Foster on Film – Page 107 – The Film Criticism of Matthew M. Foster

Gojira (1954) / Godzilla King of the Monsters (1956)

Oct 021954

Gojira (1954)

A giant radioactive dinosaur named Gojira or Godzilla, depending on which side of the Pacific you live on, is disturbed by nuclear bomb tests and goes on a rampage through Tokyo. A love triangle between dashing sailor Ogata (Akira Takarada), beautiful Emiko (Momoko Kôchi), and the brilliant scientist Serizawa (Akihiko Hirata) complicates matters as Ogata and Emiko must persuade Serizawa to use his secret weapon against the monster. Reporter Steve Martin (Raymond Burr), who only exists half the time and is a sometimes friend of Serizawa, narrates the action.

Gojira is a remarkable motion picture, one that could never have been made in the United States, or France, or India. It could only have come from the single country that has survived a nuclear attack. I can’t write a personal account of what it is like to have cancer. Similarly, only the Japanese can create a personal account of the effects of having an atom bomb dropped on you. And that’s what Gojira is, a personal account. We’re pretty deep into metaphor land here. This is metaphorpalooza. For those who smirk at the movie (and there are many), this film has nothing to do with a giant monster padding about, or horror in the traditional genre sense. This is about the real horror of flame, radiation, and a mushroom cloud.

Godzilla (that is, Gojira, since this is the Japanese version) symbolizes the destruction caused by the atom bomb. He can also be taken as a metaphor for the Earth (and how it will react poorly to our fouling it up with H-bomb tests). The oxygen destroyer, the super weapon that may be able to stop Godzilla, is yet another metaphor for nuclear weapons. The multiple metaphors allow director and co-writer Ishirô Honda to explore the issues from several angles. With Godzilla as a spirit of the Earth, Honda can attack the nuclear arms race and the primarily American H-bomb tests that were going on in the Pacific. Dr. Serizawa and his ultimate weapon opens up a discussion on weather nuclear weapons should ever have been developed and what Oppenheimer and his colleagues should have done (and because this is a complex movie, it doesn’t give a simple answer). But the real power of the film comes when Godzilla is seen as the bomb itself. Without placing blame or making a grand political statement, Gojira lets us see what it was like in Nagasaki and Hiroshima in 1945. The hospital scene—with crying, irradiated children, now mainly orphans—is the most powerful representation I’ve ever seen of the aftermath of a nuclear holocaust.

Along with the message, we’re given a fascinating group of characters with complicated relationships. Honda cleverly creates both multilayered individuals who agonize over their choices, and simplistic ones that cling to a point no matter that reality disagrees. This is a story where the wise old man turns out not to be so wise.

The special effects are weak, even for 1954, but Honda keeps Godzilla in the dark, and the less-than-realistic monster suit and miniature buildings turn out not to harm the picture. This time, the giant beast isn’t here to look cool. Slick, showy effects would have been out of sync with the dark tone of the movie.

There’s nothing weak about the music. Akira Ifukube’s score is dramatic and powerful. I doubt Gojira would be so fondly remembered without it.

Viewers who only know the giant lizard by the later camp offerings may be disappointed, or at least in for some culture shock. There is no light fun to be had in Gojira. Its endless copies, many made by Honda himself, avoided the heart of the original, and instead presented destruction as entertainment.

Godzilla King of the Monsters (1956)

Two years after its Japanese release, a retooled version, titled Godzilla King of the Monsters found its way to American theaters. Sure, it had the normal poor-quality dubbing, but the changes were much more substantial. Somewhere around forty minutes were cut, mostly to make room for new footage with American actor Raymond Burr. He plays a newspaperman who happens to drop by Tokyo to visit his friend, Professor Serizawa, when Godzilla starts his rampage. He never catches up with his old buddy (since their parts where filmed on different sides of the world), but he is given excessive accesse and a translator by the government so that he can stand around and comment on everything that happens. That’s all he can do: comment. He may be the star of the re-edited picture, but he’s not the protagonist. Since he can’t interact with anyone, he narrates with lines that would have fit into a radio play. Think Orson Welles’ War of the Worlds and you’ll be on the right track.

I take it as a given that the additions are an artistic violation, but on that level, it’s a pretty good violation. The Burr scenes are added with reasonable care, and his report during the main attack on the city is as effective as anything in the original. His dramatic farewell, “This is it, George,” right before Godzilla knocks the building down around him, is one of those cinematic moments that has stuck with me for thirty-five years. It would have been nice for the character to be part of the story, but given the constraints, it’s not bad.

The deletions are more troubling. It’s often claimed that the message was pulled from the American release, but that’s not the case. There are fewer discussions about the folly of nuclear testing, and the ones that are still there are shorter, but the point comes across clearly. What doesn’t come through are the personalities of the Japanese characters. They are empty figures that only pop up when a plot element is needed. It is difficult to understand the tragedy when you cannot empathize with the characters. With so much cut, Godzilla King of the Monsters feels like exactly what it is: outsiders viewing pain and grief from far away.

My rating for Godzilla King of the Monsters is based on the existence of Gojira. If the U.S. release was the only one, I’d recommend it higher, but since there is an option, it’s the Japanese version you need to see.

Foreign Language, Godzilla, Reviews Tagged with: Five Reels

The Runaway Bus (1954)

Sep 081954

Extreme fog shuts down London’s airport—and most forms of transportation—a fact that isn’t going to stop overbearing Miss Benton (Margaret Rutherford) from getting to Dublin. She insists that a bus be supplied, and to avoid trouble, it is, along with inept driver, Percy Lamb (Frankie Howerd), and put upon stewardess Lee, Nicholls (Petula Clark). They are joined by four travelers: beautiful and cheerful horror fan Janie Grey (Belinda Lee), submissive seed salesman Henry Waterman (Toke Townley), standard businessman-type Ernest Schroeder (George Coulouris), and off-duty pilot Peter Jones (Terence Alexander). Within minutes of leaving the airport, they are hopelessly lost, and also unaware that there has been a gold robbery, and the stolen bullion is in the bus, with the criminal mastermind, no doubt, one of the passengers.

The Runaway Bus fits comfortably between the ‘30s and ‘40s old house mysteries and the Post-War British Comedies. Like the first, it has a group of weird characters, many of whom are not who they claim to be, cut off from civilization and soaked in crime and mystery. Like the latter, it is very British, leaning on wit, is a light comedy, and includes Margaret Rutherford. It is also closely connected to its age. The massive fog that sets up the movie was a meteorological phenomenon that occurred in the late ‘40s and early ‘50s in England, and was familiar to the inhabitants. Placing it even more firmly in its time period is the technology. This story wouldn’t work in an era of cell phones or GPS devices, or even fog headlights. It requires a time when maps, even of areas close to major population centers, might be missing roads and towns. But cars and busses had to be the norm, while not being overly plentiful. Lighting needed to be on the slim side (a line of street lights would negate the entire plot). Air travel had to be easy for the common man, but could be completely shut down by something less than a hurricane or snow storm. Finally, the War is briefly alluded to, as it was a background for normal life in England for a good many years to come. No doubt, we are in the early ‘50s.

The film does shift away from Ealing-type comedies and pull in that other branch of British humor, the music halls, with Frankie Howerd. Howerd is more or less the star in the ensemble, and stands out for seemingly being in a different film. While the others drift into farce, he starts at farce and stumbles into slapstick. He climbs a painted sign pole (a joke stolen from I Was a Male War Bride made five years earlier), falls into a creek, climbs through windows, walks in circles in the fog, and can’t find his own bus. His gags work, though they haven’t aged as well as the more restrained comedy of the rest of the crew and rarely have anything to do with the story.

Margaret Rutherford doesn’t care that she isn’t the lead and does what she always does—steal every scene. She’s always good, and is so here, whether it is haranguing the overworked airport staff or putting the moves on poor Mr. Waterman. Petula Clark, remembered mainly as a musician, was a fine actress, and perfectly fits one half of the assumed romantic couple. Her job is to be reasonable, the one we will identify with, and it works. Terence Alexander comes off a bit skeevy, which was the point. The others stand out a bit less, having little to do. Belinda Lee is there mainly to be beautiful. She had a similar purpose in The Belles of St. Trinians as the vivacious 6th form girl.

What doesn’t work is the red herrings. We know that at least one of the passengers is a criminal, and others are likely to be not what they claim to be, so the film sets out to make us doubt each character, except for the stewardess. It does this by having multiple characters do things that appear to be sinister. The problem is that those sinister behaviors are things that someone would do only if they were actually sinister. They are not actions that could just be misconstrued. They are nonsensical except for a villain. Their actions don’t derive from their characters, but from the scripts need for us to doubt them. This wouldn’t be a big problem if it only came up in the end reveal, but as soon as two people start acting in bizarre ways yet are not working together, it’s clear that at least one of them makes no sense. And this is clear for half the movie.

Ah well, this is a comedy, so reasonable characters don’t make or break it. And overall the rest works. It’s not a classic, but it is a comfortable, snuggle down on the sofa on a raining evening film.

Margaret Rutherford also starred in the genre films Passport to Pimlico (1949), The Happiest Days of Your Life (1950), The Importance of Being Earnest (1952), Miss Robin Hood (1952), Innocents in Paris (1953), Trouble in Store (1953), The Smallest Show on Earth (1957), I’m All Right Jack (1959)

Post-War British Comedy, Reviews

Mad About Men (1954)

Jul 091954

Kindly but repressed school teacher Caroline Trewella (Glynis Johns) takes a trip to Cornwall to see the house she has inherited. It sits on top of a sea cave where a pair of mermaids frolic. The brighter of the two, Miranda (also Glynis Johns) shares a grandfather with Caroline—the two are doubles—and persuades her to go off on a bicycling trip so that she can act human for two weeks and have some fun. They bring in Nurse Carey (Margaret Rutherford), who Miranda had met some years earlier, to keep up the pretense and help hide her tail by claiming she’d been in an accident and can’t walk. Once ensconced in Caroline’s life, Miranda decides to help her relative by getting rid of her dull fiancée and finding her a better one from the local men.

Six years after Miranda thrilled the men of London, and audiences, in the self-titled Miranda, she returned for a sequel that again is charming. Nurse Carey is the only other returning character, bringing back the always wonderful Margaret Rutherford. The playwright behind the first is also back, though with a new director. The plot, as before, is slight, allowing the comedy to come from character interactions. Anyone who enjoyed the first will enjoy this one, and anyone who hasn’t seen the first should go grab that one immediately.

Everything isn’t the same. Mirada was shot in high contrast, lush, black & white. Mad About Men is in a pleasant but unspectacular color. It looks nice, particularly the ocean scenes, but is nothing special, and some prints have not been cared for and in those cases there’s a good deal of bleed and it can look garish. The risqué humor has been toned down, though our mermaid is still a party girl. The addition of her dim sidekick is a larger change in tone. She’s around for zany gags and while her jokes land more often than not, I could have done without her. We also have an unnecessary thriller element added, with Miranda in danger, that brings down the picture. I do not want to be worrying about Miranda. I want to watch the chaos she causes around her. The change makes this a sillier film, with less wit than the first.

Most of the film is sweet and breezy. The interaction between Miranda and Carey are amusing, particularly the suggestions of the nurse’s own wild past. The flirting is good fun, with all of the local men ready to jump into…wherever Miranda tells them to jump. Mad About Men doesn’t equal its prequel, but is a nice way to spend an afternoon.

Fantasy, Post-War British Comedy, Reviews Tagged with: Three Reels

Hobson’s Choice (1954)

Jul 011954

A cheap, drunken, bombastic widower (Charles Laughton) declares he will not pay the expected marriage settlement for his two younger daughters (Daphne Anderson and a pre-pre-Faulty Towers Prunella Scales) and that his eldest (Brenda de Banzie) is too old to find a husband. That eldest has her own plans: marriage with a lower class bootmaker (John Mills), freedom for her sisters, a future, and to teach her father a lesson.

Before the vistas of The Bridge on the River Kwai and Lawrence of Arabia, David Lean captained this more constrained and very British movie (based on a play first staged in the U.S. but that was welcomed across the pond). Made during the Post-War British Comedy boom, it steps out of the norm, joining The Importance of Being Earnest and Kind Hearts and Coronets, as set outside of that time period. It is roughly fifty years before rubble and coupon books. Still, Hobson’s Choice fits with its brethren. Like other comedies of the time, it presents a group of eccentric characters with very human failing, most of whom are likeable. It also comments on the English class system as well as the place of women. Not surprisingly, the class distinctions that had been rent apart by the war are shown for the foolishness that they’ve always been. The relatively upper class individuals are mostly useless and struggling to hold on to their diminishing privilege. It is the lower classes that are useful, even if they haven’t learned to express themselves yet. As for feminism, it is a women who plans and frees herself from domination, and raise others with her.

The themes are strong, and most of the jokes are on topic, though the film drifts from time to time into broader farce. Partly that’s the script, but mainly it is Laughton, devouring scenery. Even still, it rarely goes for the big laugh. This is a gentle comedy that is hard not to enjoy.

The crisp B&W photography is as beautiful as Lean’s more famous works. The high contrast creates a world not quite real, where the exaggerated foibles of the characters belong.

It takes a bit of effort to ignore that the daughters are played by actresses in the wrong decade of their careers (de Banzie was 15 years beyond her character’s repeatedly stated age of 30), but everyone is so good in their parts that it is worth overlooking.

Brenda de Banzie also starred in the genre films Doctor at Sea (1956) and Too Many Crooks (1959). Raymond Huntley, who had only a cameo role, was a mainstay of post-war British comedies, playing normally third or forth bananas. His other films in the movement include Doctor at Sea (1955), The Green Man (1956), Our Man in Havana (1959), I’m All Right Jack (1959), Carlton-Browne of the F.O. (1959), The Pure Hell of St. Trinian’s (1960), Make Mine Mink (1960), The Great St. Trinian’s Train Robbery (1966). Richard Wattis was also a familiar ensemble member of the movement, also appearing in Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949), The Happiest Days of Your Life (1950), The Lavender Hill Mob (1951), The Importance of Being Earnest (1952), Mr. Lord Says No (1952), Innocents in Paris (1953), Top of the Form (1953), The Belles of St. Trinian’s (1954), Doctor in the House (1954), The Green Man (1956), Blue Murder at St. Trinian’s (1957). Barnacle Bill (1957), Left Right and Centre (1959), The Great St. Trinian’s Train Robbery.

Post-War British Comedy, Reviews Tagged with: Four Reels

Aunt Clara (1954)

Jun 091954

Rich and corrupt Simon Hilton (A.E. Matthews) dies, leaving his fortune and questionable enterprises to his pure and kindly niece Clara (Margaret Rutherford). Clara sets out with Simon’s semi-criminal butler (Ronald Shiner) to check on the businesses, including a pub where the keepers have been stealing the money meant for Simon’s illegitimate daughter (Jill Bennett), a fixed gambling game, abused racing dogs, and a brothel filled with aging women. In each case, the butler tries to hide the truth from her, and she turns out to be far more worldly than expected.

Margaret Rutherford captured the clever-ditzy-old-lady roles for a decade in Britain and she was brilliant in every one. And she’s brilliant here, but she is pretty much on her own. Most of the tertiary cast are fine (including Post-War British Comedy staples Raymond Huntley and Sidney James), but given little to do and few jokes. Even Rutherford is short-changed on gags. And Ronald Shiner is constantly annoying, draining the humor out of every scene. Apparently he was a popular music hall comedian, but never learned the difference between stage and film. I think the film would have been better played as a witty drama instead of a comedy. At least the failed jokes wouldn’t have been a problem then.

While the humor is lacking, the message partly makes up for it. Clara is holy and straight-laced, but not cruelly righteous. She doesn’t gamble, but doesn’t mind others doing so and finds it amusing. She thinks a pub is a great place to chat, and her only concern with the prostitutes is their wellbeing as they age out of the profession. She’s a likable character showing the best in humanity.

But a good message, one good character, and one good performance is not enough. This one is for Margaret Rutherford completests only.

Rutherford’s major Post-War British Comedies include Miranda (1948), Passport to Pimlico (1949), The Happiest Days of Your Life (1950), The Importance of Being Earnest (1952), Innocents in Paris (1953), Trouble in Store (1953), Mad About Men (1954), The Runaway Bus (1954).

Post-War British Comedy, Reviews Tagged with: One Reel

The Maggie (1954)

May 291954

Captain Mactaggart (Alex Mackenzie) is in danger of losing his broken-down “puffer” boat, but steps into a bit of luck when he is mistakenly hired to transport an expensive cargo for an American businessman (Paul Douglas). When the businessman discovers what happened, he flies to meet the boat himself, and ends up taking a trip with the wily captain.

A lesser Ealing comedy from the ‘50s, The Maggie is a piece of nostalgia for a time that never was. It is a light comedy, so light that would-be-jokes are downgraded to mildly amusing, picturesque moments.

The theme is recognizable for any fan of post-war British comedy: The fast paced, serious life is no way to live; real value can be found in a gentle, quirky, rural existence. The basic plot, of the obsessed businessman traveling with the overly-relaxed, eccentric, and incompetent captain and crew, presents plenty of opportunity for comedy as well as for commenting on modern life (modern for 1954), but The Maggie always chooses sentiment first.

Writer/director Alexander Mackendrick worked on three more-satisfying Ealing comedies, Whisky Galore! (1949), The Man in the White Suit (1951), and The Ladykillers (1955). Recognizing that he’d stumbled with this film, he stated that it concentrates too much on his personal concerns, and not enough on things relevant to anyone else. The second part is certainly true.

This isn’t a bad film. The acting is good, the camera work is professional (if a bit too much like a documentary), and there are no huge mistakes or problems. It is a quaint movie, of minor interest.

Released in the U.S. with the title High and Dry.

Post-War British Comedy, Reviews Tagged with: Two Reels

An Inspector Calls (1954)

Apr 141954

In 1912, An upper-class family’s engagement celebration is interrupted by the arrival of an unusual police inspector (Alastair Sim). A girl has just died, probably by suicide, and she is connected to the family. The inspector’s probing questions reveal secrets, prejudices, and misdeeds.

An Inspector Calls is a classic British drawing room mystery play with many successful stage runs. Director Guy Hamilton, later known for his James Bond films, keeps it simple in this film production, letting the play do the heavy lifting. The photography is crisp and the camera gives each character the focus they need, but he adds no unnecessary flourishes. It was the right approach. The dialogue is why this movie exists and Hamilton lets it shine.

Of course in a film so still, casting is everything, and again the right choices were made. Arthur Young and Olga Lindo personify privileged, arrogant capitalists, just as Eileen Moore and Bryan Forbes project the spoiled and unthinking youth of those privileged elites. But the linchpin is Alastair Sim. He swaggers. He smiles mischievously. He wraps his distain in wit and just a touch of decorum. The inspector is clearly the brightest one in the room, something easy for Sim to display. He has never put in a poor performance and this is one of his best. The only flaw to the film is that he isn’t in more of it since he doesn’t appear in the flashbacks where family members recount their relations with the dead girl.

The play, and so the movie, is primarily a moral tale and it is effective, detailing the cruel effects of one’s behavior. But it is also a political piece, with far more relevance to today’s society than I wish it had. Playwright and novelist J.B. Priestley was a socialist who saw the dangers of class division and the need for society to act for the good of all, and all to work for that society. While the point is made, the film cuts the line that sums it up: “We don’t live alone. We are members of one body. We are responsible for each other. And I tell you that the time will soon come when, if men will not learn that lesson, then they will be taught it in fire and blood and anguish.”

An Inspector Calls is a first rate movie, if none-too-subtle. If you don’t mind your messages delivered directly, and the fantasy aspect kept slight, you’ll want to see this.

J.B. Priestley’s novel Benighted is the basis for The Old Dark House (1932). Alastair Sim was the lead in the 1951 version of A Christmas Carol, Scrooge. He pops up on this site mainly due to his extensive work in Post-War British Comedies, including The Happiest Days of Your Life (1950), Laughter in Paradise (1951), Lady Godiva Rides Again (1951), Innocents in Paris (1952), Folly to Be Wise (1950), The Belles of St. Trinian’s (1954), The Green Man (1956), and School for Scoundrels (1960).

Fantasy, Reviews Tagged with: Four Reels

Creature From the Black Lagoon (1954)

Mar 281954

A group of scientists travel up the Amazon to a lagoon, searching for fossils of a fish-man. Instead, they find a living creature, whose main interest is the expedition’s female member, Kay. Romantic and philosophical rivalries tear at the group, increasing the danger as the try to capture the Gill Man, and he attempts to capture the girl.

Creature From the Black Lagoon is included as a “classic” because the Gill Man was the last of the great Universal Pictures monsters (following Frankenstein’s Monster, Dracula, The Mummy, The Invisible Man, and The Wolf Man). But otherwise, this film has more to do with ’50s filmmaking then with those others. The early Universal monster films were very stylized, in high contrast with distinct shadows. Dialog was sharp and witty, with pauses to emphasize each line. There was little of reality in Dracula’s discussion with Van Helsing or Doctor Frankenstein’s soliloquies, but you remember the words. Creature From the Black Lagoon feels like the alien invasion movies of its time. Above water photography pretends to show the real world, lit with real sunlight (even though the false background early in the film kills the illusion). That makes this not a bland member of that earlier group, but the very best of a different kind of film.

The underwater photography was cutting edge for its time, and many of the best scenes are underwater, particularly Kay’s water ballet with the monster watching from below. Many films have copied it, including Jaws, which would probably be forgotten today without the stolen scene. I’ve seen Creature From the Black Lagoon many times, including in its intended 3D. A few rocks, fish, and bubbles appeared to come out of the screen, having very little impact on the audience. If you can only watch the non-3D DVD, you’re doing fine.

Creature From the Black Lagoon is King Kong in the water. The monster is sympathetic, though his motivation is nonsensical. What exactly is he going to do with Kay in his cave? But then, what was King Kong going to do with Ann? Greed is again a motivating factor and leads to the tragedy. Even with the stereotypical characters, uninspired dialog, and uneven acting, this is still a good version of the monster-wants-girl story. The screaming girl (that’s what she’s there for) and the captain are good characters and the Gill Man is one of the finest movie monsters. I don’t watch this with the same reverence that I hold for Frankenstein and Dracula, but I do watch it.

It was followed by the inferior Revenge of the Creature and The Creature Walks Among Us.

Back to Classic Horror

Classic Horror, Reviews

It Came from Outer Space (1953)

Oct 101953

Astronomer John Putnam (Richard Carlson) and school teacher Ellen Fields (Barbara Rush) have their romantic evening interrupted by a meteor strike nearby. John investigates and finds an alien craft that is then buried in a rockslide. Without evidence, no one believes him, and the jealous sheriff (Charles Drake) warns him to leave Ellen alone. But John knows there is a danger, particularly when members of the town begin acting strangely and speaking in a monotone.

For Universal Picture’s entrance into Sci-Fi alien movies, they hired genre master Ray Bradbury, who wrote a ninety page treatment. But there is little of Bradbury on the screen besides the basic theme and the occasional splash of poetic dialog (which sounds peculiar next to the more plentiful prosaic lines). What’s there is an uninspired, B-movie with an all too obvious twist. This is food for thought only for the starving, as its theme is something we all were taught in kindergarten: don’t judge a book by its cover. Or if you prefer the more adult version: humans destroy what they don’t understand. In case you miss it, it is repeated multiple times by the simple characters.

Made in the then-new 3-D process, It Came from Outer Space avoids tossing random objects toward the viewer. Director Jack Arnold’s restraint is refreshing, but as I’ve never seen the film in its multidimensional glory, I’m curious what, besides the alien’s protruding eye, bursts into the audience. I can’t help but think about Kathleen Hughes in the minute role of Jane, the girlfriend of one of the aliens’ victims. She has to be the local hussy of this ultraconservative burg, wearing her cone bra. She seems out of place, but only if I assume she’s there for a story reason instead of for her projecting breasts. Wearing those blue and red glasses in a theater back in ’53, it must have looked like she was going to poke your eye out.

It Came from Outer Space starts in the squalid end of film Sci-Fi, with its comical “eerie” music, and stays there with some of the worst special effects produced by a major production house. Apparently, the plan had been to never show the aliens, but Universal demanded that the extraterrestrials show up onscreen. It was a poor decision when the monster looks like something made in a garage by that weird eleven-year-old kid who lives down the street. Any tension that might have come from the shots of the desert disappear when the ludicrous creature appears. It makes John Putnam’s horrified reaction to the alien even more inappropriate (he must breakdown entirely at the sight of an octopus). The only reasonable reaction to these space invaders is laugher.

Ellen Fields’ reaction, not only to the alien, but to everything she runs into, is to scream. A kid shows up in a costume and she screams. I’m thinking she lives in a perpetual state of panic. Her heart can’t hold up for more than a few more years. If she is going to drop over, I wish she would have done it early in the film, saving me from listening to her constant shrieking.

Perhaps with a more involved story, It Came from Outer Space might have been watchable, as almost nothing happens. To fill up the scant running time, John runs around yelling “Ellen, Ellen!” over and over. Occasionally, he yells out someone else’s name.

Over the years, the film has gained a cult status it doesn’t deserve. You may want to watch it as an early example of an invasion film, but think of it as a homework assignment, not entertainment.

Aliens, Reviews Tagged with: One Reel

Invaders from Mars (1953)

Oct 101953

Young David MacLean (Jimmy Hunt) is awakened when a flying saucer lands in a nearby field. His father, a secret government researcher, goes to investigate, and returns with a new, cruel, personality. When the police and neighbor girl begin acting differently, David tells his story to helpful doctor Pat Blake (Helena Carter), who believes him, and takes him to see astronomer Stuart Kelston (Arthur Franz), who calls the military.

An early entry in the 1950’s string of alien possession films, Invaders from Mars distinguishes itself only by being a juvenile (that is, a kid’s film). With a gosh-and-golly, child lead, it spends only a few minutes building tension before turning into a kid’s adventure tale. Like many juvenile films, it talks down to its audience, assuming that the children watching will be dim, but will find it “neat” to see another kid fighting aliens.

It starts out as a shoestring, childhood version of It Came from Outer Space, but with the bite and paranoia of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. But the budget, schedule, and talent is lacking to pull off the latter. We’re treated to laugh-out-loud scenes such as when a policeman supposedly plummets into the Martian’s sand trap—the camera pushes in so we only see his head and shoulders as he slowly throws his arms in the air, and then makes an “O” expression before ducking out of the frame. Couldn’t they afford one stuntman for a fall?

As a kid’s films, they couldn’t keep Jimmy alone for long, so he gets replacement parents in the form of a doctor (of what? She talks like an MD, but she’s called in as if she’s a psychiatrist.) who believes whatever she’s told, and a scientist who wildly speculates on the aliens and then believes whatever he just made up. So we get: the aliens would develop great intelligence, thus would have artificial men to walk for them; they could land in the desert by using some completely unheard of type of x-ray; they are unhappy about the U.S. developing a rocket. Naturally, he calls the military who believes him in every way and sends tanks. He also lectures the screen on “science.”

Apparently they only had about sixty minutes of film, as the middle of the picture is padded with stock footage of the military arriving. But why complain when the stock footage looks better than the aliens? The lead alien is a head in a bowl, which isn’t too bad, but there are also the slave mu-tants (yes, it is pronounced with the pause), wearing green felt and goggles with clearly visible zippers down their backs.

A “twist” ending, one that has been used over and over, and wasn’t clever the first time, takes care of the numerous plot holes and unbelievable action by making everything that happened before unimportant. The British cut of the film gets rid of the foolish “twist.”

You can read the standard Red-menace scare into the film, with the Martian’s standing in for the Russians, or take it as a story about an abusive father. Neither interpretation add much to the picture, but gives you some subtext to dwell on during the science lecture portion of the film.

Aliens, Reviews Tagged with: One Reel

War of the Worlds (1953)

Oct 101953

Based on the H.G. Well’s Novel, Martians invade Earth, easily defeating all opposition. Scientist Clayton Forrester (Gene Barry) attempts to help in the fight, but soon finds himself trapped with Sylvia Van Buren (Ann Robinson), just trying to stay alive.

Ever notice how scientists are expected to know everything in films? The “meteor” hits and the word from the police is to check with some campers, because they’re scientists. I’d have loved it if they were all oceanographers. “Well, I don’t know what it’s made of, but I am reasonably certain it has no tides.”

Is there a scene in War of the Worlds that hasn’t been copied? The film, in pieces and as a whole, has been swiped for movie after movie. Extraterrestrials had their celluloid invasions before these Martians attacked, but this is the one that gave birth to the sub-genre.

Changing the setting to 1950’s America, and ripping out all of Wells’ social commentary, producer George Pal streamlined the story to make a fast moving action picture. It is that, and if the characters are two dimensional, it doesn’t matter as long as the Martian ships blow things up. They are the real stars. I saw War of the Worlds for the first time well over thirty-five years ago, and I’ve seen it more times than I can count over the years, and it is those Martian machines that I remember. The swan-like design, with a curved, fire-spouting head and sloped wings with disintegrators, has become the iconic alien vehicle. Even its beam weapons’ sound is remembered and has recently been used for a similar purpose in Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow.

So much is right with War of the Worlds, but it leaves other films to take the crowns as the best alien films due to two major flaws. The first is the character of Sylvia. It was 1953, so I’m not troubled by her bringing tea in to the men who are figuring what to do about the invasion. That was the times, and there’s nothing wrong with bringing tea (somebody should do it). But when things get stressful, all she does is scream, and that’s no longer just a social placement, that’s proclaiming the weakness of women—that in a real emergency, they can’t cope. Sylvia yelps, faints, and cries. The ’50s were a troubling social time in the U.S., and the government, the media, and religious institutions did their best to paint an artificial world, which was happy with blacks in their place, where real Americans would proudly toss away freedoms to fight the communist menace, and where women were fragile things that could breed and cook, but otherwise needed saving. War of the Worlds, like so many films of the time, did its best to propagate all those.

A bigger flaw was the hammered-in-your-face religious subtext. Wells, an atheist, never intended War of the Worlds as a statement on the glory of God and the importance of faith, but Pal, taking literally a figurative comment from the book, makes it God who defeats the extraterrestrials. Apparently, God, “in his wisdom,” filled our world with disease so that one day, the bacteria would kill off the invaders. I guess Pal’s version of God didn’t care about all the people who died in agony from disease over the centuries, nor was he wise enough to stop the aliens before they killed millions. This blind, religious zeal would have disgusted Wells, and slashes the drama and irony out of the story.

Watch for the ships, ignore the themes, and War of the Worlds becomes great mindless entertainment.

Aliens, Reviews Tagged with: Four Reels

The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953)

Oct 081953

A nuclear bomb test in the arctic (ummmm…in the arctic? Why are they testing a bomb in the arctic?), awakens a dinosaur that’s been frozen for a hundred million years. Nuclear physicist Tom Nesbitt (Paul Christian) sees the creature, but no one believes him. When several ships are sunk, paleontologist Thurgood Elson (Cecil Kellaway) and his beautiful assistant Lee Hunter (Paula Raymond) join Nesbitt in searching for the beast. After more people are killed and the reality of the dinosaur becomes obvious to all, Col. Jack Evans (Kenneth Tobey) is given the job of stopping it, before it destroys New York.

It all started here. Well, if you want to count every giant monster, then I’ll have to say it restarted here, since that big ape was around in 1933 and there were those dinosaurs living in the lost world over twenty-five years earlier, but this is where the craze for oversized creatures stomping on cities began. It is the first film to use a nuclear bomb as the reason for the monster’s presence. It is the first film where stop-motion master Ray Harryhausen was in charge of the effects. And it laid out the template for all the many enormous bugs, dinosaurs, and mutating humans that followed.

What are the pieces that were used over and over again in every drive-in atomic giant creature flick? Of course there is the bomb, that started it all. Then there is the young heroes, at least one a military officer. There’s disbelief in the existence of the monster. There’s the old, eccentric scientist and his hot assistant. There’s a romance between that hot assistant and one of the young men, that doesn’t get all that exciting. There’s a search for the monster, since it tends to disappear for the middle of the movie. There’s the rampage through a populated area. There’s a complication to killing the beast. There’s stock footage of military vehicles moving about, and crowds running. And finally, science and the military, working hand in hand, prove that nothing can stop the American way of life, a way of life that includes really big weapons. Sure, our nuclear technology can cause unknown problems, but that’s because nature isn’t under our control yet. In the end, we’ll beat it too, and then mom, apple pie, and the middle class will live happily ever after.

In this case, it’s the young scientist, instead of the young military officer, who gets the girl. Swiss-born Paul Christian wasn’t your normal ’50s American action hero. He had the look, but it isn’t often that you hear an accent in this sub-genre. I found it refreshing. Christian (real name: Hubschmid) does a serviceable job, as does Kenneth Tobey (who played essentially the same role in The Thing from Another World and It Came From Beneath the Sea) and Paula Raymond. Character actor Cecil Kellaway is the standout, with his short, pudgy build and distinctive voice. He’s hardly a man who can fade into a crowd, and he has the advantage of being given the fun role. The eccentric is always a better part than the true-blue hero.

The plot runs smoothly without dragging and doesn’t require the audience to accept too many scientific impossibilities, which is all it needs to do. The story—and the actors—only need to be good enough not to distract from the real point: the monster. Ray Harryhausen created scores of magical creatures that kept generations enthralled. His rhedosaurus (don’t try looking it up in a paleontology book) may be one of his earliest, but it is also one of his best. The beast’s New York romp, smashing through buildings, grabbing cars, and chewing on a roller-coaster, is a classic scene that fans of the genre should have permanently embedded in their brains.

A “suggested by” credit is given to Ray Bradbury, for his story, The Foghorn, in which a dinosaur is awakened by the sound of a foghorn, thinking it is one of his kind, and dies of a broken heart when he discovers otherwise. It is a haunting tale by one of the great science fantasy writers, and has very little to do with the movie. After reading the story, the producers added a scene where the rhedosaurus knocks down a lighthouse, which Harryhausen then filmed in silhouette, creating the most effective moment of the movie.

Ray Harryhausen’s other features are It Came From Beneath the Sea (1955), Earth Vs. The Flying Saucers (1956), 20 Million Miles to Earth (1957), The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958), The 3 Worlds of Gulliver (1960), Mysterious Island (1961), Jason and the Argonauts (1963), The First Men in the Moon (1964), One Million Years B.C. (1966), The Valley of Gwangi (1969) ), The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (1973), Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977), and Clash of the Titans (1981).

Giant Monsters, Reviews Tagged with: Three Reels

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