John Kenneth Muir's Blog, page 3

Space:1999 50th Anniversary: "Dragon's Domain"

 “Dragon’s Domain” is the  Space: 1999  episode that casual watchers seem to most often remember from this Gerry and Sylvia Anderson TV series. It’s easy to understand why. We get to learn more about the main characters’ history on Earth (before “Breakaway”) and more importantly, the episode concerns…a monster.  

And one hell of a memorable monster at that.

“Dragon’s Domain” is the story, in part, of the Ultra Probe, an Earth vessel captained by Tony Cellini (Gianni Giarko). 

The story is told in flashback by Dr. Helena Russell (Barbara Bain), and we learn how Cellini’s ship – in 1996 -- encounters a grave yard of spaceships in orbit around the planet Ultra, and then loses his crew to a devouring, one-eyed monstrosity: a tentacled spider/dragon-type alien.  

Now traveling through a different area of space all together, the isolated Moonbase Alpha encounters the same space grave yard, and the same monster…thus validating Cellini’s “crazy” story.

On first blush, this  Space: 1999  episode probably doesn’t sound far different from many familiar space “monster” stories of the cinema or pulp magazines, yet the presentation and implications of “Dragon’s Domain” have captured my imagination for nearly forty years now.  

In particular, I’ll never forget sitting on the sofa in my basement family room with my parents and watching on TV as the space monster -- the dragon -- wrapped his dark tentacles around helpless astronauts, male and female, and then drove them into his glowing orange maw.  

If this act of “feeding” wasn’t horrifying enough, then the very next moment surely fit the bill. The steaming skeletons of the dead were spewed out onto the spaceship deck…human flesh (and internal organs...) totally consumed. 

This was my first real experience with something so…horrific. I was a huge fan, even as a child, of King Kong and Godzilla, but this kind of death was something different. It felt more personal, somehow.  

The “Dragon’s Domain” monster had no noble of sympathetic qualities, and didn’t exist, seemingly, on a different scale…towering above us like a dinosaur. Instead, it was inescapable, hungry, and something that could occupy the same room as any unlucky human soul. It seemed more immediate a threat, more real, and less fanciful than the other monsters I loved, somehow.

Thus I suspect that “Dragon’s Domain” is the very story that ignited my fascination with horror films, and with the powerful idea of mixing hard sci-fi tech (like spaceships and control rooms) with something more Gothic, or perhaps even Lovecraft-ian. Before  Alien  (1979),  Event Horizon  (1997) or  Pandorum  (2009) caught my eye, “Dragon’s Domain” sparked my curiosity about the darkest corners of the cosmos.  

What might await us out there, in the dark?

But “Dragon’s Domain” fascinated me for other reasons too, as a kid.  

At that point, I had also been raised on stories such as  20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Robinson Crusoe , and even  Moby Dick.  “ Dragon’s Domain,” with its squid-like monster, man alone on a life boat, and central mission of vengeance (on the part of Cellini) tied in directly with these beloved literary tales and translated critical story elements, again, to the final frontier.  

There’s something downright mythic about this tale, and even the teleplay acknowledges it, comparing Tony and his “monster” to St. George and the Dragon.

At five going on six, it probably goes without saying that I was really scared by “Dragon’s Domain.” 

Yet I was equally tantalized by the things that went unspoken in the episode.  

The “monster” didn’t register on any Alphan scanning devices, for instance, which meant that these 20th century, technological men couldn’t really determine if it was truly dead at adventure’s end, a nice  Twilight Zone  twist to close out the hour. This open-ended question tantalized me for weeks and months (and years and decades…).  

Could something exist out there in space that is so different from us that it doesn’t even register on our equipment?  That lives and dies by physical laws we can’t comprehend? 

Even more intriguingly, the episode concerned that space grave yard. Once more, there were a hundred untold stories there; stories of space-farers who had come to that unpleasant and inexplicable end.  But where had they traveled from?  Who were they?  We might even ask the same questions of Ultra.  

Was the monster from that world, or did the grave yard appear in orbit by coincidence?  What was the surface of that planet like?  Who lived there?  Had they too, been devoured by the dragon?

And speaking of coincidence, how could the space grave yard travel from Ultra to Alpha’s position between galaxies? Was the monster somehow guiding its “web” to…follow Tony?  

All these unanswered questions swirled in my mind, and my response at the time was to “make pretend” further  1999  adventures (with my Mattel Eagle…) that addressed some of these points.  

It was this impulse to understand and continue the story that I credit with my decision, finally, to become a writer.

“Dragon’s Domain” was so tantalizing a mystery, so engaging a tale, so psychologically intricate, that this episode of  Space: 1999  evoked the creative, artistic impulse in me, even at six. One of these days, I must remember to thank Christopher Penfold.  Or perhaps I just did.

But as a kid, I wanted more; more stories that were open-ended, that offered hints -- but not clear-cut answers -- about the universe  This is the very thing that continues to draw me to  Space: 1999 , and to works of art like Ridley Scott’s  Prometheus  (2012).   

In works such as these, there’s the tantalizing opportunity to go deep, to explore possibilities and ideas not spelled out or spoon-fed.  I don't consider a lack of explanation cause for nitpicking as so many fans do.  

On the contrary, I look at it as gateway to engagement. In fact, I now consider this quality a necessary pre-requisite for great art: room for interpretation, based on the hard evidence of a text’s words, and of its visual symbolism.   

How boring it is to be told everything of import, or to be led on a leash to just one answer, when a filmmaker can, instead, only hint or whisper life's little verities to us.

The idea of this kind of exploration hooked me at age five, and has kept a hold of me -- like a dragon’s tentacle -- ever since.

Space:1999 50th Anniversary: "Mission of the Darians"

Late during  Space:1999  Year One, author and script-editor Johnny Byrne penned a memorable entry called "Mission of the Darians," the tale of the intrepid Alphans rendering help and assistance to a damaged space ark from the planet Daria.
What Commander Koenig (Martin Landau) and his rescue team discover on the colossal, nearly-destroyed spaceship, however, is a real horror. Because of a nuclear accident on board the Ark generations earlier, the Darians have splintered into two societies, two classes.
Existing on one level of the damaged ship are primitive, mutated Darians, ones who have no technology, and worship a deity called "Neman."

On another level are the technologically-advanced, genetically "pure" Darians. They are led by the likes of aristocratic Kara (Joan Collins) and Captain Neman, who exploit the unknowing primitives of Level 7 as a "resource." 

Specifically, the "pure breed" Darians manipulate the primitives' belief in God to abscond with body parts...for limb replacement surgery...and food.

Simply put, the Darians are cannibals. The upper class feeds on the lower class. 
Literally. 
Commander Koenig, Victor Bergman (Barry Morse), astronaut Alan Carter (Nick Tate) and Dr. Russell (Barbara Bain) learn about the Darian society up-close-and-personal, and Russell is herself almost used as "spare parts" in a Darian operating room.


As Johnny Byrne noted on more than one occasion, the creative impetus for "Mission of the Darians" came from a real life, disco-decade story about human nature...and survival. 
On October 13, 1972, Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571 crashed in the inhospitable Andes mountains on the way to Santiago, Chile. 
Forty-five rugby team players were on board the doomed flight. Twelve people died in the crash, and another five expired from injuries sustained in the accident. With no medical supplies, no food, and no immediate possibility of help, the survivors resorted to cannibalism, to eating the flesh of their dead comrades.
On December 23, 1972, sixteen survivors were rescued from Flight 571, suffering from acute frost-bite, dehydration, malnutrition and altitude sickness. Their harrowing story was related in the best-seller,  Alive: The Story of the Andes Survivors  (1974; J.B. Lippincott). Johnny Byrne later told  TV Zone  magazine, in relation to "Mission of the Darians" that "The Andean plane crash had happened, and I was struck by the fact that people had eaten each other to live." (David Richardson.  TV Zone , Issue # 54: " Writing 1999: Johnny Byrne ." Page 10, 1992.).
Later, Byrne informed me an in interview that his goal in crafting "Mission of the Darians" was not to make villains of the story's cannibals (or by extension, those who had resorted to cannibalism here on Earth.)
"They had suffered a catastrophe and were trying to survive, and so the Darians weren't evil," Byrne explained to me. "Cannibalism happens. Flesh is flesh, whether it is human flesh or animal flesh. When I wrote that episode, it had just happened [in the Andes]..."
This idea of desperate times calling for desperate measures goes back to one of  Space: 1999's  most important and enduring "memes," what  The Los Angeles Times'  Dick Adler termed "limited options for survival" in a domain where resources are scarce. 
The same writer also noted that where  Star Trek  had been "recklessly liberal,"  Space: 1999  was far more "realistic" in approach.
When I read Byrne this particular quote, he approved of Adler's observation, calling it "astute." " Space:1999  represents a very definite shift from the 1960s to the 1970s," Byrne elaborated. "It wasn't a hippie dream. It was the wake-up after the dream."
In  Exploring Space:1999  I note that not one of the alien cultures encountered by the Alphans in Year One are technologically less advanced than the turn-of-the-century Alphans. As "advanced" peoples, these alien cultures thus prove examples (or teachers) for the humans of Alpha to either emulate or reject. 
For instance, In "The Guardian of Piri," Koenig rejects the Pirian manner of "perfection" because it robs humanity of its impetus to achieve.
In "Missing Link," Koenig likewise rejects the Zennite way of life because it values intellect entirely over emotions, and Koenig still believes it is "more important to feel" than to dispassionately reason. 
In Byrne's "Voyager's Return," the Alphans reject a society that has found purpose only in vengeance, the Sidons. 
And in "The Last Enemy," the Alphans encounter two humanoid races that have fallen into a state of everlasting war, and reject that outcome as well.
If, as viewers, we are to believe that the Alphans are, perhaps, being "guided" to a particular destiny (as Byrne's Year One denouement, "The Testament of Arkadia" indicates) then these particular planetary stops (Piri, Delta, Zenno, etc.) along the way are, essentially, object lessons for a species that seeks a second chance in space after the destruction of the Earth's environment/civilization following the premiere episode, "Breakaway."
In "Mission of the Darians," the Alphans receive another object lesson about survival in outer space. In particular, they are confronted with a terrible "what if" scenario that mirrors, in many ways, their own possible future. 
Without resources, and facing a long trip to a destination planet or "home," the humanoid Darians have fed on themselves, on their people, and on their people's hopes. They've even fed on their people's spiritual beliefs to assure continued survival. This "what if" situation is put into explicit perspective for John Koenig by a final question from Alan Carter.
The pilot asks his commander: "If the same thing happened on Alpha, would you have chosen differently?"
Notably, Koenig doesn't answer the question directly. "Remind me to tell you sometime," he quips, deflecting the query.
I asked Byrne specifically about this exchange, and he told me that Koenig's deliberate non-answer is particularly important. Koenig could not have chosen differently, Byrne explained, because ultimately survival is the name of the game for mankind. Even the humane John Koenig, -- if trapped in a desperate situation -- would act...desperately.
What makes "Mission of the Darians" such a powerful and enduring episode of this 1970s series, I submit, is that Byrne offered a very clever space-age parallel for the Andes story, on virtually all fronts. For instance, the survivors of the plane crash who resorted to cannibalism sometimes likened the process of eating the dead to Christianity's sacred "Holy Communion."
Likewise, Byrne's fictional Darian society -- which uses a "God" Neman and angels (men in space suits) to abduct healthy, non-contaminated members of the society as food stuffs and replacement "parts" -- incorporates this spiritual, religious angle in its narrative; though in an entirely futuristic/space-age setting.
Byrne also inventively and imaginatively takes the idea of "cannibalism" to the next level here. In "Mission of the Darians" cannibalism is not just eating the dead but harnessing the dead for personal (and species) immortality; and in a very real sense, feeding on the "hopes" and "dreams" of a people in the process. Cannibalism in "Mission of the Darians" is thus literal and metaphorical.
A very strong example of the long-lived "space ark" sub-genre of science fiction  Space:1999's  "Mission of the Darians" is also distinguishable as one of the program's most lavishly-designed and executed stories. The episode features impressive miniatures, gorgeous matte-paintings of the S.S. Daria, and several new live-action sets.
Byrne also remembered the episode's production values as "simply astounding," and credited director Ray Austin for his visualization of the narrative.




"Just the way it played out, I was amazed how one three-minute sequence featuring Barbara Bain and the Darian 'vetting' procedure so completely explained the bizarre food-chain of the devastated environment," Byrne reported.

Space:1999 50th Anniversary: "Space Brain"

Yes, this is the (in) famous  Space: 1999  (1975 -1977) that sees Moonbase Alpha’s interior overrun with…soap suds. 

Yet despite such a silly-sounding (and appearing…) menace “Space Brain” by Christopher Penfold is still pretty great. This is so because the episode intimates an alien (and ultimately impenetrable…) order to the universe, and more-so, an alien hand influencing Alpha’s journey…and perhaps not for the better.

In fact, I was so taken with the sub-text and “under”-story aspects of “Space Brain” that my first officially licensed  Space: 1999  novel,  The Forsaken  (Powys Media; 2003), might be interpreted as a direct sequel to this episode’s events, one that seeks to address some of the mysteries presented in the televised story.

In “Space Brain” Moonbase Alpha’s routine is unexpectedly disrupted by the sudden transmission on every vid-screen of streaming alien hieroglyphs. Commander Koenig (Martin Landau) sends out an Eagle to investigate the transmission’s point of origin, but quickly loses contact with the craft. 

In short order, a second ship is sent out, but one astronaut, Kelly (Shane Rimmer) returns from a spacewalk as a changed man.  He is now the “programmed” vessel for a vast entity in space, one on a collision course with the Moon. 

Meanwhile, a small but incredibly-heavy meteorite crashes near Alpha.  Concerned about the impending collision with the larger obstacle, Koenig orders an Eagle filled with nuclear charges launched.  It is tagged to detonate at the center of the space-going entity.

As the threat progresses, Dr. Helena Russell (Barbara Bain) and Professor Victor Bergman (Barry Morse) seek to understand the threat better, and Bergman soon realizes that the meteorite is actually the crushed remains of the first eagle craft, destroyed by alien antibodies. 

At roughly the same time, Helena understands that Kelly is acting as an intermediary, relaying messages from Alpha’s Main Computer to the entity in space, attempting to avoid the collision.

After undergoing a dangerous mental symbiosis with Kelly, Koenig accepts that the entity -- the so-called “space brain” -- is a peaceful organism, and one that turns at the “center of a whole galaxy, maybe hundreds of galaxies.” 

But disaster looms when the eagle armed with the nuclear charges can’t be recalled, and the Space Brain begins to emit deadly antibodies so as to crush the Moon in the very way it crushed the first eagle spacecraft…

One of the arguments I universally make in support of  Space: 1999  as a highly-visual science fiction initiative is that it functions (like  Prometheus  [2012], for example) on largely symbolic terrain, and its stories -- often criticized as being somehow confusing -- are crystal clear once the symbols are noted, studied and then thoughtfully interpreted. 

“Space Brain” is no exception, and in terms of both visuals and musical choices, this episode proves rather impressive, despite the onslaught of killer soap suds.

For instance, “Space Brain” opens with various scenes of Moonbase Alpha personnel relaxing off-duty, solving puzzles (and trying to beat a puzzle record).  One of the first such shots depicts Alpha’s commander, Koenig, completing a puzzle in his office. 

The puzzle itself depicts a painting by Jacque Daret (1404 – 1470), created circa 1435.  Called “The Visitation,” this work of art reveals Mary (with Jesus still in utero) visiting another pregnant woman, Elizabeth.  Art critics have interpreted Deret’s work to symbolize Mary’s role as intermediary between God and Man. 

This work of art, then, reveals, in a sense, Kelly’s role in “Space Brain” as the go-between for Alpha and the entity in space.  In both circumstances, there is indeed a “visitation” and a human being is transformed by what she/he carries within.  The shot of the painting also reveals what Koenig only learns later: that the space brain, like Mary’s God, is a benevolent one.  On a much more basic level, all the “puzzle-solving” suggests the modus operandi of the teleplay: Koenig, Bergman, and Helena must each put together a piece of the space entity’s puzzle, from the indecipherable hieroglyphs, to Kelly’s odd physical condition, to the true (and horrific…) nature of the meteor.

Late in the episode, the action is scored to Gustav Holst’s Planets’ suite, namely the movement titled “The Bringer of War.”  In terms of practicality, this music was likely seeded in to lighten the load on composer Barry Gray.  There’s a real world, production reason for its use.

And yet in terms of appropriateness and interpretation, Holst’s composition also fits in well with “Space Brain’s” themes. Specifically, Holst’s work is a seven part suite, and each part describes the “character” of that planet, and that planet’s influence on the psyche of humans.  Consider then that “war” ascends in Koenig’s mind as he prepares a pre-emptive strike with the eagle carrying nuclear charges, and only later realizes the errors of his ways.  The “Mars” composition is also scored to literal war, as Alpha falls under siege, nearly crushed by the killer antibodies of the space brain. 

Put the two artistic visions and ideas held together -- peaceful interaction or Visitation between God and man, and then all-out war --- essentially present the two main perspectives depicted in “Space Brain.” The entity wants peaceful contact. The Alphans prepare for war.  The entity opens with communication and an intermediary. Human-kind faces a puzzle (and a crisis) with plans for destruction.  The book end works of art in “Space Brain” -- Daret’s and Holst’s -- convey much of the narrative’s deeper meaning.  Ignore the imagery and the soundtrack, and you’re not getting the entire picture.

Also, I often laud  Space:1999  in terms of another quality for which it is widely disliked: it’s refusal to explain every aspect of its narrative and spoon-feed the audience easy answers. 

“Space Brain” never satisfactorily explains, for instance, why the nuclear-charged Eagle remote-control guidance system should short-out, rendering the collision with the space brain impossible to avoid.  Koenig himself dismisses – in explicit dialogue -- the idea that the space brain is behind the act.  By inference, this could mean, quite simply, that a third, unseen hand, is at work in this episode.  And that hand desires the space brain destroyed for some reason.  Thus it is using Alpha as its vessel for that very purpose. 
Again, we must go back to the painting, and the idea of Visitation.  Is Moonbase Alpha being used or visited by another force, only as a bullet to the brain, for some unknown purpose?

That’s the plot-line of my book,  The Forsaken . 

But clearly, Alpha’s destruction of the space brain at the conclusion of this episode must boast terrifying and cosmic ramifications.  The dialogue explains how thousands of worlds depended on the space brain.  Accordingly, I speculate that the entity was a kind of regulating factor, ensuring the stability of stars and other environments.  Thus in its absence, everything becomes unstable, unpredictable…chaotic.  If you’ve read my book, you realize that’s my explanation for the wild, out-of-control, action-oriented events of  Space:1999’s  second season.  The galaxy has descended into chaos, and all bets are off.
Like I said, that’s my interpretation, but it need not be anyone else’s.  What I love about “Space Brain” is that it leaves open these little intriguing mysteries, and the viewers can fill them in, interpreting the clues in a way that they see fit, and that seems to fit the facts.  I’ve done so, as I note above, but other viewers are also welcome to interpret the symbols in a different fashion.  I much prefer these open-ended, stimulating mysteries to “techno-babble” resolutions we get in latter-day space operas.

The biggest stumbling block, of course, for “Space Brain” is the visual depiction of the alien antibodies.  The foam or soap-suds don’t look like organic antibodies, but rather just like a washing machine has gone dangerously out-of-control. 

I realize that this visualization will be a deal breaker for some viewers, and I accept that fact, but it’s truly a shame because there’s a lot going on in “Space Brain” beneath the bloody foam attack in the last act.  Open-minded s.f. viewers forgive the giant ice-cream cone-shaped planet killer in  Star Trek’s “ the Doomsday Machine” and the panto-Myrka in  Doctor Who’s  “Warriors of the Deep, so I would ask (again) that  Space:1999  be given the same consideration.
Going back to the possibilities inherent in “Space Brain,” I once pitched to Powys Media a novel titled “Ordination” in which a race of high priests to the Space Brain arrived on Alpha and attempted to induct Maya into their number, for nefarious purposes…the destruction of a rogue space entity like the one seen in this episode...

Space:1999 50th Anniversary: "The Full Circle"

The reconnaissance team on Eagle 6 has not reported back from the forested planet of Retha. 
Commander Koenig (Martin Landau) orders Paul Morrow (Prentis Hancock) to retrieve the craft by remote control.  When the ship is explored at Moonbase Alpha, a primitive cave-man is discovered dead in the passenger module. He is the ship's only occupant.

Koenig orders a full-scale rescue mission to the planet, unaware that a mysterious mist found on the planet surface is actually a time warp of sorts.  
When the Alphans step through the fog, they are re-made as primitive cave-people. As a primitive man, Koenig becomes Cave Chief, while Helena Russell becomes the tribal healer, and the Chief’s consort.

Unaware of what has happened to her fellow Alphans, data analyst Sandra Benes (Zienia Merton) encounters several cave people, who capture her and bring her back to the cave.  There, a primitive hunter (Oliver Cotton) and the Cave Chief battle for ownership of the beautiful and strange female in their midst.

On Alpha, Dr. Mathias (Anton Phillips) solves the alien riddle during an autopsy.  The caveman in the Eagle has caps on his teeth.  
He is one of the Alphans, not an inhabitant of Retha…

“The Full Circle” is likely not one of the better-regarded episodes of  Space: 1999’s  (1975-1977) Year One.  And yet, it is an episode that I like very much, and for two key reasons.  

First, the episode is set mostly in natural, real environs, and that fact gives the story a remarkable boost in terms of visuals and excitement.  The planet Retha is a combination of Black Park and Pinewood Studios back-lot exterior locations, and the contrast between sterile, technological Moonbase Alpha and such natural, wild locales is remarkable.

You could not recreate the “primordial” look and feel of Retha on an interior sound-stage, using papier mache rocks, nor, truthfully, by using a familiar So Cal location.  
To American eyes, therefore, “The Full Circle” looks genuinely like a journey to the prehistoric era, to a wild, untamed world.  Director Bob Kellett’s camera-work is also remarkable, especially during the pursuit of Sandra by the cave-man Alphans.

Secondly, the episode’s thematic framework works very successfully. Specifically, "The Full Circle" ponders the (unchanging?) nature of humanity. It compares turn-of-the-millennium, space-age Alphans to Stone Age counterparts, and finds few meaningful differences.  
To wit: Sandra Benes (Zienia Merton) nearly bludgeons Commander Koenig (as cave man) to death with a rock.  And Alan Carter (Nick Tate) literally goes “cave-man,” vengeful and hungry for blood when he worries that Sandra has been injured. These are the acts of rational, modern human beings?

As the episode’s coda suggests, the narrative is really about basic human emotions, about human instincts.  Sandra still acts by fight-or-flight dictates, for example, and this means that she is not far removed, in terms of nature, from the Cave Chief who -- in a manner very unlike Commander Koenig -- desires her.

As Koenig notes “it was only us there,” and the point is made. In 40,000 years, according to the episode’s timeline, man has not really evolved beyond savagery, beyond jealousy, rage, and other primitive emotions.  Those things still drive us, sometimes to survival, sometimes to disaster.

One scene suggests the similarities visually.  
At around the half-way point of the episode, we meet Alan, Victor and Kano huddled around a camp-fire, getting ready to turn in for the night. 
In the very next scene, we see the interior of the tribe’s cave, where a camp-fire is also at the center of the population, at the center of civilization.  The costumes have changed -- from Rudi Gernreich 1999 chic to primitive furs -- but man has not.  He still needs fire. He still huddles with his fellow humans in the dark.  And he still doesn’t understand all the mysteries of nature, and the universe.

Where “The Full Circle” vexes some critics and viewers, I suppose, is in the story mechanism that makes the comparison between primitive man and space age man possible.  Here, a swirling mist is a time warp that changes Koenig, Helena and other Alphans from civilized to primitive. Even their clothes change with them.

The time warp mist is a solid device for making the story’s point, but leaves a lot of questions unanswered.  
How do the Alphan’s change costumes in the mist?  How does the time warp achieve that end? Does all the mist on the planet act in this fashion, or only in this one spot?  Is the time warp naturally occurring, a function of “nature” on Retha, or is it something that was designed by unseen inhabitants?

Personally, it doesn’t bother me that  Space: 1999  fails to address such questions. I prefer to speculate, and have always felt that the time warp is some device or entity left behind the planet’s inhabitants.  
Perhaps they created it because they foresaw the end of their race, and wanted to go back to the beginning...get a second chance. Or perhaps they left it behind on Retha to preserve the planet’s natural, unspoiled nature.  Any visitors would lose the capacity to alter the planet’s climate or terrain if reverted to primitive form. 

In the end, the details don’t really matter a whole lot, and it is what “The Full Circle” states about human nature that is valuable, and memorable.  When you combine that statement with the beautiful location work, the episode emerges as one that is less disposable, and far more intriguing.  Barry Gray's score is also one of his most unusual contributions, and underlines the action brilliantly.
Also, as is the case in many Year One stories (and “Earthbound’s” coda is an example), “The Full Circle” gains interest and suspense from a twist in the tale.  
It is learned, late in the story, that the cave-man in Eagle 6 is actually an Alphan.  Specifically, he has caps on his teeth.  This information changes the whole nature of the story on the first watch.  Before this reveal, it is a natural assumption that the Alphans have encountered a world of primitive man.  
In fact, as Mathias's discovery suggests, they have encountered only themselves at a different stage of development.  That twist is a surprising one, and like the device of the misty time-warp, makes the final point about humanity’s unchanging nature, all the more powerful.

Space:1999 50th Anniversary: "End of Eternity"

“End of Eternity” by Johnny Byrne and directed by Ray Austin is one of the most suspenseful, nightmarish  Space: 1999  episodes produced during the series’ forty-eight episode run in the mid-1970s.  

In particular, this installment represents a near-perfect blend of cinematic visual style with a thoughtful science fiction premise involving immortality. 

Featuring strong horror overtones, the episode reveals, almost without flaw, the  Space: 1999  creative aesthetic at is best.  

Simply put, “End of Eternity” depicts how visual touches -- in terms of innovative editing techniques and detailed production design-- actually buttress and express characterization, and other critical information.  In other words, the story itself -- with all its nuance and coloring -- is not contained merely in the dialogue, but in the meticulous, beautifully-wrought imagery.
“End of Eternity” commences with a team of Alphan astronauts, including Commander John Koenig (Martin Landau) exploring an asteroid that has been adrift for a thousand years.  Professor Victor Bergman (Barry Morse) discovers a chamber with a breathable atmosphere inside the rock, and the Alphans detonate explosives to reach it.  Deep inside, they find a “one room world,” and its single occupant: the humanoid Balor (Peter Bowles).  He is a citizen of the planet Progron and has been trapped in this prison for a thousand years.

When Balor recovers from the injuries he sustained during the Alphans' opening of his asteroid jail, Dr. Helena Russell (Barbara Bain) realizes that his cells are regenerating at an amazing rate.  He is, practically-speaking, immortal.  

When questioned about this quality, Balor notes that his people “cast him out” after immortality was discovered on their world.  They did so, he states, because they did not appreciate his efforts to make immortality meaningful in the absence of death.

Soon, the Alphans get a taste of Balor’s governing philosophy.  He believes that sadism, torture, pain and terror are the true pathways to wisdom for both the immortal and mortal, and wants to introduce these components to life on Alpha.  And since he’s virtually invincible -- impervious even to lasers -- Koenig and the Alphans have no way to stop him.

I had the pleasure of interviewing teleplay author and  1999  script editor Johnny Byrne (1935 - 2008) about “End of Eternity” after we became friends in the early 2000s. He told me that his goal in crafting this story had been to present a terrifying horror story, right down to the opening scenes on the asteroid.  “It’s always more sinister when you break into a place,” he told me. “There’s the feeling of a secret discovered.  It sets up a kind of resonance. You’re in for grief, and that is the essence of good horror writing.”

He also based the character of Balor on precedents throughout Earth history. “Balor was named after Baal, an old Indo-European God,” Byrne explained.  “Those who worshipped Baal gave their first born to him in these horrible human sacrifices.  That is something echoed in the story, that Balor needs placating, and that his appeasement can only be achieved through the pain and suffering of others.  Basically, he saw the Alphans as 311 laboratory rats that he could do with as he pleased.”

Another reference point for author Byrne was Lucifer, particularly in the description of Balor as being “cast out” from his people, and his incarceration in a kind of Hell-like prison. “It’s a Lucifer metaphor taken to an extreme point of view,” Mr. Byrne acknowledged.  “Many people, you know, say Lucifer got a bum deal. He got what’s called “victor’s justice.” He lost the war, therefore he’s demonized. He’s Milosevich or Saddam Hussein. He is all those people who failed in their endeavors and ended up on the losing side.  That’s what Balor was: the loser in a terrible conflict, but he still had that humanity in him.  His fatal flaw was that he could no longer sympathize with the experiences of others because he considered himself immortal.”

And immortality, of course, is the beating thematic heart of “End of Eternity,” the issue at the crux of the debate for the curious, technologically-inferior Alphans: “If you think about it, human beings are immortal in many ways,” Johnny explained. “In the continuing of family, we’re immortal.  We’re immortal in the sense of our work living beyond us.  We’re even immortal in terms of memory: when we die those who come after remember us.  But Balor in “End of Eternity” wanted physical longevity, which as I see it, is quite different from true immortality. True immortality should be something beyond the body, not merely the medical extension of life. That was Balor’s mistake. He saw immortality as the instantaneous regeneration of tissue, when in fact he was immortal in a quite different sense. People would forever remember his wickedness.”

Balor’s story is depicted in "End of Eternity" striking visual terms. These visualizations accent Balor’s physical strength and his sense of domination over those around him. Specifically, when Balor escapes from Medical Section, he encounters two Alphan security guards, lifts them off their feet, and effortlessly defeats them with his bare (or gloved…) hands.  Throughout this sequence, there are no sound effects and no dialogue featured.  Instead, the scene is scored only with an eerie musical composition. The utter lack of the human, individual sounds we associate with fist-fights or battle thus gives the audience a sense both of Balor’s other-worldliness and his other-worldly power and physical strength.  

The next scenes -- with Balor stalking the corridors of Moonbase Alpha -- are similarly designed and executed to reflect Balor’s incredible physical power.  We see him from a low-angle, and he looks enormous.  He towers over the Alphans, and dominates totally.

Low angle: The Power of Balor
The Power of Balor: His victims don't make a sound.
Balor's Power redux.
What’s so brilliant about this visual approach  and motif -- that no sound even gets close to Balor -- is that the editor cannily reverses the technique at one dramatic point in the tale, and horrifyingly so.  Koenig asks Victor about Balor’s paintings, and what he feels they represent or symbolize. Barry Morse’s Victor turns towards Koenig and the camera, and, stone-faced, says, simply “Terror. Destruction. Torture.”

At this moment, immediately preceding Bergman's stunning conclusion, the episode shock cuts to close-ups of Balor’s disturbing paintings, but the artwork is accompanied by the screaming and wailing of Balor’s victims.  In other words, this is a deliberate inversion of approach.  Now, all of the sudden, we hear amplified (and see amplified as well…) the terror generated by Balor’s philosophy and “wisdom.”  It's a descent into Hell itself.

Between these two opposite approaches, we have depicted both Balor’s incredible strength and ability to stand above others, and the terror of those he dominates. It’s a brilliant visual contrast, and incredibly effective in terms of building suspense.

Victor suddenly understands Balor's philosophy of (endless) life.

...Terror...
...Destruction...
...Torture...
...Sadism...Another significant scene in "End of Eternity" also amplifies the episode’s horror underpinnings.  A grounded Eagle pilot, Mike Baxter (Jim Smilie), falls under Balor’s diabolical influence and attacks Koenig. But it is no ordinary attack.  Mike bludgeons Koenig (literally to death...) with a model biplane. Once more, shock  cutting, which fractures continuity (and thus expectations and spatial geography) is deployed.  Making the moment even more alarming, the camera assumes Koenig's subjective POV as he is attacked.  

Often,  Space: 1999’s  visualizations possess a kind of grand scale and but minimalist formality, a carefully meted sense of order in terms of blocking and staging.  However, this brutal scene breaks down that well-established sense of TV decorum, and the attack is lensed entirely from Koenig’s perspective.  With jump cut ferocity, we watch as the biplane strikes the camera, --and therefore us -- again and again.  It’s absolutely vicious, and the wicked, inventive punch-line is that, at some point, the camera even mimics an angle we might see from a real plane, as the weapon/plane banks and turns to attack Koenig again and again.
Speaking of Mike Baxter, he’s a critical character in “End of Eternity,” and I appreciate how  Space: 1999  handles this supporting guest character.  He’s an Eagle  pilot who “takes flight very seriously” as Balor notes.  But instead of giving us a long, predictable, exposition-laden speech about Baxter’s love of flight -- one establishing how disturbing his medical grounding is --  Space: 1999  conveys his story through production design. 

In Baxter's quarters, we can easily make-out artwork of the lunar lander, for instance, and also a brass or silver model plane.  The decoration of his quarters -- uncommented upon -- tell us what we need to know about the character’s passion…and therefore his weakness.  Balor exploits that weakness, and Koenig is bludgeoned with that weakness.  It's a perfect metaphor for the ways that the Devil "tempts" his victims with the very things they love and covet.

POV Attack.
Shock cutting POV Attack.

Plane banking, Shock Cutting, POV Attack...
“End of Eternity” reaches its crescendo of horror and suspense in the last act, as Balor and Koenig go head-to-head for total control of Moonbase Alpha.  This mano-a-mano contest is, again, expressed through dynamic visualization.  As Balor attacks Main Mission and rips up a computer panel, the camera zooms in to a tight close-up, and that very shot -- the zoom to close-up -- is mimicked and reflected in the very next shot of Koenig. It’s all between these two men now, the photography and editing reveal, and indeed, that’s how the episode resolves.  

"End of Eternity's" final moments fulfill the promise of the mirror-image zooms to close-up when Koenig sends Balor out of Moonbase Alpha’s airlock (foreshadowing  Alien’s  [1979] finale).  But the lead-up is a nail-biting contest between sadism and power (Balor) and self-sacrifice and experience (Koenig).

In the end, it’s a simple, human thing that renders Koenig victorious. He knows the lay-out of Moonbase Alpha better than Balor does, and is thus able to lead him into a trap.  He also understands that Balor -- a bully at heart -- is incapable of resisting the temptation to physically lord it over him, to hit him.   Thus Koenig knowingly goads Balor into striking him, so that our stalwart commander will fall into a safe ante-chamber, leaving Paul Morrow (Prentis Hancock) in Main Mission to open the airlock and send Balor out into space.  Adios.

All the stylistic editing and revealing production design in “End of Eternity” make the episode a stirring and even breathtaking installment of the series.  And yet, uniquely, considering all the overt horror we register in the episode, the most terrifying moment involves Bowles’ performance as Balor.  Throughout the episode he is calm and composed, and then -- terrifyingly -- he faces Koenig at about the thirty-six minute point and this veil of civilization absolutely drops.  Suddenly, we see his wicked smile, and his insane eyes.  Balor's sinister nature is visibly and irrevocably made apparent.

Balor's veil.
Balor's veil lifted.
Discussing Balor and “End of Eternity” with me, Johnny Byrne once told me this.  “Oh, I always intended to write another story about Balor. It was in my mind at the time.  He was a great character, so beautifully portrayed by Peter Bowles, and the episode was shot so wonderfully.  Even when I see it now, I’m still impressed.  When you see that scene played with the toy airplane, you just know Koenig isn’t going to get out of this one unscathed.”

Alas, Johnny never had the chance to write more about Balor and the world of “End of Eternity,” but author William Latham took up the challenge in the first officially-licensed Powys  Space:1999  novel: “Resurrection.”   

So if you ever wanted to know what happens the second time Balor and Commander Koenig, this book provides the (riveting) answers.

Space:1999 50th Anniversary: "Voyager's Return"

Gerry and Sylvia Anderson's  Space: 1999  (1975 -1977) certainly took more than its share of critical brickbats regarding the scientific accuracy of the series premise, which saw Earth's moon blasted into deep space by a colossal explosion (in the year 1999.)

And yet the undeniably wonderful aspect about that very far-out concept is that it permits contemporary man rather than future man the opportunity to engage with and confront the mysteries of the cosmos.

As I wrote in my book about the series,  Exploring Space:1999  (1997) the powerful central notion of  Space: 1999  is that it is us -- our generation, right now -- up there reckoning with the awe and terror of the unknown.

As many 1970s articles described this idea, the Alphans of  Space:1999  are "technologically and psychologically" unprepared for a space journey of any kind, and so have much to reckon with and learn about on their unplanned odyssey.


An illuminating comparison involves  Star Trek . In that (wonderful) franchise, man is the master of his destiny and master of the stars as well. In  Space:1999 , man is scraping to get by, to survive in a universe he isn't equipped to truly understand or countenance.

Space:1999  was thus at its finest when the writers remembered their central conceit regarding the characters; that contemporary man, with all of his flaws and foibles, is at the core of all the storytelling.

One impressive installment that plainly remembers this idea is Johnny Byrne's "Voyager's Return," directed by Bob Kellett.

In "Voyager's Return," Moonbase Alpha encounters a technological terror of human design when the errant moon crosses paths with a Terran space probe launched in the year 1985. That probe, Voyager One, makes use of a dangerous interstellar drive called "The Queller Drive." The drive spews "fast neutrons" into space, and destroys all life that it comes in contact with.

The Queller Drive has a spotted history. It kicked in too early during the launch of Voyager 2 (when standard chemical rockets should have been employed...) and the probe immediately killed two hundred people, including Paul Morrow's (Prentis Hancock's) father.

Now, Commander Koenig (Martin Landau) must decide if he should destroy Voyager One and the Queller Drive outright, or attempt to commandeer the probe for its black box, which contains valuable data about the star systems the craft has visited.


Ultimately, Koenig sides with Professor Victor Bergman (Barry Morse), over the objections of Dr. Helena Russell (Barbara Bain) and Paul, and sets about to tamper with the Voyager One so as to retrieve the crucial data.

When Bergman's efforts fail, a scientist on Moonbase Alpha steps forward and reveals that he is, in fact, Ernst Queller (Jeremy Kemp), the despised and derided inventor of the dangerous drive system.

Queller believes that he can right the wrongs of long ago, and commandeer Voyager One before it endangers Alpha.

Unfortunately, the Queller Drive has malfunctioned again.  Voyager One recently passed into the territory of a race called the Sidons.  There, the Queller Drive rendered lifeless two inhabited planets and now the Sidons are in pursuit of the "primitive" craft seeking their own brand of justice.

Worse, the Sidons intend to destroy Moonbase Alpha and Earth as well, for the crime of genocide...

At the heart of "Voyager's Return" are the issues of atonement, redemption, and even revenge.  Dr. Queller desperately wants to make amends for the Voyager 2 accident, and contribute something positive as his legacy.

Meanwhile, those around him -- again, examples of contemporary man -- judge him with harshness and anger. Morrow won't forgive him, or even accept his presence. And Queller's assistant, Jim Haines, lost two parents during the Voyager 2 accident. Jim physically assaults Queller at an inopportune moment, and his impulsive actions nearly cause the destruction of the base.

Again, future man may be more evolved and peaceful, but contemporary man is passionate and irrational even when common sense indicates he should be otherwise.


Writer Johnny Byrne described for me during an interview in 2001 his feelings on this issue of contemporary man and his use/mis-use of technology as it pertains to this adventure:

"We take a number of lessons from this episode. And one of them is that we are all governed by a universal principle: that our technology develops faster than our wisdom.

Let me go back. I think this is a universal principle: the rate of a life form’s biological development is out of key with the rate of technological development.

In a hundred years, we’ve advanced enormously in terms of technology, but we’re essentially the same fearful, passionate, mistake-ridden, aggressive, greedy, ego-driven creature. And there is nothing materially different in recorded history going right back to the Greeks. We are governed by the same kind of incoherent tribulations today as we were then. We really haven’t progressed."

Again, this is a very realistic -- as opposed to idealistic -- view of mankind, and one of the things that, actually, makes us root so strongly for the denizens of Moonbase Alpha.

They weren't born into paradise and prosperity. They don't possess an endless supply of resources. They haven't colonized a thousand worlds in peace.

Instead, they are people -- just like us -- attempting to do their best in a difficult situation. That is innately heroic, even if the Alphans don't always live up to the best angels of their nature. And in "Voyager's Return," Jim Haines' impulsive violence is ultimately matched by his capacity to forgive and accept Queller.

This is a triumph of the human spirit.

As I've written before, Johnny Byrne often penned  Space:1999  episodes based on the events and people he saw in the world around him.  In writing "Mission of the Darians" he subtly re-parsed the details of a news story about a soccer team's struggle to survive in the Andes. For "Voyager's Return," Byrne based Ernst Queller on a very well-known man.


"Dr. Queller was Werner Von Braun, or someone like him," Byrne informed me. "He created something he believed was good, but it had catastrophic effects. In that sense, he was like all those scientists who created the V-1 and V-2 rockets…his work was used or wicked purposes."

Archivist Martin Willey at the impressive  Space:1999  site The Catacombs also notes that "Queller was named after Edward Teller, the Hungarian-American scientist known as 'the father of the H-Bomb.'"

These 20th century men brought terrifying new technologies into the world, and yet  Space:1999  evokes sympathy for them as men; as human beings who saw their work perverted.

In "Voyager's Return," Queller is a man saddled with incredible guilt and shame, and yet when he has an opportunity for redemption...he takes it.
"It was redemption delayed, but redemption nonetheless," Byrne told me.

Again, it's a point worth belaboring: a perfect future man doesn't often require redemption...because he doesn't make mistakes.  Space:1999's  "Voyager's Return" reveals modern man making a mistake on a galactic scale, and shows how his soul pays the price.

The Sidons make for an interesting and pointed counterpoint to Queller in "Voyager's Return."  They have clearly suffered and have been wronged, and yet their need for "justice" blinds them to the fact that they have set out to murder innocent beings; to commit the very crime of genocide that they accuse the Alphans of having committed.

In contrast, Queller set out to kill no one.  His engine malfunctioned and people died.  The Sidons -- enraged by what they perceive as an attack -- plan to lash out at the innocent and guilty alike with no mercy, and with no sense of reflection about their deeds.

Where Queller is haunted by his conscience, the Sidon leader, Aarchon is at peace with his decision to commit murder, and hides behind the letter of the law to do so.

Today, "Voyager's Return" remains dramatic and affecting, in part because of Johnny Byrne's sense of our common humanity but also because of his wicked sense of humor. The episode's teaser is chilling, and amusing, at least in a macabre fashion.  Voyager One destroys a manned Eagle in flight, and then announces -- ignorant of an act of murder -- "Greetings, from the people of the planet Earth."

This is our greeting to the universe?  Fast neutrons spit into space, creating a giant wake of destruction? 

The moment represents fine gallows humor, but also strongly transmits Byrne's thematic point about technology outpacing human evolution...much to our detriment.

"Voyager's Return" isn't often listed as a "best" or "favorite" episode of  Space:1999 , and it's easy to see why that's the case. It does not feature the mind-blowing alien vistas and cultures of such episodes as "Guardian of Piri," nor the show-stopping special effects of an episode such as "War Games." The episode is not as overtly frightening or Gothic as "Dragon's Domain," nor a chapter in the series' larger story arc (involving the mysterious unknown force).

Instead, with real dedication and intelligence, the episode focuses strongly and simply on issues of the human heart.  On rage.  On desperation.  On shame.  On forgiveness.

These aren't the emotions of a "fantastic future" so much as they are the emotions of today, and such qualities make the program well-worth remembering, even if the less-imaginative among us insist that  Space: 1999  is past its expiration date.

"Voyager's Return" proves that it isn't.

Space:1999 50th Anniversary: "Collision Course"

For those unacquainted with it, magical realism is a story-telling approach in which something seemingly impossible (hence magical) occurs in an otherwise very real setting.  

In “Collision Course” the laws of Physics as we understand them are held in abeyance so that a dramatic (though magical...) reckoning, apotheosis, or sense of transcendence can be depicted.

“Collision Course” begins in media res as Moonbase Alpha very narrowly avoids a collision with a nearby asteroid by detonating small nuclear charges on its surface. The mission is a success of sorts, though a thick radioactive cloud hovers over the base, with possibly deleterious effects on humans.

Meanwhile, pilot Alan Carter (Nick Tate) is missing in action. A mysterious alien intelligence named “Arra” (Margaret Leighton) however, guides Alan safely to a rendezvous point in space with Koenig’s rescue Eagle.  

From that vantage point, at the rim of the radiation cloud, Koenig detects a new danger. A planet thirteen times the size of Alpha is now on a collision course with the wandering moon. Only hours remain before total annihilation.

Professor Victor Bergman (Barry Morse) proposes Operation Shockwave, a mission to drop nuclear charges on a path between the two planetary bodies in hopes that the resulting nuclear detonation will pull them apart and spare both worlds from destruction.

But soon, Koenig encounters Arra himself and he faces a new set of variables. The alien queen informs him that it is her world, Atheria, which now approaches Alpha. Furthermore, the approaching collision is the very catalyst her people have sought and awaited since the dawn of time. The collision will trigger in them a total metamorphosis, a next step in their species’ evolution. 

Arra also guarantees that Moonbase Alpha will survive the collision unscathed, noting that it’s odyssey will “know no end” and that mankind will prosper in new solar systems for ages to come.  

Koenig takes Arra at her word, but how can he convince his top staff -- rational and logical scientists all -- that they should do nothing in the face of imminent disaster?
In large part, this episode of  Space: 1999  concerns faith. Not religious faith, necessarily, but perhaps the faith in an understanding beyond our own; that things aren’t always exactly as they first appear, and that we don’t always have all the answers. Rushing to judgment serves no one.

"Collision Course" thus concerns a human value: trust.  It’s the battle between human and machine values perhaps, and one that explicitly fits in with what Science Digest tagged as the series’ central thesis: the downfall of 20th century, technological man.  


The idea underlying this concept is that we don’t know everything ,and when we forsake human values for a reliance on technology, the outcomes may not be the ones we desire. This idea is encoded in  the opening episode, “Breakaway,” which features a nuclear accident, and sends the moon (and Alpha) careening into space.
In real life, I’m not generally a big fan of faith-based decision-making. We use facts and science as our guides to make the best decisions we can. It’s only logical. But what “Collision Course”  explores is the notion that trust is a critical factor too, in decision-making. 

If you understand that someone knows more about a situation than you do, and you indeed trust them, then the question becomes: is that enough to outweigh the available facts?  

The harsh lesson for Commander Koenig is that his people are limited in some sense, by the (technological) world view which shaped them, and that even the quality of loyalty (to him) is not enough to make them forsake science, rationality, and logic in the face of fear and apocalypse.  

Again, I don’t interpret this episode as being a blanket approval of blind faith, but rather the importance of “seeing” faith, let's call it.  Koenig comes to trust Arra after their meeting, and places his faith in her after assessing her, person-to-person..  

His people on Alpha -- though they know him better than he knows Arra -- are not able to place this kind of faith in him. Koenig understands the situation well and harbors no anger, as the coda suggests. Were the situations reversed, he asserts, he would likely not be able to do “nothing” in the face of certain disaster, either.  

Accordingly, the story becomes a comment on the qualities we see in all human-kind, not just Koenig or the Alphans.

One quality I appreciate about “Collision Course” is its sense of humility about human nature. Here, a benevolent alien teaches the human race something wondrous about the universe, a reality that goes beyond man’s limited understanding and science. 

I like the fact that the Alphans are allowed to be wrong in this case, and yet that they are learning as opposed to lecturing or teaching others about their values.  Johnny Byrne,  Space: 1999's  story editor, once told me that great drama emerges not from an exploration of characters who already have all they need, but from an exploration of those who don't. Here, the Alphans lack knowledge about deep space, and so are afraid and act fearfully. 

As we expect from  Space: 1999 , “Collision Course’s visuals are vivid and powerful.  The first acts of the program showcase a sense of confusion and dread, for instance. 

First, Moonbase Alpha is blanketed in an impenetrable haze, unable to see or understand anything happening around it.  

Later, Koenig pierces that haze and find signs only of death and doom.  Arra’s ship devours his Eagle in a sense (the fore opens like a shark’s jaws…) and Koenig finds her ship to be something like a tomb, replete with cob-webs and an ancient figure garbed in a funeral cloak or shroud.

Whether this is Arra’s real form, or Koenig’s perception of her form -- based on his own fear of impending doom -- is questionable. 
Finally, the episode ends with that touch of grace and transcendence, with that touch of magical realism.  Atheria and Alpha careen towards one another and all appears lost.  But the planets don’t collide.  Instead they merely touch, and Arra and her people apparently “evolve” to the next level of their existence.  

There’s no existing scientific theory, principle or axiom, to my knowledge, that could explain why these two space bodies touch instead of collide.  

But the episode  surprises with its fanciful, even chimeric sense of wonder or vision.  There are some things man does not yet understand, the episode expresses, and sometimes it’s necessary not to rage against the fantastic or otherworldly, but to put faith in a friend. Arra speaks of history, foreknowledge, and sacred purpose of mankind, and her vision proves correct, even if "fear" precedes apotheosis.

Moonbase Alpha in a haze of darkness and confusion.

Devoured by fear...

A tomb?

A figure of death, in a funeral shroud.

Out of darkness and fear into light. Two worlds don't collide.  They "touch."
I can’t claim I would always want or desire  Space: 1999  to exist on this rarefied plateau of magical reality, because then hard-edged science-fiction becomes a very different animal: phantasmagoric storytelling with no rules, where anything is possible (and thus valid).  

But in the case of “Collision Course” I’d submit the episode works as a one-off, re-asserting in dynamic visual and narrative fashion the idea that mankind is sometimes the victim of a sort of a tunnel vision, seeing only part of the picture and ignoring the rest.  There are more wonders in Heaven and Earth, “Collision Course” suggests, than is dreamed of in our philosophy (or by our technology).  

And this principle is a key element of  Space: 1999’s  creative vision.

Space:1999 50th Anniversary: "Force of Life"

This episode of  Space:1999  sees a mysterious ball of energy - an alien life-force - infiltrate Alpha. 
In particular, the alien focuses on Nuclear Generating Area Three and Technician Anton Zoref, played by Ian McShane. Before long, to the dismay of Anton’s loving wife, Eva (Gay Hamilton), the technician begins to change.
In particular, he can’t seem to stay warm. 
By seeming osmosis, he begins to drain all the heat from a lamp in his quarters, then a lighting panel in a corridor, and so forth...his appetite for energy and heat ever-increasing. 
Commander Koenig (Martin Landau) and his team, including Victor Bergman (Barry Morse) and Dr. Helena Russell (Barbara Bain) register the energy drops, but don’t yet realize Zoref is the cause. 
Before long, Zoref is seeking to stay alive (and warm...) by draining the heat from living human beings: his fellow Alphans. 
Koenig and the others catch on, but not before Zoref marches right into the Nuclear Generating Area and absorbs its heat...causing a tremendous explosion on Alpha.
Out of the smoldering rubble of the devastated nuclear plant, the energy sphere re-emerges whole -- stronger than before -- and heads off into space, no doubt carrying remnants of Zoref with it. 
There are no definite answers about the strange and dangerous alien encounter, but Professor Bergman speculates that the Alphans may have witnessed some kind of creative evolution, the birth stages of a star, perhaps...



"Force of Life" is my favorite episode of  Space:1999  (1975-1977). I am nostalgic about the series and many episodes, and I also have tremendous affection for "Dragon's Domain." But "Force of Life" is a perfect representation of the series format, in my opinion.
Specifically, the episode makes no bones about the fact that the Alphans don’t understand a lick about the alien that has come knocking on their doorstep. These are not the knowledgeable, highly-evolved humans featured in many popular science fiction series.  They are people like us, in search of answers.
I admire the episode’s haunting coda, wherein Dr. Helena Russell tries to comfort Anton’s wife, in mourning over the loss of her husband:
"We’re living in deep space, there are so many things we don’t understand," she says. "We don’t know what that alien force was, why it came here, or why it selected Anton. But we’ve got to try to help each other understand..."
In other words, the episode perfectly reflects the essence of our human condition. 

There are things in this universe we don’t understand -- fate, life, death, you name it -- but what we can do is reach out to other humans in pain; provide comfort and succor. For me that’s a very human and touching message in what is otherwise a spine-tingling episode with a hard-edge.
For an example of the latter quality, I need only recommend you to the scene in which Astronaut Alan Carter (Nick Tate) fires his laser at Zoref and chars his skin off. Completely.  
This was not something a five year old kid expected to see on television in 1975.

Some folks, including the late great Buster Crabbe, just didn’t like "Force of Life," and that’s certainly their right. Back when  Space:1999  was on the air, he complained about the episode on a talk show in which the other guest was series star Martin Landau. Mr. Crabbe wanted to know what the alien was, what it represented, and what the whole episode meant.
But of course, that would have spoiled the fun if everything had been explained. Then we wouldn't have gotten the alien life-form as a mirror for all the great unknowns of human life.
Better, isn’t it, to leave some things unclear; to allow the viewer to fill in the gaps? Think of Hitchcock's  The Birds.  Would any explanation really satisfy you as to the reason for the avian attack on humanity? The same holds true for "Force of Life."  
The motives of the alien are...alien.  
Over the years, I had the honor to speak with Johnny Byrne,  Space:1999's  script editor, about many series episodes, including "Force of Life." This is what he told me about the episode in 2001:
"It was a process of a life force traveling through space, chrysalis into butterfly. That’s entirely all it was. Why can’t people see that? Just last night, I was watching this program about the universe, about the incredible ways life can survive. These scientists study these tiny microbes found on Mars, or learn how life can survive literally anywhere. 
It’s incredible. I didn’t know about these things when I wrote "Force of Life," but it is the same thing. The life force had its own agenda, and there were no philosophical discussions to be had. It couldn’t express itself verbally, because it was very different from the Alphans. I mean, was it going to pop in and say ‘charge me up and send me on my way’? That would have been ridiculous."
"The Alphans didn’t understand the process," Byrne continues, "but remember, we weren’t dealing with super smart space jockeys, we were dealing with near-future people caught in a very un-Earth-like situation. But the process was purely that of the caterpillar transforming into something else."
Beyond the interesting story, "Force of Life," is worthy of spotlighting because of its startling visualizations.

I’ve always loved  Space:1999  because it is a TV series that adroitly manipulates film grammar, and in the process cogently transmit its themes. It is a visual masterpiece dominated by mind-blowing imagery. David Tomblin directs "Force of Life" with a quiver full of stylish film techniques including a tracking camera, slow-motion photography, distortion lenses, and most famously of all, a slow turn of the camera into an inverted position.
The aforementioned upside-down camera turn -- the final shot of the episode’s shocking teaser -- is efficacious because it symbolically and visually suggests that Moonbase Alpha will be turned on its head by the alien energy force.
Even more effectively, the use of extensive slow-motion photography in the chase sequences prolongs the terror of Zoref’s victims, and heightens audience suspense. The menacing low-angle shots of the technician stalking his prey also contribute to the episode’s overall feeling of dread and paranoia. 
These moments - which fill the screen with the imposing image of the homicidal, starving Zoref - depict strength and the invincible nature of this alien intruder.
The color changes and focus shifts on Zoref’s face further reflect that this human is in the grip of an alien force by alternating dramatically from blue to red (symbolically cold to hot...) as Zoref drains his victims. All of these remarkable and stylish touches make "Force of Life" appear more like a full-fledged feature than a TV show. As in the best of productions, form reflects content. This isn’t just a pretty melange of master-shots/close-ups, but a clearly-thought out tapestry that carries distinct visual meaning and thus thematic weight.
"The way it looked took some thought," Johnny Byrne told me, "and was beautifully expressed by David [Tomblin]. I don’t understand why people don’t get it..."
I must say, I also like the little joke about Zoref’s name, which Byrne insists was unintentional. Jumble the letters around a bit and you spell the word...froze. Nice touch.

The essence and driving concept of  Space:1999  is always that outer space is a realm both frightening and wondrous, so unlike the series' detractors, I believe it totally unnecessary to explain where the alien in "Force of Life" originated, how it thinks, why it selected Zoref, where it’s headed, and so forth.
If all those questions had been addressed, the mystery would vanish, murdered in the rush to find an authentic-sounding scientific explanation or some pat psychological motivation for something that -- to the Alphans -- should remain inexplicable. There would be no room for horror, no space for awe, and thus no sense that the Alphans are strangers in a strange land.  And that's the very thesis of the program.  "Force of Life" delivers that thesis in near-perfect format.
So today, I wholeheartedly champion  Space:1999's  ninth episode, "Force of Life." It credits the viewer with intelligence, and doesn’t rush to spoon-feed us every last detail.In its deliberate ambiguity and impressive technical skill, it represents a remarkable installment of an often misunderstood or underestimated TV series. 
After you watch it, you might look up at the stars and shiver. There are things up there we can’t even imagine, and every now and then science fiction TV programming has a duty to look beyond laser duels, tales of good vs. evil, or even metaphors for our political world, and focus instead on the universe of mystery inherent in the cosmos.
That’s precisely what "Force of Life" accomplishes, and the genre is stronger for it.

Space:1999 50th Anniversary: "The Guardian of Piri"

In “Guardian of Piri,” Earth’s traveling Moon encounters a new and strange world, which Victor Bergman (Barry Morse) mysteriously designates “Piri” during a command conference.

Unfortunately, every attempt to gather more information about Piri seems to go awry, and Computer provides a steady stream of inaccurate or confusing information about it. When an Eagle mission to the planet is believed lost, its crew assumed dead, Alan Carter (Nick Tate) is furious, blaming the tragedy on Computer because the pilots believed what “the lousy computer told them to believe.”

Before long, Alpha’s computer begins to make catastrophic errors regarding the base’s internal operation too. Professor Bergman faints after Computer recalibrates the oxygen in the base’s air-supply, without heed.  Later, another Alphan, Sarah Graham, dies when Computer stops a blood-transfusion in mid-operation.

Commander Koenig (Martin Landau) believes that David Kano (Clifton Jones), head of Computer Section can help determine why the machine has gone “haywire.”  Several years earlier, David undertook a dangerous experiment to link computer memory with the human brain, and now he and Koenig believe this link-up might help pinpoint the problem. Instead a force spirits Kano away from Alpha when link-up is made.

Koenig travels to Piri in an Eagle, and sees that the Eagle pilots and Kano have become mindless drones on the strange planetary surface. He encounters a beautiful woman (Catherine Schell), who identifies herself as the Servant of the Guardian of Piri, and reports that her purpose is to take “transient, imperfect” human life and render it “perfect.” She also reports that the Guardian has stopped time, because absolute perfection is eternal.

Koenig objects, noting that the Pirian Way is not the human way. But back on Alpha, Dr. Helena Russell (Barbara Bain) and the others are already preparing for Operation Exodus, and a permanent re-settlement on the planet…

In blunt terms, “Guardian of Piri” is a story about the ways that technology and automation can be dehumanizing influences. 
Space: 1999  writer Johnny Byrne told me during an interview that the Gerry and Sylvia Anderson series grapples explicitly with the notion that technology is a double or two-edged sword. Technology gives us something, but also takes away something else. Johnny was talking, specifically, about “Matter of Life and Death” when we had this discussion, but he could have been discussing Christopher Penfold’s visually dynamic and thematically resonant “Guardian of Piri” as well.

“Guardian of Piri” has fascinating origins in Greek Myth. In Homer’s The Odyssey, Odysseus was desperately attempting to return home to Ithaca following the Trojan War, but along the way encountered the sirens. 
These inhuman beings had a tantalizing call, one both irresistible and sexual in nature. Odysseus had himself tied to the mast by his crew so he could hear the song, but not heed the call. That’s how powerful the siren song proved to be.

In “Guardian of Piri,” the Guardian and its servant are created very much in the fashion of the mythical sirens, drawing the Alphans and even Computer to the planet surface.Yet importantly, in this case their song is not overtly sexual (though the episode’s final act features strong sexual overtones...), but rather technological in nature. Specifically, Piri promises a paradise in which machines will tend to every human need, and humans will be left to their leisure. Even the day-to-day matters of “sustenance” will not interfere with human pleasure, as Helena asserts at one juncture. 
What makes all that pleasure possible is the toil and custodianship of the Guardian.

Uniquely, “Guardian of Piri” suggests a continuum in term of dependence on technology (specifically machines or computers). The Alphans represent an early but still dangerous point on that particularly graph.  
They “believe what the lousy computer” tells them to believe, and thus nearly lose an Eagle crew.  
Similarly Koenig notes that there are simply not enough personnel to run the base on manual control.  The Alphans are overseers of their technology, but they cannot regulate every function on Moonbase Alpha. Sarah Graham dies because her blood transfusion -- considered a routine computer-controlled process --went unobserved by human eyes. “I am not a computer,” Dr. Mathias (Anton Phillips) declares angrily, and his suggestion is that Medical Section is unmanageable without Computer’s custodianship of it. 

Koenig starts to suspect that this dependence on Computer, while necessary, is having ill-effects.“That computer seems to be telling us exactly what we want to hear,” he observes correctly. Indeed it is, because the computer has heard the song of Piri and is now in thrall to the siren...the Guardian.

The Pirians meanwhile, stand at a later point on the same continuum, or more aptly, its end point. 
The Servant explains to Koenig how the Pirians were people of “great skill” and how they built machines to run everything. Then they constructed the Guardian to oversee their machines to save them “from decision.”  
The (ostensibly humanoid) Pirians thus abandoned every responsibility they had, even those pesky matters of day-to-day sustenance, in favor of pleasure. But a people that didn’t build anything, didn’t exert themselves, and couldn’t be bothered, even, to feed themselves became...apathetic. In the end, as Koenig realizes, they died.  They could not thrive in a computer’s idea of paradise.

Late in the story, Koenig stumble on the antidote to this mind-numbing apathy: pain. He punches a monitor in Main Mission and cuts his hand. The Servant offers to heal it for him but he objects: “Leave me with my pain. It reminds me I’m human.” Then he descends to Piri and puts Helena through shock treatment to rouse her from her trance of apathy. The message seems to be that some amount of suffering, or pain (the opposite of pleasure) is necessary if human civilization is to thrive.

One of the most fascinating aspects of “Guardian of Piri” involves the episode’s ending. By destroying the “moment of perfection” created by the Guardian, the Alphans actually restore natural (rather than machine life) to the planet’s surface. They were brought there, essentially, to die in a computer's vision of perfect bliss. Instead, they upended the machine’s vision and imposed a sense of order more in keeping with human biology. Too bad, as Koenig says, that they didn’t stay.   
As I noted in my book,  Exploring Space:1999 , several episodes of the series involve the Alphans acting as catalysts, bringing new life or resurrecting dead life on alien worlds. In addition to their catalyzing actions in "Guardian of Piri," the Alphans help Arra to evolve in "Collision Course," and bring the seeds of life to Arkadia in "Testament of Arkadia," 

Beyond the plot line, which suggests a futuristic siren call and a computerized version of paradise, “Guardian of Piri” thrives on its amazing and uncanny visuals.  

In all of science fiction television history, there has never been another world that looks like Piri.  It is unique. The planet’s surface is a strange, technological forest atop a rocky plateau. In the forest, the trees seem to be wrapped in wires bundles instead of organic vines, and instead of leaves, there are giant mechanical white bulbs everywhere. his set was built in miniature and in live-action proportions, and remains, as noted above, absolutely singular in appearance.  
As one Alphan notes, the planet is a “weirdy.” But an unforgettable weirdy.
This episode always reminds me why I admire  Space: 1999  to such a degree. Its visual presentation is downright stunning, and often incredibly original. Spectacular is probably the right word. And this episode gives us the spectacular Catherine Schell as well, strolling among the strange wiry trees of Piri, suggesting a distant world both alluring…and utterly alie

Space 1999 50th Anniversary: "Another Time, Another Place"

“This is the Earth.  But not the world we knew…Apart from us, it’s empty now.  A civilization once flourished here…another Atlantis, perhaps.”

-Victor Bergman describes a mysterious alternate Earth in Johnny Byrne’s “Another Time, Another Place.”

The Earth’s moon, in a region of distant space, passes through a strange, inexplicable phenomenon. The moon’s velocity increases as the Alphans experience dizziness, shock and double-vision. Dr. Helena Russell (Barbara Bain) gazes out of a window in Main Mission, and sees -- for a fraction of a second -- another moon, a duplicate, moving off into space.

Moonbase Alpha attempts to recover from this freak incident, but can’t. One Alphan technician, Regina Kesslan (Judy Geeson) begins acting strangely.  She exhibits signs of sun-burn, and seems to be living a past or future life in the present, one in which her husband, Alan Carter (Nick Tate) and Commander Koenig (Martin Landau) have died in an Eagle crash.

And then the news arrives that the moon has traveled into a new solar system, and is approaching…Earth. 

In fact, the moon will soon slip into the very orbit it left on September 13, 1999.  Hoping to learn if it is possible to settle on this strange Earth -- which seems almost devoid of all life -- Koenig, Russell and Carter encounters a group of Alphan colonists and realize that, in some strange way, the Moon has caught up with itself…or another version of itself…

But time is running out, for now there are two moons in the night sky…

For many humans, there is no more vexing problem to ponder, perhaps, than the one that goes: “What if I had just chosen to take the other path…” 

In ways poignant and profound, “Another Time, Another Place” explores this notion of paths untaken. The episode introduces the Alphans to a life that is simultaneously theirs and not theirs, one in which love has been acknowledged, and new destinies forged.  But it is also a world of death and despair, being both bleak and lonely.

Specifically, the Alphans encounter a version of themselves five years into the future... one that has settled on an inhospitable Earth.  Commander Koenig and Alan are dead, and Helena Russell is still in mourning over John’s passing.  In fact, part of the reason this episode remain haunting to this day involves Barbara Bain and her performance as the other Russell.  So often in cult-tv history we get “mirror” or opposite versions of characters, but Bain presents in “Another Time, Another Place” an older, sadder version of the character we all know. One who has found love with Commander Koenig, and then lost it…just as she lost her first husband, Lee. Now, she toils to keep the community alive, as John would no doubt want, but she’s lost, alone, and unhappy.

I had the great fortune to discuss the origin of the moody “Another Time, Another Place” with  Space:1999  author and story editor Johnny Byrne (1935 – 2008) when I conducted a wide-ranging interview with him several years ago. “The idea of a doppelganger is something that is prevalent in my culture,” he informed me at the time.

“Growing up in Ireland, I didn’t have radio or television, so everything was imagination and history, and super[natural] history if you will. It wasn’t that we weren’t smart or educated -- I knew by heart everything Shakespeare had written by the age of 11. But to all of us, there was the real world and the other world.”

And the Alphans in “Another Time, Another Place” interface with a version of Ireland’s “other world,” but one relocated to the distant regions of outer space. 

“Well, the Irish believe there’s a very thin dividing line between fantasy and reality. In all Irish mythology there is an engagement with the other world, and people who come from that environment should have no trouble comprehending the kind of story I was writing for Space: 1999. It was the idea of leaving yourself, of discovering an alternative version of yourself.”

Specifically, Byrne based the space phenomenon which “doubled” the Alphans (and created doppelgangers) on an element of his everyday life. 

“One hundred yards up the road from the house where I grew up was this little church with a fantastic reputation. We heard that if you walked around the church sun-wise [clockwise] three times, you’d meet yourself coming out. That kind of legend was the core of “Another Time, Another Place." Our mythology is filled with situations in which a person stumbles into a mist and then emerges three hundred years later, or some such thing.  So I constructed a story around the experience of my upbringing.”

“Another Time, Another Place” goes further than that description suggests, however.  Commander Koenig must reckon with his corpse, with the possibility of a future in which he both marries Helena Russell, and then, because of an accident, loses her. The idea of coming face to face with yourself is one (terrifying…) thing, but the notion of going into the future and countenancing your corpse is of an entirely more bracing degree.

In fact, the specter of ever-present death hangs over this episode in a profound and disturbing fashion.  When Regina Kesslan is unable to reconcile the two universes that she inhabits, for instance the episode features a grim-reaper type-visage: a skull in a cloak. 

By the same token, Koenig and Carter visit a “dead” version of Moonbase Alpha, one gutted and salvaged for parts by the desperate Alphan colonists.

Even the Earth we see here seems haunted by the angel of death.  Man may have existed here, or never have existed at all.  But the trees appear to be dead and devoid of leaves, the soil is rust-brown, and night always seems to be falling.

Doppelgangers and Death beckon...

Another image of death, personal to Regina.

More Images of Doubles and Death. A dead, twilight Earth.
It’s as if by splitting into two parts, the Alphans have entered a kind of twilight real, a place of half-life.  Thus the final, symbolic image of the episode -- Helena Russell clutching a groups flowers from the alternate Earth -- suggests two things simultaneously. The first is a kind of spring or re-birth: the flowers continue to live because the Alphans -- and the universe itself -- are made whole once more. 

Or, contrarily, the survival and thriving of these flowers could suggest visually that in some unknown way, the other Alphan community and its world also survived intact, though forever closed off from our consensus reality.  This notion harks back to Victor’s comment in the episode that there is an order to the universe, and ultimately the Alphans belong where they belong. The universe skips a track in this episode, and then restores itself, to state the matter bluntly.

I’ve always considered “Another Time, Another Place” a crucial piece in the  Space:1999  Year One story arc, which Johnny Byrne confirmed was on his mind, even if, at times, he wasn’t always conscious of how it was working: “There was something deeply subconscious working all the time and none of us were aware of it,” he told me.  “And it only happened to those of us who were there all the time, because the writing of the individual scripts was only a step in the whole process.  We were in the planning of the episodes, we were seeing the dailies day-by-day, we were working ahead and looking at new stories.  We were at starship control, we were looking for those unidentified little blips – which were the scripts keying into something special.”

In terms of the story arc, we know that in series lore, the Alphans bring life to the planet of Arkadia in the final episode of the season (“Testament of Arkadia”), just as the Arkadians once brought life to Earth, and are therefore responsible for the dawn of man there. 
What if the planet Earth encountered in “Another Time, Another Place” is one in which this kind of symbiosis never existed? In which the Arkadians did not come to seed our world, and so life didn’t develop?

That’s just one possibility.  Another is that this is our Earth, only far into the future, when the memory of mankind is just that, a memory…like how we today think of Atlantis. In whatever way one chooses to interpret the multi-faceted ambiguities of this episode, “Another Time, Another Place” remains one of the most haunting installments of  Space: 1999 .