LOVE AND DEATH IN THE GARDEN OF THE GODS (1972)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny* 
MYTHICITY: *good*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*

All of the giallo contributions of director/writer Sauro Scavolini took place within the space of about two years, while both before and after that 1971-72 period Scavolini plied his trade in other genres. But since that small sample of works includes one of my ten best giallos, YOUR VICE IS A LOCKED ROOM, Scavolini's "farewell to giallos" merits some sustained attention.

Structurally, GARDEN isn't as well-constructed as the best of this subgenre. Like a lot of "old dark house mysteries," the film's eminent character is dead when the main story starts, and the audience must follow an amateur detective sussing out the unhappy lives of rich siblings Azzurra (Erika Blanc) and Manfredi (Peter Lee Lawrence).

The "detective," an unnamed professor of ornithology, rents the sumptuous estate where Azzurra and Manfredi were raised. The professor knows nothing of the former occupants of the estate: he only intends to study the bird life in the adjacent forest. However, in said forest the bird-fancier discovers a pile of wadded-up audiotape. The professor untangles and cleans up the tape, which he's improbably able to replay on a tape machine.

 The tapes reveal the history of Azzurra as she confides in her psychiatrist regarding her twisted history with Manfredi. Both were raised without the oversight of their parents, so that they started sleeping together as kids, which grew into a sexual relationship. Later Azzurra marries another man, and Manfredi takes up with a "free spirit" named Viola, but neither of them is able to let the other sibling go. For instance, the tapes reveal to the professor that after Azzura married, Manfredi left the estate for a while, only to return with Viola, attempting (without much success) to maintain an art studio. In keeping with the title, the forbidden love of the siblings culminates in death, and the surviving sibling even extends his menace to the amateur detective.

GARDEN's pace is slow, possibly to take full advantage of the opulent setting of mansion and vernal paradise. The "love and death" trope isn't uniformly maintained throughout the professor's discoveries, but I assign high-mythicity to GARDEN less because of its rambling plot than for Scavolini's formulation of the transgressive couple, an "Adam and Eve" who exist not to propagate a new future but to be destroyed by their past. To be sure, the script (by Scavolini and a woman with no other IMDB credits) backs off on the incest-theme. Azzurra, who often manipulates Manfredi to keep him at her beck and call, cruelly tells him that they were never brother and sister: that he was a boy adopted by the family after Azzura's actual brother perished in childbirth. But this revelation seems random, since it doesn't hold any consequences for the plot-- and besides, if Azzurra's parents wanted to preserve the illusion of a viable male heir, why didn't either of them stick around to administer the estate and make sure that the two phony siblings made good marriages? The unnamed parents are more like a pair of otiose divinities who just dump their progeny into a beautiful paradise, just to watch them destroy one another.

Oddly, the trope of "perilous psycho" applies to both siblings, and though Manfredi is the one who becomes a murderer, Azzurra's Sadean influence seems far more profound and pernicious.

                  

  

WOLF LAKE (2001)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous* 
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *metaphysical, sociological*

Before re-screening the nine episodes of this failed series, I remembered only one or two snippets from the show, which is admittedly more than I usually retain from a series I only saw once, twenty years ago. That said, when I watched the show with my reviewer's hat on, those snippets were the only good parts of the program. 

Cop John Kanin (Lou Diamond Phillips) proposes to girlfriend Ruby Wilder (Mia Kirschner) and she accepts-- only to flee to the wilds of Seattle the next day. John tracks her to the small town of Wolf Lake, ruled by the dominant Cates family, and though Ruby avoids contact with her former fiancee, John eventually learns that (a) Ruby is a scion of the Cates family, and (b) her family expects her to marry a local guy named Tyler Creed. But only the viewers, not John, learn that the town plays host to a clan of werewolves.

This might sound like a promising soap-opera, but the characters remain flat and uninvolving despite the efforts of talented actors. Sometimes a character acts precipitately for no stated reason, like Ruby's stepmother Vivian (Sharon Lawrence) sleeping with Ruby's intended ahead of nuptials. Graham Greene has many scenes as a guy who seems to know where all the bodies are buried and keeps saying cryptic things that don't engender mystery or humor. And for a show whose title and premise offer lycanthropes, there are precious few loup-garous.

The best thing about the DVD collection is that it contains both the unaired pilot episode, whose premise was reworked for the flop series, and a brief reflection from series creator John Leekley, who wrote the pilot but was not associated with the series proper. In 1996 Leekley had created and co-written a vampire series for the Fox network, KINDRED: THE EMBRACED. Although KINDRED only lasted one episode less than LAKE's run, apparently CBS asked Leekley to repeat the same act, but with werewolves in Washington (State). The pilot does create a more evocative sense of the werewolf mythology, and though Leekley utters no overt criticisms of the official series, he does say he thought the concept required strong investment. What probably happened is that CBS didn't like Leekley's pilot and went to some other showrunners to rework the concept; showrunners who didn't really like the premise and so played down the werewolves (except for a tedious arc about an adolescent Wolf Lake girl who fears that having sex will make her turn hairy). Leekley's original concept might or might not have resulted in a better series, but the LAKE we have is definitely one big drip.

                

ORGY OF THE VAMPIRES (1973)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *metaphysical*

The alternate title for this film, VAMPIRE'S NIGHT ORGY, is closer to the original Italian title. But what's the point of emphasizing "night" when the movie's main conceit is that Tolnio, the town where all the "orgies" take place, is so overcast that vampires and other horrors can walk around with no problems.

The little I've read about director Leon Klimovsky suggests that he had no great enthusiasm for horror but simply regarded the movies as routine labors. I've seen all but two of his fear-films and regard only THE WEREWOLF AND THE VAMPIRE WOMAN as better than average, though that was probably because the writers stuffed the narrative with so many incidents that the movie seemed dream-like. But there's nothing dream-like, or even very sexy (save for one scene) about ORGY.

 This time the reigning vampire-aristocrat, the Countess (Helga Line), doesn't plan to "pull up stakes." So instead of just inviting one outsider to her dismal domain as did a certain Count, she sends for a half-dozen professionals to service her mansion. Most of these earnest jobseekers are cannon fodder for the horrors of Tolnio, and even the leads Luis and Alma (Jack Taylor, Dianik Zurakowska) are pretty one-note. This wouldn't be a problem if the starring monsters were more interesting, but they're almost as desultory in execution.

What are the monsters of Tolnio? Well, the Countess is a fangs-and-all vampire, but she seems to be the only one. All of the other townsfolk seem to hanker more after flesh than blood, and I could easily believe that ORGY started out as a "town of cannibals" idea to which someone added a vampire to snare the lovers of sanguinary specters. But despite the addition of a measly subplot about some sort of "ghost boy," the Countess' scemes are the only one that inject some "life" (so to speak) in the dull proceedings.

In one scene, the Countess (quite fetching though the actress was pushing forty) seduces the twenty-something tutor, beds hi, fangs him, and then tosses him to her cannibal minions. She doesn't seem worried about other feedings, for she doesn't attack anyone else until the climax. As Luis and Alma steal a car and flee the evil town, the Countess stows herself in the back seat and waits till they're driving to attack. Alma kills the vampiress with a handy stake, but her body dissolves into worms and mold. And when the couple takes the nearest constables to the site of the murders-- no Tolnio, nor even a vague rumor of some cursed place that once existed there. Aside from the pulchritude of the two primary Euro-babes, this is one dull ORGY.             

FIVE WOMEN FOR THE KILLER (1974)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny* 
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*

KILLER was the third directorial film for Stelvio Massi. In Italy he would become known more for hardboiled crime films than for horror, but I suspect today English-speaking film-fans mostly know Massi for his second and last giallo movie: 1989's bizarre ARABELLA BLACK ANGEL.  

Next to ARABELLA, KILLER comes as a bit too conservative, though the cinematography is always good (particularly in the generously lingering female nude scenes) and the basic situation is compelling. Writer Giorgio (English actor Francis Matthews) returns to Italy, anticipating a reunion with his pregnant wife Erika. To his horror he finds her newly dead, the victim of a miscarriage. The baby survives at a local hospital, where Giorgio consults with his own doctor, one Lydia (Pasquale Rivault), an in-law to Erika. The writer then gets a double body-blow when he steals a look at his own file, and sees that Lydia diagnosed him as infertile, incapable of siring a child.  

Erika's death then precedes (unleashes?) a serial killer who begins knife-killing women-- often pregnant women who have some connection to Giorgio. In giallos, the trope of "gotta kill all the sexy women" usually focuses upon promiscuous females who usually are not in a family way. But since no woman can get pregnant naturally without SOME promiscuity, KILLER might have offered some psychological insights on the durable "woman as virgin or whore" trope. However, most of the time Massi's pace is slow and the (subbed) dialogue is mundane. Even though the victims are just tangentially connected to Giorgio, those associations are enough to interest the police.

The slow pace allows Massi to build a better supply of red herrings than one finds in many thrillers (including ARABELLA), and the complications regarding Giorgio's infertility and the killer's identity dovetail nicely. The murderer's obsession with pregnant victims is enough by itself to propel the film into the uncanny domain, though it helps that the murdered women have strange symbols carved into their flesh. And Massi does flout convention by making the killer's glove grey rather than black.  

PIRATES OF DARK WATER (1991-93)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *adventure*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *cosmological, sociological*

Since I've always liked both pirate films and high fantasy, the combination of the two in Hanna-Barbera's PIRATES OF DARK WATER excited my admiration back in the day. At the time I knew that PIRATES was very different in tone from the 1980s product of H-B. With the exception of the Scooby Doo franchise, most of H-B's offerings seemed starved for fresh ideas. I didn't know that a producer named David Kirchner had assumed CEO duties for the company, taking over from William Hanna. Kirchner's reign only lasted from 1989 to 1992, when Fred Siebert took over as CEO. Overall Siebert seems to have done better helming the company in its final years (1992-96) of making serial cartoon shows for television. But even if one views PIRATES as the sole accomplishment of Kirschner's brief reign, it was ineluctably that breath of fresh air many viewers wanted, to judge from the persistence of nostalgic fandom for the series.

Some of that nostalgia, though, stems from the fact that Kirchner treated PIRATES like any other open-ended show. Thus, despite introducing the series with a world-threatening peril, the story ended without even a partial resolution. PIRATES takes place in a fantasy-domain with no connection to Earth: the world of Mer, wherein all land-masses are island-sized, not unlike LeGun's Earthsea novels. Mer lies under the existential threat of "Dark Water," a mysterious, poisonous sludge that infests the seawaters and that boils up from the earth's center. Later, main hero Ren learns that a malefic force lies behind Dark Water, but when the viewer meets the 17-year-old, he doesn't even know that he's a child of high estate, son of King Primus of the decayed kingdom Octopon. Ren also learns that for most of his young life, Primus has been the prisoner of the pirate-lord Bloth. The loose implication is that Ren was raised as a commoner because Bloth killed all of Primus' other relations. Primus escapes, finds Ren, tells him that Mer's peril can only be averted if Ren gathers "the Thirteen Treasures of Rule," and then suffers an ambiguous fate, maybe or maybe not dead.

Ren does have one bequest from his father: a compass that will guide Ren to each of the treasures in turn. Because Bloth also covets the treasure, Ren needs a ship with which to sail Mer's seas, and a crew as well. He gets them all in short order: Ioz, an older male pirate hungry for treasure, Tula, an athletic woman with mystic "ecomancer" skills, and Niddler, a comical "monkey-bird." All three initially have selfish reasons for following Ren, though it doesn't take long for them to be swayed by Ren's altruism, not to mention  their need to escape Bloth's relentless pursuit. 

The design-work for PIRATES-- costumes, vehicles, flora and fauna -- is as good as most animated fantasy-films, and the voice-work is excellent. But as is usually the case with TV serials, the continuing characters evolve certain "tics" that become their reasons for being. Niddler complains about not having enough to eat, chauvinist Ioz makes some rude comment about women at sea, Tula snaps at him, and Ren tells them all to stifle themselves.

Similarly, the "guest stars" aren't much better, and so only a few episodes stand out in terms of characterization. In "A Drop of Darkness," the crew encounters an elderly sorceress named Cray. Ren is surprised to learn that Cray may have had some relationship to his father Primus, though Primus rejected Cray for Ren's mother. Cray wants to relive her life, using Dark Water to restore her youth and trying to romance the naive prince. And in "Sister of the Sword," the heroes meet Ioz's kid sister Solia, who's as larcenous as her brother and who incites Tula's jealousy when Solia outrageously flirts with Ren. 

Yet too often the motives of the guest stars don't bear close scrutiny. The last episode, "The Living Treasure," presents Tula becoming wroth with Ioz's chauvinism. By the wildest coincidence, the treasure-hunt drops the hero-pirates in the laps of a tribe of man-hating Amazons, who enslave Ioz and Ren but invite Tula to join their ranks. Though it's not a horrible story, it's very predictable. At the conclusion, the good guys find a treasure that suggests a way that the Dark Water may be nullified. But then the series ended, so that only devoted fans could complete the abbreviated epic via fan-fiction.

               

           

NIGHT OF THE GHOULS (1959)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous* 
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *metaphysical, psychological*

No one would accuse Ed Wood's NIGHT OF THE GHOULS of being a "wandering minstrel" a la Gilbert and Sullivan, but the movie certainly is a "thing of shreds and patches." GHOULS, in addition to being a rough sequel to BRIDE OF THE MONSTER, borrows footage from three other Wood projects: HELLBORN, of which the director shot about fifteen minutes in 1952, and two 1957 pilots for an unsold TV horror-anthology. For decades all three were lost, but in more recent years Wood-ologists have managed to unearth both the HELLBORN footage and one of the two pilots, FINAL CURTAIN. Perhaps ironically, though, it's the other, still-lost pilot, THE NIGHT THE BANSHEE CRIED, that seems to have had the greatest influence on how Wood cobbled together his disparate materials. This site was good enough to provide a summary of the BANSHEE story as Wood presented it in prose:

A beautiful young woman is aware that she is dead but does not seem to understand why she has been summoned back to the swamp behind her father's now-decaying home. She can hear the anguished screaming of the banshee who has traditionally haunted the property. The woman scans her memory in search of clues as to why she was dragged from her peaceful grave. Suddenly, the reason becomes clear: she is to replace the banshee.

Both of the TV pilots were about characters having inevitable encounters with death, and though in 1957 Wood was only a little over thirty years old, he seems to have nurtured something of a death-fetish in some of his major works. In GHOULS what was only a mysterioso encounter between a young woman (Valda Hansen) and a banshee (Jeannie Stevens) becomes interpolated with a wider story, also about inevitable death. Hansen has new scenes in GHOULS, though I believe all of Stevens' appearances may stem either from BANSHEE or FINAL CURTAIN. (Famed cross-dresser Wood is said to have played Stevens' role-- a woman in a heavy black veil and robe-- for a few quick scenes in GHOULS.)  

 

This time out, Hansen plays Sheila, the accomplice of a phony spiritualist named Karl (Kenne Duncan), though to his customers he bills himself as "Dr Acula"-- and even had the part been essayed by Bela Lugosi, most 1950s audiences would have groaned at such a corny pun. Still, had Lugosi lived long enough to play "Dr Acula," he would have found himself on "familiar ground." At the movie's opening, fake medium Karl has moved into Willows Lake House, the location where Lugosi played the manor's original owner, mad scientist Eric Vornoff, who dies at the conclusion of BRIDE. Karl, though, has fixed up Vornoff's old house to draw in superstitious customers, and in addition he has Sheila drift around the grounds in a white dress, pretending to be "The White Ghost." Karl has a couple of other helpers, but they barely rate a mention next to his mute mountain of muscle Lobo, who survived the devastation of Vornoff's lab but has become Karl's enforcer.

Unfortunately for the mendacious mystic, some citizens catch sight of the White Ghost and ask the cops to check things out. Admittedly, the constables might have done so anyway, because the Black Ghost (and former Banshee) has also been meandering the area, and has killed at least two people. In any event, two cops are assigned to suss out Willows Lake House. One is Officer Kelton (Paul Marco), a veteran of both BRIDE and PLAN 9 FROM OUTER SPACE. The other is new character Lt Bradford (Duke Moore), who spends the entire film clad in a tuxedo. Why? Because Wood wanted to recycle one FINAL CURTAIN scene, in which Moore's tuxedo'ed character, "The Actor," encounters Stevens' (blonde) character, "The Vampire." In my review of CURTAIN, I asserted that "The Vampire" was *probably* supposed to be a creation of The Actor's imagination. But here, the Black Ghost-- both in her black-veiled and blonde incarnations-- is a real spirit, one of several accidentally summoned to the lake house. Karl knows himself but slenderly, for it turns out his medium skills are real.

To be fair to Wood, he does set up the incursion of these spirits at the film's beginning. In a monologue that seems to be a framing-device, celebrity psychic Criswell (also of PLAN 9) talks of "The Threshold People" and describes them as "monsters to be pitied-- monsters to be despised" (a line recycled from FINAL CURTAIN). However, Criswell and a half-dozen other male ghosts show up to bring Karl to his doom, that of being suffocated in a coffin. (This mirrors both the dramatic conclusion of CURTAIN and the comical ending of the Wood-scripted NECROMANIA.) Meanwhile, the Black Ghost gets the White Ghost, Lobo dies of gunshot wounds, and the cops try to figure out what happened. 

Incidentally, the three-four minutes of HELLBORN footage appear during Criswell's opening monologue. The most interesting nugget is a scene in which some young toughs beat up and rob a man while Mona (PLAN 9) McKinnon looks on coldly. I wondered if the scenario might have involved the young woman luring the older man to a location where he could be mugged. GHOULS is definitely more fully in the "so bad it's good" category than BRIDE OF THE MONSTER, with GHOULS' ridiculous excuse for a seance and a flat performance from Kenne Duncan as Karl.  There's also an odd and unresolved subplot in which one of Karl's customers is a young swindler who's been making up to a wealthy old woman, and who has apparently directed Karl to get a "seal of approval" as to his intentions. All demerits considered though, Wood does put across some genuine fear of death that's not fully diminished by his loopy dialogue.

                      

                    

STAR TREK: PICARD (SEASON ONE, 2020)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous* 
MYTHICITY: *good*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *cosmological, psychological, sociological*

SUPER HEAVY SPOILERS

Before venturing into this review, I wrote this essay to demonstrate that any nostalgic appeal for the STTNG series the producers hoped to evoke with PICARD was all but absent in me. In part I wrote:  

In the 1980s, as Roddenberry saw the franchise he'd created taken over by other hands, TNG gave him his last chance to infuse a teleseries with his guiding ethos. Yet this time he didn't want a series that stressed heroic action and character conflict. As many TNG critics have observed, Roddenberry wanted characters who had advanced beyond personal interest, not least with regard to that old devil sensuality. As the characters lacked personality in those early years, the players couldn't do much except to pontificate-- though always with the most earnest attitudes possible. For me, as a viewer not much impressed with TNG's early years, the culmination of this tendency appeared most egregiously in the first-season episode "Skin of Evil," which I call "The One Where Picard Has Righteous Conversations with an Oil Slick." 

What little online criticism I'd seen of PICARD had been negative, and I had little reason to extend the show any benefit of the doubt, given that PICARD's producer Alex Kurtzman also had his fingers in the Trek TV shows DISCOVERY and STRANGE NEW WORLDS and in two of the last three TREK theatrical movies. All of these I deemed garbage whose only merit was to make even the weaker TREK entries of the Rick Berman years look like genius. So when I liked PICARD, I can only posit that the crucial difference for me was Season One's showrunner was novelist Michael Chabon. For me, Season One's ten episodes bring out the Liberal political themes of TNG better than any ten episodes of the original series-- though of course PICARD has the advantage of presenting a unified narrative.

It's quite possible that some reviewers didn't like Chabon's labyrinthine storyline, and I must admit that I don't think it fully tracks, though that doesn't invalidate other qualities. Chabon drew strongly upon two TREK narratives I've not revisited since their theatrical debuts-- NEMESIS (2002), the last movie to spotlight the TNG cast, and the 2009 STAR TREK, which did not involve the TNG mythos but which Chabon seems to have retconned into said continuity, at least with respect to one event. Since I think Chabon's reworking of the TNG mythos was key to my enjoyment of the season, in this review I'm going to focus less on the story's dramatic twists and turns than on the phases of the Chabon timeline-- hence, SPOILERS.

PHASE 1-- In the distant past, a mighty civilization is destroyed by their populace of androids, usually called "synthetics." Though the organics die, they exile the synthetics to another dimension, and leave behind a recording, known as "The Admonition," to warn other sentients of the consequences of empowering synthetics.

PHASE 2-- At some later millennium, the Romulans discover the Admonition. A secret society, the Zhat Vash, dedicates itself to the prevention of another synthetic uprising.

PHASE 3-- The events of TREK NEMESIS transpire, culminating in the death of the synthetic Federation officer Data. As I recall, in that time-frame synthetics are not prevalent.

PHASE 4-- The events of TREK '09 transpire, though the only event referenced in PICARD is the destruction of Romulus, the Romulan homeworld. Chabon asserts that this event takes place in TNG time, and that Admiral Picard leads a humanitarian effort to rescue the imperiled denizens. However. not all Federation officials approve of succoring the Federation's rivals, and for that reason, the Zhat Vash takes an action that some might deem counter-intuitive. Apparently synthetics are being used in greater numbers at the time, so Romulan operatives somehow mess with a large number of synthetics on Mars. The synthetics revolt, which somehow impairs the Romulan rescue effort. Reactionary elements in the Federation use the revolt as an excuse to both shut down the rescue effort and to legislate against the further creation of synthetics. Picard opposes both measures and seeks to reignite the rescue effort by threatening to resign-- only to have his resignation accepted. Picard does succeed in rescuing a large number of Romulans and relocating them on the planet Vashti, but then the former Admiral goes into seclusion.

PHASE 5-- Unbeknownst to Picard, Data, prior to his death, created at least two twin female androids, Dahj and Soji, with the help of human scientist Maddox. Both are separately raised by human families without their even knowing they're synthetics, probably to keep them from being destroyed under the new laws. Maddox, wanting to continue his synthetic research, emigrates to another planet with some like-minded associates and populates that world with an android population. (It's a fine touch that the world is named Coppelius, after the robot-making mad scientist of Hoffmann's story "The Sandman.") The Zhat Vash wants to annihilate all the synthetics, but they don't know where Coppelius is. But they are able to locate Dahj and Soji. For some reason, agents Narissa and Narek track Soji to her workplace-- an abandoned Borg cube-- and seek to tap her memories to learn the location of the homeworld that Soji has buried in her subconscious memories. Other agents of Zhat Vash seek to abduct Dahj for similar treatment, but her cyber-skills activate and she kills them. Other memories surface, leading Dahj to seek out Picard-- who then has to learn all of this continuity in reverse order.

Though many details of the scenario are weak, they serve quite well to advance the political ethos of the story, which coheres admirably with a running trope from TNG: "androids are people too." PICARD is almost lyrical in its efforts to champion synthetics as not just an underclass in need of rescuing, but as a species of "children" that deserve the kindness and amity of all sentients. And while the Romulans are "the bad guys" for choosing to make synthetics into scapegoats, they are not, as in many TNG episodes, totally wrong. Toward the latter half of the season, the inhabitants of Coppelius are aghast to learn that a Romulan fleet seeks to destroy their world. Picard and his new crew cannot save them, but the synthetics can reach out to the extradimensional androids to save them. Picard is naturally just as much opposed to a Holocaust of organics as of synthetics, and he manages to sway the Coppelians to renounce the alien synthetics (who are seen briefly as some sort of tentacled Cthuluoids).

Speaking of the support cast, PICARD includes two characters from TNG, Troi and Ryker, and one from VOYAGER, Seven of Nine, but they play only small, though resonant, parts. Picard engages a new motley crew to aid him in his investigation, and while none of them are compelling, they all serve their purposes well enough. The only crewmember that shows potential is the Romulan youth Elnor, who views Picard as the father he never had but resents the admiral for having absented himself. The two villains Narissa and Narek are much better than most TNG foes, though. Narek inserts himself romantically into Soji's life to probe her memories, and his sister Narissa is visibly jealous of the hookup, threatening Narek to make sure he sticks to the mission. Narissa gets a solid demise in a battle with Seven of Nine-- one of several well-choreographed fight-scenes in this season-- but Narek's fate, that of being apprehended by Federation forces, was left on the cutting room floor.

But inevitably the show wouldn't work if Patrick Stewart didn't bring his A-game. I reject critics who said Picard is just "carried along" by events, for he's clearly the moral linchpin of Season One. Stewart's Picard is just as intermittently righteous and self-deprecating as he ever was in TNG, but here he's dealing with an issue far more substantive than most of those seen in the old show. (And I say that as a person that doesn't automatically validate the many Liberal permutations of the save-the-marginalized trope.) PICARD is a rare example of a sequel that improves on the original-- though I see that Michael Chabon may not contributed as much to ensuing seasons as to this one.        

THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES (1972)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny* 
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological, sociological*

This is an average but still tolerable adaptation of the classic Doyle tale. As I just finished rereading the source material today, I find myself excusing a lot of odd changes just because it was a TV-movie with limited time and money.   

I rather liked the straightforward Holmes of Stewart Granger, while the Watson of Bernard Fox (best known as the character "Doctor Bombay" on BEWITCHED) was efficient enough. Watson's long sojourn at Baskerville Hall is cut for time, which makes sense. Yet the writer also tries to work in Holmes' masquerade as a moor-hermit, which only makes sense if Holmes is absenting himself from the hall so that he can study all suspects at his leisure.

Unlike the 1939 version, this HOUND keeps the idea that the villain Stapleton (William Shatner) has his wife masquerade as his sister to hoax his prospective victim (and cousin), as well as having used another female pawn to bring about the death of the earlier target. On the other hand, the writer troubled to build up Doctor Mortimer as a red herring, which Doyle never does. This proved an enjoyable development because it gave Anthony Zerbe better lines than the literary character got.

In my review I asserted that the thing separating Doyle's novel from most film adaptations was that Doyle made the Hound-mystery a meditation on the human tendency to regress to the primitive and egoistic. The 1972 HOUND is no different, but its depiction of the killer hound is more bracing than I've seen in two of the more expensive productions. This is particularly true because the beast turns on its master, which is in some ways more visually satisfying than Doyle's conclusion. And this may be the only HOUND where, after the dog's dead, the heroes still hear a distant, mysterious howl.     

       

THE SCREAMING SKULL (1958)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous* 
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *metaphysical, psychological*

The Wikipedia essay on SCREAMING SKULL mentions that when director Alex Nicol was trying to persuade his lead actress to take the part, he faked her out by claiming he intended to do a remake of Hitchcock's REBECCA. This was not a coincidence. The SKULL screenplay from John Kneubuhl has almost nothing in common with the F. Marion Crawford short story, which contributed the title and (maybe) the name of one of the characters, which happens to be "Marion." For the most part SKULL is a reprise of REBECCA, being about a second wife's anxieties as to her new husband's feelings about his deceased first wife-- though Kneubuhl also seems to have injected a fair amount of the pop-Freudianism found in the Hitchcock oeuvre.

The film starts with Eric Whitlock (John Hudson) bringing his timid second wife Jenni (Peggy Webber) to the estate Eric once shared with his first wife Marion. The estate seems lavish, with extensive gardens, live peacocks, and the grave of Marion, topped by a monument with her image. Curiously, the interior of the main house is largely bereft of furnishings. Eric explains that though the mansion was bequeathed to Marion by her late parents, she, upon marrying Eric, had all the furniture put in storage, intending to re-decorate, so that Marion could put her own stamp on the dwelling of her dead parents. This loosely implies that only a few months ensued between Marion's marriage and her accidental death, caused when she slipped near the swimming pool, cracked her skull and drowned in the pool. Eric inherited the property only, which circumstance will probably set off warning bells for detectives in the audience.

Jenni also comes from money, and both of her parents are dead-- though under more psycho-dramatic events. She tells her husband's pastor Reverend Snow-- one of only three other characters in the film-- that she Jenni at some point experienced an Electra complex. She became aware of loving her father and hating her mother, not least because she thought her mother disliked Jenni for not being "gay" like the mother. Jenni's fantasy of wishing her mother dead comes to ironic fruition when both parents drown at sea and she's unable to save either of them, despite her best (conscious) efforts. She enters a sanitarium to recover from a breakdown, and after being released she meets and marries Eric. To her horror, one of the few furnishings in the mansion is a portrait of Marion, which reminds Jenni of her dead mother. The other three characters are also living reminders of Marion-- Reverend Snow and his wife to a lesser extent, and to a greater extent, the retarded-seeming gardener Mickey (director Nicol). Mickey was raised on the estate alongside Marion, as if the two were siblings.

Then strange things start happening to Jenni as she sleeps by herself in the mansion. She hears screams in the night, but Eric tells her she heard the cries of the peacocks. She starts seeing disembodied skulls, and Eric tells her that crazy Mickey's gaslighting her. But as soon as the viewer sees ceramic skulls rolling around, he'll guess he's left the domain of Hitchcock for that of William Castle. Eric's hoaxing Jenni to get her money, just as he most probably killed Marion for the same reason. Unfortunately for Eric, his return to the scene of the first crime brings Marion back to undead life-- and she avenges herself by emulating the skull-motif of Eric's plot.

SKULL wasn't meant to grab the audience with anything more than penny-ante Gothicisms, so I can't claim the lousy second half of the movie was any sort of surprise. The first half does at least create some potential for Jenni to overcome her rather random complex, and it's for that unrealized potential that I grade the film's mythicity as "fair." 

ADDENDUM: One improvement might have been to suggest that Eric played into Jenni's father-fantasies. By casting Eric as more of a "bad dad," that would have made the mother-imago Marion at least benign and thus suggesting that Jenni's maternal resentments were overblown.    

DOUBLE CROSSBONES (1951)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *naturalistic* 
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *comedy*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *sociological*

My justification for reviewing this pleasant if lightweight pirate spoof is similar to the one I gave for including the nominally serious CAPTAIN KIDD AND THE SLAVE GIRL: because the story touches on the unusual idea of a "pirate brotherhood." Oddly, though both movies cite assorted famous pirates who belong to the organization, both name the same three pirates that I find to be "legendary" due to their frequent use in fictional iterations: Captain Kidd, Blackbeard, and Anne Bonney (played respectively in CROSSBONES by Alan Napier, Louis Bacigalupi, and the rather bulky Hope Emerson). As a very small film-fan bonus, Glenn Strange of ABBOTT AND COSTELLO MEET FRANKENSTEIN is reunited with the director of that film, Charles Barton, though Strange only has one line-- the same as when he played the Monster.

CROSSBONES' plot is tighter than some of the other genre-spoofs of the period, possibly borrowing elements from the 1942 BLACK SWAN. Davey Crandall (Donald O'Connor) is a shopkeeper's assistant in Charleston of the 1700s, a harbor city often plagued by the pirates of the Caribbean. Davey's in love with Sylvia (Helena Carter), ward of the well-heeled governor of South Carolina, and she seems to return his feelings. But Governor Elden is a traitor, who sends the pirate brotherhood information about treasure-laden ships bound for Charleston and then fences the pirates' stolen goods for them. Elden first reveals himself as a rotter by proposing marriage to Sylvia, who emphatically rejects the older man. He suspects that she nurtures affection for the age-appropriate Davey, and when Elden stands in danger of having his treason revealed, he frames Davey and his buddy Tom (Will Geer) for the crime of fencing stolen goods.

Davey and Tom go on the run, shipping out on a vessel whose captain is another pirate. By some clever shenanigans, Davey and Tom trick the whole crew into deserting the ship. The guys encounter a sailing-ship on which Elden is traveling with Sylvia. To keep themselves from being taken prisoner, Tom and Davey first create the illusion of a full crew aboard ship and then tell everyone aboard that Davey is actually a pirate captain, "Bloodthirsty Dave," who only masqueraded as a shopkeeper's boy to suss out the defenses of Charleston. Davey and Tom pull off the deception, but Sylvia, outraged by her betrayal, swears to marry her guardian at the earliest opportunity.

Back on the pirate ship, Davey and Tom gain allies by releasing from captivity some men being transported to serve prison sentences abroad, but all aboard are still wanted men with no safe place to go. "Bloodthirsty Dave" decides to seek out Tortuga, haven of the pirate brotherhood, purely to find a sanctuary. Once there, Davey has to swordfight Blackbeard to prove his mettle, after which he arouses the interest of Anne Bonney. (As if to mirror the transgression of Elden, one pirate accuses Bonney of cradle-robbing, but she never makes a sexual pass at Davey. and ends up marrying Tom in the end.) Davey figures out that Elden is the anonymous benefactor of the pirates and tries to convince them to assault Charleston with their fleet to bring down Elden for continually cheating them. However, only Bonney votes to follow Captain Davey's plan, so he and Tom are back to square one.

In one of CROSSBONES' most amusing scenes, Davey sneaks into Charleston and crashes Sylvia's wedding party to dissuade her from marrying Elden. O'Connor is almost unrecognizable made up as an effete English lord, but he's able to convince Sylvia of his innocence, though he's captured anyway. Despite all the setbacks, Davey's pirate buddies come to his rescue after all, resulting in a big sword-battle between them and Elden's henchmen (though Bonny only uses her fists, not a cutlass), and Davey battling Elden for the hand of lovely Sylvia. An amusing end-scene has all of the pirates get pardons for exposing the crooked governor, but they just can't resist pirating and go back to their sinful ways-- except for Davey, who's guided to domesticity by Sylvia. 

O'Connor is extremely likable but only does one dance-routine, aside from various comic duels. He and Helena Carter have good chemistry, and Barton keeps the action rolling along. much more ably than most of the pirate-movies of the fifties. There is one "fallacious figment" that the audience isn't meant to take seriously: when Davey looks through a telescope, it comically elongates to mirror his surprise.

                                                

SHE BEAST (1966)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous* 
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *metaphysical*

"Hey, we can only afford Barbara Steele for a few days' shooting on this picture!"

"Not to worry: we'll shoot her few scenes so that they bookend the main story, and audiences will be satisfied as long as they see her at the beginning and the end."

That's of course a made-up idea of what might have prompted Michael Reeves to invest his own money into this mediocrity in order to launch his directing career. Other considerations could have been simply finding out that the bankable actress was only available to Reeves for a limited amount of time, or any number of other contingencies. Nevertheless, SHE BEAST is not a Barbara Steele film just because Steele is in the movie for maybe 20 minutes, and I as a viewer resent that what Reeves and company gave viewers was the menace of an ugly old witch in place of Steel's imperial beauty. "Subverting expectations" was as much of a cop-out then as it is now.         

A prologue shows us a town of aggrieved Transylvanians lynching an ugly witch, one Vardella, back in the 1700s, by drowning her in a local lake.  a honeymooning couple named Veronica and Philip (Steele, Ian Ogilvy) trek through Transylvania and get lost. They check into the only hotel available, run by slovenly owner Ladislav (Mel Welles). The couple meets a local eccentric, Count Von Helsing, who claims to be descended from the same (non-aristocratic) doctor from the DRACULA story, which he intimates was real life. At night Ladislav peeps through a window at Veronica, and Philip responds by beating the tar out of the innkeeper.

Morning comes and the couple get in their car and drive away. They don't get far, for when they near the lake where Vardella died, an occult force seizes the car, causing it to plunge into the lake. A truck driver pulls two bodies out of the waters, a still-living Philip and what looks like the corpse of a raddled old woman. What happened to Veronica? Philip doesn't have a clue, but Von Helsing knows that if he and Philip don't complete an exorcism ritual, Vardella will come back to life in Veronica's usurped body. And then most of the movie is devoted to Philip and Von Helsing trying to overcome Vardella's curse, and the ambivalent results of their endeavors.

This is largely a paint-by-the-numbers horror flick, which was probably sufficient for a lot of viewers back in the day, though it's pretty scant of strong horror moments. Only two elements stand out from the routine. One is Mel Welles, who played his lascivious, Commie-maxim-spouting innkeeper for all he's worth, and almost certainly contributed his own lines to the script. The other-- as if to make up for the absence of the regal Steele beauty-- is a scene in which Ladislav's niece (Lucretia Love) tries to take shelter with her uncle to avoid the weirdness, and the slob tries to rape her. He doesn't succeed but the incident does serve to inject into the film some nubile flesh, thus slightly offsetting the repellent image of Vardella, who's equally ghastly both dead and alive.

                   

DEADLY SWEET (1967)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *naturalistic* 
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *irony*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

First off, I've long heard the name of erotic filmmaker Tinto Brass, but have only seen a G-rated 1964 film he directed, THE FLYING SAUCER, which is probably not representative of his work. DEADLY SWEET, which also used the title I AM WHAT I AM, may not be any more so.  

Second, SWEET is a hard film to classify. The poster above calls SWEET "a sexy giallo thriller," but aside from the director/co-writer's use of garish color, there's not much here to tie the movie in with the giallos as they later developed. SWEET might be deemed to prefigure the way some later giallos combined psycho-horror with crime thrillers, and indeed this film frequently seems like a sendup of a crime thriller. The only metaphenomenal element is that of a perilous psycho, but Brass approaches the genre-element of "find the killer" with a studied indifference, underscored by two separate references either to director Michelangelo Antonioni or to that director's BLOW-UP from the previous year. Since that movie also concerned a crime that almost gets lost in the protagonist's experiences in the world of Swinging Sixties London, there can't be much doubt that Brass wanted attentive viewers to pick up on his emulations-- for all that BLOW-UP became an international sensation while SWEET was essentially forgotten.

POV character Bernard (Jean-Louis Trintignant) is an out-of-work actor in London, and he's not painted as the brightest bulb, given that he's given to dropping random quotes of persons as different as Lao Tsu and Mao Tse-tung. While in a disco-- where he's been cut off for failure to pay his bar tab-- he spies four well-known upper-class celebrities: blonde heiress Jane Burroughs (Ewa Aulin), her brother Jerome, her stepmother Martha, and an older man, Leris, rumored to be keeping company with Martha since her husband passed away. This sounds a lot like the sort of nuclear family constellation that makes for dramatic explosions, but unlike most giallos, family conflicts get lost in the shuffle.

Bernard drops in on the club's owner and finds the man dead, while in the same room is Jane, who immediately claims, "I didn't do it." Does Bernard do the sane thing and call the cops? No, he decides he's going to play detective (he even wears a trenchcoat during most of the film) and try to exonerate the waifish Jane. When she introduces herself, he responds to the name "Jane Burroughs" with "Me Tarzan," making clear that Bernard nurtures delusions of being a rescuing hero. And Jane seems content to let him squire her around the sights of Swinging London-- at least, until she's seized by kidnappers (one played by a very young David Prowse). Then Bernard has to start playing detective for real, eventually linking up with Brother Jerome to save Jane.

Though in many giallos the kidnappers would be related to the murder, here they seem to be nothing but mundane extortionists. Along the way Leris, the supposed lover of Martha, is also murdered, and toward the movie's conclusion-- amid lots of psychedelia, jump cuts, pop art imagery, and brief shifts from color to black-and-white-- Bernard finally gets around to interviewing Stepmother Martha. She promptly reveals that she wasn't the one Leris was dating on the sly, and Bernard learns that a hero should never trust a blonde waif, even after she lets said hero jump her bones.

Euro-comics master Guido Crepax is credited with having story-boarded SWEET, and most of the time the movie looks like an attempt to apply the sixties' pop art aesthetic to a whole motion picture. Pop art appears in many location backgrounds, including one Batman painting not known to me and one of Lichtenstein's famous "blow-ups" of a single romance-comics panel. In two different scenes violence is punctuated with quick "sound-effects" like "SLAM," a clear shout-out to '66 BATMAN, and Bernard also has a close encounter with Alfred E. Neumann. Even Jane's enigmatic line-- "I am what I am"-- might be derived from a certain salty sailor. I don't think Brass had any particular point to make with these citations, though, any more than his conjurations with the sixties music scene. Swinging London does at times seem to dissolve into a Dionysian chaos far from anything that Humphrey Bogart, or even Jean-Paul Belmondo, ever had to cope with. Thus I classify SWEET as an irony, in that the film depicts a world where even the story's Big Reveal doesn't make things any less chaotic.

                        

 

THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER (1979)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny* 
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*

I don't think most Edgar Allan Poe stories lend themselves to feature-film adaptation. Thus, I'd usually rather see an adaptor "juice up" an adaptation of a problematic work like Poe's USHER in order to make the film work according to the necessities of cinematic storytelling, rather than plod his way through a script with absolute fidelity to the prose source.

Of course, there are good deviations and bad deviations. Alan Birkenshaw's 1989 HOUSE doesn't even make a token effort toward keeping faith, and so it's just rubbish, consisting of all sorts of junk, including the kitchen sink. However, when Richard Matheson adapted USHER for Corman in the 1960 film, he apparently realized that the audience would need some reason for the house to be so malefic. And so Matheson imported, possibly from Hawthorne, the idea that the house was pervaded with the degeneracy of the Usher ancestors-- which works dramatically, even if it doesn't have much to do with Poe.

TV-scribe Stephen Lord does something similar to Matheson in working out a new scenario for this TV-film. After the principals have lurked about for the first hour of the movie, Roderick Usher (Martin Landau) reveals to the viewpoint character Jonathan (Robert Hays) that the reason the house constantly shifts and shakes is because Roderick's ancestors performed rites of devil-worship there. I don't think this was a particularly good idea. However, as long as we don't see cartoon devils running around, Usher's superstititon can be relegated to his own demented fantasies.

Somewhat better is Lord's alteration of the viewpoint character. Whereas Roderick's visitor in the story is just an old school chum, Jonathan is an architect who knew Roderick in school, and Roderick summons him to attempt shoring up the unstable edifice. Jonathan, having no idea what he's getting into, brings along his new bride Jennifer (Charlene Tilton).

Though it takes a while for Jonathan to learn the history of the house, Lord immediately lets the POV character in on Lord's big change about the last two surviving Ushers. In the prose story, Roderick is afflicted with an illness that makes him hypersensitive to loud sounds and other sensory impacts, while his sister Madeleine suffers from catalepsy-- which situation leads Roderick to entomb his sibling, maybe not quite innocently. In the movie, both Roderick and Madeleine suffer from the same disease, and Madeleine (Dimitra Arliss), rather than going mad after getting buried alive, is the epitome of that trope known as "the madwoman in the attic." Indeed, the first time Jonathan meets the crazy lady, she tries to kill him with an axe.

If in the story the crumbling house is the objective correlate to Roderick's disintegrating mind, here monstrous Madeleine lines up with the self-destructive house. Roderick and his servant Thaddeus (Ray Walston) confine her in a room, but she gets loose again, menacing poor confused Jennifer. Oddly, the house itself "kills" the madwoman with one of its tremors, dropping some masonry on Madeleine. This gives Roderick the justification to nail his sister into a coffin. But she gets better and breaks free, pushing the nails out of their holes with her bare fingers. She kills the servant and menaces both of the innocent bystanders, and frankly, Arliss makes one of the better cinematic Madeleines, her eyes weeping tears of blood. She seems okay with just killing everyone in her path. Roderick belatedly decides he's doomed to die by her hands (and by the evil will of the House, I guess), though that begs the question as to why he imagined he could triumph over the cursed house by working on its supports. Anyway, at least the filmmakers got that part of the Poe story more or less right, since Roderick dies fighting with Madeleine, allowing the two innocents to escape. I gather the budget didn't allow for a model-house sinking into a tarn, so lightning hits the house and the vile dwelling goes up in flames. 

Apparently the production was somehow linked to the Classics Illustrated comics-line, since there's a quick shot of CI's cover of their USHER adaptation before credits roll. I don't know how good the comic was, but I've seen far worse USHER films than this one.

   

                          

DEADLY INHERITANCE (1968)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny* 
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*

Contrary to the creative poster illustration above, the "perilous psycho" of DEADLY INHERITANCE doesn't wear a mask, and both he and his fellow conspirator are very ordinary-looking. This early giallo-- probably the only one by director/co-writer Vittorio Sindoni, whose other credits I don't recognize-- doesn't offer any sadistic set-pieces like the slightly later works of Dario Argento, and in many ways, INHERITANCE seems like a lot of the 1960s versions of "old dark house" movies. Sindoni may have seen Bava's groundbreaking BLOOD AND BLACK LACE, because he places a lot of visual emphasis on good-looking women. But there's never any doubt that the motive of the mystery killer is largely pecuniary.

In a small French country-town, a rich old fellow dies and leaves a will that has the heirs up in arms. The late father left behind three beautiful daughters-- Simone, Rosalie and Collette-- and a quirky-looking adopted son, Janot. At the reading of the will, the heirs learn that none of them can collect their share of the bequest for the next three years, when Janot comes of age. Why the old guy couldn't just put Janot's share in a trust is not raised by anyone, and soon, a mystery killer starts knocking off possible heirs, starting with Janot. 

Normally, these "all heirs die but one" stories make no sense, because the remaining heir will inevitably fall under suspicion of the crimes. INHERITANCE does have a work-around of sorts, but I can't claim the killings are anything watchable. Of the three main actresses, I only knew Femi Benussi, while I'd seen the guy playing Janot in the later giallo TORSO. Sindoni keeps things percolating well enough, though, and never better than an early scene, prior to Janot's demise, when the aforementioned Janot peeks on his adoptive sister Simone (Benussi) while she's showering. This seeming throwaway nude-scene does figure into the denouement, though, and it adds a little spice to the generally routine story. If Sindoni had worked a little harder giving the victims even minor characterization, I might have upgraded this flick's mythicity to "fair."             

GHOST SWEEPER MIKAMI (1993-94); GHOST SWEEPER MIKAMI MOVIE (1994)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous* 
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *comedy*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *metaphysical, psychological*

I'd seen a few random episodes of this anime teleseries long ago but recently decided to take the plunge and watch all the subbed episodes online, as well as comparing them to the first two years of the 1991-99 manga series. Though some anime serials change many details about the manga-stories they adapt, or even produce totally original installments, all 45 episodes of the SWEEPER series are based on the tales of Takashi Shiina. The biggest changes are slight increases in slapstick violence and the injections of support-characters not in the original stories, probably just to increase their run-time.

Most of the episodes are done-in-one, with the exception of occasional two-parters. Starring character Reiko Mikami is a "ghost sweeper" in her late twenties or early thirties, and she uses a variety of supernatural weapons to exorcise troublesome ghosts and demons who plague modern-day people and businesses. Mikami is as courageous and resourceful as the best heroes, but she's also extremely mercenary, taxing her customers with huge bills so that someday she can become a rich woman. She's also slightly larcenous-- one episode displays her knowledge of burglary techniques-- and she constantly underpays her male assistant, seventeen-year-old Tadao Yokoshima. She gets away with this because she's super-hot and knows that horndog Yokoshima will accept any wage just to scope her out. The fact that she's exploiting the youth, however, does not keep her from doling out brutal punishment to the teen any time he tries to feel her up, or even expresses a negative opinion of her. Yokoshima, for his part, is clearly meant to be the "goat" of the series, the one who has all the terrible things happen to him-- and because he's such an unregenerate perv, his sufferings are funny. As contrast, Mikami also employs a naive young female ghost, Okinu, who's much milder in temperament than either Mikami or Yokoshima, but still generates her share of difficulties.

SWEEPER's cast has a healthy variety of equally wacky support-types, and as I noted, sometimes the writers injected them into adaptations of stories where they didn't appear. Happily, unlike some later manga-concepts, the first couple of years of the manga didn't overpopulate the series so as to distract from the central star and her two primary helpers, which arguably occurred with URUSEI YATSURA. This concentration on the three principals helps generate suspense about their responses to one another. While Mikami never becomes generous, she will fight for her friends, and sometimes even for "friendly enemies." It's not clear from the first two years of stories if she becomes a syndromic sadist through her constant thrashings of Yokoshima, though it will be interesting to see if the character changes at all in the manga as a whole. She does show some regard for his welfare at times, and even respects him a bit, until he inevitably loses that respect thanks to his horniness. 

SWEEPER is always light-hearted and non-serious, though manga-artist Shiina comes up with some creative concepts from time to time. For instance, when the team accidentally injures Santa Claus. they have to complete his rounds for him, though Shiina mentions that in modern times there are so many kids in the world, Santa has to choose recipients by sheer chance. A wilder sort of folklore-crossover has Mikami take on the Pied Piper of Hamelin-- albeit one put through a mythic mix-master, since his abilities include the power to turn adults into little kids (Mikami being his first victim) and to summon rats as his minions. The final episode adapts a story in which the ghost-sweepers get trapped inside a movie, interacting with fictional characters who are fully aware of being fiction. Something about the way treats the movie characters reminded me of the Japanese folklore-idea of the *tsukumogami,* an inanimate object that takes on a pseudo-life thanks to associating with humans. Neither the manga nor the anime is interested in any existential questions. But even ideas with potential unused can supply a sense of the creators' raw creativity. In conclusion, even before finishing my survey of the manga series, I like SWEEPER enough to say that its feminine protagonist ought to rank more highly in the lists of "best heroines ever."

ADDENDUM: After the teleseries ended the producers finally wrote what seems to be, from available info, an all-original story for the franchise. This hour-long OAV is also a very peculiar crossover, for it pits Reiko and her team, as well her usual support-cast, against the vampire Nosferatu. There's no resemblance between this monster and the character from the silent film classic, but it's implied that the spirit of the vampire somehow traveled to medieval Japan and possessed the body of the famous lord Nobunaga Oda. A contemporary exorcist seems to have slain the vampire-lord, but he reincarnates in modern Japan, along with his aide Ranmaru. Both Nobuaga and Ranmaru were real historical figures, though so far as I can tell most later expansions on their careers were not "fictionalized" enough for them to comprise crossover-icons. Anyway, the dead exorcist also appears in modern times and gives Reiko a magical spear with which to vanquish the demon. Reiko is her usual money-grubbing self but still steps up when Nosferatu endangers her world. None of the support-characters do much and Reiko's cowardly assistant Tadao only gets substantial time because the exorcist-ghost possesses him, using his body to help Reiko. The film recycles the usual tropes of the manga with no originality, though anyone in 1994 "shipping" Reiko and Tadao would have been pleased that when Reiko's life stands in danger, she thinks of her assistant moments before "he" shows up to save her. This Galahad fantasy, however, does not keep Reiko from beating up Tadao several times for his horndog behavior. There are a few decent scenes but overall, the movie-- given the subtitle "The Resurrection of Nosferatu" in a dubbed English version-- lacks the charm of the teleseries and the original manga.             

                                     

BEASTMASTER: SEASON 3 (2001-02)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous* 
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *adventure*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *metaphysical, sociological*

In the ranks of syndie adventure-serials, it's a rare bird-- or beast-- that survives to three seasons. I'd like to report that BEASTMASTER's last outing was at least as good as the first two. Unfortunately, though Season 3 wasn't plagued by as many cast-shakeups as Season 2, Three ends up feeling like the writers and showrunners were just spinning their wheels. Based on the fact that Season Three displays what might be a record number of clip shows in one season-- at least I think three might be a record-- I hypothesize that the show might've had its budget slashed. That sort of cost-cutting can eventuate in the creative people losing focus and hacking things out.

A slight improvement is that the Ancient One disappears or dies by the time Season 3 begins, and the original Sorceress (Monika Schnarre) escapes the prison her tutor placed her in. Both Marjean Holden and Stephen Grives get main-credit billing this season. However, Holden's Arina is never truly integrated into the series, appearing whenever writers choose to inject her. By contrast, Steven Grives's despicable King Zad gets a lot more time here than in either previous season, and Grives makes the nasty conqueror so vital, he's almost likable. 

On the minus side, out of nowhere Zad has now become the servant of a gimcrack demon-lord, Balcifer. (Ooohh-- Baal + Lucifer-- bet that took a whole ten minutes to come up with). As for the Sorceress, the writers aren't able to come up with much for her to do. They use her to get rid of a leftover demon-woman, "The Apparition," from a previous season, and she duels another demoness, Yamira, in order to help Dar. However, she also betrays Dar in an attempt to restore the eagle Sharak to his human form. Sharak, however, sacrifices his humanity to redeem Dar's quest. With the Sorceress' "Ladyhawke" arc concluded, the character fades from the series before the climax.

The biggest change is one derived loosely from the first movie. Rather than being simply the last survivor of a tribe that Zad exterminated, Dar is now an "orphan of high estate," the son of a noble slain king, Eldar. A cocky older man named Dartanus (Marc Singer, the original Beastmaster) informs Dar of his special destiny: to prevent Balcifer from gaining dominion over the world. To do this, first Dar must reclaim the magical sword of Eldar (which he does, though Dar still doesn't kill his enemies with said weapon). Second, Dartanus reveals that five of Dar's proximate relatives didn't die as thought but were transformed by Dar's adoptive tribe into ordinary animals. Most of Season 3 involves Dar, Tao and Arina attempting to round up these creatures and place them in a magical Crystal Ark. This ark will redeem the world not by preserving animals but by allowing Dar's family to transform back into humans, which event is crucial to Balcifer's defeat. Occasionally this running plotline is diverting, but often it feels undeveloped and low-energy.

I no longer felt that Dar's world was as mythic as in the previous two seasons, in the sense of "anything might happen," and no episodes met my criteria for high-mythicity. Too many of the stories were dull, not even counting the clip shows, and there were only a handful of tales with fair mythicity. For instance:

"Slayer's Return"-- Dar and Tao once more encounter Princess Zuraya, for whom Dar had a small thing. Zuraya is getting married to another noble, but wouldn't you know, he's a pawn of Balcifer, who wants to be reborn in the child he spawns in Zuraya. (Devotees of the first "Ms. Marvel" will find this concept a tad familiar.)   

"Serpent's Kiss"-- the succubus Nadeea offers her services to Zad to drain the souls of the heroes

"The Alliance"-- Dar has a fractious first meeting with Princess Talia (Gigi Edgley of FARSCAPE fame), but it seems to bode well that her brother Galen pledges the armies of his kingdom to aid in the war against Zad and Balcifer. There's also an old marriage contract between Galen's kingdom and that of Dar's people that would bring Dar and Talia into holy matrimony, and this prospect makes Talia even more quarrelsome, though she naturally comes around somewhat. However, Galen's a servant of Balcifer, and Talia sacrifices her life to destroy her corrupted brother.

"Double Edged"-- a teen girl dressed like a ninja steals Dar's magic sword, hoping to use it to kill Zad. Instead, she ends up leading Zad to the village of the people who made Dar's fateful blade. 

Lastly, Season 3 introduces one decent recurring character for three episodes: Callista (Mel Rogan), Zad's half-sister. Rogan and Grives seem to be having great fun trading acerbic jibes, up until the final section, where Callista tries to kill both Zad and the Beastmaster. It's not clear why the evil female-- another dang Balcifer servant--chains the two of them together, unless she-- or her writer-- had just watched a telecast of "The Defiant Ones." Still, it's fun to see Dar nearly rolling his eyes at the venomous intensity of Zad's malice. Zad, of course, doles out an impressive punishment to his errant sibling. 

The two-part finale is somewhat listless and doesn't even give Zad a very dramatic finish. In a conclusion that seems to come out of nowhere, Dar, in order to rule over his restored people, must leave his fantasy-world for another realm, accompanied by his animal friends but not by his two main human friends. Since the regular BEAST-verse is only occasionally said to be trending toward some quotidian fate, this conclusion is not quite the same as its likely LOTR inspiration, where Frodo Baggins goes off into the mists of the past because the world is changing. It's more like, by thwarting Balcifer, some Camelot-like regime has been restored-- though originally Dar's people were just regular folks in the BEAST-verse. So it's not clear why the New Realm is set apart in such a way that Tao and Arina can't just drop in and visit when they please. Yet I find I kind of liked the ending, since it hearkened back to the quality of the first two seasons, where everything was a bit mysterious and many phenomena didn't admit of simple explanations.  

As I said, the mythic resonance of the previous two seasons is largely absent, and, aside from the usual quota of sexy, scantily clad women, Season Three's best element is finding out how many different ways Steven Grives can put maximum spitefulness into uttering the name "Beastmaster!"