WILD WOMEN (1951)

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *sociological, cosmological*

WILD WOMEN (aka BOWANGA BOWANGA and many other titles) seems to be the only work of Argentina-born writer-director Norman Dawn that has survived in the hearts of bad-movie lovers everywhere. I consider myself fairly well versed in the reputations of the great, near-great, and somewhat interesting ranks of Hollywood B-movies, but aside from WW nothing on the list of Dawn's credits is familiar to me.

The phenomenality here is like that of the earlier-reviewed TARZAN THE TIGER, being another tale of mysterious Africa-- wherein the biggest mystery is "where the hell did all these white native people come from?" This film, concerning a lost tribe of white (and permanent-waved) Amazon women, fits my uncanny-trope "exotic lands and customs."

Given the film's adventurous trappings, one might be tempted to call it adventure (even if the film's overall effect is comedy, particularly at the end). But structurally the focus is not the white-hunter heroes, whose only object is to escape being killed, but the Amazons, who, contrary to the poster above, actually do know what men look like and are seen to keep a few as slaves (though the scene with the tribe's men is just one of many time-killing "stock footage" shots). In my system, any time one is focusing more upon a monstrous being, or set of beings, one is dealing with the mythos of drama, or more properly melodrama.

I imagine talking about Fryean mythoi and Campbellian functions in concert with such an unremittingly cheesy flick probably sounds like the height of pretension. Let it be said that not for an instant am I claiming any *auteur* status for either Norman Dawn or his one semi-memorable creation, and I don't imagine anyone involved with the movie thought of it as anything more than cheese. But somehow, in the rush for exploitation, he did touch on a few more resonant ideas than did the majority of Hollywood "potted-plant" jungle-thrillers.

For example, whereas many such thrillers never vary from presenting as heroes the stalwart white-hunter type, Dawn does get some interesting comic mileage in that his two beefy male heroes are accompanied by a comedy-relief squirt (Don Orlando, whose career seems to consist of "funny Italians"). This shrimpy fellow naturally "comes up short" when he meets the Amazons of Ulama, who are tall enough to dangle Orlando's character above ground. As for the women, one of the beef-heroes describes them as being as "strong as oxen," which is a nice reversal.

The relative strength of the Amazon women is atypical for Hollywood. Previous Hollywood takes on Amazons (such as 1945's TARZAN AND THE AMAZONS) generally portray a group of hot babes who wave their spears about on occasion. Here, the Amazons are still hot babes, but they're babes who can fight. The Queen (Dana Wilson, who'd later marry Cubby Broccoli of JAMES BOND film-fame) doesn't bother to give the short guy a trial, but does order the two beefy explorers to prove their mettle in Amazon wrestling-matches. Surprisingly, given that Mrs. Peel is about 15 years away while Xena won't appear for two generations, one of the stalwart white-hunters actually gets his ass kicked by a leggy Amazon. The other stalwart guy saves the reputation of American manhood somewhat by winning his bout, but-- oops, now he has to marry the Queen, while Short Guy has to be sacrificed to the Amazons' fire-god. When the bridegroom protests, the Queen shows she's no slouch either, giving him a couple of good belts that put him on the floor.

Fortunately for the guys, one of the females decides to help them escape, and after the hunters scare off the Amazons with a fireworks display, off go the heroes and their new friend, singing a merry tune that, once again, shows how seriously Norman Dawn took this whole thing.

And yet, though the film is a silly piece of cheese, I like the Amazons' no-nonsense eugenics credo: "Weak man; gift to fire god! Queen take strong man!" Though the Amazons can barely be called a "society" in the true sense (though I do consider that they fit Campbell's sociological function), their group also symbolizes the female animal's desire to mate with the strongest to produce the strongest children. Thus, however dim its execution, Dawn's opus does reference the Campbellian cosmological function, which deals (as I read it) with all the things that go into making an orderly physical cosmos-- including crude eugenics.

I also think it's interesting that Hollywood B-flicks began playing a bit more with images of Amazons, pirate queens, and other fearsome females in the years after American men came back from WWII. But that's another story.

ADDENDUM 7-8-20: After not having thought much about my classifications of this flick, I decided that it qualifies as combative. It's true that the sympathetic characters lose, but they put up a good fight first, and they escape not just by dumb luck, but with a clever stratagem that scares the Wild Women away.

JOURNEY OF THE DOOMED (1985)

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

This chopsocky opus isn’t quite as wack-a-doodle as 1993’s EAGLE SHOOTING HEROES, but it puts forth the same basic “making-up-as-we-go-along” vibe. Despite having a number of kung-fu fights, its theme of young lovers who fall victim to the plotting of rival familes gives it more resonance with drama than with adventure. However, it’s still “Bad Kung Fu Drama” worthy of its own entry in the oeuvre of Leonard Pinth-Garnell. As it happens, I recently screened King Hu’s 1969 A TOUCH OF ZEN, another dramatic kung-fu flick which has (and deserves) a stronger reputation for its execution of an Asian Romeo-and-Juliet theme. Any comparison to ZEN would “doom” the JOURNEY to obscurity.

The “rival families” here aren’t the families of the young lovers themselves, however. Poor girl Shiuh-erh, working in a Chinese brothel in some unspecified medieval era, is revealed to be the bastard child of the late Emperor. This makes her a suitable pawn for two contending princes, one of whom wants to marry her while the other wants to kill her. Both princes (who never figure into the main action otherwise) send out their kung-fu-skilled knights to collect/kill Shiuh-erh. Two female knights seek out the brothel and slaughter all the half-naked lady prostitutes, though Shiuh-erh escapes into the wilderness. There she meets her “Romeo,” a good-natured ferryman (Tung Wai, whose character name eluded me). He takes the girl under his protection, but against one's expectations he's no Jackie Chan hiding his kung-fu light under a bushel. The hero really is just an average schmuck who can’t possibly oppose the highly trained knights.

Tung does have one advantage: he happens to be the brother of one of the female knights trying to kill Shiuh-erh. To protect her brother the lady-knight tries to shield Shiuh-erh. The other female knight finds out, and the two knights fight and kill each other as Tung escapes with Shiuh-erh. In what may the film's only interesting dramatic moment, the brother evinces heartfelt guilt over having caused his sister's death with his Good Samaritanism and resents Shiuh-erh for having brought him to this pass. Of course, both matters are forgotten once the two star-crossed fugitives fall in love.

Other agents from both princes continue to pursue the couple, and the film goes off the tracks trying to elaborate some of the background of these peripheral characters, as when we learn that a female knight on one side had a thing for a male knight on the other side. The romance between Tung and Shiuh-erh finally heats up when they take refuge in a seemingly uninhabited shack, though they later find that they’ve invaded the domicile of a mute hermit-woman. The film goes even further astray here, in that the female hermit (who’s the same age as Shiuh-erh) is tossed out as possible fodder for a three-way romantic conflict. Said conflict never develops, so one wonders why the writers created the hermit-character at all.
The whole thing resolves in a big fight between the two opposing knight-factions. The two young lovers get trapped in a burning building and perish in each other’s arms, the victims of both the machinations of high and low strata of society. The End.

Though the acting is marginally better than one sees in many chopsockies, the meandering storyline sabotages the actors’ efforts. Additionally, despite the presence of long-time fighting-diva Kara Hui, most of the fights lack even average professional choreography. Perhaps the director felt more comfortable with sex than violence, for there are a fair number of softcore scenes here. But none of those scenes, including the aforementioned “slaughter-of-the-not-so-innocents,” are as memorable as even one of the many balls-to-the-walls setups from a comparable work like 1990’s NAKED KILLER.

The film is largely of interest to me as a study in my AUM theory. As with another of the chopsockies I reviewed earlier, BRUCE LEE’S WAYS OF KUNG FU, the film falls into the uncanny-category I termed “outré outfits skills and weapons.” However, in WAYS the weird weapons commanded by that film’s villains are important to showing how bad-ass they are. In JOURNEY, there are two usages of an odd power or weapon, which together take up many two or three minutes of screen-time. In the first relevant scene, one of the male knights captures his female knight-enemy and bends her to his will using “kung-fu hypnotism” (illustrated by a comical-looking animated effect). In the second scene, the female knight immobilizes Brother with an odd weapon that sprays wax in his face, which his allies then have to peel off.
That these oddball phenomena are too humble to constitute “marvels” should go without saying. But they take up so little screen-time that I almost want to regard them in a special category of “the marginal metaphenomal,” in which the metaphenomena, whether uncanny or marvelous, barely participate in the main narrative. However, in order to keep my system consistent, I have to say that even minor effects-- a wax-spraying weapon, kung-fu hypnotism-- do transport this mostly forgettable film into the category of “the uncanny.”

This is not a categorizing problem confined to Asian martial-arts films. In my review of MADAME SIN, I mentioned that superspy films in a given series (such as James Bond) oscillate from one phenomenality to the other. MOONRAKER is clearly marvelous. FOR YOUR EYES ONLY is atypical. LIVE AND LET DIE is uncanny largely because of its fake-voodoo plotline, but even without the voodoo the film would still qualify as “uncanny” due to some of Bond’s low-level hardware, like a miniature circular saw in his wristwatch.

I should also note that in some works the element of “hypnotism” can become far more central: this includes narratives as different as the 1946 B-film THE STRANGE MISTER GREGORY and Nathaniel Hawthorne’s classic novel BLITHEDALE ROMANCE. So this film intersects somewhat with a category to which I’ve not yet examined in depth: “enthralling hypnotism and stage magic.”

ADDENDUM 8-29-2020: According to my later precepts, I have reclassified this film as a subcombative drama because the lovers are the main characters, and they don't have combative status.

MADAME SIN (1971)

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *adventure*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*


Thanks to the generosity of a CHFB poster, I was able to get a look at this TV-movie, which I last saw on commercial television thirty years ago. It’s invariably described as a pilot for a prospective teleseries, but one wonders how stoned a network executive of the time would have had to have been, to greenlight a series in which Bette Davis, herself just a few years shy of the age of seventy, played a Eurasian-seeming criminal mastermind. Had the series come to pass, one assumes it would have turned out something like the 1950s teleseries THE ADVENTURES OF FU MANCHU, with the cunning criminal essaying a bizarre scheme each week that would ultimately be defeated by the forces of righteousness. It may be that the fearsome devil-doctor inspired this telefilm in more ways than one, as the last of the Harry Alan Towers series of cheap-but-lively Fu Manchu films had appeared on theater screens three years before MADAME SIN showed up.

Like the Towers films, MADAME SIN tries to suggest the visual scope of the James Bond films while camoflaguing the paucity of actual resources. In the hands of director David Greene, who shot SIN in England and Scotland, this means a lot of long shots of English scenery to give a sense of grandeur. But whereas most incarnations of Fu Manchu give the villain dozens of henchmen, Davis’s Madame Sin gets just a trifling handful of helpers—mostly Denholm Elliott, who bankrolls her schemes, and a small handful of male and female assistants. But like Fu Manchu she has a talent for suborning good guys to her service, which brings her to enlist disaffected agent Robert Wagner in her quest to purloin a nuclear submarine, for sale to the usual foreign powers.

Davis does have one other important similarity to Fu Manchu: the use of science-fictional weaponry. Umberto Eco fallaciously labeled the Bond films as “science fiction,” but films in the super-spy subgenre actually vary greatly as to what kinds of science-fictional toys they use. Some plunge fully into the arena of the “marvelous” (MOONRAKER, OUR MAN FLINT) while others merely employ a few gadgets (LIVE AND LET DIE) and so fit better into my category of “the uncanny.” Were it not for the type of weaponry employed by Madame Sin’s agents—an assortment of weapons able to stun victims with sound-waves—SIN would fit more neatly into the “uncanny” category. For all that I know, Greene and his cohorts may have written in the use of sonics just to avoid the expense of conventional fake-firearms. But even if the sound-guns are Madame Sin’s only super-weapons, they do give the story a needed boost.

The telefilm’s greatest weakness is that Madame Sin, though thankfully played straight by Bette Davis, simply doesn’t sustain much interest. She comes from nowhere and her desire to steal national monuments and the like doesn’t mean much. The only interpersonal relationship here is that in the distant past the Madame had some relationship with Wagner’s late father, who was also a spy of some sort. Thus part of her reason for suborning Wagner is to attempt a relationship of some sort with his son, thus putting the dominant sentiment of SIN right in line with Davis’s repertoire of “women’s weepie” pictures. We are spared any overt romantic overtures from Davis to Wagner, but she does end up repeating her history with his father by executing Wagner for betrayal. Thus the dominant function here falls within the sphere of Oedipal psychology, though once Wagner is dead “queen bee” Davis is quite ready to move on to her next conquest.

Perhaps needless to say, since the narrative tells us us nothing about Madame Sin's background, none of the sociological underpinnings present in the Fu Manchu novels and films is present here.

BLACK SWAN (2010)

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


Before discussing the film proper (wherein there will be no SPOILER WARNINGS), I'll explain a little about the motif I've assigned to this film, "delirious dreams and fallacious figments," in contrast to a related motif discussed in the HAMLET (1948) essay, that of "phantasmal figurations."

In the HAMLET essay I stated the latter motif included all works in which the nature of a narrative phenomenon seemed rooted in some manner of illusion, no matter whether the source of the phenomenon was a human being or some unverifable outside agency: hence "phantasmal." In direct contrast, the motif of "delirious dreams and fallacious figments" is clearly a delusory phenomenon that in no way poses any threat to the cognitive rational order. This motif includes depictions of the world of dreams, aberrant fantasies, fantastic sequences related by a real person (PRINCESS BRIDE), and short breaks from a narrative's diegetic reality. (The non-diegetic apperance of Marshall McLuhan in Woody Allen's ANNIE HALL would be an example of the latter.) BLACK SWAN clearly delineates the second of these subtypes, the "aberrant fantasy," in that the story depicts the mental breakdown of a ballerina with something of a Jekyll/Hyde personality.

Obviously, in such a story the Campbellian function must be a psychological one, though one might argue that director Darren Aronofsky and his writers (all of whom are male) have added a sociological element insofar as they have refashioned Tchaikovsky's SWAN LAKE into a post-feminist text.

In the original ballet, tragic female protagonist Odilie is twice undone by the actions of men. The ballet begins with Odilie enduring a curse placed upon her by an evil male sorcerer, whose motive for doing so is never stated. The curse causes her to become a female swan by day, allowing her to revert to human form only by night. She can undo the curse if a man pledges eternal love and loyalty to her (thus putting her once more in the power of male agency). In human form Odilie does meet and fall in love with a prince, and deliverance seems possible. But the sorcerer works against her. He magically disguises his daughter to look like Odilie, and the prince professes his love to the wrong woman. This being a fairy-tale, the words once spoken can't be taken back, and Odilie kills herself rather than live on as a half-swan.

In the narrative of BLACK SWAN, there are counterparts for Odilie, the sorcerer's daughter, and a very loose counterpart to the sorcerer-- all of whom are female characters-- but there is no prince. The only significant male character is Thomas Leroy, the director of a new version of SWAN LAKE, who is loosely responsible for the problem set for protagonist Nina. Leroy wants the same ballerina to dance both the virginal, innocent Odilie, a "White Swan," and the seductive sorcerer's daughter, who, in a departure from Tchaikovsky, is costumed as a "Black Swan." But though Leroy places a heavy demand on Nina by demanding that she portray two widely divergent characters, he isn't responsible for her fragile mental state.

In BLACK SWAN, the "sorcerer" responsible for Nina's "curse" is Erica, a stage mother who has essentially projected upon Nina the responsibility of redeeming Erica's own aborted ballet career. As a result of the mother's domination, Nina identifies with the put-upon White Swan but finds it hard to act the persona of the Black Swan. Her mental turmoil is then aggravated by the presence of rival dancer Lily, who in keeping with her Lilith-like name has the seductive and freewheeling characteristics Nina desperately needs. The mental pressure manifests in increasing hallucinations and culminates in Nina's attempt at murder.

This is not to say that men get totally off the hook. A subplot regarding an older dancer, discarded by Leroy because she's grown too old, and whose romantic place Leroy might like Nina to assume, indicts the male of the species on the customary charge of tomcattery. But clearly Nina's psychological breakdown stems from her inability to throw off her mother's domination and to formulate her own distinct identity. Nina's doomed attempt to assimilate Lily's persona, ranging from an imagined sex-scene with her to an imagined murder-attempt, merely underscore that it's too late for this fragile bird to change her feathers.

Many horror-thrillers deal with protagonists who become dangerous to society because of their delirious states, notably Polanski's REPULSION, but Nina is never seen as a danger to anyone but herself, thus putting SWAN closer to the territory of Peter Shaffer's play EQUUS. Both as play and film EQUUS serves as a good example of the "atypical" manifestation of the "delirious" motif, for in EQUUS the distured character's fantasy does not become "affectively metaphenomal." But although the swan-fantasies of Aronofsky's film are more fully pursued on their own terms, BLACK SWAN is at times a little too pat and polished compared to, say, the oeuvre of Roman Polanski, whose TENANT, another uncanny film with this motif, might make for an interesting cross-comparison.

ADDENDA TO MYSELF: On further reconsideration, I've decided that the trope "delirious dreams and fallacious figments" should not apply to hallucinatory states, whether arising from psychosis or some other cause. This trope should apply only to phenomena that seem to interrupt the diegesis itself, which the hallucinations of BLACK SWAN's character don't. Therefore I've revised my labels to include only the trope "perilous psychos."

HAMLET (1948)

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *psychological, metaphysical*


Compilers of fantasy-film archives have sometimes been divided as to whether or not to include HAMLET adaptations. In contrast to RICHARD III, where only one guilt-ridden character beholds what he thinks is a ghost, the ghost of Hamlet's father is seen by four other characters who, while perhaps disturbed by their king's passing, lack any real reason to have projected the spectre of that king out of their imagination.

So is the King real or not? One of the key metaphysical problems of the original play is whether or not the melancholy Dane- who is, actual history aside, the picture of the educated Renaissance man- should believe the words of a ghost, as seen in this speech, one of many pruned from the 1948 Laurence Olivier-directed film-adaptation:

The spirit that I have seen
May be a devil; and the devil hath power
T' assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps(595)
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
As he is very potent with such spirits,
Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds
More relative than this

I've always thought this was a point of Hamlet's depiction ruthlessly paved over by Olivier's conception of the character, cited at the opening play in words that are not Shakespeare's, as "a man who could not make up his mind." Whether this view was original with Olivier or not, it ignores the valid point the tormented Dane makes above. If you're going to toss reason and education out the window, and believe that ghosts are real, why stop there? Why couldn't the ghost be a devil, deceiving Hamlet to gull him into an unjustified act? And while the guilt of Claudius seems to indicate that the king's ghost was the real deal, HAMLET the play is not quite a "ghost story" in the "marvelous" sense of the word.

It does fit better in my re-conception of Todorov's category "the uncanny." Todorov's original category encompasses works in which phenomena that seem fantastic are proven to be either delusions or a mortal-made hoax, his most dominant examples being the fake horrors of Radcliffean Gothics. In my conception, Radcliffean Gothics still evoke the affectivity of the metaphenomenal in spite of the fact that it's proven that the ghost is actually Uncle Ephraim in disguise. Further, my "uncanny" also takes in many works Todorov placed in his transitional category "the fantastic," in which the reader/audience cannot be entirely sure whether or not to take the fantasy-material at face value. What the "ghost of Uncle Ephraim" of some imaginary Gothic and "the ghost-or-maybe-devil" of HAMLET have in common is a similar affectivity; of something that seems wondrous but which does not, in the end, have the same boundary-altering effect on the mortal realm that "the marvelous" does.

Of course one of the main reasons that Olivier feels comfortable in passing over Hamlet's metaphysical dilemma is that he heavily invested in the Freudian psychological interpretation, first put forth in 1900's THE INTERPRETATION OF DREAMS. Thus the reason Hamlet cannot make up his mind to avenge his father is because he had an "Oedipal desire for his mother and the subsequent guilt [is] preventing him from murdering the man [Claudius] who has done what he [Hamlet] unconsciously wanted to do."

Were I rating Olivier's HAMLET purely as a faithful translation of all of the Bard's implicit themes, its mythicity would be rated higher. However, there's a sense in which the Freudian reading of Shakespeare has taken on its own life, and in terms of evoking Freud, the 1948 succeeds quite well. The early scene in which Hamlet's mother Gertrude kisses her son on the mouth-- he, seated in a chair and seemingly distant-- while her new husband Claudius and the whole court look on is an apt summation of Freud's "family romance." On a side-note, perhaps to keep away the "ghost story" vibe, Olivier never lets us see the ghost of the late king, but resorts to cloudy mummeries to keep things in the psychological realm.

THE SPIDERS (1919-20)

PHENOMENALITY: *atypical*
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *adventure*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*

In my review of the 1929 TARZAN THE TIGER, I categorized it as having uncanny content in terms of two motifs: "outre outfits, skills and weapons" (for Tarzan) and "exotic lands and customs" (for the setting, which included the lost civilization of Opar).

In contrast to the TIGER, director Fritz Lang's earliest extant work shows how one can use the same motif and divest it of any fantastic expressivity.

THE SPIDERS that we have now is a compilation of two interrelated films that were originally released separately in Germany, entitled THE GOLDEN SEA and THE DIAMOND SHIP. Four parts were originally projected to be filmed but though only these two were made they succeed well enough in terms of coming to a reasonably satisfying conclusion. SPIDERS isn't terribly satisfying in most other respects, though.

Many reviews note similarities to Indiana Jones, in that the stories concerns amateur adventure-hero Kay Hoog traipsing around different exotic lands as he tries to foil the evil plans of a multinational criminal organization, "the Spiders." But in terms of phenomenality, there's little here to suggest the metaphenomemal dimensions of the RAIDERS series, the TARZAN stories, or even the progenitor of all "lost-civilization" stories, Rider Haggard's KING SOLOMON'S MINES.

Indeed, in the first part of SPIDERS, the hero and his adversaries do stumble across a lost Incan civilization full of treasure. But Lang's script plays the lost Incans down so much that they might as well have been any contemporary South American tribe. Lang's orientation here would have less in common with Indiana Jones than with more mundane globe-trotting types like Clive Cussler's Dirk Pitt.

And the organization of "the Spiders" is no SPECTRE, for that matter. The only villain who makes any impression is the group's leader, whose name, Lio Sha, is implicilty Asian (or faux-Asian). Lio Sha is played with commendable energy by one Ressel Orla, and is far more worth remembering than the rather stuffy hero.

The only mythic symbolism evident here falls into the psychological pattern, in that, just as in TARZAN THE TIGER, the doughty hero is torn between a "good girl" and a "bad girl;" somewhat remarkably, both of them are dead by the end of the story. But Lang's screenplay and scenarios here are too picayune to inspire much excitement in any department. At best THE SPIDERS may be seen as training-ground for future, better endeavors.

THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND (1929)

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MODE: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *sociological*

Like TARZAN THE TIGER, reviewed here, 1929's adaptation of the Jules verne novel MYSTERIOUS ISLAND appeared on the cusp between silent and sound films, and like TIGER, ISLAND met the challenge by mixing in scenes of spoken dialogue along with scenes with silent actors and title cards.

Unlike TIGER, MYSTERIOUS ISLAND has almost no resemblance to its source material.
In Verne, the island of the title is simply an ordinary island where the protagonists become shipwrecked, and where they encounter Captain Nemo and his submarine the Nautilus, holed up on the isle long after the events of 20,000 LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA.

In this film, the "island" of the title is a volcanic isle where the main character builds not one but two submersible crafts in an unspecified time before submarines as such have been invented. Said main character, essayed by Lionel Barrymore, is not Captain Nemo, but borrows his name from the "secret identity" of Nemo as related in the Verne book, which was "Dakkar." However, Verne's Nemo in that book was East Indian (though the Nemo of the first book was given a nonspecific European heritage), and this "Dakkar" goes back to being European. His island laboratory is just off the case of a fictional, Slavic-looking country called "Hetvia," from which comes the villain, Baron Falon. Where Dakkar is a high-minded scientist out to use his submarines to improve human life, Falon invades the laboratory with the intention of taking the vehicles and using them for world conquest.

The only other two characters of importance are Dakkar's sister Sonia and her lower-class boyfriend Nikolai. Early in the story Dakkar, while feigning friendship with Dakkar, protests an alliance between highborn Sonia and lowborn Nikolai, but Dakkar demonstrates that despite being a European he's got an American sense of egalitarianism and treats Nikolai as a worthy suitor. That's about all one can say about Sonia and Nikolai, who are otherwise just the conventional operetta-style romantic couple.

The sociological myth here, then, is embodied by Dakkar and Falon: between progressive, democratic science-as-inquiry and retrograde, aristocratic science-for-conquest. ISLAND evokes these elements reasonably well, though nothing in Lucien Hubbard's script begs one to sit up and take notice.

The strongest scenes are those depicting the two submarines-- each crewed by one of the opposing forces-- struggling for existence on the ocean floor. They stumble across an undersea civilization of duck-faced humanoids who have never been off the ocean floor; whether they're meant to be evolutionary branch-offs or just freaks of nature is left to one's imagination. A particularly strong scene has the duck-men go mad when exposed to blood in the water from a wounded surfaceman.

Many "adventurous" things happen here but the Fryean mode is that of drama, stressing heroism less than tragedy. After Falon's defeat Dakkar, already wounded unto death, nobly orders his research destroyed before he too perishes, implicitly leaving the proper exploration of science up to future generations.

On a side-note the film was a commerical and critical disaster. Some experts have speculated that its failure might have stalled the appearance of science fiction as a pure genre in the cinema for many years thereafter.