Today’s history lesson, gentle readers, involves the disappointing cultural reception – though perfectly well understood – of 1935’s Mad Love, one of the screen’s earliest attempts at Body Horror.
 
Directed by Karl Freund from a story based on the novel “The Hands Of Orlac” by Maurice Renard, Mad Love is a somewhat mildly convoluted tale of a kinda/sorta love triangle between three principles: rising theater star Yvonne Orlac, her concert pianist husband Stephen Orlac, and famed surgeon and philanthropist Dr. Gogol.  Essentially, these three characters collide in a dark tale of … well … let’s call it love and madness – hence, the film’s title – wherein even acts of professional charity prove yet again that no good deed goes unpunished.  Even though audiences probably knew full well going in that such emotional fixations between men and women can lead to tragic turns of Fate, the motion picture never quite developed a head of steam anywhere it was screened; but the truth is that the circumstances for its failure are a bit more complex.
 
America was in the midst of the Great Depression.  Experts suggest that this dark phase of American History was at its worst between 1932 and 1934; and that reality alone might lead one to conclude that tragedies probably were far from the top of the list for what viewers wanted to endure for at a night out at the movies, the place where they go seeking an escape from the trials of daily life.  Indeed, Horror movies in particular had shown a rather precipitous plunge in box office receipts; and studios, too, had fallen into a bit of fiscal disarray.  They had pushed this relatively new genre into overdrive based on earlier efforts’ popularity – i.e. Universal’s Dracula (1931), Frankenstein (1931), The Invisible Man (1933), etc. – but by 1936 even Universal Pictures was seized out from under its owners – the Laemmle family – over the studio’s inability to handle its debts.  Couple this downturn with the fact that the Hays Code – the industry’s self-imposed requirements to curb explorations of violence – went into 1934, storytellers were hard-pressed to develop Horror projects because … well … what good is a thriller/chiller devoid of even modest graphic ferocity?  These new rules favored psychological twists as opposed to sensational images; and such new constructs meant that the old stories wouldn’t quite work.
 
Additionally, foreign markets had grown increasingly skeptical of placing such American offerings into theatrical circulation.  These countries, too, were finding these stories increasingly void of morality and virtues; and, while not every nation completely shut down access to Horror films, the impact on the entertainment industry – i.e. lost ticket sales – was a significant loss of revenue.  Reel life collided with real life in ways no executive quite expected; and, as such, prospects for just about anything Horror or Horror-adjacent were sometimes as grim as these pictures’ subject matter.  While this global embargo wouldn’t last long, its effects were definitely felt for a few critical years … and it’s this timeframe – 1935 – in which Peter Lorre’s American debut occurred.
 
So … what’s an otherwise good scare to do? 
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Mad Love pretty much disappeared as quickly as it emerged; and I’ve read that this disappearing act endured for – gasp! – several decades.  From what I understand, many credit the late movie critic Pauline Kael for its rediscovery: in her 1971 essay regarding the making of 1941’s Citizen Kane, she mentioned that that picture’s cinematographer – the much-praised Gregg Toland – had worked on Mad Love and, stylistically, the two films looked related.  Naturally, film scholars, academics, and cineastes took notice of Kael’s association; and this prompted them to seek out and explore a flick of which many of them had never heard.  Cult status was soon afforded Love; and this is largely how the picture is thought of today.
 
My two cents?
 
Yes, it deserves better.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“In Paris, a demented surgeon's obsession with a British actress leads him to secretly replace her concert-pianist husband's mangled hands with those of a guillotined murderer with a gift for knife-throwing.”
 
While it can be said that even the best films have some blemishes, I’ve often argued that some of the worst regarded projects might still show us something worthwhile.
 
Largely, that’s the case with Mad Love, a film that – like the little engine that could – is still fighting an uphill battle for mere respectability given the fact that it was mostly torched by everyone in its screen infancy.  The mid-1930’s are exactly revered for its Horror output; but Love suffered a great deal of criticisms more for when it was released – out of synch culturally, out of step with global interests in entertainment, etc. – than it rightly deserved.  Actor Peter Lorre delivers an interesting leading performance, but the script – attributed to P.J. Wolfson and John L. Balderston – also shifts gears a bit too quickly in his descent into madness.  Occasionally, the script feels so lost in transition that one might wonder if the screenwriters were commenting on their era more than they were the struggles of a brilliant yet flawed mind.  When you propose a situation with this much to unpack, every development needs a bit more extrapolation: when that doesn’t happen, it’s easy for viewers to get lost along the way.
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On the eve of her last show, actress Yvonne Orlac (played by Frances Drake) finds herself cornered by her biggest admirer: famed surgeon Dr. Gogol (Peter Lorre) admits to being the play’s biggest benefactor exclusively owed to his physical attraction to the woman.  Shocked to learn that she’s been secretly married to pianist Stephen (Colin Clive) for over a year, he suddenly feels that the lady has made the fool of him and his affections, reducing him in front of her castmates to the role of a cuckold.  After the show’s curtain call, the good doctor ravishes her with an unwanted, inappropriate kiss – a necessary reward for his investment to the troupe – and this moment demonstrates that – when it comes to Yvonne – he’s a broken psyche.
 
Later that evening, Steven is returning home from a concert via train only to find himself gravely wounded when it derails.  Frantic, Yvonne rushes to the scene with the police where she’s aghast to see that her beloved’s hands – the source of their livelihood – have been crushed in the accident.  At the hospital, the responding surgeon insists that they must be amputated; but Yvonne – knowing what a friend she has in Gogol – demands that her husband be transferred to his facility, believing that perhaps he has the genius sufficient to save Stephen’s hands.  Indeed, the doctor privately concocts a scheme wherein he’ll secretly replace these mangled appendages with those of a recently executed murderer – Rollo (Edward Brophy) – who was also aboard the ill-fated train. 
 
Under the influence of his broken mind, Gogol believes – albeit mistakenly – that his sparing Stephen such a consequential loss to his career will drive the grateful Yvonne out of that man’s arms into his, a development that never transpires.  When this doesn’t happen, the screws in the man’s fractured brain are thematically only twisted further; and he hatches an even darker scheme to brainwash the pianist into believing that his new hands are actually haunted by the influence of the murderous Rollo.  Since Stephen has suddenly developed a penchant for accurately throwing knives – the killer’s signature technique – the trip to Crazy Town isn’t as far-fetched as it would initially seem.
 
Suffice it to say, Love works on a fair degree of convolution.  Watchers have to suspend their disbelief over whether or not such a trait as knife throwing could be passed on from person-to-person; but this is a small leap for those who enjoy Body Horror, of which Love certainly qualifies.  (For those unaware, Body Horror involves the use or loss of control of one’s body as a central conceit; and it generally includes the transformation of the victim from an ordinary person into something monstrous.)  Succinctly, Stephen isn’t the only one here undergoing a metamorphosis; viewers watch in delight (or dismay if not downright disgust) as Gogol, too, begins to come out of his prim, proper, and poised demeanor into something deliciously evil.

Just as Helen of Troy gets blamed with having a face that sent nations to war, Yvonne – or, at least, her beauty – serves as the catalyst to drive Stephen and Gogol to (in different ways) do what they do in pursuit of her affection.  While Stephen’s is the vastly more acceptable portrayal of a man driven to do what he can to keep their union intact, it still taxes him psychologically.  One might even conclude that it’s this undercurrent of sexual desire that manifests his dark side: clearly, the difficulty of coming to grips (pun intended) with the changes he’s undergoing has created untold stress.  Gogol – in his duplicitous state – capitalizes on that emotional pain, and he rather easily pushes his competitor into his hysteria.  Little does the doctor know that it will prove his very own undoing.
 
Where Love doesn’t quite work as well is in handling its assortment of subplots.
 
In order to demonstrate how driven he is to possess Yvonne, Gogol purchases the wax likeness of the actress on display in the theater lobby.  Secreting it away into his private study, it becomes a visual clue to his obsession, one which only a few key players will know about and speak over rather conveniently when the need arises.  One such person is Gogol’s housemaid, Françoise (May Beatty), a role played so downright vaudevillian it feels like it belongs in a different picture.  In fact, the way she prattle about constantly – in a relatively low-brow state of attire – beggars the question of why Gogol would’ve hired such a nincompoop in the first place.  Eventually, she’s bribed by a bottle of liquor, and barely even a swallow induces her to a state of double vision, an element which plays out in cringeworthy fashion in the latter half.
 
Additionally, audiences are introduced to an American reporter: Reagan (Ted Healy) has been dispatched to Europe to cover Rollo’s execution, an event that occurs apparently only moments after the villain survives the aforementioned train crash.  While enjoying the foreign land, Reagan also takes it upon himself to try to recruit the world-renowned Gogol to pen feature commentaries for his newspaper, a plot point which essentially goes nowhere in the already fairly-heavily-involved premise.  The perception is given that several months go by between Love’s start and finish; and yet there’s no plausible theory offered for why the reporter remains on the scene in France when – more likely – he would’ve been recalled by his editors given the state of the world at the time.
 
Still, Love’s greatest asset is in resting the lion’s share of its narrative weight on Lorre’s capable shoulders.  What emerges under his interpretation is how fragile a learned man’s mind could be turned to villainy.  Often quoting mythology and poetry, Gogol dresses impeccably, speaks eloquently, and plays the role of the man about town with great finesse.  It’s in the picture’s smaller yet duskier moments that his monomaniacal nature springs to life; and we witness the good doctor completely incapacitated when a young child requiring surgery shows up on his operating table.  Overcome with grief over the loss of Yvonne and now gripped with auditory hallucinations, he’s the shell of the man we saw earlier … but the cackling wacko – complete with one of the most macabre costumes of a beheaded man seemingly made whole again by science – slowly coming to life will be anything but silent in his relentless pursuit of love gone mad.
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Mad Love (1935) was produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been handled by the fine folks at Warner Archive.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I can assure readers that this picture both looks and sounds pretty fabulous throughout: there are a few scenes with the usual grain – and one with a weird edit (which must go back to the source material) – but there’s nothing that impedes the entertainment value.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  All the disc boasts is an audio commentary from film historian Steve Haberman which – at times – sounds more like he’s reading from his book report than actually ‘commentating,’ but maybe that’s just me.  It’s definitely informative, but it also has several silent passages wherein he’s clearly lost in thought or watching the picture.
 
Recommended.
 
Having finally seen a film I’ve read so much about, I’m thrilled to say that – most definitely – I found it as worthwhile an effort have so many have already proclaimed.  Mad Love is a curious delight – one with flaws tied more to the era of its production than anything else – but that’s not to say its perfect.  The humor with Gogol’s housekeeper never quite settles in and feels like it should’ve been sent to another flick; and there’s no sufficient explanation for why an American news reporter sent overseas to cover an execution remains embedded in France what I’m led to believe is months later.  Furthermore, Orlac begins to question his own sanity a bit too easily; and the story covers so much ground – with subplots coming and going – that the pacing suffers in a few spots.  But … behold Lorre!  He gives a pretty impressive turn as the eventually unraveled physician, a man whose obviously learned mind betrays him.  Yeah … maybe it happens a bit too easily … but there’s still a bit of wired lunacy that shows just what talent the actor controlled.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary copy of Mad Love (1935) – as part of their Blu-ray set of Hollywood Legends Of Horror Collection – by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

For those of you who’ve never discovered its charms, Rod Serling’s original The Twilight Zone (1959-1964) remains a show worthy of our time and attention.
 
Not only did the anthology program produce some of the best stories in all of television history but it also practically invented the concept of the ‘twist ending.’  Pushing the boundaries of what was possible, Serling and its cast of screenwriters – along with the original source stories – put various characters in situations that forced them to look at who they were, what they were doing with their lives, and grasp whatever lessons the universe felt was missing from their respective repertoires.  Depending on their circumstances, not everyone made it out alive; but – undoubtedly – audiences left each episode with some cautionary message which if nothing else had many thinking twice about how they went about their own business of living life to the fullest.
 
In fact, The Twilight Zone was so popular it eventually led to countless spin-offs or retreads, both on television and on motion picture screens.  One of which came along even whilst Zone was making headway on the Boob Tube: 1961’s The Flight That Vanished enjoyed a limited U.S. theatrical release, one large enough for the flick to reportedly recoup its cost but small enough to allow for it to pretty much vanish into obscurity the way that so many older projects do.  While I’ve read that its script – written by Ralph Hart, Judith Hart, and Orville H. Hampton – was inspired by a real-life event, I’ve never seen this confirmed in multiple sources so I’m hesitant to say further on that point.  Directed by Reginald Le Borg – a genre veteran with such features as Calling Dr. Death (1943), Weird Woman (1943), Jungle Woman (1944), and The Mummy’s Ghost (1944) already under his belt – the film starred Craig Hill, Paula Raymond, Dayton Lummis, Gregory Morton, Harvey Stephens, and others.
 
How is it, you ask?
 
Well, the truth is that it sounds far more interesting than it is; and some of its failure to land (snicker snicker) is that it doesn’t quite follow Zone’s formula well enough to stick its landing (snicker snicker snicker).  Sure, it flies … but it never really sails, if you know what I mean.
​

(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A cross-country airliner, whose passengers include a nuclear physicist, a rocket expert, and a mathematical genius, is drawn beyond radar range by an unknown, unbreakable force.”
 
Opinions vary widely, but I’ve often argued that the very best installment of The Twilight Zone are the ones wherein the leads suffer some comeuppance in the last reel.
 
Often times, the point of these shared stories is the fact that these people – in spite of being the best and/or brightest at whatever they were doing – should’ve known better but did act with the greatest intentions whatsoever.  For any number of reasons, they choose to willfully and deliberately ignore their conscience (if they have one) or the needs of the many in order to personally profit in some noticeable way.  In the process, they display the worst of ourselves – or humanity, at large – and the retribution that God, society, karma, or the universe winds up being earned.  We may not hate them for what they did, but we certainly don’t feel a significant measure of pity, either.
 
1961’s The Flight That Disappeared soars into similar territory as the Zone, but the project never quite goes far enough to dish out any important lesson with the curious twist of its procedure.  Though a few of the characters kinda/sorta learn a lesson, this resolution isn’t the kind of central answer that paves the way for us – the viewing audience – to revel in its brilliance.  Rather, it’s a very limited scale of caution at best that serves as the catalyst for one or two or three people to change their frame of mind well before it would ever be too late.  Since they’ve come to terms with a fateful choice, we don’t have to … and – though interesting – there’s just not much substance to anything else in here.
 
Dr. Carl Morris (played by Dayton Lummis) – apparently a contemporary rock star of the scientific community – is taking a last-minute flight to Washington, D.C. where he’s expected to meet with member of the U.S. defense community regarding some impending development.  (Mind you: it’s all a bit vague, and you’re free to make of that what you will.)  On board the plane, he misses the chance to sit with his personal secretary Marcia Paxton (Paula Raymond) owed to a seat-shuffling done by the airlines.  Instead, Marcia finds herself paired up with another rocket scientist – propulsion expert Tom Endicott (Craig Hill) – where the typical melodramatic sparks fly when two unwed heterosexuals meet in black-and-white cinema.
​

In any event, sometime during the flight Dr. Morris finds himself finds himself cornered by mildly wacky passenger Walter Cooper (Harvey Stephens) who’s convinced that the only way our way of life can survive into the future is for this all-new Beta Bomb to get developed and dropped on our enemies.  Though Morris listens to the man and offers up some modest pushback, it’s pretty clear that Cooper has made up his mind about the lengths to which civilization must go in this modern Atomic Age; and the scientist pretty much leaves their meeting unaffected.  After all, he’s a man of science; and he leaves the questions of morality to the government.
 
Not long thereafter, Trans-Coast Airways Flight 60 begins to climb higher and higher, seemingly out of control of the pilot and flight crew.  Eventually, the cabin begins to lose air, forcing some passengers to fall asleep.  Contact is lost with traffic control; and it would seem that Flight 60 has been lost.
 
This is where the film definitely crosses into The Twilight Zone: whilst everyone else has been reduced into suspended animation, Morris, Paxton, and Endicott awaken to find that the plane and its passengers have slipped into some alternate dimension.  Stepping from aircraft’s open door and onto the fog-shrouded surface, they find themselves in some place between worlds, one where ‘The Sage’ (Addison Richards) has pulled the “unborn children of tomorrow” to serve as the jury over this trio.  As Fate would have it, The Sage explains that they did arrive in D.C., attend a meeting, and develop a bomb which destroyed our world; and they’re now being held on trial for such a devastating crime against humanity.
 
Now, nothing much else happens, to be perfectly honest; and Flight is a very slim feature production.  It clocks in at a lean and mean 70 minutes (with credits!), so there frankly isn’t all that much remaining for a trial to take place whatsoever.  Sure, there’s a bit of chitchat, but the central reveal here is little more than the fact that these three have pretty much killed life as we know it; and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that they’re going to be put back into the timeline with full knowledge of what they did in order to alter the original outcome.  That’s pretty much what happens – with Morris landing in D.C. and tearing up his formula and discarding his whole handbook – and mankind is presumably saved in the process.  (We don’t see it, but the intimation is there.)
 
Sadly, there’s just not all that much to react to critically in trying to evaluate Flight as a feature film.  It contains no big performance – no one truly distinguishes himself or herself in any way worth highlighting – and viewers pretty much have to accept the mystical intervention of a future people in order for the whole construct to even be possible.  For reasons never explained, Endicott is the only one who effectively remembers their visit to this other dimension once he awakens in 1961; and there’s also no plausible explanation for where and/or how the plane vanished from our existence for a full twenty-four hours.  These curiosities are usually handled in stronger scripts; and such vacancy gives this Flight a bit of creative turbulence that could’ve and should’ve been avoided.
​

The Flight That Disappeared (1961) was produced by Harvard Film.  A quick Google.com search indicates that the film is presently available for streaming rental via a variety of internet platforms.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights and sounds to be quite good from start-to-finish.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features.  Since I viewed this one entirely via streaming, there were no special features under consideration.
 
Alas … only Mildly Recommended.
 
As a one-off kinda/sorta bloated semi-installment derivative of The Twilight Zone, I suppose most folks will find The Flight That Disappeared (1961) benign enough to get modest enjoyment out of it.  Still, it had no real emotional core – the main plot and a few side ones wrap up with little to no fanfare – and it lacks the teeth of compelling drama in order to be truly memorable.  While the dip into an alternate reality works very well, we don’t spend much time there – nor is there the kind of treacherous debate that makes for riveting exchanges – for it to rise above being anything greater than neat-o-keen.  In the end, Flight feels about as fluffy as the clouds … and that’s not meant to be kind.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that I’m beholden to no one for this review of The Flight That Disappeared (1961) as I viewed the film on a platform to which I subscribe.

-- EZ
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​Having watched a great deal of Eastern cinema – far more than I remember clearly – I can say that the experiences have taught me some fabulous lessons about what makes those films different from U.S. domestic stuff.
 
Chiefly, Eastern projects have a different narrative flow.  I’ve read that some of this alternate feel experts attribute to stories being somewhat unshackled by traditional studio tinkering; and yet I’ve listened to enough director and screenwriter interviews to know that their creatives do encounter some corporate pushback regarding some of their tales.  What generates ticket sales overseas may not be so foreign than what does the same in the U.S.; and I imagine investors will always be wanting a respectable return on investment no matter what their heritage or nationality.  Still, I’ve found it pretty easy to spot when Eastern films are reaching even slightly outside their comfort zone into new or unexplored territory: though they might imbue the effort with the same visceral trickery, some of the supporting elements just don’t work as designed.  A scene or two – or, sometimes, a performance or two – don’t ring authentic, instead smacking of forced emotion or narrative contrivance; and it’s reasonable to assume that the director, the screenwriter, or the talent were exploring uncharted waters.  What remains isn’t flawed: it’s just a bit quirky in small ways.
 
Now I could be wrong, but that’s my initial impression upon finishing Hong Kong’s The Island, a theatrical chiller – a very good one for those with patience – that shares some of the DNA to Western efforts like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), Southern Comfort (1981), or even Midsommar (2019) to a negligible degree.  While The Island stops short of being Folk Horror – it is tied to a location and a curious belief system but those influences really only work in limited perspective – it effectively capitalizes on that kinda/sorta ‘locked box’ situation wherein our lead players enter, find themselves trapped by circumstances beyond their control, and risk-it-all to both stay safe and get out alive.  On that level, the picture that emerges is quite entertaining … but because I think this was an entirely new sub-genre of Horror for the makers it really takes far too long to get to the good stuff, probably taxing the patience of most viewers in the process.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A teacher takes six students along for a trip to a remote, deserted island. After arrival, they discover three mentally disturbed brothers living on the island, and one of them, who's mentally disabled, is looking for a bride.”
​

In some ways, Po-Chih Leong’s The Island seems like two different films.  Its first half is punctuated with small scenes or limited vignettes starkly filmed and backed with intrusive music (in spots) or awkward sound effects; then – somewhere around its midpoint – it turns into something vastly dark and vastly more consequential for those players caught up in the most dangerous game.  When running for one’s life in an environment where hiding is damn near impossible – mostly because civilization and shelter doesn’t exist – the chance of survival grows dimmer with each passing moment.  Death waits at every turn, and stopping to catch one’s breath is a luxury most can’t (or won’t) afford.
 
But the thing is this sort of gritty and real-time tension isn’t exactly something Eastern stories – to my knowledge – had spent much effort exploring.  As such, Leong’s tale takes its sweet time getting to the dour procedural; and – when it does – it excels in small ways.  Like other efforts, its characters – basically a rowdy gang of hormonal schoolmates on a field trip to a deserted island with their favorite professor as chaperone – make the same kind of mistakes Western knuckleheads do in Horror films.  (You know what I mean?  These idiots think they’re immortal, so they turn into the scares instead of turning away.)  Thankfully, the script keeps most of the narrative focus on Mr. Cheung (John Sham), so this one avoids spiraling into too many youth shenanigans the way lesser projects do.  He’s just an ordinary guy who finds himself – and those under his guidance – in the middle of extraordinary circumstances; and he’s perfectly cast, expertly played, and winningly embraced in this story.
 
Where The Island struggles a bit is truly getting to wherein its dark adventure begins.
 
The film opens with a curious scene – Cheung watches two fish fighting for their lives in what I believe is a pet store window – and it plays out with somewhat forced importance.  Nothing about it is organic, and it definitely feels entirely staged for the purpose of making a point that could be (1) this is what life is, (2) this is what the film will explore, or (3) this is why you don’t buy two big fish and house them under the same roof.  You – the audience – get to decide because there’s no context for the little vignette; and you otherwise have to wait about forty minutes before the relevance of this opening truly explains itself.  There is a bit of a small hint inserted – while I won’t spoil it, I’ll point out that Cheung isn’t watching this fish-fight alone – but it, too, is vague and open to interpretation.
 
Additionally, Leong introduces the island family and sets up their rather grim circumstances rather loosely and also without a good amount of detail.  While the particulars of their shared circumstance is clear – the brothers all are a bit cray-cray, their mother might be even a bit more cray-cray, they’ve abducted a young woman for what we’re led to believe is martial and/or sexual in nature, etc. – these elements are strung together with what I’d suggest is “just enough” framing to make it coherent.  It’s missing a bit of substance … a bit of nuance … and while some might find it easy to fill in the blanks on their own (or in time) those of us who appreciate a stronger foundation might question what this is, why am I seeing it, and where is it going.  Mind you: it does eventually make sense, but that’s much later in the film.
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This is what I mean when I suggest that such a dark and foreboding sub-genre to Horror might been a bit new to the Hong Kong scene.  For their industry, the 1980’s was much more about Fantasy-style thrillers and action-centric shoot ‘em ups; so something with the kind of simmering undercurrent of existential dread – the kind that pervades The Island’s second half – wasn’t exactly common practice.  Also, I know from reading that their industry was undergoing a bit of a technical renaissance – new equipment always brings with it new challenges with attempts to actively do something different – and this project never quite feels like Leong had a sure hand at the wheel.  The rawer components are almost exclusively in the second half; and I can’t help but wonder if the script could’ve benefitted from another draft or two.   The end result smacks of a effort meant to bridge worlds, meaning that it hadn’t quite been done this way before; and I’m not entirely convinced this was the best way to achieve the results.
 
None of this is to suggest that The Island is inferior.  At best, it’s a mixed bag – one that really fires on all cylinders once it finally decides what it’s wanting to be – but this is why criticism exists.  Essentially, my job critically is to inform you not so much as if it’s worth viewing so much as it is why I think you should or shouldn’t watch it.  Those showing up wanting the slow burn thriller should be satisfied … but I’m warning you that you’ll have to be patient to get there … and it’s worth it.
 
The Island (1985) was produced by D & B Films Co. Ltd.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Eureka Entertainment.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I can assure readers that the provided sights and sounds – to this reported 2K restoration – are pretty solid: clearly, any noticeable flaws are ported over from the source material, but overall this is still very good.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The disc boasts two new audio commentaries (both are hosted by genre experts and are quite interesting though I’ll admit I found Frank Djeng’s narration a bit hard to follow in spots) along with the usual extras.  It’s definitely worth the price, so far as this viewer is concerned.
 
Recommended.
 
There’s an inherent risk in recommending underground gems like The Island (1985) to a wide readership.  As I tried to be clear above, it very much feels like a project made in cultural and artistic transition, only slightly resembling something that its makers intended while balancing the box office requirement to also look like it belonged to stand alongside other outputs.  The script takes more time than should’ve been necessary to set the stage; but – once it does – the flick becomes about as good as a ‘first attempt’ to craft what worldwide audiences expect from a more conventional and mainstream Horror, so much so that some might even watch the second half of this a second time.  Sure, it’s a bit clunky in spots; and yet it works, nonetheless.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Eureka Entertainment provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Island (1985) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

For those of you who don’t know it, Horror – as a genre within the United States – had some significant challenges in being brought to life domestically.
 
Sound was really only being introduced into filmdom – bringing with it a whole new spectrum of challenges – so on top of trying to craft compelling stories that could meet audience demands while balancing the limitations placed on storytellers via censorship (both here and abroad) producers had to keep their eyes on a great many aspects within the growing category.  Special effects were only just being heard of, meaning that the technical merits were most likely going to be questionable at best for those showing up to be scared silly.  I’ve also read some criticism about how studios back in this golden era almost always required that screenwriters and directors stick with what’s been termed ‘stock stories’ – i.e. ideas that had already been tried before – and such a reliance almost guaranteed that new flicks weren’t really bringing anything fresh, vibrant, and new to the cineplexes.  As such, just about everything that found flickering life did so with an uphill battle; and this required that viewers exercise a great deal of patience as studios walked slowly into the battle to win hearts and minds with monsters of any sort.
 
As a result, there remains a good number of titles that just didn’t quite ‘measure up’ significantly in their original time and place.  For whatever reason, these efforts didn’t create any franchise of their own; yet sometimes – in negligible ways – they either piggybacked their way to attention, or they staked out a small piece of territory that was uniquely their own.  This doesn’t mean that they were bad films – certainly not in the manner some exercises are so bad that they’re good – but it does imply that viewing them today in full knowledge that they survive as second- or even third-tier entries is probably the best way to start.  Some impressive talent produced some special work in a few of them; and that’s why studios and distributors today try to keep them alive realizing that it’s never too late to make friends with an older motion picture.
 
In fact, Warner Archive has made some incredible strides in keeping a number of these projects alive on home video; and they’ve recently released what they’ve billed as the Hollywood Legends Of Horror Collection.  It’s a Blu-ray set that collects six titles – Doctor X (1932), The Mask Of Fu Manchu (1932), Mad Love (1935), Mark Of The Vampire (1935), The Devil Doll (1936), and The Return Of Doctor X (1939) – that gives second chances to flicks featuring such names as Fay Wray, Humphrey Bogart, Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, Peter Lorre, Lionel Barrymore, and others.  As can happen with any compilation, the quality varies but what remains are some dark tales meant to deliver thrills, chills, and spills only when things go bump in the night.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
​

Doctor X (1932)
 
Here’s the plot summary as provided by the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A wisecracking New York reporter intrudes on a research scientist's quest to unmask The Moon Killer.”
 
In truth, Doctor X is a feature production I’ve been aware of for quite some time, mostly owing to the fact that it was directed by Michael Curtiz … the same Michael Curtiz who would eventually directed 1942’s Casablanca, debatably one of the greatest films ever made.  So I’d seen this one chiefly for my study of his work with camera and creating noirish atmospheres, which he does quite well even in this early effort.  A great deal of the second half takes places in a huge mansion; and Curtiz definitely makes great use of the location in every sequence delivered.
 
But another reason why I was aware of X is because it is one of the earliest Horror films (to my knowledge) that actually dabbles very deliberately with Science Fiction.  In this story, both the good guys and the bad make use of Science in ways to advance their respective positions in the events, requiring that the heroes use their collective smarts (as well as a bit of brawn) to get to the bottom of the central mystery.  (It’s a whodunnit, and a respectably good one, at that.)  Also, X might very well be the earliest time when a lie detector gets used in the police procedural, but this is most definitely not some tabletop model with a few gizmos secured on by a few straps: this contraption requires a small room not unlike Doctor Frankenstein’s laboratory, so it, too, is a sight to behold.
 
The only notable downside to the flick is the fact that – like so many features of the era – screenwriters incorporated a fair share of (sigh) romantic melodrama if for no other reason that studio bosses insisted that’s what women wanted when it came to picking motion pictures to view.  As such, there’s a relatively forced romance between a few of the principles that gets in the way from time-to-time.  Still, when the female of the species is the lovely Fay Wray, I guess I can put up with a bit of smarm in order to get to the big finish.
​

The Mask Of Fu Manchu (1932)
 
Here’s the plot summary as provided by the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Englishmen race to find the tomb of Genghis Khan before the sinister Fu Manchu does.”
 
Another entry into the Hollywood Collection that I was previously aware of, The Mask Of Fu Manchu was a release that endured a bit of controversy in its time and place.  I’ve read that it was an effort that went into active production without a completed script; and this meant that pages would literally be showing up on the day and time that they were needing to be shot.  As one can imagine, both the cast and crew weren’t afford a great degree of preparation required to perhaps give the completed projects the veneer it needed; and – long after its original release – this Mask had been largely forgotten by even those drawn to the literary works of Sax Rohmer upon which the story is based.
 
Essentially, Mask is best approached by visualizing it as a 60-minute adventure serial because a great deal of the action works almost exclusively on that level.  Like Buck Rogers or Flash Gordon, Fu Manchu was the product of the age of pulp; and this adaptation definitely feeds off those influences by putting our heroes in some dire predicaments which only their muscles and smarts might free them of.  Added to the fray is an element of sexuality and/or sensuality that wasn’t uncommon for pre-Code productions, and both talents Boris Karloff and Myrna Loy arguably squeeze in a bit of restrained passion (not necessarily for one another) that lifts this one in just the right way.  Don’t be a prude as it’s really nothing all that objectionable, anyway.
 
Also, I’d be remiss if I failed to mention just how wonderful the picture looks regarding the production design.  Cedric Gibbons – who would go on to do 1939’s The Wizard Of Oz and 1956’s Forbidden Planet – really makes a mark here in even small ways, adorning each and every corner of the screen with something worth looking at.  From Fu Manchu’s estate to the tome of Genghis Khan where they’re seeking a prized sword, these designs resonate on a whole other level – especially compared with other fare from the era – and I’d suggest that sincere film nerds check this out for that work alone.  It’s that damn good.
​

Mad Love (1935)
 
Here’s the plot summary as provided by the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“In Paris, a demented surgeon's obsession with a British actress leads him to secretly replace her concert-pianist husband's mangled hands with those of a guillotined murderer with a gift for knife-throwing.”
 
Dubiously, Mad Love – aka The Hands Of Orlac – might be stylistically the most notable entry in this collection; but – as I often say – this assessment ties greatly to beauty being something held in the eyes of the observer.  Director Karl Freund indisputably had a look for his picture that he was going for as he sought ought Gregg Toland to serve as cinematographer.  Again for those of you who don’t know it, I’m a huge fan of Citizen Kane (1971), and Toland is pretty much revered for his work on that picture.  It wouldn’t be unusual for even a casual viewer of both flicks to notice some basic similarities; and yet the stories really couldn’t be further apart.
 
So far as Love goes, it’s clear to see that the film is an early attempt to craft what could be considered Body Horror for the screen.  Grafting the hands of a killer to that of a pianist opens the door to just how uniquely the transfer of skills – along with the lecherous desires – works on some level; and Love makes great use of this conceit in taking audiences through what amounts to rather conventional if not predictable melodrama.  This being an early attempt, however, should still bring newcomers to the flick if for no better reason to see the concept at work alongside a solid performance by actor Peter Lorre as the surgeon who’ll stop at nothing to possess the woman of his dreams.  Was there ever anyone better than Lorre at handling supreme mental anguish?  You be the judge.
 
Still, Love didn’t get a great deal of hands clapping at the theater.  It was largely dubbed a failure on most relatable levels, and there is some reportage that censors had studio executives removing large chunks of the action in order to get it into acceptable form.  I’ve read that these excised sequences were likely destroyed by MGM, meaning that what survives today on home video is about the best audiences will ever see.  (To me, it resonates as ‘incomplete’ more than it does ‘uneven,’ but that’s just my limited perception on the take.)  Its poor reception in the U.S. and several overseas bans meant this one was lucky to see as much of the light of day – much less a projector lamp – that it did; and what remains has often been said to be uneven at best.

NOTE: For SciFiHistory.Net's full review of Mad Love (1935), click here.

Mark Of The Vampire (1935)
 
Here’s the plot summary as provided by the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“When a nobleman is murdered, a professor of the occult blames vampires, but not all is what it seems.”
 
Regular readers to SciFiHistory.Net know all too well that I’m not opposed to courting a bit of controversy from time-to-time; and that’s the case with my take on Mark Of The Vampire.  While I’ll concede that it’s an interesting production – as many online have done for years – I see it as a heavily flawed outing, largely because of the way director Tod Browning and his crew essentially have to piece a plot together in curious ways all to avoid revealing the ‘twist ending’ too soon in the procedure.  While that’s all well and good, my issue is that the twist itself doesn’t make much sense, especially given the vast amount of footage that doesn’t quite support the ending in way meaningful way.
 
At its heart, Mark is a murder mystery, one wherein the guilty culprit – for reasons I won’t spoil – is kinda/sorta unaware of what he did.  To complicate matters, it would seem everyone else involved in the story is aware but – in order to protect that aforementioned twist – they’re only acting as if they’re oblivious to what was done.  This requires a monumental suspension of disbelief on the part of the audience, but the script from Guy Endore and Bernard Schubert (based on other works) is so markedly convoluted in its staging that some will undoubtedly find themselves scratching their heads once the reveal is sprung.  Hell, some viewers might even find themselves rewinding the flick a bit (I know I did) because some sequences are so nonsensical once you know that you think you missed something along the way.  Trust me: you didn’t.  It just is a story that either works for you, or it doesn’t.
 
I am aware (through reading and the supplied commentary track) that Mark had a bit of trouble getting through production and subsequent test screenings.  My understanding is that there were about 10-20 minutes removed from the original cut in order to get the project to a workable level; and I’m inclined to think that some of my confusion might be tied up with what transpires in those missing scenes.  Either way, the only significant enjoyment I took from this was watching the great Bela Lugosi give another take on his legendary Count interpretation.
​
NOTE: For SciFiHistory.Net's full review of Mark Of The Vampire (1935), click here.

The Devil-Doll (1936)
 
Here’s the plot summary as provided by the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“An escaped convict uses miniaturized humans to wreak vengeance on those who framed him.”
 
Some films take of a life of their own with the passage of time; and it’s reasonable to note that such is the case with The Devil-Doll as directed by Tod Browning who also collaborated on adapting the source material for the silver screen.  Google.com suggests some of this reputation is owed to not only it being one of the last true Horror flicks produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer but also the fact that it showcases a great central performance by Lionel Barrymore.  His embodiment of Paul Lavond – a man wrongly convicted who uses the miniaturization process of a late scientist to extract a measure of revenge on those who framed him – was the kind of work outside-the-norm that gifted talent can make the most of.  Given the fact that Barrymore appears as both male and female in the picture, he delivers both Horror and Comedy in respectable amounts.
 
Aesthetically, some have even gone so far as to cite The Devil-Doll as being influential in paving the way for other genre-bending chillers like Psycho (1960), Dressed To Kill (1960), and The Silence Of The Lambs (1991).  Indeed, each of these films involves villains who use gender to disguise their true identity; but the significant difference here is that Lavond isn’t so much a sufferer of any associated mental illness and only uses a female persona to ‘hide in plain sight.’  It’s more for ‘utility’ than it is ‘identity,’ and perhaps academics are merely working overtime when less isn’t necessarily more.  While the connotation is an impressive compliment to what Browning and Barrymore achieve in their picture, there’s really no substantial linkage other than a casual incorporation, one that does feel intended more humorous than anything else.
 
Still, Devil-Doll also contributes to Horror’s slowly evolving legacy by making use of some notable special effects.  The late scientist Marcel is said to have perfected the ability to shrink humans to 1/6th scale; and, as such, the film makes use of oversized sets and superimposition to bring some occasionally unique scenes to life.  Granted, nothing is quite so impressive as what would be accomplished in 1957’s The Incredible Shrinking Man; but it’s still fascinating to note how Devil-Doll was already tinkering with scale two decades before.  On that level, it remains a flick worthy of time and attention.
​

The Return Of Doctor X (1939)
 
Here’s the plot summary as provided by the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A hotshot reporter and a young doctor team up to investigate a series of grisly murders and a mysterious sample of synthetic blood.”
 
Because folks sometimes wonder about how easy or difficult it can be to follow sequels, let me clarify a significant point right away: one need not have seen 1932’s Doctor X – which is included as part of this collection – in order to appreciate The Return Of Doctor X.  Functionally, these are two different stories entirely; and they really only overlap spiritually by following the same formula as the earlier film, meaning one hotshot reporter is out to solve an ongoing series of killings.  Also, both flicks rely on science to spin their respective webs – Doctor X employs synthetic skin while Return highlights something called synthetic blood – but otherwise they’re truly only linked formulaically.
 
The other big ‘claim to fame’ that Return offers is that its central star was Hollywood heavyweight Humphrey Bogart filling out the lab coat of the villainous Marshall Quesne (aka Dr. Xavier).  Any bit of research will assure you this was the actor’s only foray into the realms of the Fantastic, and a Google.com search might even tell you he didn’t much care for it, which is why I supposed we never saw him try it again.  For what it’s worth, Bogart doesn’t turn in a bad performance here, but it’s easy to suggest that it never appears all that grounded in technique or motivation.  Most of what he accomplishes is off the required make-up – and some steely glances – and it works just fine for the picture.
 
The chief disappointment here is that – as an advertised Horror film – there really isn’t much dark, gloomy, or grim to Return with the exception of Bogart’s makeover.  The best is saved for the last reel; and even what’s there is far more implied than it is deliberately shown.  The monster here is what has been most commonly defined as a ‘medical vampire’ – one who survives on obtaining human blood in order to maintain his reanimated existence – so it isn’t as if the lead actor was required to do any traditional ‘vamping,’ if you know what I mean.  It’s an interesting effort – mostly owed to Bogart’s participation – but in any other actor’s hands the film as is would likely be forgettable.
 
The Hollywood Legends Of Horror Collection (2025) was released by Warner Archive and is presently available for purchase on DVD.
 
Recommended.
 
I think the sad truth is that Hollywood Legends Of Horror Collection – while good – is equally as imperfect as several of its entries remain.  As I’ve tried to be clear, the single greatest reason anyone might entertain a purchase and the subsequent viewing is to grow better aware of Horror of the golden era along with how several films missed their respective marks while employing some of the very best minds both before and behind the camera.  There’s a lot to unpack so far as style and substance goes – the looks of most of these are similar, but stories and subplots vary widely – but I’ve often said I’d rather watch something that tried and failed than to subject myself something so lazy as to make no effort.  Hard work shows, and that’s always worth appreciating, no matter a picture’s age.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray set of Hollywood Legends Of Horror Collection by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

Ahh, should we all be so fortunate to make it until the ripe old age of 100 ... wouldn't that be grand?

Whatever the case, the lovely and talented June Lockhart recently left our plane of existence, gentle readers, at the ripe old age of 100 years young; and bless the lady's heart for giving so much of herself to the world of genre entertainment.  She certainly always seemed like a class act whenever I saw her in interviews throughout the years; and she was definitely a force to be reckoned with for those of us who grew up as children of a certain generation.

As for her genre appearances?

Well, without a doubt, I suspect most folks know Lockhart from her time served aboard Irwin Allen's Lost In Space.  In the role of Maureen Robinson, she did her part to keep the family together against the backdrop of just about every danger they'd come across on that Final Frontier.  But -- as is always the case -- there's a great deal more to celebrate than any single speaking part.

​In 1946, the lady had a big role aboard She-Wolf Of London for Universal Pictures.

In 1956, she paid a visit to Science Fiction Theatre, a precursor of the great SciFi and Fantasy anthology shows that were just gaining steam with audiences.

In 1964, she enjoyed guest roles aboard three popular genre shows -- Bewitched, The Man From U.N.C.L.E., and Voyage To The Bottom Of The Sea.

In 1977, she joined the cast of the Horror/Mystery telefilm, Curse Of The Black Widow, for ABC Circle Films.

​Other notable supporting appearances over the years include stops to Darkroom, The Greatest American Hero, Strange Invaders (1983), Troll (1986), Amazing Stories, C.H.U.D. II: Bud The Chud (1989), The Presence (1992), Babylon 5, Out There (1995), Lost In Space (1998), and Super Capers: The Origins Of Ed And The Missing Bullion (2008).

Our warmest prayers are extended to the family, friends, and fans of June Lockhart.

May she rest in peace.

-- EZ

Greetings and Happy Friday, gentle readers!

How's your week been going?  Mine is winding down a bit right now -- thank goodness -- so I'm just doing some late day tinkering with the website, and I realized I'd meant to get up a Trailer Park earlier in the week when I caught this preview online elsewhere.

Now, I've done a bit of searching online regarding press materials for Altered (2025), but I'm coming up short.  I did read some reportage for a foreign site which states the film actually came out in 2024 (not the U.S.), but I've not seen that backed up anywhere.  I have seen that Well Go USA Entertainment is listed as the domestic distributor, and I'm aware from my own personal experiences that some of the stuff they bring here (from overseas) can be hit or miss.  Honestly, I've a longer relationship with them than SciFiHistory.Net reflects as I did reviews for them back in the day when they were pretty much in the biz of just foreign titles (Chinese, Korea, Japan, etc.), but that's not important.  What is would be more information regarding this kinda/sorta Superhero style release that's slated for November (as per IMDB.com) but has had limited exposure in such countries as Belarus, Kazakhstan, Russia, and Uzbekistan in September.

In any event ...

According to IMDB.com, the flick was written and directed by Timo Vuorensola.  It stars Tom Felton, Aggy K. Adams, Richard Brake, Daniyar Alshinov, and others.  Also, here's the listed plot summary:

"In an alternate present, genetically enhanced humans dominate society. Outcasts Leon and Chloe fight for justice against corrupt politicians exploiting genetic disparity, risking everything to challenge the oppressive system."

​I did see the trailer online back earlier in the week, and I'd meant to share it in this space.  Sadly, the past few days have kept me away from the blog, so I'm just getting to it now.

-- EZ
​

Most SciFiHistory.Net readers are too young to appreciate the birth of the big screen Fantasy film that took place in the 1980’s.
 
While it doesn’t get the recognition it deserves, John Boorman’s Excalibur (1981) largely paved the way for studios both looking for and investing in the genre.  An Academy Award nominated talent, Boorman was only one of the first truly big names to consider adapting something a bit dark and a bit whimsical for audiences; and his respectably faithful interpretation of the Arthurian legend truly is owed a resurgence in popularity at some point.  But there was more at the cineplexes – a great deal more – that followed in the wake, some of which also hasn’t quite been granted the recognition they were due and maybe still are.  Flicks like Dragonslayer (1981), Conan The Barbarian (1982), The Dark Crystal (1982), The Beastmaster (1982), Labyrinth (1986), and Highlander (1986) definitely kept the door open waiting for audiences to show up and return in record numbers.  The truth is that never really happened, and the latter half of the decade forced studio bean counters to shrink the dollars spent as a consequence to bring a smaller wave of these mildly lavish productions to theatrical life.
 
Undoubtedly, this is only one small part of why something like Gor (1987) – a theatrical incarnation of the already somewhat controversial John Norman series of novels – pretty much entered the ballpark with three strikes against it.  Sword and sorcery tales were never big at the box office, and Norman’s novels of one man’s epic struggle to bridge the divide between Earth and the planet Gor were more known for the depiction of really, really, really Alpha Males dominating women in almost every conceivable way.  Society of the time wasn’t quite interesting in embracing anything that depicted the female of our species inferior or subservient in any way, despite the fact that the source material was written at a time when not much of this would rile anyone up because it was considered men’s fiction with Edgar Rice Burroughs, Robert E. Howard, or even H. Rider Haggard.  Like it or not, women had come a long way, baby; so critics and audiences weren’t likely to embrace this outing in any substantial way.
 
Directed by Fritz Kiersch – whose only previous genre entry was his debut effort in bringing Stephen King’s Children Of The Corn (1984) to screens in a mostly lukewarm fashion – the script was conceived from the Norman novels by Rick Marx and Harry Alan Towers.  To his credit, Towers had a long track record in both film and television; and his involvement in bringing another equally controversial pulp property to theaters – Fu Manchu – may have given the project the clout it needed to draw studio attention.  Having seen a few of those efforts, however, I’d much more likely insisted that, at best, Gor was destined for cult status alone if even drawing any positive response whatsoever.  The film starred Urbano Barberini, former Playboy Playmate Rebecca Ferratti, Oliver Reed, Graham Clarke, and Jack Palance (in a brief role which only served to set up the sequel).
 
Buckle up, kids.  This one might get ugly.
​

(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“American professor Tarl Cabot is transported via a magical ring to planet Gor, where he must help an oppressed country overthrow its evil king and his barbarian henchmen.”
 
As happened far too often back in the day, there was very little information published about the making of Gor.  So far as the Information Superhighway is concerned, the flick was a something-something that came to life without a great deal of demand, enjoyed a premiere at the oft-praised Cannes Film Festival in 1987 (May 9th of that year), and then pretty much vanished.  There is some reportage suggesting that Cannon Films – the maker – was interested in giving it a theatrical run allegedly scheduled for September; but IMDB.com reports that it didn’t see screens in the U.S. until February of 1988 and – even then – it was a limited release, meaning it was probably dumped into a handful of locations.
 
As explained above, it’s easy to assume that a great deal of its disappearance is owed to the source material’s scandalous treatment of women; but the truth remains that Gor – as a whole – is largely dreadful on all counts.   Of all the listed screen talent, only the legendary Oliver Reed – as the villainous Sarm – seemed to be artistically ‘in sync’ with what the script required, constantly gesturing about theatrically and obviously hamming it up for the cameras; and the production details – while occasionally quaint – never amount to much more than draperies and loincloths distributed liberally amongst the sweaty lot.  A few of the sets look curiously better than the film deserves, so it’s good to remain thankful for small favors when you see them as diamonds in the rough.

​Professorial nerd Tarl Cabot (played by Urbano Barberini) wears a rather ugly familiar heirloom – a ceremonial ring with a curiously glowing stone (more like a rock than a true gem) – that, unbeknownst to him, opens a conduit between our world and the savage land of Gor.  A place seemingly always in the throes of war between its various kingdoms, Cabot finds himself befriended by the kind people of Koroba, perhaps the only peaceniks in all the lands.  Naturally, they’re willing to help the teacher get back home but that’s only if he’ll join them on a quest to recover the communal Home Stone, their cultural good luck charm and apparently the source of his ring’s secret power.  With no other options available, Cabot enlists; and this means he’s going to have to be trained – albeit briefly – to be the warrior these Korobans need in the time of crisis.
 
Sadly, the script only flirts with the opening comic sensibilities of an Earth man thrown back into the Stone Ages.  While Cabot gets in a few laughs that buoys some of these earlier moments, screenwriters Marx and Towers chuck out such tongue-in-cheekiness for what instead turns all too easily into a Conan The Wannabe.  When they could’ve embraced the ‘fish out of water’ template that has given life to other Science Fiction and Fantasy franchises (i.e. TV’s Starman, Syfy’s Farscape, etc.), the scribes turned their backs on what works in favor of what needed to be swallowed by the audience with handfuls of salt to be accepted as even possible.  In the rush, Cabot becomes the muscular heavy far too quickly, and he goes about the business of retaking the Home Stone with relative ease.
 
Making matters worse is the fact that – ahem – no one in the cast seems to be taking any of the noted jeopardy with any degree of seriousness.  Sword fights and fisticuffs are particularly atrocious and even narratively unnecessary, a predicament that has Cabot’s kinda/sorta love interest Talena (Ferratti) being a formidable presence in one sequence while having her ass fairly easily handed to her in the next.  Reo Ruiters is listed as the stunt coordinator (for this film and its sequel, Outlaw Of Gor); and the work here is so inept I’m curious if the man himself had ever even picked up a blade before shooting.  No one looks even remotely comfortable with the weapons of choice, and I’ve seen better sparing in community theater.
 
Yes.  It’s that bad.
 
As a quest story, Cabot and his band of adventurers don’t exactly rise to the level of participating in Star Wars’ often recognized ‘Hero’s Journey,’ but the trappings are still all there.  Our lead has to become a better man – which he does – in order to granted passage to a way back home; so he undergoes several trials in the process to such a deliverance.  Of course, he makes friends and enemies along the way; and he’ll need their assistance in order to eventually pick up the bow, knock an arrow, and take the shot that ends Sarm’s reign of terror.  There’s no nuance here, but there’s plenty of sweat, wide camera angles of parched and dry lands, and tanned chest shots to otherwise fill that void.  That has to count for something, no?
​

About the best that can be said of something with its stars so misaligned is that because genre fans didn’t get a lot of fantastical fare consistently they’re apt to overlook a great deal of these deficiencies and simply have fun with it.  Gor remains the type of feature that Mystery Science Theater 3000 (MST3K) has taken steps to lampoon; and why not?  When everything about the production is so sub-standard (and mind you that everything gets even worse in its sequel) then all one can do is embrace the lunacy for giggles.  Whether one likes it or not, there’s still a hint of charm in some of this – small moments mostly reserved for Reed’s barking and Ferratti’s tempting visage – and that’s why it survives in small pockets to this day.  It’s flawed.  It’s flaws are (goddam) obvious.  Hell, it even occasionally doesn't make sense ... like when Sarm does an about-face by turning away from wishing for Cabot's demise to suddenly an allegiance in the last reel.  (???)  Yet, people come.
 
Gor (1987) was produced by Cannon International and Cannon Films.  Presently, the film shows available for digital rental or purchase on a variety of platforms.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I can assure you that – most definitely – Gor remains the type of flick needing a technical makeover as even the version I watched is a bit undercooked.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  As I viewed this one via streaming, there were no special features under consideration.
 
Alas … only Mildly Recommended but still appreciated for its camp sensibilities by this old soul.
 
Critics, academics, and the vast amount of your cultural betters will assure you that there’s no reason to both with Gor (1987), an otherwise forgettable bit of cinematic Fantasy that brings nothing unique much less technically accomplished to the table.  While they may be right, I prefer to think of the motion picture as a glimpse back into another place and another time – much like its central character endured in its simplistic story – because it works perfectly fine just beneath the level of the traditional B-Movie.  No, there are no good performances.  Yes, it’s mostly laughable at every turn.  Still, this was the kind of thing that one could put on the Boob Tube entirely for grins and giggles; and those projects are increasingly in short supply these days.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that I’m beholden to no one for this review of Gor (1987) as I viewed the feature entirely from a platform to which I subscribe.

-- EZ
​

So many movies ... so little time ...

On this day in 1962 (in the U.S.), the big city of Los Angeles, California enjoyed an exclusive theatrical premiere engagement of The Devil's Messenger.  Directed by Herbert L. Strock and Curt Siodmak (who also contributed to the screenplay), the film starred Lon Chaney Jr. as 'Satan' alongside co-stars Karen Kadler, Michael Hinn, John Crawford, and others. 

​According to our friends at IMDB.com, here's the plot summary:

"Satan enlists the help of a suicide victim in Hell to lure unsuspecting earthly victims to their eternal doom. Contains three somewhat unrelated Twilight Zone-esque stories."

-- EZ

So many movies ... so little time ...

On this day in 1982 (in France), The Clairvoyant prognosticated its financial future with its very first theatrical release.  Written (in part) and directed by Armand Mastroianni, the film starred Perry King, Norman Parker, Elizabeth Kemp, and others. 

​According to our friends at IMDB.com, here's the plot summary:

"Two uneasy friends, a police officer and a TV talk show host, each pursue the mysterious "handcuff killer" with the aid of an artist who sees - and draws - the killer's crimes before they're committed."

-- EZ
​

So many movies ... so little time ...

On this day in 2023 (in the U.S.), Attack Of The Corn Zombies enjoyed its general release via the Information Superhighway.  Written and directed (in part) by Steve Hermann, the film starred Lynn Lowry, Magdalena Conway, Beth Metcalf, and others.  According to our friends at IMDB.com, here's the plot summary:

"In 1969, contaminated corn causes a zombie outbreak in a small Midwest town. Isolated and surrounded, a group struggles to survive the hordes to live another day."

ExtraExtra Alert:
In 2025, I received an all-new home video release of Attack Of The Corn Zombies (2023) from a distributor in exchange for review coverage on SciFiHistory.Net.  Interested readers can find my review right here.

-- EZ
​