CULT TV-MOVIE REVIEW: Goliath Awaits (1981)

From "Operation Prime Time" ("for better programming...") came this 1981 made-for-television, prime time extravaganza starring Christopher Lee, Robert Forster, Mark Harmon, Emma Samms and Frank Gorshin (in the performance of his career).

If you were around in the 1980s and paying attention to pop culture currents, you likely will recall this Kevin (Motel Hell) Connor-directed genre TV venture; one which was advertised with the haunting image of a winsome woman (Samms) gazing out of a porthole on a ruined old ship; staring out at the murky depths beyond.

That evocative, Gothic image alone probably generated some great ratings for this impressive four hour mini-series (shown over two nights, as I recall.)

Goliath Awaits opens in 1939 as Edward R. Murrow reports that England has just declared war on Hitler and Nazi Germany. Unfortunately, the British sea liner Goliath is already at sea and imperiled by a pack of German U-Boats. Soon, the magnificent vessel is sunk with all 1800 hands aboard, and lost to the tides of time. Her exact fate (and location) becomes a nautical mystery.

In 1981, however, an exploratory ship captained by Peter Cabot (Harmon) discovers that Goliath is -- miraculously -- intact (and positioned upright) some 1000 feet beneath the surface of the sea. As a deadly hurricane approaches, Cabot dives to investigate. He hears an S.O.S. emanating from the rusting hull of the "most famous ship of all time" and more incredibly, peers into a porthole and sees that beautiful porcelain face staring back at him.

Cabot quickly goes to the U.S. Navy for help solving this mystery. Admiral Sloane (Eddie Albert) is intrigued by the discovery and orders Commander Jeff Selkirk (Forster) to lead a rescue team to Goliath. Sloan boasts a secret too. Aboard Goliath (and in the care of a U.S. Senator named Bartholomew...) is a diplomatic pouch with an eyes-only message for President Roosevelt. The contents of that communique could conceivably tear down the NATO alliance. Now there are two jobs for Selkirk: rescue Goliath's survivors and also acquire (and destroy) the communique, which is believed to be a Nazi forgery.

The British vessel Enterprise 4, from British Oceanics, leads the rescue attempt. After receiving a message from Goliath in Morse Code (which warns the air is "toxic" and to "beware of McKenzie"), Enterprise's submarine docks with Goliath far below the surface, and a Navy team enters the ship through a torpedo breach. There, Peter, Jeff and Dr. Sam Marlowe (Alex Cord) learn that 337 souls now live aboard Goliath thanks to an air-bubble that has existed aboard the sunken ship once "equalization" occurred with the sea outside the hull.

In charge of this isolated society on Goliath is Mr. McKenzie (Lee), a former third-engineer and a man of extraordinary resources and intelligence. When the ship was struck by the torpedo all those years ago, McKenzie thought fast and managed to convert the ship's engines into air processors. Even more than that "miracle," he created an entire Utopian society, one featuring hydroponic gardens, fish hatcheries, and other wonders. Accordingly, the people of Goliath virtually worship the man.

Alas, there are also rebels aboard Goliath, deformed "Bow People" (suffering from the bends) who -- according to McKenzie -- just don't "fit in." They are lead by a man named Ryker (Duncan Regeher), a man who rejects McKenzie's brand of authoritarian leadership.

McKenzie's major domo is a petty Irish criminal, Wesker (Gorshin), who performs the difficult (and morally questionable...) tasks required to make a society like Goliath's thrive. This means that Wesker commands a virtual gestapo security force, and administers lethal injections to the physically or mentally infirm...those who can't work, but would use up precious resources.

Even as Peter finds himself growing attracted to McKenzie's fetching daughter, Lea (Samms), he starts to see the downside of Goliath's society and a the world where an "old man made himself king." Soon, he becomes convinced (thanks to Ryker) that McKenzie and Wesker will never permit the rescue, because they will be losing their hold on power. Commendably, McKenzie puts the decision up to a democratic vote, but lies to his people about the feasibility of continued survival aboard ship. In truth, the vessel is running out of fuel, and the environment will soon turn bitter cold and inhospitable.

What you get, then, in Goliath Awaits is a thoughtful meditation on the idea you find in some Space:1999 episodes of the 1970s: that (to quote the episode "Dorzak"), it is the battle for survival that makes monsters of us all. McKenzie is a fascinating character: a man who achieved technological miracles to save his people. He created a workable society from the ground up, one that -- amazingly -- flourished for forty years. Yet, at some point, he got used to the power, to "playing God," and his miraculous victory on Goliath became an oppressive terror to some of those whom he ruled.

You may recognize some elements of Goliath Awaits' plot from the famous fourth season Twilight Zone episode "On Thursday We Leave For Home," a story in which another charismatic, brilliant leader (James Whitmore) of an isolated community (on an inhospitable planet) came to resist a rescue mission because he simply couldn't give up his authority; can't give up the idea that he is "needed."

Goliath Awaits is sort of "On Thursday We Leave For Home" meets The Poseidon Adventure. Despite the fantastic nature of the scenario (300 people survive in an air bubble over the generations...), Goliath Awaits is contemplative, deliberate and smart. It doesn't skimp over the difficult aspects of a rescue mission at the bottom of the sea. In fact, it even paints a relatively full (and realistic) presentation of the world's reaction to the rescue, from White House Press conferences to TV news bulletins, to the diverse reaction of Goliath's citizenry. Since I've always been fascinated by stories about strange disappearances and mysteries at sea, I very much enjoyed the film and the fictional world it created.

Kevin Connor (who also directed Land that Time Forgot and some episodes of Space:1999), executes s a few brilliant compositions on what was obviously a relatively limited budget too. For instance, there's a P.O.V. shot where the camera adopts the position of a speeding torpedo, and we essentially "ride" it (underwater) as it strikes the Goliath's hull. Amazingly, the already-impressive shot doesn't end with the expected collision. Instead, there's a sort of optical cut and we actually enter the ship's interior with the torpedo, and see crew standing by unwittingly as it explodes. It's a fancy shot for the pre-CGI age, delightfully conceived.

Another good composition also involves subjective P.O.V. A Navy rescue diver enters the Goliath, and emerges from the water, only to see Wesker standing before him, aiming a pistol at him. Before we can entirely register what's happening, the gun is fired, and we see the diving helmet's glass visor (over our eyes, essentially) shattered. Then blood hits it the visor in a spray.

Goliath Awaits also reminds me of Space:1999's "Mission of the Darians" or even The Starlost, genre entertainments in which a giant vessel is compromised, and mankind is forced to "evolve" or "adapt" based on limited resources. Here, the people of Goliath dwell not merely in an air bubble, but in the equivalent of a time bubble. They existin a world where Hitler was not defeated, and where the ship's band is always playing "Happy Days are Here Again." John Carradine plays a movie star of the silent age, the only celebrity in residence on the ship, and another beacon of a long-gone age.

The idea that "absolute power corrupts absolutely" is a cliche, I guess, but Goliath Awaits makes an interesting genre tale out of the truism. Lee gives a restrained but highly effective performance as McKenzie, a dignified man who unknowingly went from being a savior...to a devil. And I also admired the sub-plot involving Jane Marsh's character. She plays Goliath's Dr. Goldman -- a Jew -- a character who is asked to permit Nazi-like tactics by Wesker so that the strong survive, and the weak perish.

I distinctly remember watching Goliath Awaits in 1981 (when I was 12 years old), and at the time I loved it. Today it seems a bit over-long and drawn-out, but the miniseries remains an interesting meditation on the use and mis-use of power. The claustrophobic feeling of encroaching doom is strong, and the climactic sense of catharsis -- as Lea rises to the surface and sees the sun for the first time in her life -- is still moderately affecting.

I see that some ambitious film studio is remaking the classic Don't Be Afraid of the Dark, a TV movie of the 1970s. If that endeavor proves successful, and TV-movies become the new "re-imagined" efforts of the industry in the decade ahead, it's not at all difficult to imagine an updated, big-budget movie version of Goliath Awaits. The magnificent Frank Gorshin is gone, alas, but Christopher Lee would still be a great choice to play McKenzie. He brings a regal, noble quality to the role, making the man more than just your average villain. You can't help but admire McKenzie, despite his turn to the dark side. He accomplished so much, but somewhere, in the long, difficult years, the tide turned...and he lost sight of morality. For a country now undergoing an examination of "torture" and terrible (illegal), immoral things done in all our names, this is a timely character study..

CULT TV MOVIE REVIEW: Night Slaves (1970)

Night Slaves (1970) may just be the dullest, cheesiest, most deeply silly TV movie of the seventies. And remember, I've seen Killdozer. It's a long, difficult slog through 75-minutes of ridiculous melodrama.

Directed by Ted Post, Night Slaves (written by the late, great Jerry Sohl) depicts the emotional journey of a man named Clay Howard (James Franciscus). He is disenchanted with his hot wife, Marjorie (Lee Grant), who is having an illicit affair with Clay's lawyer, Matt Russell.

One day, Clay is involved in a car accident and must undergo emergency surgery. The doctors implant a metal plate in his skull during the operation (though -- miraculously - they don't have to shave his head to do so...). Afterwards, Clay's surgeon recommends a vacation, one with "no pressure at all."

So Clay and Marjorie head off together to not-very-scenic Eldrid, California, a dusty old town that advertises itself as "a bit of the Old West." Translation: it's a studio back lot.

Clay soon notices that everyone in Eldrid is suspiciously sleepy, much like the audience of Night Slaves. He soon learns the reason.

By night, the townspeople including - dear god! - Sheriff Leslie Nielsen, turn into hypnotized zombies and are "herded like sheep" onto trucks and transported out of town to perform menial tasks for Noel (Andrew Prine), an alien life form who has taken the human form of the village idiot. Noel's space craft suffered "internal damage" while in flight and now Noel steals "four hours a night" from his human servants.

And here I thought Wal-Mart had atrocious labor practices...

Because of the metal plate lodged conveniently in his head, Clay is immune to Noel's dictatorial work orders. Instead, he falls immediately in love with the alien leader's only crew member, a naive technician named Nailil (Trish Sterling). Nailil shows Clay her damaged spaceship, as well as a selective invisible force field which she can pass through, but which Clay cannot. It blankets the town and prevents egress during the nightly work shift.

Even though they've just met -- and for a grand total of maybe an hour -- Clay and Nailil fall madly in love with each other. So when Noel's spacecraft plans to lift-off at 5:30 am one morning, Clay means to shed his Earthly form and be on board it...

Flaccidly paced, directed and performed, Night Slaves is an extremely tepid interspecies romance. Personally, I'll take combatants/would-be-lovers Angie Dickinson and Lloyd Bridges in Love War over Franciscus and Sterling here. They share no chemistry and it's not even remotely believable that the cynical Clay, so "unhappy on the treadmill" would drop his defenses in a mysterious town long enough to fall in love with...an alien. With the central romance generating no feeling whatsoever, Night Slaves is simply unconvincing.

I'm not totally clear on the details of Noel and his alien nature, either. He says he comes from a "psychokinetic race," one of "pure mind." He has taken human form to oversee the laborers, but his spaceship is clearly corporeal in nature, which baffles me. I mean, he needs humans to do metal work for him. Now explain to me why a formless alien would build a ship he can't repair himself? It sure is lucky he happened by Earth, a third-world sweatshop for free labor, I guess...

More importantly, without any corporeal form, how do Noel and Nailil actually fly their dinky white space ship? Don't they have to push buttons?

And would a 20th century man -- especially an attractive, athletic sort like James Franciscus - really want to surrender physicality to be forever with a "pure mind?" I mean, you can't have intercourse if you have no body to do it with. And Trish Sterling's character is super hot in the body department, but not much in the "pure mind" category, if you catch my drift.

Devoid of interesting locations, special effects, make-up or production values of any and all variety, Night Slaves is a laborious waste of time. When the climax arrives and Nailil and Clay run together through a meadow and embrace each other in slow motion, it descends to total camp.

"I'm sorry you were subjected to all this," Neil the alien declares near Night Slaves' finale.

Apology accepted.

CULT TV-MOVIE REVIEW: The UFO Incident (1975)

The unsettling and inexplicable experience of Barney and Betty Hill -- of alien abduction -- was recounted meticulously in John Fuller's best-selling book, The Interrupted Journey. The same tale was also memorably adapted for American TV screens in October of 1975 by writer Hesper Anderson and frequent TV-movie director Richard Colla.

The film's title was changed to The UFO Incident, and actors James Earl Jones and Estelle Parsons were cast in the lead roles. The late Barnard Hughes co-starred as the couple's stolid psychiatrist, Dr. Simon.

The UFO Incident commences a few years after the alleged alien abduction, as a troubled Barney and Betty Hill, an interracial couple living in New England, feel a strange compulsion to re-trace their steps from the night of September 19, 1961, the nights their lives were forever altered. There are gaps in their memories that they can't explain, and this fact vexes them both.

Since September '61, The Hills have driven the same stretch of New Hampshire road eight or nine times, but on this particular occasion (an event translated directly from Fuller's book...), something unexpected occurs. The presence of a group of men on the side of the rural highway causes a usually calm Betty to fly into a spasm of hysteria and panic. We see an alarming quick cut -- as she screams in terror -- of a gloved, grey hand reaching into the car...as if to grab her.

Meanwhile, Barney is still reluctant to face the possibility that he and his wife encountered a UFO at all. He is insecure living in an all-white community with Betty and fears ridicule and isolation should the story of flying saucers come to light. "Your dreams are your dreams," he tells Betty, "and reality is reality." Later, Barney angrily acknowledges "I know it happened...but I can't get myself to believe it."

The couple goes to see Dr. Simon, a psychiatrist, to aid in resolving their "anxiety problems" and "double amnesia." But what the Hills ultimately reveal in long, detailed hypnosis sessions is something extremely terrifying: a close encounter with the crew of an alien spaceship. Aliens stopped their car by moonlight, and escorted the alarmed humans aboard their flying saucer. There, these curious, inhuman creatures conducted a variety of invasive medical exams, including a pregnancy test, before sending the Hills -- with wiped memories -- on their way home.

Over time, Dr. Simon helps the Hills contextualize and accept the events of September 1961, even if it can't be fully or even adequately explained. The cloud of anxiety lifts (especially for Barney...), and some sense of normalcy returns to the Hills, despite the oddness of this weird event in their history.

The UFO Incident inter-cuts a series of tension-provoking hypnosis sessions with more routine views of Barney and Betty's domestic life, to good effect. James Earl Jones and Estelle Parsons share a number of sweet, well-written scenes together at the Hill residence, strongly registering as likable, "real" people under unusual duress. These relationship scenes purposefully contrast in tone with the horrific recitation of the fascinating, you-can't-look-away abduction details.

For the most part, the hypnoses scenes in The UFO Incident admirably eschew spectacle for intimacy. Colla's camera remains pinned to Jones' expressive face in intense, sustained close-up photography. Barney grows ever more disturbed during his account of the alien encounter, and the performance is stunning. Watching Jones "live through" Barney's experience, you are absolutely riveted. And when Jones breaks the carefully-staged close-up composition, suddenly lunging from frame "trying to escape," you'll feel your adrenalin kick in. This is scary, scary stuff.

There are also occasional cuts to flashbacks during the hypnosis session; to Barney worriedly studying the night sky, clutching his binoculars, for instance. Intermittently, the audience can make out a light shining down on forest trees, but other than that, we never actually see the UFO in flight. This is an effective technique simply because we seem to be remembering "fragments" of the experience at the same time Barney or Betty does.

The medical examination scene aboard the alien space craft is vetted with similar tact and dramatic flair. Colla's camera cuts to a variety of insert shots: close-ups of alien surgical tools and other instrumentation, for example. When these shots begin to flash by, faster and faster, we feel as though we are being overcome by a flurry of images, literally overtaken by the experience.

The UFO Incident's most chilling image, however, arises during Betty's hypnosis session. She describes (again, in committed close-up), a group of "men" appearing ahead of the car; coming out of the forest and slowly nearing. Here, the film flashes back to a sort of wooded glade, and at first we don't see anything distinct. Then, appearing in shadow -- in the blurry, darkened distance at first -- black-garbed creatures loom, eventually coming into plain sight. Again, it's very chilling.

Colla and Anderson rigorously and faithfully follow the events and experiences in Fuller's written account, a fact which makes this TV movie an unusual artifact in a medium that prefers to tart things up. But, The UFO Incident isn't exactly a documentary, either. Instead, the film seeks and ultimately locates the core of the Hill drama: the manner in which the encounter with the aliens plays into Barney and Betty's already-existing fears.

For instance, Barney is a pragmatist, afraid of that which is real, meaning racial prejudice, intolerance and hatred. He's also grappling with another very real fear -- his health. The men in Barney's family all died young from strokes and he fears the same fate. For Barney, acknowledging that the UFO experience is actually real, proves a traumatic and difficult thing. If it's real, then he has to deal with it the same way he has to deal with bigotry or his illness.

Coming from a more privileged background, all of Betty's fears are based not in the real, but in the unknown. She's not alone; but she fears being alone (of losing Barney). She fears the "unknown" of death too. For her, the UFO experience means countenancing and accepting the unknown in her life.

The UFO Incident could have easily proven a really lurid, sensational bit of business. However, the steadfast focus on character, on performance, and on effective camera-work renders the movie not merely respectable, but actually admirable. The movie could have been an over-the-top geek show, but The UFO Incident understands it doesn't need to embellish, enhance or "stylize" the story of Barney and Betty Hill to render it attention-grabbing and suspenseful.

On the contrary, all the drama -- all the anxiety -- we can handle is abundantly present. In close-up. In the expressive, human faces of Jones and Parsons.

CULT TV-MOVIE REVIEW: The Love War (1970)

Producer Aaron Spelling and director George McCowan presented this sci-fi "ABC Movie of the Week" on March 10, 1970...nearly forty years ago now. Since that time, The Love War has remained an affectionate favorite for some; a little-remembered oddity for others.

Penned by David Kidd and Guerdon Trueblood, The Love War follows a reserved, emotionless alien warrior from the distant planet Argon, a "man" named Kyle (Lloyd Bridges).

Kyle and his lieutenant (a very young, pre-Hill Street Blues Daniel J. Travanti...) have traveled to Earth to play a most serious sort of "game." The outcome of that game could spell salvation or destruction for all of us.

Some background: Our happy little green planet rests between the "overlap" of two cosmic Empires. Both Argon (Kyle's world) and hostile Zenon claim that our world belongs to them.

But, to avoid use of "the bomb," a weapon which has all-but destroyed both alien civilizations, the two empires have agreed on a new kind of warfare. Monitored by the impartial "War Arbitration Control," each side sends three of their best warriors to Earth.

There, in human form, these representatives will wage a war according to "rules." They must abide by a "schedule" -- "the clock by which our lives run," according to Kyle. And "any change in the schedule will be dealt with harshly," according to War Arbitration.

The aliens also battle in designated "Skirmish Zones," and make certain that their enemies, once destroyed, are disintegrated, leaving no trace of their presence. Throughout the course of the film, we see several alien corpses glow green and then burn up in orange puffs of smoke.

Most importantly, the aliens choose to fight in a peculiar manner: in "the way man does on Earth." This description means one-on-one gunfights or shoot-outs, specifically.

The alien enemy combatants can detect each other only by two means, since they are hidden inside human bodies. The first way involves the use of a small hand-held scanner. It beeps white when enemies are near; red when they are within shooting range. And secondly -- and forecasting John Carpenter's They Live (1988) -- the aliens can only see each other for their true form when they adorn glasses. Dorky, silver glasses...

If Argon wins the war, Earth will become part of "The Federation." If Zenon wins, however, the human population will be destroyed and Zenon's people will be "substituted." In the event of a total draw, Earth will be "bypassed forever," according to Kyle.

Things don't go according to plan, for Kyle anyway, because this world-weary alien has begun -- for the first time in his 150 year lifespan -- to experience emotions. This development is anathema to him at first. Between "the effects of the bomb" and Argon's "relentless drive for intellectual superiority," all emotions, and all physical needs have been sublimated.

Until Kyle meets a hot fellow traveler named Sandy (Angie Dickinson), that is.

They meet, apparently by accident, on a bus bound for Fresno, where the next skirmish is scheduled to occur. Sandy is friendly, funny, sexy and a free spirit...all the things Kyle -- bearing the weight of two worlds -- can never be. She is also vulnerable, stoking his protective nature. "I ran out of destinations a long time ago," Sandy says cryptically at one point, like a little girl lost.

When Kyle informs Sandy he has had no "contact" with women for some time, Sandy then launches into an entertaining meditation on the various meanings of the word "contact," which is really an excuse to slip her hand over onto Kyle's leg.

In short order, Kyle and Sandy are hiding out at the Majestic Hotel in Fresno together. Kyle reveals his true alien identity to Sandy, and after some apparent difficulty, she accepts his story of interplanetary war and alien combatants. A love affair between Kyle and Sandy blossoms, even as the final battle between Argon and Zenon nears. "I've never felt this close to anything in my whole life," Kyle tells Sandy, as their bond seems to grow.

Unfortunately for Kyle, he has permitted his new-found emotions to blunt his warrior's instincts and in The Love War's shattering finale, he pays the price for his folly. The Argon makes a terrible - and pretty damn basic - mistake. And it is here, in this surprising and effective coda, that The Love War truly becomes memorable (perhaps even a 1970s TV-movie classic).

The Love War's finale, which I speak of here only in generalities, suggests something about the nature of men and women; about love; and even, in some fashion, about warring. These were timely topics during the original broadcast. In 1970, America was still bogged down in Vietnam (the My Lai Massacre occurred just seven days after The Love War aired...), while Second Wave Feminism and Écriture Féminine were also on blazing ascent.

The proverb "man proposes and God disposes" could have been re-purposed here to substitute "woman" for God, because of the role Sandy ultimately plays in the warfare. She serves as "the sum total of every woman who ever lived," according to her own dialogue.

Some viewers may argue that Sandy's final act is one of betrayal and treachery, or even callous. But one thing is definitive: she has ended a war run by -- and played exclusively by -- men. When she alone is left standing at the film's denouement, the result is deliberately ambiguous: are the Zenon attack craft now ready to launch? Or has Sandy -- by her rule-breaking appearance in the arena of combat -- rendered the final battle a draw, thus saving us all? Thus ending all wars, forever?

Food for thought in a strange, intimate-little TV movie, I suppose. Given a bit of deep interpretation, it's not difficult to detect how The Love War actually follows in the footsteps of such anti-war (and feminist) texts like Lysistrata. Here, the indictment of men, and men's warring nature is clear. At one point, Sandy comments on succinctly on men and their desires: "you want what you want when you want it." Kyle responds, emptily: "what's wrong with that?"

To be blunt, The Love War features no exceptional locations or incredible special effects. It boasts not even a single interesting action scene. The style of the film is rudimentary, to put the matter politely. Even the battle royale is shot in hackneyed fashion, from a cockeyed 45 degree angle (what is this, Batman?). And director George Cowan turns the (over)use of the zoom into -- if not an art - at least a bad habit.

And yet, some unexcavated quality of The Love War resonates. The story feels...intimate. The focus is on what it means to be human, and Lloyd Bridges and Angie Dickinson are a pretty compelling couple. When the film revolves around these two secretive, emotionally-battered characters falling in love and looking for a way to survive, you can't help but like The Love War. All the other bells and whistles don't matter. It's almost like a play or something. If it's not quite Death in Venice, it's Death in Fresno. With aliens.

Otherwise, The Love War is relatively efficient the manner in which it co-opts the Frederic Brown "Arena"-story template (already recruited by The Outer Limits and Star Trek...) to make a case about the personal cost of war.

And I must say, I admired the setting of the film's last shoot-out far more than I did the execution of the scene. The duel is set in an abandoned ghost town. It is here that the future is decided; but that choice about all our tomorrows is rendered by the rules of man's violent yesterdays; in a historical, not futuristic venue. There's just something inherently cool and meaningful about the presentation: two humanoid aliens with ray guns quick-drawing in an Old West street, deciding the fate of a planet.

The best gets saved for last, however. After the final duel, we're granted a quick, haunting glimpse of the only surviving alien. The mask of humanity is gone, and in its place is something glowing and gorgeous...something powerful and yet delicate. Not the monster we were led to expect.

The Love War's big surprise is likely telegraphed in the title, but if you do take a gander at this old TV-movie, try to forget that you know the destination, and simply enjoy the journey. By my reckoning, the best love stories are always tragic ones, and The Love War certainly fits the bill.

CULT TV-MOVIE REVIEW: The Questor Tapes (1974)

"I have seen much to criticize in mankind, but I believe there's even more to admire..."

-Questor (Robert Foxworth) in The Questor Tapes, by Gene Roddenberry and Gene Coon.

May I introduce you to Lt. Data's father?

This Hugo Award-nominated TV pilot, which first aired on American television on January 23, 1974, represents another Gene Roddenberry attempt to craft a successful science fiction TV series after Star Trek (and following the failure of pilots including Genesis II and Planet Earth).

In The Questor Tapes, however, Roddenberry abandoned the "future world scenario" of Star Trek and both PAX TV movies and instead focused on the idea of an artificial man -- an android -- who, with great benevolence, would guide the human race through his troubled "infancy" in the twentieth century.

Thirteen episodes of the series were actually written, and NBC green lit The Questor Tapes, even officially granting it a time-slot: Friday nights at 10:00 pm. However, before the series could air, various behind-the-scenes factions fought a fatal tug-of-war, attempting to skew the fledgling series in a new direction, making it more like The Fugitive (1964-1968) or The Six-Million Dollar Man (1973-1978).

Roddenberry stuck to his guns...and walked away. His series was never produced. However, the pilot was novelized by D.C. Fontana in a book based on the script by Gene Coon and Gene Roddenberry. And even today, many fans fondly remember The Questor Tapes.

The Questor Tapes opens at "Project Questor," inside a highly-advanced surgical operating theatre on a college campus, where Dr. Jerry Robinson (Mike Farrell) and a team of scientists (including Majel Barrett Roddenberry) attempt to bring an android -- Questor -- to full consciousness.

This is a more difficult task than it sounds, however, because Questor's actual creator, Dr. Vaslovik (Lew Ayres) is missing and "presumed dead." The mystery man disappeared three years ago, without a trace. Questor, Vaslovik's child, is not well-understood by either the high-IQ Robinson or the other international scientists (James Shigeta, Fred Sadoff). Project Leader Darrow (John Vernon), fears that Questor is a "billion dollar pile of junk."

Questor rejects all programming tapes except the one created specifically by Vaslovik. Vaslovik's programming includes a background in "logic, law" and forensic medicine, among other things. Questor also boasts knowledge of "international laws and procedures."

Even after successful programming, Questor does not appear to operate normally. This vexes Robinson, who considers himself a "puzzle solver" and "gifted mechanic." A disappointed Darrow immediately seizes on the idea of selling Questor's valuable parts (like his stomach -- an amazing "nuclear furnace") to international bidders.

While unguarded and unsupervised, Questor (Robert Foxworth) activates himself, modifies himself to appear human (replete with skin imperfections), and leaves the facility. His overriding purpose is to locate his "creator," Vaslovik. Unfortunately, Vaslovik's programming tape was corrupted and now Questor does not possess human emotions, a fact he laments. "Is it possible, I was meant to feel?" He wonders.

Without programming to help him understand emotions and experience a sense of morality, Questor abducts Jerry Robinson and demands that the human being become his "guide" in such matters. Robinson isn't sure at first about befriending a "an ambulatory computer device," but soon realizes he has a responsibility to help the Questor "child" discover his creator, and find an "explanation" for himself.

Alas, Questor has limited time to complete his mission. If he does not locate the missing Vaslovik in three days, he will self-destruct...literally becoming a nuclear bomb.

After a jaunt to London in which Questor and Jerry meet Lady Helena (Dayna Winter), Vaslovik's courtesan, they proceed by jet to remote Turkey...to the very mountains where Noah's Ark is believed to have crashed. There, in a deep mountain cavern, Questor finally meets his creator, Vaslovik, and learns of both his origin and purpose.

Vaslovik and Questor are both androids of extra-terrestrial design. These androids (who build their own replacements before they expire...) have been protecting and guiding the human race in secret for 200 millennia. Questor is the last android of the line, because after his span (a duration of 200 years...), mankind will have outgrown a turbulent childhood and will no longer require safeguarding.

Unfortunately, Vaslovik can not provide Questor what the android desires most: human emotions. Although he would "trade anything to feel; to be human," Questor will have to continue to rely on his friend, Robinson, for an understanding of the human equation...

Had there been a Questor series, it would have picked up there: with Jerry and Questor "guiding" but not interfering with man as he broached international crises and problems that could threaten the human race.

In the pilot, we are introduced to what would have been an important set: Vaslovik's Information Center, a control room hidden in Lady Helena's wine cellar. From that location, Questor can monitor important locations worldwide (including the U.S. Congress), as well as private locations...like, uh, bedrooms...

The Questor Tapes is an almost perfect representation of the Gene Roddenberry aesthetic. There is (gentle...) criticism of 20th century industrial/technological mankind here, his "squalor...ugliness...greed...struggles."

Yet this damning view is balanced and tempered by an essential optimism about intrinsic human nature. Our "greatest accomplishment," declares Questor is "our ability to love one another."

Questor is a character much like Mr. Spock or Lt. Data -- an outsider who is nonetheless fascinated by mankind. The perspective as "outsider" permits Questor, Data or Spock to be both critical and positive about the human race, without any of it seeming personal, political or petty. Like Spock, Questor is dedicated to logic, and uses that word (logic) frequently. "Logic indicates the simplest plan is often the best," etc. And also like Spock, Questor is peaceful. He is not programmed to kill, yet he can incapacitate enemies with the equivalent of a "nerve pinch."

But if Questor is a child of Spock, he is also the father of Data. There can be little doubt of that. Questor desires to be human, just like Data, and wants to understand humor. "Humor is a quality which seems to elude me," he tells Jerry at one point. Also, like Data, Questor is a sexual being, and this facet of his personality also conforms to an essential quality of all Roddenberry productions: kinkiness.

To get information out of Lady Helena Trimble, Questor -- an android -- makes love to her. Beforehand, he tells her that he is...um..."fully functional." Next Generation fans will recognize that particular turn of phrase from Data's seduction of Tasha Yar in the first season episode "The Naked Now."

In another scene from The Questor Tapes, Jerry and Questor visit a European casino and Questor learns that the House is cheating, utilizing fake dice. The android is able to beat the cheaters by adjusting the balance of the dice. In the second season episode of The Next Generation entitled "The Royale," Data does precisely the same thing.

The Questor Tapes has aged poorly in a few, minor ways...all mostly visual. For instance, a close-up glimpse of Questor's high-tech interior reveals a rotary telephone cord...not exactly state of the art for 2008. And the very idea that "tapes" would carry an android's programming? Well, that is passe, of course too. Even Vaslovik's Information Center is obviously pre-world-wide-web.

Yet none of that matters in the slightest. What matters here, and what grants The Questor Tapes a real "heart" is the relationship at the forefront of the production: the friendship between a human (Jerry) and a machine (Questor). There's funny banter and quiet affection there, and the relationship will remind you (in a positive, not derivative...) way of the long-lived Kirk/Spock friendship. It's different in that Jerry has no authority over Questor: he's a teacher in the subject of humanity, not a commanding officer. Despite the difference, there's definitely charm here.

I also appreciate the real and deep sense of compassion that Roddenberry and Coon bring to all their characters in The Questor Tapes. Lady Helena (Wynter), who is scandalously introduced as an aristocratic courtesan, is actually a woman of tremendous depth, intelligence and loyalty. And even the TV movie's villain, Darrow, is treated with compassion. When Darrow realizes that the military is going to discover Questor and dis-assemble him, Vernon sacrifices himself. He takes a tracer, flies Questor's jet...and dies when the air force blows it up.

Roddenberry watchers will also recognize other recurring themes here. The idea of an alien race peacefully guiding humanity out of his adolescence is straight out of Star Trek's "Assignment Earth" (story by Roddenberry; teleplay by Art Wallace.)

And the idea of a robot/android searching for his "creator" has been the core idea of original Star Trek episodes ("The Changeling" by John Meredyth Lucas) movies (Star Trek: The Motion Picture) and Next Generation installments ("Datalore," "Brothers," etc.)

What I enjoyed most about the "search for creator" subplot in Questor was this notion that it is a metaphor for man's search for his creator...for our God. At one point in the pilot, Questor must countenance the notion that his creator (Vaslovik) is insane. This possibility is suggested by Jerry. Interestingly, Questor turns the concept around on Robinson and asks him: what if our creator (God...) is insane too? Robinson doesn't have an answer for that.

Roddenberry might have gotten away with that subtle swipe at religion in 1974, but I wonder if Questor could get it by censors in conservative 2008. In fact, it is rumored that one of the reasons that The Questor Tapes never materialized as a series is that NBC executives were uncomfortable with the concept - stated here - that aliens, not a Christian God, were overseeing mankind's development. The network was apparently afraid that Questor would be deemed the "Anti-Christ" by some viewers.

In recent years, there has been some movement (after Roddenberry's death in 1991) to revive The Questor Tapes concept as a series. I'd still love to see it happen. Today, more than ever, I think mankind could use Questor's help...

Now that I've blogged Genesis II, Planet Earth and The Questor Tapes, I've got only one Roddenberry pilot left to look at: 1977's Spectre, a supernatural thriller starring Robert Culp, John Hurt and Gig Young.

CULT TV-MOVIE REVIEW: Killdozer (1974)

"I don't like the way she handles..."

- quite the understatement, in Killdozer (1974)

Muir's Law of Nostalgia # 3: Some "gems" (both cinematic and earthen...) are better left unexcavated.

Or to put it another way: not everything you remember from your youth is a treasure. Sometimes it's just...poopie.

The 1974 hit TV-movie Killdozer -- another touchstone from my disco decade, mis-spent youth -- proves (like 1960's dreadful Dinosaurus!) a prime example of this theorem.

I'm sad and disappointed to report that under the microscope of critical viewing, this old made-for-television movie is a bit of a bust. Yep, Killdozer is stuck perpetually in idle.

And yes, this is a film that was constantly joked about on MST3K (for good reason, I see...). And no, I was not expecting great art upon my recent viewing.

On the contrary, I was simply expecting to have a good time; to be entertained on the level of a production such as Duel, Trilogy of Terror, Gargoyles, Snowbeast, Someone's Watching Me, Death Stalk or Don't Be Afraid of the Dark. Those are all 1970s TV-movies that hold up pretty darn well in 2008, given budgetary and censorious limitations. Unfortunately, Killdozer doesn't make the grade. By a long shot.

That's a bit of surprise, because the source material is strong stuff. Killdozer is based on a great and highly-suspenseful Theodore Sturgeon novella first published in Astounding Magazine back in 1944. Sturgeon's tale concerned a malevolent alien intelligence waging war against humanity (particularly a small work crew) by possessing a bull dozer.

The TV-movie pretty closely hews to that simple outline, but lacks the most basic sense of craft to bring to life the bizarre premise. To wit, Killdozer features a dearth of action, impossible-to-distinguish characters, and is poorly filmed. In short, it makes Maximum Overdrive (1985) look like King Lear.

Think of The Thing by way of comparing the ingredients: isolated location (here an island two hundred miles off the coast of Africa), few characters (all male...), an alien menace (not a shape shifter but "pure energy"), and a fierce battle for survival.

In fact, Killdozer's opening shot is one quite similar to John Carpenter's vastly superior The Thing (1981) remake. It's set in Earth's near-orbital space. Instead of a flying saucer crashing into the Antarctic snow 200,000 years ago, we see a meteor crash to Earth on that isolated island shore...time indeterminate.

We then cut to a small construction team working for Warburton Oil Resources. There are six men on the team, led by a recovering alcoholic named Kelly (Clint Walker). Before long, one of the workers, Mac (Robert Urich) spies an eerie blue glow transfer from the meteor to a bulldozer...and then he promptly dies of something like radiation poisoning.

An alien hum (like one emanating from the meteor), is soon detected in the bulldozer's bucket blade, but gritty mechanic Chub (Neville "Eaten Alive" Brand) can't pinpoint the source.

Before you can say "Bob the Builder," the alien-controlled bulldozer goes out of control. Its first act is to crush the team's one and only radio (clever girl...).

The next thing it does is go after the film's token African-American, Al (James Watson). Al's death is an especially absurd scene: I mean, how hard is it to outrun a slow moving bulldozer, when there are trees not far distant?

And answer me this: if you were being chased by a malevolent construction vehicle, would you stop in the vehicle's path to hide in a hollow pipe?

Sorry, but to quote Killdozer, "pain makes me snide."

The remainder of the film's seemingly eternal running time (74 minutes) is devoted to a lackadaisically-paced and poorly-orchestrated man vs. machine war.

Unfortunately, the machine seems to possess the upper hand here in terms of intelligence, and the construction team members are killed one-at-a-time in mostly idiotic fashion. For instance, the bulldozer pushes an avalanche of rocks down a mountainside onto one unlucky man who doesn't have the wherewithal to look up.

Then another character spontaneously decides to go joy-riding in a jeep on the beach...only to be surprised that the bulldozer is waiting on the shore for him, having sprung a trap.

I have to admit, this latter moment is hysterically funny. Staged as a shocking surprise, the film cuts suddenly to the bulldozer on the beach... just waiting to strike as the joy-rider appears on the scene. You have to ask yourself: how did the malevolent bull dozer know exactly where the jeep would show up on the vast shore line, and then park there undetected? Do bulldozers have stealth mode? How, precisely, can a loud bull dozer "sneak up" on someone?

I often joke that in horror movies, human beings do not possess peripheral vision. In Killdozer, human beings also do not have the capacity to hear, apparently. Ears are purely decorative. For example, there's a moment in which the parked bulldozer raises its mechanical blade (to smash a worker), while an imperiled character stands cluelessly in front of the machine, just inches away. Does he hear anything and turn around? Nope. Not until the bucket smashes at his feet. (Yes, the killdozer conveniently misses his target...).

The dialogue in Killdozer is mostly atrocious too, a piss-poor stream of endless lines like "machines don't just run by themselves!"

Well, if you are trapped on an island and your comrades are being murdered at an alarming rate, are you going to cling to that particular theory or believe your own lying eyes?

Obviously the damn bulldozer is running itself!!! Jeez! The movie tries to squeeze some mileage out of the fact that Kelly is a former drinker, and therefore he doesn't trust what he sees, but come on, Killdozer...don't insult my intelligence! How many people do you have to see crushed by a self-operating bulldozer before realization starts to dawn?

But Killdozer's biggest deficit remains that, from a visual standpoint, it is a remarkably ugly film. The island setting is chalky and dusty -- not exotic at all -- and there is no variation (therefore no relief) whatsoever in location. From start to finish, the movie looks as though it were filmed in a quarry somewhere. The scared work men drive back and forth from one chalk pit to another, trying to come up with a plan to kill their nemesis. After dynamite doesn't do the trick, electrocution proves efficacious (a nod to Hawks' The Thing?) But even the iconic battle between crane and bulldozer is visually underwhelming. A clever filmmaker might have tried to play up the beauty of the location; making a distinction between the natural beauty of the island and the mechanical ugliness of the bulldozer.

Total honesty requires that I admit one thing. I did feel a plesant flush of nostalgia while watching Killdozer (especially during the yellow-lettered, Universal Studios, 70s-style opening credits). In particular, I remember how I first encountered it as a little kid (as a Saturday Afternoon Super Spectacular or some such thing...). But the happy glow of nostalgia fades quickly during this monotonous TV-movie and the audience is left with the realization that these interchangeable characters are so dumb, so slow-witted, that they deserve to die at the hands (or gears) of the killdozer.

The best part of Killdozer is the clever title. However, the operative syllable there is "doze."