Mesa of Lost Women

By Richard Romano

It’s all the pituitary gland’s fault. It sits there, beckoning with its Siren call, enticing mad scientists to probe its secrets or, more to the point, extract things from it. They pump pituitary hormones into other creatures, pump growth hormones of other creatures back into humans, and so on. Scientists are always mucking about with the pituitary gland. There are often mutants. It never ends well.

In Mesa of Lost Women, we have a post-The Kid and pre-Addams Family (which is quite a stretch of time!) Jackie Coogan injecting pituitary hormones into spiders and, in return, injecting spider growth hormones into humans. Why? That’s a fair question. Something about taking over the world. Given that Dr. Aranya (araña is “spider” in Spanish, get it?) knows very little about spiders—he repeatedly refers to them as insects—his experiments don’t go well. The effects of injecting spider growth hormones is to turn women into really bad dancers and men into dwarves that resemble comedian Stephen Wright. There is also a giant spider puppet. Not exactly the stuff of world domination.

The movie plays like a fever dream. It’s wildly incoherent at even its best moments. And it has no best moments. It is told in flashback—actually two flashbacks—although many of the events are not actually witnessed by either of the people flashing back. One character’s flashback suddenly becomes another’s about midway through the movie. I think.

It was edited using the “Sgt. Pepper technique” (i.e., cut the film into bits, throw them in the air, and randomly tape the bits back together); in fact, a deep existential conversation between two characters about love and life is intercut with random close-ups of grinning dwarves. Oh, and the soundtrack comprises 68 minutes of “Duet for Untuned Spanish Guitar and Kangaroo Jumping on Piano.” Endlessly.

Mesa of Lost Women began its tortured life as Lost Women of Zarpa, directed by Herbert Tevos. IMDb tells us that “a variety of factors—funds running out and neither the producers nor the cast being able to get along with Tevos—resulted in the production being shut down and then abandoned.” That certainly sounds encouraging. However, a couple years later Ron Ormond acquired the film, added new footage, and released it as Mesa of Lost Women. And for that he has earned my wrath.

We open on a hapless guy standing like he’s about to face a firing squad. Female hands with strange finger extensions reach up into the frame. Early Lee Press-On Nails weren’t very good. The man reaches down and kisses the woman with the exotic nails, and then he falls down. The narrator ominously asks, “Have you ever been kissed by a girl like this?” And we fade out. It’s not a particularly effective eHarmony commercial...

Cue opening titles. “Mesa of Lost Women”...is that like the Island of Misfit Toys? Actually, yes. Interesting credit: “Written for the Screen by Herbert Tevos.” I think it’s more like “Written for the Psychiatric Hospital Admission Form.”

That done, we pan across the Mexican desert. The narrator immediately chimes in. “Strained, the monstrous assurance of this race of puny bipeds with overblown egos.” Cable TV political pundits? “The creature who calls himself ‘man.’” Ah. Not cable TV political pundits. “He thinks he owns the Earth.” Actually, he’s renting with an option to buy. The narrator continues to rag on humanity while a couple stagger across the desert. I can hear the old America song now, “I’ve been through the desert in a film with no plot.”

“Consider,” the narrator goes on, “the lowly insect that man trods on underfoot outweighs humanity several times.” The insect had better cut down on the Oreo cookies and Chunky Monkey ice cream. “In the continuing war for survival between man and the hexapods...” Wait, there’s a war between humans and insects for survival? I thought it was just that they’re kind of creepy. (“Hexapod”: a six-legged creature; insect.) “Only an utter fool would bet against the insect.” This is the weirdest Terminix ad I’ve ever seen.

“Let a man or woman venture from the well-beaten path of civilization, let him cross the threshold of the limited intellect”—let him ramble on incoherently like the narrator—“and he encounters amazing, wondrous things.” That doesn’t sound so bad. “The unknown and terrible.” Ah, okay, that doesn’t sound so good. “If he escapes these weird adventures with his life, he usually finds that he left his reason behind him.” I usually leave my car keys behind. Some people are just forgetful. Meanwhile, the couple are still trudging across the desert, while a third person, carrying a shovel, may be about to intercept them. It’s not clear.

The narrator starts heaping shame on the couple who, he tells us, are lost in the Mexican desert. “Ask yourself, why would anyone trod from the usually well-traveled roads of this modern age?” I think it has something to do with a road less traveled, two roads diverging in a wood, yadda yadda yadda. “It’s difficult for our modern world of statistics and electronics to accept miracles.” Um, Mr. Narrator, you didn’t take your medication today, did you? “But you could almost call this a miracle. A genuine miracle.” I’d call this guy shutting up a miracle. “Out of hundreds and thousands of square miles of heat and seared wasteland, where the vultures wait for other vultures to die.” I don’t think that’s really what vultures do. It turns out that the “miracle” in question is that an oil prospector has decided to explore “this terrible corner of the Earth.” Oh, good, is the narrator going to rag on this guy now? “The Muerto Desert, the desert of death.” The Tourist Bureau really needs to find a better spokesman.

The oil guy spots the lost couple through his binoculars, and of course the narrator has to heap shame on him for that. Perhaps it’s a mirage “caused by roasting optic nerves.” Mmm...roasting optic nerves. Sounds delicious. “But if they are living things from somewhere, one fact is certain.” Nobody doesn’t like Sara Lee. “Miracle or not, they will not be living things for long.” Well, that’s the spirit. And what does this have to do with insects again?

Anyway, proving the narrator wrong, the oil guy finds the couple and takes them to the Amer-Exico Field Hospital. They must speak Spanglish there.

Inside the hospital, the couple are unconscious, and being tended by three guys from the oil company. One of the men is your stereotypical old Mexican guy named Pepe (of course). One of the others is the guy who got the deadly kiss from the Lee Press-On Nails lady in the teaser sequence. I guess he got better.

The unconscious male starts groaning. Oil guy suggests he may be regaining consciousness, but the other guy thinks it unlikely. “Even if they managed to get across that desert alive, the sun’s bound to have cooked their brains.” Mmmm...cooked brains. Sounds delicious. Says Deadly Kiss Guy, “It’s a miracle to me how Pepe and Frank found them.” No, no, no, don’t encourage the narrator.

They wonder how the two of them got there. “They must be from that missing plane we read about,” suggests Deadly Kiss Guy. The guy with the hat disagrees. “That plane was bound for Mexico City. They’d have to be a hundred degrees off to land in the Muerto Desert.” Yes, exactly. The plane was “missing” and ended up there. Missing planes by definition don’t usually stay on course and make it to their destinations.

The woman now starts groaning. “Pretty girl under all that sunburn,” remarks one of the guys. But she’s pale as alabaster. The Venus de Milo has more color than she does. The man wakes up. Says Deadly Kiss Guy, “You’re safe. You’re in an oil company office.” That’s an interesting definition of “safe.” They give the guy some water and a pill of some kind. “Who’d you think you were, Superman?” says the guy with the hat. That’s right; Superman was always wandering across the desert.

“You said this was an oil company,” says the guy who is regaining consciousness. “Can you load a truck with full drums and all the men you can spare?” Drums? Is he planning on doing a drum solo? “If we get there in time, maybe we could blow them up before they scatter.” Okay. Huh? “The only thing that scares them is fire,” he adds. Ah, good, I was wondering about that. Um...who again?

They try to get him to make sense. “You said Superman. These are super monsters.” They’d be quite fetching in the tights and cape, I bet. “Bugs, as big as we are. They can kill you with one bite.” Sounds like South Florida. “Where do they come from?” asks the guy in the hat, which is not really the first question I’d ask. “He’s got an underground lab up on Zarpa Mesa.” Wow, an underground lab on top of a mesa. That’s quite an achievement.

“Who does?” “Dr. Aranya.” Dum dum dum! “Dr. Aranya!” exclaims Pepe. No, please don’t say what you’re about to say. I beg you, please no— “Ay, caramba.” Doh! “I told you the sun cooked their brains,” says the guy with the hat. “Pepe doesn’t seem to think so,” says Deadly Kiss Guy. Apparently, no one has ever been able to climb Zarpa Mesa, although the guy says it can be reached by plane.

The guy starts, “It all started on the border, a couple days back...” He was an airplane pilot for Jan van Croft, a wealthy financier. They had engine trouble, and they went to a cantina in a small Mexican town. We start to go blurry. Get ready for flashback— No, wait...actually, we zoom into Pepe. Hey!

“Quite a story he’s telling, isn’t it, Pepe?” interrupts the narrator. What?! The narrator interrupts the guy’s flashback to present us Pepe’s flashback, even though Pepe wasn’t actually involved in any of the things he’s flashing back to. What? “They will only laugh at you and say, ‘Poor Pepe, you’re getting old.’” Oh, good, now the narrator is ragging on Pepe. It’s like having Don Rickles narrate a movie. Why, Pepe, you hockey puck! “But you heard for years about the grotesque and misshapen people.” Sounds like a trip to the mall, actually. “About the women! Strange women who do not die.” This narrator has issues.

Okay, fine. We’ll do this flashback.

A car is driving through the desert. Boy, for a complete no man’s land there certainly is a lot of traffic there. Watching the car approach what I presume is the mesa, is a somewhat tall dwarf. Leave it to this movie to figure that one out.

The narrator explains that Grant Phillips (not Grant Lee Phillips?)—he’s the guy whose flashback we interrupted—doesn’t know the whole story, which began a year ago, “The night Dr. Leland Masterson, the world famous specialist in research, found himself in the middle of the Muerto Desert—the desert of death.” Yes, it’s the desert of death! We know already!

“World famous specialist in research”? Um, any specific kind of research?

Anyway, Masterson received some kind of summons from a scientist he admired, but only knew from scientific papers—Dr. Aranya.

Masterson and a spooky woman get out of their car and look at the mesa. “Oh, we’ve arrived!” exults Dr. Masterson. He has a certain David Hartman quality. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. We pan up the mesa and see the dwarf again. “Your eyes must be playing tricks, Masterson. What was it you thought you saw?” The narrator is now going to town on Masterson. Jeez, what a grouch. Meanwhile, a blonde woman in a diaphanous gown scampers up the side of the mesa. Goodbye, Norma Jean.

Now the narrator busts on Aranya. “A man with Aranya’s genius building his laboratory on an inaccessible mountaintop in the middle of an uninhabited desert.” And the Santa Fe Institute was born. “Why Zarpa Mesa?” the narrator asks. “Why Zarpa Mesa indeed.” Would you cut that out!

The dwarf scampers up the mesa and disappears into a hole, which leads into the lab. He descends a rope ladder, passes a woman with Percy Dovetonsils hair peering into a microscope, and disappears into a heavy wooden door. Meanwhile, outside, Masterson and the spooky woman approach the mesa. Again.

Masterson is directed into a cave and he finally arrives at the front door, where he is greeted by the dwarf and a woman who from a distance looks like Tom Hanks in drag from Bosom Buddies. Boy, it certainly looks inviting. Masterson has a seat, and tries to give his hat to the dwarf, who simply looks at it blankly. Good help is hard to find. On the soundtrack, someone is really going to town on a Spanish guitar while someone else is dropping tennis balls on a piano keyboard. Masterson wanders around the room; sitting down and looking at a microscope is the woman with the Percy Dovetonsils hair, and standing behind her is another woman with strange gray dreadlocks. I guess it’s hard to find a good hair salon in the middle of the Muerto Desert.

Finally, Dr. Aranya (Jackie Coogan) arrives. Like any self-respecting mad scientist, he is rife with physical deformities. He has a big mole on his face and a deformed eye which he usually keeps hidden behind a frosted lens. Just to be extra creepy, he takes his glasses off for no reason other than to give everyone a good look at his droopy eye. Thanks, Uncle Fester.

Come to think of it, the woman with the Percy Dovetonsils hair kind of looks like Morticia Addams. All she needs is a big fan-backed rattan chair.

Masterson is looking at the spine of a thick book. “The Nervous System of Insects.” That must be the really large print edition because I doubt you could say all that much about the nervous system of insects. But then, with that eye, I bet Aranya needs a really large print edition.

Aranya asks Masterson about his trip; Masterson had some reservations about driving into the Muerto Desert. (That’s the desert of death, you know.) “The sentimental human mind being what it is, this is the only sort of a place I could find to carry on my work.” That’s the kind of line that demands a follow-up question or two, but Masterson just lets it lie.

He takes what looks like a greeting card out of his pocket.

“These papers on the anterior lobe of the pituitary and the effects of the specific hormones on other living things.” So Aranya’s research papers fit inside a two-page greeting card? They must be the abstracts. Really abstracts. Masterson compliments Aranya on his original endocrinological research, while Aranya says that’s quite a compliment coming from an eminent organotherapist. (Organotherapy, by the way, is “the treatment of disease with extracts of animal organs, as of the glands of internal secretion.” It has nothing to do with treating medical ailments using organ music.)

Masterson says he jumped at the chance to work with Aranya and examine his theories. “Let us understand one thing, these are not theories. I have successfully proved every point over and over again in my laboratory.” For some reason, the Tom-Hanks-in-drag woman gives Aranya a very nasty look as he is saying this. I guess she disagrees with his results. Maybe she has concerns over his methodology or his lab technique. Maybe she’s pissed at being stuck in this movie.

“You want me to believe that you have produced these...things?” exclaims Masterson. Aranya is, after all, the world’s leading thingologist. “And many more,” adds Aranya. Things? He adds, “I’m completing a most unusual experiment in my lab. Would you care to observe?” Now there’s an invitation one could hardly turn down. Aranya hurries Masterson along like a kid in a candy store—albeit a psychopathic kid in an incredibly freakish and disturbing candy store. All the strangely coiffed women exchange odd looks. Okay.

Inside the lab, apparatus is everywhere. Beakers are bubbling, dwarves and spooky women are busily engaged in recording results...of something. Just another day in academia. Some piece of equipment keeps going “psst psst” as if beckoning to Masterson. Aranya leads him to a woman strapped down to a table. This is one grant proposal I would love to read. So what is this experiment? Hunker down. Here goes:

“I have isolated the growth hormone of the anterior pituitary, the specific substance that controls the growth patterns of human beings. With this accomplished, I said to myself, what would the effect be of this hormone—or a complete human pituitary—being transferred in the body of another creature?” In other words, “We thought it would be funny if...” So of course he began experiments. He had little success with lesser creatures, “and complete failure among birds.” So then he started experimenting with hexapods. Insects? Could you fit a human pituitary gland in an insect?

“I came upon the Theraphosida family.” Tarantulas. Which, by the way, are not insects. “The tarantulas began to yield amazing results.” I bet. “They grew as large as human beings. They began developing new reasoning powers.” New reasoning powers? Did they have any to begin with? And do we really want giant tarantulas with reasoning powers? It’d be a really strange debate team, I’ll give it that. “Then I found I had the telepathic power to communicate with them.” Now you’re just making stuff up. “And then I reversed the process and transplanted the control substance of the insect [sic] back into the human body.” Of course, why not?

He then asks Masterson to observe the Tom-Hanks-in-drag woman. “I call her Tarantella.” Cute. “She has human beauty and intelligence, but still possesses the capacities and instincts of the giant spider.” Capacities? “She has the indestructibility of the insect [sic].” What? Spiders—or even insects—are hardly indestructible. Trust me on this. “If she were to lose an arm or a leg, she would grow a new one.” While it’s true that some spiders can grow a new leg if one is removed (“autotomy” is the process of losing a limb or a tail to escape a predator) the new leg is usually smaller. “I expect Tarantella may survive for hundreds and hundreds of years.” Because spiders never die. What? Sorry, I’m throwing the BS flag here.

“And what about males?” asks Masterson. Is that really the first question that comes to mind? “Unfortunately, in the insect world the male is a puny, unimportant thing.” No, it’s really not. Some insect and arachnid species demonstrate sexual dimorphism (a difference in structure between males and females typically involving size or color), but not all do, and not all tarantula species do. The males of some tarantula species have hooks on their front legs which they use to restrain the female’s fangs during reproduction. And speaking of which, males aren’t entirely unimportant in the insect/arachnid worlds, you know, particularly if you want more insects or arachnids.

Why am I explaining this to Uncle Fester?

At any rate, this explains, as Masterson says, “The dwarfs!”

Says Aranya, “I think we’re beginning to get some results.” I bet. “If we are successful, I shall have a super female spider with a thinking and reasoning brain.” Whatever floats your boat, doc. “A creature that may someday control the world. Subject to my will.” Yeah, good luck with that.

The spider woman stretches and gets up from the table. She wanders off, no one paying much attention to her. Okay. Meanwhile, behind a changing curtain at the back of the lab, a large spider leg emerges. Dr. Aranya pulls back the curtain to reveal, indeed, a giant spider that seems to be wearing a kerchief on its head. Okay. Masterson grimaces in disgust; he obviously doesn’t like spiders.

“Are you convinced now, doctor?” asks Aranya. “I hope you appreciate this opportunity I’m giving you to become a colleague of mine.” Aranya has a very calm, mild-mannered voice. He sounds kind of like HAL from 2001. Let’s see: is Masterson going to jump at the opportunity? “You’re evil! You must be destroyed! You and all the foul things you have made!” So...no, then. Aranya points out that he can’t let Masterson leave, and Tarantella injects him with something. He collapses to the floor. “Regrettable,” says Aranya. “I was hoping for a colleague, but at least we have another experimental subject.” He is a glass-half-full kind of guy.

There is now a weird montage of Masterson looking around confusedly, with random clips of the previous scene superimposed over him, in case we missed it the first time (and would that were the case).

So let me get this straight. Masterson read all these papers in which apparently Aranya talked about injecting pituitary hormones into spiders and spider growth hormones into humans. Masterson was excited by these papers, and even journeyed out to the Muerto desert (which, you know, is the desert of death) to work with Dr. Aranya. But now Masterson is completely shocked, shocked that Aranya is actually doing what he wrote about. What did he think he would be doing out there? Playing canasta?

Anyway, a newspaper comes spinning at us. “Doctor Saved From Desert Death” the headline proclaims. I guess it was a slow news day. The deck head is “Leland Masterson’s Mind Snaps Under Ordeal; Confined to Asylum.” Their headline writer certainly has a flair for the dramatic. But see? There’s a role for the newspaper industry: filling in bits of plot in bad horror movies.

And he is taken to the Muerto State Asylum. The “Death State Asylum”? Is that really a good name? Is it affiliated with Bloodbath General Hospital?

The orderly comes in with Masterson’s orange juice, only to find that Masterson has tied his bedsheets together and escaped out the window.

Cut to a cantina on the Mexican border. The Native American headdress on the chimney above the fireplace is a pretty good representation of how I feel right about now. People are dancing to tuneless music. Masterson enters wearing a nice hat and suit. He walks up to the bar. As the bartender wipes the bar, Masterson takes out a handkerchief and also wipes the bar. Great; it’s Monk all of a sudden. He then takes out a telescoping cup and asks for the best booze in the house—which, naturally, turns out to be Scotch. He apparently overpays for it, because suddenly the bartender is his best friend. That usually works. At a table in the corner, Tarantella is watching.

Meanwhile, in walk Jan van Croft and his fiancée Doreen. “What a dump,” she says immediately. Sorry, but you are so not Bette Davis. “Well, it’s not exactly the Stork Club,” her fiancé responds. What gives you that idea?

For some reason, they catch Masterson’s attention. And also for some reason, the waiter decides to give them the best table in the house, even though it means shooing away the people who were already at the table. The waiter then turns over the table cloth—essentially just changing the stains. Only the best stains for these two.

The design motif of this cantina is Modern Freakish, as even the backs of the chairs are carved faces. They sit and order something “tall and cool.” That could have been a perfect opening for a suave waiter, but this movie doesn’t have that kind of wit. Thankfully. Doreen immediately starts complaining about the “unupholstered sewer” they are in. I don’t know; do you really want upholstery in a sewer? Her fiancé is amused by the place. “Your Southwest has a certain flavor, no?” He suddenly has a vaguely German accent. Doreen delivers the back story as a rant about a forced landing preventing them from flying to Mexico to be married.

I think we’re getting to the other guy’s flashback now. And I think Doreen is the woman who had been wandering through the desert at the beginning of the movie. Although her fiancé Jan is not the guy she had been with. Also, the guy who was having the flashback is not actually here. Okay.

Jan is taking it all in stride; “being able to adapt to any situation is the mark of a true sophisticate.” It is? I thought being sophisticated was.

For some reason, Masterson is staring at them bug-eyed (so to speak). He slowly walks over to them, introduces himself, and sits down. Jan is outraged. Well, so much for being adaptable. Masterson starts remarking how beautiful Doreen is.

A Chinese waiter comes over. Wait—what? “Here’s Wu. Plane’s ready, huh?” says Jan. Ah, Wu is their valet. “Not for some time,” says Wu. Wu hoo! Jan becomes even less the sophisticate and starts complaining. For some reason, Wu and Tarantella exchange nods. Are they in cahoots? Jan yells at Wu to get back to the plane. Masterson continues to smile at Doreen like Ed Grimley.

Here’s where things take a bizarre turn, which is saying something in this movie. Someone lights a fire in the fireplace, and the piano player bangs out something atonal. Everyone starts applauding as Tarantella gets up. Is she going to live up to her name? The bartender is so taken by her that he forgets to stop pouring someone’s drink, then gets mad that he poured out the whole bottle. Okay.

The guitar starts again, and the camera starts at Tarantella’s bare feet and slowly pans up her legs. She begins fondling her body, starting at the thigh and moving north. It’s really a shame that she looks like Tom Hanks. Her hand disappears into her hair, and then she makes an inverted V for victory sign (maybe it’s an A for arachnid) over her forehead. Oh, god, this is performance art. If she starts screaming and pouring chocolate on her body I’m turning this off. Her dance continues with the tribute to the Ministry of Silly Walks, a series of breast thrusts, and finally an imitation of poultry. She’s conveying the lunch menu through interpretive dance: the special is chicken breasts. Got it.

In the middle of this, a burly guy walks in and sits down next to Masterson. It’s George, the orderly from the asylum, who had been looking for him for two days. Masterson is fairly cheery, but doesn’t want to go back.

Meanwhile, Tarantella continues dancing the menu. She does a few calisthenics, then drops to the floor and crawls across the floor. Um...free-range jumbo shrimp? She then hoists herself back to her feet and mimes having antennae. Lobster thermidor?

There are cutaways to the folks at the table staring raptly at her—kind of like the way people watch a train wreck in slow motion. Masterson asks Jan if he likes her; “she’s fascinating.” Goofy is the word that more readily comes to mind. “As a dancer, of course.” No, that’s not it. “I don’t like her,” says Masterson. Well, don’t order the special. “That woman is evil.” So is her dancing.

Learn the Tarantella

Tarantella continues, and mimes riding a pogo stick. Hmm...fajitas? She raises her hands to heaven. Oh, I know: angel food cake for dessert. Masterson mutters, “’So they threw her down, and her blood was sprinkled on the wall, and he trod her under foot.’” Charming. By the way, the quote is from 2 Kings 9:32 about Jezebel. Boy, the Bible is chock full of messages of peace and love, isn’t it?

Tarantella then continues with her tribute to centrifugal force. Ah, fish tacos. Masterson calmly takes out a gun and shoots her. These dance critics can be really harsh. Everyone in the cantina gets a little weirded out. George announces, “This man is an insane killer. He’s loco. He’ll kill all of us before you can reach him.” He does know how to calm a panicked crowd, doesn’t he? “Thank you, George,” says Masterson, all smiles. “I only did what had to be done.” Yeah.

There is now an odd stand off. Says Masterson, “This lady is my friend,” meaning Doreen. “No one shall hurt her. I’ll kill her first.” Aww, well, that’s what friends are for. The there is some kind of loud, high-pitched whine as Tarantella falls to the floor. Ah, I see: the chocolate cake is to die for. Masterson then ushers everyone out “home.” George’s car is parked out front; “Oh, good, you’ve brought the car,” says Masterson. Naturally, he insists on sitting next to Doreen. She insists they have to get to the landing field. “Very well. I shall take you there.” The car has a sign reading “Dr. Harrison’s Sanitarium.” Well, I suppose that’s better than “Muerto State Asylum.” Does it have two names? I bet that helps the mentally ill. “Where am I?” “Muerto State Asylum.” “Dr. Harrison’s Sanitarium?” “Yes, Muerto State Asylum.” “Help! Nurse!”

Inside the cantina, one of the onlookers calls the police. However, as he is describing the murder, Tarantella gets up and leaves. “Sheriff, the body just got up and walked out of here.” That’s gonna require some elaborate paperwork. But maybe Fester was on to something.

The gang arrives at the airfield and they get out of the car. Masterson is still pointing his gun. The plane—not exactly a jumbo jet—is being worked on by Grant Phillips, the pilot. (He was the guy wandering through the desert at the beginning of the movie. It’s good to know he finally showed up in his own flashback.) They ask if the plane is ready to go. “Nah, one of the engines is still acting up.” (I could easily make a snarky comment about any of a variety of airlines, but I shan’t.)

Says Jan, “It can’t be anything serious. Can’t we take off anyway?” Yeah, it’s only a plane. Engine, shmengine. Phillips doesn’t want to risk it—so he doesn’t work for a major airline—and Jan is oddly agreeable. However, Masterson pipes up, “My dear young man, I want to fly!” Oh, I think he’s been flying for some time. “I’ve always wanted to fly, and now I will.” Phillips disagrees, and Masterson draws the gun. “I command, and thou shalt obey!” Somebody’s getting Biblical in a big way. “Is he kidding?” asks Phillips. George says that, no, he is not kidding, and they all pile into the plane, despite the fact that their seating zones hadn’t been called yet (just like any other airline passengers). They hear a police car approaching—although the car we cut to looks like it belongs to the Mafia and has no actual lights or siren.

Phillips starts up the plane and away they go. “We’re on course,” he says, adding that it will take an hour and half to get...wherever it is they’re going. I think Mexico City. There is a very strange cutaway to a close-up of Wu who has slipped into an alternate universe (the background behind Wu is different). We return to our present universe. “It’s wonderful up here,” says Masterson. “So close to Heaven.” I think they’d be very happy to move him even closer to it. There is a cutaway back to the alternate universe, and this time Phillips is in it.

There is trouble. “Something’s wrong with this gyrocompass. Somebody’s fooled with the settings; we’re 100 degrees off course.” Didn’t he just say they were on course? The engine starts “acting up,” which means that billows of smoke pour out of it. “Just stay calm,” says Phillips, “nothing seriously wrong so far.” Sure, they’re only way off course and one of the engines is bursting into flames. Aside from that...

Another cutaway to Wu in the alternate universe. Hmm... I wonder if we’re supposed to infer that Wu sent the plane off course? I don’t know. It’s unclear.

“It’s getting worse,” says Phillips. “I’ll have to go down and fast.” Doreen looks out the window. There is nothing but desert below. “I can’t see a place to land,” she says. They can’t land in the desert? Or is she expecting an airport? Masterson pipes up. “We keep on flying. I like it.” They wisely ignore him. Phillips advises everyone to fasten their seat belts. Yep, it’s gonna be a bumpy night. “I’m trying for that mesa dead ahead.” He can’t land in the desert—where there’s nothing but sand for hundreds of miles and, in fact, is the same terrain he took off from—but he can land on top of a mesa which is pretty small? Is this guy a licensed pilot? Or maybe he just likes big buttes. There is another close-up of Wu in the alternate universe. So, once again, are they trying to tell us something?

Are you with me Doctor Wu
Are you really just a shadow
Of the man that I once knew
Are you crazy are you high
Or just an ordinary guy
Have you done all you can do
Are you with me Doctor

Doreen takes that moment to light up a cigarette. Phillips tells her to put it out. She is indignant. “May I ask where we are?” she says petulantly. “Somewhere over Mexico at an altitude of 1500.” That narrows it down. Thanks, Magellan. “And with a dying engine.” George points out that the other engine is okay. “Doesn’t do us any good, not in this ship,” says Phillips. “Birds fly without motors,” offers Masterson, “and so will we.” Phillips begs to differ. “When a bird is sick, he has to land. And this bird is sick,” says George, who is used to dealing with loonies. “The sick I shall heal, the good I shall protect,” says Masterson. That’s a help, thanks.

And down they go. The top of the mesa is really small. Is this really a good idea? What was wrong with the desert again?

The plane skids across the top of the mesa, oddly lacking any landing gear. As soon as it stops, the wings fall off. I’ve been on flights like that. There are random intercuts of grinning dwarves. Once again, I’ve been on flights like that. Don’t ask.

They climb out of the plane. Phillips says to George, “Stick close, I want to talk to you.” They’re trapped on the top of a mesa. Where is he going to go? To hail a cab back to the city? Masterson is the last to get out, and he is still pointing the gun. He looks around. “I like it here.” Oh, good, I bet they were all worried about that.

“Our voices sound strange up here,” says Doreen. They do? No stranger than they did anywhere else. Here’s an idea, though: just don’t talk. Please! “It must be the echo of our voices thrown back at us by the forest.” That must be it. Wait— forest? Why is there a forest on top of a desert mesa?

George is filling in Phillips on the situation with Masterson. Phillips asks why Masterson kills and where he got the gun. “Nobody knows why he kills, he just wants to and he does. Where he got the gun? He probably bought it. He has lots of money all the time. It doesn’t mean a thing to him.” Ah. That was helpful. Thanks, George.

Doreen now asks if she can smoke. Phillips has not turned the No Smoking light off. Besides, he has to look at the gas tanks first. That goes over well. He crawls under the plane, pokes around a bit, comes back out, and then announces that she can in fact smoke. Whew! The suspense!

So, where are they? Phillips takes a sheet of paper out of his pocket. “We’re in Mexico, 120 miles from the border on a mesa rising 600 feet from the desert.” Boy, that is pinpoint accuracy. Jan can’t believe it, “600 feet?!” “Stuck up in the air like...an island in the sky,” says Phillips. That’s not that high, really. The Gateway Arch in St. Louis, for example, is taller at 630 feet, although they are higher than the top of the Great Pyramid at Giza (455.2 feet) and the dome of St Peter’s in Rome (448.06 feet). So there. “I suppose we can’t walk down from here?” says Doreen. “Not unless you’re a human fly,” says Phillips. Well, actually... Wu looks around nervously. What about a human spider? So, Masterson, is it wonderful? “It’s wonderful! So close to heaven.” Of course it is. It would be so easy to chuck him over the side.

Wu wanders off into the forest (yes, a forest) to gather firewood. I suppose it’s pointless to quibble with the geology of this, especially as Wu is being watched by the woman with Percy Dovetonsils hair. She is joined by the other woman with the gray Rasta hair. I dread locks...

Phillips springs into action. “Better get that flare and the flashlight.” Ah. They see movement off camera and point. “I don’t like it here a bit,” says George. “Who could be out there?” asks Doreen. “There could be a natural explanation,” says Phillips. “A dead branch falling off, a dead tree.” Weird spider-women, grinning dwarves. You know, natural things.

Wu returns with the firewood. They ask if he saw anything. “The curtain of darkness veils the sharpest eyes,” he says. Now we know who writes those fortune cookie messages.

It has now gone from bright afternoon to impenetrable darkness in about five minutes. The sun sets quickly out there. Phillips comes out of the plane with a flashlight, a flare gun, and bottle of booze. Doreen makes an immediate grab for the bottle. “First, let’s get this into the air,” says Phillips, referring, I hope, to the flare gun.

He fires the flare gun, and the flare goes up with the sound of a comic slide whistle. Suddenly, it’s a Warner Bros. cartoon. Still, it’s a remarkable device; rather than send up a boring old signal flare, it puts on a pretty elaborate fireworks show, with several different explosions. The dwarf watches the show, grinning, and no doubt wishing he could say “ooh, ahhh.” Oy.

The strandees pass the bottle around. Wu apologizes to Doreen for there not being a glass. “It’s a relief to be informal once in a while,” she says, and swigs straight from the bottle. Yeah, they’ve been so formal up to that point.

Masterson sits down. “I think I’ll eat something. I feel hungry.” “Shut up, you fool!” snaps Jan. He’s pretty much not even trying to be the sophisticate anymore, is he? “You’re the fool,” chides his fiancée, “remember his gun?” I remember it like it was yesterday. “The hungry animal knows no fear,” adds Wu. That’s a help. Thanks, Wu. Wu offers Masterson the bottle. “No, thank you. Not brandy right before dinner.” “Sorry to disillusion you,” says Phillips, “but there’s no food on this ship. Not even a K ration.” Oh, so it is U.S. Airw— Nope, nope, I said I wasn’t going to do that.

George says he is going to have a look around. Phillips says he can’t take the flashlight, but George has his own tiny penlight. “Does it put out enough light?” “Sure. I use this at the sanitarium all the time.” That’s a line one doesn’t hear very often, thankfully. And is the sanitarium often plunged into complete darkness? Phillips holds up his big flashlight, George his small penlight. There’s an upsetting metaphor here it’s best not to dwell on...

“It’s past my dinner time, dear,” says Masterson to...well, to Doreen, I guess. “We have no food,” she replies. “George will bring it. He always does.”

George, however, is creeping through the forest, where he will no doubt meet his arachnidal doom. His little penlight doesn’t do a very good job of lighting anything.

The soundtrack, by the way, has gone loco; the Spanish guitar is getting really really really really tedious. If they could only find some kind of melody or anything other than random strumming. At one point, the guitar stops (yes!) and for some reason we hear Big Ben chiming. Or it’s a piano. It’s rather hard to tell. That doesn’t last long (it’s only about 3 o’clock, by the sound of it) and soon the guitar is back and more tedious than ever.

I suppose the good thing about the soundtrack is that since the notes aren’t played in any real order, when frames are dropped and the movie skips (which happens a lot) it doesn’t really affect the music at all.

Back at the plane, Jan asks, “If no one saw the flare, how will be get off this mesa?” Phillips has no idea. “We can’t do anything decisive until dawn.” Do their brains not function if it’s dark? Heck, they barely function when it’s light.

George is being watched by Percy Dovetonsils, Rasta woman, and the Stephen Wright dwarf. They all exchange meaningful glances. The dwarf looks up and smiles lovingly, and a giant spider leg slides down into the frame. They’ve taken the giant spider out for walkies. That’s one pooper-scooper I don’t want to see. Not that I ever want to see any.

At the plane, they’ve got a nice fire going. Doreen is a chain-smoking fiend, and pops another cigarette in her mouth. Phillips takes a burning ember and tries to light it for her. “Thank you, captain, you’re so attentive,” she sneers sarcastically. “But even I can do some things for myself.” “So I noticed, and no offense ma’am.” responds Phillips. What the heck does that mean? “You scare easily don’t you, captain?” What the heck does that mean?

While they are manufacturing some sort of random tension, George is now about to officially meet his doom. He walks into a clearing, sees something in front of him, and screams. That freaks out everyone. “He needs help,” offers Wu. You think? They all bicker about whether they are safer staying at the plane or going en masse to look for George.

Doreen suddenly grabs Phillips’ arm. “I’m going with you, Grant. Anything’s better than to sit here and wait.” Oh, I don’t know. I think being eaten by creatures would be worse. “May I suggest that we wait here until Phillips has found out what has happened? You’ll be safer here,” suggests Jan. “Are you concerned about my safety?” she snarks. Jeez, and they’re not even married yet.

Phillips says he is going and anyone who wants can come along. “I’d like a stroll before dinner,” says Masterson. Great. Jan interprets that as meaning they should all go. Wu stays behind to put some more wood on the fire.

As they walk six inches from the plane, Phillips suggests the best thing “would be to hold each other’s hand and form a line.” Is this the best time to start a conga line? Masterson insists on holding Doreen’s hand, and since he is still holding the gun, Jan is advised to hold onto the hem of Masterson’s coat. Yeah. They blunder around in near-impenetrable darkness for a while, and then Phillips announces “we’ve come to the end of the trail.” Trail? “Can you see anything?” asks Doreen. “Just a black, gaping hole.” That would be her mouth. “I’ll try this alone,” says Phillips. “It’s too narrow. One wrong step and we’ll all go over.” And that would be a bad thing?

They are being watched during all of this by the spider-women and dwarf-men, who are all rather entertained. Behind a bush is the Lee Press-On Nails woman from the opening scene.

Phillips finds George’s body, and they all gather round to have a nice gawk at it.

The soundtrack has become even more frenzied. The Spanish guitar player (and I use the term “player” loosely) took a fistful of amphetamines and washed it down with a case of Red Bull. It’s all starting to kick in right about now. Whoever—or whatever—is “playing” the piano must be wearing thick ski mittens or else they have turned the piano at a 45-degree angle and are having an iron Slinky walk down the keyboard. That’s really the only explanation I can come up with.

Jan asks who could have shot George. Phillips points out that George wasn’t shot, and offers into evidence two odd wounds on the back of George’s neck that are not bullet wounds. They look like really bad mosquito bites. Funny, they’re not in Florida. Phillips says he hopes they don’t find out what killed him. Wu adds, “George is beyond help. We must go back and tend the fire for the living.”

All the spider people scamper away. Ever see a dwarf scamper? It’s not pretty. But then no one in this movie is. The strandees hear the scampering. “That noise is not falling branches!” says Doreen in panic. Falling branches can scamper.... They are moving slowly back to the plane, and Jan starts bawling like a little girl. “Something got me! Something got my arm!” Turns out he just brushed against some thorns. Some sophisticate.

Doreen breaks a heel and topples into Phillips. “Oh, this skirt is ruined.” Skirt? Doreen and Phillips end up in some kind of faux embrace. She changes her tune rather abruptly from being aggravated by him to being smitten with him. A standard movie trope, to be sure, but usually there needs to be some kind of character development for the two to come together. In this case, it just kind of happened. “Thank you,” she says to him softly. Oh, and while her fiancé is watching. Awkward. “May we go on now, Phillips?” Jan asks. And they continue.

Back at the plane, they are again around the campfire. “Where’s that bottle of yours, captain?” Doreen asks. Philips passes around the bottle. “I think we all could use a drink after this experience.”

There is a cut to Dr. Aranya in his lab looking at a row of test tubes. The Percy Dovetonsils woman comes in.

We then abruptly cut right back to the campfire. Wha? That was weird. Phillips suggests they try to get some sleep. “Do you expect any of us to sleep after what happened tonight?” asks Doreen. Oh, I bet Masterson will think sleep is wonderful. “Well,” says Phillips, “maybe not sleep, but maybe you’ll get some rest.” Ah. Jan is worried about creatures attacking him in the night. But then I would imagine he usually is. Phillips says he will stand guard.

“Darkest levels of the night will melt away with the morning sun,” says Wu, then ambles off. That’s a help. Thanks, Wu. Everyone else goes off to bed down for the night. “Is it bedtime?” asks Masterson. You know, if Masterson goes to sleep, it would be the perfect time to get that stupid gun away from him.

They are all sleeping against the broken off wing of the plane. Interestingly, Masterson is curled in the fetal position right next to Doreen. She’s oddly calm about that.

We’re back in Aranya’s lab. “Very good, my dear,” he tells the Percy Dovetonsils woman. “Soon their nerves will break.” Especially if someone doesn’t tell that guitar players to knock it off.

And we’re back out at the plane again. Okay. Doreen gets up and strolls over to chat up Phillips. “Phillips, why do you ignore me?” she asks. He’s been ignoring her? “I resent it.” But he hasn’t been! “You’re not used to it, are you?” he asks. “Do you dislike me that much?” she asks. “I don’t dislike you,” he says. “But you don’t approve of me,” she replies. They seem to be inventing their own tension here. She thinks that he thinks that she is marrying Jan for his money. And, it turns out, she is! Still: “I’m very fond of him,” she says. “But you don’t love him,” says Phillips. “Well, I’m not mad about him, if that’s what you mean.” “And he can give you nice things,” he adds. Like Gummi Bears. “Yes. And why not?” You brought it up! She adds that he can give her security. What, like bodyguards or razor wire? For some reason, Doreen is eager to have Phillips understand her.

As they are getting heavy, deep, and real, we cut to a dwarf running through the forest. Ah, the whole gang is back. Phillips hears them scampering about—or thinks he does. “No, I guess it wasn’t anything.” That’s a help, thanks. They get back to their original discussion thread. “I think I do understand you,” he says. She’s a whiny, petulant, chainsmoking golddigger. Easy enough. She tells him that he can’t understand her. “Oh, yes, I can,” he counters. Touché! “I’ve had my hard knocks, too. I’ve had to work ever since I was a kid.” Who hasn’t? “Some of it wasn’t much fun.” When is it ever? “I guess it boils down to what you want out of life,” he muses.

Nothing drives home a philosophical meditation on the meaning of life than a cutaway to a grinning dwarf. It’s kind of like if Fellini directed an adaptation of Sartre.

So what does Phillips want? “I want a girl who’s sincere.” Mm hm. “Real.” Okay. “Someone who’d stick by me when the chips are down.” Someone who’d have an equal mastery of clichés. “One who wants me only for what I am and not for what I have.” But you don’t have anything. “It’s a big order.” Not really; we’re processing your request now. Um...does it matter if she’s half spider? Anyway, Doreen wrestles with that for quite some time, then finally decides to kiss him. He has second thoughts. “This was supposed to be your wedding night,” he says. Oh, right. Awkward. “That was a foolish thing to do,” she admits. So was watch this movie.

There is then a significant chunk of frames missing, because suddenly Doreen is screaming about having seen something. Everyone wakes up and comes running. We cut to a close-up of Doreen in the alternate universe. She explains that she looked up “and saw women and little men. They seemed unreal.” Says Phillips, “I know what strange tricks our minds can play on us.” Yes, we know from your little “perfect woman” soliloquy.

Jan looks at her intently. “Where is your comb, my dear?” he asks. Yeah, her hair is a mess. “I guess I lost it out there somewhere.” That ticks him off. “But I gave it to you. We must find it!” Jeesh, it was only a lousy plastic comb he picked up at a New York State Thruway rest stop. “That comb is a valuable heirloom of my family.” A comb? Well, I’ve got a strand of dental floss that is a priceless heirloom of my family. So nyah. He and Doreen fight over who will go look for it. “Wu will go look for it.” Yes, he’ll comb the forest for it. So, Wu: got a good aphorism for that? “He who serves well also serves in danger.” Of course he does. And off he goes.

Masterson stops him. “Wu?” he says. Wu stops, and Masterson hands him the gun. “A wanderer in a valley of darkness shall have my guidance and protection,” says Masterson. Great, dueling aphorisms. Phillips asks Wu if he knows how to use the gun. “There is a day to be born and a day to die.” Would you just go!

Wu wanders off into the jungle, watched by the dwarves. But I thought Wu was in cahoots with all these folk?

Back at the plane, Phillips is having it out with Jan. “You realize if Wu doesn’t come back, you’ll be responsible.” “I’ll never touch that comb again, even if he finds it,” says Doreen. Well, it would be hard to touch it again if he doesn’t find it.

“I still have my...heirloom,” says Masterson, playing with his telescoping cup. “You make me sick!” yells Jan. “Why did you ever have to leave that...crazy house.” Look who’s talking; your crazy house has a comb as a priceless family heirloom. Masterson stares at him. “Blessed are the pure in mind for they shall find peas,” he says. What? Oh, peace. “And you are a coward, sir,” Masterson adds. That gets Jan’s goat, and he charges at Masterson. Phillips holds him back. “You’re brave now that Masterson no longer has a gun.” He’s a fine one to talk. Jan takes that moment to fire Phillips. Phillips, however, says, essentially, “You can’t fire me, I quit.”

Meanwhile, Wu climbs down into Aranya’s lab, where Aranya is filling out some forms. Jeesh, I didn’t know there was so much paperwork involved in being a mad scientist. Aranya asks if he has brought Masterson. “We’ve found him at last.” Wu asks about the others. “I have something in mind for the girl and the pilot,” says Aranya. I bet. “The others I’ll dispose of.” Well, the only other other is Jan. Wu stares uncomfortably at Aranya. That distracts Aranya from his paperwork. “What the matter, Wu?” Wu simply bows, then leaves. What, no aphorism?

Phillips is charging through the forest with a torch. He comes across Wu’s body—the comb in his hand. Did I miss something? Uh, movie? Is there something you forgot to share with us? As Phillips heads back after retrieving his flashlight and the gun, a spider leg swings by.

As Phillips charges back to the campfire, on the soundtrack, Big Ben strikes 20.

Phillips throws the comb at Jan. “There’s your priceless heirloom!” “Wu is dead?” asks Doreen, and Phillips acknowledges. Doreen turns on Jan. Jan seems upset. That sends Doreen into the waiting arms of Phillips. Jan suddenly starts screaming, “They’re coming for us!” Phillips instructs him to put more wood on the fire. “Are you scared, Grant?” Doreen asks. “I’m scared stiff,” he replies. Ah, so that’s what it was. “If you’re frightened, what do you call him?” asks Doreen, spitting venom at Jan. Jeepers. “I can’t stand it! I’m getting out of here!” says Jan. Uh, to where, exactly? He takes off into the woods. “Don’t be a fool!” yells Phillips. “The only thing keeping them back is our fire!” How does he know that?

Jan walks a short ways away, stops, and sees a giant spider atop a rock. The spider leaps on top of him.

“No!” he yells. Yes! Doreen and Phillips were watching, as were the dwarves. They all take this opportunity to rush Doreen and Phillips and usher them back to the lab. Masterson cheerfully tags along of his own accord.

They are all in Aranya’s lab, and Masterson is lying on a lab table. Aranya injects him with something. “He’ll regain consciousness in a moment and be perfectly sane.” When was he ever? Aranya sums up Masterson’s life story of the past several months, and that he had tried to kill Tarantella, who is looking on. Doreen is aghast. “It’s the dancer from the cafe. I saw him kill her!” Aranya chuckles. “Amazing, the durability of my creations.” Yep, she’s durable, like a good hard-wearing winter overcoat.

Masterson regains consciousness. “Dr. Aranya!” he yells. “Araña, that’s Spanish for spider,” says Phillips. And your point? Masterson is railing against Aranya. Why didn’t Aranya kill him? “Unfortunately, I still need your help,” he tells Masterson. “No! Never!” Masterson is having none of it.

Aranya sics Tarantella on him. Then Doreen has had enough, and grabs Tarantella. Phillips then grabs Aranya and a brawl breaks out. Masterson gets up and starts mixing stuff together in a beaker. He holds it aloft. “No, you fool!” yells Aranya. I think in every one of these mad scientist movies someone yells, at least once, “No, you fool!” Masterson says that it will shortly explode. “You wouldn’t destroy the greatest achievement of science!” protests Aranya. There’s a premise not quite worth granting.

Masterson insists that Phillips and Doreen escape. Phillips asks what he heck is going on. Masterson refers to Aranya as a “brilliant madman,” but acknowledges the futility of giving all the back story in five seconds. So Phillips grabs Doreen and takes off. Masterson throws down the beaker, and there is an explosion. Superimposed fire consumes them all.

Aranya falls to the floor, right next to the flaming carcass of his giant spider. I bet the burning hair really stinks.

And we are out of the flashbacks—everyone’s—and back in the oil company office. As Phillips is wrapping up his explanation, Doreen wakes up. Phillips explains how he has been telling his story, but no one believes him. Doreen can tell right away that Pepe does. “It’s the truth,” says Pepe in a very singsong voice.

The oil company guy continues to attribute the whole thing to sun beating down on a bare head. He is rather obsessed with bare heads. Is it a baldness issue? He insists he is not going to load up one of his trucks with oil, drive it up the mesa (how would one do that, anyway?), and destroy “a bunch of imaginary spiders.” You know, I think we’ve all made that promise at some point—and failed to keep it.

“Yes, you’re right, Dan.” What? Oh, great, the narrator’s back. “Common sense tells you there’s nothing to his story.” Come on, Mr. Narrator, he’s the only character you haven’t insulted yet. Let him have it. “Giant spiders on a desert mesa. Fantastic!” It’s so clandinto! “Pepe is just a superstitious native.” Native? We pan across the desert, back to the mesa. And the narrator closes by saying there’s nothing unusual about Zarpa Mesa. As we see the blonde woman in the white gown again, he adds, “Or is there?” Bwa-ha-ha-ha.

The end.

A Plea On Behalf of the NCDN

One of Hollywood’s darkest secrets is a heartbreaking affliction that affects many of moviedom’s unseen heroes. Stories of this tragedy abound within a tight inner circle of the film industry, but goes unknown to most outsiders. We are speaking of course of Narrator Derangement Syndrome (NDS). It’s a condition that is estimated to strike eight out of six movie and television narrators, and even more statisticians (no one is quite sure why). For years, most of these sad cases have been confined to the National Center for Deranged Narrators (NCDN).

Albert Larynx, the head of the NCDN, spoke with Movie Mis-Treatments on the condition that he speak while seated behind me and I keep my eyes trained forward on a silent video.

“No one knows the exact cause of NDS,” he said. “Some experts believe that it has a psychological basis, that the narrator, by only describing movie action and not actually participating in it, loses touch with reality. Others say it has a more organic cause, that of being repeatedly struck on the head by a boom microphone. Others dispute that the condition even exists.”

What are the effects of the syndrome? “They tend to vary,” says Larynx. “Sometimes it manifests itself in a kind of psychosomatic muteness, or an inability speak. This was the case with Herman Dwelbman, one of the classic movie narrators. He did more than 200 features in the 1940s, 50s, and 60s. Then, finally in 1972, he abruptly lost his voice, although Francis Ford Coppolla still used him for the narration in The Godfather.”

I had to point out that there was no narration in The Godfather.

“Sure there was But Dwelbman’s voice is so far gone you can’t hear any of it.”

Larynx continues, “Then there is the case of Lyle Talbot. He is an unusual case. By the time he did the narration for Mesa of Lost Women, he was experiencing full-blown NDS which manifested itself in a narration track that was unscripted, unanticipated, and, well, if you listen to it, downright nuts. Neither Tevos nor Ormond had hired Talbot; legend has it he just, in an NDS-inspired fit, burst into the recording studio while they were recording the soundtrack, and just rambled incoherently. The production was such a shambles that no one realized it wasn’t supposed to be there and just left it. Sad, really.”

Still, Talbot was one of the rare few whose NDS was only temporary, and it seemed that once he had ranted over Mesa of Lost Women, it was out of his system, and he was ready to go back and have a long an fulfilling career.

So give generously to the National Center for Deranged Narrators. because an unseen voice is a terrible thing to lose.

Posted 06/13/09

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