The Horrible Horror Vault: The one with Terry Thomas and a killer rope

 

 

Title: The Vault of Horror

What Year?: 1973

Classification: Weird Sequel/ Mashup

Rating: That’s Good! (4/4)

 

As I write this, I’m preceding with my plans for a Halloween lineup, and I’ve been debating what to do with this feature in particular. It should be clear from the title as well as the preceding entries that I was inspired by movies that are all kinds of not great. It would be easy to fill out the lineup with actual “bad” movies, even after the dumpster dives I already did for No Good Very Bad Movies. As I keep ranting, however, making fun of bad movies has never been what I do. It also happens that the title itself is a reference to a movie that I have already held up as very, very good, so it is only natural that I should finally review it here. I present The Vault of Horror, a comic book sequel that improves on the original, and that was already pretty good.

Our story begins with a view of the London cityscape, set to egregiously dramatic music. We then find several dapper gentlemen who find themselves stuck on an elevator that leaves them in a subbasement where nobody seems to be around, though they still have no qualms about eating from a plate of cheese. The men began to tell their dreams and visions, leading into a series of tales of murder, mayhem and revenge. There is an heir who goes to the wrong restraint after murdering his sibling; an obsessive-compulsive who drives his young(er) wife over the brink; and a magician who will go to any lengths to obtain the secret of an Indian mystic’s rope trick. That is followed up with an insurance scheme that collides with a pair of graverobbers. Finally, we get a zesty tale of voodoo where a painter uses a curse against the patrons who wronged him. But when all the tales are told, they must still find out where they really are!

The Vault of Horror was a 1973 anthology horror/ fantasy film by Amicus (see The People That Time Forgot), produced as a sequel to Tales From The Crypt released the previous year. The film was based on stories from the EC comics Tales From The Crypt and Shock SuspenStories, but none from the Vault of Horror comic, which had been the source of a segment in the original film. The film was directed by Roy Ward Baker, known for A Night To Remember, replacing Freddy Francis. The cast included Terry Thomas of It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World and Mary Poppins’ Glynnis Johns as the dysfunctional Mr. and Mrs. Critchit, Kurt Jurgens as the magician, Tom Baker as the vengeful painter and real-life siblings Daniel and Anna Massey as the estranged brother and sister of the opening segment. Two different versions were released, one rated R on US release and the other PG; the latter version became more controversial. The film was poorly received by contemporary reviewers, many of whom already viewed the original film unfavorably, but became reasonably popular with genre fans and critics. Both cuts of the film have been released on disc, most significantly a 2014 Shout release containing both versions and Tales From The Crypt. As of 2022, it is not available for digital purchase or rental in the United States.

For my experiences, I already covered a good deal of this when I reviewed Tales From The Crypt, which I have started to think I was a little too hard on. In that review, I raised the question which film is better. What has interested me most, however, is the very disparate status of the two films. The original movie has remained an undisputed “classic” that even critical reviewers take seriously. The second film, in contrast, has remained lesser-known, bordering on obscure, to the point that I myself can’t recall knowing of it until both films came out together in a combo pack. Once I did watch it, I found this to be the most unaccountable and certainly unfair thing about it, because whether or not you favor it over the original, the present film is just as worthy of attention.

Moving forward, I’m starting with the best, which is the second segment with Thomas and  Johns. This gets my pick for the best piece of either movie (perhaps equal with “Blind Alleys”), admittedly in no small part for hitting very close to home for me as an autism-spectrum self-advocate. It’s a poignant and surprisingly nuanced tale of two flawed characters who in no way deserve their fates yet cannot avert the inevitable. Everything else speaks for itself, especially the performances of the leads. There’s a perfectly good follow-up in the middle act. At face value, it’s a predictable old-style morality play with what is in cold blood one of the most ludicrous monsters on record. The real horror is in the details, starting with Jurgens’ ruthless character and his equally cold-blooded partner (played by TV stalwart Dawn Addams). There’s disturbing subtlety in the seemingly spontaneous unfolding of their plan, which neither of them really has to argue or explain to the other. The quite obvious consequences add a certain note of hubris; as the anti-hero learns too late, newfound belief is not the same as respect. Any and all further objections are overridden by the vengeful magic rope. (Just saying that should tell the innocent bystander what I’m dealing with here…) None of the effects in this little franchise were particularly good even for their own time, and this is definitely not the best, but for malign personality in a nominally inanimate object, this is right up there with the truck in Duel.

Oof course, it will already by obvious that not all the segments are this good. It doesn’t help that the first story is the one I have long considered the worst. I came out with a somewhat better impression of it in the viewing for this review. At least there is style and ingenuity as the especially foul murderer finds himself in a restaurant full of the undead, culminating in a justly publicized tableau as his would-be victim appears. I still can’t reach a better opinion of the penultimate segment, a contrived variation of the buried-alive tale that should have been laid to rest (pun unavoidable) by the preceding film’s realistic depiction of embalming as a plot point. It might sink the whole movie if not for the finale, not nearly as strong as the original’s, but still a lively tale greatly improved by Tom Baker’s incredibly low-pitched voice. (See, of all things, my Golden Voyage of Sinbad collectibles post.) One more thing I can’t pass over is the theme music, I’m sure created as a mashup of “Night On Bald Mountain” and “Dies Irae” (see… Chopper Chicks in Zombietown???). It could easily be counted as ludicrous, particularly against the sunny city scenes; by further comparison, the absolutely awful “Toccata” track of the original film (yes, you can make Bach sound bad) at least fit the somber Gothic scenery. Still, there is effort here that pays off with real effect then and now, which is more than can be said for the “trendy” synthesizer scores that would multiply as the decade progressed.

Now for the “one scene”, I’m going with one that I didn’t quite fit into my comments above. In the midst of the final segment, Baker as the exiled artist finds his way to a witch doctor. It begins with a dark hut, and the inevitable drumming that doesn’t actually seem to come from on-screen. When we get a look at the shaman, he is decidedly more like a westernized extra than an authentic practitioner, which in context actually works pretty well. In keeping with this modern aesthetic, both parties get right to their business without trying to impress each other. When questioned about his purpose, the artist simply says, “Revenge.” With some reluctance, he goes through with the quite simple ritual, by now accompanied by a genuinely eerie flute. At the end, he asks with a hint of mockery if the witch doctor will give him a doll to stick pins in. He answers as if stating the obvious, “You are artist, you don’t need doll.” It’s a scene that could embody the whole style of both films: Outwardly atmospheric, inwardly economical, and entirely effective.

In closing, I come back to which film is “better”. At this point, I am ready to admit that I could go back and forth simply based on mood. The real lesson to be drawn from that is that this film and Tales From The Crypt are far more different than they might appear in description or even casual viewing. The first film was closest to the comics, a fact which is self-evident even to those like me with only a general knowledge of the period and genre. As such, it was more colorful, more action-driven, more open with its humor and in many lights more “fun” overall. This film went back and dug deeper, down to the more serious and “adult” bedrock that was there all along. To me, that makes it the more successful and innovative of the two when all other allowances are made. The real bottom line is, there is no “bad” choice here; the only thing that’s overdue is for more people to give them both a chance. That’s enough for me to bring this to an end for another day.

Fiction: The Space Guys Adventure, Part 4!

 

It's time for the mid-week post, and I still didn't have anything better than another Space Guys installment. I had a bit more to this one but I cut things off, partly because my romance plots are already getting locked in a groove. Here's links for parts 1, 2 and 3. Also, behold the glory of Fisher Price Construx!

Moxon took out a video case. He seemed to mumble as he took out the carrying caddy that held the disc. He opened the top of a player on top of a hexagonal audio-video console. The circular screen underneath came on. Jason smiled at the sight of Sparky.

“The studio is our biggest sponsor,” Alek mused. “Anyway, it’s tradition…”

“Hello, folks,” he said in his falsetto voice. The squirrel’s ears, with their long, dark tufts, twitched as he talked. “I’m Sparky, the mascot of the United Nations Combined Space Exploration And Development Agency. We’ve come a long way, haven’t we? Now, I’m here to tell you about our next mission. We’re going to Neptune. That’s 3 billion miles from the sun, can you believe it? To do it, we needed the biggest, fastest ship ever. Here’s some nice, smart folks who will tell you about it…”

The screen went dark momentarily. When it came back, the screen showed a stern face like something out of a book of mythology, viewed from head on. One side, however, was a second face turned in profile. It made Jason think uneasily of his first glimpse of Moxon. “It is the days of ancient Rome,” a deep and serious voice said. The picture showed a reconstruction of temples and villas bustling with evidently happy people. “They worship many gods. Perhaps the greatest is Janus, the brother of Uranus, the father of Saturn and the grandfather of Jupiter. He is the protector of doors and city gates. The bringer of good fortune, the guardian of commerce and the preserver of peace. It is his name that has been given to the ship that will carry mankind to  the edge of interstellar space.”

Pictures appeared of the Janus, both models and the actual ship, the latter usually in various stages of construction. Various specs were given that usually fit what the captain had mentioned. Jason realized that the long, spindly fuselage he had passed was really only a third of the ship, even with the huge payloader added. The rest was divided somewhat unequally between the hexagonal engineering section that supported the wheel they were in and a bell-like assembly that looked in cross-section like a 6-pointed star with its arms cut short or rounded down, full of colossal thrusters and even more enormous storage tanks. Apart from the sheer size, the only truly unusual features were a smaller ring behind the life-support wheel and at least two gigantic spheres in the tail. As he thought this, the narrator said, “What look like fuel tanks at the rear are really a cryogenic system for storing, condensing and mixing hydrogen and other gases for the ship’s main reactor. They are fed by electromagnetic conduits into a fission-fusion reactor vessel and from there into a toroidal fusion generator. The waste gases are expelled as exhaust from the ship’s secondary thrusters.”

As if in in afterthought, the voice added, “The life support section holding the crew simulates gravity through centrifugal force, roughly .25 EG for every 3 to 4 rotations per minute.” The image focused on one of the drive nacelles, nearly twice as long and half again as long as the life support modules. From the front it was what Jason knew as a Steinmetz solid, like a cross between a dome and pyramid. It tapered into a ring of seven stubby engines cylinders spread out just enough to accommodate a crew. “The same structure contains the ship’s primary propulsion system, 21 argon/ xenon plasma thrusters in three nacelles. The ship can accelerate to an optimal average speed of 250,000 miles per hour in as little as 20 days.”

After more obvious facts, the narrator moved forward. “So what challenge could require such a powerful ship?” he said. The screen showed a blue-green orb, circled by an opalescent ring. “This is the planet Neptune, named for the Roman god of the oceans, the outermost of the giant  gaseous planets of the Solar System. It is 4 times the diameter of Earth, with 60 times the volume and 20 times the mass. Like the other outer planets, it is made almost entirely from condensed hydrogen and other gases. Its orbit is 2.8 billion miles from Sol, so far that the very light of the sun takes more than 4 hours to reach it. Mars, the most distant Earth-like planet, is 2.6 billion miles short. Titan, the para-moon of Saturn, the furthest body inhabited by mankind, remain 2 billion miles distant at its nearest approach. Even Uranus, the next furthest of the gaseous planets, is 1 billion miles from the planet. To reach it, the Janus and its crew most go more than twice as far as the longest voyage in history, without refueling or relief. Yet, their objective is not the planet, but the bodies that orbit it.”

Finally, a grainy image appeared of a mottled orb, seen against the background of Neptune. “This is Proserpine, named for the wife of Pluto, the ruler of the dead,” the announcer said. “Astronomers believe it to be a sister to the para-planet Pluto, captured by the gravity of the gaseous planet. It is a para-moon twice the diameter of Luna with at least 50% greater density, first observed by the Kronos expedition. Remarkably, spectrographic scans have confirmed that it has a gaseous atmosphere with significant quantities of carbon dioxide, oxygen and even possible water vapor, all necessary characteristics to support para-Terrestrial life. The Janus has been sent to survey the para-moon both for human colonization and for possible native organisms. If the expedition succeeds, we may have confirmation whether Earth is the only planet to produce organic life. More than that, we will have opened one more gateway on our path to the stars!”

The captain sighed and signaled for Moxon to stop the video. “That is the official mission briefing, already released to the public,” he said. “I welcome your thoughts. What I’d really like to know is, why did you decide to come?”

Jax shook his head. “It’s Titan all over again,” he said. “They said it was so Earthlike, they might relocate the Mars colonies there. 10 years later, all they’ve done is put 12 poor frozen bastards in a pressure dome that four of us Martians couldn’t sleep in. I’d want to know what’s out there, but I’m tired of people saying there’s aliens or something just past where we’ve been. Honestly, I signed up to get off Mars for a while.”

“I’ve been following it,” Jason said more evenly. “It’s an important mission. Even if we had to turn around, it will be a shakedown for new technology.”

The old man Futura clasped his wife’s hand. “It’s one last thing nobody’s done before,” he said. “It will probably be our last ride.”

“I’m just happy to work with new people,” Alek said. She slapped Jason’s hip. “It’s exciting, no?”

“I’m here because I was the only one in the right place with the right skills,” Moxon said.

Dr. Cahill just laughed. “I came to see the universe,” she said with a shrug. Only then did Jason see she wore a wedding ring.

“All very good!” the captain said. “Moxon, why don’t you get the new arrivals settled in? It will be the fitting room first, then your bunks.”

 

Moxon led the Martians, Alek and Dr. Cahill through the life-support ring to an intermediate connecting module. Jason tried to relax as Alek came up alongside him. “It’s good to meet in person,” she said. “I understand, now, why it wouldn’t have worked before. You know, I was sure I saw you through the window of the shuttle. I saw your picture in the news, after you were chosen. I would have gone to meet you, but I had a meeting with the captain.”

“I saw you, too,” Jason said. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find you. Except… I didn’t really recognize you. You… don’t look like the photo you sent.”

“No glasses?” Alek said.

“Maybe,” Jason said. “But it’s not just that. It’s like, you changed just a little. More confident, maybe.” That just got a smile from Alek.

“Thank you for explaining, about Mars,” she said after a moment’s pause. “I can see now, why  it would no have worked to visit.”

“It was just the wrong time, for you and me,” Jason said. “I should have waited.”

“Of course, you were right.” She abruptly kissed him on the cheek. “But we have understanding, no? And we have plenty time. 20 months there, 12 back. We can take as much time as we need.”

They reached a chamber lined with clothes, including two-piece undergarments. A female officer was waiting, a statuesque older woman with a stern, striking face and incongruous platinum-blonde curly hair. “Tanya,” Dr. Cahill said curtly.

“Lana,” the other said, with the long, slow inflection of an enthusiastically-cast curse.

“This is Tanya Plotnikov,” Moxon said with unconcealed amusement. “She is the senior officer for the Trans-Eurasian Federation, as I am for the Pan-Atlantic Union.”

“Where is she from?” Jason wondered out of the side of his mouth. “Novgorod? Circassia? Finland?”

“Edinburgh,” Alek whispered back. She pointed to Dr. Cahill. “They go to same school.”

 

The women and the men inspected each other’s garments without embarrassment, at least from the former. “These are your inner garments,” Moxon said. “Frankly, we’ve already gotten casual enough that a lot of us wear nothing else.”

Jason was already considering the differences between the garments for each gender. Both were provided with a kind of undershirt that fastened in front with a circular slide that was twisted and then pulled down. The bottom piece differed more. The men were given what looked halfway between swimming trunks and a codpiece, with a slide in front and a kind of flap in back. The women, on the other hand, were provided with underpants that did not quite cover their hips, fastened entirely with a slide that started from the back. “It is quite easy to use, actually,” Alek said. “I helped with the design. All you have to do is twist and then gently pull…” Jax almost choked as she demonstrated.

A partition went up as they changed. Jason and Jax turned awkwardly as they changed. The fatigues provided were a robin’s-egg blue with a hint of green, evidently to match the color of Neptune. The outermost layer, meant to be worn meant to be worn during excursions on a planetary surface, was a jumpsuit of a silver-gray like pencil lead, with light gray belts and straps girding the waist and torso that bore bright reflective patches. Jason started as the partition came open. Dr. Cahill stood in only her inner garments, leaning against the wall. It was obvious that time had not been hard on her figure. He had a peripheral glimpse of Alek, pressed behind a bulkhead as she hastily pulled down her dress. “Howdy, boys,” Cahill said. “Looking for a good time?” Jax gave a drawn-out whistle. Cahill and Alek both laughed as she shut the partition again.

“You’re married,” Jason said to Jax.

“You had an understanding with Jen Johnson,” Jax muttered back.

“What do you mean?” Jason said. “Who told you that?”

“Well, I saw what you were doing in Port Eris!”

Moxon cleared his throat as they reached a room, one of two in the rear side-passage of the final living module. Two other men across the way looked up at them briefly before closing a privacy partition. “This will be your room, for the time being,” Moxon said. A glance confirmed that it was 2.8 meters long and 1.4 meters deep. The space was dominated by a couch 1.8 meters long that could convert to a bed that spanned most of the cabin. The remainder held a lavatory that combined a mirror, a slide-out sink and a recessed stall recognizable on examination as a combination shower and floor toilet.

“You may have noticed, every standard cabin has either one of these or a kitchen,” Moxon said. “You will be sharing with the boys across the way. They’re our Indo-Malayan contingent. Sarip is from Sulawesi, Aisi is from Papua. Good fellows; they’ll warm up to you if you give them a little space. Well, as much as you can.” He laughed. “And we have this for tall boys like you…”

He dismounted the back of the couch. With Jason’s help, it locked into a frame overhead; he assisted more with its unwieldly size than the miniscule weight. Together with an overhead shelf, it formed a bed 2.5 meters long and .75 meters wide. It intruded slightly into the lavatory, but was recessed far enough that it did not overhang the couch/ bed below. “It’s not ideal, but it’s going to be your best bet,” the officer said. “It even has its own partition.” He demonstrated a curtain that slid out from the bin. “There’s a self-inflating cushion and other bedding in storage. You can climb up with this…” He reached up for an overhead bin above the lavatory. Sure enough, a ladder slid out and swung down. As the officer extended himself, Jason’s eyes were drawn to something hanging from his belt. It was a knife, unimpressive in itself, with an ivory grip that had clearly replaced the original and a studded guard that could only be intended to double as a brass knuckles. He hastily averted his gaze as the other man turned, but his lip was already curled in a half-smile.

“You like that, don’t you?” Moxon said, even as Jason shook his head. “I don’t blame you. It’s certainly a conversation piece.” He deliberately gripped the knife, the blade pointed downward. On closer examination, it was clear that the knuckles had been sharpened, possibly with machine tools. “I picked this up in Sri Lanka, from an old Tamil trooper. He said his father had used it in the First Great War, all the way over in France. So he said. For all I know, he could have got it at a pawn shop in Old Siam. I never had a chance to ask him about it again.” He demonstrated a punch, a slash, and a slow and deliberate throat-cutting motion. He laughed again and stepped out. Jax promptly shut the partition.

“I don’t know what’s up with him,” Jason said.

“I think maybe he likes you,” Jax answered. Jason shook his head and climbed up to the extended bunk.

Jason had spent an hour settling onto an indifferent mattress when there was a knock at the partition. Almost immediately, the partition unlocked and opened. He narrowly stopped short of braining himself as he sat up. Already, someone was climbing up the ladder. For a moment, he swore he could see Moxon’s face rising into view. But it took just a little longer or the intruder to appear. The face was Alek’s, and in that moment, she seemed just as terrifying.

“Hi, Jason,” she said. “I’m sorry, can we talk?” He nodded. She smiled as she climbed into the bunk and slid the partition into place behind her.

The Horrible Horror Vault: The one with Mary Woronov

 

 

Title: Silent Night, Bloody Night aka Night of the Full Dark Moon

What Year?: 1972

Classification: Prototype

Rating: For Crying Out Loud!!! (1/4)

 

If there’s one thing that might be surprising about my reviews, it’s that it’s not uncommon for me to start a feature for just one movie. The truly counterintuitive part is that often, the one that starts things rolling isn’t even the one I get to first. With this new feature, I have another case and point, a film that had interested me for a moderate amount of time, and it only made sense to wait for Halloween. As a bonus, it came to my attention because of an actress who has greatly impressed me through just a small part of her work. I present Silent Night, Bloody Night, a movie that has been nominated as one of the first slasher movies, and features Mary Woronov.

Our story begins with a woman narrating her life story. We then jump back in time to the gruesome death of an old man in ca 1950, which sets up a legal non-drama about the ownership of a house in the present/ early 1970s. It turns out that our narrator is Diane, the daughter of the mayor, and friendly with Jeffrey, the descendant who has inherited the house. When a couple assigned to prepare the house for sale are brutally murdered, it starts to look like the family has a darker past. That’s when we learn that the house was a mental institution before the death of the patriarch. It’s secrets and more secrets, revealed about as fast as the persons implicated end up dead anyway, all while Christmas approaches. But the real surprise is, our heroine is barely even in this movie!

Silent Night, Bloody Night was a 1972 horror film written and directed by Theodore Gershuny. The film was reportedly filmed in late 1970, and taken up for post-production distribution by Cannon Films, later the Cannon Group. (Fine, here’s the joke links.) The film featured Mary Woronov (see Terrorvision, Night of the Comet) as Diane and James Patterson as Jeffrey, with the late John Carradine as one of the victims. Woronov and several other cast members were previously best known for work with Andy Warhol. Patterson died of cancer in August 1972, several months before the film’s limited US theatrical release. The film became known as an early slasher movie and possibly the first Christmas-themed horror film, notably being released the same year as Tales From The Crypt and  2 years before Black Christmas. It gained popularity through television including annual Christmas broadcasts on certain stations, but remained poorly regarded by critics. Gershuny went on to direct several more films, including the 1973 film Sugar Cookies also featuring Woronov.  The film is considered to be in the public domain based on an invalid copyright notice.

For my experiences, I have always been vocal in my disinterest in slasher movies (see Sleepaway Camp, Phenomena and for that matter High Tension). I have been coming to admit, however, that this has been largely independent of the examples I have actually watched. To me, the “best” examples I have encountered are either early enough to predate the “boom” that defined the genre or sufficiently atypical that I would put them outside it. (I’ll say this once: Texas Chainsaw Massacre is a “slasher”, Nightmare On Elm Street is not.) Beyond that, the root problem with how the genre was perceived by the 1980s is much the same as the spy movie in the 1970s (see Moonraker): By the time it reached peak popularity, the most visible examples were already either going in other directions or actually parodying the genre itself. (This is extending the benefit of a doubt to at least one 1980s “tentpole” entry.) With all that in mind, I was especially curious about this especially early artifact. After watching it, I must say that my foremost conclusion is that the “bad” elements and trends of the genre were there all along.

Moving forward, one thing I will freely admit that I made absolutely no effort to figure out this movie while I was actually watching it. On top of that, I ended up having to quit the movie and finish later, so I didn’t really view it according to my usual obsessive “rules”. I will say in my defense, however, that watching this under these non-ideal circumstances made it that much easier to notice certain flaws. First, the Christmas tie-in never goes anywhere, which really wouldn’t be a problem if the filmmaker didn’t keep trying to play it up. The bottom line on this front is that films which do this “right” can offer social commentary, actual religious symbolism or at least a sense of irony (see Night of the Comet and its predecessor Sole Survivor), which are rarely if ever in evidence here. Second, this movie is jarringly tame, to the point that I am baffled why it came out R instead of ‘70s PG (compare to, dear Logos, Tourist Trap). Even factoring in my strong suspicion that the version I viewed was censored at certain points, what we see is mild and strangely stilted. The very choice of weapons is oddly unambitious. Sure, there’s some action with an axe, but the most extensive kill sequence is strictly blunt instruments, conspicuously lacking the visceral brutality that other movies achieve with far less time and detail. The one really shocking moment comes when the damsel’s would-be rescuers meet each other with friendly fire.

Meanwhile, the central and very fundamental problem is that the movie relies far too much on its convoluted yet ultimately unambitious plot. The obvious drawback is that there’s no way in Hell the civilian viewer going to keep track of the characters and events long enough to know what they are even talking about when the biggest and most breathlessly dramatized revelations are made. (I honestly thought it was supposed to be about Diane’s own parentage, but nope…) The still deeper problem beneath that is that this film seems to misunderstand its game in ways that others did not, even at a time when everyone was still trying to settle the rules. In the most awful of the roughly contemporary giallo films (I’ll name-drop Don’t Torture A Duckling, because I know I’m never getting anything out of it), there was already enough self-awareness to understand the difference between a genre’s conceits and what is actually appealing. The identity and motives of the killer (or killers) and how it was revealed didn’t matter any more than the villain’s choice of superweapons in a Bond movie, yet this film seems to think that will be enough to impress the viewer. Worse, it still manages to make both the details and the presentation far less interesting than movies that are no better in absolutely any other respect.

That gets me far enough for the “one scene”, and I’m going with the one sequence that does something interesting enough to be memorable. Very close to the end of the movie, we get one more flashback through the diary of the patriarch. He recounts the transformation of his estate into an insane asylum, and his eventual decision to let the inmates go. He intones ominously, “I knew what they would do… but still, I let them go.” The sepia-tone flashback shows the inmates emerging to the recurring droning of a Christmas hymn, slow and, like many things here, jarringly subdued. Soon, they close in on a gathering of the wealthy donors and staff, most of whom appear too inebriated or overfed to notice as the inmates enter. What’s striking is that this is vastly more effective than the shenanigans so far. It’s heightened by the ambiguous expressions of the inmates. Some might just be confused and disoriented, others look wary and calculating, and the evident leader has a clearly focused and malign expression. Finally, he breaks a cocktail glass, while the fattest of the patrons still sleeps, and if you know giallo films, you know this isn’t going anywhere good. Per my usual refrain, this is the kind of “good” scene that makes a bad film all the more frustrating. In this case, however, I don’t think there was ever an answer except to make this the movie.

In closing, what I come back to is the origins of the slasher genre. If one insists on having a “first” example of the genre, at least independent of the giallo film, then this is as good a contender as one could hope to find. It further embodies what is good, bad and weird in  film this far ahead of the genre trends it represents. It’s so primitive and underfunded that it’s all rough edges, yet it is also free of many/ most of the actual and alleged cliches that would make slashers a subject of ridicule in another decade. As usual, even the lowest rating on the scale I use here denotes a film worth watching at least once. Just don’t expect a forgotten classic, because this is not it. With that, I am moving on.

Return of Mid-Sized Marx: Futuristic accessories!

 

As I write this, it's a week into the month when I'm usually on overdrive, and I'm juggling multiple projects including a new job. I've made the foolhardy decision to try to stick with my  "normal" schedule for the full month. As it happens, I did have the makings of an easy entry thanks to the ongoing Marx Space Guys adventure, which I've already committed to enough to buy a 1960s space shuttle , a new Robby the Robot and space marine analogs. I had long since figured out that the hardest part will be the peripherals, the props and backgrounds for a retro-future environment. To that end, I've been making some new acquisitions. To start with, here's the biggest items from a Mars Base Camp reissue pack, with Moxon/ Evil Space Guy 2 for reference!

As you can see, this is clearly made in a range of wildly inconsistent scales. On the far left is the biggest, a gigantic sort of storage cabinet thingy that is about right in scale for the 4-inch Space Guys and nothing else. The next to the right is an observatory, complete with a sticker "Observatory" which is out of view here, which would come out as about 3.9 inches in 1/144 scale if those things on the sides are presumed to be doors. On the far right, the thing with the fins is a little under 3 inches tall and around 1/72 scale based on a door I realized wasn't in view. That one really looks like a fuel tank repurposed as Quonset hut, which I had specifically considered as an option for construction. Here's the next round of parts.

For this bunch, the middle piece is the biggest in the set, and to me the one that just doesn't work. It's officially 4.3 inches tall, and supposed to be a loudspeaker system. The obvious problem is that there's what looks like another little door at the bottom, which would make the speakers too huge for anything but sonic warfare and maybe a 1980s rock concert. On the left is a radar dish thingy that scales pretty well with the 70mm Space Guys. The dish looks more like a basket, with proportions that make for some awkward handling. On the right is a spotlight, which rotates but doesn't go up and down. I've been tempted to repurpose it, as it comes pretty close to concepts I've considered for an alternate-universe/ retro future TV monitor. (Hey, they built round ones first!) Here a coupe pieces from some different angles with the real centerpiece already shown above, a line of storage tanks.

Now about those tanks,  they came as two pieces, the tanks and the base below and the connecting pipes on top. They came with warning stickers I put on the front, at what was a good line of sight for the 70mm figures. There were also gauges that would have marked  them as hydrogen, fluorine and oxygen. I didn't use them because I liked things open-ended, and also because they looked good enough that I decided to wait and see if I could use them on something else. Here's a few more accessories. Not much to say. The one on the left is clearly a telescope or some electronic equivalent, the one on the right would work well enough a ray gun emplacement, and that round thingy just looks like a lamp.

Now for something a little complicated, I found two of these sets. One came with little toy aliens called Astro-Nits that weren't from Marx and did not match the style. This one came with a jumble of small-scale furniture. The one thing I thought might work for my purposes was a sort of control panel, which is a good size for the 70mm Space Guys except that it's a bit low. There's also a file thing that to me looks about right as a storage unit for tapes and the like. The rest is just too small and/ or weird. I swear I couldn't figure out those slanted things are supposed to be desks. To me, they looked like a 1970's-ish chair my family owned when I was a kid. I tried to make them work with some 1/25 railroad figures I got; they were the right size, but the figures kept falling off or ending up with their feet in the air. Here's a lineup with a 70mm and nominal 45mm figure. Obviously, I'm still working out lighting on The Couch Mark 2...

 Meanwhile, I made a surprise discover that I nearly chose over the actual space accessories. I discovered there was a reissue set of accessories from a Marx dairy farm playset offered by a few different sellers, and damned if they didn't look at least as good for generic futuristic background tech as any of the actual space stuff. Here's a lineup.

Now, it will be pretty obvious that there are certain limits to this. The fridge and the two tubs unavoidably look exactly like what they are, which is good enough for a kitchen/ break room scene. The middle piece is labeled a bee hive and even has a wood texture. With the silver color, it still works as a general-purpose hunk of machinery. The real serendipity was the piece on the far right. It's labeled a cream separator, which I confirmed is a real piece of machinery that this comes pretty close to. However, the near-spherical top piece was eerily like an idea I already had for what a zero/ low-gravity coffee maker might look like. Now, here's the milk bottles, pretty good for whatever you want them to be, and some more stuff. The spray tank is a good size and shape for a fire extinguisher, while the extra cylinder again looks just generic. I still cannot figure out what those round things are supposed to be or what they would attach to. They are a very poor fit for the milk cans.

The most intriguing was a cart deal with enormous wheels. I find the scaling very strange, but in another bit of serendipity, it turned out the handle is at exactly the right height for the Tomy Rascal bots. Here's a pic of the little guys with the cart.

And here's a pic with one a kitchen setup with an Evermodel lady.

"I don't care if this is 1950s-based retro future, you can clean this yourself."

And for something extra, here's the tank/ hut with the 1/72 Dino Riders figures, about the only 1-inch scale guys I have. The sticker was shown as going on the door in the instruction sheet, but I decided it looked better this way, and I'm definitely using that logo in the story. They could almost get through that door fully upright...

All in all, this has been one of the most fun parts of this outrageously expensive and labor-intensive project. The whole point of this is that you never know what's going to work until you try. Even more importantly, this is surely exactly what kids were doing back when. While I'm at it, here's one more pic with The Space Guy Who Doesn't Care.

"I may not care if we live or we all die, but if we're out of coffee, we all have a problem."

And that's enough for the day. That's all for now, more to come!

Fiction: The Space Guys Adventure, Part 3!

 I've been holding out on a decision on what to do to end this week. What I had was another installment of the Space Guys, so here it is. Here's links for parts 1 and 2. Oh yeah, and the pic is from a Marx dairy farm accessory set I will probably be getting to.

Jason remained frozen in place. “Come, come!” the bearded man called out. “Sit down! Welcome to the table of Captain Raeder!”

“Yes, yes!” said the woman with the beautiful and increasingly familiar face. “Come and sit with me!” The other man rose in good cheer. Jason stood frozen for a moment before he realized the woman was waiting for him to take the seat between her and the bulkhead.

There was an awkward shuffle, and Jason ended up beside the very woman he had been desperate to find. She wore a dress made of a strange material that looked striped, but on closer examination contained something like tubing. Its hem stopped a little more than halfway between her hips and her knees, leaving her shapely if pale legs open to inspection. He looked down far enough to see her shoes, which looked like clogs. Meanwhile, Moxon stretched out on the couch, leaving enough room for Jackson and Dr. Cahill to sit on one end. Jason ignored a smirk from Jax, but to distract himself from the shapely form beside him, he alternated between looking out a tiny porthole at the lesser moon or inspecting a non-regulation tankard that the captain, officially Mission Commander Hans Raeder, from a tankard modified to take a straw. He read an insignia on the mug as WELTRAUMKORPS DE FREIDEUTSCHLAND. Around it he made out the words FREI VEREIGNIT ALLEIN. He recognized it as, “Free, united, alone.”

“I suppose I should make introductions,” the captain said. “This is Jason Freeman from the North American Sector of Mars, a fine pilot. Herr Freeman, this is none other than Aleksandra Kapek, the Chief of Automated Labor for the expedition. She’s an expert roboticist and a biologist. I’m given to understand she is also a psychologist.”

Jason was uneasily pondering the vaguely familiar name when the woman spoke up. “Oh, we know each other,” she said. “We corresponded regarding the J3 units. And call me Alek.”

The truth was dawning on Jason. “Yeah, I remember,” he said. “I read your paper in the Journal of Applied Robotics. Then…” He blushed.

 Alek smiled. “I publish as A. Kapek,” she said. “In his first communique, he addressed me as `Mr. Kapek’. It worked out, though. We wrote each other for a year, almost. Every day, sometimes. I even offered to come visit. Then he told me he needed time to study, and things dropped off.” That made Jackson shift. “Many people make same mistake. Most time, I try to make sure people don’t know. I come from a famous family.”

From the end of the couch, Jackson spoke up. “Karl Kapek,” he said. “The founder of modern automation…”

 “My grandfather,” Alek said. “He disappear during the Great Wars. Really, nobody knows where he go. I go to mathematics, nobody ask no questions. I show them, mathematics work for a lot of things. Not just machines and rockets and planets, but animals, plants, muscle, bone, even brains. I take what I learn to grandfather’s old business, we get ten years ahead in two.”

 “So,” Jax said, “you’re from… Russia? The Federation, anyway?”

“No,” she said. “Well, not that Federation. I come from the Republic of Dalmatia. It is part of Federation of Jugoslavia and the Adriatic States. We are an alliance of autonomous neutral states. Like him.” She pointed to the captain.

Raeder smiled. “We may be neutral,” he said, “but we’re still friendly.”

“So are we, of course,” Alek said. “We are free to go where we please, and folk from all over the world come to us. A lot of them stay. We have a saying, `What could be friendlier than making love?’”

 That drew a snort from Moxon. She paused and blurted out, “I am sorry for my English. When I write my papers, I can take time to get the words right. When I talk, sometimes I make mistake. Just now, I think I meant to say, `falling in love’. That’s the same, right?”

There was another silence before Jason spoke up. “Well,” he said, “it… can be.”

Alek smiled. “See?” she said. “We all understand each other.”

 Jason stepped in before things could go downhill. “So what’s it like where you come from?” he asked.

“We have mountains,” Alek said. “We have lot of mountains. There are beaches, too. I come from Republic of Dalmatia, just one long beach. Lot of sand, lot of sun, except on cloudy days.”

 As the conversation went on, Jason repeated his question to Dr. Cahill, the captain and even Moxon. The Englishwoman talked about the moors of Scotland. Raeder spoke of the huge forests and tiny towns of Thuringia. Moxon told of a dozen places at least. “In my old job, we never knew where we were going next,” he said. “So, we traveled as many places we could, and we really got out there. Wherever we went, people were always friendly. People are friendly all over.” As he spoke, his evidently lopsided smile spread to his scarred cheek. The sight made Jason shudder.

 By that point, Moxon was getting animated. “It’s all about internationalism, back home,” he said. “It’s not just the Pan-Atlantic Union and the Trans-Eurasian Federation anymore. There’s unions and federations and things popping up everywhere. There’s the Sino-Edonian Alliance, the Turko-Iranian Alignment, the Arab League, the Federated Republics of Central America, the Indo-Malayan Federation, not to be confused with the Indo-Oceanian Federation… Everybody wants peace, and everybody knows the way to do it is to make as many friends as they can. Really, if anybody wanted a fight, how would they even keep track of who they aren’t friendly with?”

 Fortunately, that was followed by questions about Mars, which Jason was spirited enough to answer. He waxed longest about the Hellas Basin. “We’re just small settlements so far, but we’re going to get bigger,” he said. “The crater’s deep enough to hold in atmosphere, you know. Then there’s lots of ice along the edge we can harvest for our crops. That will get a lot easier once we can get a proper pipeline in. We have about 400 people, besides the crew at Port Eris, spread out over 600 kliks. That’s up from under 150 in the first wave. Folks say we were one of the first places to receive whole families.”

It was Alek who asked, “How do you get married on Mars?”

Jax took the initiative to answer. “There’s really nothing special about it,” he said. “The thing is, even people in the same settlement are so spread out, we usually have to use the wire to talk to anybody outside our families. We can do video calls, if there isn’t some scientist crowding the feed.”

“Don’t you have radio? TV?” Alek said.

Jason shook his head. “There’s too much solar interference,” he said. “We’re further from the sun than Earth is, but we don’t have a magnetic field or a thick enough atmosphere to keep out radiation. The ports have equipment that can cut through it, but they only use it to transmit off-planet. For the rest of us, over the distances we have to deal with, cables are the only thing that works. We started out with copper wire, but that was expensive and too damn heavy. Now, we use fiberoptic cable. It’s light and cheap. We still have to have most of it shipped from Earth, though.”

Alek nodded. “It makes sense,” she said. “So anyway, what happen when you want to meet in person? You know, go on a date?”

 “We try to do that at one of the ports,” Jax said. “A lot of us just kind of skip that part.”

“You mean you get engaged, before you even meet?” Alek said.

“Sometimes,” Jax said. “It’s a bit complicated.”

“How so?” Alek said. “Do girls propose to boys?” She smiled mischieviously at that.

“We… don’t really do that,” Jax said. “Actually, what usually happens is, our families decide when we should get married.”

 “Yeah,” Jason said. “It’s not like it sounds. I mean, usually, the lady moves in with his folks or the guy moves in with hers even before the marriage, so it’s not just their decision. If they see we’re getting along, they give us their blessing, and then as often as not, we have what you could call the wedding celebration that night. Everything after that is just waiting for the colonial administration to clear the paperwork.”

 After a time, the talk turned to the crew. “The Janus is 360 meters long, 57 meters in diameter at its widest point, and has a total complement of 96 people,” the captain had confirmed. “That consists of 4 senior officers including Mr. Moxon, Dr. Cahill and myself, 8 core crew members, 12 engineers for the power and drive systems, 8 technical specialists, that is Dr. Kapek’s formal title, a survey crew of 32 scientists from a range of disciplines, 18 pilots and crew for the Pegasus payloader and auxiliary shuttlecraft, and a military detachment of 14 troops and officers, for the heavy lifting, of course. We expect to be in space 20 months to reach our destination, followed by a 90-day survey and a return trip of 16 months to Titan Base.”

The captain folded his hands. “Twenty years ago or even ten, the ship would have been crewed entirely by men,” he said. “Five years ago, at the time planning started, there were still rules in place barring any married couples from serving together, and informally prohibiting fraternization among the crew. In light of the length of voyage, however, the rules have been relaxed. About a third of the crew are female. Because of the number of participating nations, the exact details are not yet confirmed. We do know that least 3 women will be serving alongside their husbands. We are prepared for the possibility of additional unions during the voyage. We were assigned a chaplain who can perform marriage rites, with my approval. I have been told there are rumors that anyone who marries will get an officer’s cabin. That simply isn’t true. No assignment is guaranteed, though the needs of married crewmembers will certainly be considered.”

At that point, he smiled and said, “Ah! I still haven’t introduced you to the most esteemed members of our expedition.” He pointed to the man who had vacated the seat Jason now occupied, now seated in the recreation area next to a slender woman. Looking in his direction, he realized the other man was older than he looked. The woman was, too, though Jason would not have credited that she was less than half the man’s age. “This is Professor Jan Futura and his lovely wife Irena!”

 Jason looked closer and gaped. It was Jax who gushed, “You mean that Futura? The billionaire inventor? The commander of the Ares? The one who climbed Everest and went to the bottom of the 7 Mile Trench? And wait, is she the girl you rescued from the Empire State building? Damn, we have all your books everywhere on Mars!”

 “That’s me,” the older man said. “A lifetime in my own legend. I decided to live a quiet life for a while.” He clasped the hand of the woman at his side.

 “Now,” the captain said, “there’s a bit of business to attend to… the mission briefing for the first flight to Neptune.”

The Franchise File: The one with a Predator vs. Bill Paxton

 

Title: Predator 2

What Year?: 1990

Classification: That’s Good! (4/4)

 

With this review, I’m back to Featured Creature, a feature that’s been in a gray area between active and retired, particularly since most of what I’ve done lately has been leftovers from features I retired (see Death Becomes Her). This time, I’m back with something I wanted to do all along. I’m doing a lineup of 1980s franchise movies that came out in the 1990s. I speak, of course, of sequels, the one area where franchises have always been fair game, and I intend to cover the ones that are actually/ arguably good. To start things off, I have my pick for the very best of them. Here’s Predator 2, among other things the one with Bill Paxton, and if you are wondering if he’s getting to the end of this one, you missed the genre’s biggest in-joke.

Our story begins with a dystopian version of LA in the not-too-distant year of 1997, where the police are outgunned by generic minority gang members. The day is saved by our hero, a cop/ black guy named Harrigan, but when he breaks in to the bad guys’ hideout, he finds them already slaughtered by an unknown attacker who apparently entered and left through a skylight. He also runs into a fed who keeps pulling rank as more tough guys turn up skinned and mutilated. Of course, the real culprit is a Predator, a creature that hunts less advanced species for sport, according to a code of fair play that apparently doesn’t exclude using a cloaking device and plasma bazooka. This time around, the agents of the military-industrial complex are ready to hunt and catch it. Harrigan is dragged in as the G-man’s plans go south. It all comes down to a one-on-one fight- with an opponent who can take out a good part of the city if he loses!

Predator 2 was the first sequel to the 1987 film Predator, and the only sequel to be made by the original team of producers Lawrence Gordon and Joel Silver, writers Jim and John Thomas, and effects demigod Stan Winston (see Invaders From Mars, Congo, etc, etc, etc, etc). The film starred Danny Glover as Lt. Harrigan and Gary Busey as the fed Keyes, both of whom had appeared in Silver’s production Lethal Weapon, with the late Bill Paxton as the cop Jerry. The late Kevin Peter Hall (see… Highway To Hell?) played the Predator, the only returning cast member of the original film. The score was again composed by Alan Silvestri (see… Mac And Me???). While events of the earlier movie were referenced, the film did not include Arnold Schwarzenegger’s character or give a canonic account of his fate. Paxton became known for playing characters killed in the Terminator, Alien and Predator franchises. The movie was a possible commercial disappointment, earning $57 million against a budget of up to $35M, and was controversial among critics and fans. The next authorized film to feature the Predator was Alien Vs. Predator in 2004, based loosely on the Dark Horse comics Aliens Vs. Predator. Hall died of complications from HIV/ AIDS in 1991. Winston died of cancer in 2008. Paxton died in early 2017 of reported complications during surgery.

For my experiences, I looked up this movie pretty close to when I saw the first one, and it has ever since been stood as a definitive example of a sequel that is very possibly better than the original. What has really impressed me the most through the years is its simple audacity. Apart from anything else, having the very first sequel be about the monster without also  bringing back at least one recurring “hero” hadn’t really been done in the modern era outside the slasher genre (compare to Halloween 3). Beyond that, the movie surely drew on the further influence of Dark Horse comics, to the point that I have at times considered it for my finally retired Super Movies feature. Finally, I’ve been vaguely amused to see several Predator weapons introduced here become iconic in the franchise with little or no acknowledgment, especially the programmable murder frisbee (see also… Krull??!!). In these terms alone, this is at a minimum a sequel that knew how to build on its source material, and to me, that is just the start of why it’s awesome.

Moving in, I’m going to start with what’s good, particularly by further comparison with the first film. The central and easily overlooked reality is that this is definitely not the same Predator we saw before. In my “head canon”, what makes sense is that this is a younger specimen (partially validated at the very end), with correspondingly less finesse and far greater boldness. In an ironic twist that might or might not have been intentional, this one appears to adhere much more strictly to the implied code of fair play, to the extent that he (???) clearly favors close-range engagements with the claws and other edged weapons over sniping with the bazooka. There’s a certain further sense of vulnerability, egregiously during the semi-improvised first aid in a civilian’s bathroom. On the other side, we have a more relatable and likeable lead from Glover, who offers a true everyman that can voice what we’re all thinking, while Busey offers an authority figure whose actions are at least comprehensible. One more note in order is Silvestri’s soundtrack. As with the Predator itself, this is the same elements yet not the same, with a lively and authentic tribal flare added to an already archetypally effective score.

That, unfortunately, brings us to the parts that are not so good. To put it bluntly, the gang members are like cliches of other cliches. Only King Willy, bonkers even here, and perhaps the ill-fated Scorpio of the beginning rise to the level of discrete characters, let alone developed and interesting ones. In further hindsight, even Harrigan is matter-of-factly conformed to law-and-order stereotypes that would be far more uncomfortable if a “white” actor was portraying him, further validating implicit “war on drugs” politics that aged worse than usual. (It doesn’t exactly help that he effectively trades the murder frisbee and half a wrist nuke for a muzzleloader.) Finally, I will be the first and saddest to admit that they don’t do that much with Paxton. It’s as if they expected him to replicate his performance in Aliens (see my post on the novel) without the improvisational freedom that was allowed and effectively managed on James Cameron’s set. The result is a pleasant performance that checks the right boxes, redeemed by a last stand that was definitely in the running for the “one scene”.

Now for that very thing, the “one scene” that has intrigued me the most is (as happens fairly frequently) around the middle. While Harrigan is visiting the grave of a colleague, we see a child playing with a typically inappropriate 1980s toy gun at the edge of the cemetery. He seems aware of but unimpressed by his surroundings as he goes through his war games, making his own sound effects. Meanwhile, of course, the Predator is watching. The kid stops on seeing the silhouette of the cloaked creature. That’s when we go to Predator vision, and see the targeting computer highlight the silhouette of the toy gun (which is triggering a fan theory that the first one couldn’t see Arnold because their tech stinks). It’s every bit as horrifying as it sounds, except, I have never felt real doubt of the outcome. The Predator holds its fire, then the kid offers candy to the apparition with a line that is obviously going to be repeated. I find a certain ambiguity. It’s really a given that a race of sportsmen wouldn’t kill kids on purpose, no matter how fuzzy their alleged code gets. At the same time, there’s a sense of evil or at any rate amorality encountering innocence, and finding each other too baffling for further attention.

In closing, the only thing I can add is that this is one time my usual nitpicking might seem harsher than the actual rating. What it really comes down to is that this franchise was made to run on pure adrenaline, and this first follow-up already knew how to stick to its strengths. The last thing that lingers in my mind is how much the people involved here shaped my life and pop culture experience from childhood to early adulthood, whether or not I knew it at the time, and how many of them are gone. (While I’m at it, why not links for parts 1, 2, and 3 of my Lanard Predator posts?) I could go long on the melancholy, but it’s enough to say that they will stay with me as long as I’m still here. Rage against the dying of the light, and while you’re at it, watch something good!