Deep Space Nine Season 1

Deep Space Nine Season 1 is a Bit of a Hot Mess

By Kristin Battestella

Yes, many elite fans find the second Star Trek spinoff series Deep Space Nine to be superior Trek TV.  However, when the show first began in 1993, I found myself disinterested and never went back.  Now, we’ve decided to try this debut season again, and thus far, DS9 still has a lot- perhaps too many- growing pains.

Cardassia has finally withdrawn from its half-century occupation of the planet Bajor, and the Federation sends widowed Commander Benjamin Sisko (Avery Brooks) along with his son Jake (Cirroc Lofton) to the newly rechristened space station Deep Space Nine to ease the transition for former resistance fighter Major Kira Nerys (Nana Visitor) as Bajor rebuilds towards Federation membership.  Also along on the Federation’s frontier are newly reassigned from the Enterprise Chief Miles O’Brien (Colm Meaney) and a fresh out of the academy doctor, Lieutenant Julian Bashir (Siddig El Fadil).  Sisko’s old friend, a Trill named Dax (Terry Farrell), joins him as they discover the first known stable wormhole- a passage to the Gamma Quadrant created by aliens worshipped as prophets on Bajor.  Interstellar trade, tension, and exploration to the newly contacted region are only the beginning.

Whew! It all sounds magical and promising, I know. Unfortunately, the writing and storylines from longtime Trek producers Rick Berman, Michael Piller, Ira Stephen Behr, and their team are awfully slow and dry. There’s a feeling of busy space station happenings off screen- but the viewer gets to see a lot of Star Trek: The Next Generation filler instead.  At worst, it’s too much of TNG’s leftovers; at best, there are too many TNG déjà vu similarities.  It’s as if the direction and initial planning for Deep Space Nine is torn at the foundation. Yes, we want DS9 to attract Next Generation fans- the akin science fiction ideals and explorations are there of course. Out the gate, however, DS9 simply doesn’t have the allure.  Core characters here are too broadly written, with little more than their bland show profile information given.  Though interesting, the titular “Dax” feels like an inferior “Measure of a Man” trial, and “Q-Less” completely screws the fun out of prior Q appearances.  Likewise, Deep Space Nine’s built-in Bajoran and Cardassian nucleus feels barely touched upon except for the solid “Past Prologue”, “Duet”, and “In the Hands of the Prophets.”   Looking back, even the Trek crew admits the inferiority of this debut season, but it doesn’t take much to see it. Useless episodes like “Move Along Home”, “If Wishes were Horses”, and “Dramatis Persona” are dream/games/crew possessed and acting weird shows that do nothing to advance narratives or characters.  Of course, this format is nothing new in genre television and especially Trek. In fact, such unusual or diversionary bottle shows are often welcomed- but later in a series, when one can deviate from the firmly established source.  In this first season, how many people going wonky on a space station bottle shows can one have before the audience realizes we know nothing about the players? What’s going on on this space station and why should we care?  Perhaps “Babel” is the exception here, as it comes early enough in the season to show viewers how our players react in a crisis. Otherwise, the episodes themselves are uneven, imbalanced, or poorly planned depending upon which characters are leading the A and B storylines.  Some parts and players in some shows are better than others, creating a serious inconsistency.  In today’s desperate and changing television model, these 19 episodes would not have survived in syndication or on cable, much less prime time. DS9 stands up best when it sticks to its own budding Bajoran/Cardassian mythos, creates interesting characters on its station, and explores the unique SF concepts within those dynamics. It is quite ingenious that we’re supposed to see more politics, religion, spiritualism, disagreements, and confrontation on DS9 instead of the longstanding ideal Trekdom. So why is this first season deviating from its plans with funny filler knock offs every other episode?

Naturally, the cast is hampered by all this indecision.  Avery Brooks (Spencer for Hire) is the man, and yet Benjamin Sisko- a mere commander despite DS9’s increasing strategic importance- is meh. It’s surprising because we know Brooks can be so glorious, but Sisko is too dry, made too everyman and uninteresting somehow. Despite a lovely father and son dynamic, Cirroc Lofton as Jake Sisko is inexplicably barely there, too. Why are we not seeing this unique relationship if the show is about life on a space station? It is mostly juvenile adventure when we do see Jake, yes. Fortunately, he and Aron Eisenberg as the young Ferengi Nog are a lot of fun together. It’s not the annoyance of Wesley Crusher on TNG at all, and it’s as if the writers don’t know what to do with their players. Sure, Trek audiences already know and love Chief O’Brien, but Colm Meaney really only excels in “Captive Pursuit.” Otherwise, he’s the same old lovable Chief with lots of techno babble to do, and again, it is a little weird that a would-be lowly NCO has a barely there team for his pseudo chief engineer role on a space station. Likewise, one would presume his wife Keiko would be a major character on the show. But alas, Rosalind Chao is only a guest star, leaving Keiko more often than not just an on-camera dialogue reference. You would think there would be a lot of use for a botanist from the Enterprise to grow plants on a space station, but apparent not so on Deep Space Nine.

 Thankfully, Armin Shimerman (Buffy) as Ferengi bartender Quark and Rene Auberjonois (MASH) as the shape shifting head of security Odo know their characters’ unique complexity and bemusing antagonism.  Ferengi centric episodes like “The Nagus,” with Wallace Shawn (Clueless) as Zek, enlighten us with wit and otherwise new and unseen Ferengi intricacy and charm.  Though also fringing on a ‘Data esque’ feeling, “The Vortex” and “The Forsaken” are great Odo shows. He’s special, he’s crabby, he’s alone, and the seed is there for years of fine development. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for Terry Farrell (Becker) as Trill Jadzia Dax and Siddig El Fadil (24) as Doctor Bashir.  We can forgive the changes to the Trill design, sure, but Dax isn’t very interesting beyond her spots. Seriously, she does almost nothing but sit in the same place and press buttons.  And Bashir, I must say, seems like a real jerk, even a quack.  He almost always doesn’t know what he’s doing, and nearly every case is something he has never dealt with before.  Really, how can a junior grade lieutenant be your only doctor anyway? Part of the stagnancy in DS9’s first season is simply that the undercooked players aren’t developed or even that likeable. Wild card Nana Visitor (Wildfire) as Major Kira is both annoying on her Bajoran high horse and layered with sympathy, anger, and pain.  Beyond “Progress” and “Duet,” however, too little time is spent with Kira’s history and wartime complexity. We know we’re supposed to like Bajor and hate Cardassia, but recurring guests Marc Alaimo (Hill Street Blues) as Gul Dukat and Andrew Robinson (Dirty Harry) as the supposedly simple tailor Garak add much more dimension.  Honestly, the audience wonders why they just aren’t regular characters.

Looking back on these early 1993 models and computer effects, any flaws are forgivable. The visuals are, in fact, just fine most of the time.  Unfortunately, the set design and costumes are woefully futuristic nineties dated.  I know it is meant to be a clunky Cardassian space station, but Deep Space Nine doesn’t look well.  The Promenade is supposed to be a bustling interstellar hub, but it’s kind of bland and underdone. Instead, Operations has a lot of cluttered and useless Cardassian design for the sake of it junk, and Quark’s Bar looks like a dated discothèque. Now that I think of it, we don’t really see that much of the eponymous station at all, much less Bajor or the Gamma Quadrant. Despite those uptight, unnecessarily belted and big shoulder pad Bajoran uniforms and all these new opportunities, what we see still looks decidedly Trek.  There’s not much stylistically to set Deep Space Nine apart, and I’m sorry, I have to say it, these credits are slooowwww. 

 

 Certainly, that lingering Trek feeling and TNG kinship is perfect for longtime fans and Trek enthusiasts tuning in for DS9’s debut. Die hard fans can begin anew and casual audiences can start with the galactic possibilities and Trek spirit. There are new hints of explorations to come, yes- though the presentation is uneven with directionless ill footing.  Except for its flaws, nothing much stands out this season for Deep Space Nine.  Were it on television now, it would be very easy to give up on this spinoff and change the channel. Truly, it isn’t rerunning on numerous cable channels like its two predecessors. However, now affordable DVD sets and Netflix streaming options combined with the shorter episode order here make it easy for a general SF fan or a new to Trek layman to give DS9 a whirl.  It gets messy before it gets good, but why not begin the beguine with Deep Space Nine.

Let's Make Love

Let’s Make Love Still Iffy

By Kristin Battestella

                  

This slightly notorious 1960 Marilyn Monroe musical has plenty of big name star power onscreen and off- not to mention Monroe’s undeniable charisma.  Unfortunately, Let’s Make Love is indeed infamous for all the wrong reasons.

International millionaire and playboy Jean Marc Clement (Yves Montand) is displeased to hear from his public relations representative Coffman (Tony Randall) that an upcoming New York play will lampoon his hoity toity image along with other celebrities.  When he goes to the theatre in protest, however, Clement is mistaken for an actor auditioning- and gets the job of parodying himself.  To make matters worse, Clement is smitten with the show’s lead Amanda Dell (Monroe).  He uses Coffman and all his multimillionaire resources to save the struggling show while wooing Amanda- but she’s seeing the play’s male lead, Tony (Frankie Vaughn).  Will Clement embrace his loosened up image and win Amanda’s heart?

Well, director George Cukor (My Fair Lady, The Philadelphia Story, A Star is Born) has his hands full with screenwriters Arthur Miller (The Crucible), Norman Krasna (White Christmas), and Hal Kanter (The Rose Tattoo) throwing what seems like a lot of leftovers at the screen.  If the talent here came to play, this would be awesome.  Instead, we start with an old, stale, and unnecessary opening montage giving the history of the Clement men.  They’ve been rich, international playboys for a long time yadda yadda. The back-story could have come in many faster ways, and this off putting start doesn’t hold up for today’s audiences. Actually, the whole opening and battle of the sexes underlining comes off as a poor man’s The Seven Year Itch; the start and stop journey of the characters is akin to The Prince and the Showgirl.  Let’s Make Love begins with a fun twist, yes. Unfortunately, the impersonation story is too common, pretentious, and eventually even asinine in some spots.  The script and pace are too patchy, and the scenes without Monroe drag completely. It’s ironic that her then husband Miller wrote in more scenes for Monroe, for we don’t really see her that much.  The conversations, near slapstick, and misunderstanding circumstances between the stars is pleasing initially, but the over long two hours and increasing focus on Clement’s subterfuge lessens the quality.  Is Let’s Make Love meant to be about the struggling show or Clement softening up? Too many mixed signals and confusion muddle the mishmash. This isn’t flashy enough to be a show-stopping musical, but it’s too dry and wannabe melodramatic to be a comedy. If it’s a romance, then the love triangle is way out of whack.

Fortunately, Marilyn Monroe enters Let’s Make Love thirteen minutes in and lightens the air with “My Heart Belongs to Daddy.” The breathless delivery and leggy routine sets her apart, both in spite of and perhaps because of that simple baggy sweater and black tights ensemble.  It’s flattering yet still cashmere alluring- unlike Ann-Margaret in Viva Las Vegas, which I swear looks like she forgot her pants! Less than two years before Monroe’s death, viewers might think her personal troubles would hurt her performance, but not in the numbers here.  Truly, she looks very pretty, kind, and approachable- not an unreachable, dumb goddess. This struggling actress and student just got out of bed un-styled look further helps Monroe make men go down like dominoes. And when she takes that sweater off!  What is that- a body stocking?  I don’t see the weight talk surrounding Let’s Make Love. She looks classy and most importantly, real. Of course, there is retreading towards Monroe’s usual dumb blonde singing types. However, Mandy is given a bit more intelligence and meaning on a few new topics and is even getting her diploma.  We’re treated to a knitting Marilyn Monroe, a genuinely innocent- not kitten- and unashamed of the poor acting life minister’s daughter. Naturally, we are going to like her more than Jean Marc Clement and his deceptions. Granted, Monroe does seem tired or unmotivated in some of the later scenes, and I’m not sure about that green bodysuit.  Considering this script though, who knows what’s going on? Mandy begins as a very smart, inspiring girl with talent, plans, and dreams- and then…nothing.

Swanky, swanky, Yves Montand (Wages of Fear) has the chic. He looks good in a real suit, holds a cigarette in that oh so suave way, and generally carries himself with a European grace, pimpity, and class that can’t be matched by today’s surfer boy ‘actors’. Unfortunately, it will be tough for some contemporary audiences to see past his French accent, and he’s simply all wrong for Let’s Make Love.  He looks too old and mismatched for Monroe- but she seemed to like that sort of thing, indeed.  Even when making a joke or attempting to be casual, Clement feels too pompous and out of touch. It doesn’t feel amusing within the film and to Americans today, this dude still has a lot of loosening up to do! His initial mistaken identity at the theater is funny, but it changes to asinine once Clement claims to be a simple man who happens to be named Alexandre Dumas.  His deception is not one of necessity or endearing ala Tootsie- he’s just trying to protect his reputation and manipulate an entire cast of people in his favor.  Mandy’s “I’m a louse” mocking of Clement is spot on. Is it the writing or Montand?  Clement’s meant to be wooden, but one wonders if the originally planned dashing Mr. Gregory Peck learning the err of his ways wouldn’t have been better. Clement objects to being called a liar, but he clearly is one who literally brings in guest stars Milton Berle, Bing Crosby, and Gene Kelly to help him shape up! It doesn’t create any sympathy when Clement tries to come clean.  In fact, the viewer just wants to fast forward to the big numbers. Otherwise, Let’s Make Love is supposed to be two hours of a guy manipulating, deceiving, and cruelly revealing his scheme for a woman? WTF?  Frankie Vaughn (The Lady is a Square) fairs little better, with his “Hey You with the Crazy Eyes” Tony Denton spotlight feeling more like a poor, poor man’s Dean Martin.  His hanging all over Monroe also ruins “Specialization.”  Tony Randall (The Odd Couple, Pillow Talk) as Clement’s everyman press man Coffman is very bemusing and could have been a great sardonic sidekick where we know he is very capable. Unfortunately, he steadily disappears for the supposed revelations of Clement and the purported heart of Let’s Make Love.

 

Thankfully, the early sixties New York penthouses, fun global décor, richy rich art, and high life visuals looks smashing! The posh music and ironic jazz scoring is nice as well, with cabaret styled choreography to match the spiffy stage coloring and lighting designs.  Let’s Make Love is traditionally styled as a musical, yes, yet there are wonderful hints of something more hep cat than showboat.  There’s lyrical wit and a kinky touch to it all, and the possibilities are again scarified for, well, I don’t know what.  The dance routines lag by the middle of the picture, and the premise of the play spoofing Elvis and the like isn’t actually that good when we see the show within a show design and cumbersome moving sets.  Some of Monroe’s costumes also seem unusual choices. Though barely there and lovely, her silver dress doesn’t seem to fit, nor the inexplicable corset. Fortunately, the pink and white breezy sheer number and the fantasy montage for the catchy titular rendition are perfect.  At last some charm and tune from both stars, but she’s going to poke his eye out with that dress!  

The DVD subtitles will be a must for some in understanding Montand, but onscreen dialogue won’t help solve the many mixed signals in Let’s Make Love. This is good for fans of the cast or classic film audiences who like mid century bed pillows type films.  Otherwise, there’s not much reason to look any deeper into this potentially special musical comedy that ended up not well done, without a lot of musical, not that much funny, and too much seriousness.

Terminal Station/Indiscretion of an American Wife

Conflicted by Indiscretion of an American Wife- or was that Terminal Station?

By Kristin Battestella

All right, I confess it. Not all of Montgomery Clift’s films are award-winning classics of American cinema.  Whether it goes by Terminal Station or Indiscretion of an American Wife, this one has its share of faults, indeed. Try not to get too confused.

American housewife Mary (Jennifer Jones) is leaving Rome and her month long romance with Giovanni (Clift). Though her home life was not perfect, she can’t imagine leaving her young daughter behind to grow up without her.  Will this ill-conceived affair create a scandal at home? Despite their whirlwind and turbulent indiscretion, can Giovanni let Mary go?

Although both versions of director Vittorio De Sica’s  (Shoeshine, The Bicycle Thief) 1953 tale feel too short, the just over an hour American Release entitled Indiscretion of an American Wife is an edited mess. This is in my mind a better title, but there’s no time to be truly vested in Truman Capote’s (hello) purported adaptation from frequent De Sica writer Cesare Zavattini’s story. The action is smartly confined in and around the titular train station, and the turbulent love fairs somewhat better in the ninety-minute international edition, yes. Unfortunately, the supporting family scenes and side characters are unnecessary in such a short time, and the mish-mashed interference from Jennifer Jones pimp/producer David O’Selznick feels like a cruel joke on what could have been a fine, if bent romance.  Yes, Terminal Station is longer and better, but it still falls prey to Jones’ miscasting and the jaded thoughts of the botched Indiscretion cut up. Indeed, I love Monty and loathe Jones, and I freely admit my bias and disdain here. However, it’s as if the two leads have been spliced together after the fact from two different films. Hehe, one in Terminal Station and the other in Indiscretion of an American Wife, perhaps? Clift creates a destructive modern relationship with a fun to watch but disturbed and conflicted male. In poor contrast, Jones is trapped in a sappy fifties romance and comes off as an unsatisfied bitch. Which is it supposed to be? Thus is Terminal Station’s conundrum, and neither version fully provides an answer. Selznick attempts to create some cheesecake with a heart of gold for his new lady, but the ruined focus on Jones in Indiscretion of an American Wife is simply inferior to the full length, rough, and almost too depressing Terminal Station.  I think Indiscretion of an American Wife is meant to be eye popping and scandalous instead. The irony is that with all fifties cuts and convictions, we don’t even get to see the actual indiscretion! How can the audience know or care when the incident is so edited that it ends up more confusing than saucy?   

 

 

Fortunately, any fan of Montgomery Clift can find at least some saving grace here. Clift made sixteen films in a 20-year span and was nominated for an Academy Award four times in that period- The Search, A Place in the Sun, From Here to Eternity, and Judgment at Nuremberg. Although he never won a major award, that averages to an Oscar nominated performance every four films. Who has that kind of steady, quality consistent output today? Not the contemporary folks churning out five or six studio bankrupting comedies for 10 or 15 million dollar salaries! With such a classic track record, I suppose we can forgive Monty for the mess that is Indiscretion of an American Wife.  Even with a performance created in the editing room, a convoluted script, and no time or support to help him, Clift’s not that bad.  In fact, he’s just dandy.  Sure, Italian quips and a name like Giovanni Diora don’t make us think Clift. However, his pent up, confused, and no less passionate lead is intriguing to watch nonetheless.  Oh, a man all tied up and conflicted over a woman!  It could be a painful, clichéd, and dry performance, but Indiscretion of an American Wife can be redeemed so long as the camera stays on Clift.  When Giovanni says he’s learned what wanting is, we damn well believe him.  He speaks sternly enough, with strong, direct statements. Clift doesn’t need to shout, yet remains just above a whisper.  It’s a tormented and awkward relationship, yet for better or worse, Giovanni isn’t afraid to show his love in that angry man way.  It’s mental, alluring, asinine, and sympathetic all rolled into one- and it’s all delivered smashingly by Clift.

  And then, there’s Jennifer Jones.  She turns her back on her family and her lover. Which does she want? Who knows? Who cares? Right from her opening frantic running away, Mary jars the audience. She’s supposed to be an endearing, classy fifties woman buying dresses for her daughter, yet we’re also meant to believe this sweet, wonderful woman is responsible for the whole eponymous drama!  She’s running from Giovanni and has screwed up at home, and the portrayal is beyond a wishy-washy woman who can’t make up her mind. Mary gets her thrills and hates herself.  Is the audience supposed to root for her escape or loathe her scandalous ways?  Our time is short as it is, and the character’s motivations are muddled at best.  Jones does nothing to make us care about Mary’s morals or ambiguity either way. Could a better actress have done more? Perhaps.  Did the on-set drama, personal turmoil, and post production busy help? Nope. Mary’s such a saint and good woman, but can we believe a good woman would be involved in such an unseen torrid love affair? Terminal Station is trying to build conflict, but Indiscretion of an American Wife attempts some sort of pale Scarlett O’Hara charm.  I’m just a housewife who’s an emancipated American woman!  I’m not that imaginative and would rather be home with my husband who’s like a small boy!  Huh?  At some point, the viewer wonders why any man would be with this train wreck lady. This female character imbalance ruins what could have been a fine and twisted vignette. Let us see the dang depression of it all, Selznick! Otherwise, what’s the point?

 

Thankfully, the Oscar nominated Christian Dior early fifties fashions, furs, hats, and sharp suits are the perfect mid European time capsule.  There are a few bullet bras, too. Though black and white, the Rome locations and Italian signage are lovely. The foreign dialogue, however, might make Station Termini tough for some audiences. The sweeping romantic crescendos and melodramatic zooms are on the fifties over the top bad side, too.  Stereotypical Italian male portrayals can be irritating as well. These men are always beating their wives, and on some viewings, I find it rather offensive. Although there are times when I’d like to backhand Jones, too- but then I sound just as bad as Indiscretion of an American Wife. I feel like I’ve been hateful and all over the place in this essay- tackling two very different versions of one peculiar film. Unfortunately, there seems to be too many poor, confusing, and extreme choices surrounding Terminal Station and/or Indiscretion of an American Wife. Whatever you call it or whichever version you see, the could have been pictures, performances, and polarizing cast make this one largely for Clift completists and Jones lovers. Though film students and classic scholars can enjoy the Criterion video edition with both versions in comparison, this one is not an introduction piece.  Can Terminal Station still be enjoyed for Clift despite the bitter taste left by Jones and the Indiscretion of an American Wife cut up?  I believe so.  But you have to really, really like him.

Madhouse and Theatre of Blood

Madhouse and Theatre of Blood A Twisted Good Time!

By Kristin Battestella

Give me an excuse like a would-be 101^st birthday to watch some more Vincent Price!

In the 1974 murder and mayhem tale Madhouse, Price is Paul Toombes, the aging star of the Dr. Death horror movies penned by Toombes’ longtime friend and former actor Herbert Flay (Peter Cushing). Flay has coaxed Toombes out of semi retirement for a new television show produced by the sleazy Oliver Quayle (Robert Quarry). Unfortunately, the suspicious murder of Toombes’ young fiancée and the time he spent institutionalized thereafter continues to haunt ‘Dr. Death’.  Cast and crewmembers on his new series are soon found dead in copycat crimes styled from the Dr. Death films, and Toombs slowly succumbs to a returning mental instability. Can he solve the crafty murders nonetheless? Is he the killer or Dr. Death’s next victim?

Oscar winning editor turned director Jim Clark (The Killing Fields, The Innocents) opens Madhouse with a fun use of footage from The Haunted Palace, solid pre-title festivities, and a juicy crime. In many ways, Clark’s crafty editing experience is perfect for the task at hand. The visual blending of Price’s earlier AIP films, old production photos, nods to other film work, and their intercutting use for this Amicus co-production wonderfully establishes Madhouse’s neat premise. Where does the actor Toombes’ reality end and the fictional killer persona of Dr. Death begin? Are we watching a film about Toombs or the Dr. Death TV show? Did these two great titans of horror “need the work” onscreen and off perhaps? This sly touch of dark comedy and ability to laugh at one’s genre comes across beautifully, and the intermingling with killer viewpoints, seventies zooms, and extreme angles keeps the lines between actuality and stability appropriately askew. It’s not overdone as we lay it on today- there’s just the right amount of stylized play within a play identities, illusions, and good fun.  After all, we’re seeing a horror show within a horror film supported by clips of other horror movies like The Raven, Tales of Terror, and The Pit and the Pendulum.  Madhouse doesn’t take itself so seriously, and neither should we. One should probably be a fan of Big V’s film catalog to appreciate such shrewd killer use of stock footage, yes.  The seventies mixing and sixties styles will seem dated- even obvious in revealing the killer as the picture goes on. The more that you think about the scenes of the crimes; plot holes and confusions become apparent, indeed.  Fortunately, the traditional horror film design, tight photography, and simple smoke and mirrors work their best. The death scenes are first-rate, with creative uses of the set within set themes. The film splicing, fade ins and outs, and great uses of sounds effects and screams from both within the used footage and the film itself create a complete drive-in or late night film experience.  I’m not sure that the title has to do with anything, and the logistics of Madhouse’s inept Scotland Yard men will make your head hurt if you think too hard on it, but who cares?

Naturally, Our Man Price is the classy old pimp we expect, oh yes. He begins Madhouse as a suave Hugh Hefner-esque silver fox with young Bond Girl blonds abound.  Today we might expect this sexy mismatch in horror, but it’s a true guilty pleasure to see Toombes taking down the dames here. Although Price plays the degrading sanity seriously, there are hints of that over the top innuendo and tongue planted firmly in cheek design. Certain scenes are both personal parody and honest homage to his earlier scaries, and we’re meant to enjoy the self-reverent ride.  It’s as if the character of Dr. Death is more alive that the aptly named Toombs.  He’s older, sympathetic- we feel for this terrorized former star- yet the Dr. Death scenery is no less suspicious or sinister in quality.  Besides, many viewers would presume Price himself was spooky onscreen and off, creating another blur between the actors and personas within Madhouse. These dual imageries and creepy soliloquies create quite a haunting portrayal indeed.

At only ninety minutes, fellow horror mavens Peter Cushing (must I?) and Robert Quarry (Count Yorga, Vampire) don’t get too much time to steal the show, but their spooky support is spot on nonetheless. Cushing is so suave, a slick, classy ex-actor turned writer that’s almost too good a friend to be true. Likewise, Quarry is the perfect greasy television executive looking for dames and dollars.  Both men also wear vampire costumes at a celebrity party- again playing on the theme with Quarry’s Yorga and Cushing’s Helsing personas. Basil Rathbone and Boris Karloff are credited for their stock footage uses, which is kind of strange but also a fitting tip of the hat for the bent reality that is Madhouse. Natasha Pyne (Father Dear Father) is also an interesting and unexpected touch as TV assistant Julia.  Blonde and seemingly insignificant like the other ladies, but again, nothing in Madhouse is what it seems.

Adrienne Corri (A Clockwork Orange) is also wonderfully disturbed and loads of fun.  Those spiders of hers, shudder! Madhouse looks both swanky with modern mid-century design and Old Hollywood with fallen graces and decrepit sets. The creepy British locales add on lots of candles, statues, and spooky gardens. Old film projectors, flat phonographs, eerie sixties scoring, ironic music cues sang by Price himself, and a few scary storms layer the frame within a frame nostalgia nicely. Hip London cars, debonair accents, mod turtlenecks and ascots add some flair, too. Not to be outdone of course, 1973’s Theatre of Blood sets its scene with demented and dirty vintage London locations.  Believed dead after his suicide attempt, Edward Lionheart uses thespian facades and Shakespearean inspiration to seek revenge on the critics association who denied him ongoing review praise and their top year-end award.  Inspector Boot (Milo O’Shea, Romeo and Juliet) and the police question Lionheart’s daughter Edwina (Diana Rigg) as one by one Horace Sprout (Arthur Lowe), Chloe Moon (Coral Browne), and the rest of their circle meet their theatrical ends. Will critic Peregrin Devlin (Ian Hendry) be able to stop the deranged actor and his meth drinking street troupe before he’s Lionheart’s next victim?

 Unfortunately, the low and uneven voices- it seems like no one’s microphones worked- create a poor and dated feeling for Theatre of Blood.  If you’re expecting high horror production, the wasted, worn, and depressing dressings can look like a sub par play made on the cheap. Compared to the whimsical homage of Madhouse, Theatre of Blood appears more like a straight crime thriller; and in some ways, I wish it did have some deserving, grandiose, even gaudy psychedelic Corman color.  Longer at almost 1 hour 45 minutes, director Doug Hickox (Brannigan) works with the similar themes of fallen actors, stage facades, play within a play styling, and flashback frameworks. The fun, ye olde silent film opening credits montage suggests the dark humor that is to come, too.  However, Theatre of Blood feels slow to start, with standard stuffy Brit types and more bungling policemen who shockingly don’t realize the Shakespearean connections to the crimes. Some of the foreboding is obvious as well, and revenge kinship to The Abominable Dr. Phibes is evident.  The editing and cutting styles do build suspense, but some of the early death scenes aren’t as theatrical as they could be. The first hour’s melodrama lacks creativity, and these deadly theatre politics can seem too pompous and dry to be believed.  All this just because they gave him a few bad reviews and no trophy?

Theatre of Blood isn’t that scary and feels hollow enough for those expecting a major horror film to tune out.  We always see Lionheart in character and don’t get the essential pieces to his motivation until flashback exposition later in the picture.  Frankly, these lovely over the top establishments should have been the opening to Theatre of Blood, and the poor choice to stick character importance so late can even create some player confusion.  Thankfully, there’s a great ironic use of classic music, and what may appear to be a bland and dark tale slowly builds into a farcical delight. The fun here is in guessing who is going to die next and in what Shakespearean method.  The abnormal build up to the humor, farce, and intentionally exaggerated theatrics increase masterfully as Theatre of Blood goes on, complete with wit, panache, and a hysterical Othello twist.  The low values and weak start may seem like a faulty execution not worth the viewing, yes. Theatre of Blood does take half of the picture to get to it, indeed. Fortunately, once it does step up the mayhem, Theatre of Blood does so wholeheartedly- literally!    

I would say these reduced budget faults necessitate a proper nuHammer remake- if not for the simply irreplaceable Vincent Price that is!  Lionheart begins white haired and crazy- an entertaining, once upon a time high thespian with a marked disconnection from reality.  Some of the makeup is iffy, but most of the disguises are great genius. Price’s voice, position, and stature may give him away, but the joy is in seeing what warped Bard plan he has next. The demented Shakespearean soliloquies are- I must pun- Priceless.  We shouldn’t doubt that Big V could do a straight high-class film by any means, but his pseudo Shakespeare intensity steps up as Theatre of Blood goes on.  The multi-layered performance is laced with wit, sadness, class, and sociopathic grace.  Oh, the sweeping music and forehead dabs as the faux doctor goes to work!  Price is clearly having fun with this man of a thousand faces gone awry, and you can see why this is one of his personal favorite performances.  Love it or hate it, Theatre of Blood is almost worth the ‘Price of admission’ just for the kinky Othello scene!  I mean, he even sports a fake afro- Bob Ross meets Carrot Top, anyone?  Yes, I’ll say it- that burgundy velvet pimp suit is to die for!  Price’s nuanced and well faceted portrayal is both spot on and perfectly ironic. I love the Inspector’s “It’s not a comedy!” claim right before an Austin Powers-esque inept police pursuit and the simply exceptional Titus serve-uppance.  Oh, yes.

 

She’s up to the challenge and Diana Rigg (The Avengers) looks good, of course; but we don’t see her prettied up much for Theatre of Blood.  Her “amateur actress” Edwina begins dry as well, with some seemingly unimportant playful seduction. Fortunately, her position as the good daughter becomes more ingenious as Lionheart’s plans unfold. There’s not a lot of the famous Emma Peel innuendo to bounce off, naturally, as we have no overt attempt for a sexy young thang here.  Rigg fans, however, will certainly enjoy her almost see through white mini skirt and sans bra potential.  The victimized cast- including future Mrs. Price Coral Browne (Auntie Mame), Arthur Lowe (Dad’s Army), Ian Hendry (Get Carter), Robert Morley (The African Queen), and the rest of the somewhat interchangeable critics – create a very uptight, pompous, and annoying board, indeed. That is partly the point of their latent villainy- they’re asses- but not all of their motivations are explained. We can hate them one by one or enjoy their deaths because we are bemused by Price as Lionheart. Otherwise, the critics aren’t that interesting in themselves, and the audience isn’t given much reason to care.  Perhaps there’s supposed to be another level of sinful humor or irony at work- that would be the opposite of the meaningless, unending buffet of blondes and bosoms usually being diced up in horror film today. However, the secondary support in Theatre of Blood just comes off as too lightweight and underdeveloped. The be-furred meth drinking hepcats working with Lionheart are also just too stupid and weird; the flashback explaining their presence comes too late.  Although, I do confess, I did fall for one of Theatre of Blood’s now fairly obvious twists on my first viewing!

Uninhibited Shakespeare fans can have a jolly good tongue in cheek viewing with Theatre of Blood, indeed. Study how the seventies deaths mirror the plays, or test up on Bard Quotes and Know Your Will games. It may see meandering to start and too low quality for anything to matter, but this one is definitely worth the viewing investment. The Netflix streaming subtitles are absolutely necessary in catching all of Price’s stage glory, and a dual DVD edition of Madhouse and Theatre of Blood is available for further warped comparisons. Yes, longtime horror viewers will spot the errors in Madhouse and some predictable twists in Theatre of Blood- some audiences may even be confused by the witty, double play finale in Madhouse or Blood’s OTT ending.  Nevertheless, classic horror and kitschy Price fans can delight in the solid mystery fun and thespian mayhem in both Madhouse and Theatre of Blood.  

A Mini Robin Gibb Tribute

A Mini Robin Gibb Tribute

By Kristin Battestella

After reading, writing, collecting, and listening to the music of the Brothers Gibb since my own conversion in 1997, I for once, have nothing to say about them.  Or rather, I have a whole lot to say, but can’t quite express myself just yet.

Instead, here’s a complete listing of my past reviews and essays on The Bee Gees, Andy Gibb, and solo work from last brother standing Barry and the now late Robin.  Sniff.

New Bee Gees Comfort Lists!

The 60s Essentials
The 70s Hits
The 80s. Yes!
The 90s and Beyond

Bee Gees Albums

First

Horizontal

Odessa

Cucumber Castle

Trafalgar

Life in a Tin Can

To Whom It May Concern

Mr. Natural

Main Course

Children of the World

Saturday Night Fever

Spirits Having Flown

Living Eyes

Staying Alive

ESP

One

High Civilization

Size Isn’t Everything

Still Waters

This Is Where I Came In

Robin Gibb Albums

How Old Are You?

Walls Have Eyes

Magnet

Robin Gibb Live

Compilation Sets

Best of Volume 2

Bee Gees Gold

Birth to Brilliance

Bee Gees Greatest

Here at Last Live

The Record

Number Ones

Love Songs

The Ultimate Bee Gees

Barry Gibb Projects

Now Voyager

Hawks

Eyes That See in The Dark

Gibb Videos

Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band

Keppel Road

One Night Only

Andy Gibb Works

Flowing Rivers

Andy Gibb’s Greatest Hits

Songwriting Collaborations

Guilty

Guilty Anniversary Album

Guilty Pleasures

For the original review pages and matching screen capture sets, you can still visit the archived web pages for Bee Gees Chain Reaction, my original Gibb website.

 

Sniff. 

Merlin Season 4

Merlin Season 4 Steps It Up At Last!

By Kristin Battestella

It’s taken awhile for the BBC series Merlin to grow into its own mythology, but with this fourth season, it has finally stepped up to what it should be.

One year has passed since Morgana (Katie McGrath) fled Camelot and the broken King Uther (Anthony Head).  Though his Uncle Agravaine (Nathaniel Parker) would seem to help Prince Arthur (Bradley James) rule, he secretly supports the exiled Morgana’s intentions against Camelot. Servant Merlin (Colin Morgan) and Court Physician Gaius (Richard Wilson) have their suspicions about Agravaine, but little can be done without proof.  Maid Guinevere (Angel Colby) cares for the ailing Uther and becomes a strong supporter of Arthur at court- much to Agravaine and Morgana’s chagrin. The illegitimate sorceress is determined to never see her former maid upon her throne as Queen of Camelot.

The drama’s been kicked up this season, and we have new credits, too! It peeves me when everyone isn’t listed in the opening, but finally we also have a fine supporting court cast as there always should have been. With positive players like the Knights of the Round Table against the meddling forces of Nathaniel Parker as Agravaine, this year builds nicely towards the Arthurian myths we know, love, and have long expected to see. Old Merlin has a few appearances, the fully villainous Morgana and would be Queen Gwen face their destinies, and Arthur at last rises to the occasion. The fast paced, grown up strides of Series 4 makes an audience wonder why they wasted the first 2 seasons on humor and stupid creatures of the week!  Alice Troughton wonderfully directs the opening two-parter “The Darkest Hour,” a great suspenseful Samhain plot, as well as the third episode “The Wicked Day” and the “Sword in the Stone” two hour finale. Though the intercutting and deaths are a little heavy in the first episode, it’s bemusing to see all the badass knights cowering and afraid of wispy phantoms.  Several scenes throughout the season do erroneously demote the knights towards comedy and overused misuses or further stupidity. However, oft writer Howard Overman also builds on King Uther’s anti-magic stance and finally creates resolutions that take Merlin toward the getting good point of no return in episode 5 “His Father’s Son” and the subsequent “A Servant of Two Masters.”  Arthur’s budding kingship and Merlin versus Morgana turntables take the forefront while the quality humor, humility, and family friendly style remains well balanced amid the increasing perils.

Of course, those perils are depicted with way too much slow motion!  And yet, the heavies come too quickly at times as well- resolved haphazardly or afterwards easily forgotten.  “The Secret Sharer” and “Lamia” almost resort to slapstick and creature feature stylings while “Aithusia” provides another quest for quest’s sake with conveniently knocked out knights allowing magic to happen sight unseen. It’s also odd to again have so many one off episodes when the heavy ongoing storylines could continue.  Why must major material go on hold for the rehashed plot of the week? “A Herald of a New Age” has some great scares and gives Elyan something to do; but it also retreads earlier wet ghost plots, and the major arc change for his sister Gwen in the previous episode “Lancelot du Lac” is hardly mentioned.  Despite serious reflective time for Arthur and maturity for Morgana, “The Hunter’s Heart” also rehashes arranged marriages and new princesses. The improvements on Merlin are great, but it is too easy for the writers to fall into seemingly safer, juvenile trappings. The otherwise fine finale feels slightly rushed, too, with a wasted Tristan and Isolde opportunity.  We finally have all the legends we love happening all at once and they’re sped up for presumed audiences with short attention spans.  Fortunately, great suspense, action, and relationship turns force our players to, you know, act like adults. Excalibur makes its presence known and Merlin at last goes past the point of no return in approaching Series 5.

Although Merlin still uses magic in public too much and no one ever notices, Colin Morgan is perfect at saying all that can’t be said.  He also has some fun as the Old Merlin incarnation, mixing the snarky with a serious and wise reflection. It’s nice to see Merlin take on medical duties in “Lamia,” and there’s even an Evil Merlin in “The Servant of Two Masters.”  As these young men mature, Merlin’s relationship with Arthur also improves greatly. The humor and camaraderie are still there, but as Bradley James rises Arthur to new leadership and strengths, critical events and a lovely begrudging respect replace the crude and previously so often retconned jerky Arthur.  There are some nods to the slash subtext built in this season- a little more emotion and bromance per episode for fans. However, I could do without the weird near butt shots and ab-fest imagery unnecessarily toeing the line of excessiveness.  By contrast, Arthur seems to cry quite a bit this season, and that isn’t a bad thing.  His burdens increase wonderfully through Year 4, creating quality drama in Camelot and much need adult angst on Merlin.

Audiences are finally treated to Katie McGrath’s full on magical and notched up Morgana, too. Her style would seem a little too Potter Bellatrix-black lace, crazy hair, cheap Halloween costume spider web designs- but she does look great! Green eye shadow has replaced that so obviously evil black eyeliner, and Morgana’s little witchy hut is a spooky, elemental place- even if it seems way too close to Camelot to never be found!  McGrath tones down the smirky as well, but she still fronts more evil backtalk dialogue then she successfully does thanks to repeated evil exposition.  Episode 7 “The Secret Sharer” fortunately shows Morgana’s increasing magical connections building heavy towards the finale. Her hooded, dark menace ways grow throughout the season, and Morgana’s ongoing threats to Camelot amplify the tension and create divisions all around. I still hold hope we may have more of the even juicier Emilia Fox as Morgana’s disfigured sister Morgause, too.  

Angel Colby also looks much nicer this season, and Gwen is at last receiving some just Arthurian grace.  This is how she should have been styled all along. Why did they waste all that time on a bumbling servant girl? Where did those boobs come from?!  It is unusual that Gwen would nurse Uther after all he did to her and her late father- like causing him to be late. However, her intelligence, maturity, and compassion lead to a strong standing at Camelot’s court and define the Guinevere we’ve long expected. Her relationship with Arthur has finally gotten realistic, even it if is handled innocently for the family audiences.  Some of the retread with Santiago Cabrera as Lancelot is a waste of his appearances, but his guest episodes fortunately can’t revolve around some stupid puppy love anymore.  Serious consequences and meatier bits happen for all the knights on Merlin this series- and it’s so nice to have court players on Merlin all the time!  Yes, Eoin Macken as Gwaine is especially resorted to mostly comic relief instead of snappy guest spotlights.  Despite being a creature of the week enchantment and subterfuge, “Lamia” does give Gwaine, Leon (Rupert Young), Elyan (Adetomiwa Edun), and Percival (Tom Hopper) a chance to shine. The writers still don’t seem to fully utilize all their wonderful players, but the knights’ moments per episode increase the camaraderie and peril throughout the season. 

The great strides for Merlin this year do deserve praise, but Richard Wilson’s fatherly Gaius finds himself accused of sorcery yet again in “The Secret Sharer.”  Everything is much more serious and the individual tests work because Wilson is so good, but our darling and classy Court Physician is still needed onscreen- even as our younger cast grows up.  Anthony Head also raises the bar as the sickly and humbled Uther in “The Wicked Day.” Strange as it may sound, it’s great to see the anti-magic, mean King broken after such prior nasties!  New regular Nathaniel Parker (Inspector Lynley Mysteries) as Lord Agravaine is equally love to hate worthy as the embittered uncle slithering into Camelot. Again, his kind of subterfuge should have been part of Merlin all along.  Although I’m sorry but I must say it, for there are some potentially dirty vibes coming from Agravaine in scenes with the pretty young ladies! He’s always sneaking off for a secret or suspicious rendezvous with Morgana or trying to trap Gwen into uncomfortable one on one meetings. Youth enjoying Merlin probably won’t notice, but older audiences and adults will see his disturbingly fine brand of creepy!

Though I wish they had extended appearances, mature guest stars Gemma Jones and Miranda Raison (MI-5), Melanie Hill (Stardust), Lindsay Duncan (Rome), Ben Daniels (Law & Order: UK), and the too, too brief Michael Cronin as Geoffrey of Monmouth are perfection. I would rather have actors acting instead of mock battles with thin air and monsters of the week any day. But alas, such action has almost always been the definition of fantasy media, I suppose. Precious time on Merlin is still wasted on creature features, and the Massive CGI effects are somewhat low in quality if compared to big cinema today. Fortunately, the set dressings, forestry and castle locations, and fun costumes invoke superior medieval mood and fantasy atmosphere. Great candelabras, court finery, and spooky ruins do wonders indeed! Sure, it’s colorful and not high end 5^th century brooding, but the fanciful for young and old has always been a fine aspect on Merlin.  John Heard and his Great Dragon avatar are also smartly used as needed in poignant, touching moments- especially in the fourth episode spotlight, “Aithusa,” and hopefully the dragon hints and motifs will blossom to the forefront in the upcoming Series 5.

Merlin can still fall victim to weaker juvenile formulas, I grant you. Thankfully, Year 4 has stepped up the pace and maturity immensely, and casual reset buttons can no longer be pressed. Older audiences or Camelot connoisseurs who may have put off the series for its growing pains beginnings can now tune in anew.  After jumping in with this season on the SyFy (still hate that!) Channel’s recent airings, my teen nieces are now addicted!  All lovers of fantasy fun can enjoy Merlin’s strengthened storytelling and approaching Arthurian wonders. Bring on Year 5!