Subtitles OFF: Terrore nello spazio (1965)

Much like the Rosetta stone, which provides the same information in one Greek script and two ancient Egyptian scripts, the disc for Terrore nello spazio AKA Terror in Space AKA Planet of the Vampires offers three versions of the same movie: the foreign language version and two different English versions. Assuming “version” means “cut”, I decided to play it safe and watch the Italian original.

So, here we are, another instalment of the stranger of my blog series, in which a visually impaired idiot (me), tries to understand a foreign film without resorting to an English dub or subtitles, the latter being because it’d take me a day to read them all. For real. This film felt particularly apt as a “Subtitles OFF” entry, as I genuinely had no idea the damn thing existed until two days ago, therefore my guesswork is very much from scratch. All I had to go on was the English release title, “Planet of the Vampires”, which ultimately did not help at all.

So, patient reader, here is my attempt at a synopsis for you…

A bunch of astronauts land haphazardly, or crash entirely, on a foreign planet. After fighting amongst themselves for a bit, they begin to get picked-off one-by-one by an elusive alien entity, with some of the victims’ bodies vanishing mysteriously. Sound familiar? That’s right, this film was eventually remade in the US as “Mrs Doubtfire”.

But seriously…

After halfway through the runtime, our leather-clad BDSM protagonists go exploring, only to find an incomprehensible native computer. Or something. The alien entity then appears to take over or brainwash some of the crew, leading to more infighting. The last few survivors eventually takeoff with ease, although why they didn’t just do this 90 minutes ago I have no frigging idea, where there’s one last threat just when you think the coast is all clear.

Yes, this is Forbidden Planet meets Star Trek TOS meets Solaris meets Alien, only way cooler because it’s made by and with Italians. Even the male actors are able to pull-off the figure-hugging costumes. Can you imagine pudgy Brits in the same costumes?! Ha! I don’t think so, honey.

Right, I’ve given what I believe to be the goings on, so now let’s be all scientific and read a proper synopsis…

…one second…

…oh right, yeah, this is exactly Alien, to the point where I’m surprised that the latter production hasn’t been sued for tons of sweet cash. Wow. The only major thing I got wrong is that there are two ships that crash land, with one crew being taken over by the aliens while the other tries to fight them off and repair their ship. Golly, there’s even.an apparent-distress signal that lures them there and an ancient alien spacecraft (filled with giant skeletons) that the humans explore!

No chestbursters though, unfortunately.

I’ll add Invasion of the Body Snatchers to my list of films this has influenced and/or been influenced by, as the humans being taken over by aliens is a major part of the story and final twist.

It’s a claustrophobic film, with impressive but dour lighting throughout. Not one smile passes an actor’s face either, which adds to the suffocating atmosphere. No pun intended! The minimalist but evocative production even makes me think this could be a fine stage play.

The potentially-cheesy acting, costumes, sets, props, and special effects are all aided immensely by cinematographer Antonio Rinaldi’s eerie lighting. The man deserves as many awards as the industry can possibly throw at him.

It’s a true work of art, so goodness knows why I hadn’t heard of its existence at all in the first 45-fucking-years of my life.

For shame!

I’ll endeavour to watch the English-language version so I can soak up more of the drama, and certainly will be imitating this scene from Family Guy for the rest of the dd.. we… month.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Ciao!

Framed to Perfection XXXIII

STAR GAMES (1997)

Director: Greydon Clark

Cinematographer: Nicholas Josef von Sternberg

Strangely enough, this is not a horror film.

Well, depending on your point of view.

Essentially an overblown home movie, in that most of the cast is related in some way to the director, Star Games is a so-bad-it’s-good movie in the truest sense of the, erm, phrase. I discovered it through the fine folk over at Rifftrax, a satirical commentary troupe comprised of ex-MST3K members, and I urge you to watch their version.

And donate to their website, even though what they do can now be done by any bored 8-year-old in between school and their evening meal.

Yikes, I guess I’m in one of those moods. I apologise, Rifftrax! I’m still leaving my offhand bitchiness in though, since it’s lovingly in the spirit of what you also do.

To say the acting in Star Games is bad is an insult to bad acting in general. The two teenage leads can barely be understood, leaving you wondering whether they’d actually communicated with another human being before. Saying that, I’m sure my acting would have been just as bad at that age. Or the age I am now. Still, the amateurish acting is at the very heart of what is so joyful about this movie. And the cheesy 90s special effects, which would have been considered poor even at the time.

Who knows whether or not Tony Curtis knew where he was or why during the shoot, but he puts the effort in like a fucking pro.

An absolute delight that had me laughing and laughing and laughing. Except when the creepy clown was onscreen. Despite the low budget running-around-in-the-woods antics, there’s enough strangeness from scene to scene to keep you engaged and highly amused.

I took the above screenshot not knowing what to do with it. I just knew it had to be taken. Then I remembered I did this blog series. Hey, give me a break, alcoholism has it’s downsides too, you know!

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Happy New Year!

I’m much more a fan of New Year’s Eve than Christmas, at this point in my life. I put this down to: a) being nonreligious b) being all grown-up and c) being single and living alone. Like many similar crazy shut-ins, I do find myself having to “white knuckle” things until after 25 December. After that, it’s like a great weight has been lifted. Then it’s on to NYE, where I get to celebrate wiping the slate clean and giving life another try.

I’m sure I’ll still manage to fuck up 2026 though.

It has become a tradition for me to watch the 80s Star Trek movies as part of my celebrations, with me now onto The Search for Spock as I type. It’s certainly the best looking of the six. I always forget Christopher Lloyd is in this one. He makes a wonderfully dastardly villain. I still miss Kirsty Alley, but Robin Curtis makes a fine replacement. Apparently, Kim Cattrall’s Valeris in The Undiscovered Country was supposed to be Saavik too, but I’m guessing Kim didn’t want Alley and Curtis’ sloppy thirds. I can understand that. I refer to II, III, and VI as “The Genesis-David Trilogy”, but I’d have been okay with expanding that to “The Genesis-David-Saavik Trilogy”.

Bit of a mouthful though!

My least favourite is The Voyage Home, since it is essentially a retread of The Motion Picture and a silly fish-out-of-water comedy to boot. It’s a fine film, but just not my cup of tea. I enjoy The Final Frontier more than most, as its plot, about a cult leader hijacking the Enterprise to go and find the creator of the universe, being a classic Star Trek storyline. The brainwashing scenes also provide powerful acting moments for our three leads. The campiness of the whole thing is great too, with Uhura’s “sexy” fan dance being the stuff of gay legend. 

I used to watch The Lord of the Rings trilogy as my end of year marathon, but I retired them after awhile. Perhaps I’ll retire Star Trek I-VI eventually too. I wonder what I shall replace them with. Hmmm…

I’ll start partying once I’m well into The Undiscovered country, as I know I’ll pass out before midnight if I begin too early. I know what I’m like.

I hope you all have a great 2026 and are enjoying a marathon of your own!

Live long and prosper, darlings.

Toodles!

Becoming Led Zeppelin (2025) - an emotional reaction

For Rob and Michele Reiner

I thought I would dedicate this to the above recently and tragically departed couple, as the subject of Becoming Led Zeppelin was surely an inspiration for Rob’s very own This Is Spinal Tap and its sequel, now his final work.

When people ask me the ultimate question of musical gender identity: “The Beatles or The Rolling Stones?”, I generally answer: “Led Zeppelin”. I mean, of course it’s partly to be a contrarian prick, for which I am known throughout the lands, but it’s true. My classic rock band of choice was, essentially, a supergroup of hardworking session musicians, bored of the daily grind in the muzak studio, who all wanted to try something more exciting.

We’ve all been there.

I’m not sure how many documentaries I’ve seen about Led Zeppelin, but it’s probably a lot. This one really didn’t provide me with anything new in terms of backstory, but what it does have that no other Led Zeppelin documentary has had before, is bringing Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, John Paul Jones, and John Bonham out of the shadows and finally having them give their version of events. Which, I must say, makes a nice change from the usual smug music journalists and historians.

I don’t know why I just called them “smug”, but it felt apt. I’m sure they’re all lovely people.

The second half of Becoming Led Zeppelin sags somewhat, due to its heavy reliance on concert footage and, in some cases, playing certain songs in full. Like a video game that relies heavily on “cutscenes”, you start to forget why you sat down in the first place, and so drift off into thought. Well, at least I did. This approach to the final hour means things just sort of fizzle out, with the story of the band ending on a high - their Albert Hall concert - rather than delving into the notorious days of excess and tragedy. Actually, you could quite easily compare this to Supersonic, the documentary following Oasis’ rise and… well, that’s it.

I guess we’ve all heard about the negative stuff, which we can all do without at this stage in our lives.

Page is always a delight to listen to, as he’s such an adorable nerd. He’s certainly not what you’d expect from one of the fathers of hard rock. I could listen to him talk about mic placement and cross-fades all damn day. It’s also nice to finally hear him explain his famous aversion to releasing singles, which makes perfect sense to me now. Sort of. Plant always makes me want to give him a hug, as there’s a contradictory quietness to him that I find heartbreaking. I did want to learn more about his homeless days, having faced the same myself 15-years-ago, but he is noticeably brief on the subject. It’s a dark place to delve into, so I can understand his reticence to elaborate. John Paul Jones is a sweetie. Very posh, although they all are really. It’s heartwarming to hear him talk about his father and how proud the man was of him. You can tell that that has meant more to him than fame and fortune combined. Bless. But, hey, isn’t our parents’ pride what we all want? John Bonham’s echoes from the past are very touching. He sounds like an unpretentious chap. I assume all drummers are, given their profession. Being a boozer myself, I can’t help but sympathise with whatever pain drove him to such extremes. It can happen to the best of us. What a legacy he left though! So nobody can be too judgemental and dismissive of him for his fondness for the odd slurp.

Led Zeppelin and their Albert Hall concert inspired me to pick up guitar again in my mid-20s. I’d learned formally as a kid, but subsequently gave up and forgot everything I’d been taught after my interest failed. I could actually read sheet music too, so you can imagine how much I regret turning my back on it. Oh well, doing bugger-all else seemed like a good idea at the time.

The story of Led Zeppelin isn’t particularly inspirational, given each members’ relative success already by the time they got together, but this documentary is a quaint trip down memory lane for everyone involved and everyone watching. Plus, witnessing Page reclining on his throne in his castle is a true reminder of how fucking massive Led Zeppelin were and are and will always be.

I would say this should act as a good primer for aspiring sound engineers, as there are so few documentaries focussing on that side of the music industry. Which is a shame. There’s only so much concert and tour footage I can take, quite frankly.

I didn’t want to call this a “film review”, as I simply wasn’t in the mood to be so formal. And anything to do with music should be something that reflects your mood. I’m not always one for obligation, so my attitude this morning should come as no surprise.

Well, I feel as though I’ve said enough. I seem to be losing my battle with alcohol at the moment, with today being a slight reprieve, so I’m not sure when I’ll write coherently again. I’m just finding words too devastating to impart right now, as melodramatic as that sounds. There is a chance I think too much about things and wish to drown out the agonising noise, although this film has given me pause for thought on my lifestyle.

Peace and love and good mental health.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Framed to Perfection XXXII

THE ADVENTURES OF YOUNG INDIANA JONES: TRAVELS WITH FATHER (1996)

Directors: Deepa Mehta, Michael Schultz

Cinematographer: Giles Nuttgens

No, it’s not a Lord of the Rings fan film, but pretty damn close!

My late best friend always wanted to go through The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles, but never had the spare funds to buy up the boxsets. I was about to treat her to them as a gift but, sadly, fate intervened and she is no longer with us. Well, even though I’m not the biggest Indiana Jones fan in the world, not caring much for how cartoonish things got after Raiders of the Lost Ark, I’ve kept meaning to pay tribute to my departed soulmate by watching said 1990s family adventure serial.

The show did air on British television, that I’m fairly sure of, but I had little-to-no interest in watching it back in the day. No Spielberg. No deal. The same goes for The Dial of Destiny. I have even more of a reason to dislike the show now, since the collaboration between George Lucas and Rick McCallum here would sow the seed for the dreadful Star Wars prequels. Still, my recent piqued interest in history has provided a soft cushion for these fairly-petty feelings, so I thought I’d at least invest in the first volume and see how I got on.

Then the confusion started.

Midway through the first TV movie on the first disc of the first volume, the actor playing the titular Young Indiana Jones suddenly grows a clear foot and finds his voice broken. Uhhh, WTF?! I stopped immediately and did some online research. It turns out these international editions combine certain episodes to form a story chronology. Yeah, but, I was enjoying that first episode! Sigh. So I started going through the discs, one-by-one, trying to find the series proper, which begins with 1993’s “The Curse of the Jackal”, that I had now only seen one half of.

Some time later…

I eventually came across Travels with Father, which is the only thing from the series I vaguely remember giving a try back when I was a kid. I did recall some slapstick running about on a beach, which would certainly have put grumpy-teenage-me off the rest of the goings on. But, hey, since it’s at least familiar, I thought I’d stick with it. Plus I assume Corey Carrier is more likeable a lead than River Phoenix-stand-in Sean Patrick Flanery.

Well, Carrier is certainly a better actor than most of the d-list adult doorknobs surrounding him.

Except for, that is, the delightful Michael Gough. Which is where we come to this post. I was racking my brains who the actor was playing Leo Tolstoy in this thing, scanning every age-appropriate actor I know. Then, after checking, my spirits were buoyed to find it was Alfred Pennyworth himself! I’m hoping that Gough was at least on the shortlist to play Gandalf at some point during Peter Jackson’s casting process, although I believe John Hurt was really second in line. I guess that production needed a more sprightly actor too, with Gough being around 80 at the time of shooting Travels with Father.

Golly, I’m shocked to learn that he kept going until 2011! Blimey. They don’t make ‘em like they used to!

While this TV movie is presented as a complete narrative, it does feel suspiciously over-episodic, with Henry Jones Jr’s excursion with the elderly Tolstoy taking up the first half. After this surprisingly-traumatic adventure, we finally come to the “travels with father” portion of the film. It took them bloody long enough! But, as a reward, there is a marvellous teaching moment for Indy in a colosseum, where Sr instructs Jr on the nature of philosophy, with the director having father and son physically draw closer and closer together as they make a mental connection.

Simple, but clever.

Then we get those slapstick parts and yet more philosophical lecturing, with the latter actually starting to take the fun out of things. If it weren’t for Carrier’s adorable toothy-grin lighting up the screen, I’d have given up entirely at this point. Especially with the “grand finale” seeing Jr and Sr trapped in a lift on the side of Meteora. For about fifteen minutes. Fifteen long-arse minutes. Then things just sort of end abruptly with the credits playing over some awkward b-roll footage.

Fine. Whatever.

Despite the Lucas-McCallum partnership behind the camera, this film, or fix-up of two unconnected episodes (note the two directors), is ably shot and edited and very charming indeed. It’s just a shame the two producers couldn’t command the same show of skill on Star Wars. I believe Lucas “pulled a Hitchcock” with The Phantom Menace, whereby he, like Hitchcock did on Psycho with his Alfred Hitchcock Presents crew, used The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles team to bring us Episode I.

Only with drastically different results. Although I’m pretty sure Norman Bates does use a lightsaber at one point.

It took me a few days to get through this plodding soap opera, but I appreciated its educational value and rambling tone. I had an aversion to learning when I was supposed to learn, only finally burying my head in books as a cynical adult, by which time I’d realised that mental illness would indefinitely keep me disconnected from a society I could not and do not understand. Most things I was assured as a child about how society works was a lie. It’s a cold world out there, with everyone suspicious of one another and keen to see their neighbour suffer in order to secure their own unit. That’s the way it’s always been. That’s the way it’ll always be.

I now want as little to do with it as is humanly possible.

But, on the positive side, books won’t hurt you. Unless a particularly large one drops on your head.

Well, I best get back to trying to find the actual first-first episode of the series. I’m sure it’s in there somewhere, unless that doesn’t happen until Volume Two. In which case, I best get my wallet out again. You win, George. You bloody win.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!