TARANTULA - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Food, Glorious Food, Turns Tables and Seeks Food

Tarantula (1955) ***½
dir. Jack Arnold
Starring: John Agar, Mara Corday, Leo G. Carroll,
Raymond Bailey, Clint Eastwood

Review By Greg Klymkiw

They say the best science fiction is rooted in “good science”, a view with some merit, but I'd assert that the science should at least seem credible or, at the very least, reveal some sort of truth about the world and/or humanity as we know it. Such is the case with Jack Arnold’s Tarantula, the classic Universal Pictures big-bug picture.

Like his other legendary sci-fi thrillers: The Incredible Shrinking Man, The Creature From The Black Lagoon and, among others, It Came From Outer Space, the science is dubious, but the exploration of issues and themes which touch (or plague, if you will) all of us, even today, Tarantula is as much ahead of its time as it is a product of its time.

The theme of world hunger and the need to find ways to successfully address it is something that hangs over the picture with significant heft. The fact that this issue is something that plagued the world in the 50s, especially during America's post-war/cold-war prosperity within the McCarthy witch hunt hysteria, is what places Tarantula firmly in the pantheon of pictures that truly deserve their classic status. Set in a sleepy Arizona desert town, the resident doctor (played with characteristic stalwartness by the ex-Mr. Shirley Temple, John Agar) investigates the mysterious death of someone who was working as a researcher on the outskirts of this hot and definitely dusty Southwestern hamlet. The Doc suspects there’s more to this death than meets the eye, but his suspicions are ignored.

As these things go in 50s thrillers, the town’s sheriff prefers to believe the bogus diagnosis proposed by the head of the research lab, a respected local scientist (played with delectable aplomb by the venerable ham Leo G. Carroll). You see, the estimable old coot is trying to solve world hunger by making animals bigger - much, much bigger, actually - so that more flesh can be rendered from slaughtered beasts to fill the empty bellies of those without. He takes on a new assistant, a fetching, young female scientist (the drool-inciting Mara Corday) who not only provides him with ample support (in, uh, more ways than one), but is also an amorous target for Doc Agar.

When Doc Leo is exposed to the formula he’s been using on tarantulas, guinea pigs, bunnies and other assorted small animals, he himself slowly transforms into a crazed, deformed monstrosity whilst the increasingly mysterious deaths and disappearances in the vicinity are attributed to a tarantula who’s been chowing down a wee bit too much growth juice.

On the surface, Leo G. Carroll’s character is from a long line of mad scientists, but his obsession is not in any way tinged with self-interest. He's not seeking wealth or power. Doc Leo's goals are honourably altruistic. His suffering is all the more poignant because his desire to bestow good upon the world is a life’s work that ends his life and the lives of others. His failure – given that his experiments result in something destructive – is especially frustrating and finally, very moving – tragic, even.

The movie is replete with admirable qualities. The performances are all superb (within the framework and context of the genre) and the writing is more than serviceable. Though the screenplay doesn’t quite reach the transcendent heights of Richard Matheson’s work on The Incredible Shrinking Man, it does feature more than a few great lines of dialogue that are genuinely campy – genuine because they are INTENTIONALLY cheesy and NOT a result of being dated.

Most impressive are the optical effects involving the enlargement of actual tarantula footage. Clifford Stine’s work on the special effects is as effective as some of today’s best digital work. Sure, the effects occasionally fall short, but then, so do many digital effects these days. At least optical effects are infused with a warmth that's decidedly lacking in digital. Yup, even in the movies, it boils down to the grand old vinyl vs. CD debate. At the end of the day, we let the picture work its considerable magic.

One fun note of trivia is that Clint Eastwood appears in a tiny, but important role during the climax of the picture. It seems thoroughly appropriate that it is Eastwood who commands all his bombers to let rip and decimate the brick-shithouse that is the Tarantula. And, even more interesting, is that Tarantula’s fetching leading lady Mara Corday was cast years later by Eastwood as the wise-acre waitress who signals Harry Callahan that danger is afoot in her café in the now-almost-classic Sudden Impact.

Tarantula is an absolute must-see. It holds up admirably and will also provide great entertainment for the kiddies (of ALL ages). Most importantly, like all great sci-fi thrillers, it provides big emotions, food for thought AND one hell of a rollercoaster ride.

Tarantula is available in a superb box set of ten 50s classics entitled "The Classic Sci-Fi Ultimate Collection Volumes 1 and 2" from Universal Studios Home Entertainment.

ENDLESS LOVE - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Masterpiece of American Lit destroyed a 2nd time in 33 years.

The TURD

Endless Love (2014) Dir. Shana Feste
LOWEST RATING: "The Turd discovered behind Harry's Charbroil and Dining Lounge"
Starring: Gabriella Wilde, Alex Pettyfer, Bruce Greenwood, Joely Richardson, Robert Patrick

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Each time a song was insultingly coughed up into my face like some lump of technicolor phlegm by one of the infinite number of contemporary performers on the soundtrack of this horrendous 2014 film adaptation of Scott Spencer's magnificent novel, all I kept thinking was how much these gibbering gibbons had less collective talent than an infected cyst lodged deep inside Lionel Richie's ass-crack and a snot-tangled nostril hair poking out of the proboscis of Diana Ross. They were, of course, the duo du jour who crooned a number-one-with-a-bullet duet of the execrable (Oscar-nominated!!!) theme song "Endless Love" from Franco Zeffirelli's abominable 1981 picture which, like this 2014 version, also butchered the same great book. The intrusive pop tunes become so annoying - wedged, as they are into scenes like unwelcome music videos or worse, cascading noisily over dialogue - that they make Christophe's Beck's whiny instrumental score seem just this side of a lobotomized Bernard Herrmann as rendered by the 101 Strings Orchestra.

However, let it be said now, that the 1981 Endless Love which, was a sludge heap of immense proportions, must now surely be considered one of the greatest movies ever made compared to this 2014 bowl of Charles Manson's anal drippings. If Zeffirelli created a cinematic equivalent to an aborted foetus served up on a dollar-store paper plate, then it's clear the idiot-sans-savante, Shana Feste (she of the abysmal Country Strong) and who purportedly directed this version, must surely have outdistanced the cinematic abortionist styling of Zeffirelli and bloody well ripped a foetus from a womb with a rusty coat hanger, then stomped upon the gelatinous blob with the abandon of a lead performer in a crack-fuelled performance of "Lord of the Dance", then took a huge, rancid crap upon it and finally, with a hearty "Voila!", called it a movie.

I really have to ask: Why bother making this movie if the goal was not to improve upon Zeffirelli's? If the goal was to improve upon it, the manner in which its makers went about doing so suggests they must surely be afflicted with (what Borat might call) "the retardation". And, of course, the more pressing question is this: Why even bother to adapt a great book that, given its vivid characters, political subtext, emotional landscape, rich setting and superb story structure - all of it sitting there for even the most unimaginative filmmakers to take advantage of - why, oh why, oh why, butcher and/or patchwork quilt everything that makes the story great in the first place? If any book seemed movie-ready, it was this one and yet, it took not one, but two sets of brick-heads to screw it up within the course of Christ's rather short lifespan, 33 years.

At least Zeffirelli, in his addled fashion, attempted (albeit badly) to inject the movie with something resembling genuine passion and even vaguely acknowledged elements of Spencer's book that anyone with half-a-brain would have to do. Such is not the case here. The gaggle of morons leading the 2014 charge upon Spencer's fine prose appear to have been interested in crafting little more than an innocuous machine-tooled teen romance aimed at a Valentine's Day opening to sucker in as many undiscriminating female viewers as possible. I have no doubt the brain dead little ladies will get exactly what they paid for.

While it is true that every single person involved in the writing, direction and production of Endless Love 2014 is clearly a moron, even they must be bloody Rhodes Scholars compared to the brain-bereft slugs at Universal Pictures who hold all the remake rights to Spencer's book and chose to green light this utterly detestable piece of work in just the manner in which it's been wrought.

Endless Love tells the tale of teen lovers David (Alex Pettyfer) and Jade (Gabriella Wilde). He's poor. She's privileged. He's unsure about his plans after high school graduation. She's headed for university. She's going to be an eminent doctor just like her Dad, Hugh (Bruce Greenwood). Pater is, to make things interesting, protective and controlling to almost psychopathic extremes (with more than a few Oedipal peccadilloes). He clearly disapproves of Jade's boyfriend. Eventually, he places a restraining order against David. Jade moves on, unhappily. Their love, however, is endless. David comes to Hugh's manse to claim the woman he loves. Dad knocks a candle over. The house is soon ablaze. David saves Hugh's life. Hugh comes to accept David. Jade is happy. David is happy. Their love, you see, is endless.

Ugh.

None of this has anything to do with Scott Spencer's novel - a book so romantic, it hurts, literally. The book slashes, scourges, stabs, cuts, saws away at the bone and greedily sucks out the marrow. There isn't a wildly romantic beat that doesn't alternately soar AND emit pain. The novel brilliantly fucks with everyone's notions of romantic love, but does so in a way that we begin to question if its portrait of aching love is really as aberrant as we've been told to believe. Instead we accept, nay - we EMBRACE - that THIS is what love, in fact, MUST be.

Romantic love in its purest state MUST be a sickness. If it doesn't hurt, and hurt BAD, how can there be joy?

Spencer's tale of obsession, familial dysfunction and love is so excruciating, so aching, so debilitating that we, as readers, are plunged into an emotional landscape that's scary beyond belief - mostly because it's so true, so familiar, so real and finally one of the few literary depictions of love to have the courage to proclaim that the purest, most intense form of love borders on the aberrant, the antisocial and yes, even (at least in the eyes of society), the criminal. Spencer's story begins with pain and destruction, with fire - one that rages literally so that we never forget what burns beneath the flesh.

The movie that resides in Spencer's book continues to remain untapped - dormant. Zeffirelli missed the boat, but Feste jumps aboard and just sinks it without even trying. Casting Gabriella Wilde and Alex Pettyfer is the height of stupidity. Both actors are so insipid that neither of them feels like they're in a movie based upon one of the greatest works of literary art in the history of American letters. Instead, they both come across as if they're hitting their marks on some TV soap opera. They're as bland as Wonder Bread and on that basis alone, there's very little reason to care a whit about these people as characters. There is one fine performance in the film and one only wishes that the stunning malevolence, yet odd humanity displayed by Bruce Greenwood could have saved itself for another and better screen adaptation. Alas, he's wasted here.

The best thing about Endless Love, the movie, is the freedom to just skip it.

Just skip it and read Spencer's book. It's so great you won't be able to put it down and after you've read it once, you'll want to go back to it again and again. God knows, I have. For 35 years it's been a book that I am always happy to revisit and experience at various junctures of my life and, most importantly, at ever shifting stages of my life experience. It grows with you and constantly offers its own form of endless love - the ability of art to reflect life and, in turn, give you the sort of nourishment you need to survive - to fill your head and heart with truth and beauty - neither of which are EVER on display in this utterly abhorrent, despicably repugnant and contemptible pile of trash.

See Endless Love at your peril. I can pretty much guarantee the screen will be full of buzzing flies, all seeking resting points to devour the stools deposited by its filmmakers.

"Endless Love" is playing theatrically via Universal Pictures.

LONE SURVIVOR - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Racist War Propaganda Poses Dilemma of Being Superbly Made

Fact-based tale of Navy Seal Marcus Luttrell (played by Mark Wahlberg), the only American survivor of an Afghanistan mission gone wrong and leading to the deaths of 19 soldiers at the hands of Taliban forces.

Lone Survivor (2013) **1/2
Dir. Peter Berg
Starring: Mark Wahlberg, Taylor Kitsch, Emile Hirsch, Ben Foster, Eric Bana, Ali Suliman

Review By Greg Klymkiw

It is virtually impossible to NOT be deeply moved seeing the deaths of 19 young American soldiers, but it's probably not for the reasons intended by the filmmakers. They want us to experience the honour and sacrifice made by these clearly brave young men. They want us to revel in the glory of their service to America, their deep camaraderie and their unwavering commitment to keep fighting to the death in the face of insurmountable odds.

This is what the filmmakers want and sadly, from many audiences, they'll get it.

What will move (I hope) most thinking, feeling people is how utterly senseless the deaths of these young men were (and by extension, ALL soldiers and civilians on both sides of the equation that is Afghanistan, and for that matter, the entire reprehensibly spurious War on Terror). Watching this picture we are pummelled by the utter futility of the mission these men were ordered to fulfill and the clear screw-ups on every level by the American command. We see this, but the movie takes no moral, political, thematic or, frankly, even dramatic position on this. There's a cursory nod to "war is Hell", but if the film takes any stance at all it is to extoll the virtues of the American tolerance for pain, hardship and death at any and all cost to themselves.

The movie's sole narrative purpose is to send the boys on a mission to assassinate a Taliban military leader who - HORRORS!!! - has killed many Marines and then to view how everything that could go wrong, indeed does. It's the war film equivalent to The Passion of the Christ. We know during the film's opening five minutes and from the title, that everyone in the film will die except one. All that seems necessary to spin the tale forward is when our soldiers make the right, but fateful decision not to kill civilian goat herders. This results in one of the lucky-to-be-spared Afghanis ratting out the presence of the Yanks to the Taliban armed forces.

Our brave American lads are quickly surrounded, then assailed by an unbeatable extremist Muslim juggernaut of strength and numbers. We spend about one hour of screen time watching the soldiers take repeated bullet-hits and incur rips, gashes, scratches, bruises and broken bones - many of the jutting-out-through-flesh variety.

The damage done to Uncle Sam's boys pretty much puts them in the hallowed position of equalling Jesus H. Christ Almighty's scourging, ascent to Calvary and brutal crucifixion.

As luck would have it, we experience a panoply of Taliban deaths so excessive that one suspects the Americans are responsible for the wholesale slaughter of a good chunk of Afghanistan itself. The blows to our American boys are treated with savagery by director Peter Berg, but savagery with indelible strength and honour. The Taliban, however, are dispatched by our boys with slam-bang, blood-spurting aplomb - all designed for us to cheer as if Rocky Balboa is scoring blows against Drago in Rocky IV.

Ah, but lest we forget, our American boys are flesh and blood. They have hopes, dreams, loves, wives, children and homes. According to this film, Afghanis do not. They are nameless, often faceless hordes of heathen who deserve spectacularly painful deaths for OUR edification.

At times this whole exercise is sickening.

However, director Berg and his long-time cinematographer Tobias Schleissler render dazzling visual flourishes to the violence. It's all so simply and classically structured, not unlike the pair's fine work on Battleship, in spite of its ludicrous screenplay, that we are witness to work of an exemplary nature. Berg knows how to stage action and in collaboration with Schleissler, still manages to dazzle us in ways that most contemporary filmmakers are woefully unable to do.

Aside from Eric Bana's sleepwalking impersonation through the film, there isn't a single cast member who delivers anything less than superb work and, in the case of Wahlberg, he's electrifying. It's also great seeing Ali Suliman, the great Israeli actor of Palestinian descent (he recently starred in The Attack and he's pretty much the only Afghani allowed something resembling a character. This is probably because Suliman's part is that of an anti-Taliban member of the Muslim persuasion.

Lone Survivor is one of the most reprehensible pieces of American war propaganda foisted upon us in quite awhile, but it's impossible to deny the craft and downright virtuosity of its filmmakers. As a director, Berg is the real deal. The man knows how to make a movie and dazzle us, but one wonders if he'll ever allow us a peek into his soul. Then again, maybe he doesn't have one.

"Lone Survivor" is in wide release from Universal Pictures.

THE BOURNE LEGACY - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Men in suits standing around under fluorescent lights and talking plus old-style, classically directed action scenes makes this Bourne reboot crackling good entertainment.

The Bourne Legacy (2010) dir. Tony Gilroy

Starring: Jeremy Renner, Rachel Weisz, Edward Norton, Joan Allen, Stacy Keach, Zejlko Ivanek, David Strathairn, Scott Glenn, Albert Finney

***1/2

Review By Greg Klymkiw

My idea of a great spy movie is men in suits standing around under fluorescent lights and talking. I don't really need to know what they're talking about - so long as it SOUNDS like THEY know what they're talking about and that whatever it is they're saying SEEMS to pertain to the story at hand. If they're looking at computer monitors, hugging phones to their ears and/or yapping via headsets, I'm super-okay with this. It's definitely a bonus if they're chain smoking, but in this day and age, I'm willing to (grudgingly) forgive a lack of cancer stick ingestion.

If a lot of the dialogue is expositional, this is not as bad as one might think as it assists in our being able to follow what's going on - sort of. It should still be infused with lots of jargon, double-speak and varying degrees of solemnity. It's best we not know too much. The gist is fine. In fact, if the actors are great, I suppose we don't really even need the gist.

The men should mostly be 40-80-something and must look like bureaucrats (which, lest we forget, spies ultimately are). Moustaches are nice, but a supremely clean-cut dome and mug can work just as well.

If they resemble Edward Norton - BONUS! If actually played by Edward Norton, this is, in the parlance of pinball aficionados, double boni.

In this day and age, it is acceptable if women are involved in the endless conversations, but I must admit, I prefer there to be as few of them as possible. If they are babes, this is clearly a bonus - so long as their hair (preferably blonde) is pulled back very tight. Brunettes are fine if they're Rachel Weisz and play scientists in white lab coats. The hair, in this case, does not have to be pulled back tight, but is preferred.

Between these seemingly bottomless pits of conversation, there should be a few good dollops of violence and at least three (my favourite number) nail-biting action set-pieces.

This all pretty much sums up Tony Gilroy's The Bourne Legacy, an extremely satisfying sequel/reboot to the popular Jason Bourne three-picture series based on Robert Ludlum's bestselling books. The first was launched capably by Doug Liman with The Bourne Identity and perfected by the magnificent Paul Greengrass with (the best of the trilogy) The Bourne Supremacy and (second best of the trio) The Bourne Ultimatum.)

Starring Matt Damon as an assassin employed and "programmed" by a secret inner chamber of the CIA, the Bourne pictures had less in the way of claustrophobic spy-speak in the bureaucratic back rooms and a lot more wham-bam action. Compared to those three, The Bourne Legacy feels like an art film, or at least, a second-cousin to Tomas Alfredson's recent version of John le Carré's Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. All four pictures were written by Tony Gilroy, the extremely talented son of playwright/director Frank Gilroy.

As a director, Gilroy has left the semi-risible-semi-watchable Duplicity behind him and returned to the promise he displayed in Michael Clayton. The Bourne Legacy might actually be his best picture to date - lacking the fencepost-sitting of his Clive Owen-Julia Roberts comedy thriller and the occasional dark pretension of the George Clooney effort. This new Bourne picture bodes very well, I think, for us to expect future quality endeavours from this assured voice (and hopefully future instalments in the franchise).

Legacy introduces us to a new "Bourne" played with stalwart assuredness by Jeremy Renner. It appears the inner bowels of the CIA under the special project Treadstone (that originally yielded the "One-of-a-kind" Jason Bourne) has, in actuality, generated several superhuman killers and NOW, they want them all dead and to completely erase the whole operation (which includes killing anyone who works for it). Renner plays Aaron Cross, though for much of the film's running time he's nameless - so much so that some people assumed Renner had taken over the Bourne role from Matt Damon. (I was one of them.)

So, between endless scenes of glorious talking, Renner avoids assassination, hooks up with a Treadstone scientist (Rachel Weizs) marked for assassination and the two of them bop all over the world - kicking ass.

The writing is first-rate for the genre, all the performances are top-flight and what I really love about Gilroy's direction is just how old-school his coverage of action scenes is. They're nail-biting, visceral and relatively free of the spatially-challeneged herky-jerky variety. (The Greengrass herky-jerky is in a class by itself. He's a real filmmaker and he has total control of the footage. His compositions, though short, are painterly and we never lose a sense of where we are or where the characters are unless Greengrass WANTS us too.)

Most action-oriented franchises these days are pretty stupid and usually not all that well made. Some of them even fool critics and audiences into thinking the movies are actually good (e.g. Christopher Nolan's overrated, overhyped tripe and the utterly bland-o-rama and barely competent JJ Abrams, to name a couple of directors offering up roller coaster rides masquerading as movies).

The Bourne Legacy is good, solid filmmaking and delivers anything any fan of espionage-action films would ever want. While it feels like a teaming of Damon and Renner is inevitable, I certainly, on paper anyway, have no problem with the prospect of this.

"The Bourne Legacy" is currently in world wide release from Universal Pictures.

JAWS - Review By Julia Klymkiw (Cub Reporter) - For Universal's 100th Anniversary, a new Spielberg-approved restoration of his modern horror classic is playing theatrically and launching in Toronto at TIFF Bell Lightbox. 11-year-old Klymkiw Film Corner Cub Reporter Julia Klymkiw weighs in with her thoughts!

JAWS (1975) dir. Steven Spielberg
Starring: Roy Scheider, Richard Dreyfuss, Robert Shaw

*****

Review By Julia Klymkiw - Cub Reporter

When I first saw Jaws I was 4-years-old and it was on DVD. I watched it at home on our television set. I loved it so much that I watched it over and over again. Seven years later, I went to see it on HD and on a huge screen in a real movie theatre. This was the first time I ever saw it this way and it felt like I was watching a whole new movie.

Jaws is so suspenseful you forget you are watching a film. You are Krazy-glued to your seat and unable to leave. The shark attack at the beginning of the movie makes you feel like you're right in there with that poor girl who gets eaten alive and you're the only one who survived.

The village the movie takes place in reminds me of where my own cottage is. What happens to the people there is what I imagined could happen here in real life. That's how realistic the movie is. Lucky for me, though, is that there are no sharks near my cottage because they need salt water to live.

The story is basically about a shark attacking people and after a certain amount of kills, three brave men: the sheriff, an old sea captain and a young rich guy who studies sharks, go out onto the ocean to hunt it down.

What makes the movie so suspenseful and scary is when the attacks happen you hear screaming and then the camera goes underwater to see the person who is being killed and there's a lot of blood. The movie goes back and forth between shots like this. One time, during an attack all you see is a lot of blood and a body part floating down to the ocean floor.

You almost never see the shark and this makes it super scary. Near the end when you do see the shark it is beyond scary. This is what makes horror movies really good. The other thing that makes the movie good is all the stuff that is like real life. There a neat scene where the sheriff is very tired and his little boy copies all the stuff his Dad is doing. All kids do stuff like that with their Dads. Even though a movie is make believe it is stuff like this that makes you believe everything you see.

When my Dad took me to the press screening of Jaws, he said he saw it way more times than me and that even though he knew he would enjoy seeing it again that it wouldn't scare him at all. This made me laugh quite a bit because Dad jumped out of his seat quite a few times - along with me, of course.

I told Dad that maybe it was because we were seeing it on a humungous screen in a real movie theatre that it scared him so much.

He agreed with me.

Now, you agree with me and go see Jaws on a big screen.

"JAWS" is playing in a director-approved restored HD master at the TIFF Bell Lightbox in Toronto and at select venues across the globe. For TIFF showtimes and information, visit their website HERE."

THE LEECH WOMAN - Some thoughts on the piercing of the pineal gland

The Leech Woman (1960)
dir. Edward Dein
Starring: Coleen Gray, Phillip Terry, Grant Williams, Gloria Talbott

***

By Greg Klymkiw

Paul and June Talbot (Coleen Gray and Phillip Terry respectively) are just your average American couple. Paul is a scientist (mad, of course) who is attempting to discover a potion that will allow him to reverse the aging process. June is his loving, booze-swilling, abused and neglected wife. The once-loving pair face the usual problems of nuptial bliss gone sour: Paul, in spite of the fact that he’s rather ugly and old, is able to instill feelings of inadequacy in his gorgeous wife who, in turn, feels old, ugly and frumpy in spite of the fact that she’s only in her mid-to-late-30s and pretty much a babe (albeit a slightly dowdy one). If only her hubby could find a way to make his better half, a truly better half.

Such are the typical concerns of Cold War America in the 50s and thankfully we have motion pictures such as The Leech Woman to provide this revealing glimpse into the lives and dreams of Joe and Josephina Average.

Directed by the competent, but otherwise unexciting Edward Dein, The Leech Woman is yet another welcome feature entry in Universal Home Video’s magnificent DVD box-set “The Classic Sci-Fi Ultimate Collection”. While, the picture is not really science fiction, but horror, that’s probably a quibble of the least important kind. What really matters is that it’s a Universal Production – always the sign of quality for genre pictures.

Being from Universal is especially welcome because the picture boasts some really fine studio production value – albeit of the low budget variety, but the kind of studio elements that can contribute rather successfully to creating a property that soars rather than sinks. For example, the pace of the picture is totally bat-out-of-hell and ultimately just the perfect running time (under 80 minutes). This should come as no surprise since the picture was edited by the legendary Universal Pictures in-house cutter Milton Carruth who provided the magnificent cinematic sheep shearing on such timeless celluloid bon-bons as Tod Browning’s Dracula, Karl Freund’s The Mummy, the famed Jimmy Stewart and Marlene Dietrich western Destry Rides Again, all of Douglas Sirk’s classic melodramas, the archetypal 50s sex comedy Pillow Talk and my personal favourites – the Francis the Talking Mule pictures.

Another added bonus to this particular Universal production is some truly excellent makeup design from in-house wizard Bud Westmore.

Most importantly, the technical credits do not overshadow some of the more entertaining and interesting aspects of this picture – namely, the almost feminist perspective on how women are forced into certain ideals by a world dominated by men and how they can get a little self-respect and, of course, payback.

Payback in this picture comes via Old Malla (veteran Broadway actress Estelle Hemsley), a mysterious African woman who appears to have the secret to age-reversal. When hubby drags his maligned wifey into the deepest, darkest jungle in search of the ingredients to restore beauty and youth - salvation and horror alternately lurk around the corner.

And they both involve the piercing of the pineal gland.

And eventually, the picture delivers up even more Universal Pictures delights – the welcome presence of the stalwart and studly Grant Williams (Incredible Shrinking Man) and the utterly cream-wrenching Gloria (I Married A Monster From Outer Space) Talbott.

And have I mentioned the piercing of the pineal gland yet?

And, even more tantalizing are the native rituals in the jungle. What self-respecting 50s genre film would NOT have native rituals in the jungle?

The Leech Woman is a supremely entertaining entry in the 50s canon of genre pictures from Universal. It’s fun, provocative and even a bit creepy.

And, uh . . . it features the piercing of the pineal gland.

"The Leech Woman” is available in the “The Classic Sci-Fi Ultimate Collection” from Universal Studios Home Entertainment.

DR. CYCLOPS - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Fun addition to work of great fantasy-adventure director Ernest B. Schoedsack

Dr. Cyclops (1940) dir. Ernest B. Schoedsack
Starring: Albert Dekker, Thomas Coley, Janice Logan

***1/2

Review By Greg Klymkiw

The director of Dr. Cyclops, Ernest B. Schoedsack, had a life that rivaled the adventures experienced by many of the characters that populated his motion pictures.

At the age of 12, Schoedsack ran away from home. By the age of 17, he was a motion picture cameraman for the legendary comedy producer Mack Sennett. At the tender age of 23, he joined the signal corps as a cinematographer and spent much of World War I in the thick of the most horrendous battles, photographing their every detail. After the armistice was signed, he paired up with another young adventurer (Merian C. Cooper) and the two of them became involved in the anti-Bolshevik movement in Russia, Ukraine and Poland.

And this was all before he became the groundbreaking director of some of cinema’s greatest adventures.

While it’s not necessary to know the breadth of Schoedsack’s considerable life experience in order to enjoy his motion pictures, there’s something that’s both moving and admirable to know that adventure fantasies such as King Kong, The Four Feathers, The Last Days of Pompeii and The Most Dangerous Game came from an imagination that was tempered with having seen and done so much as a young man. Schoedsack’s work is imbued with a sense of wonder, adventure and, most importantly, exploration. What’s especially amazing about Schoedsack’s work on Dr. Cyclops is realizing that it was made in 1940.

1940!!!

Schoedsack, endowed as he was with a great eye and a knack for special effects was – to put it mildly – one hell of a photographer and filmmaker. His work in this picture laid the visual groundwork (as Kong most certainly did) for generations of films and filmmakers to follow.

Dr. Cyclops is the fun and thrilling tale of a truly mad scientist (deliciously and brilliantly portrayed by the bald and coke-bottle-lensed Albert Dekker) who uses radium to shrink people and animals alike in a crazed attempt to rule the world. The picture not only features staggeringly gorgeous three-strip Technicolor photography, but a variety of eye-popping special effects that, for their day, would have knocked people on their buttocks and which are, even by today’s standards, quite magical.

The heroes and heroines of the piece pale, of course, beside the tragically obsessive central character who is both literally and figuratively blinded – as the title even implies – but this too is par for the course in a sci-fi melodrama on the scale of this one, and while familiar, it fits comfortably like a comfy, old sweater.

Dr. Cyclops is not the masterpiece that King Kong was, but in its own special way, it was definitely ahead of its time in terms of both special effects and political/historical considerations and it amply provides solid entertainment to anyone who loves genre pictures. The picture’s exploration of a “foreign” enemy wanting to experiment upon and ultimately subjugate American interests also pre-dates that attitudes so prevalent over one decade later during the sci-fi pictures made during the Cold War.

Dr. Cyclops is a most welcome addition to the second volume of Universal’s magnificent DVD box-set entitled The Classic Sci-Fi Ultimate Collection. It’s a gorgeous transfer of a fine little picture and while it’s certainly worth renting, the price point on this box is so reasonable that fans would be well advised to just buy it.