BATMAN: “THE SPELL OF TUT” (1966)

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *good*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *adventure*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *psychological, sociological*

The creators of Tut return for his second outing, a distinct improvement over “The Curse of Tut.” In that episode, the demented would-be pharaoh had a very confused scheme to eliminate the Duo and to take over Gotham City somehow, in part by posing as a rejuvenated mummy. This time, though, Tut has a genuine world-beating plot, again involving the idea of Egyptian resurrection. Tut’s thugs break into a museum but steal nothing but a necklace of amber beads. Batman, however, deduces that the beads contained scarab beeteles, perfectly preserved for centuries—and that the juice in the beetles’ bodies can be used to brew a unique mind-controlling potion. At last Tut has a weapon that could literally reduce Gothamites to the status of worshipping acolytes.

The deathtrap this time round is just fair, and Tut doesn’t even precisely execute it, since Robin, rashly fighting Tut’s gang on his own, blunders into a room where the phony pharaoh keeps a pool full of crocodiles. Batman helps his partner escape, but neither hero can keep Tut from using his potion to take control of such luminaries as Commissioner Gordon and Chief O’Hara. As in the previous King Tut tale, the clever Caped Crusader finds a way to fake being under “the spell of Tut,” and to bring him to justice—just before he once more reverts to normalcy.

Victor Buono appears to have even more fun with Tut than he did before, wailing like a big baby when he thinks his experiment has failed, and then weeping copiously over being forced to kill his precious scarabs to make the potion. Like many villains before him, his comely moll—a lady named “Cleo Patrick”—irks Tut by swooning over Batman again, though this time nothing much comes of Batman’s power over feminine hearts.

BATMAN: “THE MINSTREL’S SHAKEDOWN” (1966)

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *adventure*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *psychological, sociological*

The one-shot outing for Van Johnson’s Minstrel is written by the team of Francis and Marion Cockrell, who crafted an above-average episode with “The Thirteenth Hat.” The episode is one of the strongest second-season stories, though, as with Bookworm, one isn’t inclined to regret that the villain never re-appeared. Despite being a charming singer and an electronic genius, Minstrel is—to invoke the obvious pun—a little too “one-note.”

His moneymaking plot, though, is more inventive than most such big scores. Minstrel uses electronic oscillators (or something like that) to play havoc with the Gotham Stock Exchange, and then he demands regular protection payments to be sent to a bank account in Switzerland. For once, the heroes don’t have a villain who conveniently sends them clues as to his next crime; they just have to figure out where in Gotham the evildoer is based.

During their quest, the script sets up the duel between Batman and the Minstrel as one between scienfitic geniuses, not to mention being a duel of two attractive guys (even if Johnson’s matinee-idol days were behind him). Minstrel’s moll Octavia continues the tradition of lusting after the manly crusader and hoping that it won’t be necessary to slay the noble lawman. However, when the crimefighters blunder into the Minstrel’s hideout and get captured, they’re condemned to be roasted to death on an electronic spit. However, Batman shows a little more foresight than he does in most of the deathtrap-setups, for he seeds the hideout with diversionary “Bat-bombs.” Thus, even though the Minstrel and his gang don’t intend to leave the room before their foes perish, the bombs lure the crooks away long enough for the heroes to make their escape.

Though the Minstrel and his henchmen escape, Octavia gives herself up. But this time, Batman seems to mildly flirt with the woman before letting her go. However, he only does so because he’s planted a bug in her purse, hoping she’ll lead the heroes to her employer. However, once again the savvy schemer counteracts Batman’s gambit by finding the bug, much to Octavia’s indignation. Minstrel then ups the game by threatening to decimate Gotham with subsonic waves, but his eagerness to be on hand for a payoff marks finis to his career.

BATMAN: “HOT OFF THE GRIDDLE” (1966)

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *adventure*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *psychological, sociological*

To no one’s surprise, Julie Newmar’s Catwoman survives her alleged death at the end of “The Purr-Fect Crime,” and she returns with a new criminal scheme—though at first she commits assorted petty hijinks as a method of training a new crew of “cat burglars.”

Stanley Ralph Ross’s second Catwoman script suffers from a lot more plot-holes than did the first one. When Batman and Robin sought to deceive Zelda the Great with a false news-item about her booty being counterfeit, that ploy seemed feasible. Here, Batman gets the oddball idea to plant a blurb directed at Catwoman in a newspaper gossip-column, without having the slightest reason to think she reads the column. And Catwoman herself must be psychic, for she already has the column’s author Jack O’Shea (Jack Kelly) in her pocket.

The Duo seek to catch the Princess of Plunder during one of her burglaries. Catwoman is at least consistent with her previous murderous attitude, for after she immobilizes the crimefighters, she abjures the usual deathtrap and orders her henchmen to toss both of her enemies out the nearest high-story window. Fortunately, Batman has rigged a net below that very window, and the crusaders’ lives are spared—though not the sensibilities of any viewer offended by the corniness of the net’s origins: coming from “Captain Ahab of the White Whaling Company.”

One of Catwoman’s captured thugs gives the Duo a clue as to her current hideout, a discoteque charmingly called the Pink Sandbox. Since their earlier caution almost got them killed, the two of them blunder into the club, and Catwoman mousetraps them easily. For what one assumes is the first time, the female felon flirts a little with the Big Bat, saying that he’s the only man “worthy of me.” Her subsequent traps for the Duo—the “hot griddle” of the title, and a pair of giant magnifying glasses to burn the crusaders to death—are better than average torments, and Batman’s plan for escaping the deathrrap is credible enough.

The second part proves far less so. The crimefighters apparently figure out that Catwoman’s going to make a heist at the top of a skyscraper, where one wealthy eccentric is going to exchange a huge hunk of cash for another eccentric’s priceless Stradivarius violions (hence the name of the episode’s second part, “The Cat and the Fiddle.”) The camera follows Catwoman as she assumes the guise of the first eccentric, a rich old lady, and she even flirts a little with a driver played by James Brolin and given the goofy name of “Staphylococcus.” At some point, Batman and Robin separate, and although Robin seems to know all about the villain’s plot—for he assumes the guise of the violin-seller—Batman shows up at the scene and seems to have no idea what’s going on. Though one would have thought Catwoman’s plan didn’t anticipate having either the Duo or the local cops show up, she’s psychic again, having somehow brought a “getaway rocket” into the skyscraper. The heroes defeat the feline’s fiends (including Jack O’Shea) before she can escape, and suddenly Batman seems to know everything again, telling Catwoman that the violins Robin brought are phony.

The weakness of the script holds a few compensations. Batman wonders how he and Robin so often escape all their deathtraps, only to conclude it’s because their hearts are pure. And of course, most fans will prize the episode because in it, Catwoman falls hard for Batman at last, and, unlike most of the femmes who moon over the Crusader this season, the feeling proves mutual.

BATMAN: “SHOOT A CROOKED ARROW” (1966)

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *adventure*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *psychological, sociological*

The second season of BATMAN proves a much more mixed bag than the first one. The show’s very success encouraged dozens of actors to campaign for “guest villain” status, and to thus the writers began devising new rogues to play off the celebrities’ personas. Some of the new felons were at least cleverly conceived, but others proved tedious and unimaginative. The camp humor did not disappear, but it had to compete with a fair amount of cornball jokes. The general tone of this sort of japery was best signified by the “window-celebrity talks” that appeared when the crusaders made one of their vertical Bat-climbs.

“Shoot a Crooked Arrow,” another contribution by Stanley Ralph Ross, is emblematic of both trends. Art Carney might have endeared himself to TV audiences playing the character of Norton on “The Honeymooners,” but he’s a ghastly choice to play The Archer, a supercrook who models his crimes on the tales of Robin Hood and on assorted medieval tropes—though some of his weapons, like his trick arrows, came equipped with mechanical gimmicks like one of Batman’s DC compatriots, Green Arrow. It might’ve been possible to sell such a villain with a younger, fitter man playing the role, but Carney, paunchy and hangdog-faced, seems like nothing more than a guest-star playing an improbable role on a variety-show skit. The script gives not the slightest reason as to why the Archer patterns himself after Robin Hood, unless it’s some sort of compensation mechanism for having come from the same low-class neighborbood as his vulgar moll Maid Marilyn. Certainly the fact that he carries along with him a machine that plays applause—a lame stab at TV’s reputation for “canned laughter”—suggests the lack of a well developed ego.

Like the Penguin in “Fine Finny Fiends,” Archer practically broadcasts the target of his big score by making an assault on the Wayne Foundation during a charity drive. Archer does slightly cover his intentions by distributing the stolen money to Gotham’s poor, causing Batman to wonder if the felon is seeking to seduce citizens with “the allure of easy living.” However, Archer’s real plan is to “rob the poor to make himself rich,” by ripping off a huge shipment of money intended for Gotham’s indigent citizens.

Archer’s deathtrap for the Dynamic Duo and their ensuing escape are both rather silly, though this sequence spells more screen-time for Alan Napier’s Alfred, who continues to get more exposure in Season 2. Napier gets one of the best scenes, challenging the villain to an archery-contest as seen in one of the traditional Robin Hood tales. However, acting honors of this episode go to Robert Cornthwaite, playing the villain’s confederate Allen A. Dale—for Cornthwaite gives his supporting villain a tone so filled with snark that next to him Paul Lynde sounds like the wellspring of sincerity.

THE MYSTERIANS (1957)

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

Some of director Ishiro Honda’s ballyhoo for his two late-fifties alien-invasion films—1957’s THE MYSTERIANS and 1959’s BATTLE IN OUTER SPACE—emphasized his stated desire to see Earth’s quarreling countries make peace, if only in reaction to a common enemy. BATTLE, though fairly dull in terms of characters, gets this theme across quite ably. However, the dubbed version of THE MYSTERIANS only mentions “the Americans” once, and no other nationalities are seen on-camera. The 1957 film therefore seems like another instance of Honda re-fighting World War Two in such a way as to let Japan win—but over Earth’s common enemy, rather than the Allied Forces.

The titular aliens do provide teachable moments about the horrors of nuclear war, however. The Mysterians— all full-sized humanoids perpetually clad in spacesuits, rather than the weird dwarves of BATTLE—explain to a coterie of astonished Japanese delegates that thousands of years ago, their race inhabited a planet between Mars and Saturn. They unleashed nuclear forces that destroyed the entire planet, but some of the Mysterians emigrated to Mars, where they apparently concealed themselves for centuries until finally deciding to take up residence on Earth. The aliens claim that they only want a small portion of land and some Earth-women with whom to breed, since their own bodies have become polluted with strontium-90, resulting in misshapen offspring. However, the Mysterians can’t resist overplaying their hand by abducting a few women to start off their harem. The Japanese don’t stand for no one messin’ with their women, so they declare war on the immensely superior technology of the invaders. Presumably the rest of the world fights them too, though the Japanese get the featured role, much as the Americans did in 1953’s THE WAR OF THE WORLDS.

Like BATTLE, MYSTERIANS excels in terms of its many high-tech battle-scenes—not quite up to the WAR OF THE WORLDS standard, but effective nonetheless. Oddly enough, the Mysterians’ most memorable weapon gets vanquished early in the film—a giant, drill-nosed robot named Mogura (Japanese for “mole”). Given that Mogura comes from under the earth, and the ship of the Mysterians is first seen buried in the ground, the screenwriter might’ve meant to suggest that Mogura did the aliens’ tunneling for them. Then again, Honda might’ve wanted to throw in one giant monster to lure in the fans of Godzilla and Rodan, only to dispose of said monster as quickly as possible. Mogura, by the way, later turned up in a Toho Godzilla film, GODZILLA VS. SPACE GODZILLA.

Though MYSTERIANS starts with four Japanese characters—two men and two women—the women are merely objects to be fought over, as well as early abductees of the aliens. The two male friends, Atsumi and Shiraishi, provide a bit more character-tension than anyone in BATTLE, simply because young Shiraishi not only discovers the Mysterians’ advent, he turns his coat to join them, causing his buddy Atsumi some distress. However, in the end Shiraishi learns the error of his ways and lays down his life to foil the insidious invaders, thus paving the way for Earth’s safety—if not total peace.

FRANKENSTEIN AND THE MONSTER FROM HELL (1974)

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *cosmological, sociological, psychological*

While I can appreciate the commitment Peter Cushing brought to the role of Baron Frankenstein, I’ve never liked any of the Hammer triflings with Mary Shelley’s creation. None of Hammer’s scripters showed any interest in pursuing the metaphysical and psychological ramifications of the “man-made man” concept. There’s a sociological theme in CURSE OF FRANKENSTEIN, in that Jimmy Sangster, reputedly following the orders of producer Anthony Hinds, chose to focus on the Baron as the ultimate aristocratic dirtbag. But the series as a whole was never consistent with even that dumbed-down characterization. MONSTER in particular de-emphasizes the seamy side of Frankenstein’s gory experiments, and almost makes him into a quasi-hero next to the lumpen-proletariat characters. Most hilariously, the script for MONSTER—written by Hinds under the name “John Elder.” though this time the producer was one Roy Skeggs—includes a line in which the Baron says, with an utterly straight face, “I haven’t killed anyone.”

Elder/Hinds and director Terence Fisher chose to recycle an element from REVENGE OF FRANKENSTEIN; that of the young aspirant to blasphemous experiments. This time a young medical student, Helder (Shane Briant), gets in bad with the local authorities for the crime of bodysnatching. For some reason he’s consigned to an insane asylum instead of prison. This works out well for the young fellow, since the Baron has hidden from the law at said institution, working under the pseudonym “Doctor Victor” (one of the few nice referential touches in the script).

In no time at all, Frankenstein and Helder are working on making new men out of old corpses. They receive a little feminine help this time out, in the form of a young girl nicknamed “Angel.” Angel, the daughter of the asylum’s corrupt director Klaus, cannot speak after her nasty dad tried to rape her, but she functions well enough as nurse to the big experiment—problematic as it is.

In the 1931 FRANKENSTEIN, the monster supposedly turned out badly because Frankenstein’s assistant stole the wrong type of brain. In MONSTER, the Baron almost seems to be setting himself up for failure, for he chooses to use the body of a murderous maniac as his template. Oh, the demented doc throws into the mix a pair of hands from a gifted violinist, perhaps hoping that the heavenly powers in the hands will supersede the hellish nature of the body—which, for reasons unclear to me, looks more hirsute and brutish than one would expect of a 19^th-century German. The Monster (David Prowse) looks less like a cobbled-together amalgam of human parts and more like an escapee from one of Hammer’s prehistoric epics.

Though MONSTER was Fisher’s final film before he passed, it’s poorly paced and holds few surprises. The two avid experimenters can’t control their man-beast, which eventually breaks loose, kills various people, and gets torn asunder by the asylum-inmates. The rampage serves the purpose of doing what the Baron can’t do without risk to himself, for before the monster dies, he slays the corrupt daughter-rapist—and around that time, Angel miraculously regains her ability to speak again. Thus in MONSTER the Baron becomes Angel’s “good father” in contrast to her bad real father—though it’s hard to countenance Frankenstein as having a better nature after FRANKENSTEIN MUST BEDESTROYED, in which the Baron himself gratuitously rapes a younger woman. Clearly Fisher and Hinds had some concept of using this installment of their sage to put across a “rape-revenge” fantasy, but the execution proves too muddled to have any strong effect.

Since the Baron, Helder and Angel all survive unscathed, Hammer may have contemplated another episode in the series, only to terminate the series when MONSTER didn’t enjoy strong box-office. I suppose there are fans who would’ve liked to see more in the series, but I’m not one of them.

BLOODMATCH (1991)

PHENOMENALITY: *naturalistic*
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *adventure*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *psychological*

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

This very peculiar kickboxing film, directed by the notorious Albert Pyun, isn’t exactly “so bad it’s good.” Yet it still stands out as an interesting little cinematic mutant, despite all of its numerous faults.

In essence, BLOODMATCH is like a standard kickboxing film crossed with one of those Hollywood detective films of the 1930s. Such movies usually concluded with a detective—Philo Vance, Charlie Chan—assembling all of the suspects of some crime in one room, clearing each suspect in turn, until reaching the true culprit and revealing the clues that led to his detection. BLOODMATCH, however, starts with a comparable scene. Four kickboxing champions wake up in a dark amphitheatre, bound to chairs as they recover from having been drugged by unknown assailants. The guy behind their abduction appears in the central fighting-ring, and they all recognize him as Brick Bardo (Thom Matthews), a familiar face in the kickboxing circuit. He claims that he’s the brother of another kickboxer, Wood Wilson, whom all four fighters had dealings with before Wilson was killed. Bardo believes that one of his four captives caused Wilson’s death—but Bardo can’t be bothered following up clues. Instead, he propose to fight each of the suspects in turn, until one of them reveals the truth. Bardo is also quite prepared to kill his victims to get the true stories, so again—not dealing with a great intellect here.

So the film unfolds in expected manner. Bardo’s assistant lets one fighter go at a time, and with the help of a pistol encourages each one to climb into the ring with Bardo. In terms of structure, BLOODMATCH isn’t that different from any other kickboxing flick, but most professionals who direct such films use fancy camera-angles to overcome the limitations of two opponents fighting in a closed space. Pyun utterly flops at this, though fight choreographer Benny Urquidez—also one of the battling suspects—is equally to blame for the dull mechanics of the combats. Further, while the leads of such films are not usually particularly good actors, at least most of them can fake-fight with considerable élan. Thom Matthews is incredibly unimpressive in both departments, though he chews the scenery well enough to be enjoyable on the ironic level.

Did I mention that one of the suspects was (a) female, (b) the former lover of the dead Wood Wilson, and (c) the last suspect to get into the ring, after Bardo defeats the others? Given that setup, the viewer will be likely to guess that she’s the culprit, if only because the “detective” gets to her last. But wait, there’s more! Wood Wilson didn’t die; he just suffered hideous facial injuries, went into a hospital for months, and after a huge amount of reconstructive surgery, emerged as—Brick Bardo! The scenes in which Bardo frantically tries to convince his former lover of his identity are goony enough to be worth the time spent on this mess, and though it’s the script, not Bardo, who saved the female boxer for last, sure enough, she was responsible for Wilson’s not-quite-death. Nevertheless, though you couldn’t tell it from the choreography, she’s also the best of the fighters, and she beats down the vengeful kickboxer with a series of extremely repetitious moves.

The idea of staging a ring-fight with several suspects in order to beat the truth out of them is without question a “bizarre crime,” but I had to wonder if it qualified as uncanny or naturalistic. I’ve reviewed a handful of kung-fu films that proved bizarre enough to move into the region of the uncanny, even without weird costumes or weapons, but Bardo’s scheme doesn’t quite move the needle into that terrain. Though he’s an absurd character, he’s also the star of the show, loosely comparable to other narratives—GET CARTER, POINT BLANK-- in which the viewer follows the exploits of a largely unsympathetic main character simply because he’s engaged in fighting other unsympathetic characters.