The Day the Earth Stood Still: Do You Remember the Three Words to Save the World?

If there were a Hall of Fame for Timeless Movies, then one of its founding members would be The Day the Earth Stood Still. I've probably watched it at least once every decade since I first saw it on NBC's Saturday Night at the Movies in the 1960s. When I was a youngster, the film's fantastic elements--and Gort, the coolest robot on celluloid--appealed to me. When I was a teen, its stern warning about the perils of nuclear war resonated with me. With each subsequent viewing, The Day the Earth Stood Still has revealed something new: presenting itself as a Biblical analogy, an editorial on the influence of media on public opinion, a portrait of fear of the unknown, etc.

The films opens with Klaatu (Michael Rennie), a visitor from another planet, and his robot Gort making an unannounced spaceship landing in Washington, DC. When Klaatu exits from his ship and reaches into his space suit, a nervous soldier shoots him. While recovering in Walter Reed Army Hospital, Klaatu meets with the President’s secretary, Harley. The alien explains he must deliver a critical message to all the leaders of the world. Harley explains that’s impossible because of global political tensions. Klaatu confesses that he does not understand human conflict. He decides he needs to learn more about Earthlings from living among them. He escapes discreetly from the hospital and, as “Mr. Carpenter,” takes a room in a boarding house.

The success of The Day the Earth Stood Still hinges, in large part, on the casting of Klaatu. Producer Julian Blaustein and director Robert Wise originally considered Claude Rains, but his stage schedule made him unavailable. 20th Century-Fox head Darryl F. Zanuck suggested Spencer Tracy, but Blaustein worried that a well-known star would be a distraction (interestingly, that concern didn't apply to Rains). It was Zanuck who eventually "discovered" Michael Rennie, who was peforming in the British theatre. The tall, low-key Rennie brought conviction to the role, but his greatest accomplishment was making the alien visitor seem human. This is no small feat, as evidenced by a scene in which Klaatu reads the words of Lincoln and wants to meet him. This sequence could easily have come across as hokey, but Rennie makes it quietly effective and even heartfelt (since Klaatu has finally found someone who gives him hope about the human race).

With a human-like alien, it was left to the robot Gort to bring an eerie, other-worldly quality to the film. To make the robot as physically imposing as possible, the producers hired Lock Martin, a 7' 7" doorman at Grauman's Chinese Theater. To make Gort even taller, Martin wore 4-6" platform shoes. Walking in the heavy rubber suit in high heels was physically exhausting. There were two suits, one that laced on the front and the other in back. Martin changed suits depending on the camera angle, so that it looked like Gort had no "seams." In some shots, a static model of the robot was used. That Gort model was later bought by Larry Harmon, overhauled so it didn't look much like Gort, and used in Harmon's Bozo the Clown television show.

In addition to its visual impact, The Day the Earth Still even sounds other-worldly thanks to composer Bernard Herrmann's innovative use of a theremin (shown on right). One of the first electronic instruments, the theremin is "played" by moving one's hands in front of it to change sound frequencies. Its distinctive sound became almost a cliche through repeated use in other sci fi films of the 1950s. Still, Herrmann' score remains an impressive achievement today.

Loosely based on the Harry Bates story "Farewell to the Master," The Day the Earth Stood Still features strong religious undercurrents. Klaatu becomes a Carpenter (if in name only). He performs a "miracle" of global proportions. He brings a message of peace, but is largely misunderstood. And, of course, he is murdered and resurrected. Producer Blaustein credits screenwriter Edmund H. North for adding these provocative layers on top of a traditional science fiction tale.

The cast, music, and richness of themes contribute mightily to the film's timeless quality. But it's the story--along with that awesome robot Gort--that makes The Day the Earth Stood Still popular with viewers of all ages. I love to watch it with young people and tell them that they will need to memorize the film's classic phrase and repeat it at the appropriate point in the film...or the Earth will be destroyed. You'd be amazed at how many different variations I've heard of: "Klaatu barada nikto!"

The Nutty Professor (1963)

The Nutty Professor (1963). Science-fiction comedy film produced, directed, co-written with Bill Richmond and Jerry Lewis. The score was composed by Walter Scharf.
Professor Julius Kelp (Jerry Lewis) is a nerdy, introverted, accident prone, university professor who always seems to find himself in trouble with the university by continually destroying the classroom lab. When a football-player bullies Kelp, he decides to join a gym, with no results. He then invents a potion that turns him into the handsome, smooth, obnoxious, Buddy Love.
As Buddy Love, he now as the confidence to date one of his students, Stella Purdy (Stella Stevens), who finds herself strangely attracted to him. Buddy impresses the crowd with his jazzy personality at the Purple Pit, a nightclub where everyone hangs out. He also teaches the bartender how to mix the cocktail, The "Alaskan Polar Bear Heater" (which is two shots of vodka, a little rum, some bitters, a smidgen of vinegar, a shot of vermouth, a shot of gin, a shot of scotch, a little brandy, a lemon peel, orange peel, cherry, and some more scotch). At one point, the bartender says: "You going to drink this here, or are you going to take it home and rub it on your chest?"
Love says "mix it nice" and pour it into a tall glass. The bartender asks if he can take a sip, when he does he freezes like a statue. While the drink started as fictional, it now listed among real drinks.
Later that night, Buddy performs at the student dance and while on stage, the formula starts to wear off. Will this Jekyll and Hyde's real identity be revealed?
I thought Jerry Lewis must be a very talented actor to be able to manage two very distinct characters with two distinct personalities.
Fun Facts:
Film debut of Henry Gibson.
Buddy Love is often thought to be Lewis' former show business partner Dean Martin. Film Critic Danny Peary wrote in his book Cult Movies that the character of Love is actually the real counterpart of Jerry Lewis. Les Brown and his Band play themselves in the senior prom scenes. Stella Steven's costumes (and the rest of the casts costumes as well) were designed by Edith Head.
The Nutty Professor was filmed mostly on the campus of Arizona State University (Tempe, AZ) in 1962 with the prom portion filmed in the newly completed Gammage Auditorium Hall (designed by Frank Lloyd Wright).
Stella Stevens was first under contract to 20th Century Fox. Then after performing in the role for the musical Li'l Abner (1959), she signed a contract with Paramount Pictures (1959-1963) and later Columbia Pictures (1964-1968). She shared the 1960 Golden Globe Award for "Most Promising Newcomer - Female", with Tuesday Weld, Angie Dickinson and Janet Munro for the film, Say One For Me.
In 1962, Stevens performed with Elvis Presley in the movie, Girls! Girls! Girls. Later that year, she played Jerry Lewis's love interest in The Nutty Professor. This was followed by other comedy, The Courtship of Eddie's Father and opposite Dean Martin in the Matt Helm film The Silencers, plus How to Save a Marriage and Ruin Your Life.
Stevens was featured in the western, The Ballad of Cable Hogue (1970) and in the film The Poseidon Adventure (1972), as the wife of Ernest Borgnine's character.
Stevens was a regular on the 1981-1982 prime time soap opera Flamingo Road. She teamed with Sandy Dennis in a touring production of an all-female version of Neil Simon's The Odd Couple, playing the Oscar Madison character. She had a contract role on NBC's daytime drama Santa Barbara as Phyllis Blake from 1989 to 1990. Stevens produced and directed two films, The Ranch (1989) and The American Heroine (1979).

The Movie That Saved a Franchise--Star Trek II:The Wrath of Khan

I recently watched all six of the Star Trek films featuring the original cast. That experience confirmed what I had long suspected: Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan may be the best sequel to follow a mediocre first film. To be fair, Star Trek: The Motion Picture wasn’t as bad as I remembered—but it’s a lumbering journey to “where no man has gone before.” There’s too much stately footage of the starship Enterprise and the new characters (weakly played by Stephen Collins and Indian actress Persis Khambata) lack interest. Despite critical drubbing and much Trekkie criticism, the film was a boxoffice smash and so Paramount gave the green light for a sequel.

Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry was ousted from the project and the reins were handed over to producer Harve Bennett. A non-Trekkie, Bennett watched every episode of the TV series and determined that the first film lacked two ingredients: (1) a dynamic villain and (2) an emphasis on the on the “triangle” of Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, and Dr. McCoy.

The Wrath of Khan resurrects one of the series’ most memorable bad guys, the supergenius Khan (Montalban), who attempted to take over the Enterprise in the TV episode “Space Seed.” After being thwarted by Kirk and crew, Khan and his followers were marooned on an unpopulated planet and given the opportunity to start again. Alas, in The Wrath of Khan, we learn that the destruction of a neighboring planet has turned Khan’s world in a deadly desert and that Khan’s wife has perished as a result. When a starship on a scientific mission inadvertently provides Khan with a means to escape, the mad man seeks his vengeance on Kirk.

Khan lures the Enterprise to a scienctific station working on the Genesis Project, an experimental device that can create life on a planet with no life—but which can also used as a devastating weapon. It just so happens that the Genesis project leaders are one of Kirk’s former flames…and the son Kirk has never seen.

The coincidental aspects of the story are a bit hard to swallow, but co-writer/director Nicholas Meyer zips the plot along so speedily that one has little time to notice. I really like how he crosscuts from Kirk to Khan to the Genesis team as they all converge on the same location.

The Kirk-Spock friendship forms the heart of the film (McCoy is used primarily for comic relief). Their closing scene together is the best in all Trek films and also provides the most memorable line of dialogue: “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few—or the one.”

With its back-to-basics approach, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan laid the groundwork for the rest of the Trek films and pretty much saved the Star Trek franchise. It also forms a trilogy with the Star Trek III: The Search for Spock and Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (their plots are connected, whereas the last two films are stand-alone adventures).

In addition to Wrath of Khan, writer-director Nicholas Meyer was also involved in the next two best series entries in the series: The Voyage Home (an amusing time travel adventure) and Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country (an effective mix of politics, sci fi, and mystery). Meyer, whose filmography is surprisingly short, also directed another time travel tale: the classic Time After Time.

People-eating Plants Stalk Howard Keel and Janette Scott in "The Day of the Triffids"

British author John Wyndham provided the literary basis for two of the most compelling science fiction films of the 1960s: Village of the Damned and The Day of the Triffids. While the former film has a more prestigious reputation, Triffids has its share of admirers. While a low budget often prevents it from achieving its aims, The Day of Triffids remains an intriguing, satisfying vision of life on Earth after a different kind of alien invasion.

As in Village of the Damned, an inexplicable, seemingly harmless phenomenon ultimately threatens the existence of the human race. In this case, it’s a worldwide meteor shower touted by the media as a “once-in- lifetime spectacle that must be seen.” Unfortunately, the glare from the meteors severs the optic nerve—leaving most of Earth’s population blind. To make matters worse, the meteors activate exterrestrial seeds that had been dormant for years. The seeds quickly sprout into Triffids, giant man-eating plants that can uproot themselves and seek their human quarry.

The film’s main protagonist is Mason (Howard Keel), a first mate who can see only because he was recovering from eye surgery on the night of the meteor shower. As Mason travels throughout the ruins of Europe looking for answers, his story is intercut with the Goodwins. Tom Goodwin (Kieron Moore) is an alcoholic marine biologist battling Triffids in a remote lighthouse laboratory off the coast of Cornwall with his long-suffering wife (Janette Scott).

When I first saw The Day of the Triffids, I was struck by the film’s unusual structure, for the two plots (Mason and the Goodwins) never converge. Years later, I learned that the footage of the Goodwins was filmed by famed cinematographer and occasional director Freddie Francis after principal photography was completed. The reason: the film’s original running time was too short! Ironically, it’s the most interesting plot because of what it doesn’t tell us. We never learn why Tom started drinking or why Susan stays with her self-centered husband. It’s almost a snapshot of a faltering marriage, with no beginning and no end.

The film’s strength, though, lies with its frightening premise. Forget the Triffids (who are too lumbering to be a real threat). Imagine what would happen if most of the world’s inhabitants suddenly went blind. Day of the Triffids explores this theme with several chilling sequences: a airplane full of panicked passengers; blind people groping frantically when they learn a young girl can see; and escaped convicts who take advantage of the visually impaired. It’s too bad that the variable, low-budget special effects (by Wally Veevers from Night of the Demon) lessen some of the impact.

Those who have read Wyndham’s novel deride the 1962 version of The Day of Triffids. They tend to favor the 1981 British miniseries, which I've never seen. It may be very good, but the original Triffids will always remain a favorite: a well-done, low-budget feature that rises above the ordinary on the basis of its ingenuity.

The Invaders: "The Ivy Curtain"

The first season of The Invaders ranked with the best sci fi on television in the 1960s. The premise was a canny mixture of Invasion of the Body Snatchers and The Fugitive (only in reverse).

Roy Thinnes stars as architect David Vincent, who accidentally spies an alien spaceship landing on Earth when he pulls off the road late one night to get a cup of coffee at Bud’s Diner (which, from the looks of it, has been long out of business). Vincent quickly discovers that the human-looking aliens aren’t friendly—their mission is to make Earth their home. When his incredible story meets with the expected skepticism, Vincent sets off in pursuit of the Invaders, determined to collect evidence and thwart them whenever possible. Whereas Richard Kimble was the hunted in The Fugitive, David Vincent becomes the hunter in The Invaders. It’s no coincidence that executive producer Quinn Martin and producer Alan Armer were driving forces behind both shows.

One of the finest episodes during Season 1 is “The Ivy Curtain.” It opens with an airplane malfunctioning in-flight during a thunderstorm. During the subsequent emergency landing, a large piece of cargo falls on top of one of the executives on board. The pilot rushes to help his passenger—but despite a huge gash in the executive’s arm, there’s no blood…no wound…no pain. The passengers surround the pilot like a pack of wolves ready to pounce on their prey. The title credits roll.

The focus then shifts to Vincent, who has arrived in a small New Mexico town on the heels of William Burns. The narrator (a Quinn Martin staple) informs viewers that Burns is an educator and business administrator—who has been on “planet Earth for less than a year.” Vincent trails Burns to Midland Academy, where the architect is captured by the aliens.

Vincent quickly escapes and learns that Midland Academy is one of several training camps for new alien visitors to Earth. They take college-like classes where they are taught the “language of emotion" (they even practice simulating fear). In one classroom, alien students are hooked to a computer that downloads Earth’s historical data into their brains (wish I’d had one of those machines in college!). The most intriguing “course” has young aliens learning how to blend in at a simulated (but still groovy) 1960s dance joint. In between doing The Twist, the teen Invaders huddle around tables and spout hip dialogue designed to inspire human anarchy.

The rest of the plot takes a more conventional approach in examining the failing marriage between a pilot (Jack Warner) and his restless wife (Susan Oliver). Yet, even this subplot is well-played by the guest stars, especially Oliver who convincingly portrays a woman who loves her husband, but needs more excitement than he can provide.

The best Invaders episodes, though, spotlight the menacing aliens. They are typically suave, intellectual villains who have ingrained themselves into the fabric of humankind. They are executives, doctors, educators, scientists, and politicians. It’s hard to tell them apart from the good guys—even their henchmen seems to dress like CIA agents in black business suits, sunglasses, and shoulder holsters.

Roy Thinnes anchors the show with an appealing presence and the requisite passion to stop the alien invasion. Still, he lacks the depth of character that David Janssen brought to The Fugitive (e.g., no one gained more mileage from a crack of a smile).

Apparently, though, the producers of The Invaders worried that Vincent’s one-man mission would prove wearisome as the series progressed. In Season 2, Vincent found and joined a group of fellow alien hunters called The Believers. It was an interesting concept that failed to live up to its potential except for a handful of episodes. Or, perhaps, The Invaders was just running out of fresh ideas as do all TV series. Still, at its best—as in episodes like “The Ivy Curtain”—The Invaders was a fascinating, sometimes thought-provoking TV series that lived up to its intriguing premise.

Man vs. Machine in Fritz Lang's "Metropolis"

The Metropolis is a huge, expansive city with skyscrapers and elevated railways. This is where the rich live lavishly and play in beautiful gardens, carefree and content. Well below where the wealthy reside is the “workers’ city,” where laborers work long, hard hours to maintain the city above them. Fredersen (Alfred Abel), “Master of Metropolis,” runs the city with cold determination. His son, Freder (Gustav Fröhlich), enjoys his buoyant lifestyle, but one day, he follows a young woman to where the workers work underground. Horrified by an accident which leaves a number of laborers deceased, Freder hurriedly tells his father what he has witnessed. Fredersen, however, is upset that he’s been informed of the incident by his son (in lieu of an employee) and is more concerned with “plans” that a foreman discovered on two of the dead workers. The papers found are actually maps to a place in the city’s catacombs, where workers congregate to listen to Maria (Brigitte Helm), the woman with whom Freder has become obsessed.

Meanwhile, Freder returns to the workers’ city and swaps places with one of the laborers. As Maria tells the workers that a “Mediator” will essentially be the savior and establish balance between the planners and the laborers, Freder believes that he is to be the Mediator. Fredersen convinces inventor/scientist Rotwang (Rudolf Klein-Rogge) to make his Maschinenmensch (“machine-man”) in the likeness of Maria, to instill doubt among the workers’ faith in the woman. Rotwang, however, has a sinister purpose, as he and Fredersen were once in love with the same woman, who married Fredersen and died giving birth to Freder. Rotwang sends the Maria-machine to spark a revolution among the laborers, hoping to destroy Metropolis and murder Fredersen’s son.

One of the most significant qualities of Fritz Lang’s 1927 silent film, Metropolis, is a bleak view of capitalism. It is doubtless from the beginning that the extravagant metropolis could not exist without the work of the men below. These are not men who go into work each day, heads held high. In fact, they literally hang their heads and hide their faces, a slow march to and from work. The movie opens with a shift change, and the audience follows the men unto what looks to be a freight elevator and leisurely descends into the depths of the city. The workers appear to be on their way to prison, which, in many respects, they are. After one of Fredersen’s men is fired, Freder rushes to the man’s side and stops him from putting a bullet into his head. Such an act implies that, without employment, however burdensome, death is the only viable option.

A common fear that is frequently expressed in sci-fi films (e.g., James Cameron’s Terminator series) is a general uneasiness of machines taking over the world. Metropolis makes such a somber concept even darker with a man who intentionally creates a machine to destroy his own kind. And in the end, potential destruction is not at the hands of the machines, but the hands of the men, as the Maschinenmensch is instructed to coerce the workers into destroying themselves. This coincides with an image Freder has following the accident, one of Moloch, a machine to which the laborers are sacrificed. It’s a frightening idea not just because of the implication of men working to their deaths, but, in Freder’s vision, the men willingly walk up the steps into the mouth of Moloch.

There are men vs. machine comparisons throughout Metropolis. In addition to the Maria and Maschinenmensch duality, the men, in the process of labor, are staged and choreographed to look like machines. Their movements are sharp and precise and, most notably, monotonous, to the point where, if watched long enough, the men will truly resemble machinery. This goes back to an appraisal of capitalism, in that the political ideal is not a construction of equality, but a hierarchy, with the wealthy high in the sky and the laborers nothing more than cogs in the machinery.

Klein-Rogge is the titular doctor of Lang’s Dr. Mabuse films (1922 and 1933), the first film which also featured his Metropolis co-star, Abel. Although she is completely unrecognizable, actress Helm was actually playing the part of the Maschinenmensch. There are various prints of Metropolis with multiple running times. This is partly due to some of the footage reportedly being lost after its premiere in Germany, but also from the speed of the frame rate (or frames per second), long a source of debate among film historians and enthusiasts.

Metropolis is a much loved sci-fi classic, and deservedly so. When the film was released in 1927, the year of the movie’s setting, 2026, was nearly a century away. Now, in 2010, we are much closer to the time of Metropolis, and the film’s impact has not diminished in the slightest. It’s an expression of societal classes that can be applied to what is happening in the present, as well as a fear that may still lurk in our hearts today.

The Search for Humanity in Ridley Scott’s “Blade Runner”

In 2019, the Off-world colonies are utilizing androids known as replicants as slave labor. When several of the Nexus-6 models escape, four of the replicants are believed to have made it to Earth, where their presence would be a violation of the law. Deckard (Harrison Ford), a former blade runner, part of a unit commissioned to detect and kill replicants (an act which has been termed “retirement”), is enlisted to track down and retire the renegade androids. In the course of his investigation, Deckard learns that replicants, for fear that they might develop emotional responses and make them harder to identify, were given a four-year lifespan. As Deckard draws closer, the apparent leader of the replicants, Batty (Rutger Hauer), seeks a way in which to prolong his existence.

Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner (1982) is a sci-fi film with a clear focus on humanity and questioning what makes a being human, a characteristic it shares with its source text, Philip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? A number of movies of the science fiction genre deal with what the genre title suggests: an advancement in technology and an extraordinary future. Scott brings the human element into the film, implying that the world of the future is not a product of technology and is instead defined by the people who reside within it. Blade Runner doesn’t simply show its audience what it hasn’t yet seen; it shows us what hasn’t been seen and what has already been abandoned. The future is not technology at its prime. It’s technology in various stages, some of it fresh and new, and some of it in decay.

The movie opens with a beautiful view of a city, with huge, overpowering buildings and vehicles in flight. Scott then takes the viewers into a dark, ordinary office room, where the only thing apparently unconventional is the Voight-Kampff device, a machine used for detection of replicants. As a man (Brion James) undergoes an assessment, the blade runner administering the test, Holden (Morgan Paull), seems to be indifferent to not only his test subject but the machine itself. Considering that the device is almost hidden in shadow in a room of low lighting (the Voight-Kampff is usually regulated with little light), technology is certainly not highlighted. Most of the futuristic machinery is presented in this manner, exemplified by Deckard yawning during a 10-second elevator ride to the 97th floor of his apartment. The world is populated by people who have become accustomed to all of this. The science is not new to them, almost as if Scott were attempting to drop the “fiction” from science fiction.

In the same vein, the world itself has outlived its vitality. Underneath the buildings and bright lights is the subterranean society, the people of the city hiding from the rain, where the sun rarely shines. But inside those buildings are vast, empty spaces, and those flashing lights are little more than advertisements, typically endorsing the Off-world colonies. There is a scene in the film where a replicant, Pris (Daryl Hannah), asks Sebastian (William Sanderson) about his illness, and then questions if it is the reason he is still on Earth, which he confirms. This more than insinuates that Earth is comparable to the seemingly deserted machines and buildings, that life on the colonies established on other planets is preferable. The film can be regarded as a critique of consumerism, that the idea of substance holds more weight than any actual substance.

Humans attempt to survive in this forlorn, barren world, but who are the humans? More to the point, it seems, what is the definition of humanity? Replicants were designed to be identical to humans, save for emotional response. But the short lifespan safeguard was ineffective, as the escaped replicants truly want one thing: to live. Survival and fear of death are base components of humanity. And while the deadpan Deckard shows little emotion, the replicants, in addition to fear, express anger, apparent confusion, and, it seems, happiness. However, an audience can identify more with Deckard, a world weary man just trying to complete his job. Blade runners have been trained to detect a replicant by lack of empathy, but in the film, the replicants’ emotional resonance is what ultimately reminds viewers what they are: artificial. Batty’s smiles are maniacal, Pris’ trepidation when meeting Sebastian gives the impression of having been learned, and Zhora (Joanna Cassidy) has a perpetual expression of anticipation, as if she were continually seeking the proper way to react.

Many of the actors in the film have an appropriate stoic quality, particularly James, Sean Young, and the outstanding Edward James Olmos as Gaff, who assists Deckard in the investigation. Some of the actors portray characters known to be replicants, but others are not necessarily androids, and it is difficult not to wonder about their humanity or lack thereof. In fact, Scott directly addresses the idea of Deckard himself possibly being a replicant (a concept taken from the novel), in a small but significant sequence that was excised from the original theatrical version. Ford underplays Deckard but to great effect, and having garnered success with the first two Star Wars films (1977 and 1980), as well Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), he proved that he was a versatile and capable actor.

Sci-fi novelist Dick was supposedly upset with early drafts of the screenplay. However, he was pleased after seeing a rewrite and viewing an advanced cut of Douglas Trumbull’s special effects (David Dryer completed the project as “special effects supervisor”). The author died a few months before the film’s release, and Blade Runner was dedicated to him. The title of the film was taken from Alan E. Nourse’s 1974 novel The Bladerunner, as well as a screen treatment by fellow novelist William S. Burroughs. In Nourse’s book, “bladerunner” refers to someone running medical supplies (e.g., scalpels) on the black market. As the treatment was not chosen for further development, Burroughs adapted it into a novella, Blade Runner (a movie), in 1979. The rights to both titles were purchased for Scott’s film.

It’s interesting to view the technology envisioned in 1982 with technology of today. While some of it seems dated (hefty monitors vs. today’s flat screens, etc.), other aspects are equivalent to modern standards. In one scene, Deckard examines a photograph by enhancing the image to better see the picture. The device that he uses not only employs voice recognition, but Deckard also gets a printout of the enlarged image. Later, Deckard makes a call to Rachael (Young) on a Vid-Phōn, a videophone version of a public phone booth.

The 10th year anniversary of Blade Runner was celebrated with a “Director’s Cut.” The cut that was shown to test audiences in 1982 was screened in 1990 and 1991 and purportedly inspired this version, which reinstated the aforementioned cut sequence, removed Deckard’s voice-over, and changed the studio-altered ending (which opted for a more upbeat conclusion). While the voice-over worked in establishing a film noir tone for Blade Runner, it was intrinsically superfluous and detracted from the solid cinematography and beautiful score, courtesy of Vangelis (who had just won an Academy Award for 1981’s Chariots of Fire). The studio ending likewise was out of place, shifting the overall feel of the movie. While the “Director’s Cut” was completed without Scott’s involvement, the director authorized the “Final Cut,” which was released in 2007.

Blade Runner is a film of humans and non-humans alike examining what it means to be human. The blade runners expose the replicants by revealing an absence of emotion. The motto of the Tyrell Corporation (the corporation responsible for replicants) is “More Human Than Human.” Do the replicants, then, try too hard to be human? With implanted memories and a desire for longer life, the replicants do a fairly good impression of humans. “Quite an experience to live in fear, isn’t it?” Batty asks of Deckard near the film’s end, and perhaps this is the fear of which Batty speaks: that humanity is a learned trait, and that something other than humans is doing a better job of it.

Fantastic Voyage: A Li'l Sci Fi Fun

An assassination attempt by the "other side" leaves scientist Dr. Jan Benes in a coma with a critical brain injury. When security expert Grant (Stephen Boyd) inquires why Benes is so valuable, the cryptic response is: "He's the only scientist who knows the answer to what we're after." Unfortunately, there's no way to operate on Benes' brain without killing him...at least not by conventional means. As a result, the CMDF is called into action.

That stands for the Combined Miniature Deterrent Force, which has the technology to reduce anything in size. As General Carter (Edmond O'Brien) explains to Grant: "We can shrink an army and put it in a bottle cap." The CMDF plans to shrink a team of surgeons, place them aboard a submarine called the Proteus, and inject them into Benes' bloodstream. Their mission is to travel to the scientist's brain and use a laser to relieve pressure from a blood clot. There's only one catch: the team will return to their normal size within sixty minutes--and there's also a suspected saboteur on board.

What I admire the most about Fantastic Voyage is the way its outlandish--but highly imaginative--premise is handled. Every cast member plays it straight; there's not a knowing wink to be found. Even Grant, the initial skeptic with whom the audience identifies, accepts the miniaturization technology without much of a fuss. As a result, the movie gets down to business and that, of course, is a mix of suspense, action, and special effects.

The sources of the film's suspense are definitely unusual. For example, when a strong current propels the Proteus off-course, the only new route to Benes' brain is through the heart chamber. Earlier in the film, we learn that the heart chamber is the one place the Proteus must avoid because the pumping blood would crush the little ship. So what to do? General Carter, who has been drinking a lot of coffee (with massive amounts of sugar) suggests that Benes' heart be stopped long enough for the Proteus to get through the chamber. The catch is that once the heart is stopped, Bene must be revived within sixty seconds or he may not get revived at all. And, according to Carter's slide-rule calculations, it will take the Proteus crew 57 seconds to navigate the route. Hmm...three seconds to spare is cutting it pretty close!

As expected, the Proteus faces numerous obstacles along the way, from angry white corpucles to loud noises in the inner ear to sabotage. It might seem episodic except that sequences move swiftly once the CMDF team enters Benes' body. Fantastic Voyage may not be as good a movie as director Richard Fleischer's other submarine movie--Disney's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea--but it's more exciting overall and, in my opinion, more entertaining as a result. The special effects are spotty, even though they won an Academy Award (the film also won for Best Art Direction). The scenes where things become small or big are pretty woeful, especially by today's computer-generated standards. In contrast, once the Proteus is cruising through the circulatory system, Fantastic Voyage still looks pretty impressive. But then, the 20th Century-Fox special effects team, led by L.B. Abbott, had a pretty good handle on submarine scenes, having working on the film and TV versions of Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea.

The cast has been called wooden, but actually it's quite servicable. Boyd makes a good no-nonsense hero, Donald Pleasance is quite fun, and Arthur Kennedy delivers the film's worst dialogue with sincerity. The only cast member that seems out of place is Raquel Welch. At that point in her career, one suspects she was cast for her looks, but, ironically, she's covered in a non-flattering full body suit for almost the entire film. Acclaimed science fiction author Isaac Asimov wrote a novelization based on the screenplay. The ending in Asimov's book is slightly different and accounts for a scientific discrepancy in the film version. Asimov also penned a sequel called Fantastic Voyage II: Destination Brain. Over the years, numerous directors, such as James Cameron, have considered producing a big budget remake. Joe Dante's 1987 film Innerspace, starring Dennis Quaid and Meg Ryan, is a lighthearted variation. It also won an Oscar for special effects.