I've spent the past few days taking advantage of the combination of good weather and the relaxation of lockdown restrictions on how far you can go for exercise and how long you can exercise for, in order to take some long country walks. While I've driven out to a few places to take these walks, today's excursion was entirely on foot. The above picture actually shows the beginning of the country bit - to get to this right-of-way through a field, I had to traverse three quarters of a mile, or so, of suburban streets, business estates and a footbridge across the M3 motorway. But after this, it is all footpaths alongside fields and country lanes.
The change of scene has been beneficial - it's good to be outside somewhere other than the local park or my garden. Much as I enjoy being at home - one of the benefits of this lockdown - when the sun beckons, I like to be outside. Another benefit of the lockdown is that when I am outside, there still aren't that many people about. That said, today one of the footpaths I traversed suddenly seemed to become the busiest thoroughfare in the county, the number of other people who suddenly appeared on it, (it's actually the first time I've ever seen anyone other than myself on that particular route). Now, while the overwhelming majority of the other people I encounter on these paths do the decent thing and try to put some distance between us as we pass (something I reciprocate), I have to say that joggers simply refuse to do this. They seemingly don't see why they should deviate from their course - straight down the middle of any given path - for anyone or anything. I can only assume that they are channeling their inner Dominic Cummings, such is their arrogance in this respect. But really, these idiots need to start showing some consideration for others, regardless of whether there is a pandemic or not. Apart from these rude bastards, however, I've had a pretty good week's walking.
Back in the world of US men's magazine. This is Man's Book from November 1963, peddling the usual mix of violence, misogyny and sex. The cover story -'The Wild Assault of Scott's Bazooka Babes' - is typical of the kind of supposedly true war stories popular in such publications: manly US GI recruits a bevy of scantily clad babes from somewhere to complete a vital mission after the rest of his unit is wiped out. Surprise, surprise - they turn out to be just as good as killing Nazis/Japs/Commies as his late buddies. More often than not, he recruits them from a local bordello (where they've been abused by the bad guys, of course), or from a prison camp (usually one of those SS experimental torture camps, where crazed Nazis cover underwear clad women with molten gold, when they're not freezing them into ice cubes or mating them with gorillas, that is). Here, obviously, the hero uses them to load his bazooka, (the phallic imagery is too obvious to warrant comment), as he blasts Nazi tanks in the desert. Except that they look more like British Matilda MkII tanks than any Panzer I've ever seen.
This issue seems to have a second story in a similar ilk, judging by the headline story title: 'Sgt Platnick's Love 'em Up Patrol'. Although Platnick could be a police sargeant, I suppose, who spends his time out on patrol shagging local the housewives on his beat. Perhaps he's working undercover to expose 'Sex and Savagery - Blackmail Babes in Action', presumably another of those stories playing upon the adolescent insecurities of the average reader of these magazines - young men in their late teens who still lived at home and had never met an adult woman they weren't related to. The title is clearly playing with the whole idea of women being predatory, just waiting to entrap unwary men. 'The Truth About Your Desires - Are They Abnormal?' is another obvious play upon male insecurities and anxieties, designed to get readers furtively turning to the article to find out if their particular sexual fantasies make them a pervert. (If they involve girls and bazookas, no, they are merely puerile). Not to worry, though. The swinging sixties and all that permissiveness was just around the corner - fantasising about women and just about any heavy infantry weapon would soon be de rigeur.
Whilst 'Brucesploitation', (to continue last week's post on the subject), from the perspective of the twenty first century, might seem an extreme and bizarre phenomenon, we in the west aren't immune from similar attempts to resurrect dead idols. Just look at the number of biopics produced by Hollywood, focusing on the lives of various past stars, recreating parts of their lives in detail (albeit not always accurately - shades of 'Brucespoitation'). While this might be understandable, after all, there are also plenty of biopics of historical figures from politicians to saints, there is something obsessive about these celebrity portrayals. They rarely stand alone as artistic pieces, more often than not riding on a wave of cult-like fandom for their subject. You can't help but suspect that there is some hope among fans that this recreation of their idol on screen can somehow create some kind of actual resurrection. Just like 'Brucespoitation' though, these exercises are about resurrecting the image rather than the person, fueled, in part, by a desire to see their adventures continue, if only by proxy.
Some of these recreations, however, seem designed to enact some kind of fantasy associated with the real person. Take, for example, the film The Rocketeer, in which Timothy Dalton plays a character clearly modelled upon Errol Flynn, who turns out to be a Nazi sympathiser. This is clearly an enactment of a long discredited and completely unfounded series of claims about Flynn's alleged political sympathies, (a reading of Flynn's autobiography, My Wicked, Wicked Ways, not to mention his involvement in the film Cuban Rebel Girls, would suggest that his sympathies, to the extent that he actually had any real interest in politics, tended to lie in the opposite direction). Another film including a thinly veiled Errol Flynn is, of course, My Favourite Year, in which Peter O'Toole's Flynn surrogate also perpetuates popular, yet not entirely accurate myths abut the late movie star. In this case, however, the myths are more benign, playing out as an exaggerated version of his hell raising ways. Likewise, films about the 'rat pack' will usually play to the established stereotypes and 'received wisdom' about the characters: Sinatra is inevitably the crooner troubled by his Mafia connections, Dean Martin the amiable drunk and so on.
The obsessive resurrecting of dead stars becomes most problematic, though, when it comes to female stars, most specifically, so-called 'sex symbols'. In particular, Marilyn Monroe. I've lost count of the number of ersatz 'Blonde Bombshells' I've seen portrayed on screen, as just about every aspect of her life and death have been probed and examined. There seems to be an overwhelming desire to somehow reanimate her sexual allure to an extent that borders on necrophilia. Virtual necrophilia. It really does make me a trifle uneasy. Mind you, things can only get worse - with digital technology it will no longer be necessary to find actors who look vaguely like the original, film makers will be able to actually recreate the real thing. It's already happening: just look at that recreation of Peter Cushing that Star Wars sequel. Once the technology becomes cheap enough and is accessible by the most unscrupulous end of the sexploitation industry, we'll undoubtedly see those Marilyn Monroe nude scenes - and more- as she finally, posthumously, appears in a hardcore porn movie. Come on, you just know that it is going to happen.
It's a bank holiday and all sorts of things are going on right now, but I decided that I'd just stick to the trains today. This time around we have a mixture of freight and passenger trains, not to mention a mixture of motive power. First up is a BRCW Type 3 diesel (what we nowadays call a Class 33) on an unfitted freight train. The loco is an old Lima model which, to be honest, I'm surprised still runs. It isn't terribly detailed and growls noisily when it runs, but nonetheless it captures the character of these workhorses, which served BR (SR) faithfully for forty plus years. Passing the freight train as it sits stopped at a (currently non-existent) signal in the station, is rebuilt Merchant Navy 'Clan Line', hauling the diverted 'Pines Express'. The loco is my venerable Wrenn rebuilt Bulleid pacific which, over the past couple of months, has had a lot of work done on it to return it to service. It is seen here before the latest work, which involved reverting the loco-to-tender coupling to its standard configuration - the closer coupling it still has here is what contributes to its sometimes jerky and hesitant performance.
The coaches behind it are another rake of Trix BR Mk1s. As noted before, these are slightly underscale, thanks to Trix's insistence on equating '00' gauge to 1/80 scale, rather than 1/76, like everyone else. As long as they aren't run coupled up to correct scale coaches, however, the difference really isn't apparent. The final train on view is a parcels train hauled by JA class Electro-Diesel E6001 (what we'd now call a Class 73). This is another Lima loco, of later vintage to the Type 3, recently returned to service after repairs. In contrast to the Type 3, the body detailing is fantastic - it is probably one of the nicest models Lima ever produced, (a version is still available from Hornby). As the layout has no third rail, we have to assume that it is hauling its train using its auxiliary diesel engine, rather than on full electric power. The train behind it is a mixture of Triang-Hornby, Lima and Mainline. As well as the trains, parts of the newly laid storage yard, already filled with stock and locos, can be glimpsed in some shots.
This particular collection of motive power (not to mention the presence of the 'Pines Express' on part of the Waterloo mainline), would place the period at around 1965-66, when all three locos could be seen running in these versions of their liveries. (Both the Type 3 and the JA - introduced in 1959 and 1962 respectively - were originally painted all green with grey roofs, the yellow warning panels being added in the mid-sixties). Finally, for what is worth, the real E6001 and 'Clan Line' still exist and run to this day, (although E6001 now has a different number).
Well, it's a bank holiday weekend and, as the main TV channels seem determined to ignore this fact by failing to make any effort to come up with special programming, I thought that here at Sleaze Diary, I'd provide a special holiday weekend presentation: Konga. In German. This is another of those Super * feature film digests that were popular back in the sixties and seventies, before the advent of home video. While many are incredibly disjointed, presenting an incoherent jumble of scenes from their source, I have to say, that this version of Konga actually does encompass all of the film's highlights. If they can be called that. A poverty row rip off of King Kong, courtesy of Herman Cohen, the film is paded out with lots of dialogue scenes and a sub plot involving the giant ape being used as an instrument of revenge, not to mention a means of removing love rivals. It does boast another bonkers performance from Micheal Gough as the mad scientist responsible for turning a chimp into a man in a gorilla suit.
This digest version does spare us the creepiness of most of middle aged Gough's romantic pursuit of one of his young students. It does, however, do nothing to shed light upon her fate: as in the full length movie, she is last seen being grabbed by the arm by a carnivourous plant. Whether it eats her or not, we never know. This one used to be a late night favourite on the BBC and Channel 4 - of late it has been turning up on Talking Pictures TV quite regularly. It really is a terrible film, yet bizarrely entertaining, with its typically eccentric performance from Gough, nonsensical dialogue and utter disregard for logic. The footage of the military letting off their weapons in central London were filmed, without permission, on the Embankment, resulting in complaints to the police. The parade of shops the dead Konga is seen in front of were situated round the corner from Merton Studios, where Konga was filmed and feature in many of the studio's productions. While the studio is now a housing estate, those shops are still there.
You would have thought, all these decades on from Bruce Lee's death, that the whole 'Brucesploitation' phenomena would have finally burned itself out. While his actual film catalogue has now become part of 'respectable' cinema, the subject of serious critical analyses, and his life, martial arts techniques and philosophy have been assessed and reassessed, it seems that, for some, this still isn't enough. Some mainstream filmmakers, backed by major US studios, still seem to think that there is an appetite for 'new' Bruce Lee films. At least, this is the message I took away from my recent viewing of Birth of the Dragon (2016). While, in terms of budget and production values, it might seem a world away from all those cheap seventies Hong Kong made fake Bruce Lee movies and biopics, make no mistake, in terms of 'Brucesploitation', it is cut from the same cloth as those films. Like many of them, it purports to portray a perticular incident from early in Lee's career, long before he found fame in film and TV. In this case, it the behind-closed-doors he had with fellow martial arts teacher Wong Jack Man in San Francisco in 1964. Now, there is already a lot of misinformation surrounding this incident, which the film contrives to add to. For one thing, it portrays Wong Jack Man as some kind of Shaolin monk on a pilgrimage from China, whereas, in reality, he was Hong Kong born and taught martial arts in the San Francisco area. (Which he continued to do until his retirement in 2005, rather than returning to China, as he does in the movie).
Accounts of the fight and the reasons behind have always been contradictory. Lee's camp claimed the fight lasted only three minutes or so, with Lee emerging a clear victor. Man, by contrast, claimed it lasted 20-25 minutes with him as the victor. Other accounts claim the fight was inconclusive, with Lee resorting to unfair strikes against Man. This latter version seems to be the one the film favours (excluding Lee's unfair tactics) for the purposes of its plot, which casts the conflict as being less a result of any rivalry between Lee and Man, (in reality, it seems that it was the result of an open challenge from Lee, although his widow has claimed that it was the result of Man's disapproval of Lee teaching non-Chinese people Wing Chun), than the result of outside forces. In this case, the fight is arranged via Chinatown crime figures, for betting purposes, with the fate of a Chinese prostitute one of Lee's students is in love with, depending upon its outcome. Which brings us to the crux of the film's problems: in the process of completely fictionalising an episode from Lee's life, it also relegates Lee to being a supporting character in his own story. The focus of the film is placed firmly upon Lee's entirely fictional, not to mention white American, student. By doing so, it commits the 'crime' that concerned the real Lee so much: the fact that so much western pop culture relegated non-whites, particularly the Chinese, to secondary, stereotypical roles, in the belief that audiences couldn't accept a real Chinese person in a lead role. Because there's no doubt that here Bruce Lee is reduced to a stereotype - that of the angry young Chinese guy. To add insult to injury, it does nothing to explore his motivations for teaching martial arts to non-Chinese in the first place - that he hoped it could be a first step in breaking down the stereotypes and introducing white Americans to the complexities of real Chinese culture.
But this isn't the first time that Hollywood has misrepresented the Bruce Lee-Wong Jack Man fight. Back in the nineties Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story, a big budget biopic, completely fictionalised it,to the extent of replacing Man with an entirely different character. In this version, Lee fights Johnny Sun, who represents the Chinese community who don't approve of him teaching martial arts to outsiders. Significantly, in this telling, although wins the fight, Sun launches an attack on him afterward, (something Lee was claimed to have done to Wong Jack Man after their fight). This rewriting of history shouldn't be surprising, as Dragon was derives from his widow's biography of him: Bruce Lee: The Man Only I Knew. But at least Dragon puts Lee front and centre in his own story, even if its fictionalisation of some aspects of it are on a par with the average 'Brucesploitation' biopic. A more recent portrayal of Lee has proven controversial for its apparent casting of him in a unfavourable light. Tarantino's Once Upon a Time in Hollywood presents us with a clearly fictional episode in Lee's career, where, while working on The Green Hornet, an arrogant and egotistical Lee comes into conflict with Brad Pitt's stuntman, Cliff. The fight, which could be seen as a comment on the real life fight with Wong Jack Man, ends inconclusively, although Lee comes out of it as being, well, a bit of an arsehole. It is interesting that the reaction to this portrayal garnered far more criticism than the broadly similar characterisation in Birth of the Dragon. After all, the Tarantino version of Lee is clearly fictional and the incident is shown as recalled by Cliff who, it is implied, might be a reliable narrator, (it is notable that in a later scene, with Sharon Tate, Lee is shown as being a nice guy), whereas Birth of the Dragon purports to be 'real'.
Of course, the problem is that the 'real' Bruce Lee has effectively vanished amidst the mythologising of him that has occurred since his death. Indeed, this mythologising started virtually the moment he died, elevating him to a heroic stats that confused the real man with the characters he played and made him - to his fans, at least - immune from any criticism. This process is entirely understandable - Lee was undoubtedly the first Chinese performer to really break through into mainstream western pop culture, his star status accepted by non-Chinese audiences without question. His style of fighting popularised the martial arts, taking them to a mass audience, while his action orientated films with predominantly contemporary setting helped revolutionise the King Fu cinema industry. But it has to be said that films like Birth of the Dragon which, on the one hand want to show the 'real' Lee, but on the other want to please devoted fans by fictionalising his life in order to maintain the myth, really add nothing to the legend. Moreover, it doesn't even have decency to be insanely entertaining like the more bizarre manifestions of Hong Kong 'Brucesploitation'.
As I've mentioned before, one of the drawbacks of the current situation is that I find it ever more difficult to come up with ideas either for posts here, or stories at The Sleaze. The problem, of course, is that, under lockdown, nothing much ever happens to me. I just sit at home, watch TV, read and play with my trains. Come to think of it, that sounds like normal life to me. Except that under normal conditions I get out of the house, go places, have social interactions, get pissed off with people and all the other things that fuel regular postings here. Moreover, there is rarely anything in the news other than coronavirus these days, thereby restricting any inspiration for stories at The Sleaze. The fact is that there are limits to how many satirical stories you can do about Covid-19 and the lockdown. I know, I feel that I've done them all over the past few weeks. All of which brings us to the current situation. Normally, about now, I'd be preparing to come up with a new story for The Sleaze. I'd usually have a firm idea for it - more often than not based around something I'd already written here. But this week, I have absolutely nothing. Well, nothing that is, but a title that swam, unbidden, into my head over the weekend: 'Vampire Jesus'.
That's all I have, just that random title, no actual story idea or anything. So that's the question I'm chewing over here - is there a viable story of some kind to be eked out from those two words? The most obvious thing would be to take the litral approach and come up with something - possible a fake movie review - concerning some kind of messiah for the bloodsuckers: perhaps promising an end to life everlasting? perhaps a more fruitful approach, though, would be that of Jesus actually being a vampire - vampirism as an analogy for the spread of religion? The bare bones are there: the promise of everlasting life, the drinking of Christ's blood, the 'conversion' of acolytes, JC coming back from the grave. Even the vampire's aversion to to the cross could be explained as actually being some kind of reverance for the symbol of their progenitor - they actually back away in supplication. There are various ways the story could be framed: sensational new book on the subject, shocking film or TV documentary about to be released, etc. I'm still not entirely convinced that entire story can be worked up from this - but at least it is a start and, right now, it is all I've got. I'll sleep on it and see what I can come up with tomorrow.
It is sobering to realise that Summer is almost upon us, yet the year feels as if it has never really started. Of course, we've had to give up most of Spring to Covid-19, spending the majority of it locked up in our homes, instead of being able to get out and enjoy the rebirth of nature that the season brings. Which means, thanks to this lost season, the onset of Summer seems sudden and unexpected. Normally at this time of year I'm beginning to plan my late Summer break, but this year I have no idea whether I'll be able to get out on the road as I normally do, whether any of the places I usually visit will be open to the public. I'm hoping to take advantage of the relaxation on the restrictions on how far you can travel to take exercise to drive a few miles out of Crapchester later this week, for a walk in the country. Not that the onset of Summer should be used an excuse to further erode the lockdown, as increasing numbers on the right now seem to want to do. Unfortunately, the coronavirus crisis is far from over. I know that the government are currently trying to emphasise the positives - the falling death and infection rates - but these are only declining because of the strict lockdown measures. Lifting it too fast will simply throw all of this away.
The fact is that a virus behaves in an entirely predictable manner: it reproduces and replicates itself. To do this, it needs to infect suitable hosts. Without a vaccine, the only way to stop it from reproducing is to deprive it of the vectors - which in the case of Covid-19 are human beings - it needs. With something this virulent, the surest way of doing so is to isolate ourselves from other humans as much as possible, avoiding close contact. Now, I'd hope that this is all obvious to everyone, that the reason for the lockdown is self-evident. But apparently not. The number of people, primarily on the right, who seem to want to contest this logic is quite disturbing. For them, the economic cost of lockdown outweighs the potential cost in lives of lifting it too fast, too soon. 'People have been terrorised into thinking they could die', complained one such pillock the other day, as he tried to downplay the seriousness of the situation and characterise all those government warnings as alarmism. The fa ct is, of course, that you might die from Covid-19. Thirty four thousand plus people have done so on the UK alone, to date. Not all of them had underlying health conditions, either. It is something of a lottery as to how badly the virus might affect you if you contract it.
The reality is that if the lockdown hadn't been imposed, infection rates would have soared, health services would have been overwhelmed and the economy would have taken an even bigger and longer hit as the workforce fell ill en masse and the country ground to a halt. Death rates would also have soared. With the lockdown, the economy has taken a hit, but death rates have been lower. Which is what the anti-lockdown brigade cannot or will not grasp: that economically it was a lose-lose situation. Whatever strategy the government followed, it was gong to take a hit. The only choice was as to how big a hit and how many lives were lost. Sweeping away the lockdown because it is encouraging people to be lazy, (or, even if they do fear for their health, they are being irrational, it is implied), as these right wingers seem to think, will simply risk a resurgence of the virus as it more vectors become available to it, which will result in more deaths and yet another economic hit. Obviously, I have a vested interest in keeping the lockdown in place: I'm diabetic and 25% of those in the UK who have so far died from Covid-19 have had diabetes. But hey, I'm just being idle and/or irrational. Ah well, rant over - it's the only way I have of getting this stuff off of my chest with the pubs closed. Normal service to be resumed tomorrow.
In my quest to pump ever greater levels of schlock into my living room, I've spent some time this week scouring the Roku store for likely looking sources of scuzzy dead beat films. Of course, my dedication to tight fistedness means that an overriding criteria for these channels is that they must be free to air. After all, a lot of their content is going to be public domain, which means they didn't have to pay for any rights to screen it. Moreover, I really don't mind sitting through some commercials, if that helps to pay their running costs. Usually, it is clear from the channel description whether it is free to air or charges a subscription. But I've now encountered quite a few where it is far from obvious that they are a subscription channel - until you try to watch something, that is. Then you find that you have to pay. Often, these monthly subscriptions are pretty steep, bearing in mind that most of the product on offer is public domain and can be seen for free via multiple alternative sources. The worst offender I've come across even had, next to each film, a 'watch with ads' option. But if you clicked it, you were just directed to the 'sign up for a subscription' page. To add insult to injury, it claimed to have a 'free movies' section - which didn't exist. (Actually, there are several channels which use a mixed model of financing, including a selection of mainly public domain movies free to air, with ads, alongside a 'members section' for subscribers). Anyway, such channels are stone cold dead to me.
That said, I actually have nothing against subscription channels, especially if they are offering some kind of exclusive content, but they have to clear and up front about their financial model. There's set of channels on Roku (and probably other platforms) run by INC, which have a lot of the sort of stuff I watch - interestingly, they offer two versions of most of these channels: a 'regular', ad supported free to air version and a 'Gold' subscription variant. They are up front about this and about the fact that the subscription doesn't necessarily guarantee exclusive or extra content, but rather offers an ad-free viewing experience. Needless to say, I now have a number of the 'regular' INC channels on my device. There's quite a lot of overlap in content between them, but it gives me access to a decent range of schlock, (even some seventies British sex comedies on 'Grindhouse Grit'). Mind you, 'B Movie TV' remains my 'go to' place for a quick fix of schlock - unlike many Roku channels, rather than offering programming on demand, they stream to a schedule, so you can just dip in, never quite knowing what to expect. 'B-Zone' is similar channel, featuring a wider variety of schlocky programming. Thanks to these sorts of channels, I'm managing to maintain my principle of getting low rent entertainment without paying any subscriptions. Trust me, you don't need things like Netflix when 'B-Movie TV' exists.
An incredibly obscure - in the English speaking world, at least - Bond spoof, From Hong Kong, With Love, was one of a number of films from the era featuring French comedy music act Les Charlots. Like many such acts, this quartet is pretty much unknown outside of France - it is the curse of comedy that it doesn't travel well, tending to be firmly rooted in the culture of its origin. It is also notoriously difficult for comedy to transcend language barriers. The film's scenario echoes that of many Bond spoofs - 1967's Casino Royale, for instance - with the real 007 being indisposed in some way and an unsuitable substitute forced to step into the breach instead. In this case, Bond is shot dead in the opening gun-barrel sequence, so that when the Queen of England is kidnapped, MI6, deprived of its top man, turns to its French eequivalent for a replacement. They send a quartet of incompetent agents in the form of Les Charlots. (Interestingly, the real Bond being killed off before the action starts was also the scenario of an early, discarded, draft of the Casino Royale script, written by Ben Hecht). Much hilarity ensues.
In common with Italian Bond spoof OK Connery!, From Hong Kong, With Love features several familiar faces from the official Bond series, most notably Bernard Lee and Lois Maxwell. While in the earlier Italian film, although more or less playing their regular Bond roles, these two had different character names, here they are presented, in a blatant piece of copyright infringement, as M and Miss Moneypenny. Also appearing in the film is Clifton James, who had played Sheriff JW Pepper in Live and Let Die and Man With the Golden Gun. As can be seen from the trailer, while ostensibly a Bond spoof, From Hong Kong, With Love descends into being a more freewheeling satire on the times, with an appearance from a Richard Nixon impersonator and Mickey Rooney as a song and dance performing villain. The impressive looking car stunt on the banks of the Seine actually predates a similar sequence in View to a Kill by ten years and was orchestrated by the same stunt team, led by Remy Julienne. Finally, in another Bond connection lies in the name of the director: Yvan Chiffre. Le Chiffre, of course, being the villain of Casino Royale, itself originally filmed as a spoof, before the serious Daniel Craig version.
A while ago we cast a critical eye over two Italian Star Wars rip offs, The Humanoid and Starcrash. While these are undoubtedly the two best known examples of this sub-genre of Italian exploitation cinema, one cannot really leave the subject without mention of the films of Alfonso Brescia. A prolific director across a number of genres, between 1977 and 1979, under the name Al Bradley, Brescia turned out four space operas, back-to-back. War of the Planets, Battle of the Stars, War of the Robots and Star Odyssey, shared special effects, costumes, sets, cast members and even plot details. While the films were undoubtedly designed to cash in on the success of Star Wars, the first three, in particular, owe more to sixties Italian space opera, (like Antonio Margheritis's 'Gamma One' series, which had also consisted of four films shot back-to-back with shared sets and cast - and even includes an entry titled War of the Planets), or even 1930s and 40s cinema serials. Indeed, it is probable that at the time the first of these films went into production, nobody involved in their making had actually seen Star Wars: as far as Italian film makers were concerned, it was just another successful Hollywood product to imitate - the details didn't matter just so long as it some space bound action, robots and aliens.
Of the four films, Star Odyssey is the one which most breaks the established format. Moreover, with Star Wars having been on global release for a couple of years by the time it went into production, Brescia and his collaborators had had sufficient time to incorporate some direct references to the US film. In plot terms, it bears little resemblance to Star Wars and clearly draws some of its inspiration from other popular Italian movie genres, most notably the heist movie sub genre (itself inspired by Hollywood productions like Ocean's Eleven). Instead, the film presents a futuristic alien invasion story of sorts. The earth, it seems has been won at an intergalactic auction by evil alien Lord Kel, who intends enslaving the planet's inhabitants. Earth's space defences prove incapable of stopping his flying saucer, which lands on earth, where Kel and his army of golden androids, start capturing hundreds of Africans and putting them in suspended animation in his saucer. Apparently powerless to stop Kel, the earth authorities to out-of-favour scientific genius Professor Mauri. As well as being a genius, the Professor also possesses psychic powers, ('The Force') and has an R2D2 like robot, not to mention a niece who is also both a scientist and one of the film's obligatory hot babes. In order to defeat Kel, Mauri decides that he has to get his 'old team' back together. Unfortunately, two of them, (also both brilliant scientists), are in prison on the moon, convicted of some kind of heist, which is also the cause of the Professor's fall from grace.
To spring them, Mauri enlists the help of another former associate, the wonderfully named Dirk Laramie (Gianni Garko - Sartana himself), who also has psychic powers - he can see through cards in poker games, for instance. His niece, meanwhile, recruits another former associate, Norman, who fights robots for money. Also roped into the scheme is a hypnotised space fighter pilot, Lt Carrera, (nicknamed 'Hollywood', he is apparently a fan of thirties matinee idols and flounces around, striking poses and standing with his hands on his hips, in imitation of his heroes). In a diversion seemingly designed purely to pad out the running time, Norman rescues a pair of humanoid robots from a scrapyard, after they had turned themselves off in some kind of suicide pact, (they are equipped with emotions and had been in love, the 'female' one has metal eyelashes to denote her 'gender'). The Professor's plan centres around the idea of producing an 'anti-Inderium', 'Inderium' being the apparently impenetrable substance that Kel's saucer and androids are constructed from. Lord Kel also having psychic powers, (as half the cast of characters seem to have), and senses the Professor's plan and locates his lab, sending his golden androids (all wielding light sabre like Inderium swords), to kidnap him and his niece. Which they do, but are rescued from the saucer by the others. The 'anti-Inderium' developed, our heroes rush to the space port and take off in space fighters to engage a whole fleet of saucers that Kel now has heading for the earth. In the space battle that follows, apparently only Laramie survives, with the two scientists sprung from prison apparently perishing when Kel's saucer appears to explode. Except tat, in a 'twist' ending, the final scene sees Kel auctioning the earth off again, for a huge profit, before revealing that he has done some kind of deal with the two scientists, who get half of the money and the captive earthlings.
As this brief synopsis indicates, the film's plot does contain some novel elements: the idea of a space prison break, the assembling of a team of specialists much in the manner of a heist film and the whole idea of the earth being auctioned to the highest bidder. This latter element comes straight from forties and fifties pulp magazines and the final auction scenes looks as if it has been taken from the cover of such a publication. It is, without doubt, the best scene in the whole film. Unfortunately, this element is never really developed beyond simply being a plot device and, like the other novel plot aspects, appears all too briefly, with the script instead focusing on numerous repetitive scenes designed solely to pad out the running time. In fact, much of the plot makes no sense whatsoever - if the Professor's help is being enlisted by the authorities, then why does he have to behave in such a clandestine fashion, breaking people out of prison, for instance? Moreover, the final 'twist' makes little sense - we never learn what kind of deal the two scientists have done with Kel. What leverage could they possibly have? Why does he call them 'swindlers'? What can they possibly have conned him with? Also, on the moon, why do those gamblers continue to play poker with Laramie after, in the previous scene, having denounced him as a cheat for using his psychic powers to win? (The answer here seems to be that the two scenes have been edited in out of sequence, so sloppily has the film been assembled).
It doesn't help that the film's production values are threadbare: the effects (mainly taken from previous films) are clunky, the sets dull and featureless, (lots of blank walls and doors marked 'Spaceport 1'), and the costumes unimaginative. The budget is so impoverished that even 'Hollywood' Carrera's moustache appears to have been drawn onto his face. The two humanoid robots, while being one of the prop department's more accomplished achievements , are exceedingly irritating and add nothing to the plot. The performances are generally well below par, with actors either looking as if they are simply going through the motions or going well over the top. The dialogue, in the English language version at least, is trite and often makes little sense, resulting in a great deal of confusion for the viewer. Adding to the confusion, the photography is frequently so murky that it is difficult to make out what is going on. As for the synthesised musical score - it sounds like something that was arbitrarily dubbed onto the soundtrack post-production, rather than having been actually composed to accompany the onscreen action.
Curiously, the film seems to have ambitions to make some kind of 'statement' about slavery and the exploitation of indigenous races. Not only are black Africans being enslaved by those Aryan-looking golden androids, in their uniform blonde wigs, but the subject is later alluded to in regrd to one of the humanoid robot's attitude toward what it sees as the Professor's 'inferior' robot. But again, like many other aspects of the script, this is never developed or pursued. Such 'serious' plot elements are at odds with the overall tone of the film, which frequently tends toward the comedic, particularly with the characters of Carrera, Norman and the robots. This tendency toward comedy tends to undermine any attempts at the dramatic. At the film's end, for instance, the sacrifice of the various characters in the space battle and Laramie's return and budding romance with the Prof's waiting niece, are immediately forgotten as we cut to a scene of the Professor and the robots. The latter are lamenting that they can never consummate their love by 'going all the way' as they aren't properly equipped, (this was the reason for their suicide pact) - to which the Professor jovially replies that this isn't a problem as he can make the appropriate modifications. A bizarre scene with which to follow the preceding drama, not to mention one that conjures up some horrendous mental images of clanking robo-copulation.
Although Star Odyssey might rank as the most interesting of Brescia's space opera quartet, that really isn't saying much. Most available versions run at just under ninety minutes, yet it feels much longer. Incredibly, there is a longer version available. Whether the additional fifteen minutes clarifies any plot points, I don't know, as I simply haven't had the stamina to watch this version. The English language version now appears to be in the public domain, turning up regularly on streaming services. It can also be downloaded from the Internet Archive. Despite churning out four space operas in only a couple of years, Brescia wasn't quite finished with the genre, returning to it in 1980 for The Beast in Space, a softcore porno version of the genre. Once again, it was all done on a shoestring with those same saucers, golden android costumes and even some of the same cast once more going through the motions.
They never do manage to take that last bridge at Arnhem, do they? No matter how many times Channel Five show A Bridge Too Far, it always ends the same damned way. And they do show it a lot, whether on Channel Five itself or one of its various subsidiaries, (5Star, Paramount. 5SElect, etc), it has become their default war movie for filling a bank holiday afternoon. It has surpassed even Anzio and Battle of the Bulge in that respect, (although both of these are used by Channel Four and ITV 4 in similar capacities at present). It was on again last Friday, on that bank holiday they hijacked and moved from the Monday in order to use it to commemorate VE Day, (the VE, of course, standing for Victory in Europe, not, as the Daily Mail seemed to think, Victory over Europe). Look, I have nothing against giving people a day off for VE Day, but give it its own bank holiday, for God's sake, don't co-opt Labour Day instead. But to get back to the point, you'd think that, with the number of times the film gets shown on TV, they'd have figured out by now that they are dropping the British Airborne Division in the wrong place and equipping them with the wrong radios, not to mention the fact that, by now, they must surely know that the intelligence saying the Germans have armoured units in the are is correct. But they never learn. Anthony Hopkins is doomed to forever lead his men to defeat in Arnhem.
But, as I say, A Bridge Too Far was the main war movie offering on the VE Day 75th anniversary bank holiday. I know that ITV4 had a double bill of The Sea Wolves and The Battle of Britain on, but they had shown the same double bill the previous weekend, so it hardly represented any kind of effort on their part. Feeling under some vague moral obligation to watch some kind of war movie in order to 'honour' the fallen of WWII, but balking at the idea of watch XXXth Corps fail to reach Arnhem for the fiftieth time, I turned to my Roku box and its streaming channels. Surprisingly, I couldn't find much in the way of WWII movies, or war movies at all, in fact. Unless you count Zulu, that is. Or one of those movies set in an SS sex camp. I did, briefly toy with the idea of watching one of these, but they make me feel uneasy at the best of times. As I've noted before, I have a high tolerance level to bad taste, but somehow, sexploitation movies set in concentration camps seem to be just a step too far. Eventually I found the excellent Battle of Algiers on offer. Not a WWII movie, I accept, but a war film nonetheless. Its examination of the war against colonial imperialism made for a sobering antidote to all the Tory-led jingoism accompanying our own VE Day commemoration. Its a film that still impresses with its willingness to unflinchingly show the atrocities carried out by both sides in Algeria, despite its obvious sympathy with the Algerian rebels. It is also unafraid to present the French military commander in a relatively sympathetic light, emphasising that his strategy was driven public opinion in France, on both the left and right, that France should retain control of Algeria. Anyway, that was my VE Day - no lockdown busting street parties or congas, just a serious and thought-provoking war movie.
Back with the trains. Just for a change, instead of passenger workings, today we have some fast freight workings. The oil train is being hauled by my old Hornby 9F. This is a tender drive version of some considerable vintage and runs surprisingly smoothly. Except for one section of track (out of shot) which it consistently derails on. The fitted van train is in the charge of another venerable locomotive, my Hornby unrebuilt 'West Country'. This one was heavily modified more than twenty years ago, using the long unavailable Crownline detailing kit. It also has a five pole motor instead of its original X04 motor - it is an incredibly noisy motor, albeit powerful. Too powerful for the chassis, I suspect. Watching the video back, I can now clearly see the way the back end of the locomotive sways from side-to-side when cornering, possibly as a result of too much power being put through the driving axle. I currently have another unrebuilt 'West Country', constructed from Hornby parts, nearing completion - this has the original X04 motor fitted, so it will be interesting to compare its performance with the current model.
Getting back to the 9F's derailing problems. This is undoubtedly due to the fact that, following my major track relaying and realigning efforts, most of the track isn't pinned down, resulting in some unevenness. This also accounts for the sometimes halting progress of the 'West Country', which stops a couple of times, usually restarting itself. The track won't be permanently pinned down again until I've finisher rewiring the layout. Right now, only the two mainlines are connected up to the controllers. Hopefully, now that I've got the materials I need, I'll be able to start installing a form of 'cab control' which will allow trains to run anywhere on the layout. But before I solder any wires or connect any switches, I have to sort out the isolating sections, which means taking some of track apart again to install insulated track joiners. Initially, only two of the controllers will be wired in, but eventually, I hope to have all four operational, so that trains can be run on both mainlines, whilst either or both yards are shunted simultaneously. All of which will, without doubt, require copious amounts of swearing on my part before it is all sorted and working.
I've heard a lot about how many people have found this lockdown difficult, of how they've felt isolated, deprived of human contact and unable to escape the four walls of their own homes. Speaking personally, I've been enjoying it. Staying at home and avoiding people suits me. I'm anti-social by nature - I really don't like people much and prefer my own company. Being alone is my default setting: I've never needed others to validate my existence. I appreciate that not everybody is as self contained as I am, or are able to live inside their own heads for long periods, as I seem to do. For them, especially if they are having to isolate on their own, this lockdown must be a real challenge. But for me, it's been pretty good - left to my own devices, untroubled by work, (for a variety of reasons, mainly health related, I'm currently on special leave) or other people. Even when I go out to shop or exercise, it's an improvement: the usual social pressure to engage in casual conversation with strangers has vanished, as everybody just wants to get on with their business as quickly as possible and get home. And getting home is always what I desire. Work, for me, is a journey back home - all the time I am working, I'm simply counting down the hours, minutes even, until I can get back home again. Now, thanks to the lockdown, I don't have to make that daily journey - I can stay safely at home as long as I like. (I know, these could be taken as symptoms of depression, but that's nothing unusual for me).
Not that I've become a complete hermit or recluse during this lockdown. I've been in contact with family and friends and I've been a regular participant in a globe spanning series of video calls with fellow podcasters, (the audio from which can be found over at the Overnightscape Underground). That said, of late, I haven't been as diligent as I should in keeping in contact with some friends - that is one problem with this situation: the days roll into one and slip past, before you know it, weeks have gone by since contacting someone when you thought that it was only days). But the thing is that this lockdown has offered me a glimpse of a better lifestyle. Not an idyllic lifestyle, perhaps, but certainly better than my increasingly fraught normal working life. As I say, being at home, focusing on my various projects suits me. The only things restraining me from doing more on those projects is the lack of easy availability of some of the materials I require and the fact that, like everyone else, I just don't know how long this situation is going to carry on. This time has, however, given me food for thought with regard to work, moving me more and more toward the idea of not going back when the lockdown ends, of handing in my resignation and continuing with my present lifestyle. Now, it is all very well eulogising life under lockdown, but, of course, right now I'm still being paid. Walking away from my job would make it a very different proposition. That said, my finances are very jealthy right now - I've spent years building up my bank account with the idea of being able to walk away from my current job. That moment might finally have come. I have no mortgage and no dependents, so I'd be good for a few years if need be. The fact is that I'm in a position where, even if I didn't want to start running down those savings, I don't need to work full time, (I only work four days a week as it is - if the job paid better, it would be even less). There are possibilities out there for generating income through working reduced hours. I know, I've been looking into them. So, you never know, this pandemic could yet have a silver lining, for me, at least.
The Dragon Lives Again isn't just about the most bizarre manifestation of 'Brucesploitation', it is also one of the most bizarre films you are ever likely to see, regardless of genre. Just a brief synopsis of the plot gives some idea of its strangeness: After Bruce Lee dies, he finds himself in the Underworld, where he has to fight Dracula, James Bond and The Man With No Name, amongst other pop culture icons. Coming relatively late in the 'Brucesploitatiom' cycle - which had moved from films made utilising unused footage of Lee, biographies to 'Bruce Lee' films starring lookalikes - The Dragon Lives Again is as much a parody of the whole 'Brucesploitation' phenomena as it is a contribution to it. The tone is set at the outset, with some of the denizens of the Underworld complaining that the still comatose new arrival 'doesn't even look like Bruce Lee', only to be told thar 'people's faces change after they die'. A sure comment on the fact that many of the faux Bruce Lee's bore barely a passing resemblance to the original. While he is still comatose, much is made of the size of Lee's (Bruce Leong) weapon, which is concealed beneath his shroud and turns out to be his trademark nun-chuck. Indeed, much is made of the Kung Fu legend's sexual prowess and promiscuity, with Bruce himself lamenting that it is the fact that he cheated on his wife which has lead to him winding up in the Underworld, awaiting judgement by the Gods, who will determine if he goes to heaven or hell.
The film continually chips away at the 'Legend' of Bruce Lee, portraying him as sufficiently egotistical to, initially, refuse to believe that he could be dead, while his arrogance and over-confidence causing him to take a severe beating when he unwisely takes on an undead gang of thugs early in the film. Even his Kung Fu school, where he taught pupils like Steve McQueen and James Garner is parodied: in the Underworld he finds himself schooling the likes of Popeye, Cain from the Kung Fu Tv series, (finally played by a Chinese actor) and the One Armed Swordsman. Now, the presence of all these pop culture icons brings us to the film's other aspect: as well as parodying the 'Brucesploitation' phenomena, it also seems to be trying to make some broader point about the nature of fame and the idolisation of pop culture figures to the point that they become, in effect, mythical figures. Quite how and why fictional figures such as Popeye, James Bond, The Man With No Name, (some sources refer to him as actually being Clint Eastwood, but while played in the manner of Eastwood, he is clearly meant to represent this one specific, not to mention iconic, Eastwood character), Dracula and The Exorcist find themselves in the Underworld, when they were never actually alive and therefore couldn't have actually died, isn't clear.
I strongly suspect that something has been lost in translation with regard to this strand of the film, (a perennial problem when watching dubbed versions of foreign language films - one can never be sure just how accurate the translation actually is). My best guess here is that they represent cultural icons which have passed out of popularity and therefore, figuratively, 'died'. (The Man With No Name, for instance, had been discarded by Eastwood in favour of other characters, Dracula had been cinematically exhausted by the seventies, Jame Bond's future was uncertain at the time, with ManWith the Golden Gun having performed only moderately at the box office, Kung Fu had been cancelled, Popeye was very much seen as a relic of the forties, while The Exorcist had suffered a disastrous and much ridiculed sequel, for instance). Just like the souls of the regular humans, they await their fate in the Underworld: will they be reinvented and revived, or consigned to pop culture history? This reading of the film would also imply that Lee himself is seen as an 'icon', given legendary status by his idolising fans and, with his death, awaiting fate to decide whether his legend will continue, or whether it will fade. Consequently, his ascent back to earth at the film's climax, after he has triumphed over his foes, could be read as an analogy for the continuation of his legend via the 'Brucesploitation' phenomena which effectively sought to resurrect him. Or perhaps I'm over intellectualisng what is, at its heart, an exploitation film.
On the most basic level The Dragon Lives Again is a delirious piece of entertainment, with the sight of Bruce Lee going up against he likes of Dracula and Zaitoichi proving both hugely enjoyable and totally surreal. Surrealism, in fact, is the hallmark f this production, which turns its cheapness into a virtue by representing the Underworld with the most basic of sets and locations, (the latter consisting of a cave and a quarry). The artificiality of the setting (and its resemblance to a film set) is continually emphasised by the lighting and cinematography. Structurally, the film parodies they typical Hong Kong martial arts movie of the era, with the hero being tested by a series of encounters with ever more powerful foes, triumphing by virtue of his superior skills. The plot merely exists in order to provide a framework for a series of Kung Fu fights. In The Dragon Lives Again, even these fights are parodies of he typical fights you would find in a Bruce Lee film (whether genuine or facsimile), with the names of each move flashing up on the screen. In the fight with the blind Zaitoichi, for example, while the names of Lee's moves are all titles from his films, the former's get ever more ludicrous and nonsensical as the fight progresses. The fight with Dracula culminates with the vampire's legion of the undead (represented by guys in skeleton costumes) pinning Lee down as the Count approaches for the fatal bite - the caption 'The Third Leg of Bruce' suddenly flahes on the screen as Lee apparently sprouts an extra limb with which to kick the Count in the nether regions.
If you are wondering why Bruce Lee ends up fighting all of these characters, it is that he finds a protection racket being run in the Underworld by the Godfather, who has Dracula, Man With No Name, The Exorcist, Jame Bond, even Emanuelle from the porn movies, as henchmen. Naturally, out of his innate sense of justice, Bruce goes up against them, first teaching the other denizens of the Underworld how to defend themselves before taking the henchmen on one-by-one after discovering that The Godfather is plotting to overthrow the King of the Underworld and install himself as King. Having defeated the villains, Bruce then faces the wrath of the King himself, who is intimidated by Lee's Kung Fu prowess and jealous of his reputed sexual prowess (the Queen has already tried to seduce Bruce, resulting in the King sleeping with Emanuelle in a fit pique, unaware that she is trying to assassinate him by inducing a heart attack with her strenuous love making). The King invokes the help of legendary Chinese folk hero Zhong Kui (portrayed as a foul mouthed old man). The latter summons up a band of demons (who look like badly wrapped mummies), requiring Lee to enlist the assistance of Cain, the One Armed Swordsman and Popeye (who downs his trademark can of spinach). Naturally, Lee and his friends emerge triumphant and he forces the King to rule more fairly and send him back to earth.
Like many Hong Kong films of the era, The Dragon Lives Again gleefully disregards any notion of copyright or intellectual property rights, not only misappropriating the images of Popeye, Cain, 007 and other copyrighted characters, but also their theme music. The portrayals of the various pop culture icons is hugely variable, generally relying upon things like costumes and trademark props to make them identifiable. Bond, for instance, wears a tuxedo and carries a Walther PPK, while Man With No Name has a poncho, wide brimmed hat and constantly chomps on a cigar - Popeye appears in his styilised sailor costume, complete with too small hat perched on his head and corn cob pipe clenched between his teeth. Others are less identifiable - The Exorcist looks like a generic Catholic priest, while the Godfather, to be frank, looks more like Elvis, (initially, I actually thought that he was meant to be Elvis, which would have been even more surreal). To add to the surreal nature of proceedings, although Bond and Emannuelle are portrayed by white actors, all the others are played by Chinese performers - believe me, the sight of a Chinese Popeye and a Dracula, complete with cape and fangs, but portrayed by a Chinese guy, is more than a little disconcerting. The performances are, to put it mildly, broad, but this is entirely consistent with what is, in effect, a farce. Bruce Leong, in the lead, while not looking like Lee, has the moves and is suitably charismatic. Whether you want to see it as a satirical commentary on the 'Brucesploitation' phenomena and the nature of fame generally, or just as an utterly bizarre cinematic experience, The Dragon Lives Again is well worth watching (it has recently turned up on Roku's B-Movie TV). It is possibly the closest you can get to an out of body experience while watching TV.
There's been a fair amount of chatter in the media lately about how people are apparently dreaming more during this lockdown. Whether they are, or not, I don't know - the media is currently so desperate for copy to fill their pages and air time that they will grasp at anything for a story. Anyway, many of these dreams allegedly involve insects. I'm sure that there is some deep Freudian meaning to this -- or it might just be subconscious mind making literal with the idea of the Covid-19 virus being a 'bug'. Personally, I haven't noticed any difference between my pre and post lockdown dreaming. As I've discussed before, since I've been taking a cocktail of medication for my blood pressure and diabetes, I've been experiencing very vivid, cinematic even, dreams on a nightly basis. So vivid, in fact, that I often remember details of them long after waking up. As I've mentioned before, they are usually so enjoyable that I look forward to going to sleep. In fact, I don't even seem to go into a particularly deep sleep in order to start dreaming - even light snooze on the sofa or a doze are sufficient for me to slip away into the land of dreams.
Exactly what the link between the medication and the dreaming is, I don't know. I assume that it is down, at least in part, to the fact that by lowering my blood pressure by relaxing and unfurring my blood vessels, the blood pressure medication ensures an increased and steadier flow of blood to the brain, even when I sleep. Certainly, when my blood pressure was dangerously high a couple of years ago, I suffered the classic symptoms of mental confusion - in retrospect, I couldn't think straight, my reasoning and judgement were impaired and my memory was affected. One of the clear signs that the medication was working was the fact that I became more rational and my judgement calls improved. But to get back to the point, the dreams I experience these days are also hugely varied - I recall a fragment of one from the other night where I was discussing the musical score for a feature film I was apparently involved in making. I suspect that this might have had something to do with a conversation I had some time previously about Giallo movie scores - it obviously lingered in my subconscious for some reason. Some of the recurring themes of my dreams still turn up: I still occasionally dream about having a second property I haven't lived in for years, or my existing property having extra rooms, (there's a variation where there are modern flats built on the site of this terrace of houses - I live in one one of the ground floor ones in the dream), and my car is still never parked where I left it, (but if I walk away, then back again, there it is. But these themed dreams are far less common now and I've stopped having the one about being unprepared for imminent exams altogether. Nowadays, there's far more variety in my dreaming - but I think that I can safely say that they never involve insects.
I saw most of this the other day on the B-Zone (a streaming channel not to be confused with B Movie TV, which covers similar ground). Originally released as Lancelot and Guinevere, this was something of personal project for the idiosyncratic director/actor Cornel Wilde. I'm something of a sucker for Arthurian themed films and I've consequently sat through many a bad adaptation of the legends, often departing radically from the accepted narrative. I say accepted narrative, but the reality is that the Arthurian cycle derives from a number of different sources: the central parts of the myth, involving Arthur, his knights and Merlin derive from the Celtic tradition, while other elements, such as Tristan and Isolde and Lancelot come from German and French origins, respectively. Malory made a valiant attempt at synthesising them all together into a single text, with his Morte D'Arthur, but the disparate texts and legends of King Arthur's exploits mean that te whole cycle is open to interpretation. Sword of Lancelot is interesting as it tells the story from the perspective of Lancelot (played by Wilde, with an ill-advised French accent), which means that the likes of Merlin and King Arthur himself are relegated to the roles of secondary characters.
As the original title suggests, the film's plot focuses upon the affair between Lancelot and Guinevere, which eventually tears the Round Table apart and results in Arthur's defeat and death. However, we don't actually see most of the latter events, instead being told about them as Lancelot is exiled in Brittany. In a departure from the traditional narrative, Arthur and Mordred don't kill each other in a final battle, to which Lancelot arrives too late. Instead, we're told that Arthur has died and that Mordred is trying to seize the crown, so Lancelot returns to England, takes control of what remains of Arthur's forces and confronts Mordred in a final battle. Despite such departures, (a result of the fact that the film puts Lancelot rather than Arthur at its centre), Sword of Lancelot, from what I've seen of it, seems a far better adaptation of Arthurian myth that films such as the better known and more prestigious Knights of the Round Table (1953). The battle scenes are of a suitably large scale and the portrayal of medieval warfare surprisingly realistic, with heads split by axes and limbs lopped off with swords. The cast is filled out with various familiar character actors like George Baker and Brian Aherne. What I saw of it interested me sufficiently that I'm going to have to make the effort to watch this one in its entirety.
