ADVENTURES OF SIR GALAHAD (1949), ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN AFRICA (1955)

PHENOMENALITY: (1) *marvelous,* (2) *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *adventure*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *sociological*

Both of these serials were produced near the end of the sound serial's classic period, and both show an erratic quality in the writing that suggests-- to me, at least-- that the writers knew that television was cutting in on their meal ticket, and that the serial's days were numbered.

SIR GALAHAD, for all its flaws, does try to match the event-packed gusto of the classic serials. Sir Galahad (George Reeves, still a few years away from Superman) comes to Camelot, seeking to become one of Arthur's knights. Galahad distinguishes himself in tourney-combat, so Arthur assigns him the same task by which previous knights have distinguished themselves: to remain on solitary guard-duty over the king's magical sword Excalibur. Unfortunately for the aspiring hero, a mysterious villain, the Black Knight, steals the sword, and Galahad cannot become a knight until he recovers the weapon. The hero receives some aid from comic relief Sir Bors, but he's opposed by the henchmen of the Black Knight, by Saxons who defy Arthur's reign, and, most surprisingly, by Arthur's court magician Merlin (William Fawcett).

Merlin's interference with Galahad's mission is never explained, but it's initially intriguing, just because the famed magician is usually, if not the hero of a given Arthurian tale, an ally to other heroes. One of the best cliffhangers in the serial involves Merlin trapping Galahad in a forest, where he's captured by a tree with arms (visibly a man in a tree suit)  and surrounded by "flames of darkness." Galahad is only freed by the intrusion of another sorceress, the Lady of the Lake, but her presence in the story, as well as that of Arthur's scheming half-sister Morgan Le Fay, ebbs and flows with no consistency. And to my disappointment, the script does some last-minute finagling to redeem Merlin, though the explanation of his actions really makes no sense at all.

However, even though GALAHAD lacks a strong villain, Reeves' forthright charm is on evidence throughout most of the serial, and the script is reasonably inventive in coming up with good cliffhangers, like having Galahad almost trampled by horses, or imperiling him with a moving wall of swords. The battle-scenes are well-handled, and had GALAHAD possesses a coherent script, it might now be regarded as one of the last good sound serials.

In contrast, ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN AFRICA is a patchwork mess. Apparently Columbia had the very belated idea of making a sequel to their 1943 PHANTOM serial. However, the studio no longer had the rights to use the Phantom character, so they merely concocted an unreasonable facsimile. This was Captain Africa, given an outfit with a strong resemblance to the Phantom's getup, so that Columbia could save dough by interpolating old shots from the 1943 serial whenever possible. Thus the Captain, in place of the Phantom's cowl, wears an aviator's helmet, and in place of a bodysuit, a shirt and trousers reminiscent of a football player's. Africa (played by short-lived "Lone Ranger" John Hart) has no origin, but he follows some of the Phantom's patterns, in that he interacts with a local African tribe by appearing to them in a puff of smoke, as if he's posing as some sort of spiritual being. For most of the serial, though, the Captain is involved more in North rather than Central Africa, for Columbia also wished to interpolate a lot of footage from a 1944 serial about contending Arab tribes, THE DESERT HAWK. Thus the bulk of CAPTAIN AFRICA shows the aviator-masked hero fighting bad Arabs to protect a good Arab princess.

With so much re-used footage-- some of which is used twice in AFRICA, when an episode does a "recap" sequence-- it should be unsurprising that there's no strong villain with whom Africa can contend. Hart handles the original fight-sequences well enough, but his unimposing costume does him no favors, and he gets precious little help from his support-cast.

The only really amusing thing about CAPTAIN AFRICA is, ironically, one of those footage-burning recap episodes. Most of the time, the recaps are handled by having one person tell other people about things that have already happened, interspersed with old footage. But at one point, Captain Africa decides to give his listeners a direct view of past events, by showing what happened-- in a crystal ball! (Naturally, what the crystal shows is more old footage.) Since neither the Captain nor anyone else in the serial displays any supernatural abilities, I choose to believe-- purely for categorization purposes-- that what he did was merely an illusionist's trick. The real reason behind the crystal-gazing is that an earlier Columbia serial, KING OF THE CONGO, had already made use of this schtick, though it was at least a little more justifiable in CONGO. The earlier serial had as one of its contributors writer George Plympton, and Plympton is the sole credited writer on AFRICA-- so we can fairly sure his only concern was in trying to put together a halfway credible story that served Columbia's cost-cutting purposes.

SECRET OF THE BLACK WIDOW (1963), CREATURE WITH THE BLUE HAND (1967)

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


Though I've never read an Edgar Wallace novel-- and possibly never will-- I must admit that his numerous thrillers and detective stories of the early 20th century may have played some role in the evolution of the costumed superhero. Wallace seems to have made heavy use of both masked villains, with names like The Frog, and masked heroes like The Green Archer, best known for his serial incarnation.

SECRET OF THE BLACK WIDOW is admittedly not a good example with which to start, since it's not in any way derived from an Edgar Wallace work. It's simply a "lookalike" for the popular *krimis* of the late fifties and early sixties, many of which did use Wallace concepts. Thus WIDOW starts out with a murder by a singularly peculiar method: a poison-filled projectile to which the killer attaches a rubber "black widow" spider, fired by an air gun. Naturally, the mystery murderer becomes known as "the Black Widow."

In comparison with some of the bonafide Wallace adaptations from this period, director Franz Gottleib and his writers almost seem determined to camp things up, some time before "camp" became mainstreamed. Most of the actors, particularly hero O.W. Fischer, mug outrageously, to the extent that even the "straight" roles take on a comic tone. Only the heroine, played by Karin Dor of YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE fame, seems to take her role seriously.

It's a lively production, though one really never knows quite what's going on most of the time. But after the viewer gets past the goofiness of the villain's modus operandi and the charms of Dor, WIDOW doesn't disclose any secrets worth knowing.

CREATURE WITH THE BLUE HAND, however, is a bonafide Wallace adaptation, and provides a lot more bang for the viewer's buck, even though like WIDOW, this film sports only one actor who became internationally known: Klaus Kinski. Here Kinski plays twin brothers, the apparently respectable Richard Emerson, and the apparently insane David Emerson, who gets locked away for having committed crimes out of insanity. Then David escapes, and suddenly other members of their family start getting knocked off by a mysterious figure with a metallic clawed glove. This "blue hand" is a family heirloom that's been in the Emerson family for centuries, and so the police initially conclude that crazy Dave has dressed up as "the Blue Hand" to kill off the other members of his family.

Naturally, that would be too simple, even for a mystery that isn't much of a mystery. It turns out that not only is David innocent, he and others have been victimized by a corrupt asylum manager, one Doctor Mangrove, who bears a nodding resemblance to Edward Van Sloan's "Doctor Van Helsing" in the 1931 DRACULA. Mangrove, in fact, is almost more of a menace than the Blue Hand, for when Myrna, sister of Richard and David, begins to investigate the crimes, he finds an excuse to condemn Myrna as insane and torment her with snakes and rats. Kinski is the primary attraction here, but director Alfred Vohrer delivers the requisite thrills with a steady hand-- probably because, unlike Gottlieb prior to WIDOW, prior to BLUE HAND Vohrer had directed three or four solid Wallace adaptations, particularly a well regarded 1961 take on Wallace's DEAD EYES OF LONDON.

As long as one doesn't pay too much attention to the phony-baloney mystery elements, BLUE HAND works fine as a wild thriller. Later an American producer concocted a film, THE BLOODY DEAD, by inserting gore-scenes into BLUE HAND's original story, but fortunately I haven't had to deal with that version.

DICK TRACY RETURNS (1938), DICK TRACY'S G-MEN (1939)

PHENOMENALITY: (1) *uncanny,* (2) *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *adventure*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *sociological*

In my review of Republic Studio's 1937 DICK TRACY serial, I mentioned that its idea of pitting the comic-strip police detective-- upgraded to a "g-man" by Republic-- against a virtual "supervillain" went very much against the content of the strip. The closest thing the strip had to a masked marauder was a fellow called "the Blank," and he didn't appear until October 1937, roughly ten months after the serial-Tracy contended with "the Spider."

DICK TRACY RETURNS is closer to the general content of the comic strip during the 1930s, wherein most of the villains were fairly down-to-earth, lacking the freakish features that predominated in Tracy villains from the 1940s and thereafter. In RETURNS, G-man Tracy pursues the Stark Gang, six ruthless professional crooks always garbed in plain clothes, and consisting of leader Pa Stark (Charles Middleton) and his five sons. Only in a handful of the serial's fifteen chapters does metaphenomenal content arise. In an early chapter, the Starks get involved in trying to steal the army's new radio-transmitter for the benefit of a foreign power, which would seem to indicate the extent to which even pre-war America anticipated getting pulled into the World War abroad. The invention, which seems to be the same as a later-discussed invention that combines elements of a telescope and a television, would seem to fall into the domain of the uncanny, though it functions as no more than a basic "McGuffin." Most of the time the Starks use only commonplace weapons, but in one episode, they booby-trap Tracy with a flash-camera gimmicked with tear-gas-- and this scene provides slightly better justification for gauging the serial's phenomenality as uncanny.

Such matters aside, the bulk of the serial focuses on the numerous schemes of the Starks and the efforts of Tracy and his fellow g-men to trap the crooks. As in the previous installment, the villains don't have one overriding plan, but continuously come up with new plots, usually oriented on simply making money. Middleton, who gained a measure of cinematic immortality as "Ming the Merciless" in FLASH GORDON, makes a good foil for Ralph Byrd's Tracy, particularly when, as the serial progresses, Pa keeps losing son after son to G-men gunfire. Still, given Republic's concentration on fistfights and car-chases, the potential melodrama is never realized. Still, at least all of the Stark boys are given some individuality, which is more than one can say of Tracy's assistants, particularly a rather pusillanimous version of Tracy's kid-ward Junior.

DICK TRACY'S G-MEN follows much the same pattern, except that the first and the fifteenth episodes of the serial are far better than everything in between. This time, Tracy's opponent is a full-fledged enemy agent with the rather devilish name of Nicholas Zarnoff (Irving Pichel). Zarnoff makes his debut as starring villain in a most improbable manner, for he's imprisoned in a jail cell, waiting to die for his crimes. Tracy appears on the other side of the bars, and when Zarnoff asks if the g-men thinks he Zarnoff is afraid of death, Tracy replies:

 "No, Zarnoff, you probably hold the same contempt for it that you held for the lives of others."

Thus the gauntlet is thrown down between Tracy, representing the forces of life, and Zarnoff, who is contemptuous of death and life alike. But before his execution, Zarnoff ingests a special chemical, and seems to die ahead of time. After his apparent passing, his agents revive him, and Zarnoff tells them that the death-chemical was the legacy of the "alchemists of Satan." Though in real history alchemists are not identical with Satanists, this section makes Zarnoff seem as if he's technically in league with the forces of evil, rather than just being a simple enemy agent. Indeed, the master spy makes an ambiguous remark about having "lost" some vital ingredient of his being because of using the devilish chemical-- though the allusion to sacrificing one's soul is never developed.

After this phenomenal opening, the serial settles into familiar territory, as Tracy continually prevents the spy's schemes of murder and sabotage. Regrettably, the serial makes heavy use of the practice of re-running previous scenes in order to recap earlier events, thereby saving the studio money and gypping contemporary viewers who actually followed the serials from episode to episode. However, G-MEN makes up for this debit with one of the strongest endings to any sound serial, when a crashed plane strands both Tracy and his quarry in a burning desert, where only one can survive.

Byrd is as good here as in any of his other Tracy serials, but Pichel is the real treat. He dominates every scene he's in, as much because of his presence as his Satanic-looking goatee, and for me at least ranks as one of the top ten villains of sound serials.

CRY OF THE BANSHEE (1970), MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE (1971)

PHENOMENALITY: (1) *marvelous,* (2) *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: (1) *poor,* (2) *good*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological, sociological*

In any arena of creative endeavor, the line between "really bad" and "really good" can shift with remarkable rapidity, to the extent that one can hardly credit that two time-adjacent works came from the same creator, or set of creators.

BANSHEE and MORGUE were both directed by Gordon Hessler, and one of the credited scripters on both films was one Christopher Wicking, who had also worked with Hessler on THE OBLONG BOX and SCREAM AND SCREAM AGAIN. Wicking collaborated with Tim Kelly on BANSHEE and with Henry Slesar on MORGUE, but it seems improbable that Slesar's participation made the later film so much better than the earlier one. It seems more likely that the respective creators of BANSHEE approached that film as nothing more than a job, while the ones who worked on MORGUE really "got into" their work.

One of BANSHEE's big weaknesses is that it doesn't actually have a traditional banshee in it. The being that's more or less supposed to be a banshee acts much like a garden-variety Judeo-Christian demon, summoned by a witch to take vengeance on 16th-century witch-hunter Lord Edward (Vincent Price) and his family. One can't help but wonder why the filmmakers even bothered to invoke the name of a Celtic death-spirit. The best guess may be that there was some vague intent to adhere to the putative religious mythology of Celtic pagans, rather than following the lead of many earlier witch-films, assuming that pagans worshiped the devils of Judeo-Christian lore. Yet the spirit invoked is so uninteresting that he might as well have been just another Christian demon.

The supernatural entity of the tirle is not the real star of BANSHEE, anyway, but Price's Lord Whitman-- but he too is blandly derivative. A couple of years, Price essayed a somewhat similar character, based on a historical witch-hunter, in the film WITCHFINDER GENERAL. Since the film was a box-office success, it seems likely that the filmmakers hoped to repeat that success by casting the famed horror-star in a similar (but wholly fictional) role. I can picture the writers talking it up, saying something like, "In WITCHFINDER GENERAL, Price tortured and murdered people who were only accused of being witches. We'll be really original: this time Price will still torture and murder, but he'll get his from a bonafide sorceress!"

In addition, Price's Lord Edward is joined by a whole family of corrupt nobles who share his fate. Yet the wider ensemble of characters makes clear that none of the writers-- which may have included Hessler, who claimed on a DVD release that he revised the script-- had the first idea as to how to make these hypocritical wastrels interesting. For some reason the script includes a moment in which one of Whitman's sons cows the lord's wife into having sex with him-- but apparently this was just an excuse to throw in a random sex-scene, since Lord Edward never finds out and the liaison has no real effect on the plot.One of Lord Edward's daughters is in love with a lowborn servant, but this romantic arc doesn't even affect the plot all that much when the servant is possessed by the demon, making him the catspaw in killing off the lord's family. (Guess the witch thought anyone working for Lord Edward was fair game, family or not.) Overall, though BANSHEE tries to sell itself on the same combination of lust and gore seen in WITCHFINDER, even these elements are dull, and Price, easily the standout performer, turns in a by-the-numbers job.

When comparing the imaginative scope of MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE with the paltry efforts of BANSHEE, one is tempted to agree with the saying attributed to many sources:

Stealing from one person is called Plagiarism, stealing from many is called Research

Like the great majority of films supposedly based on works by Edgar Allan Poe, MORGUE has very little to do with the putative inspiration. Even the 1932 Universal "adaptation" at least had a real ape in it, as did the Poe story, but this MORGUE lacks any "astounding animals," only men costumed in ape-suits. In fact, Hessler references the 1932 film by using certain elements, but only as elements in a play "within the play," so to speak.

The time is the early 20th century; the place is Paris. Most of the film's action centers around a theater that regularly gives Grand Guignol performances for the city's thrill-hungry populace. One play shows a version of Bela Lugosi's 1932 "mad scientist" threatening to torment a bound female victim by giving her over to the tender mercies of a caged ape.  However, some fiend causes one of the fake onstage murders to cause a real death. Enter the police, who investigate the theater's sole owner, Cesar Charron (a badly miscast Jason Robards) and, to some extent, his much younger wife Madeleine (presumably named for the doomed sister from Poe's "House of Usher").

The viewer knows, long before the police do, that this and other murders are committed by a man in a mask very reminiscent of the one worn by Claude Rains in the 1943 PHANTOM OF THE OPERA, though the murderer's played by the actor who played the Phantom in the 1962 version. But here the masked man's motives are closest to those of the Phantom from the original novel, for the police find it very interesting that Charron's company experienced a similar botched scene roughly ten years earlier-- a scene in which Charron's former partner Rene Marot (Herbert Lom) was burned by real acid rather than the fake variety. (This element also seems to have been borrowed from the 1943 Claude Rains film.) Also, ten years ago, the two theater-partners were also rivals over a woman, which is yet another similarity to the Gaston Leroux novel. The unnamed female character, who has one child by some unknown father, chose to cleave to Marot despite his disfigurement, but supposedly Marot went around the bend, killed the woman, and then took his own life. It's not clear exactly what happened to her little daughter, but at some point, she grew up to become the adult Madeleine, at which point-- one presumes-- Charron married her.

Even if the theater-director didn't have a name suggestive of the Greek conductor of the dead, most film-viewers would probably tip pretty soon that he's the only person with a good motive for disfiguring Marot. It's also no big surprise when Hessler reveals that Marot, an accomplished illusionist, faked his death via the old "Hindu suspended animation trick" (a reference to Poe's love of cataleptics, perhaps). Marot, whose mask adroitly conceals his patches of burned skin, continues to prey on other performers, because they helped buttress Charron's testimony that Marot slew Madeleine's mother. Charron of course is his final target, though Marot, like the Phantom, has different plans tor Madeleine, essentially the reborn simulacrum of her mother (MORELLA, anyone?) Indeed, one of Charron's female friends-- possibly an old lover-- cattily remarks to Charron, "You couldn't get the mother, so you married the daughter."

Madeleine (Christine Kaufmann), usually seen garbed in white, is one of the performers in Charron's plays, and so seems destined, like a lot of Poe women, to get absorbed in the schemes of men. To Kaufmann's credit, Madeleine doesn't come off as no more than a scream-machine, though she does exist to be terrified. She even has weird premonitory dreams of the man who killed her mother, even though she's never seen Masked Marot at the time of the first dream-- and even though it's eventually revealed that as a child she witnessed her mother's axe-murder, and not by Marot. Probably to no one's surprise, particularly thanks to Robards' listless acting, Charron turns out to be the real culprit in killing his original love-object, and framing Marot for the deed. One presumes that Little Madeleine simply repressed the sight of Charron killing her mother, to the extent that it didn't even com to the fore when she started sharing his bed-- though Marot's activities cause her memories to revive. Assisting Marot, and adding to the hallucinatory feel of the film, is midget Pierre (Michael Dunn), who also makes an appearance in a sequence that may or may not be a dream.

Thus Madeleine, unlike the heroine of Leroux's novel, is caught not between representatives of age and youth, but between two older men, both with some claim to being "father-figures." Given how stacked the odds are against the heroine, it's impressive that at the climax, she manages to bring about Marot's death after the fiend has slain Charron. And yet, she isn't entirely allowed to escape the fate usually doled out to Poe-heroines.

There's been much talk in reviews about how the studio cut MORGUE for general release. However, it may be that the cuts were to the film's benefit, for this film, unlike BANSHEE, sustains a lively mix of riotous carnivalesque imagery and brooding, surrealistic dream-scenes. As a mystery, it fails. As a delirious assault on the senses, MORGUE deserves more frequent "revivals."

THE MUMMY (1959)

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

Hammer's MUMMY was the studio's third revival of a monster (or monster-maker) made famous by Universal Studios, though technically it's the fourth "Universal-influenced" outing, coming out after CURSE OF FRANKENSTEIN, HORROR OF DRACULA, and REVENGE OF FRANKENSTEIN.
Hammer made other mummy-movies after this 1959 effort, but all of them remained independent of one another, in contrast to the 1959 film's inspiration: Universal's 1940s "Mummy" series, which began with 1940's THE MUMMY'S HAND. In that film, ancient Egyptian priest Kharis, who died for the love of his contemporary Princess Ananka, is revived in mummy-form by a modern-day religious fanatic who wants to punish British scientists for defiling the tombs of the ancient Egyptian dead.

Director Terence Fisher and writer Jimmy Sangster, who had collaborated on the previous three "Uni-influenced" productions, may have been constrained to follow the Universal model more than they were on the earlier films, as it's been stated that Hammer made some sort of payment to Universal to avoid copyright infringement. But a more important influence on Hammer's MUMMY was that it was the second monster-film to re-team Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee after their success in DRACULA. Thus the central conflict revolves around the fate of viewpoint character John Banning (Cushing). The requisite fanatical Egyptian priest (George Pastell) somehow smuggles the mummy Kharis (Lee) all the way to England in order to kill Banning and the members of the expedition that invaded the tomb of Ananka, and Banning must find a way to survive the wrath of a walking dead man.

Given the strong focus upon Cushing's character-- who, like the lead male character of the 1932 MUMMY, seems to be trying hard to be a knock-off of his Egyptologist father-- it's not surprising that Sangster's script largely neglects the romantic interest common to the Universal films. True, this motif took different forms over the years. The 1932 film was focused almost entirely on the mummy's attempt to find his ancient love, now reincarnated in a modern woman's body. There followed the next two films, MUMMY'S HAND and MUMMY'S TOMB, in which nothing is said about finding any reincarnations, though two of Kharis's high-priest handlers fall for a modern American woman. and one of them steals a trope from the 1932 film by trying to make his beloved into a mummy-woman. Then the last two films in the Universal series once more turn to the reincarnation theme, with the bandaged killer encountering the spirit of the Egyptian princess in two more mortal vessels before the series wrap-- er, finished up.

As if to show how little this sort of spirit-hopping metaphysics appealed to the men of Hammer Studios, Sangster's script doesn't even address the topic of reincarnation. As was done in the 1932 movie, the same actress played both the mummy's former love and her modern lookalike. However, but this time the resemblance between ancient Ananka and modern-day Isobel (wife of John) Banning is accounted for by coincidence. not reincarnation. Sangster's script introduces Isobel in a very desultory manner, showing no interest in her character, for her only function in the story is to be a distraction to the near-invulnerable mummy. Hammer's treatment of female characters was often problematic, but Isobel, who boasts neither backstory nor agency, is surely one of the low points for Hammer women.

Cushing's best moments in the film are not with his confrere Lee, but with high priest Pastell, when John Banning visits the Egyptian scholar at his home and disses the man's religion, the better to enrage the high priest and cause him to send Kharis into a trap. Still, the heart of the film is to be found not in Cushing's stereotypical character, but in the mute performance of Chris Lee as Kharis. Because the mummy, like some of his Universal predecessors, has had his tongue cut out, Lee must project emotion through the formidable bandage-makeup, while using bodily attitude as much as is possible for a living dead man. The performance bears some similarity to Lee's handling of the Frankenstein Monster, though Kharis's tragic history adds a layer of emotional resonance not present in CURSE OF FRANKENSTEIN. Lee doesn't seem to have essayed another character incapable of speech for the remainder of his career, which is all to the good, since he probably could not have topped this.

Franz Reisenstein provides one of Hammer's most memorable horror-scores for this film. The overall verdict, though, is that while the 1959 MUMMY provides efficient enough thrills, and even a little sympathy for its monstrous star, it's not one of Hammer's timeless accomplishments.

GARGOYLES (1972)

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


To viewers raised on CGI monsters, the "zipper-up-the-back" fiends of this 1972 telefilm probably look pretty paltry.

Nevertheless, I liked the film back in the day, as did many other "baby-boomer" viewers, at least in part because monster-costumes and puppetry were the only FX-game in town. On re-screening the film, I can see how director Bill Norton used slo-mo and other visual tricks to distract from the fact that most of the costumes, despite the participation of Stan Winston, are not that detailed. Only the one worn by Bernie Casey (see above) is truly impressive, and this stems in part from the fact that only Casey's "head gargoyle" has a speaking role.

A voice-over provides the familiar yet durable set-up: horned reptile-people, both with and without wings, have existed alongside humankind since prehistory. These reptiles are the source of humankind's legends about devils and demons, though they're always called "gargoyles" in the film, despite the fact that these medieval waterspouts are of considerably later vintage. Humans breed faster and more prolifically than gargoyles, with the result that gargoyles have had to dwell in out-of-the-way locales, like a certain desert in the American Southwest.

Pop anthropologist author Doctor Boley (Cornel Wilde) and his photographer-daughter Diana (Jennifer Salt) venture into the desert in response to a letter from a hermit who promises to show them something worthy of a book on weird anthropology. At first old codger Uncle Willie seems to have nothing more than a roadside "museum of oddities" to offer, until he shows them the skeleton of the gargoyle species. Boley, though initially skeptical, lets Uncle Willie relate his story of strange beings who have dwelled in the mountains since the Indian days. Then unseen forces attack Willie's museum. Boley and Diana get clear, but Willie dies when his museum catches fire. Boley and Diana witness just enough to convince them that the gargoyles are the real culprits, but there's no way to reveal the truth to the local law-officers without sounding insane.

The gargoyles aren't willing to let the duo get away, though, and they brave the local desert-town to capture Boley and Diana. Boley escapes, but the gargoyles spirit Diana away to their mountain lair. There she learns that the gargoyles have been nurturing a clutch of eggs with which they plan to unleash a new gargoyle horde upon humanity. In addition, the Gargoyle Leader seems to feel that he might be able to do a little mating-action with a human female, though this danger is distinctly soft-pedaled for its TV audience.

Although the gargoyles are a fantasy-race, their determination to become great upon the earth has a definite sociological myth-theme-- and it may not be coincidence that someone in production chose a black actor to speak for the put-upon fantasy-race. For both director Bill Norton and the writing-team Steven and Elinor Karpf, GARGOYLES seems to prove a high-water mark, since it remains one of the better regarded metaphenomenal telefilms of the 1970s.

FLYING DISC MAN FROM MARS (1950), THE SECRET CODE (1942)

PHENOMENALITY: (1) *marvelous,* (2) *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *adventure*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *sociological*

FLYING DISC MAN is a quasi-sequel to THE PURPLE MONSTER STRIKES, but only because it recycles the same basic idea-- Martians coming to Earth and collaborating with America's enemies-- and the costumes. DISC MAN is directed by Fred C. Bannen, who was one of the two helmsmen credited with PURPLE MONSTER, and is written by Ronald Davidson, credited as the PURPLE producer.

Yet, though PURPLE MONSTER is just an average serial, DISC MAN seems to go out of its way not to live up to its predecessor's modest accomplishments. It's not that surprising that the new serial does away with the Martians' propensity for "body-snatching," as this was probably an extra expense and the 1950 serial was already recycling scenes from its predecessor and from other serials. But whereas PURPLE MONSTER had several writers assigned to think up new perils for the heroes, Davidson wasn't even able to think of one good setup-- much less distinguishing his characters. Serial heroes and heroines are not exactly scintillating personalities at the best of times, yet the characters essayed by Walter Reed and Lois Collier impressed me as two of the dullest ever.

The only element that was even remotely exciting was the appearance of the "disc" of the title, which is the Martian spaceship-- and that's recycled from the 1942 serial KING OF THE MOUNTIES.

THE SECRET CODE, made at the height of U.S. involvement during the Second World War, is at least average entertainment.  Like a number of other 1940s serials, it starts with a bang, as policeman Dan Barton is accused of being a collaborator. His betrayal is really a put-up job, though, so that Barton can infiltrate a spy ring endangering U.S. security. The first episode even has a moment in which Barton's best friend is tempted to shoot the supposed traitor, but gives in to his instincts about Barton's essential decency and becomes the undercover agent's confidante. Further, so that Barton can act against the spies without endangering his status, he assumes the masked, black-clad identity of the Black Commando-- thus making for a lot of fights in this knockabout serial. CODE's biggest weakness is the same as that of many wartime serials: an undistinguished collection of espionage villains. Because the plot partly concerns an attempt to break the enemy spies' "secret code," each episode ends with an official of U.S. "military intelligence" explaining examples of code-breaking to the audience. Fortunately, modern viewers, unlike theater-goers in 1942, have the option of ignoring these tedious propaganda lectures.

On a side-note, because the serial fell into public domain (or was believed to have done so), the Black Commando showed up later as a comic-book character for Bill Black's AMERICOMICS line.