Assignment: Outer Space

By Richard Romano

You have admire a filmmaker who has a consistent vision. That is, a director whose movies about space and the future display a consistent look and feel, so that his entire ouevre hangs together, in a manner akin to what Frank Zappa used to call “Conceptual Continuity.” However, the fly in the ointment, or the raspberry seed in the wisdom tooth, or the...thing in that other thing...is when that vision is marred by glaucoma, myopia, astigmatism, or, in fact, could put a glass eye to sleep. Such is the case with Antonio Margheriti—or Anthony Dawson, if you prefer (and I don’t)—who, in Assignment: Outer Space, features all the snooze-inducing non-action of Battle of the Worlds, but at least the latter had Claude Rains making an all-you-can-eat buffet out of the scenery. Assignment: Outer Space has nothing of the kind. And then there’s that old Confuse-O-Vision getting in the way of general coherence. You would also think that technology would be a little farther along by 2116 (the year the movie takes place) than teletype machines and bulky film cameras. Still, my favorite moment has to be when, to show the explosion of a spaceship over one of the moons of Mars, they cut ever-so-briefly to footage of a decidedly earth-bound explosion (you can see buildings and a car in the shot). It’s rather surreal.

Anyway, off we go. And right away, we are told that this is a radio-taped report of an article for the Planetary Chronicle of New York. They would later shorten the name to the Daily Planet. Ray Peterson is reporting. “Dateline, December 17th. Year: 2116.” Ah, that was four years after the Solar Federation assumed control of all the planets and got rid of a pesky guitar player. Anyway: “Spaceship Bravo Zulu 88. Destination: Galaxy M12.” And it seems they’re using the same model spaceship they used in Battle of the Worlds. And the same Confuse-O-Vision, as it now appears that the ship is flying over an overcooked beef roast. Assignment: Preheated Oven! Whoops, the ship starts losing bits of itself. Either those are subsequent stages firing, or the trailer hitch wasn’t secured very tightly.

We get more narration from ace reporter Ray Peterson. He has been sent by the editor of his newspaper to report on a routine check of infraradiation flux on Galaxy M12. Ah, of course, because what could possibly be more newsworthy and exciting than a “routine check” of something? “Routine,” “usual,” and “humdrum” are always words that get an editor’s—and the reading public’s—toes a-tapping. No wonder newspapers are dying. “The crewmembers, in order to overcome the Earthly gravity, have been subjected to a state of hibernation.” I know the feeling. I can’t deal with Earth gravity until I’ve had a good long nap either. “That is, the human body is put through a congealing process simulating an apparent death.” A “congealing” process? Were the crew all liquids? Boy, the state of science reporting has really become dismal, hasn’t it? “At a preset time, under the impulses of an electric brain, the heart resumes its normal beat.” So, basically, an alarm clock went off. “In short, man is reacquiring his Earthly faculties.” And I bet there’s going to be a faculty meeting shortly, too.

One monitor appears to be measuring the “Peak Wow.” Hm. So I guess all the faculties are being reacquired.

Since there is no gravity on the ship, Ray adds, they must wear magnetic boots. Sure, but good luck finding them on Zappos.com in the right size.

And the first to awaken is the snowy-haired Al, aka X 15, the “engineer pilot,” and the world’s first albino African-American. No, I can’t figure that out either.

Al’s first task is to add more White-Out to his hair, then report their approach to international satellite Zulu Extra 34. It’s a good thing they have extra 34; you certainly wouldn’t want to run out in the middle of space.

Al banters with the guy on Zulu Extra 34, says that the ship has gone into orbit around the satellite, and makes it a point to mention his nausea. Thanks. “Bravo Zulu 88 closing electronic brain.” Must he be so closed-minded? “Everything’s in your hands,” says Zulu Extra 34. “Thanks for nothin’,” says Al. “Hey, we got cargo aboard,” Al adds. Bananas? Transistor radios? Balloon animals? “We’ve already been informed,” says Zulu Extra 34. “Reporter, eh?” “I haven’t brought him his coffee,” says Al, who then asks, “Bravo Zulu 88 requesting your position.” Wait, you just went into orbit around them. Shouldn’t you know already? “I’ll send you the reporter as soon as possible,” says Al. Oh, there’s no real hurry, I wouldn’t think.

Al signs off, and is joined by Archie, who starts telling Al his dream. Hoo boy. Hunker down. “I dreamt I was sleeping.” Wah wah wah. “Take over the controls while I wake up the baby,” says Al. “Is it true when we took off you sang him a lullaby?” Archie asks. “That’s right.” They have issues, don’t they? “Just call me space wet nurse,” says Al. Ewww!!!! “Next time, why don’t you just bring a cow along?” What the heck are they talking about? “A pacifier would do.” How about a large polo mallet?

Archie then calls the satellite again, for some reason. Al goes into the other room to wake the reporter. If he starts breastfeeding, I’m turning this off. The hibernation compartment slides open and a very worried-looking Ray slowly wakes up. He’s wearing one of those same goofy Michelin Man-esque space suits they wore in Battle of the Worlds. Score one for continuity. Score two for silliness.

“To come out of a state of hibernation is an eerie sensation,” says Ray’s voiceover. I know what he means; I’m not a morning person either. “I didn’t know who or where I was until I heard Al’s voice.” How does that differ from any other morning? “Hi there, space man.” “This was not my first space flight,” Ray is quick to add. Uh huh. “Previous assignments for the newspaper had sent me to the Moon several times.” Yeah, but not to actually report anything, just get you out of the office. “But never into the vast reaches of outer space.” And never dressed like that. His voiceover continues to worry that being trapped in a small spaceship for ten days with seven men who would “resent a reporter’s questions and general uselessness would make me an unpopular passenger.” Gee, I can’t imagine why that would be.

“The coffin was much too small,” says Ray rudely. “Couldn’t you find a bigger one?” Well, that’s getting off to a good start. Be sure to be a dink right off the bat. That’ll make you popular. “We couldn’t fine a bigger one, leech,” says Al. Al then reiterates that Ray is a parasite. And he was worried about being unpopular. Ha!

“Where are we now?” Ray asks. “Outside.” “Outside what?” “Outside everything.” So it’s going to be like this, is it?

They then seal Ray into his helmet in preparation for...doing something. Al points out that Ray has forgotten his giant 1950s-era film camera. I guess by 2116 everyone will be in a real retro-technology mode. There is some bitter banter between Al and Ray. Al thinks he’s a greenhorn, Ray insists he took “the advanced course.” Sure, but it was in Victorian poetry, which probably won’t help on a space mission, although you never know.

Ray goes into the decompression chamber prefatory to...I guess being shot out of the ship. Not a bad idea, really. And out he goes. “The artificial satellite was like an island in the sky.” Sure, and last week he said that Maui was like a satellite on the ground. Must he use such tautological metaphors? “In order not to disturb its calculated orbital chart, we lined up 2,000 feet parallel to it. The only way to get to it was to float through the terrifying void between us.” Sounds like Price Chopper parking lot during track season.

There is more banter between Ray and Al. “Al, say something!” panics Ray. “Every baptism has its mysteries,” says Al, apropos of nothing. Tell me about it! Like what the heck you’re supposed to do with that damn candle as wax is dripping down your hands... But I digress.

“I’ve never felt so lonely,” says Ray. Great, now he’s turning into Morrissey. He then figures out how to start spinning around. Is that really a good idea? “Indian Zulu 41, get back into normal position.” Indian Zulu? “You’re at the end of your trip.” And Ray enters a door...in something. The satellite? Yes, I guess so. Ray points out how happy he was to regain his normal weight. Uh huh. He explains that all space stations rotate around a central axis to simulate Earth gravity. Hmm...that’s actually correct. Okay, movie, I’ll give you that. Score one for being scientifically accurate about gravity simulation. Now, how about plot simulation?

“In the ship’s cabin, I was met by King 116.” Out there? He must be an exiled king. “The doctor in charge of all crewmembers’ physical and mental health.” Were there 115 doctors there before him?

“Take off your space suit and report to the commander,” says King 116. And cough.

Another crewmember says, “What kind of guy is our reporter?” Uh, maybe the kind of guy who’s standing right in front of you? “He still smells Earthy,” says King 116. Like dirt?

Ray reports to the commander, who scarcely deigns to look at him. “I hear you’re somewhat famous on Earth,” he says. “Well, I see my fame has reached the stars.” Oh, come on, you were on The Biggest Loser. Don’t get a big head or anything. “Let me give you a bit of advice,” says the commander. Don’t tug on Superman’s cape, don’t spit into the wind, don’t pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger, and don't mess around with Jim. Oh, wait— “Here among the stars, it’s better to be not quite so cocky. You are only here to do a job.” Unlike everyone else who’s there for the world Parcheesi championship? “You’ve arrived at a critical time,” says the commander. Ray scoffs. “Peace and tranquility have no news value.” Ah, so that’s why you’re covering a “routine” mission.

At that moment, the commander’s 1950s-era Teletype machine (again reinforcing the retro fad they must have in the early twenty-second century) starts chugging away. The commander reads it, then calls “Sullivan.” “How long would it take to reinstall the terminal stages of the spaceship that arrived from Earth just now?” Since they only have two mechanics, they have no idea. “I must get to Base 12 on Mars.” There’s a one-day-only sale on socks.

“You talk about Mars as if it were right down the street,” remarks Ray. “There are no streets here,” says the commander. Yes, he was speaking metaphorically. “I firmly oppose your unwelcome visit.” “Are you trying to flatter me?” Are you trying to confuse me? “The high command refused to listen to me. It’s apparent you have quite a pull there.” I bet. There is a bit more tension, Sullivan ambles in and the commander is moody and distracted. Jeepers.

Out in the other room, space-suited crewmen shuffle out. Ray asks the guy on duty, “Where’s everyone going? To a picnic?” Ah, that must be one of his probing reporters’ questions. He’s not quite Edward R. Murrow, is he? This is...not London. They are going out on a space detail. Ray is told that if he wanted to go along, he would have to get approval from the commander. Yeah, that’ll happen.

He then tells us that he was hoping the space detail would make a good story. So he goes outside without permission. “This special detail was a refueling operation.” Ooh! Boy, he’s got the journalistic instincts of Ted Baxter, doesn’t he? He’s not so much Roger Mudd as Harry Mudd. Anyway, he’d just better hope they let him back in again. He claims refueling is one of the most dangerous operations in space travel. Come on, it’s 2116, they’ve got bases on Mars, and can make it to distant galaxies. I think they’ve figured out how to refuel by now. “The engineers carried an enormous tube from the space station”—are you refueling or are you just happy to be in outer space?—“and attached it to the rear valve on our ship.” La la la, the ceiling needs painting, la la la...

Anyway, he gets out his futuristic 1950s camera—not quite Super 8; more like Suppurate, knowing this guy. “Thousands of gallons of precious neohydrazine were being pumped into our fuel tanks so that we could go back to Mars.“ My preciousssssssssss. People are zipping back and forth through space. Whee!

Suddenly, a voice says, “Look out! The meteorite!” And sure enough one comes zinging into range. Too bad they don’t have radar or anything on either the ship or the satellite. Ray notices that the “fiery ball” is headed for the “cosmonaut” right next to him. Cosmonaut? “I pushed him out of the way, and the subsequent reaction caused me to bounce against the connection of the fuel valve.” I’m glad he’s narrating this, because the visuals bear no resemblance to this chain of events whatsoever. They could have cut to a lengthy scene of a monk gargling and it would have been about as relevant. Anyway, he dislodges the tube, “letting the unreplaceable neohydrazine escape.” Unreplaceable? Is it a good idea to use fuel that is unreplaceable? It takes everyone a good long time to gradually ooze into action and turn off the fuel valve. It’s like watching a lava lamp.I thought reporters weren’t supposed to become part of their own stories? Or at the very least not physically demolish the subjects of their stories.

Anyway, it’s probably safe to say that this guy is in deep trouble.

And, sure enough, in the commander’s office, the commander shouts, “Lost!” Yes! That’s what would be a better DVD to put on than this movie. Lost! Oh, I see what he’s saying... “Five hundred gallons of hydrazine.” Neohydrazine. You don’t want to be using the old stuff. It’ll really do a number on your engine. Yep, the commander is pissed. Ray apologizes, “even though I saved a man’s life.” “You didn’t come here to be a hero. The damage you have just caused is much more serious than the a mere loss of a life.” Jeez. This guy’s no Captain Kirk, is he? It’s like if Dick Cheney ran a space station. Forget the humans, save the precious fuel! “Evidently, commander, my way of thinking must seem pretty prehistoric to you.” It’s true; he thinks solely in cave paintings. “But then I only saved a number. Yankee 13.” A-Rod? Was he traded to outer space? “I didn’t even see his face. Maybe he hasn’t got one!” What? That’s a bizarre rebuke to the commander. “I knew that you were going to give me trouble.” Saving people. Feh! “I see you’re a psychologist, too,” says Ray. Huh? This guy really needs to work on his righteous indignation.

The commander then tells Ray that he has to get permission to do anything at all—and not from him, but from his second-in-command “who’s tougher than I am.” Then why is he second in command? “You may go now.” I may go, too. “First, commander, tell me one thing. Why do you deny me the honor of talking to you?” he asks in a weird sing-songy voice. “I’m leaving Peterson.” You’re leaving Peterson? Were you ever together? Oh, I see: “I’m leaving, Peterson.” At least acknowledge the comma!

But, anyway, that means the second in command will be the first in command. You could have just said that!

And Ray leaves awkwardly. No “why are you leaving?” or anything that maybe a reporter would ask? He’s not so much David Brinkley as Christie Brinkley.

Ray ambles down the hall and runs into King 116. “Pardon me for not calling you by name,” he says. But it was written on the back of his jumpsuit: “K 116.” Besides, wasn’t that the guy he met with when he first got there? The doctor? “What do you want?” says the doctor blankly. “I’m looking for someone. Excuse me. A number.” I am not a number, I’m a free man! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! “Yankee 13. He was injured. He should be around here somewhere.” Getting steroid injections. “Just dismissed. It was nothing but simple shock.” It was a bold choice for the actor playing King 116 to have taken a horse tranquilizer right before the camera rolled. “Have a look in the biochemistry lab,” adds the doctor. “Forgive my curiosity, Mr. King 116.” And he stalks off in a huff. What the heck was that about?

And we go to the biochemistry lab. They have a pretty elaborate coffee maker, by the looks of it. Ray barges in. “Hey, space man!” he calls to a pair of legs behind a large piece of equipment. The spaceman emerges and walks over to an elaborate beaker set-up. A woman! And of the female persuasion, too. “Are you addressing me?” Yep, just as if she were an envelope and he was a large, dumb piece of mailing equipment. “Yes,” he says, “but you’re a—“ and he can’t complete the sentence. “Yes, go on,” she says. Um...a highly qualified astronaut? A brilliant scientist? A Nobel-winning biochemist? “You’re a girl,” he says. Ah, that must be why he’s a star reporter; it’s his laser-like incisiveness. “And you’re selling flowers, too.” Oh, brother. “There are no flowers here,” she says, “these are the aspirin.” Oh, good, because I’ve got quite a headache right about now. Oh, “Disporin.” What? “They serve the purpose of turning hydrogen into breathable oxygen.” Wow, that’s some plant! Kind of like a nuclear fusion plant! “But I still say they’re flowers,” he says. And I still say you’re an idiot. They don’t even look like flowers. There’s not a single petal or anything. “Do you sell them?” he asks. This clown is an ace science reporter? Good grief. He’s not so much Carl Bernstein as one of the Berenstain Bears. He then offers to pay her for the “flowers” but then he’ll just leave them there. What the heck is he talking about? Is he drunk?

Another incisive question: “Do you work in this section?” No, it’s her hobby. “Sometimes. But I’m really a navigator.” Ah. That’s useful on a satellite that doesn’t go anywhere. He then starts hitting on her. It goes on tediously for rather a while. Turns out her name is Lucy. Ahhh, Ricky.... “Do you like it?” she asks. “It’s not bad. My uncle had a mascot by that name....It was a monkey.” Ooh, you sweet-talker. She then calls him by name, which takes him aback. “Do you know my name?” “Oh, yes, I’ve heard all about you.” That explains why his utter lunk-headedness doesn’t surprise her. She also explains that she doesn’t call the commander by his number but rather “George.” “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” In other words, buzz off, creep. He catches sight of the back of her jumpsuit: “Y 13.” “Yankee 13!” he exclaims in surprise. He’s just realizing this? “I forgot to say, thank you, Ray,” she says. His little pea-brain struggles to process this information.

Meanwhile, the commander orders Al to come over and pilot a “space taxi” so Ray can photograph a passage of asteroids. No one has seen asteroids by the twenty-second century? “I bet this was the most interesting action shot of your career,” chides Al. Well, knowing this guy’s news sense, it probably can’t compare to his real-time video of paint drying. “Yeah, shooting these rocks is sure something. “They’re not rocks, my son,” says Al, “they’re asteroids.” In other words, rocks.

Ray tells Al that he was bawled out by the commander for losing fuel and saving a life, “and a girl’s, too.” “So you have a weakness for the weaker sex,” laughs Al. Pigs...in...space! “And she doesn’t even call him sir, just George.” “Why all the reach-around, sonny!” Excuse me?! “They were right when they called you a meddler. He’s ashamed of that.” And perhaps about the reach-around thing. “Hang on, I’m going to make a sharp turn.” And we see the space taxi continuing in a perfectly straight line.

Ray and Al banter some more. Yes, George the commander is leaving and Lucy will probably go with him. “Something very serious is going on and this is all you can think about?” chides Al. “We’re leaving for Mars.” “You, too, Al?” So...a threesome? Ray’s journalistic instincts kick in. “Can’t you tell me more about it?” “Top secret,” says Al. And Ray drops the subject. Oh, well, he can probably just report poll numbers and political sniping instead of anything substantive. He’s not so much Ernie Pyle as a pile of crap.

The space taxi heads back to the satellite. “Al,” says Ray, “can I read you my Earth base?” What? Could you take your helmet off before you speak? “Sure, you think you’re still living back in the twenty-first century.” What? Could you put your helmet on before you speak? “I wanted to join this Mars expedition,” says Ray’s voiceover. Three guesses why. But to do so would require an order from the high command back on Earth. That’ll go over well.

In the commander’s office, George, Lucy, and Sullivan are awaiting Al. “Al’s really a strange type,” says Lucy. “He’s the best there is,” says George. I shudder to think. Al arrives and apologizes for being late. “The situation has become worse,” says George, “we’ve got to leave immediately.” Ah, I think I understand: he left his Immodium back on Mars. “Then you haven’t been able to contact Alpha 2,” says Al. “Alpha 2 does not answer,” George responds portentously. Maybe they’re in the shower. “We think the pilot may be dead,” says Sullivan, and the soundtrack kicks in with a dramatic fanfare. They all look at each other. “This could mean the end,” says Sullivan. Of the movie? Woo hoo!

They’re really milking the whole mystery of whatever is happening on Mars. If only I cared...

Over the intercom, George is told that Ray is calling. “Let him talk to the second in command.” Talk to Mr. Fitzgerald! George dispatches Sullivan to deal with it. Is Sullivan the second in command? Ray is insistent, apparently, and George relents. “Send him in!” Send in the clown! That was easy, but George still grouses about it. “He’s a pretty nice guy,” confesses Al, with a look that suggests he’s falling in love. George remains skeptical.

Ray arrives and drops a piece of paper on George desk. “This is absurd!” George says after reading it. It must be one of Ray’s stories. “Sir, you are insulting the high command,” says Ray smugly. And? “Absolutely against all regulations!” George continues. “Any more criticisms?” Oh, where to begin... “Gentlemen, prepare to leave.” In other words, get out of my office!

Everyone files out save for Lucy. “That man Peterson has persuaded the high command to let him come with us. It’s an order.” “Aren’t you exaggerating?” says Lucy. Uh...no..if it were, the original note would have said that the low command made a mild suggestion that Peterson not go with them. “I can’t increase the crew,” says George, implying... “Can’t you do without the radio operator?” She asks. And the pilot? Who needs a pilot? And fuel—feh, who needs it!

“No,” says George, “I prefer to do without you.” You know, there are a hundred better ways that could have been phrased. He says that he’s afraid that he won’t be able to make objective decisions if she were there. “I think I could get along better without a navigator than without a radio operator.” Ah, of course. Huh?! True; I guess the radio operator can ask for directions. “If I weren’t the navigator then would you give up taking one with you.” Well, yeah, that’s pretty much what he’s been saying. “See? You’re not being objective.” Zing! “Besides, I don’t want to be left behind George.” Behind George? I can hardly blame her. Oh: “I don’t want to be left behind, George.” Commas, people, commas! They exist for a reason! She then tries to psychoanalyze him and give him a guilt trip. She then says, “I’m sorry, George” and leaves.

And the ship hurtles forward. Ray’s voiceover tells us, “Lucy’s plea to the commander was effective.” Hey, how did he know about that? Anyway, George apparently relented, and she’s aboard. Ray is, naturally, delighted. So in his capacity as a reporter, his plan is to woo Lucy away from the commander? And that’s pretty much why he managed to get the high command to let him go? I think, it’s time, as Atrios would say, for another blogger ethics panel.

Ray, Al, and George are sitting around the bridge of the ship—Bravo Zulu 88.

“Is the nose still turned up?” Ray asks Al. What? “Don’t be silly. The nose of the spaceship is always up, even when landing.” Ah. “He’s not referring to the spaceship, Al, he’s talking about me,” says George. Waka waka. Ray whines about not having a chair, and floats to the ceiling to prove his point. “There are two cots back there you can use,” George points out helpfully. Well, Ray is beside himself, so he’ll need two cots. “So while you work I’m supposed to sleep?” “There are times for all children to go to bed,” says Al. He’s got a point.

Ray then starts whining some more. “You’ve all done your best to make me feel like an outsider.” Well, you’ve done your best to behave like a colossal ass. So deal with it. “My congratulations, Ray,” says George cryptically. This movie is more like Ass: Outer Space.

Some time later, the ship is cruising through space. Suddenly, what sounds like a Curly Alarm starts going “whoop whoop whoop!” “What the devil is going on?” asks George. Hey, it’s your movie. You tell us. One of the other guys says, “It looks like it might be a magnetic storm.” “Impossible!” snaps George. All right, you identify it then, dickweed. “Listen to the wave-boom, sir.” What? The monitor pans across some large milky stain in the...well, in the Milky Way. It’s some kind of cloud. “Give me its position,” says George. Well, it’s right there. “Try to establish contact. It looks like a moon ship.” What? I thought it was a big milky cloud.

Ah, so that wasn’t what they were looking at. Now we see a ship in the distance—it kinds of looks like a cross between a coelacanth, a salamander, and a zebra. A coelamanbra. It is sending out a distress signal, and identifies itself as “Metro Sierra 13.” What’s their deal? “Tanks are exploded, engines have failed, we’re out of control and being attracted to Mars. Over.” Well, I guess it would be over, wouldn’t it. Says George, “Try to get back into the orbit around Mars.” Gee, if only someone had thought of that! What part of “tanks exploded, engines failed, and out of control” eludes your understanding?

Anyway, Bravo Zulu 88 will attempt rescue. What caused the explosion? Says pilot Grizzly Adams, “The sudden rush of hot air overpowered us.” Well, turn off talk radio. “The instruments have gone crazy!” They’ve never slashed prices this much before! One man is dead—the engineer, says Grizzly Adams significantly. You know how he likes engineers.

George orders them to get on their space suits and prepare to bail out. “Turn off voice circuit.” I’m sick of talking to them. “Do you think they’ll make it?” George asks. “That’s what I’m checking now,” says Lucy who, by the way, is actually in the sky but sans diamonds. “Are you thinking the same thing I am, Al?” George asks. Unless it involves peroxide, I would guess not. Before Al can respond, Lucy exclaims, “They’re not going to make it!” “Why not?” George asks.

The ship drifts over toward one of the moons of Mars. Grizzly Adams concurs: “No! We’re not gonna make it! One of Mars’ satellites has crossed our path.” And you know what sign of bad luck that is. “Try the engines again,” orders George.

Grizzly Adams starts shouting “David!” In the background, one of the other crewmembers—David, I would guess—puts on his helmet and shuts the door. Well, when you gotta go, you gotta go. “David, don’t!” Don’t flush! The plumbing’s broken! “It’s suicide! Don’t jump!”

David thinks the ship is a death trap and it turns out that he is not especially adept at risk assessment because the second he jumps out of the ship he plummets right into an active volcano. All you need is lava, apparently.

And Now For Something Completely Different

Meanwhile, Grizzly Adams got one of the engines started. “I’m climbing!” The old Battle of the Worlds Confuse-O-Vision kicks in and strange pans and swirls are randomly edited together. “I can make it!” he shouts. “I’m getting lighter. I can make it!” And then suddenly, we are in a small village. In front of a white building, and right behind an abandoned Plymouth, something explodes in the middle of the street. What? Wait a minute: was that supposed to be the spaceship exploding?! We cut back to bubbling mud on the moon of Mars. Yes; a car exploding in a small Italian village was supposed to be a spaceship exploding over Mars. Okay. Well, maybe the explosion was more metaphorical than actual. Or, I know: we were seeing on screen what was going through Grizzly Adams’ mind at the time of his death; his subconscious transported him back to his childhood home on Earth in a sort of Twilight Zone, “A Stop at Willoughby” way.

Or, more likely, the only explosion they could afford was stock footage from another movie.

In Bravo Zulu 88, everyone looks distraught. George thinks he saw the movie they took the explosion from. “Get ready for a vertical landing,” he says. In other words, a landing the way they always land. “We will fly above Phobos.” he looks worried; perhaps he is Phobosphobic.

They fly over Phobos; the engines are at eight gammas. Eight gammas? Are you crazy! You’ll kill everyone. Wait...what’s a gamma? “Bear to the right...perhaps.” Well, go right or don’t go right?! You’re navigating!

They clear the moon, and then start their descent. “What’s going on?” asks Ray. “We’re going down” he is told. So when George said “Prepare for vertical landing” was Ray distracted by a butterfly or something? “But that’s insane! With a full tank of fuel, we’re like a bomb.” This whole movie is a bomb. But are they supposed to land without fuel? As they descend, Ray starts writhing. George is trying to get his face to ripple from the excessive g-force, but it just looks like he has something caught in his teeth.

And they land. On Phobos. On Phobos? Why?

Ray starts crawling across the floor. “Put on your space suit, leech,” says Al, “you’re going to help rescue that poor guy.” I thought he and Al were best buddies? And what guy? The guy whose ship exploded or the guy who fell into the active volcano?

At that point, there is the sound effect of a tree falling over, and we cut to the ship lurching to one side. A wooden rocket? Interesting idea; that would be a retro rocket, wouldn’t it?

Wooden ships on the water very free and easy
Easy you know the way it’s supposed to be
Silver people on the shoreline leave us be
Very free and easy

Ray and...someone else don their Michelin Man suits and wander outside past bubbling mud pools. They come across a body on the ground. That must be the guy—David—who bailed out of the other ship. Turns out he’s not dead. Go figure. They bring him back into the ship. Says George, “You stay here and look after him.” Where else would they be likely to go? The Lido Deck?

The ship then takes off; even though it is listing at an angle, it still moves straight up. They must have a rudder or something.

George asks Ray how the guy is. “Bad.” But he’ll make it to Mars. However, it turns out they’re not going to Mars. They’re now going to Venus instead. Ray is aghast. “A direct order from the high command,” says George. Says Ray defiantly, “And you accepted it?” George looks at him, speechless. Yeah, that was a pretty obnoxious statement coming from that guy—who had the high command order George to let him come along! Ray gets in George’s face about the dying man. Fortunately, they are interrupted by the radar guy. “I’m picking up an area of intense heat.” Yeah, it’s those two. “It’s almost as hot as the photonic field of the Sun itself.” What? “Turn on the safety system,” says George. “I think you should tell him, sir,” says Al. “It’s no longer top secret.” Oh, so now Al is buddies with Ray (the “leech”) again? Man, this guy blows hot and cold. It must be the hair.

All right, so what’s been the big mystery? Says George:

“Alpha 2, propelled by photonic energy, is now without a pilot.” What’s Alpha 2? A ship of some kind? “She is floating in space and is only controlled by the electronic brain.” Okay, so the computer is running everything. Aside from interrupting life support systems to ask if you want to update your virus descriptions or search for software updates, I don’t see a problem. “The photonic heat, which our radar has picked up, has the power of destruction and death.” Like any really intense heat. Okay, put on the A/C. “Alpha 2 has re-entered the Solar System. During the Sun’s next revolution, she will start to orbit around the Earth and will destroy it completely.” Okay, you’re losing me. The Sun’s revolution? Around what? And is the Sun going to go into Earth orbit? Or Alpha 2? “Burning everything and eliminating all forms of life.” And that’s a bad thing.

So...in a nutshell, some ship got really hot and is headed toward Earth. Okay.

“Is there any way of stopping it?” asks Ray. “That’s why we’re going to Venus,” says George. It turns out that Venus is closest to the orbit of Alpha 2. “We have but one chance in a million.” That’s better odds than winning the lottery. Al looks very sad. Well, if that don’t frost his hair.

Still, I sure wish I knew what Alpha 2 was.

Ray turns to Lucy. “You’re crying,” he says. We zoom into her eyes and see that she is not, in fact, crying. Must he project his own faults into others?

There is an abrupt cut to a new scene, right into the middle of a line of dialogue. Man, those Dharma Initiative orientation films in Lost are missing fewer frames than this movie.

“—dark spots...no continents...” Lucy is saying, as more frames drop out. “And there are the oceans, and the trees,” adds Ray. Didn’t he just leave Earth the day before? He’s nostalgic already? “You can’t see them,” Lucy chides. “In my mind I can.” And the oceans are red, the trees are singing, and the grass is talking like Jerry Lewis. Guess he shouldn’t have dropped acid. “I’d like to run down a road that is lined with pine trees.” He has very specific fantasies, doesn’t he? I want to run down a road lined with pine trees, in particular the species Pinus strobus, and they must all be exactly 178.35 feet high. The road must be made of asphalt, and its thickness must not exceed...

“I’d like to feel once again the excitement of speed,” he adds. Uh huh.

White light goin’ makin’ you go insane
Aww white heat it tickle me down to my toes
Aww white light I said now goodness knows...

“We’re already running at 90,000 miles an hour,” she points out. “And we’re standing still,” he adds. Non-sequitur! Faulty! You are imperfect! “Do you know what day it is?” he asks abruptly. Why, it’s Christmas Day! Boy, do you know the Poulterer’s, in the next street but one, at the corner? Go buy the prize Turkey that’s hanging up there! Not the little prize Turkey; the big one!

Doh; they got me on that one. It turns out that it actually is Christmas. And the soundtrack plays “Deck the Halls.” So no one realized this before? And he didn’t realize this, given that he only left Earth a day ago.

Anyway, so the Earth is going to be destroyed on Christmas? I guess now there’s finally a real war on Christmas.

The ship lands on Venus at “the largest, best-equipped base closest to Alpha 2.” They are going to try to destroy Alpha 2 with “remote-controlled atomic missiles.” As the ship lands, Ray asks, “Hey, Archie, is that the base?” You mean the big complex of buildings they just landed next to? Um...not sure. It could be a natural formation. “From here it looks like the glass dome of a temple,” says Ray. “Why is it,” Ray adds, “when man wants to protect himself, he hides under a dome?” Uh, because the air is unbreathable otherwise? Al wisely shuts him up. “Put on your helmet, kid. I’m going to take you on a tour of Venus.” No!!!! Well, you know what they say, snow on the roof doesn’t mean there’s no fire in the furnace. Oh, he means the planet. Whew! “This time it won’t be for sightseeing.”

Meanwhile, they start launching missiles at Alpha 2 “in an attempt to destroy this giant mechanical monster.” They track the missile from the base. Everyone twiddles knobs and counts off distances. For some reason, the missile disintegrates at exactly 5,000 miles. But why? There was nothing there. George is told that they’ll have a chance to hit Alpha 2 if the electronic brain has “gone out of control.”

He unrolls a large piece of paper. “You see?” No, not even slightly. There is some technobabble about photonic generators and an invisible sphere of heat, which radiates up to 5,000 miles. In space, that’s not very far. “It’s indestructible,” adds George. This guy is Mr. Doom and Gloom.

“Another of man’s dreams has finally come true,” adds Al, philosophically. What, the one about being naked in high school? I hope not. “An indestructible destroyer.” Which one of man’s dreams was that again? I think I missed that one.

“Unless we have a change in the next Solar System revolution, Alpha 2 will start orbiting around the Earth at only 3,500 miles from it.” The next Solar System revolution? Better put a pot of coffee on; the Sun and the rest of the Solar System revolve around the Milky Way Galaxy once every 230 million years.

Naturally, Gloomy George takes this opportunity to point out that very soon the Earth will become a mass of boiling mud. On the other hand, there is Lucy: “We mustn’t give up hope! Something might stop it in time!” Anyone want to jump in with some kind of middle ground? “Maybe a miracle,” offers Ray. No, that wasn’t it. “And while we’re waiting for your miracle, I think we should put into operation all the means at our disposal.” Could you be more vague, please?

“We’re already to launch missiles from the other hemisphere,” offers...that other guy. Do they have better missiles in the other hemisphere? “Meanwhile, why don’t you order your men to reach the audio stations on the beach?” Beach? On Venus? (I though Venus Beach was in California.)

Another missile is fired. This one gets 2,200 miles closer to Alpha 2...or farther away from it. It’s unclear which. Al has an explanation. Oh, this should be good. “I’m sure, due to some technical error, that ship is vulnerable.” He starts to say something about photonic fields, but those frames are missing from the movie. Perhaps they are hidden in some undisclosed location, and in order to unravel the secret of destroying Alpha 2, those frames have to be located and spliced back into this movie.

Hmm...that might actually make for a more interesting movie than this one.

“You mean like a halved orange?” says Ray. I have no idea what that was said in reference to, but Al says, “A perfect example, my son.” Say what you will, the guy knows fruit.

They debate about this. It seems that the two photonic generators produce two hemispheres of heat—and there is a channel between the two hemispheres where it might be possible to aim a missile and have it get through. The obvious question: “Why did the last one disintegrate at 2,200 miles?” Al brushes it off. “Because of some imperceptible deviation.” “Or perhaps it was attracted by one of the photonic fields.” Or maybe it was eaten by malevolent invisible elves.

So the next idea is to fire a missile right into that channel from a spaceship traveling at the same rate of speed as Alpha 2. Sure, why not? Al volunteers to be the pilot. Well, he’s the only pilot, so who’s going to refuse him? He says there is another atomic ship he can use. “I hope you’ll manage to save humanity,” says George in a tone that implies, “I hope you don’t manage to save humanity.”

George also adds that everyone else will follow in the Bravo Zulu 88 “as if we were right there with you. All of us.” He looks at Ray. Wah wah wah. “Hey, Ray,” says Al, “now you’ll have a chance to do a real exclusive. A universal scoop.” “Let’s just make it a world scoop,” says Ray. I think it’ll be more of a pooper-scoop knowing this bozo. Ray then puts his arm around Lucy, who looks decidedly uncomfortable.

And the Bravo Zulu 88 launches again. George is again trying to simulate the g-force face rippling, but this time it looks like he is trying to keep from sobbing uncontrollably. Which may in fact be the case.

Once they are free and clear of...something (Venus?), they all relax. “You did very well, Ray,” says George. “Not everyone can withstand sixteen gammas.” Oh, so does gamma mean “g” as in “g force”? “Considering the fact that I’m a parasite,” retorts Ray bitterly. Jeez, the guy was trying to extend you an olive branch, dickweed. “Tango Tiara 13 to Bravo Zulu 88,” calls Al over the radio. “Tango Tiara”? Sounds festive.

Al’s ship—Tango Tiara 13 (they love the number 13—which is appropriate, since this entire movie is bad luck) appears to be little more than a few aluminum soda cans stuck together. Maybe that’s how they’re going to destroy Alpha 2: shake all the cans vigorously and then open them. Ray’s voice over tells us that his ship is the old atomic-powered one—and that it’s actually Tango Sierra 13. Ah. Still, it does conjure up the image of tangoing down the Sierra Nevadas, a far better image to conjure up than anything in this movie.

The two ships pull up alongside each other. Al’s mission: to find the channel separating the two “semispheres.” Semispheres? Y’know, I—hic!—love to visit the houthern semisphere. Hic! Al gives them far more information about his flight plan than is required. Lucy can barely keep the smile frozen on her face.

Now the satellite Zulu Extra 34 calls in. Jeez, now what? Don’t you hate those days when you’re trying to get something done and the phone rings off the hook? Just send it to voicemail.

“You have reached the automated phone system of the spaceship Bravo Zulu 88. If you know your party’s extension, that’s too bad, because you’re going to have spend hours navigating this Möbius strip of a phone system anyway. Please enter your phone number, social security number, mother’s maiden name, father’s maiden name, the temperature in degrees Kelvin, your precise latitude and longitude, and the first five words of the Gettysburg Address, followed by the pound sign.” Oh, but I kid Verizon...

Anyway, it’s Sullivan calling from the satellite. Apparently, forty-five seconds ago (Sullivan wastes no time!), the photonic field from Alpha 2 came into contact with the asteroids. Is that bad? “Alpha 2 has changed its course by six degrees.” Is that good? “I’m afraid she’ll enter orbit around the Earth before the estimated time.” Doh!

So why does the satellite, which is way the heck...someplace far away, know this sooner than these guys who are right there, supposedly about to contact Alpha 2? George asks “Can you ascertain her present position?” Weren’t these guys on their way to blow it up? Shouldn’t they know where it is? I’m no expert in demolitions or anything, but I would think a key factor in destroying something is knowing where it is.

Sullivan gives its position and George immediately screams, “Look out, it’s coming towards you!” So the satellite knew its position and, in fact, called the ship to tell them Alpha 2’s position, but didn’t know it was heading directly towards them? And how did the Bravo Zulu 88, which needed to be told that Alpha 2 had even changed course, suddenly know that the satellite was in trouble? It’s like their radar systems can only locate other ships and people and not themselves. It’s like Gladys Kravitz designed a radar system.

Hey and we finally see the Alpha 2: it looks like a 1970s-era Christmas ornament. I see, it’s not a wave of photonic heat, it’s a wave of tackyness.

Sullivan says it will be upon them at any minute. The entire crew is on “standby”—to do what? Die? “Two mechanics went out on a space taxi to solar mirror Foxtrot 12. I ordered them not to come back.” Were you mad at them? “Sullivan!” shouts George. “Save yourself!” “It’s too late,” says Sullivan. George keeps shouting.

Alpha 2 looms nearer and, finally, in a tiny burst of flame, the satellite disappears. What, no cut to an Italian village? The satellite should have at least gotten an explosion that was filmed in a mid-sized city.

Al makes it a point to tell Ray not to omit Sullivan from his story. “Write this: he was never afraid. Since man, even in space, changes his position but never his character. Whatever he is, he is.” Knowing Ray, he’ll probably misquote him: “He was afraid, even in space. He changed his position. Whatever he is, he’s a character.”

“What’s he mean?” asks Ray. See? “What you’re always saying,” responds George, “to himself, every man is a whole world.” Ray never said that. That’s reflective and poetic, and not lunk-headed and combative. In the other ship, Al smiles, and I swear his hair is starting to pulsate.

“Amanda!” calls Al. Amanda? Oh, “Commander, I’ve located the position of the space taxi.” It’s right outside baggage claim. George says he will go to its coordinates and look for survivors.

Suddenly, they’re right there. I thought that satellite was, as they said at the beginning of the movie, in “the vast reaches of space,” such that they all had to go into hibernation to get there. Suddenly, it’s like a five-second flight from Venus. And why didn’t they intercept the Alpha 2 en route?

Anyway, the two space taxi guys hop on board. George wants to come down and have a look at them. He’s oddly paternal all of a sudden. Wasn’t it only earlier that day that he got mad because Lucy wasn’t killed during the refueling detail? (And whatever happened to that other guy they rescued from Phobos?)

They bounce into the crew quarters. “How do you like that, Jackson,” one of them says. “He called us boys.” Even though they’re both in their mid-forties. “And he even remembered our names.” There were five people on that satellite, and he was sleeping with one of them. Did he need to have everyone wear ID tags?

Al radios in. “I am now 7,000 miles from Alpha 2.” But does he know where it is? Hopefully, because he starts firing rockets. Archie starts counting down. One of the missiles makes it to the 3,000-mile mark and disintegrates. Al tries again. This one makes it to 200 miles from Alpha 2. Al will try again, but get closer. “No, you’ll be attracted to the photonic field.” What? Since when is heat attractive? Now they’re just making up laws of physics. “I’ve found the channel,” says Al. Sure, between Dover and Calais. He thinks he can get his own ship within 1,000 miles of Alpha 2.

“Come back, Al. It’s murder.” Well, suicide, actually.

“I’m 2,000 miles away from Alpha 2 now, sir.” “That’s an order!” barks George. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not taking orders anymore.” The kitchen is closed. “What would be the point of living if the Earth were destroyed?” That’s a fair point. “800 miles,” says Al. “After 200 miles, you’ll only have a very slim chance to keep on a steady course.” Why?

“That slight chance challenges me to try.” Kind of like Saratoga Race Course. Lets hope Al has better luck than I do.

Al starts flipping switches. Dials fluctuate wildly. Even the Peak Wow is freaking out. “Al, you don’t know what you’re doing.” Neither does the director, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping him.

And Al’s ship suddenly explodes.

Well. I guess he’s not going to be the hero everything thought he was going to be.

George has mixed feelings. “Al has succeeded in proving that there is a channel....But there’s still no chance.”

Archie suggests they get more ships armed with missiles. George insists they’d never get there in time. They should have thought about that earlier.

Ray then asks about an object they see appearing on the screen. “It’s the space taxi from the disintegrated satellite.” Why do I suspect that leech-boy is going to prove that he was not so useless after all?

“The space taxi..I rode on it once with Al,” says Ray reflectively. He wanders out. George and Lucy have a moment. “I love you,” says Lucy. “I know,” replies George. It was funnier when Han Solo said it. “The world of human feelings has been much less explored than the whole of the universe,” says George, going way off on an existential tangent. “What have we been doing all these thousands of years...” “We’ve been getting further and further away from ourselves...” He goes on and on. Something is squeezing his skull. I’m guessing he let his Prozac prescription lapse. Um, commander, you know, at a time like this, a proactive (not prozactive) leader is really more of what they need.

He gets up slowly. “Lucy, take my place, will you?” Great, is she going to start droning on now?

George wanders into the other room. He encounters Ray in a space suit. “Where do you think you’re going?” I’m guessing his existential droning made Ray want to hurl himself out an airlock. “Out, in the space taxi,” he says. “That’s madness.” Welcome to the house of fun. “Not half as mad as the idea that brought us to this point.” What idea was that? “Listen, Lucy loves you, and Lucy has been and is the one thing that matters in the world to me.” Huh? “You may not understand it, but for that reason I will stop you from going to almost certain death.”

They come to blows—well, a blow. Ray punches out George. Lucy was watching and displays no emotion whatsoever.

Ray climbs into the space taxi and heads off toward Alpha 2. Ray says in his voiceover that to find his way toward the channel, he has to “throw to the left and the right any loose objects in the space taxi.” What?! Why and how would there be loose objects in a space taxi? Sure, there’s always a lot of crap in taxis, but you’d think that in the vacuum of space they’d have floated away. Anyway, the idea is to judge the distance between the two “curtains of disintegration.” I have a set of curtains of disintegration. I got them on sale at Bed, Bath and Great Beyond. And either those curtains of disintegration go, or I do.

Everyone in the ship is watching him. “Look, it’s insane,” gasps George. Yep. The channel gets narrower, but Ray exults that he’s going to make it. Sure, that’s what Al said shortly before his fiery death. George has turned oddly encouraging all of a sudden.

However, Ray has run out of things to throw. Desperate, he starts ripping devices off his own space suit. Uh, buddy? Try not to throw your oxygen tank.

He makes it to Alpha 2, opens the hatch, and climbs inside. George is busy telling him how to disconnect the electronic brain, but Ray is distracted by a guy frozen in some sort of metal pod. Ah, it’s the pilot and he’s inside the hibernation cell. He’s dead, Jim. George tells him to disconnect some contacts, which, it turns out, are already disconnected. “The electronic brain!” shouts George, “You must disconnect the electronic brain!” Yes, dear, I’m doing it, dear, you great cow. Manuel! Says Ray, “I’m standing in front of it. What should I do?” Disconnect it! Haven’t you been listening? He grabs a bunch of cables and tugs on them. “I can’t. They won’t come loose!” Archie points out that there are tools for cutting the cables under the footrest of the pilot’s seat.

They’re entering the Earth’s “gravity zone.” “Hurry! Use a pair of wire cutters,” George instructs him. No, really? Not a tape measure? Or a spatula? He cuts through the wires, and George says the “deflector has stopped. Maybe we’ve made it.” Asks Ray, quite logically, “How can you tell if the photonic field has been eliminated?” Heh; there’s only one way: Ray, get back on that space taxi... No, it’s even worse than that: George decides to fly the Bravo Zulu 88 right into the field.

Great; another distance reading. Still, they’re making it. George tells Ray to bail out. “The external hatch is jammed. It won’t open! It will never open again! Ever!” Wow, that’s a bit of a sweeping statement. So what’s the problem? Ah, he cut the cables that power everything in the ship, which means the hatch controls don’t operate. Oops.

But still, what’s the problem? The ship will now just go into earth orbit, and they can send another ship up to blast him out. No biggie.

Meanwhile, Earth Base 9 calls the Bravo Zulu 88. “Are you all going insane up there?” What, you mean saving the planet? “If you keep racing that fast you’ll disintegrate when you reach the Earth’s atmosphere.” Ah, that would probably be a bad thing. George explains what’s going on and that they’re trying to rescue Ray.

“Space suits on,” he tells everyone. “Lucy, take my place.” Again?

Lucy calls Ray. Turns out Ray is losing oxygen because he used the regulator to find his way through the curtains of disintegration. Oops. “Ray, you must hold out!” Stop breathing until George gets there.

Meanwhile, Earth Base 9 noodges them again. The high command has ordered them to stop rescue operations. Uh oh, here comes George. He snaps off the radio. “They don’t know what they’re talking about.” Zing!

Meanwhile, now Ray has another problem. “Too much air. An orgy of air.” An orgy of air?! “My lungs are running wild!” I am not making that up; that’s the actual line of dialogue. Yes, my lungs are running wild! They’re doing obscene things with my pancreas. I can’t even tell you what my spleen is doing! Call a radiologist: I need XXX-rays! Woo hoo!

While Lucy stays in the ship, the menfolk zip over to the Alpha 2.

“Everything is spinning,” Ray continues. Well, you’re in space, so, yes, everything probably would be.

The menfolk start cutting their way into the Alpha 2. Ray starts whining about not wanting to save the world. Everyone is really whiny in this movie. When the going gets tough, the tough get really girly. Except for the girl, ironically enough.

Ray starts to fade, just as they make it into the Alpha 2. They grab Ray and zip back to the Bravo Zulu 88. Boy, if only they had a space taxi...

They make it back to the ship just as the Alpha 2 burns up in the Earth’s atmosphere.

Ray is fine, Lucy is his woman, he and George are best buds, and Earth is saved.

Now we get the credits. Rik Van Nutter played Ray. There was someone named Frank Fantasia in this? Well, I think that calls for a trip over to IMDb. He—real name Franco Fantasia—played Sullivan. He had a long distinguished career in the Italian movie industry as an actor and as a second unit director. Heck, anyone can be an actor/producer/director, but only a select few can be an actor/second unit director. Anyway, he did not appear in the movie Fantasia. Snowy-haired Al was played by Archie Savage, who was in all the big cinema classics—mostly in uncredited roles, such as Ethiopian in The Ten Commandments, Boar’s Tooth Ceremonial Dancer in South Pacific, and Negro Dancer in La Dolce Vita. He died in 2003.

The end.

We Get Letters

To: Movie Mis-Treatments
From: Ray Peterson, Planetary Chronicle of New York
Subject: The Death of Journalism

Dear Movie Mis-Treatments (if that is your name):

A few moments ago, I realized that I had just scored what passes these days for one of journalism’s biggest coups: Movie Mis-Treatments, the bad-movie recapping Web site, had just mis-treated my radio report for the Planetary Chronicle of New York about my saving Earth from the deadly Alpha 2 probe.

I at first felt triumphant. True, my report was ripe fodder for Movie Mis-Treatments: low-budget special effects (and I can never forget the explosion in a small village that was supposed to be a ship blowing up over Mars), incomprehensible plot, silly dialogue, stultifying non-action, and, of course, my own ineptness as a reporter.

But when I told my editor (and by “editor” I mean the guy sitting next to me at the bar), he said: they stole your story. Or something. He also said that there are witches.

The more I reread the Movie Mis-Treatment, and the more vodka tonics I downed, the angrier I got, and the more disenchanted I became with journalism. I enjoy reading Movie Mis-Treatments and many of other movie recapping sites—Million Monkey Theater, The Agony Booth, etc.—but lately I have become nervous about my precarious career as a professional reporter who enjoys, at least for the time being, a salary, a 401(k), and an unlimited bar tab.

I started thinking about all the labor that went into producing my report on saving the Earth. Oh, and did I mention saving the Earth? Sure, the story wasn’t Pulitzer Prize material; however, it actually did win the Pullet Surprise at my local Mr. Krispy Chicken fast food franchise—but that’s neither here nor there. (Actually it was there for about day until someone took it down. I have no idea what I’m saying right now. I’m pretty toasted.)

With all the pontificating about the future of newspapers these days (and by “these days” I mean one hundred years ago—this is 2116 after all), I began wondering if most readers know exactly what is required to assemble a feature story for a news outlet like the Planetary Chronicle of New York. Did you know I spent a day and a half being called a “leech” and a “parasite” by the crew of the Bravo Zulu 88? Do you know what being subjected to the smell of peroxide 24/7 does to the human olfactory system? Do you know how hard it was to score with that ice queen Lucy? Journalism at a major...thing like Planetary Chronicle of New York is different from what’s usually required in the copy-and-paste world of the Internet. opy-and-paste world of the InternetAnd that world is killing real reporting—the kind of work practiced not just by outlets like Planetary Chronicle of New York but by nonprofits, some blogs, and other news outlets, as well as that guy who hasn’t bathed in several months. You’ve seen that site, I’m sure. I mean, his Web site actually smells. It’s very weird.

I admit, the bulk of the Mis-Treatment of my Assignment: Outer Space consisted of “jokes,” puns, purportedly insightful comments, obscure cultural references, random blathering, and the occasional typo. But most of it was invective directed at me. And it was uncalled for. And when I say it was uncalled for, I mean it was justly deserved.

After I had done all the reporting—oh, and saved the Earth, I again hasten to add—it took me about a full hour-and-eighteen minutes to write and dictate the story. How long did it take Movie Mis-Treatments to rewrite and republish it, cherry-pick the most asinine lines of dialogue and nonsensical plot points, and publish it on the Internet with no advertising and probably a minuscule number of page views? I honestly have no idea, because that’s the kind of thing a reporter would ask. And I am not—

Well, okay, I could probably ask how long it took....how much effort was involved...but I have better things to do, like send nasty notes to sites like Movie Mis-Treatments.

Journalism is a constant learning process. Before I got into space reporting, I spent many years covering economics for the Washington Post and it was only after five years that I finally got curious and asked my editor, “What is that weird little bicycle symbol you sometimes see after numbers?” There was a pause, and he responded, with a bit more hostility than I thought was really necessary, “What, do you mean the percent sign?” See? Reporters don’t know everything, but we ask questions. That’s what we do. And that’s what makes us better than bloggers, snarkers, and rest of the unwashed hippies on the Internet.

And that’s why I will keep asking questions. Questions like “Where’s my bartender?”

Posted 09/05/09

Back to top