John Kenneth Muir's Blog, page 892

The Alien Movie Matrix

I'll present my detailed, spoiler-filled review of Ridley Scott's  Prometheus (2012) one week from today, here on the blog (so see it before then; twice if you can...).



While watching the new film, keep in mind this matrix, and see how many categories Prometheus fulfills.  This may be one manner of judging how much of an Alien "prequel" the Ridley Scott film really is.  Does it live or die by the conventions of the established series, or does it feature new tropes and ideas?












Title



Alien (1979)



Aliens (1986)



Alien3 (1992)



Alien Resurrection (1997)





Android



Ash



Bishop



Bishop



Call





Company Man



Ash



Burke



85,
Bishop



No





Comic Relief



Parker,
Brett



Hudson



Morse,
85



Perez





In awe of the alien



Ash



Bishop



Golic



Gediman





Joseph Conrad



Nostromo

Narcissus



Sulaco



Sulaco






No





Pregnancy/Gestation



Kane



Colonists



Ripley.

Dog.



Alien
Queen

Purvis





Self-Sacrifice



No



Gorman

Vasquez



Dillon

Ripley



Christie

Purvis





Failed Mission



Dallas
in the

vents
trying to

flush
out alien



First
engagement

with
aliens in

sub-level
3



Prisoners
attempt

to
entrap alien



Military
attempts

to
breed and control

aliens
as bio weapon.





Ship/Facility Destroyed



Nostromo



LV-426
Colony



Evacuation
pod



Auriga





New Alien Life Form



Space
jockey

Egg

Facehugger

Chestburster

Adult
alien



Queen
Alien



Dog
Alien



Newborn





Surprise Death/Attack



Kane
chest-bursted.

Alpha-male Dallas killed

half-way through.

Ash decapitated.



Bishop pulped  

 by Queen

on
Sulaco.






Andrews dragged 

 through Cafeteria
ceiling



No

The Horror Lexicon #17: Bio-Hazard Suits

Once upon a time, the wardrobe of the horror genre consisted of
diaphanous white gowns and black vampire capes.  




But by the 1970s, traditional Gothic wear was out-of-fashion, and
high-tech horror chic was in.  




In films such as Robert Wise’s The Andromeda Strain
(1971), environmental, hazmat or “bio-containment suits” were often the only
thing that could protect heroic scientists from a new and insidious form of
monster: the virus or “germ.”




And yet, during the same era, in harrowing films such as George A.
Romero’s The Crazies (1973), the hazmat suit also became a short-hand
for terror itself.  There, American
soldiers occupied Evans City, PA, in bio-hazard suits, and declared martial law
during the military’s attempt to contain a biological weapon code-named
“Trixie.” 






These American soldiers carried flame throwers and guns, and saw
the innocent families and denizens of the town as something akin to expendable cattle.  Therefore, the protective suits – on one hand a protection from danger –
also became a barrier to communication, an impediment to human and humane behavior on the part of those
who wore them.  Behind those suit masks,
we couldn’t see how the soldiers felt, or if they were agonizing over their
difficult choices.  We could only see how
(horribly) they acted in the face of fear.




In short, that’s the yin-and-yang of the hazmat suit in horror
films.  This wardrobe can work as a
defense if a hero wears it, but represents a form of alienation or fear if worn
by callous-seeming others or villains.  






Some films, such as  Outbreak
(1995) play with the conventions of the hazmat suit by featuring scenes wherein
the protective suits rip and tear, and our heroes are exposed to a bug and therefore
mortally endangered.  At another moment in the film, a scientist (Dustin Hoffman) is so convinced that he has discovered the cure for hemorrhagic fever that he (foolishly, in my opinion...) removes his helmet in the presence of the infected.  Fortunately for him, his gamble pays off.




The late 1980s and early 1990s represents the era of what I term
"the Horror Genome Project," wherein many genre films featured
“science gone amok” story lines.  These
new age Frankenstein tales concerned irresponsible scientists who experimented
with life – with the very building blocks
of life – and created only…terror. 
The remake of The Blob (1988) concerned this idea,
as did such efforts as Mimic (1998).  In these settings, the hazmat suit was the
scientist’s garb of choice.  We know that
“clothes make the man” (or woman), so therefore the hazmat suit became a  de
rigueur fashion touch in stories of scientists confronting their own creations,
as well as seemingly alien or unknown terrors; Phantoms ( 1998) for instance.




In Steven Spielberg’s science fiction films, Close Encounters of the Third
Kind (1977) and E.T. (1982), the hazmat suits are utilized
by the master director as fearsome indicators of powers that audiences can’t understand.
 The suits and helmets themselves obstruct transparency, hiding either
conspiratorial government deceit, or “grown-ups” who obscure their “heart-lights”
beneath layers of inhuman, inexpressive protection. 




The bio-hazard suit is featured in (but not limited) to appearances
in films such as:




The
Andromeda Strain
(1971), The Crazies (1973), Close Encounters (1977), E.T.
(1982), The Blob (1988), Alien 3 (1992),
Carnosaur
(1993), Return of the Living Dead III (1993), The Puppet Masters (1994),
Mimic
(1998), Phantoms (1998), Sphere (1998), The X-Files: Fight the Future
(1998), [REC] (2007), Carriers (2009), and The
Crazies (2010).

Cult Movie Review: John Carter (2012)

I
grew up reading the works of Edgar Rice Burroughs and the author’s Princess
of Mars “pulp” novels, so I
was saddened to see the cinematic adaptation of the saga, John Carter (2012) bomb
at the box office last spring. 




But
-- as difficult as it is for our
money-focused, bottom-line-concerned, consumer modern society to recognize such
things – financial success isn’t necessarily the most important aspect of a
movie’s legacy or artistry.




And
in regards to John Carter, I reckon that general audiences missed the boat – and a nice treat -- by giving the film a
pass.




In
short, John Carter is a beautifully-conceptualized and gorgeously
photographed “sword and sandals-” in-space epic.  Only the fact that virtually every sci-fi
blockbuster from Star Wars (1977) to Attack of the Clones (2002), to Avatar
(2009) has cribbed mercilessly from the Burroughs’ epic burdens the picture
with an unfortunate surface impression of sameness. 




At
this point, frankly, we’ve probably seen enough desert planets ( Star
Wars [1977], Dune [1984], Star Trek V: The Final Frontier
[1989], Stargate [1994], Star Wars: The Phantom Menace [1999]
etc.) to last us all a lifetime. 




Yet
if you gaze underneath such familiar visual trappings, you may detect that John
Carter possesses a droll, sure-footed imagination, and the rollicking
senses of humor and, yes, joy, that
many recent space adventures have deliberately forsaken in favor of darkness,
angst, and doubt.




Directed
by Andrew Stanton ( Finding Nemo [2003], Wall-E [2008]), John Carter is yet another
one of those recent releases that met a cruel reception from reviewers; a
reception that speaks more trenchantly about those reviewers and their own
shortcomings than those of the film in focus. 





For
instance, some critics were quick to term John Carter an Avatar “reject” without
considering the fact that Burroughs’ John Carter practically originated the
sci-fi adventure genre a century ago. 




Other
critics only wanted to discuss inside baseball and reinforce a
behind-the-scenes story:  The film was too expensive at 250 million
dollars!  The director had shifted from
animation to live action…why? 




Finally,
some dunderheads even suggested that John Carter is incomprehensible, and
that it is too “hard” to follow the film’s story.  I wonder what these same critics would have
made of Star Wars when it first premiered in 1977.  




Who are these Jedi
Knights we keep hearing about?  Who are
all those aliens in the cantina? Why all this endless talk of an Imperial
Senate that we never actually see? 
Boring….  




But
the cardinal sin is this one: So many critics focused on what was happening
behind-the-scenes (admittedly, a marketing disaster) or the film’s “familiar”
subject matter that they didn’t actually contend with the specifics of the
film’s text itself, or with the creative and often amusing ways that John
Carter tackled its narrative. 




In
short, director Stanton adopts a stance of quirky individualism and wonder
throughout the film, humanizing his lead character by deploying unexpected
editing flourishes and off-kilter compositions that visually mirror the hero’s
quest.




So
yes, narrative-wise, the story of John Carter has been re-purposed
many, many times. No point denying that.




But
perhaps in recognition of that very fact, Stanton infuses his silver screen
effort with a strong sense of romance, a quality of unfettered joy, and even a
keen eye for detail that plays, finally as tribute to the genre’s history. 




Beyond
those laudable values, a mild updating of the material (to include elements of
the second Carter adventure, Gods of Mars ) provides for an
interesting commentary in our modern, twenty-first century era.  In particular, the film’s “civilized”
villains -- the god-like Therns --
mirror how the rich and powerful manipulate religion, technology and even PR
sleight-of-hand to drive an agenda that may be good for them -- the few -- but are wholly tragic for the
rest of us, the many.




As
Jeffrey Anderson insightfully wrote of John Carter at The San Francisco Examiner,
this is a film that absolutely “celebrates
the concept of adventure.”  




It’s
a shame that for a lot of folks, that’s not enough.




“You are ugly, but you are beautiful. And you fight like a
Thark !”






Following the Civil War, confederate Captain John Carter
(Taylor Kitsch) of Virginia goes in search of gold in the west. After running
afoul of U.S. cavalry officers and Apache warriors, Carter hides in a cave and
comes across a device that can transport him to another world…to Mars.




Carter wakes up on the dying planet -- here called “Barsoom”
-- to find excessive strife.  And oddly,
the gravity differential on Mars has granted Carter the strength, speed and
agility of a superman.




Still, John is quickly captured by the warrior-like, green-skinned,
twelve-foot tall Tharks, and trained as one of their number.  But a usurper to the throne, Tal Hajus
(Thomas Haden Church) makes trouble for the Tharks’ noble leader Tars Tarkas
(Willem Dafoe) after he allows Carter and his daughter Sola (Samantha Morton) to
escape from captivity.




Soon, John teams up with a beautiful “Red” princess, Dejah
Thoris (Lynn Collins) to help defeat a conquering warlord named Sab Than
(Dominic West).  The daughter of Helium’s
king (Ciaran Hinds), Dejah is slated to marry Than unless she can find another
way to repel his war fleet, and defeat his new, awesome power “the ninth ray.”




Attempting to find a way home to Earth, Carter comes to the
rescue of Dejah, and learns that Helium and even Sab Than are being manipulated
by dark, shadowy overlords known as Therns. 
Their agent on Barsoom -- Matai Shang (Mark Strong) -- reveals that his
people feed on societal divisions and strife, and are manipulating the planet Barsoom
towards total disaster.




As Dejah’s wedding day nears, Carter must recruit the savage Tharks
to his valiant cause, and he tests his mettle in a Thark arena against a
monstrous white ape…




“We do not cause the destruction of a world, Captain Carter.
We simply manage it. Feed off it, if you like .”






John
Carter
effortlessly cruises through a two-hour plus running time, in part because
director Stanton doesn’t hew to tradition or convention in terms of visual
presentation. Specifically, Stanton takes full advantage of unconventional editing
techniques – jump cuts, for instance
-- to craft humorous montages out of small moments that might have been
neglected or ignored in another director’s hands




Take
for example, John Carter’s repeated but futile attempts to escape the U.S.
cavalry.  Stanton stages these moments
with fierce abandon and with flourishes of heroic music on the soundtrack.  Carter leaps into action and attempts to
break free.  But the editing sets up a
joke/punch-line dynamic.  After Carter lunges
into action, he gets smacked down…hard.  This happens repeatedly (perhaps three times
in all), and each attempt only lands Carter in deeper trouble: bruised,
bloodied, and finally incarcerated in prison. 





But
the persistent jump cuts from the initiation of Carter’s daring escape gambits to
the unfortunate results of his efforts prove very funny, and quite
unexpected.  They almost immediately
announce the film’s intention to play the story not as camp, but as good,
entertaining fun.




Yet
the sequences featuring these jump cuts reveal character traits ably as
well.  Carter is resilient and
indomitable, even when he doesn’t possess the upper hand.  This is a trait that will come in handy on
the desert plains of inhospitable Barsoom. 





Also,
the moments of Carter jumping up – and
getting smacked down hard – play as direct and deliberate contrast to those
later moments on Mars when the gravity difference allows the protagonist to
leap into the sky….and successfully fly
into action.  On Barsoom – where he belongs – nothing can hold
Carter back.  The pointed contrast with
the earlier jump-cut shots thus represents a visual recognition of destiny
achieved.




Another
great moment occurs as Carter teleports to Mars and attempts to stand-up and
walk for the first time.  Again, the
unexpected occurs:  he falls down.  Once, then again, then again and again.   Carter is not instantly portrayed as a physically-competent
superman, able to conquer natural forces in a single bound 




Instead,
we see him fall flat on his face over and over, looking every bit the
fool.  Again, this off-kilter moment reveals
something of the main character’s resilience. 
It would have been easy (but wrong) to omit Carter’s physical training,
and just have him emerge on Mars a superhero 
Instead, we get another humorous montage that reminds us of Carter’s human nature.  He may get to be a superman in time, but
first he has to take his licks, looking like an idiot.  We understand why he’s humble and righteous,
not arrogant and over-confident.






Stanton
finds other ways to puncture any unnecessary solemnity.  The Tharks continually refer to John Carter
as “Virginia,” even after he asks them not to, and they also give him a kind of
alien bull-dog sidekick that he can’t escape from. In both instances – again – viewers are asked to reckon with
a hero with feet of clay, with frailties and limitations.  It’s no fun, after all, if our hero is
unbeatable, or if power comes too easily to him.




Another
good joke comes later in the film: Carter’s inability to stick a landing while
piloting a Martian flying machine.  This
comedic situation serves the same function as all the other jokes, making
Carter relatable and bearable to us in the audience instead of some
unsympathetic ubermensch.




For
me, the emotional honesty and dynamic lyricism of Stanton’s directorial approach
comes to the forefront in another unconventional but magnificent moment.  During a fierce battle with Tharks, Stanton
deploys incessant cross-cutting to flash back from the height of the savage
attack to a character defining moment in the past when Carter returns home from
the Civil War and discovers his family – his
wife and child – murdered. 




The
cross-cutting is vitally important here because it permits us to understand why
Carter has again embraced war (“a
shameful thing,” he notes at one point). 
When he kills – and kills on a
near-cosmic scale – he is remembering the tragic loss that destroyed his
life, his very identity. Sword blades slicing through the air cross-cut with
images of a shovel striking dirt…digging
a grave.  Again, director Stanton has
found a way to adroitly and economically visualize this hero’s essential
character.




I
also very much appreciate the “fan” homages that Stanton delicately and
unobtrusively threads into the picture. 
Eagle-eyed viewers will recognize, at one point, a familiar expanse of
Vasquez Rocks, where Captain Kirk famously fought his green-skinned Gorn
opponent, in Star Trek (1966 – 1969). 





And
one scene set in a canoe directly mirrors a moment in the Forbidden Zone with
Charlton Heston on an inflatable yellow raft, from Planet of the Apes
(1968).  John Carter is veritably seeded
with these canny visual allusions to previous genre classics, thus graciously
noting that it is part of a longstanding continuum, even if Burroughs was
really an initiator, not imitator, of the literary “pulp” adventure.






Above,
I mentioned the social commentary embedded in John Carter , and there’s
no doubt of its presence.  Several times
during the course of the film, for instance, we witness the workings of what
can only be called a large “fracking” machine, one damaging and degrading the
very stability of Barsoom.




Furthermore,
the Thern leader – an advanced would-be
God – notes that he “manages” and “feeds off” the destruction of worlds while
“societies divide.”  This is a wicked metaphor for the very debate
we see playing out in our national dialogue about the role of “vulture capitalists,” like those at Mitt
Romney’s Bain.  Such men champion “creative destruction” and shepherd the
chopping-up and selling-off of resources…so that they alone profit.  This is indeed the very dynamic we see played
out with Matai Shang, a creature “managing”
the destruction of Barsoom for his own benefit.




Another
element of that dynamic, of course, is the 1% argument we associate with the
Occupy movement.  The Therns represent
only a few people, but their agenda rules the planet as the various, diverse
denizens of Barsoom battle over dwindling resources such as water, or new technologies
such as the ninth ray.  The many are
distracted by manufactured wars or partisan divides while the vultures fly in
and feast on a world (or country’s…) natural wealth.




In
no way is this movie a “message” picture, but as always, great art reflects the
dynamics of the time period in which it was produced.  Like John Carpenter’s yuppie aliens in They
Live (1988), the Therns of John Carter are both
resource-guzzlers and puppet masters, managing a largely-unaware,
highly-distracted population.  Some of
those avenues of control involve the sowing of racial division (humanoids
versus Tharks), and the manipulation of religious rituals, namely marriage.  Again, one need only to gaze at current
headlines to see how some political forces “feed” on such disunion in real life.




Outside
this commentary, John Carter also boasts an opinion about -- as reviewer Anderson noted – the very
concept of adventure.  John
Carter escorts viewers from the last American (mythic) realm of
adventure – the Old West – into the new
frontier of space adventure.  This
conceit from Burroughs’ literary canon is so brilliant because it connects our
past to our future, and reminds us that our mythology’s forms may vary or
shape-shift over time, but that the human
content remains largely the same.  Like
many a Western icon, John Carter is the stranger who rides into a new town, and
finds injustice there.  He rectifies that
situation because – as an outsider –
he has no “dog in this hunt,” to turn
a phrase used in the film.




Unfortunately
for John
Carter , period sci-fi adventure movies almost never succeed with the
public, as I’ve reported in the past.  The
Rocketeer (1991), The Shadow (1994), and The
Phantom (1996) all failed too, because, I suspect, at some level we
desire to see our modern, technological corollaries up there on the big screen
in science fiction adventures, not anachronistic men from an age long past.  Still, I enjoy how John Carter keeps one
foot in the past and one in the future. 
The very idea is reflected in Carter’s tomb inscription: “Inter Mundos.”  That phrase meaning “between worlds”
describes not just the film’s two separate planets, but its two distinct
traditions of myth and adventure.






John
Carter
features gorgeous photography (particularly in the scenes set on the river
of Isis), but more importantly, highlights a charming romance.  Carter and Dejah fall in love – with all the expected sparks and hardships
– and for once in a movie of this type, the scenes resonate and provoke
interest rather than inducing winces. 
The film possesses that otherworldly quality of charm, to quote Harve
Bennett, and you can detect that charm in the fun (but not annoying) bull-dog
sidekick, in Tarkas’s humorous dialogue, and most importantly in Stanton’s
selection of shots and editing techniques.  





On
the latter front, just consider that if the Carter/Dejah romantic scenes did
not work so well, the triumphant punctuation of a scene in which Carter appears
to return to Earth would not play as nearly effectively as it now does.  As it stands, it’s a great and surprising twist,
and one told with a sense of convincing and confident simplicity; a simple tilt of the camera towards the
ceiling.  To me, this scene
represents one of those perfect movie minutes when all the elements work precisely
as intended, and the audience is really drawn into the world of the characters.






Finally,
I would like to report that I felt like Tars Tarkas did while watching this
film – that when I saw John Carter I believed it was a sign
that something new can come into this world.  




That didn’t happen, exactly.  Our culture is too saturated with similar
films, perhaps, for John Carter to achieve escape velocity as a Star
Wars -sized, tradition-busting, fad-inducing, trend-setter. But at the
very least, I’m satisfied that I’ve seen in John Carter a refreshing
change of pace in terms of modern blockbusters. 
It’s a well-made and wholly joyful
film, and it deserved a better reception. 





John Carter is one of the few cinematic heirs
to Star
Wars that actually includes all the elements I have sought and
treasured in space adventure movies since May of 1977: heart, soul, humor and
wonder.   If those sound like qualities
you can buy into, I recommend the movie wholeheartedly.




Now if someone would just make a
movie of another favorite “pulp” adventure from my childhood: E.E. “Doc Smith’s
The
Skylark of Space (1915).

Movie Trailer: John Carter (2012)

Theme Song of the Week: Quinn Martin's Tales of the Unexpected (1977)

Cult-TV Theme Watch: Defectors?

A
defector is a person or (character in a drama) who allegedly renounces
allegiance to one nation, state, or other political entity.  That defector may be courageous for
abandoning or leaving behind a dangerous or evil ideology, or may be considered
a traitor or betrayer to his own kind.

 

Because
the motives of a defector cannot always be easily parsed, there’s often a
question in drama about his or her true allegiance.  If a person renounces all they have
known and loved – down to their very home, family and laws – how can you trust
them?




That
is the terrain that defectors on cult TV largely play.  Often, a defector is susceptible to suspicion
and concern because those whom he or she defects to can’t always be sure they aren’t
being fed misinformation or outright lies.




During
the long history of the Star Trek franchise, the logical
half-Vulcan Mr. Spock (Leonard Nimoy) has at least twice been considered a
defector.  In both circumstances, of
course, we learn that this is not at all the case, but initially the suspicion
is raised. 




In
“The Enterprise Incident,” when the Enterprise illegally crosses the neutral zone, Spock
acquiesces to Romulan orders and agrees to take command of the Enterprise from Captain
Kirk (William Shatner), even while very publicly entertaining the possibility of a future life in
the Romulan Empire.  Of course, this defection is a
ruse, and the eminently trustworthy Spock is really operating under top-secret
Starfleet orders.






In
Star
Trek: The Next Generation’s two-part episode “Unification,” the matter of
Mr. Spock’s allegiance comes up again. 
When Ambassador Spock disappears from the Federation, there are rumblings and
rumors that he is actually on the planet Romulus, having defected there.  Captain Picard (Patrick Stewart) leads a
secret mission to the Romulan home-world to determine if Spock’s defection is
real, but not before facing the unpleasant task of telling Spock’s dying
father, Sarek (Mark Lenard) that his son may be a traitor to the Federation.




In
Space:
1999’s (1975 – 1977) Year One story “The Last Enemy,” there’s actually
a double (trick) defection.  During a war
between Beta and Delta, a Bethan vessel, the Satazius, sets up a firing position on
Earth’s traveling moon.  After the
Satazius, is damaged in a counter-attack, Satazius’s commander, Dione (Caroline Mortimer) seeks
sanctuary at Moonbase Alpha and promises to help defend the base. Her defection
is a ruse, and she is really only buying time to launch another strike against
Delta.  At episode’s end, Commander
Koenig (Martin Landau) apparently defects from Alpha to Satazius, but his plan is a far more
cunning – and destructive – ruse.




The
premises of both Star Maidens (1975) and Logan’s Run (1977) involve
defectors.  In the former, two men, Shem
and Adam flee a matriarchal society in hopes of finding a more equal civilization on
Earth.  In the latter, Logan and Jessica
flee a city where death is imposed at age thirty, and hope to become citizens of
a quasi-mythical place called “Sanctuary.”






In
Buck Rogers in the 25th Century’s “Olympiad,” Buck (Gil Gerard) was
tasked with helping a defecting athlete, Jorex Leet (Barney McFadden) escape
from his repressive home world during the athletic gathering.  The story is a thinly-disguised Cold War
parable, with a citizen from a repressive East Bloc country attempting to leave
the Iron Curtain and make it to America. 
What complicates this defector’s journey to the “west” (or Earth, in
this case…) is an explosive device lodged in his body and remote controlled by
a villainous guardian, Allerick (Nicholas Coster)




On
V:
The Series (1985) , a Visitor named Willie (Robert
Englund) defected from the alien fleet and became a dedicated member of the
human resistance. Willie’s defection
caused problems, however, in a later episode ("The Return"), when he encountered the Visitor love of
his life aboard the mother ship and had to face the emotional consequences of
his decision.






The
third season of Star Trek: The Next Generation (1987 – 1994) featured a
terrific and largely-underrated episode titled “The Defector” in which the Enterprise rescued a
Romulan admiral, Jarok (James Sloyan) from the Neutral Zone and was
retrieved by the Enterprise-D.  Captain
Picard experienced great difficulty determining if Jarok was a Romulan “plant”
to spread false data to Starfleet, or a deeply committed man who fled his people and his
family over his belief that war was imminent, and he alone could stop it.   




In
the brilliantly-vetted  Beast Wars animated series of the
1990s, two of the most intriguing and well-developed characters, Blackarachnia
and (my favorite) Dinobot, were actually defectors from Megatron's Predacon
ranks.  What ultimately distinguished these
two characters on the program was the fact that though they sided with the Maximals under
Optimus Primal, they still went about things in their own unique fashion,
utilizing tactics that Optimus, Rhinox and Cheetor didn’t always approve of.




In a
more earthbound, human setting, “the defector” also proved a staple of J.J.
Abrams’ espionage series  Alias (2001 – 2005). 
Both the Russian spy, Julian Sark (David Anders) and Sydney Bristow’s
mother, Irina Derevko (Lena Olin) at times “played” at being defectors to the
West, but boasted hidden motives and agendas.

The Cult-TV Faces of: Defectors?

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Television and Cinema Verities # 23

"Well, how much more success do I want? I've had enough to last me three more lifetimes. I turned down Harry Potter and I turned down Spider-Man, two movies that I knew would be phenomenally successful, but they offered no challenge to me. It would have been shooting ducks in a barrel, a slam-dunk. I don't need my ego reminded and I don't need to race anybody to make the biggest hit movie anymore. I'm just trying to tell stories that I can keep interested in for the two years it takes to write, direct and edit them."




Director Steven Spielberg, discussing the state of his art (circa 2004), at Total Film.

Cult-TV Blogging: Ghost Story: "The Dead We Leave Behind" (September 15, 1972)

What
if the TV set could control what we watch? 





That’s
the bizarre question host Winston Essex (Sebastian Cabot) asks in “The Dead We
Leave Behind, the second episode of the William Castle-produced horror anthology
Ghost
Story (1972).




In
this tale, a forest ranger/sheriff named Elliot Brent (Jason Robards) lives in
the mountains and grows increasingly irritated with his wife, Joanna (Stella
Stevens).  She is bored with life in the
country and spends all day, every day, watching television.  Worse, when she leaves the house at all, it’s
only for sexual liaisons with local men.




When
Joanna finally works up the nerve to leave Elliot for good, the spouses
violently argue and Joanna is killed in a fall. 
Rather than inform the authorities of the incident, Elliot moves her
corpse to a garden shed.






But
now when Elliott turns on her beloved television again, he sees Joanna there…still
arguing with him, still taunting
him.  After he kills one of Joanna’s
lovers, Elliot’s visions on the boob tube grow even more disturbing.  He sees his victims’ bodies rising from the
ground…and heading towards his house.




Then
he hears a pounding at the front door, and knows that the dead have come for
him…




Anchored
by a superb, surly performance by Jason Robards, “The Dead We Leave Behind” is
a provocative and scary installment of this program.  In fact, it forecasts much of the
oeuvre of horror maestro Stephen King. 




For
instance, a key component of this tale by Richard Matheson and Robert Specht is
a local legend – spelled out in dialogue -- which insists that all dead bodies
must be buried before winter comes, before the ground freezes.  If corpses aren’t buried in time, they will
come back to life wrong; possessed of
both “life and death.”  




If
you’re an admirer of King’s novel Pet Sematary (1983) as I most
assuredly am, this set-up will seem abundantly familiar.






If
you glance at a few other elements of “The Dead We Leave Behind” -- such as an obnoxious, loud-mouthed wife (Creepshow [1982]), and a man’s slow descent
into madness in an isolated location (The
Shining [1977) -- the King-like aspects appear even more
pronounced. 




Nobody
can know for certain, but I wonder if King was impressed with and
inspired by this episode of Ghost Story, because in his 1981
book Danse
Macabre (on page 249, in the chapter “The Glass Teat”) he writes enthusiastically of a Quinn Martin’s Tales of the Unexpected episode in which “a murderer sees his victim rise from the
dead on his television set.”  




To the best of my knowledge, there’s
no such episode in that particular series’ canon, which only consists of eight
shows.  Furthermore, that description fits "The Dead We Leave Behind" perfectly.  Remember too, Ghost Story (1972) and Tales of the Unexpected (1977) were
virtual contemporaries, as well as both hour-long network TV horror
anthologies. Therefore, it’s easy to see how the two series might be confused.   The same thing happens all the time with The
Twilight Zone and The Outer Limits . It’s all-too-easy
to mis-remember one as the other.  Nobody’s
perfect.  Believe me, I've certainly made my share of mistakes.






But
if this indeed were the episode he wrote of, the insightful King would have been absolutely right to feel impressed with the creepy, unsettling qualities of “The Dead We Leave Behind.”  It’s well-shot, well-acted and
anxiety-provoking.   






And from a certain
perspective the tale could easily be interpreted as the story of a man losing
his mind, responding to the sounds of his guilty conscience.  The episode doesn’t come flat out and state
it, but it is strongly suggested that Elliot has killed Joanna’s lovers before,
and made it look like am accident each time.  




We arrive in media res, then,
as his grip on reality is already growing more tenuous.  The episode begins with Elliot having a dream involving the television, a dream that reveals his anger, and his connection with a dead man.




The
powerful idea expressed here is one of inevitability.  The TV just won’t shut up, even after Elliot
takes an axe to it.  He can’t escape the
television, just as he can’t escape the fact that he has committed murder.  He has made a trap for himself, and very soon…it
springs.  As viewers, we both desire to
see Elliott escape his pre-ordained fate and face punishment for his bad deeds.





I’m
a big fan of E.C.-styled stories such as “The Dead We Leave Behind,” ones where
the scales of cosmic justice are righted, and we get a final closing shot (or
comic book frame) that reveals how the bad have been punished.   In this case, Elliot’s corpse shares ground
with Joanna and one of her lovers…all one big happy family…forever.  Yikes.




Next
week on Ghost Story an episode as bad as this one is good: “The Concrete
Captain.” 

Saturday Morning Flashback: Mystery Island (1977)