Auteur/Perpetrator: Antonio Margheriti (credited as Anthony Dawson)
Star of Shame: Claude Rains
Monster(s): Claude Rains’ acting
“Plot”: Mysterious planet appears in the Solar System, starts orbiting Earth, and launches flying saucers, for some reason; only Claude Rains has any idea what is going on—and he’s making most of it up.
By Richard Romano
In the 1950s and 60s, movie studios were experimenting with different kinds of cinematic formats, most notably VisaVision, CinemaScope, and other types of widescreen formats. There was also 3D, and let’s not forget William Castle’s notorious theatrical gimmicks, such as the joy buzzers installed in theater seats for The Tingler.
1961’s Italian production Battle of the Worlds, however, opted for a different type of cinematic gimmick: it was filmed in Confuse-O-Vision®. The Confuse-O-Vision™ process involves randomly cutting shots of spaceships, pilots, Mars bases, and, inexplicably, the Moon in such a way as to make completely incomprehensible what is actually happening on screen. The technique was intended to simulate for the audience the sensation of floating free in space, perhaps while spinning wildly out of control, and the inclusion of random space-like noises (or, “music” if we want to call it that—and we don’t) enhances the effect. In fact, watching large chunks of Battle of the Worlds is in fact as disorienting as being jettisoned out of a spaceship doing warp 9. There is occasionally vertigo-induced vomiting.
Battle of the Worlds also stars Claude Rains toward the end of his career (he died in 1967), and one gets the sense that he wishes he was the invisible man at various points. The Italian title, Il pianeta degli uomini spenti, I believe translates as “scenery served with diced tomatoes and fresh basil in a pesto sauce” which is apt, since Claude Rains spends most of the movie chewing the scenery rather voraciously.
Battle of the Worlds should also not be confused with the late-70s Japanese animated TV show Battle of the Planets, which I remember liking a lot at the time.
And we launch into the titles. It is an “Ultra Film Production.” Ultra Confusing, it should say. The title song is sung by a drunk wolf baying at the moon, accompanied by Shirley Bassey singing through a kazoo. It’s a haunting theme, in the sense that it makes you want to run screaming into the street as if from a haunted house.
The camera pans around wildly over some rocks, until it lights on what it appears is either an observatory on a remote island or a dairy farm in upstate New York. It is, of course, a fine line.
There is a separate credit for “Dialogue written and directed.” That bodes well. It was directed by Anthony Dawson—or Antonio Margheriti, if you prefer. As long as it’s not Richard Dawson. (The Dawsons and the Margheritis—today on Family Feud!)
As the titles finish, a woman, Eve, is running down some rocks and down to the sea. “Fred!” she shouts. Wilma! Fred’s head pops out of the water, and he enthusiastically calls back to her. As she pulls him from the water she bubbles over about “a probe.” I’m sure I don’t want to know. Then she says they are going to allow his transfer. He’s being transferred to a probe? I’m confused already and it’s only been 2:31. “And I’m coming with you!” she adds. They kiss, and then he pulls her into the water. I guess she is coming with him. They both go down together, in a variety of senses.
Meanwhile, in a model home (I mean literally—it could be from a Revell model kit) a dog barks. Fred and Eve swim back to the shore and lie out on rocks. Fred (played by Umberto Orsini) is the only male in Italy without a single hair follicle anywhere on his body. He tells her how he made a wish, and it has come true. That some day he will have body hair? “Soon, we’ll be living among normal people again.” What a terrifying thought.
At that moment, they are joined by I guess would be one of the abnormal people—maybe it’s Abby Normal? Nope, it’s Mrs. Collins. Phil’s wife? No, I missed again. Fred tells her, “Eve and I are going to be married.” Somehow “Fred and Eve” doesn’t quite have the same ring as “Adam and Eve.”
The dog barks again. “That awful dog,” says Mrs. Collins. “He always barks when the old man stays up at night.” Wait—it’s night?! They cut to the house again and, yep, it’s night about 20 feet away, although it is quite clearly high noon where they are. Is that what happens when the International Date Line runs through an inhabited island? “There is something strange in the air. Don’t you feel it?” says Mrs. Collins. She can feel it coming in the air tonight? “Or is it that I’m just so sensitive.” I’m not sure “sensitive” is the word I’d use. “Are you on the dawn shift, too?” she asks Fred. Well, he’s about six hours late. Or 18 hours early. After all, it is nowhere near dawn.
“Go ahead and kiss each other. Don’t mind me.” Right said Fred. And then she whips off her cloak and takes her thunder thighs down to the water. Yowza. I wonder if she has a cellulite phone. “The black widow,” says Eve. “She never misses an opportunity to stick her nose in other people’s business.” Is that really what black widows do? And besides, all she did was complain about a dog and ask if there was something weird in the air. Not exactly Gladys Kravitz.
I swear the soundtrack music sounds like the noise an inkjet printer makes. Music courtesy the Epson Stylus Photo 1400.
That night, Fred is in the observatory. George climbs up and joins him. “George, those meteorites are messing up everything.” That’s why you never rent out a room to meteorites. You know they’ll trash the place. They’re worse than Keith Moon. “What do you expect on an August night?” Bloody Perseids.
George has a look—there is a quick cutaway to some kind of flashing green light with gridlines. Early versions of Microsoft Excel weren’t very good. Then we’re back on George. Ah, that would be the Confuse-O-Vision®.
George yells, “Hey, Fred! Did you see what I see?” A star, a star, dancing in the night? “Yes, it’s nothing.” George is concerned, but Fred is blasé. “I need coffee.” “Skip the coffee, Fred. What can it be?!” A hot, caffeinated beverage often flavored with sugar and cream? “I took some slides,” says Fred, “we’ll find out in an hour.” Is there a Fotomat on the island? “An hour, my foot!” says George. “Let’s go to the electronic telescope.” He is rather excitable.
There is a jarring cut to Dr. Cornfield, lecturing someone in an office...somewhere. “You know I’m the kind of man who takes these responsibilities seriously.” What responsibilities—growing crops? Corn subsidies? George and Fred approach him and hand Dr. Cornfield a book of...something. Dr. Cornfield is concerned. He’s all ears (ahem). Mrs. Collins approaches Fred after Cornfield has run off. “Can you tell me why Fish Face is so frantic?” What is this, hostility-based astronomy? They do put the “fun” in “dysfunctional” don’t they? Fred admits that George was right, and that he, Fred, was simply trying to avoid “last-minute complications.” Yeah, the last thing you want to do when you work in a observatory is actually tell anyone what you observed. “You must help me, Mrs. Collins,” he purrs; “very strong coffee.” So she reaches into a locker right next to Fred, pulls out a Thermos and pours him a jigger of coffee. Must be espresso. And he couldn’t have done that himself?
George rushes back and urges Fred to come on, adding that the other observatories must also have picked up...something. “Don’t forget, Reynolds,” says Dr. Cornfield, “we have the most powerful equipment in the world.” Braggart.
“What’s happening, Reynolds?” Mrs. Collins asks. Reynolds is wrapped up in something. “Something terrible,” he replies, then scowls and rushes off in a huff. Jeepers what a bunch of grouches. They must have nicknamed this place the “Crab Nebula.” Mrs. Collins looks into her Thermos thoughtfully. Does the coffee speak to her? I’ve heard of coffee talk, but that’s just weird. She ambles outside and looks around at the sky, fearfully. All these stars and planets! The entire galaxy is staring at me! Make them go away! Now! Maybe an observatory isn’t the best place for her.
Fred and George burst into Pat’s office (who’s Pat?) and insist that the other observatories must have reported something. Pat is dismissive of them. There is some random muttering about teletypes, and then George points to something that, Pat explains, is “Base 3 on Mars.” On the wall? On Mars, Pat explains, “a magnetic storm is raging, with a sodium formation. Is that what interests you?” he says to George with a sneer. “Ah, nuts. Take your sodium and make bicarbonate of soda.” Zing.
Mrs. Collins and Dr. Cornfield rush in. “The old man must be told,” she says. Everyone seems to think Dr. Cornfield should be the one to do...it. Whatever it is. “He’d just snap at me and then I’d lose my temper.” Ooh, that would be horrifying. Don’t make him mad. You won’t like him when he’s mad. Does he turn into Lou Ferrigno? A moot point, as Fred volunteers to “tell the old man.” “If it turns out to be a flash in the pan, I’ll be the lightning rod.” Mixing metaphors like that can cause a powerful chemical reaction. He stalks off. Then someone else—Dr. Bland by the sound of it—ambles over. “Would someone tell me what’s going on?” he says in a monotone, “I’ve never been known to snap at anyone.” Heck, he barely even has a pulse.
Over in what looks like a 17th-century Italian peasant’s cottage, Fred enters. He has removed his lab coat and is wearing some kind of apron-like thing that makes him look like he works in a Subway. He wanders through what seems to be a large greenhouse, almost all the planters in which have mathematical equations written on them. I guess in the future, plants evolved the ability to comprehend mathematics. Actually, a bowl of petunias proved Fermat’s Last Theorem.
“Come forward, Steel, I know all about it.” It’s Professor Benson—played by Claude Rains. Oh, my, Claude has seen better days. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Fred. His name is Fred Steel? If they were trying to make him sound all macho and virile, they should have come up with something better than Fred. “The thing that brought you here!” crabs Benson. “Wake up, young fellow. I’m talking about the Outsider.” The Outsiders? The 1983 Francis Ford Coppolla movie starring Matt Dillon? “It’s all written there!” and Claude gestures to something on the ground. Fred is impressed. “How did you know?” “You have to see and hear before you can know. I have one advantage over you—calculus.” Given Claude’s slovenly appearance, I assume he’s talking about his abysmal dental hygiene.
“In spite of the disdain in which I hold all your stupid and dull mechanical apparatuses, you think that I don’t examine carefully the readings you send me?” Yeah, observing space with telescopes. What are these young whipper-snappers thinking? Don’t they know you can make far better observations using calculus— Say, what?! “The difference is that you accept those readings as results.” Bah! Anyway, the upshot of all his bellyaching is that he had been aware of this “thing” for five days. Thanks for telling someone. Who is this clown and why is he there?
He puts his cigar in his pocket (?) and starts spraying his plants. Oh, so he’s the gardener. He grouses about how no one else had noticed the “infinitesimal movement of the outer planets, heralding the arrival of the Outsider.” “Why do you call it the Outsider?” Fred asks. My first question would be, Why haven’t you bathed in three years? “Because it comes from another galaxy.” It entered the Solar System during the night, and none of the other observatories picked it up because they don’t have powerful enough instruments. But I thought Benson disdained instruments. Benson then tells Fred to get lost. Professor Benson, this could be the start of a beautiful loathing.
Fred, however, is concerned because the thing is headed directly for Earth. “It could be a catastrophe.” “Now that’s a perfect summary of the situation. Sir,” says Benson. Fred naturally thinks it might be a good idea to warn someone about, you know, another planet colliding with the Earth. Pah! “Steel! I’ve told you already to keep your trap shut and get out of here.” So what that then be a Steel trap? It’s kind of like if John McCain were appointed National Science Advisor.
Fred also tells Benson that he came to say goodbye. “Oh, if I only had a handkerchief I’d burst into tears,” grumbles Benson. Jeez. “The ones who should have noticed it before you are those idiots on Mars.” Good grief.
Meanwhile, on Mars...
Take a look at the lawman
Beating up the wrong guy
Oh man!
Wonder if he’ll ever know
He’s in the best selling show
Is there life on Mars?
The magnetic storm—well, some dust—blows across the...well, across the table on which the model sits. Inside the protective bubble of the Mars dome, the crew try to make contact with command.
“Hi, Command, this is Mars Base 3. Hi, Command, this is Mars Base 3.” Hi already! Oh, I see: “High Command, this is Mars Base 3...” The commander—Bob Cole—walks over. “We’ve lost contact again,” he is told. “Try microwave.” As soon as his Hot Pocket is done. Another call comes in for Cole. It’s Fred Steel. “Fred Steel! Where did you spring up from?” He’s a Steel spring. Boing! “I have a message for you,” says Steel. Boing? “I’m leaving the island tomorrow.” Yeah, that’s what The Oceanic Six thought. Fred tells him that he and Eve are getting married, but Cole is distracted because he has a “convoy” coming in (?) and communications are out. Oh? He seems to have no problem talking to Fred. Fred then says there is something else, which is says he is sending Cole in code.
Dr. Bland, who had been overhearing Fred’s conversation, freaks out and Eve has to restrain him. So much for never snapping at anyone.
Remarks Cole, “He always was a crazy kid.” Yeah, getting married, sending things in code. Crazy people! Cathy—Cole’s wife—goes to decode the message. “Probably more of his foolishness,” says Cole. Does he always transmit his foolishness in code? Says Cathy, “So now you think marriage is a lot of foolishness.” Well.... “Not our marriage, Cathy,” says Cole. Of course not. Theirs is perfect; everyone else’s is reminiscent of Bride of the Gorilla.
As they are waiting for the decoded foolishness, more people arrive. “What is it, boy?” Boy? Grandpa’s caught in a well? Down in Dead Rock Canyon? Oh, Boyd. Boyd reports that they established contact with the convoy escort. Say... “They’re off course, 12 degrees from the curve and falling.” Maybe they need to have him decoded. “Of course!” moans Cole. Oh, wait— “Off course!” moans Cole.
Cole insists on getting the convoy escort on the horn. “Plug in the speaker, boy.” Boyd. The convoy escort is Mike Sierra, who explains that he doesn’t know the cause of his course deviation. He seems pretty blasé, like he just discovered he was off course. And I bet he had been driving with his directional blinking the whole time. “We have been in free fall navigation for one-zero-three Earth hours. Deviation became noticeable just nine hours ago.” Free fall navigation? In space? We pan across the rest of the crew. One of the others says, “Request permission to operate rocket propulsion motors in order to correct course.” They need permission to turn on the engine? That seems needlessly bureaucratic. Permission to use the potty?
Cole is distraught. “There is no other solution.” Okay, use your damn engine! Is there a gas shortage? Sure enough, the two ships fire their engines—one must be the escort, but does one additional ship constitute a “convoy”? Put the hammer down!
Mike Sierra tells the other ship—Juliet 5—to duplicate their maneuver. The guy who calls himself Juliet 5 (?) acknowledges. “Wilco out.” I am trying to break your heart.
In the escort ship: “Gyroscopes at maximum.” Huh? Juliet also sets his/her gyroscopes at maximum. In the escort ship: “Engines at eight gammas.” Not eight gammas! You crazy fool! Now they’re at 10 gammas! Oh, the humanity! “Inversion 35 degrees!” You know those temperature inversions. Looks like a thunderstorm is coming in. What I guess it means is: point the ships up. For some reason, the ships are pulled backward.
“Will the ships be able to get back on course?” “I don’t see why not, boy.” Boyd. Cathy finally decodes Fred Steel’s message. Cole looks at it frightfully. “Pound pastrami, can kraut, six bagels—bring home for Emma.” Oh, wait.... Obviously it was about “The Outsider,” and Cole insists they get out the electronic telescope. He is told, “The magnetic storm has passed its peak but there’s still an inferno raging outside.” A disco inferno. While they deploy antennas and telescopes and things, Boyd is concerned that the convoy is still off course. Cole gets on the horn and tells them to correct their inversion. Don’t make me come out there! “Wilco!” Yankee Hotel Foxtrot indeed.
Meanwhile, Cathy is concerned that the Martian moon Deimos is out of orbit. Peter Michael Deimos you get back into orbit right now! There is some technobabble about how far out of orbit it is, which is all relayed through a random green light and a pinging noise. Confuse-O-Vision!©
They call the convoy—or perhaps Bert Convy—and, it turns out, Deimos is coming after them. What? “We’re falling!” yells the co-pilot of Juliet 5 which, we learn, is a cargo carrier. Since the ship is too heavy, Cole orders the crew to launch themselves into space to be picked up by the escort ship. Oh, that sounds...huh?! Boyd tells Mike Sierra (oh, I think that’s the name of the ship) to boost rocket power and rescue the Juliet 5 crew. “Wilco.” A ghost is born?
“Juliet 5, this is Mike Sierra one-five—prepare for self-lunching.” What? Cannibalism, already? Oh, self-launching. Well, six of one, half dozen of another at this point. Says one of the Mike Sierra crew: “We have opened our depression chamber.” Will they be serving Prozac?
The space suits the Juliet 5 wear make the guys look like little Michelin Men. The Mike Sierra counts down and, whee!, the two guys from the Juliet 5 fly out into space, looking rather like they are on a two-man bobsled. Cut to outside the ship and two small human figures go twirling head over heels out of the ship. That’ll make you lose your lunch. Or even your launch.
One guy flies across the screen in a straight line—and you can barely see the straight line that is holding him. They whap into the side of the other ship and one guy caroms off the wing; that’s gotta hurt, despite the well-padded Michelin Man space suits. There is some random intercutting as the Confuse-O-Vision™ kicks in. The two guys were apparently successfully rescued, but now both ships are being pulled toward Deimos. Well, I guess it was considerate for the Mars base to ensure that everyone died on the same ship.
Back on Mars, Cole and Boyd have it out. Boyd tells the ship to increase speed and, like, get the hell out of there. Cole jumps in. “Countermand that order!” Don’t they usually say “Belay that order!” in these kinds of movies? “Exercise 35-degree inversion, speed 16,000 miles!” “But we’ll head straight for Deimos!” is the panicked reply. “Execute!” screams Cole. Well, Cole didn’t say he wanted the guys to not die. “But that’s murder!” yells Boyd. What is he, Quincy all of a sudden? “It was murder, and I can prove it!” There is more Confuse-O-Vision™ editing of a ship turning, a spinning planet, the guys on the Juliet 5, and the Mars base.
Says Cole, “I know what I’m doing.” Of course: killing the guys in the ship. Pretty clear, actually. “Don’t you understand, boy” Boyd “that the fields of attraction have undergone an incredible modification.” They have? How? Why? Fields of attraction?
More Confuse-O-Vision™; the captain of the Mike Sierra yells, “We’re falling! We’re falling!” And we can’t get up. “Don’t change course,” orders Cole, “and keep rocket power at maximum.” Boyd grabs the microphone. “Do it, Lewis! Lewis? Answer!” Who’s Lewis?
The cargo ship slams into Deimos and explodes, but the Mike Sierra skims over the moon barely hitting its fog-shrouded surface (fog? in a vacuum?) and flies off into space. “We’re getting away!” exults the captain. Well, crisis over. Everyone on Mars heaves a great sigh of relief. “Commander, please excuse me,” says Boyd. Maybe that wasn’t a sigh from him... “You just lost your bearings for a moment.” Turns out one of the pilots on the first ship was Boyd’s son (Boyd’s boy?). Ah. Boyd...boyd...crazy Boyd.
Says Cole, “We must prepare a report for the high command and transmit to Earth its death sentence.” Kind of like any report about the printing industry these days.
Back on Earth, Eve is in the garden with Benson, but I think we know who Satan is. He is chewing her out for telling the people on Mars about the planet. She stands her ground. “We saved human lives,” she says. She’s got a fair point. “Are you going to get a medal?” he relies. “We won’t. Maybe the base commander on Mars will.” Benson is still grouchy and insists she did nothing more than start a panic. Okay, about what exactly? I still don’t get what the heck happened in that last scene. Deimos broke out of its orbit and tried to kill two ships. If the Outsider, as he calls it, were close enough to force the Martian moon out of its orbit, then surely it was close enough for someone other than Claude Rains to have spotted it. Right? Right?
Benson natters on about how the panic she caused will interfere with his ability to study the Outsider. “I know what you’re going to say, something about the salvation of human lives. You’re a great disappointment to me, Miss Barnett.” “I’ve been here at your side for several years, and I’ve learned...” How to tolerate the smell? “to know you.” Oh. Well, same thing, really. “But I have lived with myself for many more years than you.” And he can say he never gets used to the smell. “And I know myself better!” And he spins his head around and whips off his glasses. Dah! Jeepers; switch to decaf. “Why are you so determined to seem pitiless?” Why are you such a dink? would be a better question. He notices that she is holding Cole’s report. He grabs it from her and tells her to get lost.
As she saunters out, he crouches down and starts reading. He starts muttering to himself. “This confounds everything.” Or he could have said “This confirms everything.” It’s hard to tell. And that’s the movie in a nutshell. He writes out some equations on a flower pot. Meanwhile, the begonias are delivering a PowerPoint presentation on dark matter.
Outside, Fred and Eve are waiting for...something. He is wearing a trenchcoat and lights a cigarette. She wonders if they should be leaving. “What’s happening now is bigger than we are.” “It’s not only happening here. It’s happening in New York and Moscow, and the tiniest village in Africa.” Aw, he always knows the right thing to say. Doesn’t she see that the problems of three little people and a menacing planet from beyond the Solar System don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world? “Forgive me, Fred, you’ve always done everything I ever wanted.” Really? Wow, is he codependent. Anyway, she says she is not going. His response? “I’ll go by myself.” He’s going to get married by himself? To each his own...
But it’s a moot point. Mrs. Collins comes out and says neither of them are leaving. The coffee told her. The transport has been suspended, and “all scientists have been mobilized as of today. Let’s hope they give us uniforms. Then we’ll all be equal together.” And they can look fetching when they die their fiery death. “And, my darlings, you may be interested to know the old man has been severely reprimanded.” And then she starts cackling. Literally cackling. I think she’s finally gone round the bend.
In Benson’s greenhouse, he is not happy. (There’s a shock.) “Reprimanded! I’ve been reprimanded! The bigwigs needed a scapegoat.” There are few wigs bigger than Claude Rains’ wig, actually. Put him and Shatner in the same room and their respective toupees will go at each other like two wild dogs. The whole bunch are there, watching him pace, chew a cigar, and overact. Dr. Cornfield thinks there is a kernel of logic in it. “The news took them by surprise. Panic has been widespread.” Benson starts jabbing Cornfield in the chest. Again with the finger! “Wonderful! You are wonderful! You have a fanciful tongue.” Oh, I so don’t want to know.
It turns out that Benson never told anyone—presumably about the planet about to hit Earth, although no one has actually told the audience what the problem is—“because I would not have been believed. It’s not difficult to tell the truth, but it’s impossible to be believed.” He’s really hamming it up, and in fact Claude rasps like he has a large, honey-baked ham lodged in his trachea. But how come “they” believed the other people who warned about the Outsider? And, as a scientist actually monitoring the thing, wouldn’t he have actual, you know, evidence to support this?
He points to a large flowerpot behind his pet schnauzer. Hm. A grouchy old guy has a pet schnauzer. Why am I not surprised? “Read this.” Is he pointing to the flowerpot or the dog? And does he write equations on the dog, too? Apparently, his equations show that the Outsider will not collide with the earth. Ah, well, then that would be good news. Maybe not for Benson, but good news to most other people. They all mull that over for a while. Meanwhile, Even Fred, and Mrs. Collins file into the greenhouse and take turns glaring at Benson.
Days Dr. Cornfield, “Professor Benson, you maintain—“ “I do not maintain! I ascertain!” With the emphasis on “asce.” Anyway, his equations show that the Outsider will bypass the Earth at a distance of 95,000 miles “without even dreaming of grazing the outside edge of our atmosphere.”
Cornfield points out that other scientists have come up with other forecasts. Oh, Benson sure doesn’t like that. “There’s only one opinion that interests me: my own.” He sees them staring blankly at him. He starts chuckling. “Oh, I see, you are disappointed to learn that the end of the world has been postponed.” No, I don’t think that’s it. I think they’re fantasizing about signing his commitment papers.
We then cut to what looks like an electrical power plant, and a wailing siren. People are running randomly; an announcer over a P.A. alerts everyone that spaceship Alpha is preparing for arrival. Just another day at the Albany airport. More Confuse-O-Vision® as a ship comes screaming in for a landing. Shouldn’t ships decelerate before they land? I mean, it’s not rocket science. Oh, wait... It’s Bob and Cathy from Mars. Oh, look, honey, the Coles are paying us a visit.
They are greeted by General Varick, who says, “We haven’t a moment to lose.” They then start chatting for a while without moving. The General explains that everyone is in a panic, and that no one knows where on Earth the Outsider will strike. How big is the Outsider anyway? If it’s as big as we’ve been led to believe, I would imagine that it won’t make a great deal of difference where it hits.
Cathy mentions that there has been waves of suicides and riots, and, “to stem them, we have even gone so far as to announce our approval of a theory by that charlatan Benson.”
Cathy asks what Benson’s theory is. And well she may. Yes, my word, she may well ask what it is, this theory of his. Well, this theory that he has—that is to say, which is his—is his. Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. The Theory, by A. Elk. That’s A for Anne, it’s not by a elk. This theory which belongs to him is as follows. Ahem. Ahem. This is how it goes. Ahem. The next thing that I am about to say is his theory. Ahem. His theory is along the following lines. All brontosauruses are thin at one end, much, much thicker in the middle, and then thin again at the far end. That is the theory that he has and which is his, and what it is too.
Oh, sorry...
Benson’s theory (which is his) (ahem) is that the Outsider will pass by Earth at a distance of 95,000 miles. “We know damn well it’s not true,” grouses Varick. You know, can’t someone check Benson’s math? Anyway, the big plan is to destroy the Outsider. Cole has been appointed to head the project, and has become something of a hero for being the first person to discover the Outsider. Cole points out that all he did was receive the information from Steel. “We know all that. However, the people have faith in you. It’s not to our interest to disillusion them.” Ah. Cole tries to protest, but the general cuts him off. “Today we are facing an adversary every bit as dangerous as the Outsider: public opinion.” Waka waka. “From now on, we can only rely on one thing...” Pop Tarts. I have no idea why. And we fade out. Hey, wait...what was the one thing you can rely on? General! General! What’s the one— oh, never mind.
Or is it those good old-fashioned values....On which we used to rely?
Soon, it is day, and we are back at the observatory. Fred and Mrs. Collins are hanging out. Suddenly, Eve bolts out the door and down the stairs. Fred calls after her, but Mrs. Collins points out that he no longer exists for her. Eve charges into Professor Benson’s greenhouse. “Professor! It stopped, just as you predicted!” Is that good? I guess it must be, because she is as giddy as a schoolgirl. And, in fact, so is Benson. “The Outsider has started to orbit around the Earth.” That sucks the air out of the room. “What did you say?” Benson asks. He is not happy. There is just no pleasing this guy.
Cornfield and the rest come in and congratulate Benson on being right. “Stand back, you madmen!” He demands to see their reports. “It’s impossible. For the first time in my life, I have made an error in calculus.” Oh, jeez, is that all? Get over yourself, pal! And yet: “An error that is mathematically impossible.” Of course it is.
“Professor Benson, is the error in calculus the only thing you can think of?” asks Fred. That gets Benson’s goat. “Dr. Steel, I have never held you in very high esteem.” He goes on about how for once he won’t rely on mathematics. He then lights a cigar and blows the smoke in Cornfield’s face. He just gets more and more appealing, doesn’t he? “Cornfield!” he exclaims. “You know much better than I how to operate these stupid visual screens that permit us to talk to the bigwigs in the military and politics. I have no interest in speaking to them, but you will.” Yep, round up the usual suspects.
What is Cornfield supposed to tell them? “The Outsider must be destroyed, and immediately.” Wasn’t that what they were going to do anyway?
We get a close up of what I presume is the Outsider, which looks rather like the Moon.
In a tracking station somewhere, Cole says, “Can’t you get any closer with the telescopic lens, boy?” Boyd. Glad to know that Boyd is on Cole’s crack team. Cole takes a tour of the room, and learns that the Outsider contains mineral salts not found elsewhere in the Solar System, and that it has no atmosphere, but a non-compact interior possibly made up of gases. Kind of like the feeling one gets after eating fast food. Someone else bemoans the paucity of the radiation data they’re able to get. But isn’t the thing right there, orbiting the Earth?
Boy—Boyd—suggests making a reconnaissance mission to the Outsider, but Cole points out that Benson is against it. “Benson?” grouses Boy. Boyd. “They all hang on his words these days,” says Cole. For the love of god, why? “He just keeps repeating, ‘destroy it immediately.’” But he says that about pretty much anything. The observatory telescope? “Destroy it immediately!” The washing machine? “Destroy it immediately!” The key to the wine cellar? “Destroy it immediately!” Cole marches out: “We must have more data to work on, no matter the cost.” Good luck. No one buys research anymore.
There is a Confuse-O-Vision™ cutaway to what is either the sun as viewed from Mars, the full moon washed out and featureless, or a light bulb in Cole’s linen closet.
Back at the observatory, Eve is shocked to see Benson lurching up the stairs to the main research room. He’s wearing a tie and everything. He may even have showered. “I’ve never seen you outside your den as they call it.” “Lair” would be more appropriate. “Sty” even more so. He is weary. “Do you know what is the most tiring thing of all, Eve?” Listening to you talk? “Having to communicate and explain.” Isn’t that kind of what scientists are supposed to do? “The important thing is to know.” Ah. So all phenomena in the universe should only be for his own personal edification. Of course.
“Do you love your neighbor, Eve? I say to the devil with all of them.” You’re on an island. You have no neighbors. “My duty is to science! I’m a scientist.” Not if you’re going to bogart (doh!) all the observations and conclusions! “So they don’t want to destroy the Outsider, they want to explore it. That’ll be funny.” But not funny ha-ha. He tells her to come along and watch the show. However, since he never leaves his greenhouse, he doesn’t know where that is. Where what is? What the heck is going on?
They descend into a round room where everyone appears to be gathered. They are all shocked to see him. “We are honored,” gushes Cornfield. He takes a seat. Mrs. Collins offers him coffee. Her and her coffee. It wants to say hi to you. “I’m not here on a social visit,” Benson grumbles. That’s a given. “I’ve come to drink a cup of gall.” Oh, that would be Chock Full O’Nuts Coffee.
Benson and Cornfield have it out. Benson asks if they are still going through with their “idiotic plan,” whatever that is. Cornfield says that people are worried what would happen if it were detonated too close to the Earth. “Idiots!” growls Benson. As Fred enters, Benson points at the viewscreen on the wall. “Is that where you look?” Oh, brother. They watch a ship on its way toward the Outsider. The ship will head toward the Outsider until it is 75 miles from the surface. For some reason, that number triggers something in Benson. He pulls out a cigar. “Would somebody please get me a match.” And suddenly, everyone flicks their Bics in his face. Either they all want him to do an encore, or they’re hoping to set him on fire. I’d opt for the latter.
The ship approaches the Outsider, and suddenly, a cluster of small lights emerges from behind the Outsider. Everyone starts to panic. The ship turns around quickly, and we see that the lights are actually a swarm of flying saucers. That gets Benson so mad he throws down his cigar.
The saucers surround the ship and zap it. There is a flash of light as the ship explodes, and the saucers return to the Outsider.
“Well,” says Benson, “you’ve all seen, and I’ve had my satisfaction.” What a dink. They should have sent him on the ship. “I made no error in calculus. The Outsider should not have gone into orbit.” Yes, he’s shocked, shocked to discover that there are saucers here. “If it did, it’s because there was a voluntary modification.” You know, you might have mentioned this to someone. And didn’t Cole say that everyone was hanging on his every word?
“Cornfield, get me in contact with the department bigwigs.” Now are they rounding up the usual suspects? “Now leave me alone.” Wait—he’s in their lab. Why doesn’t he leave?
A video screens comes to life and Andrew Jackson appears on it. I guess he is the biggest wig of them all? Benson says that his days are numbered. Old Hickory then says he wants to conference in the rest of the United Commission. We wait a while as our seventh President rounds up the usual commission members. Benson starts writing on the floor.
Finally, video screens come to life around the room as the Commission is conferenced in. And they include:
“Gentlemen, you have exactly 840 hours left,” says Benson. To do what? Move their cars? “...to act.” Ah. He says that the Outsider will descend into the earth’s atmosphere...and bad things will happen. He points to what he just wrote on the floor. “I take it for granted you know how to read?” I suspect what he wrote involves suggesting that they all do something biologically impossible. There is a flash of light, and Keye Luke says, “The formulas have just been photographed.” I didn’t know screen capture utilities could work both ways. “We will examine your hypothesis most attentively.” We will keep your resume on file for a year. That you for your interest in our Commission.
Benson growls, “The Outsider, in tightening its orbit around the Earth, will cause serious upsets.” Yes, the less favored team will win every game. At least it would be good news for Syracuse football. Sigmund Freud says, “You are concerned about the fate of the human race.” Tell me about your childhood. “You’re wrong, my dear sir,” says Benson. Yes, go on...tell me more about your mother. He goes on about how he is not moved by humanitarian concerns. Yeah, I wouldn’t have thought so. What the heck does he want? “I want to know the truth...that’s hidden inside the nucleus of the Outsider.” Planets don’t really have nuclei. Did this guy get his degree from the same place that Dr. Bauer did.
Wait a minute: all along, hasn’t he been saying to destroy the Outsider? And didn’t he scoff a few minutes ago about the fact that the others might want to explore it?
Anyway, Benson is now convinced that deep inside the Outsider are conscious beings. Cool, a whole other word he can alienate. “Fugitives, perhaps, from a dying world.” He leads a rich inner fantasy life. How did he figure this out using calculus? Okay, prof, why are they orbiting the Earth? “They are attracted to the Earth’s life-giving warmth.” And all the yummy kitchen smells emanating from it. Not many people realize this, but just as radio and TV signals travel out beyond Earth into space, so, too, does the smell of a turkey in the oven.
Benson makes a deal. He will save all their lives if they give him “the means” to explore and uncover the Outsider’s secrets. “What means?” asks Sigmund. “I ask to have the absolute command of all operations invested in my hands.” So...he’s asking them for control of his hands? What? He wants the reins in his hands. Could we call him Claude Reins? He’s the god! Claude Reigns?
Anyway, that goes over like a lead balloon, and they all hang up on him. I’m surprised they lasted that long. Even Gavin Mcleod was going to change the name of the ship to The Loathe Boat.
Eve comes in and offers to walk Benson back to his greenhouse.
However, Andrew Jackson pops back on the screen and tells Benson that he has been awarded one of Earth’s highest academic honors. As for his request, well, he can go bite them. No deal. “This is war,” says Andrew Jackson. The Battle of New Orleans? “I’m not of draft age,” says Benson. I think he was too old for the draft even around the time of the Battle of New Orleans.
There is another Confuse-O-Vision™® cutaway to what is either the full moon washed out and featureless or a close up of The Man Without a Face.
In some military command center, General Varick is unintelligibly briefing the Coles, their boy—Boyd—and some others about the missiles and some other stuff that is hard to make out. Cole will be leading the mission. They also brought along the chief of the Psychological Bureau to “unleash every propaganda means at your disposal to tranquilize public opinion.” Now wait a minute: the plan is to destroy the planet that is going to destroy the Earth—who, aside from Benson, would have a problem with that? “I believe I have all the elements necessary,” is the response. A entire Periodic Table of them.
The Coles then start reminiscing about their marriage. Oh, brother. They were hooked up “based on a psychotechnical evaluation which determines the affinity between our individual characteristics.” Isn’t that how eHarmony is supposed to work? Cathy declares her love for Bob and psychotechnical exams and they can’t keep their hands off each other. Okay, it probably wasn’t eHarmony. “I’d like to have a house, of our own,” she says. Not someone else’s? “And babies.” Of their own? “I don’t remember that from the psychotechnical exam,” he says. “But I’m happy, even like this,” she says. Uh oh. Once the passive-aggressive stuff starts, it’s a downhill slide. She is distraught that he is going to leave her for five minutes to go destroy the Outsider. Oh, boy, one of these; Mrs. Clingy. “I want to be one of these buttons.” And just plain weird. Talk then comes around to Benson. Well, that’ll get them out of the mood. Remember: they had 840 hours until bad things happened. Only 118 have passed. So they still have a month left.
Back in Benson’s greenhouse, he is lying in a hammock. Claude Rains lying in a hammock is not something one should ever have to see. Fred says he knows the plan of attack. For getting him out of the hammock? I think special equipment will need to be brought in, like a Hoyer lift. The plan is to lure the disks out into the open and then destroy them. That is crafty; right out of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, or perhaps the more basic Complete Idiot’s Guide to War. “Why are you telling me all this stupid nonsense?” grouses Benson. Fred brags that the leader is Bob Cole, who was the instructor if his class at school. “Hah! a fine class that must have been, judging from the results.” If they were trying to make Benson curmudgeonly, they forgot that curmudgeons are supposed to be grouchy yet loveable; Benson is just loathsome and hateful.
The upshot is that Fred was asked to go on the mission, and needs permission to go since he is still on staff at the observatory. Benson naturally doesn’t like it. Eve comes in and Benson heaps shame on Fred in front of his ex-fiancée. If I were Fred, I’d pull that hammock back and fire Benson across the room like a slingshot. Fred goes off on how Eve lost all interest in him, and Benson laughs it up. “What a dull, silly little performance this is!” Hey, Claude, you’re starring in it.
Benson gives his permission and adds, “I just had an idea. And naturally it’s a great one.” You’re going to swallow a hand grenade?
The Confuse-O-Vision©®™ kicks in and we see ships heading toward the Outsider, intercuts of a crew on one of the ships, saucers firing at the ships, ships firing at the saucers, something gets destroyed, and Steel—with the Coles on one of the ships—starts freaking out. “Cut the telecommand, I say! We must maneuver freely.” “That would be an act of insubordination,” growls Cole. Cathy reports that disks are heading toward them. Is she sure she doesn’t want to start waxing poetic about their marriage? Steel gets his way, and back at the command central, they gasp that the telecommand has been turned off. More Confuse-O-Vision©®™©®.
Tells steel, “Don’t use the ray. Run into him!” Cole gives him a look. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m not insane.” Most insane people don’t realize that they are insane. The disk heads right for the ship. The ship gets close to the disk, and then the disk starts freaking out and wobbling severely. The rest of the disks retreat. Huh? The wobbly disk plummets into the Earth’s atmosphere. Why did that happen? Confuse-O-Vision®™©©®™!
Meanwhile, Fred and Bob’s ship is also now spinning out of control. I know how it feels. “Bob, you’ve got to regain control of the ship!” yells Fred. “This is my body,” says Cole, “so shut your big mouth.”
They cut the engines and still keep spinning. Fred asks about the disk. Says Cathy, “If they had as good a pilot as we have, they’re safe.” She smiles at Bob. Bob winks at her. Oh, good god. Cole guns the engines. I bet.
Down at the observatory, they have all been...watching? listening?...to events unfold in space. “Cornfield!” Benson abruptly yells. That’s where I should go stand, in a cornfield. “Contact the high command.” Contact them yourself. What is Cornfield, your secretary? Benson wants all surviving ships to return to Earth. What does he mean “all”? There was just the one. “The fallen disk must be recovered.” I’m sure that never occurred to anyone else. Benson turns to Eve. “Get that sometime suitor of yours, if he’s still alive. I want his full report on that disk.” “If he’s still alive”? Wasn’t he just watching—or whatevering—them survive? He charges toward the door. He turns around and very Shatnerishly barks that if the bigwigs don’t listen to him, “they can all go to hell!” At what point in this movie has anyone not listened to him? That’s a lot of ham packed into one short scene.
The disk crashes in the woods, and Fred, et al. go to investigate. Inside the disk, it is suffused red, with rib-like supports along the walls. It looks like someone installed a photographic darkroom in the belly of a whale. Steel radios Benson and tells him that there is no one inside. “Who’d you expect to see, your grandmother? Look harder.” Good grief.
In the center of the disk, is a large structure that looks like giant Siamese twin spiders, connected via a glowing cylinder. That cheers Benson up. He wants that cylinder. I can think of a variety of things he can do with it, too. They bring it back to his greenhouse and everyone starts analyzing it while he lazes in his hammock writing something. He berates Cornfield for using electronic equipment. “I detest your stupid gadgets, but at least I know that you should raise the frequency and lower the wavelength.” “That’s as far as it will go,” says Cornfield. Benson grumbles. “You mean as far as you can go.” What the heck does that mean? And if he hates them all so, why doesn’t he get off his lazy ass and examine the thing himself?
Eve hands him a book. As he reads the first page, he remarks that “The Outsider is closing in.” Soon it’ll be the Insider. Then there is a Confuse-O-Vision®™©®™& montage of a solar eclipse, volcanoes erupting, hurricanes, random wildfires, and the Outsider. In the greenhouse, the cylinder makes some sort of strange noise.
Outside, Cole, Steel (cold steel?), Eve, and Cathy are standing out in the rain. There are only 216 hours left (9 days) until bad things happen. Cole says that Benson needs to be reminded of his own prophecy. Good luck with that; I hope Cole knows a good reconstructive urologist. “It’s a terrible drawn-out agony for the whole world,” says Cathy. So’s this movie. “Most things happen unexpectedly, like the Apocalypse.” Wha? When did that happen? Did I miss it?
It was a bold choice of the sound recordist to have placed the microphone for this scene at the bottom of a rain barrel. I can barely make out what anyone is saying. Says Cole (I think), “I have faith in Benson the mathematician. But Benson the candle-maker?” That can’t be right. What about Benson the lieutenant governor?
Fred and Eve are about to introduce the Coles to Benson. This should be good. Fred warns them what a complete and utter dickweed Benson is. Cathy takes this opportunity to stress to Eve that she needs to make up with Fred. “There’s only one thing out of step with the times, Eve. Love.” Is that a good thing?
They enter the greenhouse. Benson is suddenly effusive. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Commander.” Hm. I guess his heart suddenly grew three times its normal size. He summons Mrs. Collins. “I think it’s time for you to offer some of your delicious coffee.” He adds, “Mrs. Collins is so good. Psychic you know.” He’s starting to scare the heck out of me. Was he taken over by pod creatures? “Here, have a cigar.” You’re gonna go far, you’re gonna fly high, you’re never gonna die. He takes one out and again everyone rushes over to light it for him. What is with that?
Benson instructs Gibson (who’s Gibson?) to put on some music. Is it the Gibson who makes the guitars? It turns out Cole doesn’t like music. Benson then goes off on that, that music is the language of the bodies in space. “Have you never heard of Pythagoras, the harmony of the spheres, the language of numbers?” He then starts heaping shame on Cole. Ah, now that’s the Benson we know and loathe.
He gets up and goes on a rant about how he has discovered “a richer language than your rude, imperfect spoken tongue.” Esperanto? “An order, which someone will give from afar, will make you, Cole, the most-listened to commander in the history of the human race.” Is he getting his own radio show? I don’t understand what he’s on about. “We have deciphered for you the language of the Outsider.” You know, if those morans cant be botherred to lern the language thay shud just go back wear they came frum. We should build a giant fence around the Earth. “And you will speak to the disks up there. You will give the order, and they will destroy themselves.” If only it were that easy we could have destroyed cable news personalities years ago.
There is a round of technobabble about oscillators. Cornfield spouts some kind of gibberish. Benson exults, “Cornfield! You’re wonderful!” I want to have your babies! Now Benson starts going over the deep end. Claude, Rains O’er Me! There is some sort of piercing, irritating whine that is getting louder. I can’t say I like the new Radiohead album. “Do you hear that?” he effuses. “I will write the score. And you...will play it!” I write the songs that make the whole world hide under a desk. Poor Claude. Not a single molecule of scenery is safe at this point.
“Watch this!” he says, and there is a Confuse-O-Vision®™©®™&@$™© montage of that cylinder Benson was in love with, space, a fleet of rockets heading toward the Outsider, and the swarm of yellow lights emerging from behind the Outsider. Wait—is this live; did Benson say they are watching this now, or was that some sort of psychotic delusion and this is now happening some time later? “Now happening some time later.” This movie has got me all disoriented...
Anyway, random Earth ships fly in one direction; there are cutaways to the disks flying in another direction. I guess they’re headed for a showdown. The disks start zapping empty space.
Suddenly, Steel is in one of the ships. Okay, I guess this was some time later. He ebulliently says, “Now it’s our turn....Moran! Music.” Moran? Is he one of the tea beg protesters? Or is Happy Days co-star Erin Moran suddenly working for Benson?
Someone flips a switch and high-pitched space noises increase in volume. The disks start shooting at each other, flop around in space, then crash back toward the Outsider and explode. Well, that was easy.
Benson is now pissed again. Now what?! Can’t this clown just enjoy the moment? Now that the disks are destroyed, the Commission wants to go ahead with the plan for destroying the Outsider. Benson wants to explore it some more. “It’s passing close by to us!” says Benson. Well, yeah, that’s the problem! “You can’t take it away from me now that I’m so close!” What a spoiled brat this guy is. Says Sigmund Freud, “Professor, you act as if it were your personal property.” “Science is nobody’s personal property!” sputters Benson, which contradicts everything he has been grousing about throughout this movie.
“Very well then,” gloats Benson, taking another intensely unappealing tack, “you deserve what’s coming to you.” Come on, guys, don’t fall for this little ploy. He’s been pulling this crap all movie. He’s just— “What do you mean?” says Sigmund Freud, all concerned. Damn. “You have studied the planet’s surface,” says Benson, “but you have not torn open its bowels.” How about we tear open yours and call it a day? “Inside is where the truth lies. You’re destroying a tin can, and a tin can will blow up in your hand.” Is that some sage maxim that has been passed down over the years, or has he just gone plum loco?
Says Sigmund: “Do you really think there’s someone inside?” Do you hear voices? Is the dog telling you to kill again? “More than someone,” says Benson. What? Someones, plural?
Now wait a minute, Sigmund! The Outsider charged right at Earth, then took a left turn and planted itself right into orbit. Then metal disks were repeatedly launched out of the thing and they fired on Earth space ships. Did you think these were all naturally occurring phenomena?! I hate to side with Benson, god knows, but maybe they are all idiots.
“Gentlemen, for the first time in my scientific life, I am prepared to come out of my den and pay with my person.” Does that mean he’s going to for once pick up a restaurant check?
And away they go. Benson does not look happy in his space suit. I bet he’s thinking, “What was I thinking? I shouldn’t be here. I should be at home incoherently bitching about things.”
They arrive on the surface and don’t even decelerate. The ship whangs into the ground pretty hard, but apparently it’s supposed to do that. Yipes. I hope they brought extra neckbraces. They need to shim the landing gear, as they are on an uneven surface, and it does it automatically. Kind of neat. They should make restaurant tables that do that.
“Professor,” asks Eve, “how do you feel?” “Like I’ve never felt before.” Ah, so he doesn’t feel bilious, crotchety, and unpleasant.
The problem: it’s highly radioactive down there and their suits won’t protect them for very long. “Long enough,” says Benson. Says Cole, “Remember, Professor, that you must obey my orders.” Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Yeah, Benson has to obey Cole’s orders. Good luck with that.
The deadline: three hours, and then the Outsider will be destroyed. I think they’re going to finish with plenty of time to spare.
Benson and Eve have some sort of strange conversation about his helmet. Apparently he should wear two of them. Huh? Well, he’s so big-headed, maybe he needs two. She also reminds him that he should wear his glasses. “To see...the truth?” he asks, and then puts his helmet on, as if it were a dumb suggestion. Fine, be that way.
They leave the ship and head across the planet surface. Or— well...[I really am laughing quite hard at this point] they head across the five-foot set, which was all they could afford, so they are all obviously, literally, just walking in place. Good lord. Cole and Benson argue about—oh, who cares at this point. Just let the old fart go off and be killed and get this over with. Benson picks up a signal and heads off toward it. They all follow him for reasons passing understanding.
He uses his signal-getting device thingie to open a hatchway that leads into the red, spaghetti-filled interior of the planet. (Well, this was an Italian production.) They head down a hallway. Benson comes to a chamber and announces, “There they are. Dead creatures.” What? Where? I don’t see anything. Great; he thinks he’s the kid from The Sixth Sense. “I see dead creatures.”
Suddenly, Benson knows the entire back story. He claims they died vainly trying to escape from a dying world from one of the higher galaxies. Not that much higher, by the looks of it. And the creatures are nothing more than what look like overturned coat racks. “They’ve been traveling for millions of light-years.” A kind of Noah’s Ark, it seems. How does he know this? Did he come across one of those roadside historical markers or something? Eve wonders what killed them. “Time, the hope that future generations would land on a living world and not a blind one like ours.” Hey, they’re the ones who ended up killing themselves in a spaghetti factory. Don’t take it out on Earth. “Perhaps the secret of their death is locked inside here,” he adds. And he points to a ceiling lamp. What, they broke one of those compact fluorescent bulbs and didn’t clean it up properly? “The radioactivity must have killed them,” says Benson. No, I think the problem is usually mercury.
Suddenly, the expedition is called back. Benson isn’t happy. Hey! You said we had three hours! Wah! Here he goes again: “Don’t you understand, you crazy fools, that their plans to survive their death”—how exactly does anyone survive their death?—“would have set them down on Earth uselessly?” Well, it would be better than dying of radiation in a pasta-filled tunnel. Wait...on second thought, no it wouldn’t. Anyway, Benson wants to find these plans. Why? “Then, we shall be able to penetrate the secret of their immortal formulas.” Yeah, formulas that did them all a world of good.
“Over the radio, they are about to launch the destruction plan. But why? Benson utters an impassioned “Noooo!!!!!” that sounds like a sea lion attempting to play the bagpipes. And he goes running off into a tunnel. Cole orders everyone back to the ship, while Eve runs after Benson. Fred runs after Eve. Cole runs after Cathy. Now it’s turning into a French Italian farce.
Benson comes to another chamber. Ah, this one is filled with linguine. There are some extended Confuse-O-Vision®™©®™&@$™©&(*®™%#@#%*&%$®™ shots of the various people at strange angles chasing after other various people at strange angles, calling each other’s names and, at times I think their own, and Benson looking behind him and grinning maniacally. This goes on for rather a while.
Benson finally finds the electronic brain. Fred and Benson have a heated, shouted discussion about living and knowing. “What importance does life have if living means not to know?” asks Benson. I’m not sure that there is any response one can give to that. Then Benson bursts into mad scientist laughter that reverberates throughout the pasta tunnels. That triggers some kind of cave in; Benson tells Eve that the Outsider is defending itself. Fred and Eve beat cheeks out of there. The spaghetti starts to rain down on everyone. Sorry, linguine—well, now it’s garbage.
In the ship, boy—Boyd—pleads with General Varick to stop the destruction plan. Varick refuses. “Cowards!” mutters boy—Boyd. “We’re cowards! We shouldn’t have left them there alone. Especially me.” He left himself there alone? What? And where did he come from anyway?
In the tunnels of pasta, Cole and Cathy stop short. “We’ve found it! The end of the cave! We’ve reached it!” Cole yells exultantly. And then a rock (or a giant meatball) knocks Cathy to the ground. Uh oh. Fred and Eve charge off after the Coles. Cathy pleads with Cole to leave her there. Yeah, that’ll happen.
Fred, Eve, Cole, and a couple others they seem to have picked up along the way carry Cathy back to the ship. I guess she’s really heavy.
The destruction force is on its way. Boy—Boyd—tries to give them a few more seconds. The General ignores him, and the missiles are launched.
Down in the tunnel, Benson does his soliloquy; he apparently got the formula (how?) “and now I can order the Outsider away.” That was his plan? He could have tried telling someone.
They make it to the ship with Cathy, and they take off, just as the missiles head on their way. “Cathy, you can’t die!” groans Cole. Well, it turns out, she can.
And the ship makes it to “safety distance” just as the missiles hit the planet. “Goodbye, professor,” says Eve to herself. And the missiles destroy the planet. And Benson. Hey, a happy ending!
Says boy—Boyd: “If they opened up his chest, they’d find a formula where his heart should have been.” And if they opened up his desk drawer, they’d find a heart where a formula should have been. He was a weird guy.
And the last shot is of Benson’s faithful and irritating schnauzer gazing longingly out the window.
And over the end credits, we get Shirley Bassey singing through a kazoo which in turn is being played through a didgeridoo.
The end.
Focus on Cinematic Techniques: Confuse-O-Vision®
The process of Confuse-O-Vision™ is based on finding the simplest way to cinematically convey information about a scene, and then doing the exact opposite.
So, if a film editor is trying to, for example, show that a spaceship is heading toward a planet, instead of showing the ship traveling in one direction, then perhaps a cutaway to the pilots inside the ship, and then to an image of a planet, perhaps looming closer in the frame, what s/he should so instead is edit together the following sequence of shots in this order:
And that’s your basic Confuse-O-Vision© sequence.
Posted 04/29/09
