REPTILIAN (1999), GARGANTUA (1998)

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


The announcement of the U.S. version of GODZILLA stimulated other producers to try their hand at the giant monster genre.

Released in South Korea the year after the debut of the Americanized monster, REPTILIAN was a very broad re-interpretation of South Korean's only giant-monster of the 1960s, YONGARY, MONSTER OF THE DEEP.  The earlier film emulated the popular Godzilla franchise in most respects, having a titanic prehistoric creature resurrected by atomic testing. On the whole, that film was small beer next to the work it imitated.

In contrast, REPTILIAN, crewed by South Koreans but acted largely by Americans, easily ups the game of the sadly derivative 1998 GODZILLA. I remarked in my review that even though the film had a fair share of violence, it couldn't be called combative, because Ameri-Godzilla spends so much of his time running away from jet planes and other modern technology. The American producers, it seems, simply couldn't countenance the idea of a giant animal that could ward off rocket-fire.

The new version of Yongary-- usually rendered "Yongarry"-- is full of combative action, and should satisfy the hardcore Godzilla-lover in that the big critter easily withstands the bullets and bombs hurled at it. To be sure, the creature is under the control of evil aliens, and they've provided their big pawn with a force-field. So maybe the producers threw that in as a sop to modern disbelief. Nevertheless, the visual effect of Yongarry's near-invulnerability beats any comparable scene in '98 GODZILLA.

The human characters are largely forgettable, and are supplied with some truly risible dialogue Yongarry is resurrected along with an ancient written prophecy, though I never figured out who authored the prediction-- not only that Yongarry would arise, but also that he would fight another big monster like himself. Toward the film's end an American soldier frees Yongarry from the aliens' control, so the invaders unleash another big creature on the city. Yongarry wins the contest and the aliens depart.

It's a very silly monster-flick, but because it's done with a lot of energy, it's a much better salute to the Golden Age of Kaiju than the American outing.

In contrast, 1998's GARGANTUA is a dumbed-down version of 1961's GORGO. A biologist and his semi-estranged son come across a small upright-walking dinosaur, looking a bit like a big ambulatory tadpole. The son bonds with Little Gargantua, much to the concern of his father. Then the little one's parent-- I forget whether it was father or mother-- comes looking for its offspring. However, Big Gargantua has even less going for him than Ameri-Godzilla. In his initial contact with the local military, he only manages to kill one or two soldiers before the big guy is slain by their gunfire. The main focus of the story returns to the human father and son, who seek to return the little one to the seas before unscrupulous exploiters can capture Junior.

Pretty much a bore all the way through, and certainly not in the combative mode.

MOON OF THE WOLF (1972)

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


SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

I haven't read the 1967 novel on which this ABC telefilm was based. One online review notes that the original story took place in Depression-era Louisiana, and that the female victim, whose murder starts the story rolling, was Afro-American. The film's changes-- updating the story to present-day Louisiana and beginning with a Caucasian female victim-- don't notably hurt the story, which is at its strongest when it's touching on the American "class gap."

A couple of bayou-farmers find the body of a low-class white girl named Ellie out in the woods, apparently mauled by wild dogs. However, the autopsy by the local doctor reveals that she was knocked out by a blow on the head. The doc tells Sheriff Whitaker (David Janssen) that even though wild dogs may have savaged her body, the blow killed her, and that it may have been administered from the front by a "leftie." This, of course, means that in the course of his investigation, Whitaker starts paying a lot of attention to which hand his suspects use to hold their mint juleps. This isn't a very rewarding pursuit, particularly because the doc also says that for all he can tell the blow also could have been delivered from behind by a "rightie." (We're a long way from CSI, here.) The script harps on this schtick a little too much, and even specifies that one suspect is ambidextrous. Perhaps the aim was to give David Janssen as many scenes as possible where he could grimace and look frustrated?

Whitaker gets more fruitful clue-material from the fact that the body was found near the estate of the Rodanthes, one of the legendary "first families" of Louisiana. Whitaker questions the standoffish head of the family, young Andrew Rodanthe (Bradford Dillman), and also finds out that his sister Louise (Barbara Rush) has recently returned to town. In the course of their conversation Whitaker and Louise reveal that each had a crush on the other in high school, and Whitaker claims that he wouldn't act on his affections because of the distinction between their classes. Andrew doesn't seem to approve of any association between his sister and the working-class.

Nothing daunted, Louise runs into Whitaker in town and reveals that despite Andrew claiming that she'd been "sick," he actually brought her back to the family estate because she's been involved with some "socially unacceptable" person up north. Louise doesn't entirely like being under Andrew's thumb but accepts it because he controls the family purse-strings.

The script also reveals that Ellie was pregnant, but Whitaker doesn't have to do much detective work: the doctor admits that he fathered the child, and also that he wanted her to abort it. Again, the conflict seems to arise out of societal disapproval: Doc wants to keep his practice in town, and knows that the community won't approve of his pre-marital liaison. Whitaker keeps his eye on the doc but doesn't see fit to arrest him as a suspect. He does end up arresting Ellie's hot-tempered brother when the guy finds out who knocked up his sister. Brother punches doctor, and the former goes to the lockup. Then the titular "wolf" makes his first appearance. A single man, seen only from the rear, breaks into the jail, knocks out Whitaker's deputy, rips away the door to the brother's cell and kills him.

Up to this point there have been a few tossed-off references to real wolves, while the girl's grandfather warns people about a "lookaroo." Whitaker doesn't seem to have much curiosity about the maniac who killed a man in the lockup, but he gets some help from both Andrew-- who volunteers his services as a deputy-- and from Louise, who volunteers her services to interview Ellie's grandfather, who speaks only French. (Really? Before this, Whitaker couldn't find anyone else in a mid-sized Louisana town who could speak French?) Anyway, Louise reveals that "lookaroo" is just dialect for "loup garou," meaning "werewolf." Whitaker still wants no truck with the supernatural, and continues to be the standard disbeliever even after Andrew-- hospitalized after suffering a strange fit-- turns all hairy and tosses various orderlies around before escaping.  A hunting-party goes looking for the wolf-maniac. Andrew shows up at the family estate, where Whitaker proves ineffectual against him while Louise has the honor of destroying her werewolf brother.

I've leapfrogged over a number of plot-details, but I don't think most of them contribute much lucidity to the story, and even after re-watching the film the scenario of Ellie's death doesn't track very well. Assuming that Werewolf-Andrew came upon Ellie and simply killed her out of blood-lust, it's a little hard to picture a werewolf simply clubbing a victim on the head before assailing the body. As to why the wolf-man broke into jail to slay Ellie's brother, I haven't a clue. There are tidbits of werewolf-lore scattered throughout the story, but they don't really integrate with the main action of the plot-- though there's a minor irony in the fact that Andrew, who circulated the story that Louise was sick, is the real "aristocrat-with-a-congenital disease." (In this essay I pointed out a similar distaste for horror-tropes in Guy Endore's novel WEREWOLF OF PARIS.)

Yet, even though I don't think either the mystery-angle or the horror-plot work very well, I still like MOON OF THE WOLF. All of the actors give strong performances with their admittedly half-baked characters, and the telefilm also benefits from some location shooting. Director Daniel Petrie started out in television, and managed to graduate to feature-films for a time (1980's RESURRECTION, 1981's FORT APACHE--THE BRONX) before returning to the small screen. His direction on MOON is best distinguished by the dramatic scenes between Janssen and Rush, and it's certainly not his fault that the production saddled him with sub-par werewolf makeup. MOON isn't one of the better TV-horrors of the period, but the film does at least play around with a few interesting sociological motifs in the midst of its meandering murder-mystery.

SUPERMAN-- THE MUSICAL (1975)

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *fair*

FRYEAN MYTHOS: *comedy*

CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*

I imagine that this shot-on-video TV-special is the closest I'll ever get to seeing any version of the 1966 stage-play IT'S A BIRD IT'S A PLANE IT'S SUPERMAN. I used to come across a few mentions of the show in the comic books of the period, but even if I'd had the chance to see the play at the time, I probably would have avoided it, given that it appeared to making fun of superheroes, even more so than the contemporaneous BATMAN teleseries.

My verdict from watching this special-- which dropped several of the play's numbers for time-constraints-- is that it isn't so bad. A lot of the humor is lame, though it may not be any worse than that of the play. Whereas I consider BATMAN a sort of adventure/irony than a comedy, SUPERMAN THE MUSICAL is full of lots of dopey gags that put it in the domain of "corn" rather than "camp."

The plot's simple: Superman has been crusading against crime for years, engaging the love of Lois Lane and the envy of others (a smarmy Daily Planet columnist, a goofy mad scientist). The scientist conspires with the columnist and various thugs to eliminate the Man of Steel, first with a death-ray, then by undermining him with psychological tricks. In fact, the scenes in which the scientist tries to persuade Superman that he's a mass of neurotic fantasies-- that even his flying represented a "symbol of frustration"-- are about the only funny jokes in the teleplay.

Lesley Ann Warren excels in her portrait of the dithering girl reporter, while Loretta Swit belts out the play's best known number, "You've Got Possibilities." David Wilson is OK as the comic version of Superman, and since he gets to beat up a bunch of thugs at the story's end, this does rate as a "combative comedy."

SUPERMAN (1978)

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *good*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *adventure*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological, metaphysical, cosmological*


I re-watched the theatrical version of SUPERMAN, so as to best recall my original feelings toward the film that hit theater screens in 1978. Those feelings remain largely unchanged: pleasure at seeing all the stuff the producers got right, disappointment at the other stuff.

Amid the DVD's special features was a voice-over by producers Ilya Salkind and Pierre Spengler, in which Salkind denies that he and his producer-buddies were responsible for the "camp" aspects. Such is the allegation of director Richard Donner, who's said to have brought in Tom Mankiewicz to produce a less "ridiculous" (his word) script. Listening to Ilya Salkind, who's credited with raising the idea of an adaptation with Alexander Salkind, I'd like to believe him, particularly when he talks about wanting to bring a "2001" vibe to the opening scenes on Krypton. But then, I look at all of the scenes with Luthor and his comic accomplices, and strong doubt creeps back in.

Fans over the years have dogpiled on Luthor's stooge Otis (Ned Beatty), but he's no worse than Luthor (Gene Hackman) or his moll Miss Teschmacher (Valerine Perrine). The problem lies not in the actors, but in the conception of Luthor as somehow being both incredibly brilliant and hopelessly inane (yes, I mean "inane," not "insane.") I can well understand why the filmmakers didn't want to bother with any of the Luthor mythology from the comic books, but what they substituted was a Luthor who's more an underachiever than a world-beater. He's introduced as an alleged criminal mastermind who's currently on the run from the law for crimes unknown, and this is the closest rationale as to why he holes up in an underground hideout with Otis and Teschmacher, both of whom seem like Damon Runyon versions of crooked types. One can't even call the threesome's scenes "camp:" they're merely sadly cornball. In my theatrical viewing, I remember feeling disgust at Luthor's idiotic plot to destroy California, but now I think there's a worse scene: the one in which the preening villain "deduces" out the probable existence of kryptonite, sans any evidence for its existence. The only saving grace of the Luthor plotline is that his scheme of nuclear partition is that it gives Superman the chance to struggle with a nuclear missile. If Donner was indeed the guiding genius that gave us this near-masterpiece, then he has to accept a certain amount of opprobrium for letting these scenes ruin what could have been a masterpiece.

And SUPERMAN could have been a masterpiece, at least among superhero movies, based purely on the fortuitous casting of Christopher Reeve. The hardcore comics-fan may well shudder to observe the various actors the producers considered for the role-- Dustin Hoffman, James Caan-- before they decided to select an unknown who had the advantage of looking the part. Reeve's charisma, far more than the expensive flying-FX, sells the film, as well as the film's theme. Simon-pure heroes were usually derided in the pop culture of the time, as they are in Broadway's Superman musical and (to a lesser extent) the Batman teleseries. But when Superman tells Lois that he never lies, or helps a cat down from a tree, Reeve conveys that ideal of innocence absolutely.

The other actors embody their roles well enough, though most don't really have much to do aside from Perry White and, of course, Lois Lane. Much like Reeves, Margot Kidder managed to bring an emotional honesty to a comics-character who was pretty simple in her earliest stories. Kidder's take on the girl reporter has also become something of a benchmark for later actors. I could have done without the strange poetic interlude ("can you read my mind?") during Lois' s flight with Superman, but maybe the guilt for that one can be laid at the door of the entire 1970s decade.  On the other hand, I didn't think Marlon Brando brought anything to the role but his enormous fame, though I'll admit that there may have been some ticket-buyers drawn in by his repute.

Other things I noticed in this re-screening: I thought it interesting that the script ditched the old idea that the hero's strength stemmed from Earth's lesser gravity, substituting instead an explanation. Yet I wonder what the scripters were thinking of when they characterized the villainous Ursa as one whose ""perversions and unreasoning hatred of all mankind have threatened even the children of the planet Krypton."

The early section of the film sometimes drags a bit, but it's understandable, given that Donner was trying to recapitulate the character's familiar origin in mythic, even Biblical terms. (Mankiewicz is credited with the dialogue that equates the hero and his Kryptonian dad Jor-El with the Judeo-Christian God and his only begotten son, which are the only "metaphysical" aspects of the story.) I was impressed with some of the symmetry Donner visually exploits. Of course, some of this may have come about because he was originally contracted to direct both this film and its sequel. Certainly the icy Fortress of Solitude is meant to emulate the white-on-white design of Krypton, and while I've never liked Donner-Krypton, I must admit that the Donner-Fortress has become an icon in its own right, easily eclipsing the Silver Age version, which amounted to a juvenile room-fulla-junk.

Donner has been credited by some with having successfully giving comics' premiere superhero a "Hero's Journey" in line with Joseph Campbell's theories. Unfortunately, the journey is at least sidetracked by the villain's banal "B-plot," though not entirely derailed. After all, train-metaphors can't entirely contain him, given that he's "more powerful than a locomotive."

BURN, WITCH, BURN! (1962), WITCHES' BREW (1980)

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: (1) *fair,* (2) *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: (1) *drama,* (2) *irony*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *psychological. sociological, metaphysical*


It's been a while since I reread Fritz Leiber's novel CONJURE WIFE, but I'm not going out on too much of a limb to declare that of the three film-adaptations, BURN, WITCH, BURN! easily comes closest to the mark.

Obviously the movie's script-- by three genre-favorites (Charles Beaumont, Richard Matheson, and George Baxt)-- had to elide many of the more complicated aspects of Leiber's novel. However, the script, as well as the stylish direction of Sidney Hayers, are true to the core of CONJURE WIFE. It starts as a martial conflict between college professor Norman Taylor and his wife Tansy. Tansy doesn't seem to fit in with the other professors' wives on the small campus where Norman teaches, and he's largely deaf to her complaints about the hostility being directed against both of them by the entrenched faculty. Even before the main conflict between them erupts, Norman makes a remark about her unusual interest in primitive systems of magic, which he observed during their visit to Jamaica years ago. The mere fact that he would obsess about such a trivial detail shows Norman to be a staunch empiricist, though this version of the story doesn't emphasize the stature he acquired from writing an anti-superstition book, as did the earlier adaptation WEIRD WOMAN. The conflict heats up when Norman learns that Tansy has been secretly enacting witchcraft rituals in order to stave off malign influences. She even tells him that she used witchcraft in Jamaica to save him from a fatal illness. Norman is deeply offended, not only that a wife of his would countenance such irrational beliefs, but also that she doesn't think he earned his position at the college through his own efforts. In short order, he pressures Tansy into destroying all of her protective systems.

As in the novel, all of Norman's good fortune turns sour. Students and faculty-members who were mere annoyances become tangible threats, and a strange presence comes to the door, only to be banished by Tansy's efforts. Norman still does not believe, until Tansy performs a magic spell designed to attract the malign forces upon herself. As a result she almost drowns, but Norman, his love overcoming his sense of rationality, imitates one of her spells and manages to bring her back from the brink. However, the couple still have to deal with the source of the evil sendings.

There are some weaknesses in the script, probably the result of trying to cram Leiber's expansive concepts into a simpler plot. There's an early reference to one character being a hypnotist, which I don't recall from the novel. If this were an uncanny thriller like CALLING DOCTOR DEATH, one could easily understand the inclusion of this talent, as a setup to explaining the witchcraft in semi-rational terms. However, since there's no real viewer-doubt about the reality of the marvelous magicks taking place-- at least not after some unseen presence comes knocking on the Taylors' door-- this point seems irrelevant. The novel makes more of an idea that the villain, an older woman, wants to take over Tansy's body and her life, planning to cohabit with Norman without his knowledge. In the film, this trope is reduced to the villain briefly possessing Tansy's body and trying to kill Norman. I didn't mind that the villain was re-written so that she didn't have any erotic interest in Norman, but the script doesn't really give her any strong motive in its place. The story's worst failing is that, in a scene taking place after Norman himself uses magic to recover Tansy, he confronts the villain and tries to fall back on the idea that she's done it all through hypnotism.  Really?

The metaphysical aspects of the novel are played down as well, but at least they are present, in contrast to WEIRD WOMAN, and BURN certainly does a better job eliciting the psychological and sociological conflicts between the couple.

The first adaptation WEIRD WOMAN may have been a little dull, but at least it knew what formulas it wanted to follow, and did so in an adequate fashion. By comparison, I couldn't figure out what WITCHES BREW thought it was doing with the plot of CONJURE WIFE.

Once again, there's no doubt that the witchcraft on the campus is real from the get-go, but it's treated as the daffy hobby of the professors' wives, including Margaret (Teri Garr), wife of up-and-comer Joshua Lightman (Richard Benjamin). (NOTE: unlike BURN, there's not even a partial attempt here to keep any of the novel's characters or their names.) Vivian Cross (Lana Turner) is the one old witch who has darker plans hidden within her witchy ways, and this time they do include taking over the body of the good professor's wife, after he foolishly persuades her to destroy all of her magical wards.

I've seen WITCHES BREW labeled a "spoof," but it's an irony rather than a comedy, for everything in the film's world is rather idiotic, giving the viewer little reason to care about the heroes any more than the villains. This ironic detachment mirrors well the persona of Richard Benjamin, whose ennui seems to inform the performances of Garr and Turner as well, but Benjamin isn't credited as one of the writers. The script is credited to the film's co-director Richard Shorr, whose principal occupation was that of sound editor, and to Syd Dutton, who has no other writing-credits on IMDB but does have a slew of visual effects citations-- though, strangely, not on WITCHES' BREW. Another possible source of the detached attitude might be the film's other director Herbert L. Strock. But none of the works in Strock's writing'/ directing repertoire director really suggest this level of smarmy disinterest in the ostensible subject matter.

The nicest thing I can say about this tepid brew is that it has an engaging theme song by Lennie Bleecher and John Carl Parker.

FUTURESPORT (1998)

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *adventure*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *sociological*

I was not a great fan of the 1975 ROLLERBALL, with its attempt to meld Orwell's 1984 with the staid intellectual's aversion to a supposed "bread and circuses" culture.  And on occasion, when a given film seems overly self-important, I've even enjoyed seeing it get ripped off by a dumb pop-culture imitation.

Not this time, though. Despite some serious money behind the scenes, FUTURESPORT manages to copy the main plot of ROLLERBALL without adding anything of its own. Again we have one single sport that has, in a future society only about 20 years from the present, pushed all other sports out of American consciousness. (At least FUTURESPORT doesn't extend this development to the whole world, as ROLLERBALL did.) Again, the popularity of the new sport invites politicians to use it, very improbably, to settle their arguments. Here, for reasons never articulated, Hawaii wants to secede from the U.S.

The foremost American player of Roll-- I mean, Futuresport is Tre Ramzey (Dean Cain). He's an arrogant prick, and somehow, long before any government start betting the farm on The Big Game, the Hawaiian secessionists target him for an attack. He and his team-buddies use their combat-skills to trounce the terrorists. This incident,if anything, pumps up Ramzey's ego even more, so that he starts showboating on the Futuresport ball-court, failing to give them support when needed. Ramzey's ex-wife Alex (Vanessa Williams) busts his chops for this, which leads the fractious duo to become a couple again. At some point Ramzey gets religion and begins working with the team as its coach, paying more attention to teamwork in time for the Big Game that will decide whether or not Hawaii can secede from the union.

Wesley Snipes, listed as one of the producers, has a small role here, and since he was an A-list star at the time, I'd bet that this TV-film was a financial investment for him. Neither he nor anyone else puts much effort into their acting, though Williams brings a certain conviction to her part, and even gets a little bit of fighting alongside the sports-heroes. The action-scenes are watchable but nothing more.

PRIEST (2011)

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

There's not much similarity between this film and the Korean comics-series on which it's said to be based. The comic-book PRIEST is very much a "weird western" story, taking place in some alternate-world version of 19th-century Europe and America. Demons and rogue angels are continually fighting one another in this world, often unleashing plagues of zombies. One demon makes a pact with Ivan Isaacs, the Catholic "priest" of the title, giving the former priest fabulous powers in order to battle the minion's of the angel's enemies. Though not all of the story takes place in the American West, "spaghetti western" tropes are seen in abundance.

Though the comic book is somewhat philosophically disorganized, the 2011 film has little interest in any philosophy, Catholic or otherwise. The story takes place in the future, and replaces angels, demons and zombie hordes with one primary menace, that of vampires. Prior to the film's main action, vampires have warred on humans for centuries. The human world, now governed by a Catholic theocracy, triumphs by somehow creating a warrior caste known as "Priests," who can leap great distances and wield mighty weapons. The Priests make it possible for humans to destroy most of the vampires and confine the rest to a reservation (though why any are left alive is never suggested). However, having won the war, the Priests-- all of whom seem to be called "Priest" if they're male, and "Priestess" if they're female-- are forced to re-integrate into society, while the theocracy continues to hold power over the post-apocalyptic society.

A sheriff from an outlying (and somewhat Western-looking) community seeks out a man known only as Priest (Paul Bettany), who, though he had another name prior to his ordination, is always called just "Priest." The sheriff relates that a new gang of vampires have killed Priest's brother and sister-in-law, and have absconded with his niece Lucy. Against the orders of his, er, order, Priest and the sheriff leave the city to investigate the vampire's new plot. On the way they also enlist the services of a surviving Priestess (Maggie Q), and eventually Priest learns that the vampires have also managed to suborn a new ally to their crusade against humanity.

The story is overly familiar, but the action sequences are often better than average, particularly in terms of the designs for the warriors' weapons and conveyances. The script is pretty timid about making any particular references to Catholic Christianity, and unlike the comics-character, Priest and Priestess have only vague visual resemblances to the Catholic image. The vampire menace is woefully under-characterized.