered by deploying the white banners of truce.

 

Beneath the clouds lay the dead or dormant lesser mounts of the Black Mountains. One of the larger cones had caved in, forming a ring-shaped lake with a central isle. The eastern side of the isle had an inlet that provided a serviceable bay. On this shore lay a sprawling complex the size of a modest town, clearly intended as or at least modeled on a fortress. This day, however, the strongpoints flew festive banners, the cannons were polished bright as gold, and every gate was opened for the crowd streaming from the pier to the central parade ground. Ajax and his brother descended in a tiny launch, adorned with gold rails and purple cushions. Two more launches descended from the airships on either side, flying their own banners. Above the great gate ahead flew one red banner, and another of purple.

Hector hurried forward to meet another from the launch with the green banner, a slight woman with platinum hair in a sea-green dress that flowed behind her as she rushed into his open arms. He had to hoist her to press his lips to her scalp. She nuzzled his chest ecstatically. “Hector,” she murmured. “My husband, my king and my lord.” Ajax gazed at his brother with an expression of bemusement rather than envy. Hector met his eye, and gave a smile that was at once embarrassed and proud. Then a saurian the size of a large dog broke free of its handlers and scampered to the Lady’s side. Ajax reached over and scratched the fuzz behind its tiny horns.

From the launch with the brown banner came a Mushroom Man and a blue Flower woman. At a glance, they looked human, if one did not look beneath the man’s conical hat or too closely at his lady’s skirt and bonnet. “Well met, Ajax,” he said. “We bring good word from the Lands of the Woods. The Beasts have kept their truce, the Wraiths are seen no more. The Dark Forests are quiet, nor are they as dark as they once were.”

“I would have expected no less, Morel,” Ajax said. He turned to welcome the bride of his brother as she approached. To his wonderment, she fell at his feet.

“Ajax, brother, liberator,” she said. She looked up at him with tears streaming down her cheeks. He felt no little embarrassment as she threw her arms around his knees. “This is the day we have longed for, the day you fought for. Be glad for it. Believe in it.”

Ajax ran a hand through her hair. “Of course, Daffodil,” he said, looking again to Hector. The lady quickly rose to her feet at the thudding of approaching feet. The Lindorm delegation had come forth.

A single robed emissary and a dozen armored warriors approached. The Lindorm did not look human, though they walked upright on their thick, half-bowed legs. Their faces were dominated by large eyes and a beak. Their hides were covered in feathery yellow-gray down that still made Ajax think of mustard. Their round torsos bore a leathery carapace, which the warriors covered with studded brigandines. The emissary lowered his hood, revealing a blue crest and a scaly wattle below his jaw. “The Lord of the Lindorms offers his warmest welcome, Ajax, as does his Bride,” he said. “The Lady is pleased that you chose to come.”

Ajax bowed. “I would not have missed it,” he said.

The guards lined up on either side, their staves raised at salute as the delegates of each Kingdom entered. More warriors stood at attention in the courtyard, armed but at ease. Ajax walked at the head of eight Mushroom Men, each with an arquebus under his right arm and a dagger at his hip. Princess Daffodil followed on a cart pulled by little, loyal Tatzel with Hector as footman beside her. Their own guard of four burly Olive Men rode on Tatzel’s larger brothers, two in front and two behind, their tridents slung at their backs. Morie had settled for a pair of Beasts, seemingly shapeless masses of fur and muscle half again the Mushroom Man’s height, both armed with a mace the size of a polearm. More followed, the royal purple Maidens of the Lavender Realm, the Sky Marines of the Blue Coast, the Beetle miners of the Gold Mountains, the Jackelope Riders of the Orange Deserts and the Climbers of the White North.

When the delegations had gathered, the Emissary took the podium set halfway up the steps that led to the central palace-fort. “I am Speaker for Emperor Naam, Lord Protector of the Lindorms, King of the Black Mountains and the Red Desert, Conqueror of the Sky Islands, and Benefactor of the High Plains,” he said. He unrolled a scroll. “I am here to read the terms of the treaty between the Kingdoms of the Mushroom Men and the Lands of the Lindorms.”

He adjusted a pair of spectacles. “First, a peace shall be in effect from this day forth between the present and future subjects of Lord of the Lindorms and the Lady of the Royal House of Pruna, High Queen of the Mushroom Folk. In his graciousness, Naam has ceded all claims to his former provinces and territories of the Red Coast and the Orange Desert, to the Dark Forest and to all lands beyond it. In gratitude, Lady Pruna has granted freedom and the pledge of protection to the Red Mushroom Men of the Coast, to the Lindorms of the Gold Mountains and all their kin within her realms.

“Second, the crown and throne of the High Queen of the Mushroom Realm shall be given to Princess Daffodil, Lady of the House of Narcissa, and her husband Hector, Lord and Liberator of the Green Isles.  Henceforth, the seat of their rule and the House of Pruna shall be moved to the Pearl Palace of Narcissa on the Green Isle. The Great Palace of Pruna at the border of the realms of Lavender, Indigo and Scarlet shall henceforth be a residence of the Dowager and her kin, a meeting place for the government of the United Realms, and a Royal Library and museum to be open to all the peoples of the Realms.” By then, Hector was cradling Daffodil as she wept.

“Third, the lands of the Red Kingdom shall be given full liberty and a pledge of eternal friendship, under the rule of Lord Ajax, Liberator of her Ladyship and Savior of her Realms, and any heir that should come to his house.” Ajax’s guards beamed. He kept his face nearly immobile as the Emissary read on, and on.

“Finally, High Queen Lady Pruna of the Mushroom Folk and Lord Emperor Naam of the Lindorms shall this day be married. All heads of state present shall be invited to witness the sacred Ceremony of Union within the Shrine of Nam. Their vassals, retainers and all other subjects of the Lord and Lady and the diverse Realms represented shall thereafter take part in their great Feast.”

Hector made his way to Ajax’s side. Daffodil took his arm. Tatzel cooed at his feet. “Talk to me, bro,” Hector said. For a moment, Ajax just stared ahead.

“I’ll be fine,” Ajax said. “Everything will be just fine…”

 

He had freely asked the Lindorm guards for a tour of the Palace. He wondered aloud how little had changed. It was in a corridor lined with statues of Naam that he excused himself for a closer look. He did not even have to pry up the grate on the Palace floor. He reached the bottom and peered into the dark passage ahead. He showed no surprise at a tap on his shoulder. “I know you, bro,” Hector said. “Come on back. We can tell the guards we were just doing it for a good laugh.”

“No,” Ajax said. “I have to do this.”

“Then you’re going to have to take me with you,” Hector said. Ajax ran forward without another word. They had gotten halfway when the ceiling came down.

“Why do they even put this here?” Ajax said as the ceiling raised from the niche where they had thrown themselves.

“Because Naam used to be crazy enough to try not to kill you,” Hector said. 

Neither of them looked at the objects that swished back and forth as they ran, sometimes just ahead and sometimes just behind. “Hey, remember one thing,” Hector said as they paused. “You were the one who called off your wedding.”

As they raced forward, Ajax realized something had changed. Hector pushed him faster than he could have died. As the giant moving block plowed his brother out of sight, he wailed, “Daaaffeee!!!” Ajax ran straight ahead. He felt a draft of warm but fresh air as he climbed up, He pushed at the grate, but it did not move. He pounded at it until he saw the bars bend, and it still would not budge. After a while, there was a long, loud scraping. A huge taloned hand nearly as large as the grate itself lifted it. He climbed up in resignation. For a moment, he peered up at a towering shape of scales, spikes, claws, wings and horns. Then the silhouette transformed as if it was his own eyes adjusting into a very tall man.

He took a seat on the massive strongbox that had undoubtedly covered the grate. He examined the figure before him. Even under scrutiny, Naam looked as human as he was, at least apart from the eyes. He was clad in black leather. His red hair was slicked back so smoothly that it looked like a helmet in profile. “I still don’t understand how you do that,” he said.

Naam shrugged. “I have a dual nature,” the Lindorm said. “Most creatures of the Realms do, including your Princesses. How would  Flower Maiden bear the sons of a Mushroom Man if it were not so? I have explained, you are the one who is different. After all this time, you are still in this World, not of it. That is why you always defeated me. I did always try to win, even if I always gave you a way not to lose.”

“You know why I came,” Ajax said, looking about the throne room. “I need to see her. I need to talk.”

“She wanted to meet with you,” the King said with genuine sadness. “She would have, if you had waited. But it will not be like this. That is her will, not mine.”

“What really happened?” Ajax said. “When?”

“Come now, there are things gentlemen do not speak of, even between themselves,” Naam answered. “But I know you are thinking one thing I can tell you is true. She can change as I do. She has, and yes, her form is as mine. She did not know, for a very long time. I myself only wondered, once in a while. This is not the first union between our Realms, though the last that happened openly was long ago.”

Ajax’s expression hardened. “She told me, once, that she thought she had another form,” he said. “She wanted my help to obtain a Relic of Power. She said it would show her true form. I told her it was too dangerous.”

Naam’s expression grew thoughtful. “She asked the same thing of me, only she knew I possessed several items that could have helped her. Still, I advised her as you did. In the end, it did not matter. If you recall the time my skyship crashed off the shores of the White Kingdom, surely you do… We were alone, waiting to see if our side or yours would find us before the ice gave in. She found herself then, with but a little help from me. It was not as you might think. What I still wonder is if you have acquired enough of our Realms for a second Shape. But, as I said and you well know, experimentation is ill-advised.”

The King rose and produced a box. “Hector will be fine, of course,” he said. “My Emissary has already redressed him for the Ceremony, though I gather his Lady is most unhappy. All we need tell the others is that you excused yourself, so that there would be no breach of decorum if your feelings got the better of you. It would not be wholly untrue, would it? My Guards will release you when the Feast begins. By then, my Lady and I will have retired. She bade me to give you this.” He placed the box in Ajax’s hands.

Well after the King departed, Ajax opened the box. Tears ran down his cheeks, but he no longer shook with sobs. Inside was a single sheet of parchment. He unrolled it and read…

 

Your Princess is in another castle.

No Good Very Bad Movies Legacy: The worst movies I didn't review???

 

As I write this, I have been overdue for a movie review, and finally decided to do another list (see my best and worst posts). For broader context, I’m in the neighborhood of 300 movie reviews, including what I freely endorse as the worst movies ever made that both survive and fulfill all major characteristics of a movie. In the process, I have frequently commented that there are indeed films I have passed over as “too bad” to review. As an appendix to my "worst" movie feature, I have finally decided to give a representative list of the ones I threw back and why they did not work for what I do. So, here goes with a countdown…

10. Bride of the Monster (1955)- A mad scientist plots world conquest, or something. This gets in here simply as a representative example for the work of Ed Wood, who got a “good” review for Plan 9 From Outer Space and never got back on my radar. The general comment I have to make about Wood’s infamous filmography is that he represents what is to me the bare minimum of competency. I base that on two things. First, his work is coherent, to the extent that they normally satisfy the definition of a narrative sound film: There is a story, characters, dialogue, and enough ideas to provide deeper themes and meaning. Second, the balance of Wood’s efforts are sufficient to demonstrate the knowledge and capability to make a “good” film. The corresponding reality is that the vast majority of his problems came down to not having money, and that in turn had everything to do with making films in the 1950s while being Ed Wood. My verdict is, yes, they are “that bad”, but I could never find interest or entertainment in taking them apart.

9. Xtro (1983)- This is the story of a boy whose father returns from an alien abduction, as the spawn of an alien and a human woman. Another kind of (dis)honorable mention, this is a film that was never on the board because I have never wanted to watch it. It’s an Alien knockoff that skips story, character development and coherent xenobiology in favor of stringing together as much creepy Freudian imagery as possible, which actually manage to go downhill from a woman giving birth to an adult man. As a bonus, the cut that I actually watched all the way through had a version of the ending that I have never found again. I tried it, I am not going back. Next…

8. The Phantom Empire (1988)- An ancient subterranean civilization happens to emerge in the California suburbs. An expedition discovers Sybil Danning (see Battle Beyond The Stars), an alleged Robby the Robot rig and recycled effects from Planet of Dinosaurs. This was my first round with the work of Fred Olen Ray, who got on my good side with Deep Space. It’s a direct-to-video mess that occasionally rises to “so bad it’s good”, not what I do.

7. Star Crystal (1986)- An interplanetary expedition discovers a crystal that turns into a deadly alien. It’s very possibly the worst 1980s monster movie I have personally viewed. One or two decent suspense/ jump scare sequences and a cop-out twist ending make it a little more interesting than it deserves to be. I didn’t care enough to get back to it.

6. Flesh Gordon (1974)- Yes, the Flash Gordon porn parody. I really didn’t want to include this one, but I haven’t made a secret that I had seen this one, so I’m throwing it in. The problem with this one is that it has less to say about changing mores and gender roles than the De Laurentiis version got away with under a PG rating. What’s left is a clearly intelligent genre satire that throws in with the status quo wherever it matters. Watch the actually good stop-motion effects in video clips, skip the rest. I suppose I should credit this as the nucleus of my Space Guys proxy rant about how much “adult” entertainment (especially the 1970s variety) doesn’t work for people with sensory differences.

5. The People Under The Stairs (1991)- Children are raised in hiding by a brother and sister. I planned on getting in one “big budget” movie here, and this entry from Wes Craven really deserves it. I suppose you could draw a redeeming social allegory out of the director’s imagery, but it’s everything I just find contrived and pretentious in horror.

4. Don’t Torture A Duckling (1972)- This one came up during my survey of the giallo genre, by my Number 2 archnemesis, Lucio Fulci. A serial killer targets adolescent boys who are starting to go bad, while the authorities interview a series of obvious red herrings who still don’t make any less sense than the actual killer. I literally said while I was watching this that I could not do anything with this. It’s cringey sensuality, irritating characters, a poorly paced story and the bonus of ludicrous effects for the villain’s demise, none of which added up to anything I found worthwhile to comment on. You got lucky on this one, Lucio…

3. Killers From Space (1954)- A test pilot recovering from a crash is troubled by memories of being held captive by mysterious entities. As his memory returns, he warns his superiors of an alien base where insects and other creepy crawlies are being raised to gigantic size for a war against humankind. This fairly early B-movie combines laughable “alien” costumes with routine nature footage and a tame plot. It rivals even Robot Monster and the work of Ed Wood as the weakest and most truly inept of its kind, adding a sense of laziness to its considerable faults.

2. Wild World of Batwoman (1966)- A lady superhero sends her amateur fangirls to catch criminals, then is surprised when they are captured by a mad scientist with a doomsday bomb. For a variety of good reasons, I chose Invasion of the (the) Eye Creatures over this one as the worst movie shown on Mystery Science Theater 3000. By almost any technical or narrative standard, however, this is actually worse by a wide margin. The plot is nonsense, the supposed heroines are irritating, stupid and cowardly (to the point of running out of a room when the bomb is about to go off- and it does), and the late and incredibly shoddy black-and-white camerawork makes Night of the Living Dead look like Dr. Strangelove. I spared it on the small virtue that it is intended as a comedy, and I freely admit that it can make me laugh when it is trying to be funny… occasionally. “End! END!!!”

1. Weasels Rip My Flesh (1979)- A weasel-like creature escapes from a crashed space probe, wreaking havoc as it turns humans into giant mutant weasels. I think. Allegedly shot entirely by a teenager, this one just might be the most actually inept film I have ever watched, which once again isn’t the same as “worst” (see Ingagi). This is the kind of production that makes an Ed Wood film look like polished, linear narrative. Viewed in the right mood and setting, it just might be fun.

So, there’s my list. Do you think these films are good, bad or no big deal? Have you heard of any of them? Do you think you’ve seen worse??? At any rate, I’ve got something to round out the week. That’s all for now, more to come!

Fiction: The Space Guys Adventure, Part 22!

 It's the middle of my attempt to do a full week of posts, so of course I'm taking a short cut with the Space Guys. This is really a new part of the adventure, but for now, I'm keeping the numbering and table of contents at the end. And hey, I worked in the Marz building!

 

The voyage of the Janus went on for months after passing Uranus, but the boredom and isolation that had fallen over the crew never returned. There was laughter, singing and a return to games, music and books that they had long declared themselves tired of. The morale was further improved by the appearance of one more orb in their path. “We didn’t announce it in the mission plan because we weren’t sure of the alignment,” the captain said. “You are seeing the paraplanet Pluto, within the orbit of Neptune.”

They did not pass as close as they had to other planets, so it did not appear on the porthole. Still, it was near enough to take turns looking at the orb from the communications tower during their closest approach. It was white beheld with the naked eye, mottled gray with hints of brown when viewed with magnification. Jason and Alek spent their turn talking with Old Yuri.

As Pluto receded, the captain made another announcement. When they gathered, he looked unusually solemn. Jason noted that he stood side by side with Professor Futura. “I have just received approval from Gaia to give a special briefing,” he said. “It should coincide with simultaneous broadcasts on the Homeworld and Mars. Moxon, load the disc.”

Moxon took out a disc with the markings of sensitive material. Jason realized that it was the same one that had been played for the mission briefing. The officer flipped the handling caddy before loading it in the video record player. The first image that came up showed the sigil of the Union of Nations and the stylized rocket of the space agency. Jason instinctively put an arm around Alek at the sight of what appeared next.

At a glance, it looked like a crystal, with four major sides subdivided by corrugations and protruding multitiered buttresses in place of its corners. Then the camera’s focus shifted to show its surroundings. It was the Southlands of Mars, not far from Hellas Basin. The object reared up from a level plain at the foot of the ice caps which dwarfed it. Even on that enormous scale, it was obvious that the object was immense, certainly as tall as the Janus was long, quite possibly even taller than the bygone Empire State tower it was compared to. It was evident that it tapered up to what looked like a cupola, topped by a dome and a tall, narrow spine that looked like an antenna. The focus shifted again, and Professor Futura came into view. He wore an archaic pressure suit with a dome supported by a square frame. He looked visibly younger, but only by five or ten years rather than more than Jason had been alive.

“I am at the foot of the Structure,” the Professor said. “All observations confirm that it is an artificial object intended for habitation. From corrosion and geological evidence, it is at least 1,000 and not more than 2 million years old. Preliminary findings further indicate that it was constructed by and for organisms comparable to humans in all major characteristics. We have entered and partially explored the lowest tiers of the structure through several compromised or unsecured entrances. Our efforts have been hampered by repeated equipment failures associated with electromagnetic anomalies from the structure. In particular, we have been unable to reach or enter an evident control center in the spire. I have determined that any conclusive investigation will require an exterior ascent and likely forced entry. I have prepared to affect such a breach. I will be accompanied by my wife, Irena Futura, who is recording this film. The rest of the party are under orders not to follow or allow others to enter.”

The film showed a small party climb up the exterior of the building with a series of rocket-assisted grapnels. The ascent culminated in the entry of the cupola through an already damaged window. There was an evident skip to an aerial shot of the cupola. There was a flash from the cupola, seemingly no more consequential than a glint of sunlight, until puffs of smoke erupted at the base of the spine. The spine listed and then toppled, momentarily filling half the frame before the camera and presumably the aircraft veered away. The camera zoomed in again, on a figure waving from the damaged window. There was another skip, showing the tower from a distance. It collapsed in smoke and flames, as ice and debris cascaded down to cover it.

Futura spoke up. “My wife and I spent 17 hours inside the spire of the Structure,” he said. “I brought no cameras or recording equipment, only limited writing materials. We spent the first 11 hours examining the lower superstructure, which I ventured to describe as the Globe. In the twelfth hour, I breached a possible control center at the meeting point of the dome and the spire. We found a series of computing stations, several of which were functioning and partially operable. These proved to be primarily for calculation, and thus a source of our most detailed information on the Builders’ numerical characters and mathematical system. After 4 hours of investigation, I attempted to use one of the higher-level stations. This activated a self-destruct mechanism which ultimately collapsed both the Structure and a large section of the polar cap. The device simultaneously sealed the entrances to the control center. Over the course of 47 minutes, we successfully escaped, and were rescued by our expedition’s hovercraft.”

The gathered crew gaped, except Donald, who scowled. “I spent the next 36 hours assisting my wife as she drew her observations of the structure from memory,” Futura concluded. “On my advice, the existence of the Structure was placed under highest classification, known to a few thousand individuals over time. A select few have been given access to our recordings and data, including a number of members of this expedition. A much smaller group have examined our drawings, which have remained in my possession. Three of them are here, Tanya Plotnikov, Mehmet Eskandari and Aleksandra Kapek Freeman.” Jason turned to Alek, who gave him a vaguely embarrassed smile.

“Hold on,” Donald said. “Here’s what I’m hearing. You found the first evidence of alien intelligence in the Solar System, from before regular people figured out gunpowder. So, you went in alone, didn’t take any pictures, and made the whole thing blow up. Then at the end of it, they took your advice and let you keep the only records that mattered.”

Tanya spoke up. “I reviewed the raw feed at the time, when I was consultant for Union intelligence,” she said. “Every decision Colonel Futura made was justified. There were extreme difficulties with equipment failure and unexplained lighting anomalies every time the expedition attempted to photograph the Structure interior. One of the technicians was almost killed trying to collect a sample of material. There was ample evidence that these difficulties were caused by active interference from the Structure itself. It had to be further assumed that a second expedition would be met with even stronger countermeasures, if the structure did not self-destruct. An individual or very small party without electronic instruments was the best chance we had.”

“Okay, so what do you have to show for it?” Donald said. “A few drawings of what you can remember?”

“The full report has over 500 drawings,” Alek said coolly. “Every one that could be checked against independent data was accurate within 0.5%.”

“Sure,” Jason said. “But why keep it secret until now? There’s more, isn’t there?”

“I had to consider several hypotheses,” Futura acknowledged. “All of them implied that the entities who built the Structure were very concerned that no other species or culture would be able to imitate their technology or identify its origin. Perhaps it was for their own protection. Perhaps it was for ours. Perhaps the two are one and the same. But Dr. Capek, excuse me, Dr. Freeman, and Dr. Plotnikov can explain that better.”

Alek stepped forward, smiling. “Thank you, I am proud to report my findings,” she said in her flat voice. “I prepared this report as an appendix to an earlier analysis by Mehmet and Tanya. Of course, their work is already quite comprehensive. I have only added what is useful to comment on.” Behind her, a canvas screen was set up with a microfilm projector. It showed the first in a long series of photographs and drawings, each of the latter as painstaking as a Greek statue or a Dutch still life. They showed almost gothic entryways, spacious corridors and atria, compact cells and storerooms, elegantly simple light fixtures, abstract patterns that seemed to be artwork, and here and there an interactive control surface, from doorknobs to instrument panels. Several drawings showed keyboards with as few as 8 and as many as 24 keys, most of them bearing sigils that looked like a wheel or a star, with varying numbers of arms and more arcane dots, circles and rings at the center. There was even a pair of lavatories, each comprised of a line of self-contained stalls that held a slot toilet in the floor and a showerhead above.

“Now, the central and repeated finding of both Futura’s report and the later analysis is that the Builders of the Structure were very similar to humans, biologically, mentally and even culturally,” she said. They came to a series of drawings of what could only be the dome of the Globe. This proved to be meeting place roughly the shape and nearly the size of Shakespeare’s amphitheater. There were regularly spaced signs with more of the sigils. “Their evident mode of locomotion is that of a bipedal vertebrate, their reproduction bisexual. Their height can be extrapolated as between 1.2 and 2.1 meters. Their geometry, numbering and architecture are based on multiples of 4 and 12, common to terrestrial cultures despite the biological fact that we have ten digits. The use of primary colors in their art further implies a similar visual range.”

She straightened. “In fact, this correspondence is altogether anomalous,” she said. “Consider all the ways an extraterrestrial species might differ from humans. They might be half our size, or half again. They might have six fingers on one hand and three on the other. They might have eight limbs instead of four. They might be color-blind, or able to see spectra beyond human vision, especially if their native star was of a different type than Sol. They might have entirely different senses, like the echolocation of a dolphin or the electromagnetism of a platypus. This requires a reconsideration of the Structure’s origin. That is borne out in one more anomaly… Almost every trace of writing was removed from the Structure.”

With that, Tanya stood up. “What Dr. Capek has mentioned is a central finding of our report, though we do not necessarily endorse all of her conclusions,” she said. An image appeared of what could only be shelves, completely empty. “To begin with, there was extensive evidence that printed records other media had once been present, only to be removed. This was unremarkable. We might do the same, if it held instructions for making gunpowder or the atomic bomb. Yet, there were many cases where completely innocuous inscriptions had been removed or defaced, including the lavatory. This was not explicable. There are dozens of languages and scripts of human origin that have never been translated beyond the most rudimentary level, if at all. The only reason they would have cause for fear is if mere comparison with other scripts would tell us something they did not wish to be known.”

She brought up a series of images of signs from the Globe. “It was only these characters that we were allowed to see, most likely because there were too many to remove, and perhaps because they were too intuitive for definite conclusions. Even so, there are certain similarities with known symbology. The swastika. The mandala. The Yin and Yang.”

“Yeah, and the Mercedes Benz logo,” Donald said, as one of several three-spoked sigils appeared. “So what? Are you saying these are aliens who talked to cavemen, like in the silly old magazines?”

“No,” Alek said with a smile. “I am saying they were humans. From Earth. And they knew we were coming.”

Table of contents

Part 1. The demo!

Part 2. The villain!

Part 3. The world-building!

Part 4. The romance!

Part 5. The killer robot!

Part 6: The shuttle ride!

Part 7: Alternate universe pop culture!

Part 8: The launch!

Part 9: The girl talk!

Part 10: The domestic disturbance!!!

Part 11: The Space Nazis!!!

Part 12: The inevitable geography lesson!

Part 13: The wedding!!!

Part 14:  The spicy chapter!

Part 15: The bad guy backstory!

Part 16: The Dinner!

Part 17: The alternate history!

Part 18: The weapons exposition!

Part 19: The alternate history Captain America!

Part 20: Zero G repairs!

Part 21: Bad Guy backstory, Part 2!

Really Good Movies! The one with the fakest fake tanks

 

 

Title: The Battle of the Bulge

What Year?: 1965

Classification: Prototype/ Anachronistic Outlier

Rating: Underrated (1/3)

 

As I write this, I have just finished a week off, which gave me time to think over things I want to do, new and old. As usual, that led to two colliding trains of thought. On one hand, I have once again been thinking of dusting off this particularly infrequent feature, dedicated to actual good movies. On the other, I have been doing a whole lot of research on World War 2. That led me to consider a few movies that I had grown up with, and that finally brought me to the one I saw trashed the most. Of course, that was enough to convince me it was worth a review, so I present The Battle of the Bulge, a war movie that really tried.

Our story begins after a very dramatic tank-themed credits roll with an introduction to the actual Nazis preparing for their last great offensive, against the American forces gathered at the borders of Belgium and France. (Too bad about Operation Bagration…) The dastardly Krauts have a two-fold plan. One is to send English-speaking troops in American uniforms to engage in sabotage and general mayhem behind Allied lines. The other is to crush the forces of democracy with their new King Tiger tanks, commanded by a morally complex Teutonic officer. (Guess which one actually worked…) We then meet a grizzled tanker, a young officer, a charming local damsel and an assortment of other colorful characters who must roll with the tide as German might throws the allies into disorder and retreat. But the looming final battle will be for a prominent oil depot, and the ubermenschen must triumph or run out of gas!

The Battle of the Bulge was a 1965 war drama by Warner Bros, based on the Ardennes Countoffensive of December 1944 and the related Operation Greif. The film was regarded as an answer to 1962 Fox film The Longest Day. Robert Shaw was cast as the German commander Col. Hessler, following his appearance as Grant in From Russia With Love. His character was considered a fictionalized version of accused war criminal Joachim Piper, the only role to closely correspond to an identifiable historical person. Others in the ensemble cast included Henry Fonda, Charles Bronson and Telly Savalas (see… Horror Express? And the Gobots movie???) as the tanker Guffy. The film was criticized at the time of release for historical inaccuracies by a number of participants in the battle, including Dwight Eisenhower. It later attracted controversy for its use of post-war armored vehicles, including American Pattons identified onscreen as German Tiger 2 tanks, and filming at locations in Spain that did not resemble the terrain or conditions of the battle. It was a possible commercial failure, earning a North American box office of $4.5 million against a $6.5M budget. It would benefit from frequent airings on television. As of April 2023, it is available for free streaming on Youtube.

For my experiences, this might well be the first major World War 2 movie I ever saw thanks to 1990s TV. Long after, still long ago, I had my rematch and definitely found it poorly aged. What really stood out in the research and ponderings that led to this review is how far it already was from the war. In the culminating irony, it’s still earlier than the biggest and possibly last “modern” wave of war films in the 1970s (see Cross Of Iron), which I now know accounts for most of the ones that I can remember encountering in the wild back when. That finally brought me very cautiously back to this one. I am now prepared to say, it held up a lot better than it is given credit for.

Moving forward, the obvious things to get out of the way are almost all things that were almost entirely beyond anyone’s control. In particular, there was simply no way to portray tanks in the numbers this film required without using the real thing. There was even less that could be done to film significant numbers of functioning armored vehicles effectively and safely, except under conditions far more ideal than those of a “real” battlefield. I must further emphasize that the vast majority of the movie’s scenes at least show snow and forests rather than the sunny plains (in Spain???) that everyone complains about. I will further admit, the wonky tanks definitely threw me off more than anything else the last time I came back to this one. Even then, what really bothered me was that I had no trouble envisioning solutions to a number of problems. The actual King Tiger in particular was already advanced enough that any number of later tanks could have substituted tolerably for it with no modification beyond a big enough mockup of the turret. Hell, if they had just called them Panzer IVs, a mockup of the gnarly late-war versions would already have so much extra plating we wouldn’t even see the wheels and suspension that give the most trouble.

That leaves the characters and story, which admittedly don’t hold up as well as they could have. The usual problem with ensemble casts is that the time for real character development has to be divided between them, and this suffers a little more than usual. In certain lights, Shaw’s character does as much harm as good. On the balance, he does at least deliver on his outsized screen time, actually pulling off the cold-blooded, hyper-analytical Prussian military man. The only thing really debatable is the effort to show his disapproval of the conduct of his men, which is uniquely framed in the same functional terms as his tactics. On the Allied side, we do get a relatable and genuinely entertaining everyman in Savalas, who might just as well have been elevated to the lead. The rest of the cast is either too undeveloped or cliches (both in the case of the doomed love interest). What again sets this apart is that the story actually works in many of the issues that truly decided the battle and the war. The chronic oil shortages of Nazi Germany are a recurring plot point that takes a brutal twist in the finale, while the vastly exaggerated effectiveness of the Greif masquerade indirectly highlights the extent to which it was founded in pulp adventures over sound tactics. (It’s worth further note that participants who survived to be brought to trial emphatically denied that they had fired on Allied troops while posing as same.) An extra highlight that came close to “one scene” status is the discovery by the baffled Nazis of a fresh chocolate cake, with all that it implies about the logistics that the US brought to bear.

Now for the “one scene”, I’m going with one that I realized I remembered from way back when, which I probably wouldn’t have placed in this movie without actually seeing it. Toward the end, Shaw/ Hessler is talking to his subordinate Conrad, portrayed by Christian Blech, who was not only German but an actual Wehrmacht veteran. When his commander reports that they have advanced further than any other unit, the subordinate exclaims, “We have won the war!” That draws a monologue from Hessler, who admits that conventional victory was already beyond the Nazis’ reach in 1941. Instead, he maintains that their war will simply go on indefinitely. When Conrad asks what will become of their families, the commandant says chillingly, “They will become German soldiers, and you will be proud of them.” It’s as warped a view of reality as Conrad’s laughable optimism, yet it captures both the outlook of the Nazis by the end of the war and the eventual realities of the Cold War. Given the fate of his real-life counterpart, it’s all the more unsettling to consider Shaw’s quite casual remark in the midst of this: “The world is not going to get rid of us after all…”

In closing, what I come to is an idea I initially developed earlier in this review, on what I consider the fundamental tiers of war films. The truly and fully “Historical” films are the ones that are or claim to be effectively documentaries or biographies, like The Longest Day, based entirely on “real” events and the experiences of those involved. At the other end are what I count as Allegories, especially in the “anti-war” subgenre, which openly use the events and setting as the backdrop for a broader message. (Separate rant, the latter category is where Enemy At The Gates should have been placed all along.) The actual “average” is the War Drama, a fictional narrative set within the historical setting. These films don’t have to be as meticulous as the first or as thematically ambitious as the second, just functional enough not to be at odds with reality beyond what narrative conventions and available technology already impose. In those terms, the present film is no more a “failure” than Saving Private Ryan. By my usual refrain, it did its duty. After all this time, that’s enough to earn my respect.

Miniature Giants: Mystery Monday crossover!

 

As I write this, I just went a whole week without making a post. I decided it was time to try going a week with a post for every day, which for a while was what I did every week. To kick things off, I decided it was worth doing another Marx figure post and if at all possible bring back my Mystery Monday feature. As it happened, I had a few things in my pipeline that fit both purposes, plus a few more things in reserve in case I didn't get something in time. To kick things off, here is the minor mystery, with a couple friends.

This lady is from the previously covered Campus Cuties line, labeled Lazy Afternoon. In the time I have been aware of these figures, she has been my favorite, though I waited a long time to make a purchase. What convinced me to make the purchase was that the figure was a white or gray color I had seen frequently, quite different from the pink color of the trio I had purchased. I had already seen others voice the suspicion that this was a mark of a reissue. I finally ordered the figure and had it arrive s little after my previous post. Here are a few more pics.

"Hmm, actually, I've never been canoeing in my life. Why do you ask?"

Now, it will be evident on examination that there are a few things that are... odd. First, this is one of two of the original 8 figures wearing pants instead of a dress or skirt, and the only one in what can be considered athletic wear. Because the oar is not anchored to the rest of the figure, it is commonly warped as a condition issue (also a problem with the Flag Guy astronaut). Then there are some odd details of of anatomy. The lady's endowments are not so much oversized as oddly squeezed, to a degree that would be difficult to achieve short of using recycled shock absorbers as an undergarment. Her hands and feet, on the other hand, are curiously small. (For that matter, the angle of her right wrist does not look natural or comfortable.) What really only stands out on actual handling (grow up...) is that things look significantly off-center, which might be rationalized as an ill-fitting jacket if the hood and her head didn't also appear skewed to starboard. The upshot of all of this is that Marx's moldmakers were still working out both the female form and poses that reflected peacetime activities. But the mystery was always, is this an original figure or a reissue? Here are a couple pics that just might give an answer.

To state my conclusion first, I am not necessarily convinced this is original, but I am definitely far less skeptical than I was. First and to me most significantly, the real color of the plastic is a tan or off-white, which is different than the pink usually accepted as a mark of authenticity but still a "flesh tone" in keeping with the concept of the line. Second, it does bear the Marx name and logo, though this is not conclusive. Third, it is made from soft plastic typical for Marx, which among other things made it relatively easy to bend the oar back into its intended position. My one reservation came down to two marks in the wrist, at least one of which should be visible in the first of the pics above. On casual inspection, this looks like nothing more or less than chipping, but that would really only happen with much harder plastic. There are independent signs of scratches on the figure, but this kind of damage would take deliberate gouging, which I see no evidence of. What I believe is that this is an imperfection caused by air pockets in the plastic (see the Field Museum Mold A Rama dinos), which would definitely be out of character for Marx. As usual, there is middle ground here; maybe this was made later, when the company was struggling, or perhaps in one of their foreign factories. And that brings me to the other item under consideration...

Now this was a figure where nothing looked right. While it is vaguely similar to the nominal 45mm figures I have been using for the Space Marine analogs, it did not match any of the sculpts used for the US soldiers within the 6-inch line. The fact that it was painted was odder still. On top of that, the whole style was quite different than usual for Marx. It would have been easy to count it as the work of a competing manufacturer (see the Lido draft dodger from back when), except that the seller showed a pic with Marx markings on the base. It was also reported that it was indeed 5 to 6 inches tall. I concluded that the only way to sort this out was to buy it. Immediately on receiving it, I discovered the greatest anomaly: The figure was made of hard plastic. Here is a lineup with the Japanese office and a Soviet soldier to show the difference.

And here are a couple more pics.

Now, this was a little more than a Wall of Nothing. The markings identified it with a set called Combat Soldiers, released as part of a reasonably well-known line called Warriors of the World which I ran across several times trying to run this guy down. These were "army men" figures of about 60mm scale that represented a range of nations and historical periods. Unusually, they were sold pre-painted, typically in individual boxes. Evidently, they also tried scaling these figures up to nominal 6-inch scale (I get about 5 1/2 inch, and yeah, part of the gun broke off) at the same time they started releasing the soft-plastic 6-inch figures we know and love. By all indications, this was a dead end of another dead end. Warriors of the World clearly failed to displace playsets with unpainted army men. As for their large-sized counterparts, the WW2/ Vietnam era US soldiers are the only ones I turned up that received this treatment. By all indications, they were short-lived compared to their soft plastic counterparts. I believe it is possible they were sold mainly outside the US, based on the fact that the only other seller to offer them was in another country. As for their value, I paid a little more than usual for this one because it was so clearly unusual. The problem, as I keep doomsaying, is that price is a function of demand more than actual scarcity, so most likely, items as obscure as this will remain no more than moderately expensive.

Now I really need to wrap this up. I can't call it a night without a shot of the Truckstop Queen! We've come a long way, kind of...

That's all for now, more to come!

Fiction: The Space Guys Adventure, part 21!

 It's the end of the month, so of course, I'm going with one more Space Guys installment, actually starting where I left off. As usual, the table of contents is at the end.

“Losing your line takes a big mistake,” Jason said succinctly. “I wouldn’t have thought the real Major Maxon would do it. But then mistakes aren’t always accidents. Are they?”

“So I screwed up once,” Maxon said. “You saw yourself, it didn’t break. Now, what do you really want to talk about?”

“Are you expecting me to ask about the scar?” Jason snapped back. “Or the silly knife you left in the locker?” Moxon returned his gaze in silence. “Well, I wondered about one thing. Did you ever tell the story, any story about what happened, to someone who didn’t ask?”

Moxon considered that. “Well, never is a strong word,” he said. “Usually, the ones who don’t ask don’t want to know, or they have enough rank to make it an order. Now for you, I’d think about it. But first thing first, if it was a choice, would you want to know about that scar… or these?” He rolled up his long left sleeve. Beneath was a trail of needle marks. Jason stiffened, though he felt no surprise.

“So they did try it on you,” he said.

Moxon nodded. “Whatever they did to you and your friends, they tried on me first,” he said. “You could say I’m your father figure… leastways, your godfather Fagan.”

Jason spoke one word: “When?”

“It was after Futura landed the Ares, just before Kronos started out,” Moxon said. “It wasn’t long before I got the big one. I had been in the Baton Rouge intervention, only my team was up in Missouri. They were still getting the Corps into a proper force. In the middle of it, there was a call that came out, completely above board. All they said was that they wanted volunteers for a treatment that would help humans adapt to extreme environments. They didn’t say anything about interplanetary colonization. Of course, they didn’t really have to. I signed on, just to see what they really knew.”

Jason shook his head. “They wouldn’t do it now,” he said. “They should have known better then. To do it right, you need to start the treatments by 18 months at the latest. With Jax and Jill, they started as soon as they were sure she was expecting. On adults, the effects are too unpredictable…”

“Trust me, they figured that out really quick,” Moxon said. “There were 30 of us to start with. They kept us together at a medium-clearance facility, the kind where the people supposed to know what’s happening, eventually. 10 were screened out after the first round or so, before things could really kick in. From what came out later, it took another 6 weeks of screening before they were allowed to be in contact with the public. By then, we were down to 12. Then it was 8, then 5, then 3, then me.  The last two were self service.”

“Damn,” Jason said. “What happened after that?”

“I got back on duty as soon as it was over,” the officer said. “The military had wanted to see us in action all along. I had already been on the fast track. People in the right places made sure I kept going up. There were times when the enhancements helped. Once or twice, it might have been the difference whether I got out at all. I never took too many chances.”

He smiled. “If it comes to that, I just might tell you a little more,” he said. “You could ask. Or you could take a guess. But you already know enough.  Take it out.” Jason went to the storage closet. It only took a moment to retrieve the flame knife. “Yes, that’s right. You’ve got the legend right in your hand. The blade that did this.” He pointed to the scar that ran from his scalp to his jaw.

Jason considered the jagged scar and the twisting blade. One certainly fit the other. Of course, he pondered the possibilities of using the blade to finish what its original owner had started. But then, of course, it was already obvious how that had gone. “You know, the one other thing I wondered was how anybody else got past you.”

Moxon shook his head in turn. “That’s where everyone wants there to be a story,” he said. “Like there was something special, leastways something that went wrong. There wasn’t, no more than usual. It could have happened at a hundred different places. Maybe it would have, sooner or later. Where it did happen was central Indo-Malaya, on an island a ways east of Bali. Even the maps didn’t give it a name. Harrison flew us in, by the way. Back then, we called him the Rookie. He was always one of us; remember that.”

He gave a smile that seemed wistful. “We were supposed to secure the local administrative center,” he said. “It was the only building made of stuff sturdy enough for the doors to be easier to go through than the walls. I sent one of my own men to secure the rear entrance. I decided to check. Just in case. The door was wide open.”

He pantomimed a pistol with his pointer finger. “One of them was in the room,” he said. “He probably saw me about as soon as I saw him. I took a moment to assess whether it was worth taking him for questioning. He actually called for his mates. That was answer enough. There was one more who came through the door. I took care of him. That was when the one with this came at me from inside. I could have got him with my carbine, of course, but I had to keep that door covered.”

He took back the flame knife. “I’ve said, amateurs are predictable, in their own way. They always think coming in a rush will make up for anything else. It might give them a 10, maybe 20 percent chance. If they’re clever, they’ll try quick, instinctive moves, or if they aren’t, they’ll just swing blind.” He pantomimed with the blade.

“The real problem when you’re the pro is, you get used to assuming the other guy knows as much as you do. Most of the time, it’s safer to be wrong. So, when I saw this thing, the first thing I thought was, that’s junk from Mindanao, and if he doesn’t know that, he’d have stuck himself already.” He tapped the blade three times on the glass. The lightest touch still made the grip rattle. “The other thing I figured was, that’s made for slashing, not stabbing, and if he can work that out, he’s coming in low. Maybe he saw that and changed his tack last second. I doubt it.”

He raised the blade point downward in a pose that would have drawn ridicule in a Weird Tales illustration. “This is how he did it. He couldn’t have known it would work. He got me just a little off the chin. That throws people off.” He tapped where the scar met his jaw line. “I caught him by the wrist. It wasn’t a tight hold, because he had a puffy sleeve. That’s when I said, let’s be reasonable. He just pushed up.” He traced the shape of the scar in mid air.

“What really happened to him?” Jason asked.

“My people came in before any more of his showed up,” Moxon said. “The first one in was the same one who was supposed to secure the door in the first place. He popped off half a clip. He nearly got me along with the other guy. He didn’t go out with us again.”

There was a long silence. Finally, Jason said, “Alek says she knows the real story, about the scar. She told me they gave her your file to get her on board. Would they have told her about the rest?”

Moxon pondered the question. “She would know enough,” he said. “She knew about you, too, whatever she says. That’s how she’s always been. She would rather act dumb than be too smart with someone she really likes.”

“Maybe that’s a survival trait,” Jason said. It got a braying laugh from Moxon. “And don’t think you can play dumb, either. You talk like you know her, so why would she know you?”

“Oh, I meet lots of people,” he said. “Really, there aren’t that many people who get to be what you’d call important without running into me sooner or later. With her, it’s just a little closer.”

“Okay,” Jason said. “When did you meet her?”

“Now, it’s not that simple,” Moxon said. “She did a lot of things that got a lot of people interested in her very early on. She published her first paper at age 9. She got her first doctorate when she was 12. By 16, she was pulling down 7 figures. The problem was, she wasn’t a quick learner when it came to what to talk about. Her people thought she would be another Tanya. Our people were worried someone would take steps before she got that far. So, everybody agreed to send someone who could keep an eye on her. I volunteered.”

“So I suppose you were her Fagan, too,” Jason said with a scowl.

“Your word, not mind,” Moxon said. “I’d say I was better than that to her. We’ve run into each other on the regular, no more than others. I mostly kept things hands-off. I talked to the right people to find out what she was up to. Now and then, I steered someone her way. Once or twice, I ran somebody off before she got into trouble.”

Jason folded his arms. “What about me?” he said sternly.

“Now you were different,” Moxon said coolly. “You were pretty high profile already. Leastways, your family is. When she connected with you, there were people who were hoping to see it go further. They thought someone like you would finally get her under control. I told them to let it be. For what it’s worth, there was nobody else in the picture. The one they were talking about back on Earth, she hadn’t seen in eight months when she started writing to you. We gave Anastasia better odds than him.”

He smiled and held out the knife. “Now, why don’t you do what you’ve been thinking?” he said. “Take it, then take your best shot. I won’t guarantee I won’t fight back, but we both know you’d have a chance, if you’ve got it in you at all. But that’s the rub, isn’t it? You have ahimsa in your heart. Just about all of you farmboys do. To kill, even let someone take their own fall like you could have, just isn’t you. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, far from it.”

Jason looked down at the knife. “Well, it’s like you said,” he spoke through clenched teeth. With a backhanded slap, he knocked the weapon out of the officer’s hand. “It’s junk from Mindanao.” Moxon’s smile spread. “How old are you, anyway?”

“He’s 53,” a voice called out. He turned to see Alek in the doorway. “Come. You, leave him alone.”

 

He was relieved to follow her out. “You really did it, didn’t you?” Alek said. “You saved him, or leastways made sure. Nobody else knows, except maybe Donald.” She took his hand. “I’m proud of you, farmboy.”

That night, they slept in the zero-G quarters. The crew crowded together, while cartoons played at one-fourth volume. “I was thinking about something Moxon said,” he murmured to her. “He talked about killing a tiger to save a deer, and how that makes you responsible for the deer. Well, doesn’t that make you responsible for the tiger, too?”

Alek pressed a finger to his lips. “Listen to me,” she said in a flat voice. “Moxon was never going to die out there. You were never going to kill him. Do no worry. When we have to, we deal with him together.” She kissed him. Within bare moments, she was asleep.

A while later, Jason raised his head at the sound of a familiar theme. Sure enough, the opening of Major Maxon was playing. He realized it was the longer version used for the first episode. As he watched, the fictional major wrestled with an exotic-looking assailant in a turban. He was shown with two eyes instead of his eyepatch. In the midst of the fight, Maxon caught hold of the attacker’s wrist as he stabbed for his face. Sure enough, the weapon was a flame blade.

 

He snorted and drew his arms tighter around Alek. Soon, he too was asleep.

Table of contents

Part 1. The demo!

Part 2. The villain!

Part 3. The world-building!

Part 4. The romance!

Part 5. The killer robot!

Part 6: The shuttle ride!

Part 7: Alternate universe pop culture!

Part 8: The launch!

Part 9: The girl talk!

Part 10: The domestic disturbance!!!

Part 11: The Space Nazis!!!

Part 12: The inevitable geography lesson!

Part 13: The wedding!!!

Part 14:  The spicy chapter!

Part 15: The bad guy backstory!

Part 16: The Dinner!

Part 17: The alternate history!

Part 18: The weapons exposition!

Part 19: The alternate history Captain America!

Part 20: Zero G repairs!