I'm quite looking forward to coronavirus hitting Crapchester. Not because I think that it might wipe out large parts of the tedious local population - it isn't that fatal - but because quarantine might be imposed. Right now, a few weeks self-isolated in my house, without having to get up and go to work, (which involves me spending quite a bit of time out on the road, making home visits - something that surely would be curbed if the virus hits because of the risk of spreading it), seems a welcome prospect. No having to deal with tiresome people, no silly office politics, no pointless meetings and emails. It would give me time to get on with my many projects - or just crash out on my sofa and watch those TV channels full of schlock I can now stream via my Roku box. If I planned ahead and actually ordered those new cabinet doors and drawer unit, I might even be able to complete most of my kitchen overhaul while in quarantine. Hell, even if I actually contracted the virus it probably wouldn't be that bad - for most people it is apparently no worse than a bad cold. I'd happily suffer through that for the sake of some quiet time away from work. Of course, all of this supposes that coronavirus is a real thing - there are still those who seem to believe that it is fake news, all some kind of conspiracy.
A conspiracy by who and against who is unclear: maybe it is all a Chinese conspiracy to panic the west into quarantining itself and thereby destroying their economies, or perhaps it is something cooked up by those evil Democrats to somehow discredit Trump, (just like climate change). But then these are professional contrarians we are talking about here - logic doesn't come into it, they just want to run against the crowd and prove that they are 'different' and therefore superior. In reality, it just makes them stupid - they have to embrace ignorance in order to try and justify their positions. Take climate change - surely, in the face of overwhelming scientific evidence, no intelligent person could deny its reality. I mean, it isn't a question of the scientific community being 'divided' over the issue: one one side you have pretty much every scientist saying it exists, on the other you have a bunch of cranks with either no scientific qualifications at all, or highly dubious ones obtained from online universities. But beyond that - it's fucking happening. Didn't you notice Australia catching fire? The disrupted weather conditions? The melting icecaps? Yeah, I know, it's all a conspiracy. As for defending Trump, well to do so because you actually think that this ambulatory tub of lard, who continuously spews out racism, bigotry, idiocy and lies, is doing a 'good job' simply marks you out as simpleton, but do so simply because you want to be contrary makes you a cretin of the first order.
So, as I mentioned a while ago, I've been reading this book about Italian science fiction films that I was given as a Christmas present. I've just passed the half way point, but it has already given me food for thought, (not to mention encouraging me to watch The Humanoid and Starcrash back-to-back). I've also found that a number of the films the book discusses are available on various of the free Roku channels I've signed up to and quite a few more are on various web streaming services. So, if I ever get time to watch any of them, they could well provide material for future posts here. In the meantime, I thought that we'd have a brief taster in the form of a 'Random Movie Trailer' for 1967's The Three Fantastic Supermen. This was the film that sparked a whole series of such movies, some official sequels, others unofficial cash ins. I say 'sequels', but even the official entries in the series aren't true sequels: they feature a rotating cast portraying the leads. While all feature the titular 'Three Supermen', their actual characters vary from film to film and each film starts afresh, with no continuity with its predecessors.
This first film, however, sets the basic template, which generally sees a pair of masked and costumed 'supermen' initially working as jewel thieves, carrying out daring heists, before being Shanghaied by a law enforcement agent (from the FBI, Secret Service or police) into working for the authorities. The agent becomes the third 'superman', donning a mask and costume, before they go up against some diabolical super villain. Most of their 'powers' seem to mainly based around simply being very athletic, rather than being able to fly, or possessing laser vision, like true superheroes. The films proved hugely popular and were still produced up until the late 1970s. Quite what prompted their genisis is unclear - they weren't directly parodying or cashing in on the US Superman movies, which they predated by more than a decade. In many ways they are cousins to the 'Eurospy' movies turned out by the dozen in Italy, but which were running out of steam by the late sixties. These 'supermen' effectively replaced the 'super spies' who had previously been popular. They are also close cousins to the 'Fumetti' inspired Italian movies featuring masked characters like Diabolik, Kriminal and Superargo, who were also involved in baroque espionage/criminal plots.
Whatever their origin, the films were incredibly popular. Various sequels saw them involved in jungle adventures, (Supermen), Kung Fu antics (Three Supermen Against the Orient) and even went back in time to the old West (Three Supermen of the West), to name but a few of their adventures. As the films progressed, they became ever more comedic, with more emphasis on the slapstick than the action and thrills. Which shouldn't surprising, bearing in mind the increasing popularity in Italy of broad comedies featuring the likes of Terence Hill and Bud Spencer - it was only natural that producers would follow popular tastes. The films also had an appeal beyond Italy, as seen by this US trailer for the English language version of The Three Fantastic Supermen. But, like much pop culture which, by its very nature, is entirely ephemeral, the films are now largely forgotten. Except when briefly resurrected by sites like this.
Italian exploitation cinema's ability to jump on bandwagons and refashion emerging genres into something distinctively Italian, is legendary. Which is why it might seem surprising that it never really got a handle on the whole Star Wars phenomenon. Sure, there were a number of cheapjack space movies released in the late seventies and early eighties, none especially notable, but there were only two real attempts to cash in on Star Wars directly: The Humanoid (1979) and Starcrash (1978). Both were given major marketing pushes in English language markets and did well financially, but they didn't start a trend. Perhaps it was because the Italian exploitation film industry was running out of steam by the late seventies, or maybe it was because the source material simply didn't lend itself to the typical Italian schlock experience, either way, we didn't get a cycle of spaghetti space operas to match the spagehetti western boom, the peplum cycle, the giallos, cannibals and zombies or the war movies which had all, at various times sustained the industry. Of the two movies, it is The Humanoid which tries hardest to overtly mimic its model, not so much in terms of plotting or characterisation, but certainly in terms of its visuals.
From the outset The Humanoid goes all out to create an air of familiarity for audiences fresh from Star Wars and eager for more of the same. Not only does text bringing us up to date with the plot scroll down the screen as in Star Wars, but the villain's space ship, which bears an uncanny resemblance to an Imperial Star Destroyer, makes its first appearance as it glides into shot, from the top of the screen, its underside gliding over the camera as it closes in on a smaller craft. The film later replicates the sequence where Luke Skywalker fights off a Tie fighter attack on the 'Millenium Falcon' with laser cannon, although this time around the hero doesn't have the benefit of 'The force' to steady his aim. A large part of the action takes place in a desert landscape, shot to look as much like Star Wars' Tatooine as possible - not only are the buildings similar in design to those in the George Lucas film, but the heroine drives a hover car which looks remarkably similar to Luke Skywalker's Land Speeder. There are even a couple of mysterious characters with cloth covered faces who look a bit like Sand People. While there might not be a tall golden robot, there is a small robot dog which is clearly intended to be an R2D2 substitute. The film even has its own equivalent to 'The Force', albeit not being wielded by some aged mystic, but rather a young boy - Tom Tom - of mysterious origin, who is possessed of various psychic powers, including premonition and mind control. To cap it all off, the main villain, played by Italian schlock regular Ivan Rassimov, swans around in a Darth Vader-style costume, the exact function of which is never explained.
But if The Humanoid replicates much of the 'look' of Star Wars, it makes no attempt to replicate its plot. Rather than presenting its audience with a epic contest between good and evil in the form of a plucky resistance facing off against an all powerful empire, it instead opts for a simpler tale of sibling rivalry, greed and revenge, pitting the peaceful utopia of Metropolis (formerly Earth) against an evil rebel megalomaniac and his associates. While Star Wars looked back to the Hollywood cinema serials of the thirties and forties for plot inspiration, The Humanoid looks to inter war European pop culture for its plot - its mix of mad scientists, elixirs of life, hulking monsters and revenge could easily have come from a Dr Mabuse film or an Edgar Wallace thriller. Indeed, these main plot elements could also be found in the average sixties 'Eurospy' movie turned out by Italian studios. But such mundane plot mechanisms don't sit well with the overarching conceit of an interstellar adventure, constraining the action. Consequently, the film never really takes off in the way Star Wars did - its central conflict seems parochial, never giving the impression that is part of some wider scheme, or that there is some kind of greater mystery behind it all.
The is, nonetheless, highly entertaining, although not necessarily for the reasons its makers intended. The plot, for what it is worth, involves Graal, evil brother of Metropolis' leader, The Great Brother, escaping from a prison satellite, hijacking a warship and enlisting the support of a disgruntled mad scientist, Dr Kraspin, to overthrow his brother. Kraspin assures Graal that he can create an army of 'Humanoids' for him - humans transformed into obedient, super strong and invulnerable fighting machines by the application of a substance known as Kapitron. Kraspin had developed the substance while working at the Grovan Institute, located in a desert area of Metropolis, before being reported to the authorities by fellow scientist Barbara Gibson, and jailed for his unethical experiments. Freed from prison by Lady Agatha, ruler of the planet Noxon, where Graal has his base, Kraspin stipulates that Graal must kill Gibson when his men raid the Groven Institute in order to steal the only stockpiles of Kapitron known to exist. In the meantime, Kraspin is busy maintaining Lady Agatha's youth and beauty by draining the life force from young women and turning it into a serum. While Graal's attack on the Institute secures the Kapitron, his men fail to kill Gibson, who has been telepathically summoned away by her ward, Tom Tom. A disappointed Kraspin nonetheless agrees to demonstrate the power of Kapitron, transforming space pilot Golob - an amiable giant who, with his robot dog, has had the misfortune to crash land on Noxon - into a violent Humanoid.
The Humanoid is despatched to Metropolis to assassinate the Great Brother and goes on a violent rampage in his pursuit of the Metropolis leader, apparently unstoppable. His mission goes awry when Kraspin, still thirsting for revenge, diverts him to kill Gibson. The Humanoid, however, encounters Tom Tom, who uses his powers to pacify the giant and to start to restore his memory of who he truly is. Gibson, nonetheless, is captured by Graal's men and taken back to Noxon, where Kraspin plans to drain her life essence to provide another dose of serum for Lady Agatha, when he isn't busy preparing a missile with a Kapitron warhead that Graal plans to fire at Metropolis, transforming its citizens into an army of Humanoids. Naturally, the newly pacified Golob, Tom Tom and heroic Metropolis space soldier Nick are in hot pursuit. Aided by Golob's previously abandoned robot dog, they penetrate Graal's base, rescuing Gibson, killing Graal and Krespin and destroying the missile. Lady Agatha ends up a pile of bones while Golob apparently heroically sacrifices himself destroying the warhead, until it is revealed that the blast has transformed him back to his human self. In a final bizarre twist, the two mystery archers with cloth face masks turn up in a flying crystal boat and are joined by Tom Tom, who announces that he is returning to his home in ancient Tibet, before sailing off.
As you can tell from this synopsis, the film becomes ever more bizarre as it proceeds and, toward the end, gives the distinct impression that they are making it up as they go along. The climax, in particular, piles left field development upon left field development. If it isn't the two masked archers (who are revealed as Tom Tom's guardians) popping up out of nowhere to rescue the child every time he comes under threat, then it is Graal demonstrating hitherto unmentioned mystic powers, (he shoots blue rays from his hands), during his final confrontation with Nick. There is also some question as to just who the film was aimed at: the presence of Tom Tom and the antics of the robot dog indicate a primarily juvenile target audience, but the film also includes some nudity when Kraspin is draining a girl's lifeforce early in the film, not to mention quite a high level of violence. But the most entertaining aspect of the film by far lies with some of the performances. In fact, The Humanoid musters a pretty credible looking cast. But while schlock veteran Rassimov maintains a straight face (what can be seen of it, that is, behind his Vader-lite mask), and Barbara Bach as Lady Agatha and Corinne Clery as Barbara Gibson, (both former Bond girls who had recently been sexually harassed by Roger Moore's 007), maintain a degree of professional dignity, Arthur Kennedy as Kraspin pulls out all the stops in a fantastical piece of ham acting.
Kennedy, a much admired and lauded Hollywood character actor spent his declining years in Italian exploitation films giving ever more over the top performances, culminating with The Humanoid. Behaving and sounding more like a low rent New York gangster than a scientist, he steals every scene he appears in. Richard Kiel, another Bond veteran, in the title role cuts an imposing figure, but is a terrible actor. You can tell when he's turned evil as he loses his beard, snarls and bares his teeth a lot. When he is transformed back into Golob, his beard magically returns, he smiles and speaks softly. And that's the extent of his characterisation. The half decent cast is accompanied by half decent production values. The special effects are surprisingly not bad for this sort of film, (particularly as, according to the director, the footage delivered by the original effects supervisor were unusable and had to be reshot at the last minute by a new effects team). Overall, the film is pretty well directed, which shouldn't be surprising as it had Aldo Lado (billed as 'George B Lewis'), who had directed some very decent Giallos including Who Saw Her Die? and Short Night of Glass Dolls, in the director's chair. (Although he later claimed that he let his assistant supervise many sequences, such was his disinterest in the project). The main disappointment is Ennio Morricone's uncharateristically bland and lacklustre musical score. In the final analysis, while a highly entertaining piece of opportunism, The Humanoid never quite manages to co-opt and subvert its subject matter to a wholly Italian perspective, in the way that, say, Spaghetti Westerns managed to. It tries to hard to simply replicate the formula of its model, with some elements of the original material it feels obliged to include, like the half hearted mysticism of Tom Tom, sitting uneasily with the other plot elements and feeling arbitrarily tacked on. That said, it is still enjoyable and well worth a look.
Well, once more my awesome powers of prediction have been confirmed. Wasn't I saying just a couple of weeks ago that the next focus of mindless hatred in the UK would be he Chinese community, on account of the coronavirus outbreak? Sure enough, there have now been newspaper reports of Chinese people being abused in the street over the issue. I do so hate being proven right over this sort of thing. It really is depressing. So depressing that it makes me want to retreat further away from the current harsh reality we seem to be living through. So it is just as well that I installed that Roku box on my TV on Friday. It has unleashed a veritable tsunami of shit into my living room. I've spent the weekend watching all manner of pop culture crap, from classic Japanese alien invasion movie The Mysterians to a typically rickety Bert I Gordon horror movie, Tormented. Right now I'm watching Hercules and the Princess of Troy, a failed 1965 TV pilot which tried to turn the Italian peplum format into a weekly TV series. Along the way I've taken in episodes of old TV shows like Hunter, Wiseguy and Renegade. You know, they are, surprisingly, quite good. I even found time for a double bill of Battle Beyond the Stars and Space Raiders - the latter, of course, being built around the special effects sequences of the former, (not mention borrowing its musical score).
But while most of the free channels you can access via a Roku box are content merely to offer old movies on demand or stream old TV series, some try to do something a little different. B-Movie TV, for instance, which serves up a daily schedule of schlocky and sleazy old films and ancient TV shows, many of them presented by enthusiastic hosts/fans. The prints they use are just about the scratchiest and roughest I've ever seen, but the choice of subject matter eclectic, encompassing, so far, martial arts pictures, Italian action films, sex comedies and Shannon Tweed movies. It actually gets weirder - I tuned in after midnight on Friday night/Saturday morning to find myself confronted by 'Pervy the Clown'. A man dressed as a clown was dancing to loud music and making lewd gestures whilst a topless woman was tied to a chair. Apparently, this goes on for two hours. When I see things like this, I realise that the 'End Times' are truly upon us. And I welcome them. It is becoming increasingly obvious that we need some kind of apocalyptic event to sweep away the sheer shittyness of modernity. But really, if you love schlock like I do, you really must experience B-Movie TV and its ilk - it is what streaming TV was made for.
Well, here we are, another year closer to the boneyard, to misquote Philip Larkin. You know, I wasn't going to reference my birthday in today's post, but, having watched two bad Italian science fiction films virtually back-to-back, I'm too exhausted to come up with anything else. I had planned to write about one of those films today, but I'm just not in the mood and if there's one thing I've learned over the years, it is that if I'm not in the right headspace, then I'm not going to do the movie I'm writing about justice. But to get back to my birthday, which was today, obviously, I've found myself increasingly wondering just why we are pressured to make a big deal about birthdays? I remember when I was a young kid, there was always a huge expectation surrounding birthdays - expectation of getting presents, of having birthday celebrations and so on. The trouble was, that I always found it all anti-climactic, whether it was my own birthday party or someone else's that I'd been invited to. It could never meet the expectations that had been built up and I realised that I just wasn't enjoying the experience. At which point I started a process of withdrawing from it all - I stopped accepting invitations to friends' birthday parties as I realised that would absolve me from reciprocally inviting them to mine which, in turn meant that I could stop having birthday parties.
As I got older and entered the world of work, if my birthday fell on a work day, I'd sometimes have a pint or two with colleagues after work. Other times I might meet up with selected friends for a drink. But as time has gone on, I've found my inclination to follow social conventions grow weaker. Nowadays, I don't tell anybody in my workplace when my birthday is - that way I don't feel obliged to do anything to mark it and neither do they. I don't even remind friends any more. Thankfully, none of them seem to remember anyway, so I'm spared all the tiresome exchange of greetings and so on. There was a time when it irritated me that some of my closer friends forgot my birthday (particularly when I'd remembered theirs), but as the years rolled by, I realised that it simply didn't matter. So, today I had a quite day. Watching Italian science fiction movies and setting up my new Roku box, which now means that I can stream all manner of crap directly onto my TV. Which I've already started doing: those Superman cartoons from the 1940s, episodes of the 1950s Ronald Howard Sherlock Holmes TV series, an episode of the Captain America cinema serial from 1944. It's all there. You know, there's even a channel devoted solely to showing the Beverley Hillbillies - horrific indeed. That was my birthday present to me - more and more schlock. If those Italian science fiction movies can't fry my brain, then maybe this tidal wave of crap can...
One of the drawbacks of taking time off work at this time of the year is the weather. It's not a given - I've known years when late February has been unseasonably mild - but usually it is cold and wet. Just like today. But I'm still glad not to have been working. As I'm sure my regular reader(s) will recall, my birthday falls in late February, which is why I'm taking time off from work. It isn't actually my birthday until tomorrow but I like to turn it into a multi-day celebration - so I've taken both today and next Monday off, (I don't work Fridays, anyway). Not that I actually celebrate birthdays any more - I'm far too old for that, but it provides an excuse for a brief break from work at a particularly miserable time of the year. In truth, I needed a break as, even at only four days a week, work has been getting me down of late. Mostly through boredom - I'm getting absolutely nothing out of it; no stimulation, no sense of achievement. Which is probably why those old wargames I rediscovered the other day have engaged my interest so much - they present a potential intellectual challenge. Speaking of said games, last time I also intimated that they weren't the only surprising thing I recently found while looking for other stuff at home. Along with the old issues of Strategy and Tactics, I also uncovered these:
They came as a complete surprise, as I have no recollection of having acquired them. Indeed, while I'm interested in old comics and magazines, none of these are titles I have any particular interest in - three of them, Tammy, Bunty and Jackie were aimed at girls and consequently lie outside of my experience entirely. The top three are from the old Fleetway line of comics, while the bottom three are DC Thomson titles. The immaculate condition of all of them indicated that they were reproductions, rather than originals, something confirmed in the case of the Fleetway comic upon closer examination. Among their publication details on their inside back pages there is a disclaimer declaring that they are facsimile editions, produced by Egmont UK Ltd, the then new owners of the Fleetway titles, in 2009. The DC Thomson titles, however, have no such disclaimers.
I have an idea that the Fleetway reproductions might have been given away with a newspaper or magazine in order to publicise thir new ownership. But the origin of the DC Thomson titles remains a mystery. I don't think that I would have bought them from eBay or somewhere similar - unless they were part of a job lot with other items I wanted. Perhaps they too were part of a magazine or newspaper giveaway. I honestly don't recall.
To go back to my day off, briefly, I did put it to good use, braving the weather for a trip to another nearby town and its excellent second hand bookshop. I've mentioned this place before - it is a truly fantastic emporium of pre-owned, pre-loved books. It has too many for the shelves to accomodate - you have to pick your way between stacks of book. The downside of this is that, for the casual browser, it can be somewhat intimidating. You really need to in with a clear idea of what you are looking for - which I did today, subsequently managing to obtain several out of print titles I couldn't find in Crapchester. Yeah, I know that probably could have got them online via Abe Books or eBay, but that just wouldn't have been as satisfying as browsing the shelves of a real bookshop.
As I posted last week, while searching for a book, I came across an old wargame - Ambush! - that I'd almost forgotten I had. Well, today I unearthed several more things I'd forgotten I owned. Indeed, in a couple of cases I'd forgotten completely buying them. The bulk of these finds were, once again, wargame-related, namely three complete editions of Strategy and Tactics magazine and a game originally published in the magazine:
Strategy and Tactics was, for many years, the house publication of Simulation Publications Inc (SPI), the main rival to Avalon Hill (who had their own magazine, The General) in terms of producing wargames. The unique feature of Strategy and Tactics was that every issue included a complete wargame, most of which were later published in boxed form by SPI. Publishing six games a year this way meant that SPI quickly outstripped Avalon Hill in the number of games they produced. They were also cheaper, featuring unmounted boards and plastic packaging, in contrast to Avalon Hill's bookcase-style boxes and mounted boards. In addition to the games, every issue also included detailed articles on military history, analysis of famous battles and so on. Whilst SPI are long since defunct, the magazine is still published, by Decision Games, still with a complete game in every issue.
But to get to the point, the only one of the three complete editions above I actually remember buying is the May 1991 edition (on the right in the photo, green cover), which I bought new when I worked in London. The main reason I purchased it was because it featured a solitaire wargame, Tarawa: Red Beach One. The other two editions I must have bought via eBay (I can vaguely recall buying the middle one, which features Conquistador as its game). I don't remember acquiring the October War edition - it came as a real surprise to me when I found it. I'm guessing that I must have acquired it around the same time that I bought MechWar '77 - which had originally featured in the magazine - as the two games are based around the same rule system. Another reason for me buying the October War edition was that, at the time, I couldn't obtain a copy of Arab-Israeli Wars, an Avalon Hill game covering similar subject matter and based on their Panzerblitz system. Indeed, the system used by SPI for MechWar '77, October War and several other tactical armoured warfare games (including Panzer '44, Desert War and Kampfpanzer), was very much their answer to Avalon Hill's hugely popular series of Panzerblitz games (which included Panzer Leader and Arab-Israeli Wars).
Anyway, to give a better idea of the games being included in Strategy and Tactics, here's shot of the map from October War:
A more detailed view of the map and counters for Conquistador:
Conquistador is interesting for being more a strategy game, based around the discovery, exploration and exploitation of the New World by Europe's Imperial powers, than a straightforward wargame. It can also be played solitaire. This game, like October War and MechWar '77, was later sold by SPI in boxed format, it was subsequently sold to Avalon Hill and sold by them is a bookcase box edition, with mounted board, extra counters and amended rules. Both the boxed versions are now quite expensive second hand and not always easy to find, which is why, as I recall, I obtained the magazine version. I have to admit that it was map boards like this which attracted me to a lot of the wargames produced during the seventies - they usually looked magnificent, just crying out to be explored in a gaming session.
SPI's games were often more complicated than those of rival Avalon Hill, placing more emphasis upon the historical military simulation side of things than on the gaming side. Consequently, their appeal was mainly toward dedicated wargamers and military history enthusiasts, rhather than the more general gaming fandom Avalon Hill aimed for. (Although, to be fair, SPI also issued a number of fantasy and science fiction themed games). When they eventually ran out of money (I'm assuming that the sale of some their titles, like Conquistador and PanzerArmee Afrika to Avalon Hill was to raise cash), their assets were acquired by TSR, who continued to publish Strategy and Tactics and market some of the games. The magazine was subsequently sold to 3W then Decision Games, which also now owns the rights to most of the SPI back catalogue. Many of SPI's designers were later taken on by Avalon Hill and set up in their subsidiary, Victory Games - which continued to turn out SPI style games packaged in Avalon Hill-style bookcase boxes (albeit still with unmounted maps), for several years.
With two lengthy posts about wargames in less than a week, my regular reader(s) might be fearing that this is about to turn into a wargaming blog. I don't think there is much danger of that, although I'm always looking for something new to write about. Then again, if I actually start playing some of these games again, I just might start posting turn-by-turn accounts of battles! But, as I indicated at the start of this post, these old copies of Strategy and Tactics weren't the only thing I stumbled upon today - but we'll come to that later this week.
Sony have recently launched a new free-to-air channel, Sony Movie Classics, designed to exploit their extensive library of 'classic' films. Some of these used to turn up on other Sony channels such as Movies4Men (now Sony Movies Action), others found a home on Talking Pictures TV. The bulk of the films shown are black and white Hollywood dramas, film noir and comedies from the forties and fifties, supplemented by colour studio productions from the sixties and seventies. But their overnight schedules are frequently filled with low budget war movies, English language versions of assorted Italian peplums and historical dramas and spaghetti westerns. So, the other day I recorded an intriguing sounding spaghetti western from the schedules and settled down to watch it a few days later. Except, as it turned out, it wasn't really a spaghetti western at all. While Guns of the Revolution (1971) sounds like an Italian made film, both from its title and its synopsis - in the wake of the Mexican revolution, a general pursues his own war against religion, burning down churches and executing priests - it actually turned out to be a US-Spanish production. In fact, Guns of the Revolution turns out not to be its title at all - it was a retitling for DVD release of the more prosaic sounding Rain for a Dusty Summer.
Like many true spaghetti westerns, Spain stands in for Mexico and a US actor - Ernest Borgnine - headlines the production. But there the similarities end. Instead of an exciting tale of revenge, bullion heists and bank robberies - the usual themes of spaghetti westerns - Guns of the Revolution is actually a 'priest on the run' movie, in the vein of John Ford's The Fugitive. The resemblance to the Ford film, however, is purely thematic. Instead of Henry Fonda's angst ridden and doubt riddled priest, we have a pious guitar strumming singing holy man, who wanders through the film carrying out secret masses as he evades the authorities. Which brings us to the film's only novelty, star Padre Humberto, an actual priest, (formerly an actor before taking the cloth, who was given special dispensation to return to acting for this role), playing a priest. His performance is strictly one dimensional, the character coming over as a holier-than-thou simpleton, ever smiling in the face of adversity thanks to his faith, (or stupidity). Bizarrely, his appearances seem to be played largely for laughs, with the priest adopting all manner of disguises (including dressing in drag) in order to evade the General's troops. Of course, many of these troops turn out to be secret Catholics, desperate for a blessing or a couple of hail Marys, in exchange for which they'll turn a blind eye to the priest's activities.
All of this sits awkwardly with scenes of churches being burned and looted and priests and Bishops gunned down. Even more jarring is the conclusion, which sees the priest finally captured and executed by a firing squad - all the while smiling because he knows that his martyrdom will sow the seeds of the general's eventual downfall. Clearly intended to be spiritually uplifting, this denouement is merely depressing, underling the futility of the priest's antics in the face of overwhelming state power - there is no indication that his death has had any impact on the general population at all. The fact that the film fails to properly put over even its crude message about the power of faith underlines the utter ineffectiveness of the film-making. It is uneven in tone, veering from tragedy to simplistic comedy, with no real plot progression or characterisation of any depth. It lacks action and excitement, let alone tension. The atrocious English dubbing - which goes further and further out of synch as the film progesses - really doesn't help. Ultimately, the film comes over as what it is - a piece of crude religious propaganda which has no regard for history, let alone logic. It isn't interested in advancing any actual arguments to justify its stance - nobody ever seems able to answer Borgnine's criticism of the church, that it accumulates wealth from its parishioners while leaving them poor and destitute - instead assuming that displays of pious spirituality are sufficient to demonstrate that religion is good, revolutionaries bad.
But what else are we to expect from a film shot in what was still, in 1971, a fascist dictatorship? The film's opening credits claim that it is based on fact, that fact, presumably, being that there was a revolution in Mexico. While conceding that I'm far from an expert on the Mexican revolution, I'm not aware of any sustained attempts by the revolutionary government to suppress religion. But, of course, Guns of the Revolution isn't really about Mexico in 1917. If anything, its motivations have more to do with Russia in 1917, where the revolutionaries were Godless communists - for the crux of the film's argument seems to be that revolutions are bad because they invite the masses to question the social, economic and political status quo and suggest that there might be better alternatives. Obviously something that the authorities in Franco's Spain didn't want to contemplate. Still, the film isn't entirely bad: Ernest Borgnine contributes a highly entertaining performance, making the supposedly villainous general just about the only rounded character in the film, his dislike for religion coming over as entirely rational. Finally, Guns of the Revolution provided a mildly bizarre coda to the long directorial career of Hollywood veteran Arthur Lubin, which had veered from Abbot and Costello vehicles to prestige projects like the 1943 colour remake of The Phantom of the Opera, to the 'Francis the talking mule' series. That his final film should be a piece of pro Catholic propaganda seems apt in view of the fact that he once directed a wartime public health film warning GIs of the risks of catching syphilis.
I thought I'd post about something completely different today. While I was looking for my copy of Cathal Tohill and Pete Tombs' Immoral Tales (an essential guide to Europen sex and horror films), I came across the above: an old solitaire wargame called Ambush!. I'd pretty much forgotten that I had this and I certainly haven't played it in more than a quarter of a century. It was originally published by Victory Games (a subsidiary of Avalon Hill) back in 1983. Unlike most board wargames of the era, Ambush! didn't attempt to simulate a whole battle or an entire campaign, instead taking a smaller scale approach of simulating squad-level combat in France in 1944. The player controlled a squad of American GIs and had to negotiate various scenarions, trying to avoid losing men to enemy action while achieving their mission objectives. While there had been solo wargames produced before, Ambush! had a pretty innovative system for simulating enemy activity, using a combination of sort of cardboard computer and cards.
As you can see, this 'computer' consisted of a card sleeve with slots in it and a card which was moved through it turn-by-turn, with 'events' for each co-ordinate on the game map being shown in the various slots. There were a large number of cards for the different game scenarios. The 'events' were further defined by a number of cards giving the characteristics for the various enemy forces encountered. In common with the rest of the Victory Games range, the game featured an unmounted game board, (the more expensive Avalon branded games had mounted boards), in the form of a map overlaid with hexes:
The game actually had two maps to accommodate the various scenarios. Each is about half the size of the boards you'd expect in regular wargames of the period. Some of the counters from the last time I played Ambush! are still attached with Blu Tack, (I had it pinned up on the wall - one advantage of the unmounted map board). As with all board wargames, it had a lot of counters, some of which can be seen below, along with some of the cards with enemy characteristics on them:
Of course, the outcomes of encounters with the enemy and other events are resolved via a series of tables (and ten sided dice):
Which is the thing about these types of games -they involve lots of admin. Ambush!, for instance, requires the player to fill in a sheet with the characteristics of each member of his squad and keep it updated to reflect injuries, morale and equipment loss as the game progresses. Not surprisingly, the game has a pretty thick rule book.
But the question, of course, is was the game any good to play? From what I recall, it was actually a pretty enjoyable game to play, once you had got to grips with the rules. Once contact is made with the enemy, the action comes thick and fast. Best of all, the game mechanics ensure an element of surprise is retained - you never quite know what you are going to run into next: anything from snipers to a tank. It certainly must have been popular back in the day, as several expansion modules with new scenarios, counters, maps and cards were issued, along with with Pacific theatre version (Battle Hymn) and an armoured combat equivalent (Open Fire!). I've played a few solitaire wargames - although there were never that many released - (I even have one, Carrier, where I have never yet had the patience to finish reading the rule book), but Ambush! was the only one I ever felt was actually playable, in that it delivered a satisfying experience. I really should re-read that rule book and get playing again...
I'll be quite frank, I've never watched The Masked Singer on ITV. I've never had any desire to watch The Masked Singer. But, as with all contemporary pop culture phenomena, I can't help but be aware of the programme and what is happening on it. Consequently, I know who has been unmasked (most of them are, at best, C-list celebrities), not to mention the sorts of wild guesses as to the contestants' identities on the part of the judges - including Jonathon Ross's wild speculation that Natalie Cole could be under one of the masks. Despite the fact that she has been dead for several years. But why not? In my opinion the format would be greatly improved if the mystery performers were all deceased celebrities, revived by necromancy. The Shrouded Singer, perhaps? It would widen the field of possibilities and make it easier o get proper A-listers as contestants. Just imagine an elephant, say, being unmasked as Elvis Presley, or a natterjack toad as John Lennon. In fact, if you revived them as zombies, then you wouldn't need the masks, as their mouldering reanimated corpses would be in such an advanced state of decomposition that they would be virtually unrecognisable. The challenge would be to guess who they were from their singing - or more likely, gurgling - voices before they completely disintegrate. Can you spot which tottering skeleton is Frank Sinatra before his jaw drops off?
Another variation might be where celebrity contestants have to assemble a performer from the best bits of deceased singers that they can grave rob. It could all culminate in a sing-off between the rival Frankenstein monster-style creations. Which will prove more entertaining - something vaguely male cobbled together from the head of Jim Morrison, the body of Jimi Hendrix, the arms of George Harrison and the legs of Roy Castle, or an androgynous abomination combining the head of Tiny Tim, the chest of Janis Joplin, Elvis' hips and the legs of Cyd Charisse? Actually, grave robbing for entertainment could make for great TV. I've often pondered on a supernatural version of Shed and Buried: Dead and Buried. Instead of having, as per the original, a pair of middle aged men rummaging through sheds and barns in search of mechanical treasures they can restore, the new version could have a pair of middle aged men rummaging through graveyards in search of corpses they can revive. Not only would there be the drama of seeing if they can actually get any of these musty piles of bones up and running again, but also the ever present risk that any one of these revived corpses could turn homicidal and try to strange the resurrectionists. It would be fantastic TV to see them chased around a fog bound cemetery by a living corpse, before they manage to turn the tables and beat it back to death with a shovel. It would all be good unwholesome fun for all the family.
Do we need to start reclaiming anger for men? I mean, in this present age of 'wokeness' there is increasing pressure upon men, especially young men, to be 'in touch with their feelings', or their 'feminine side' and to be generally reasonable and calm. The onus is now on being conciliatory, seeing both sides of the argument and avoiding conflict. Could it be that men are being emasculated by this world of the woke, turned into meek and ineffective ciphers by this political correctness gone mad? I remember that not so long ago we had various right wing knee jerk reactionaries telling us - via the tabloids - that what the youth of today needed to sort themselves out was a bloody good war. Participating in World War Two, Korea, the Malayan crisis or Aden, they'd tell us, had done them no harm at all. In fact, it had made 'men' out of them. Of course, today's pundits are far too young to have fought in any of those conflicts and unlikely to have served in the Gulf wars or Afghanistan. Instead, their memories of conflict probably lie with clashing with the Anti-Nazi League while on National Front marches. Their idea of having 'seen action' is throwing bricks through the windows of Asian-owned shops and their idea of an inspirational war leader would be Enoch Powell. So their advice to the woke youth of today would be that they need more hate and anger in their lives.
Which leaves me suspecting that the general rise in hate seen on social media in recent times, not to mention the increasingly intemperate nature of political discourse, is actually all part of a plot on the part of some shadowy organisation to raise male anger levels. Just look at all those middle aged, middle class white men who get worked up about Greta Thunberg. I mean, what other reason could there be for grown men to apparently feel so intimidated by a teenaged environmentalist that they get angry to the point of their heads exploding, if it isn't simply to set an example for younger men s to whole to work oneself up into apoplexy over nothing? It's the same with Brexit. After all, nobody rational would surely have promoted committing economic suicide by leaving the EU, unless it was actually part of a larger project to promote anger. Even the Daily Mail and the other right wing tabloids make sense in this context - their ludicrous 'journalism', forever scapegoating minorities and stoking up hate is designed purely to promote anger. Trust me, it's happening. There's a cabal of sinister behind the scenes manipulators out there who believe that the only way to make 'men' out of modern male youth is to make them so angry over the most trivial issues that they turn puce, foam at the mouth and risk having a stroke.
It's been a while since we've had any model railway updates here. Which, mainly, is because very little has happened of late in that department. After getting frustrated with wiring issues, I decided to give things a rest for a while. Away from the track work and wiring, however, there have been a couple of minor developments. First off, remember this:
Yes, I know, this restoration seems to have been going on forever, (it has). But I finally got around to ordering some decent lining transfers, which you can see above, (you can also see the results of trying to use the last lot I had on the tender). The trouble is that their arrival has left me even less satisfied with the paint finish on the locomotive and tender. I'm now seriously considering stripping it again and starting afresh with new paint. Possibly even trying to spray paint it. My dissatisfaction has been amplified by my acquisition of this:
This is a slightly battered Hornby Dublo West Country body I bought cheaply on eBay the other day. The paintwork is in remarkably good condition, with only a little wear to the boiler lining and the printing on the nameplates. The main problem is that the leading top corners of the smoke deflectors have been slightly bent inwards, which shouldn't be too difficult to rectify. While I can never hope to replicate the quality of the factory paint finish on the one I'm trying to restore, (for one thing, the shades of green used successively by Hornby Dublo and Wrenn on the model are both too light), it did bring home the inadequacies of my efforts so far.
But, you are doubtless asking, what is the point of obtaining this new body? Well, originally I had the idea of using it to replace the body on my other Wrenn West Country, the one factory numbered and named as a Merchant Navy, rather than risking blemishing said body with a renaming and renumbering attempt. But, after further contemplation, I decided to use this new Dublo body as the basis for a long-term project. Two rail Wrenn/Dublo chassis for these models have started appearing at relatively reasonable prices, so my aim, eventually, is to obtain one for this body and construct, from spares, a new, more accurate tender, (I have most of the parts needed already). In truth, it will probably end up with the tender from the one I'm restoring, which is actually accurate for 34005 Barnstaple, the real loco the Dublo body represents, with the restored one getting the new tender. The Merchant Navy will retain its current, entirely inaccurate, identity (once I've finished repairing its chassis). In the meantime, the newly purchased Dublo body can run on the chassis of the loco being restored and borrow the Merchant Navy's tender. Which all seems complex, I know, but makes perfect sense to me. The upshot is that, in the long run, I should end up with three Dublo/Wrenn rebuilt Bullied pacifics in working order.
I made a bad mistake today - I attended the re-opening of my local pub, (it had been shut for a month for a refurbishment). That wasn't the mistake. No, the mistake was to have a drink there. It re-opened late afternoon and, not working Fridays any more, I decided to go along, forgetting how out of practice I am when it comes to day time drinking, (I'm usually a late evening drinker). Even just a pint and a half (for health reasons I've cut down), left me feeling completely knackered. Really, I've spent the entire evening in a state of exhaustion. All of which just reinforces my prediliction for drinking later in the evening - I just come home and go to bed. Still, at the least the local is open again, albeit with new decor and furniture. I must admit, though, that while it was closed, I came to enjoy my nights in - I decided not to bother drinking anywhere else during this period. Not only did I avoid the hassle of going out in the cold and the rain a couple of times a week, but I also avoided having to put up with any pub bores assailing my ears with their tedious shit. It really did make a refreshing change. Anyway, to get to the point of this post, well, there isn't any point, really. I'm just too tired to make one. So, instead I'm going to subject you to one of my rambling rants on a variety of subjects.
I woke up this morning to find Philip Schofield trending on Twitter. Now, obviously when one sees a celebrity's name trending your first thought is that they've died, the second, (since Jimmy Savile) is that they have been arrested on suspicion of committing serious sexual offences. I quickly found that the context of Schofield trending was (thankfully) neither of these things. Instead I was confronted by the statement 'TV presenter Philip Schofield has come out as gay', to which my initial reaction was that it was some kind of prank. The cynic in me then thought that perhaps this was all some kind of ploy to deflect the bad press he's been getting lately with regard to his alleged behaviour toward colleagues - what better way to get sympathy than by coming out? But no, he really has come out as gay. Which is fine, but I'm left wondering, why are you telling me this? As I do whenever a celebrity publicly 'outs' themselves. Why do they think that anyone is interested? I mean, why should I, or anyone else, care about their personal sexual orientation? Surely, in this day and age, it shouldn't be an issue and certainly shouldn't shock? Most of all, though, I'm simply not interested in anyone's sexual orientation - that's entirely their private business. If they want to tell me, fine, but ultimately, I'm just not interested.
Changing tack completely, I've been thinking about adding some kind of streaming device to my TV, in order to broaden the services available to me. But before I made a decision, I thought that I'd look again at the apps already available on my smart TV. I have to say, that they haven't improved since the last time I checked. It's all pretty basic, with no facility for manual updates. I did, however, notice that Vewd is now listed amongst the services. Now, if you go to their website, you'll find all manner of interesting sounding channels listed as being available via their app (subject to regional restrictions, of course). Yet upon checking the version on my TV, all of the services seemed to be in Russian, Turkish or Spanish. None of which are any use to me in the UK. Oh, to be fair, some of 'internet channels' seem to be in English, but if I want to watch two minute videos of dogs skate boarding, I'll go to YouTube. So, I'm left wondering just what is the point of having this service installed on my set? You'd think that they'd try and match the services offered to the region in which the TV operates? The whole experience, though, has left me questioning the value of streamed TV services. The more I look into it, the crapper most of the services available look. There seem to be a lot of people out these peddling low quality public domain material as if it were premium content and unavailable elsewhere. Trust me, most of it is dire and far better quality prints of the decent stuff are available from other sources. So, I'm back to pondering the wisdom of adding any kind of streaming device to my not-so-smart TV.
Sometimes you stumble across something that completely upends your view of someone or something. For me, the name Andy Milligan meant only a director of some incredibly obscure, incredibly cheaply made horror films from the late sixties and seventies. Generally dismissed as being irredeemably bad, the most notable thing about them seemed to be that Milligan shot them with an absolutely minimal crew, taking on everything himself, including designing and making the costumes, and the fact that the usually Staten Island based director actually came to the UK in the late sixties to shoot several of them on location in 'the graveyards of England'. So, you can imagine my surprise when I discovered that he had also directed a sitcom (which was never aired) in the nineteen eighties. Now, I say a sitcom, but the five episodes of The Adventures of Red Rooster shot seem to actually be an adaptation of the play of the same name by Don Tobey, (who also produced the episodes). Whether they were originally shot with the intention of being released as a feature film, (Milligan apparently shot it all on 35mm film before transferring it to 3/4 inch video tape), but couldn't sell it, so re-edited it into TV sitcom format, I don't know. In fact, little is known about the project.
What is known is that Milligan edited together a twenty minute 'highlights reel' of the episodes (seen above), which was hawked around TV stations as a pilot of sort. Presumably, the intention was to use the already existing footage as the first five episodes of the series, then shoot new material to fill out the series. In the event, however, there were no takers, so it never aired. Which, perhaps, isn't surprising: it just doesn't come over as a typical sitcom. Instead, it comes over as what it actually is - a filmed stage play, (it was even shot in Milligan's New York theatre). The lack of audience doesn't help as I'm guessing that the original stage production relied on a degree of audience reaction to carry it along. But it is fascinating, nonetheless. The cast performances are actually not bad (in a stagey sort of way) and you can see where the script might be amusing when performed in front of a live audience. Unfortunately, though, the cheap sets and lack of audience rob the production of any atmosphere.
As I said at the beginning, on the face of it, this seems an odd departure for a schlock explotation director like Milligan, (who, in addition to the horror flicks, lso turned out porno movies for the grindhouse circuit). But Milligan also had a lesser known parallel career in experimental theatre, writing and producing plays. Indeed, he eventually owned and ran the 'Troupe Theatre, the off, off Broadway venue where Red Rooster was filmed. So, the idea of him filming an off, off Broadway play suddenly makes more sense. Nevertheless, it is still somewhat startling to find a sitcom of sorts listed in Milligan's filmography. Incidentally, if you are wondering what Adventures of Red Rooster is about, it follows the working lives of the employees of 'Red Rooster', a tiny New York company making and distributing a pill for erectile dysfunction. Which alone meant that it was always unlikely to be picked up by any TV network in eighties America. But can you imagine the pitch: "It's a crazy sitcom about the whacky folks who sell a pill to make men's cocks stiff. Oh, and it is directed by a gay guy notorious for knocking out sex and gore films in the sixties..."
So, now that we're out of the EU, who's next up to be the focus of British hatred? After all, Britain's right wing media seems to run on hate - the objects of its hate happily provided by Tory politicians. Think I'm bring cynical? Just look at the parade of groups targeted for hatred by successive Tory governments since 2010: the disabled, the unemployed, the poor, Muslims, immigrants in general, illegal immigrants in particular, oh and the EU. All have been the focus of campaigns both by the government collectively or individual ministers, to try and shift the blame for the country's ills from their own policies to vulnerable minorities. Of course, another terror attack has presented the opportunity to stoke up a bit more hatred toward Muslims and anybody who isn't white, but clearly the right are going to need something else to fill the void left by the EU. Not only are 'Islamic fundamentalist terrorists' a pre-existing object of hate, but they are getting a bit long in the tooth. As time goes by it gets harder and harder to sustain the high levels of hatred toward them: unless they allegedly commit a really appalling atrocity, that is, which surely nobody wants, (or perhaps Network-style, we'll see media organisations creating their own terror incidents in order to provide copy).
No, they need something or someone new and fresh or, at the very least, a minority that hasn't been targeted for a while. I can't help but think that maybe the coronavirus outbreak in China might provide the right with a possible path to new hatred. All it will take is for a British person to die of it, here in the UK and next thing you know, any vaguely Chinese-looking person seen sneezing in public will be stoned to death by a mob. The right wing tabloids will be inciting their readers to boycott Chinese restaurants and the usual idiots will be forming mobs to burn down aforementioned restaurants and takeaways, Iit will make a nice change for them, from burning down mosques or synagogues). Yes indeed, the Chinese have had it too easy for too long. Just when they thought that those Fu Manchu stereotypes had faded into history, they could easily find themselves as the right's favourite new hate group. Coronavirus could be just the trigger it needs, on top of all the fears about Chinese tech firms spying on us, their economy growing stronger than any in the west with the concomitant threat to jobs, not to mention their military build up and increased agressiveness in the Pacific region. Before you know it, the yellow peril will be back to provide the UK's right with a new tonic of hatred.
Marine Boy was something of an obsession for my school friends and I in the early seventies. It was one of the first Japanese cartoons to make its way to the west. (Indeed, the English language version debuted on US TV before the original version was screened in Japan). In common with most Japanese cartoons of the time, the episodes weren't just redubbed, but also re0edited in order to make them more acceptable to western audiences. More often than not, this was to remove what would be seen in the west as excessive violence in the context of a show aimed primarily at children. (This was certainly the case in the animated series known as Battle of the Planets in the west). But none of that bothered me and my friends when we watched it week in, week out. In fact, despite the fact that the titles clearly announced Marine Boy as being a 'Japan Tele-Cartoons' co-production, I don't think that it ever occurred to any of us that it was of Japanese origin. To us, it was just an exciting futuristic adventure series with an unusual setting.
The premise of Marine Boy was quite straightforward: at some unspecified point in the near future, humanity has colonised the oceans and a global body, the Ocean Patrol, guards them against threats from numerous quarters, (criminals, mad scientists, that sort of thing). The Ocean Patrol has a fleet of ships and patrol submarines (which can also fly) at their disposal, as well as their top operative: Marine Boy. He is a teenage boy who, thanks to his father, Professor Mariner, has, as the theme song tells us, his bullet proof red suit, propeller boots and a sort of underwater boomerang, to help him in his fight against submarine crime. He doesn't need an aqualung or other breathing apparartus thanks to his 'oxy-gum', which, when he chewed it, allowed Marine Boy to breath underwater. (Although, strangely, nobody else in Ocean Patrol seems to use it, having to wear conventional aqualungs instead. Not that such inconsistencies bothered us as seven year olds). He was aided by his dolphin friend Splasher, a mermaid girl called Neptina, whose long hair always protects her modesty and a the crew of one of the patrol subs, Bolton and Piper.
But what was it about Marine Boy that fascinated my seven year old self so much? At this distance in time it is hard to be sure, but I think that it had something to do with the fact that it presented its own self contained world you could escape into. In that respect, its appeal was similar to that of the Gerry Anderson 'Super Marionation' series like Thunderbirds and Captain Scarlet. These, too, presented the viewer with plausible seeming future worlds, with their own histories, technology and organisations. The latter was an important component of these series' attraction for kids like me. Both the Gerry Anderson series' and Marine Boy featured international organisations working for the good of mankind, sometimes implying the existence of a world government behind them (Spectrum and, presumably, the Ocean Patrol), sometimes acting independently of official authority, (International Rescue). If anything, Ocean Patrol, with its fleet of subs and not-quite military uniforms, is most reminiscent of the World Aquanaut Security Patrol (WASP) in Anderson's Stingray. All of these organisations conjured up a vision of a peaceful world, where the majority of people happily co-existed. Something that, for children in the seventies, seemed to be a reassuring prediction for the future. Not to mention entirely in line with what seemed to be the aim of most adults so it seemed to us kids) in the wake of World War Two. Believe me, the war still humg heavily over the seventies: both our parents and people in government had experienced the war and had no wish to see a repetition of its horrors.
If only the Cold War could be ended by bringing East and West together, we thought, then a peaceful golden age of science, progress and exploration would be in sight. As it turned out, we were being very naive. But children's TV shows like Marine Boy played into these hopes: science born from international co-operation opening a whole new frontier under the oceans. Which is possibly why Marine Boy doesn't seem to be that well remembered these days, despite having been one of the first examples of Japanese anime to gain widespread distribution in the west. Still, I remember it fondly - I never missed an episode as a child, when it showed regularly on the BBC. Happy days.
