Phase IV

Saul Bass, 1974, UK-USA

Screenplay – Mayo Simon

I was always convinced Adam Ant was inspired by this, Saul Bass’ only film, to write ‘Ants Invasion’. Even as a kid, I was sure this had to be the case. 

Watching the short film, ‘Bass on Titles’, it’s obvious how much an influence and pioneer Bass was. It’s no wonder his name is renowned in cinema, if for only contributing title sequences and ‘Psycho’s shower scene. Even in his short film ‘Quest’ (1984) – an adaption of one of Ray Bradbury’s futuristic stories fuelled by nostalgia for what we were – it is obvious that however dated and budget-restrained the effects are, Bass never lets it feel lacking, knows how to shoot and frame, and strikes up memorable visuals. (It has a nice Eighties feel – hair is quite bouffant in the future – and even a cameo from Noah Hathaway apparently on his way to ‘The Neverending Story’). Indeed, a recurring motif throughout Bass’ short films is the tiny human profile or silhouette against a gargantuan backdrop.

Which makes ‘Phase IV’, a screenplay by Mayo Simon about ant behaviour eventually overwhelming mankind, quite the logical extension. These are normal-sized ants altered and advanced by an electromagnet phenomenon from space; which means if you come for giant bugs, you’ll be disappointed – although the original promotion was full of the hyperbole associated with giant bug features (“The day the earth was turned into a cemetery! Ravenous invaders controlled by a terror out in space … commanded to annihilate the world!”). Bass’ films do agreeably posit an objective angle that man is exceedingly small in the grand scheme of things and always learning. Bass’ first short, ‘The Searching Eye’ (1964) has knowledge as an empty beach upon which a child searches and plays, which opens all kinds of cosmic reflections. His second, ‘Why Man Creates’ (1968) is like a kind of ‘Sesame Street’ for adults, trying to break down man’s passion for creativity, at first playful and then lapsing into pontification: the best sequence is the animated opener portraying the towering pile-up of mankind’s development. This existential rumination carries over from Bass’ short films to his feature, where humanity and the individual are dwarfed by forces and concepts much, much bigger, abstract, and existential.  

‘Phase IV’ is distinguished by its remarkable and up-close footage of these ants – Dick Bush’s cinematography is mesmerising (he did ‘Sorcerer’). As Douglas Buck writes: 

"Watching individual hive ants, through microphotography doing things you almost can’t believe you’re seeing, such as, for instance, carry a piece of the poisonous ‘yellow chemical’ rained down on them by the scientists (killing most of them) through their underground tunnels, one at a time (as each ant dies, another picks it up and carries it until it then dies from exposure, then the next and the next) all the way to the large queen, who ingests it, then gives birth to new evolutionary-progressed yellow chemical-resistant ants, is just one of the number of jaw-dropping scenes where it feels almost like the tiny little critters are giving performances."

The desert setting gives a dominant orange, sun-baked hue; the ants crawling out of corpses provides considerable squirm-inducing content and a foremost image for the film, although the monoliths are equally striking. The music is prog-rock with flying saucer synth. Yes, ‘2001: a space odyssey’ with ants, complete with monoliths, and even moreso with the original ending now available. It brings the malevolent cosmic to Earth in a way that is firstly deceptively mundane – like ‘The Midwhich Cuckoos’ or ‘Invasion of the Bodysnatchers’ – working on a scale that initially isn’t quite viewable to casual human observation, just some oddness. Ants. Even crop circles. And they all centre on the fear of being colonised by something superior and unknowable.

The voice-overs help to dive into the story straight away without

too much exposition. Some of this was apparently studio-imposed, but here it does not feel detrimental. Similarly, the archetypes of a slightly jaded young scientist (Michael Murphy) and the older slightly wayward scientist (Nigel Davenport) are quickly identifiable, so that we get to themes and concepts first rather than back-story, and it is these that predominate. It is the tale of how a couple of humans lose against the uprising of and colonisation by the evolution of ants. These are, mostly untypical of the genre, scientists out of their depth (which bears a little iconoclasm that I always favour). I disagree with Martyn Auty that “the ants get the works from the special effects department, and original ideas (so often a casualty in sci-fi cinema) take a back seat.” There’s an editing technique and use of juxtapositions, an overall tone that is akin to Nic Roeg where the associations the brain naturally makes from a gallery of random images creates heftier, intuitive meaning and interpretations. It is an observant, objective rather than subjective approach. These characters do not overcome the odds simply by force of humankind’s innate superiority. And yet, the ending is as transcendent as it is downbeat.

Studio demands meant the original trippier ending of a vision of the ants’ plans for humankind was cropped, but it’s been salvaged and available now. Before, it ended with Lesko (Murphy) narrating that the ants had shown them their future plans and we were to take his word for it, and leaving it to our imaginations did no harm, if it seemed a bit abrupt. But with this longer ending we too see that vision and it’s no disappointment. It’s like a montage of science-fiction novel covers. Overlapping imagery, surrealism; quick cuts: this longer finale slips into Bass’ montage style familiar from his credits work and short films. For example, there’s tiny people running through a mazes and across diant colours; and the sunset and sunrise imagery that is strong in ‘Phase IV’ is a recurring motif in his shorts (indeed, one is called ‘The Solar Film’ (1980)).

The reason why ‘Phase IV’ lingers is that is carries with it an eeriness, that uncanny quality that haunts, by evoking something like the cosmic uncanniness and unknowability that HP Lovecraft favoured as the centre of horror. It’s heady, pulpy and over-reaching in the best way of Seventies sci-fi.

Bass’s assured sense of the visual and of a slight obliqueness of narrative makes it a shame that he didn’t make further films as it’s likely he would have made more cult favourites.

Australia

 

 

Baz Lurhmann, 2008, Australia-USA-UK

 

One might imagine that a film that calls itself so grandly after a continent might have something to say about its particular history, and that this would not be dominated wholly by the romance of white protagonists. Surely we are in trouble when a film called ‘Australia’ paints the aborigines in such broad strokes that lean towards magic realism rather than their humanity? The archetypes are all present and correct: we have the Magical Negro and the Noble Savage, not only the Adorable and Cheeky Tyke. Perhaps, however, it is hard to be offended by this when every character is so broadly drawn. Baz Luhrmann’s film is not about anything other than making a big, CGI-assisted epic homage to the old fashioned classic movie. We have Nicole Kidman in an initially highly pinched and hammy performance, but one that is as uneven as the film itself so that when she relaxes more, it is hard to discern if this is meant to be character development or just a symptom of that unevenness. Then there is Hugh Jackman, with his own accent, as a kind of cuddly Clint Eastwood: he is an immensely appealing and warm performer, but all he can do here is coast. His stereotype is to be the wild-man macho Aussie, the drover who answers to no man, who represents the unprejudiced white man embedded in Aboriginal culture. He says “Oh crikey,” a lot. It’s his catchphrase. Then we have Nullah, the mixed race kid, but he is no Kipling scoundrel from which we can learn about being caught between two worlds. He says cute things, mentions “cheeky bulls” a lot and is generally appealingly played by Brendan Walters. But like all characters, his reactions bend with the breeze of the plot and erratic scenes rather than from any internal life.

 

Oh it is all very pretty to look at, but it has no bearing on reality at all. This is a movie derived from movies (and I say “movies” which is how I think specifically of Hollywood-style escapism, rather than “film” which incorporates “movies”). It repeats its catchphrases and appropriates liberally and somewhat shamelessly from ‘The Wizard of Oz’ (!). A key example of how the film forfeits any nod to realistic detail is in the way little Nullah magically learns to play ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’, just out of thin air, near enough as soon as he puts the harmonica to his lips for the first time and having apparently heard Mrs. Boss (!) hum it badly the once. Oh, we are meant to be moved and charmed, but it’s all built on nothing but whimsy and movie affectation. That is, of course, not a bad thing in itself, but Luhrmann and the screenplay - by Luhrmann, Stuart Beattie, Ronald Hardwood and Richard Flanagan - leave the film with little of its own to offer. They trade in tropes that surely belong to those films of the past and can be considered and perhaps forgiven a little as such.

 

 

‘Australia’ reaches an ending around 110minutes in, but then it goes on and on. There are no surprises to come, only that the scope becomes even more epic with the intrusion of the war and, exponentially, the dialogue becomes increasingly trite. The drama rolls along on clichés and therefore watching becomes a passive, rote experience. We are meant to be reminded of other classics, evidently, and perhaps we are meant to carry over affections for them to ‘Australia’, but what makes a genuine classic is what it does with its tropes. ‘Australia’ is pale imitation.

Nightmares of "This Island Earth"

"This Island Earth"
Joseph M Newman, 1955, USA

One of my fondest film-watching memories is when I was about eleven and living at my grandparent’s house after my parents split and getting to watch the b-movie season playing over months and months on television. I was about eleven or twelve and I loved getting into my pyjamas and watching these films on a Sunday evening before bed. I saw so many of the black-and-white creature features this way; my private education to the drive-in horror and science-fiction era, as if I had been born decades earlier. I know for sure that I saw “The Beast from 50,000 Fathoms” and “King Kong” and “It Came From Outer Space” that way, as well as “It! The Terror Beyond Space”, “Earth versus the Flying Saucers” and “This Island Earth”.

“This Island Earth” is kind of an honorary classic: it’s not a classic due to story and execution, but the whole is definitely greater than the parts. It looks and sounds like a tacky Fifties sci-fi, but it is much more if you play into it. It has decent and decidedly adult characters; it has a nice air of menace and mystery and a fascinatingly ambiguous relationship with its aliens. The aliens are the kind you are likely to meet in “Star Trek” – intelligent and humanoid with over-sized foreheads, but can seemingly pass for human. They are a threat in that they are a civilisation – from Metaluna –  on the brink of being wiped out by their enemies and both need Earth’s help and intend on moving their population to Earth too. The film’s classic status is surely down to the fact that it is quintessential Fifties-era pulp sci-fi, and that’s a lot of fun and no bad thing. It also has a slow build-up that is rewarded with a fantastic if brief visit to Metaluna itself, a gorgeous cosmic vision with comic-book colours and mutants, one which rivals anything from “Forbidden Planet”.

“This Island Earth” is full of green rays, flying saucers, manipulative but super-smart aliens, unlikely square-jawed scientists (Rex Reason) and equally unlikely science. It looks and acts like something out of “Astounding Science Fiction” magazine, and that is no bad thing. The worries about other cultures being smarter, manipulative and colonialist, but trusts its square-jaws and female vulnerability to get an Earthman through an extraterrestrial encounter. It is dated, but that doesn’t seem to do it any harm. It gets better and balmier as it goes on and has the good sense to throw in some alien mutants too to spice up things.

Yes: the mutants. These insectoid aliens gave me a nightmare that I never quite forgot. They were lumbering, soundless and – well, you can’t get much more alien than insects. I dreamt that I was on the spaceship standing inside the giant transparent tubes it had to condition people to different environments; my dream was paraphrasing the spaceship and a scene from the film. One of the mutants was going crazy on the flight deck, just as in the film, and I was stuck in the tube. The difference was that there was a gap at the bottom of the tubes so that feet, ankles and lower shins were horrible exposed. The alien came attacking the tubes and I was trapped inside and, eventually, it started to attack my feet at the gap at the base of the tube. I suspect I woke up during the attack. Oh yes, it was quite a nightmare and I’ve never forgotten it. For this reason, I have quite a soft spot for “This Island Earth”.

It remains a delightful slice of pulp hokum with an odd charm all its own. It doesn’t have the resonance and deep chills of, say, “Invasion of the Body-Snatchers”, but it is old school fun and possessed of enough intelligence and gorgeous alien scenery to more than hold its own.

Lost in Space: on the Robinson homestead

LOST IN SPACE:

series 1, episodes 4-8

4: There Were Giants in the Earth

5: The Hungry Sea

6: Welcome Stranger

7: My Friend, Mr. Nobody

8: Invaders from the Fifth Dimension

"nefarious plot... dupliciuous plan..."

*

4: "There Were Giants In The Earth" - Things have settled now. We know that each episode, Maureen Robinson (space-eyed June Lockhart) will be concerned and anxious; Dr. Smith will be duplicitous and scheming; Will Robinson will disobey his father’s orders and get a talking to later on after calamity has been diverted; Judy and Penny won’t do much and Don West will be stolid. To be fair, Penny almost endangers herself by, apparently, wandering off with her monkey alien just as the family are trying to relocate; ordinarily, endangering oneself is Will’s job, but Penny’s dilemma is short lived and this incident seems to serve only to kill time and to show off John Robinson in a jet-pack (jet-pack!). Early on, John makes a voice-over report and states that they know "nothing" about the animal life on the planet… except, of course, for the bizarrely trouble-free and domesticated monkey-alien and the turtle things briefly glimpsed when Penny rides one.

Giantism is the theme for this episode, as the somewhat odd title implies: giants in the earth?? We get giant vegetables this time to liven up a period of quiet given to seeing how the Robinsons try to set up their own little farmstead. But this proves only to be an indication of things to come as we next get full-on giant fanged cyclops alien action. Again, "Lost in Space" is like a whole sequence of Golden Age science-fiction magazine covers come to life, and the giant alien is a prize moment, simultaneously hilarious and gripping. The special effects are ambitious, fun and despite the low budget, engaging and credible enough; and you can’t go far wrong with a man in a furry suit and absurd headpiece.

But an even greater threat appears to be the impending freezing weather, and so the family sets out South to avoid being turned into Popsicles. The early stages of the journey includes a camp-side moment with Will Robinson playing "Greensleeves" on guitar! (For a moment, I wondered why Will was playing Leonard Cohen before I realised I was recalling Cohen’s cover version initially rather than the traditional original. But for a moment, Will Robinson playing Cohen was a surreal possibility. Bill Mumy will go on to have a long musical career, of course.) This is all without Dr. Smith, who has decided to stay back in the space-saucer to mince around and take his chances, not wanting to give up home comforts and test the nastiness of the outside world and, well, he is just damned contrary because he is the villain.

As the journey progresses, there is trouble in camp as Don West begins to show defiant strains of dissent against the imperious goodness of John Robinson. Don’s distrust of Dr. Smith makes him trigger-happy when Smith becomes less nefarious, has some kind of change-of-heart and tries to warn the Robinsons of the crazy orbit and weather changes of the planet which are likely to spell their doom. This all ends up with the Robinsons not having to go South after all and returning back to the Jupiter 2. But not before they run from electrical storms and take refuge in a cave of tombs - which ends up being a disappointingly brief exploration and peril. Sheesh, aren’t these guys curious about ancient alien civilisations at all? And -

5: "The Hungry Sea": - on the way home there is a fun battle with whirlpools as the frozen landscape they initially crossed has now melted into a violent sea. There is definitely delight in seeing the fragile-looking but apparently super-durable "chariot" making its way across frozen seas and rocky terrain, and then swimming to land - again, the miniatures work is pretty impressive and engaging. Much of the imagery of these early episodes is highly memorable and the sea storm is another that seems to exceed expectations. This particular odyssey ends with everyone back at Jupiter 2 and - evidently not wanting to be outdone by Will’s performance the previous episode - the Robot takes up the guitar and strums "There’s No Place Like Home". Will seems jealous of this, decrying the Robot’s choice as a din, apparently forgetting that his own earlier choice of "Greensleeves" was not exactly rock’n’roll. And then comes the sensation that a shark is being jumped.

The long-term storyline of the early episodes, outlining the Robinson’s take-off into space and their eventual shipwreck on an unnamed planet starts to break up now. The overarching continuity will fall into more independent instalments which resets the storyline every credit sequence. There has been evidence of this already, what with the giant (what, just one giant?), gigantic vegetables of episode four being totally forgotten subsequently, along with the potentially creepy and fascinating implications of a tombs they stumbled into. This pilgrimage into the cosmos is likely to offer up a lot of come-and-go perils to keep things going over the seasons. The next episode seems to hint at instant desperation after the Robinson’s brief excursion South to avoid the crazed weather patterns, and also to the way "Lost in Space" will progress.

"Yessirree, ain' we just jumping the shark early?"

*

6: "Howdy Stranger" immediately resorts to the guest star mode of keeping things going. And it’s a galaxy-travelin’ lone cowboy called James Hapgood that drops by the Robinson homestead (he‘s good and haphazard, I guess!), the kind that likes to spin yarns, whoop and fight and not stay any place long. We’ve already determined that the Robinsons are derived equally from pulp sci-fi and western pilgrimage adventures equally: the wholesomeness of the family, the campfire acoustic sessions, battles with the elements, the old-fashioned gender roles, the way they stop at the "roadside" to "give thanks" that they have survived perilous moments… it is all there. What we now have, which was not so obvious before, is a galaxy potentially full of solo-adventurers too, which makes the Robinsons far more straight-up pilgrims than pioneers and also means that a guest star might drop by at any moment. There is some slight endangerment from a weed-like contamination on the cowboy’s spaceship, but the real conflict here is the Robinson parents tension around the opportunity to send the children back to Earth, and then with Hapgood to convince him to take them. This does seem a little late in coming since the programme to send a family into space was at least a decade in the making (according to episode one); you would think the Robinsons were pretty certain of what exactly they were letting themselves in for, even if they concluded that it was the unknown. For a moment, Will has another alternative father figure (he doesn’t seem interested in looking up to Don West much and he tolerates Dr Smith like a difficult grandpa) and COWBOY as Hapgood puts in a good enough performance, not too broad. But, again, the haste with which the show had a guest astronaut stop by for a moment already nods to a show quickly run out of steam and unable to perpetuate an ongoing rather than episodic venture.

Evidently it is time for each Robinson to get their moment, and episode 7, which has the crummy title of "My Friend, Mr. Nobody", is all Penny Robinson’s. Feeling a little ignored and not taken seriously by the rest of the family, Penny wanders off alone in the alien landscape and hears voices and promptly gets herself an ’imaginary’ friend of sorts. It is, of course, an alien force, a disembodied voice in a cave mimicking and learning from her words. There is some initial creepiness, but this falls away to Penny’s sentimental and borderline hysterical attachment to this disembodied voice (girls, huh?). Finally, Penny’s loneliness takes flight into the stars. I’m sure she’ll be fine from now on. More curious, although in no way self-aware, is the subplot of the Robinsons blowing up the scenery looking for natural resources to use and exploit. The Robinsons just need to wipe out an indigenous tribe now to fit right in. Anyhow, this leads to Dr Smith conniving to have Don West exploding Mr Nobody’s cave in order to get at the diamonds there. That Mr Nobody turns out to be a brand new galaxy is kinda neat. That this galaxy calls back to say goodbye to "Pen-nnee" is daft.

The daftness of 8: "Invaders from the Fifth Dimension" is more pleasing. Somewhat inevitably, since most of the titles suffer from delusions of grandeur, it’s also more of an intrusion than an invasion. The invaders are apparently, and eerily enough, disembodied skullish and mouthless white heads that spout exactly the kind of preposterous platitudinous threats you would expect. They disdain the puny human mind and the primitive human sensation of "love" (which of course, will turn out to be the exact quality that defeats the interlopers). They want part of Dr. Smith’s brain and he, naturally, offers up one of the Robinson kids’ brains instead. Dr. Smith nefariously convincing Will Robinson to do something dangerous or counter-productive is one of the "Lost in Space" key highlights and special effects, as it were. Smith plays on Will’s good nature and fools him before the kid’s natural and equal intelligence, honesty and feistiness gets him out of trouble. This means he’s always a match for the Doc, even if unconsciously and even if constantly duped, and all without forfeiting that good faith he always has. It’s a stalemate of sorts, leaving their relationship always open for another round of manipulation and rebuff. And I’m not exactly looking for character development at this point.

Anyway, once the aliens are gone and Will is okay, everyone treats it like a bit of a romp and a joke. Nope, a little "invasion" ain’t going to phase the Robinsons.

Looks like "Lost in Space" will use visitors of one type or another to keep the storylines coming, rather than focusing on what it takes for the Robinsons and pals to survive. It’s easy and enjoyable, but the best has already been and gone, it’d predict. They aren’t doing much exploring now, really, but it looks like it’s going to get pretty busy whilst they’re stranded anyhow. Hey, and what about those giant Cyclops??

Same Time. Same channel.

You can't go wrong with spooky mouthless disembodied heads.

THE MISSION

Roland Joffé, 1986, UK

Ultimately the missionaries of the European Catholic Church have come to eradicate the Guarani Indians of South America just as much as the slave traders and ruthless Portuguese; but rather than with enslavement and massacres, the Jesuits use the passive-aggressive means of faith and conversion to erode the Guarani way of life. There is cognitive dissonance between the apparent ‘faith’ of the film and what we see: it can create martyrs of the missionaries and claim that the spirits of the dead Indians live on, but this is no consolation for a massacre; it is more like denial of religion’s involvement in genocide - both physical and cultural, as much as mercenary slave traders - and the believing in some vague notion of an afterlife to wave away the horror. The film patronises the Guarani, concerned only with their plight through "The White Man’s Burden", through the angst and sacrifices of its white protagonists. Thus, as movies have always approached the most elusive of societies.

"The Mission" does comes close to something credibly ‘divine’ by casting the jungle as Eden and in De Niro’s salvation by penance and reinvention; but these traits are more to do with the natural generosity of the scenery and narrative’s forgiving Indians. There is little evidence of the friction and likely complex reactions that accompanies religious conversion and scripture. The Guarani simply give themselves over to the Jesuits - that this is ultimately their only way of survival is muddily conveyed (so as not to mitigate the Jesuit good works), and how they feel about this is never addressed. The Jesuits come and provide legal protection against the slave traders: the true enemy here is greed and political corruption, a merciless growth of global consumerism and expanding plunder; the mission in contrast creates an idyllic socialist Guarani factory of production where profits and workload are evenly distributed and put back into the mission. Again, though this appears to be good works indeed, one can assume that the Guarani had an active social and bartering system of their own, long before the Jesuits arrived. This lack of any real understanding of the natives upon which the drama is invested in is a truly grievous absence.

The story runs smoothly, but any depth dissipates into pretty visual aesthetic; the drama squanders death as sentimental martyrdom. Where we should feel outrage and horror, we are pushed more to the moral superiority and redemption of our protagonists. Indeed, it is martyrdom that validates faith. De Niro as Rodrigo Menoza, begins as a slave-trader and murderer, and when he murders his own brother in a fit of jealousy over a woman, he becomes a missionary, a transformation that carries some weight as a tale of redemption. There is also the sneaking suspicion that De Niro may well be miscast, which is offset by a number of small moments where he coveys so much with his eyes.

In fact, it is in small moments that the film resonates. Jeremy Irons/Father Gabriel wooing the Indians with music, for example (it’s a nice moment, although the allusions to the story of "The Pied Piper" also helps to infantilise the natives). De Niro being manhandled curiously, being forgiven and accepted by the Guanari. Jeremy Irons shouting "Jesus is Love!" as if he is telling De Niro to go fuck himself. The Indian boy who has adopted De Niro wordlessly asking De Niro to fight for him by resurrecting the man’s sword. Irons’ loss of faith in humanity is also interesting enough. But greater insights are not recognised: the moment where the Guarani reminds His Eminence that he too is a King ought to speak volumes, but it does not because the film has barely identified this itself. The natives are children of Eden, generic and lacking character; we learn nothing of their ways or the conflicts when integrating with the Jesuits.

And in this way, the film condescends and ultimately insults. When his Eminence states, in closing voiceover, that it is he that is truly dead and that the Guarani live on, and when the final words on screen are for the missionaries that risk their lives for the Guanari rather than the Guanari themselves, one sees how myriad the ways of colonialist self-importance and pious self-congratulation; not only in the moments of truth in this particular fiction, but also in the post-colonial self-regard of white-man’s film-making. John Boorman’s "The Emerald Forest" is a scruffier and pulpier film in comparison, but it is more sincerely dedicated to merging white experience into native culture rather than vice versa, and more respectful too. "The Mission" is a pretty film and not without resonance - and the Morricone score helps - but its ugliness is in using its true victims as a mere branch from which to decorate it’s white guilt and self-regard.

LOST IN SPACE: the launch and landing

"Lost In Space"

episodes 1-3
"The reluctant Stowaway"
"The Derelict"

"Island in the Sky"

The opening episodes of "Lost In Space" - one of the famous/infamous brainchilds of producer Irwin Allen - are a real treat for those of us who have idealised false-memories of growing up in that era when pulp science-fiction really emerged out of television sets and drive-ins and into the mainstream. I’m English and far too young to have enjoyed seeing the drive-in era first time around; I only wish I had those early memories of Joe Dante, Ray Harryhausen and Ray Bradbury. On the other hand, thanks to early evening monster-movie and science-fiction seasons when I was just about to hit my teens, I too experienced black-and-white B-movie gems and derivatives before I abruptly found myself coming of age in my teens with such as "An American Werewolf in London" and "Eraserhead", so I feel like I experienced my own version of that idealised era. I can only imagine how much I would have relished the weekly broadcasts of adventures of the family Robinson, had my childhood coincided with those first screenings. The first three episodes were originally screened in September 1965.

As it is, the opening episodes are a lot of fun. We can enjoy the show’s datedness for sure, for the retro-future is a delight, and I am certain that the whole thing becomes camper and bittier as the episodes and seasons progress, but the first three episodes at least tell a continuous tale. The Robinsons are the first pioneering family into space, a test exploration in a programme to resolve Earth’s population problems. This is the dilemma of the space-age future of 1997 (!). The first episode covers the launch and the instantaneous ruination of the flight by "the nefarious" Dr. Zachary Smith, a mercenary saboteur who accidentally finds himself launched along with the Robinsons and their pilot, Major Don West (Mark Goddard). Wait… only one pilot?? Anyway… The pacing is occasionally a little staid - the tempo of another era - and aside from Smith and the fiesty Will Robinson (Bill Mumy), the rest of the crew are a pretty un-charismatic lot. This will ultimately prove to be the case in general, and in this the Robinsons are the ultimate Cold War era family: the kind that have achieved the idealised ‘dullness’ and conservatism that James Mason in "Bigger Than Life" mentions.

"Not so nefarious now, huh, Dr. Smith??"

There is innocent joy in seeing that the Robinson’s spaceship, Jupiter 2, is a flying saucer, and to find that they all dress in silver spacesuits. And then there is the Robot, who is part daft novelty and part imposing menace; somewhere between Robbie the Robot and Gort. He gets to run amok, be Will’s pet and play straight man to Dr. Smith’s sliminess. And so all the requirements are in place for a fun space yarn: by the end of the first episode we get a space walk and meteors; in the second we get an alien vessel; by the third we get a crash landing on an unknown planet. At 50 minutes each episode, the action is often stretched, but mostly composed of two halves: Jupiter 2 launch/sabotage and space-walk; space-walk resolution/alien vessel; crash landing on alien planet/rescue mission for John Robinson (space-age mannequin Guy Williams). This means that something new is always turning up and the perils are constant. Come episode 3, this also means we get a cute big-eared space-monkey which, on top of the half-cute, half-frightening robot, is probably a little too much (and promptly the writers have little idea what to do with space-monkeys, except to make it a baby-like pet-toy for Penny Robinson (Angela Cartwright)). But the erratic loyalties of the robot - the embodiment of devotion, technology and perverted in the Robinson’s universe - provides some threat and suspense on top of the murderous plots of Dr. Smith.

To which "You Only Live Twice" (1967) surely owes a debt.

As Smith, Jonathan Harris lays on the ham, smarm, weasley charm, entertainment and all out creepiness, but the unremarkable performances of the other adults do little to liven up shallow types. Pretty early on in the show, it is Smith, the Robot and plucky Will Robinson that energise the drama amidst the roster of hazards. There is great irony in the bad guy (who even denigrates the worth of voting! Democracy itself!! Commie slimeball!) upstaging such an iconic nuclear family, but the show doesn’t necessarily get this and just assumes the Robinsons’ earnest goodness is enough. But to offset this, there is plenty of danger, a rather decent sequence where we watch the Jupiter 2 crash-land, followed by a funky explorer buggy (or "chariot", as they call it… and from where in the ship did that come from?) and electrified tumbleweed (!).

Perhaps the most sublime sequence of the opening episodes is the near-"2001" moment when the Jupiter 2 is pulled into the alien vessel, which opens up its maw to swallow the smaller craft up. You can rarely go wrong with the exploring-an-alien-craft moment, and there is a genuine eeriness here. The most is made of a low budget: the crystal-web-like interior proves both evocative and economical, creating a cost-effective set design of invariability that creates the idea that it will be very easy to get lost. We even get a wonderfully absurd alien to encounter. With the silver suits to top it all off, what more could a fan of Space Age pulp want?

...Tune in next week…