CULT TV FLASHBACK # 68: The Hitchhiker (1983-1991)

Here’s a 1980s flashback (or hangover...): the HBO (later USA Network) horror anthology entitled The Hitchhiker (1983-1991). This long-running TV series commenced before the first Reagan term was over, and that epoch makes it an early example of the premium cable horror series (a trend pursued by HBO with Tales from The Crypt in the 1990s and later by Showtime with examples such as Masters of Horror and True Blood).

This new broadcasting venue meant that The Hitchhiker was free from the limiting restrictions (and censorship...) of mass audience, basic network television. In other words, The Hitchhiker was willing and able to spotlight gory blood-letting, much nudity, and even simulated sex. It was a half-hour of soft-core porn and hardcore horror. Whoo-hoo!

As The Twilight Zone and Rod Serling’s Night Gallery established so dramatically in earlier decades, the anthology can be an excellent format for the horror genre. Since you get a new character every week, you’re able to kill off your lead if you so desire. That's a trick The X-Files or Kolchak: The Night Stalker, for instance, couldn’t get away with. Since your leads are always vulnerable in an anthology, there’s a heightened sense of vulnerability or unpredictability...and that's always good in horror. Throw in a little graphic violence and a pinch of sexy T & A and you’ve got yourself a real contender. At least that was the idea.

Our tour guide and narrator on The Hitchhiker was a mysterious wanderer with Miami Vice stubble, one who wore tight acid-wash jeans and thumbed his way across an endless desert road. Played by Nicholas Campbell and then Page Fletcher, this hitcher introduced each tale on the series, and then returned for a closing narration. The underlying conceit, which I quite like, is that we -- as viewers – symbolically "pick up" this enigmatic stranger on the highway and he regales us with a bizarre, frightening tale of the “road.” It’s kind of like a campfire story, I suppose, but modernized to include a specter of modern life (the hitchhiker/stranger) and the isolation/alienation of endless highways, endless night drives. Quite spooky if you think about it.

In general, The Hitchhiker sought to tell horror stories in which -- in the great tradition of EC Comics – the scales of justice were balanced. In other words, bad people were punished for their misdeeds. The universe boasted a sense of decency, even if some men did not.

The early installment “Night Shift,” (written by William Darrid and directed by Phillip Noyce), for example, involved a cruel nurse, Jane Reynolds (Margot Kidder), who worked the night shift at the Golden Age Nursing Home. This bitter, mean nurse ruled the old folks there with an “iron hand,” even going so far as to steal their prized jewelry so that she could sell it to her no-good boyfriend, Johnny (Stephen McHattie). But, as the Hitchhiker’s opening narration reminds viewers, this nurse learns that “some rules bend when the night shifts…”

Specifically,Jane's latest ward is “The Old Man” (Darren McGavin), an apparently comatose stranger who wears a very special ring. After Johnny and Jane attempt to steal it, the Old Man awakes and pursues them to get it back. Turns out the ring has a nasty blade embedded under the stone, one that is very efficient at slitting throats. The Old Man is actually a vampire you see, and before the tale is over he has hunted the cruel Jane and Johnny, draining them of their blood and youth, physically rendering them “old” like the very wards Jane so cavalierly abused.

At the coda of “Night Shift,” The Hitchhiker explains that “fate delivered an ancient evil to” Jane’s “doorstep” so that “the predator knows what it’s like to be the prey.”

Like most early episodes of The Hitchhiker, “Night Shift” is filmed extraordinarily well, relying on fine use of dramatic, well-composed close-ups and eerie lighting. When McGavin – the vampire – arrives at the nursing home, his room is bathed in an ethereal white light, one which seems to accentuate his age and suggest his immortality. And when Jane is hunted by the vampire in a storage closet the light palette shifts to a terrifying, sickly green. It’s as though the institution – the nursing home itself – has turned against the transgressor.

Another HBO era story, “Last Scene” was written by Robert J. Avrech and directed by Robocop (1987) helmer Paul Verhoeven. It stars Peter Coyote as a desperate first-time movie director (and former actor…) who has limited time and resources in which to help his wooden leading lady, Leda (La Gena Hart) develop the acting chops deemed necessary to sell the shocking final scene of his debut thriller. Coyote’s character goes to extreme and frightening lengths to terrify Leda and elicit a “real” reaction from the bad actress. The plan goes awry, however, and soon it’s the director who is learning about the nature of authentic terror.

As Page Fletcher's hitchhiker declares here, “the creatures created” by filmmakers “often have the last laugh.” As the creator and director of The House Between, this is a lesson I’ve learned myself; that “manufacturing illusion and manipulating the way people feel” may result in the creator himself being “tricked by his own sleight of hand.”

Even during the HBO run, critics were not overly charmed by The Hitchhiker. Starlog admonished the series for using “gratuitous blood, gore and naked flesh in place of good scripts and solid performances.” (Starlog # 96, 1984-1985, page 35.) Meanwhile, The New York Times complained that “each episode becomes a game of guessing when an opportunity would be devised for the featured performers to take off all their clothes.” (John J. O’Connor, The New York Times, November 26, 1985, page C22.)

The reviewers weren’t necessarily wrong in this critique. The series indeed tended to exploit rather than authentically explore issues surrounding sexuality and sexual relationships. Many of The Hitchhiker episodes provided more-than-adequate eye candy thanks to guest stars including Kirstie Alley, Shannon Tweed, Helen Hunt, Karen Lych, Ornella Muti, Virginia Madsen, and Karen Black -- thus satisfying prurient interest. Still, most of these shows aren’t genuinely sexy because sex is just a marketing tool of the producers; not a legitimate thematic undercurrent.

There were notable exceptions. In “Videodate, a womanizer named Rhodes (Gregg Henry) who ritually exploited women and even kept a bulletin board tally of his conquests, was bested by a sexy performance artist (Shannon Tweed) who played his game better than he did. The subject here truly was sex (and sexual sport/sexual dominance), and the ways in which every human being can be manipulated by his or her desire. Rhodes believed that he was a student of human nature, that he could push those buttons in others, but that he was somehow immune to it. In the end, he wasn’t; he was as much a slave (and a victim) as those he victimized. Again, not deep and not too original (another "moral" reiteration of the cosmic scales balanced cliche...) but still, overall, a…ahem…satisfying half-hour.

“Hired Help” was another quirky revenge story that succeeded based largely on its bizarre and daring sexual imagery. Here, another exploiter of fellow human beings (this time Karen Black, exploiting illegal immigrants) ends up unknowingly bedding down a Mexican devil or “Diablo” and is…er…put to Hell's service herself.

The centerpiece sex scene -- with Karen doing the heavy lifting -- is spiky, sadistic and memorable. The scene is shot in silhouette, and during intercourse, the Devil Man unexpectedly sheds his human shape and sprouts demonic wings (not to mention glowing emerald eyes). Without warning, this devil – in media res, as it were – starts brutally man-handling Black, slapping her around with a belt (!) and contorting her compliant naked body in a vicious, pounding rhythm. What’s kinky about this sequence is, well, everything. It’s arousing in a very perverse, freaky sense. Shakespeare it ain’t, but it sure keeps your attention. Even had they been inclined to include such odd sequences, Hitchcock and Serling could not have gotten away with this sort of thing on broadcast television.

When The Hitchhiker went out on a limb and expressed the powerful notion that sex can be scary, dangerous and exciting, the imaginative imagery and subversive implications of the show's creators triumphed over often banal writing and trite plots. But these stories were the exception rather than the rule.

By the time that The Hitchhiker shifted over to the basic cable USA Network, it was in its fourth season. Unfortunately, that’s where things took a decided turn for the worse. The series could no longer get away with HBO levels of violence and sex, so the two trademarks of the anthology -- sex and gore -- were stripped away. And I mean totally stripped away.

Also, the entire production high-tailed it up to Canada (to cut costs), meaning that the series no longer featured movie star-caliber performers or directors. On USA, The Hitchhiker became a very bad, very dull potboiler with tepid twist endings that wouldn't surprise a four year old. At least the HBO edition stands as an interesting testimony to its context in the world and history of cable television: sex and violence were highlighted because they could be highlighted.

So if you're in a frisky, freaky mood, The Hitchhiker is certainly a fun horror anthology to re-visit. Just be certain you see the premium cable edition. The USA stuff is pure, G-rated dreck.

BOOK REVIEW: The Interrupted Journey

This riveting forty-year old account of the Barney and Betty Hill Abduction is a cause celebre in UFO literature and lore. The story, told expertly by journalist John G. Fuller, has also become fodder for TV movies such as The UFO Incident (1975) and fictionalized hour-long dramas such as Dark Skies (1996-1997).

The Interrupted Journey recounts (in meticulous detail) the events of the evening of September 19, 1961, a span when an unassuming interracial couple -- the Hills -- saw their weekend drive in New England interrupted by a...flying saucer.

A UFO not only shadowed these unlucky sojourners for a time, but aliens actually took the humans aboard their craft, the Hills alleged. There, a slew of medical exams were conducted before the couple's release.

After this event, as Fuller recounts, the Hills returned to their home and their jobs. Life went on, but they both felt mysteriously unsettled, with significant gaps in their memories. Betty experienced nightmares for a time. Barney saw a flare-up of his ulcer.

Soon, Betty began to remember bits and pieces of the unnerving experience, even as Barney resisted the idea of aliens and flying saucers all together, fearing that friends and family would find his story ludicrous. But slowly and surely, the couple began to come to terms with the bizarre, inexplicable events of that night.

The Hills were aided in this endeavor by a reputable, rock-solid psychiatrist, Dr. Benjamin Simon, who utilized hypnosis to excavate the Hills' buried (or blocked?) memories of the close encounter on September 19th 1961.

Their stories -- told separately in marathon individual sessions -- matched one another's very closely. Husband and wife both spoke of an alien visitation that featured missing time (a span erased by the aliens...), medical exams (including a painful pregnancy test for Betty...) and so on.

These thorough hypnosis sessions -- which often read as decisive, even prosecutorial cross-examinations -- are featured in The Interrupted Journey in the form of transcripts. These word-for-word accounts make for absorbing, provocative and even anxiety-provoking reading.

Fuller does well with the remainder of the text too, his prose devoid of unnecessary or distracting drama, hysteria, or silliness. In fact, Fuller downplays everything in a just-the-facts writing-style that disarms the inner skeptic and generates a fair bit of, well, uneasiness. The idea of alien visitation is rendered entirely believable here...and palpable.

Ultimately, we come to judge this oddly disturbing story on a human basis, a personal basis. The Hills don't seem like craven attention-seekers (on the contrary actually...). They waited for years to come forward in the public square to tell their version of the story, and then only after an unscrupulous journalist published their story without permission or input.

In The Interrupted Journey, when Barney first sees the alien leader's inhuman black eyes glaring down at him (pressing telepathically into his skull), the reader shares Barney's sense of primal terror; mainly because Fuller's sketched the man in such realistic, human fashion.

The Interrupted Journey is a remarkable work of literature, and I recommend the book as such. Just don't take it at face value or as a priori, Gospel Truth. On the (admittedly-limited) basis of literature, however, The Interrupted Journey is entirely successful. You sympathize with the characters; you're caught up in the drama, and the book evokes a strange feeling that somehow, some way, you're being watched while you turn the pages. It's not good material to read while you're alone in the house. Or after dark. The book makes you feel paranoid; like you're under a microscope.

Yet the inner skeptic in me still had some questions and concerns about the veracity of the Hill tale. Let me play devil's advocate for a bit, if you don't mind.

To start with during her encounter with the aliens, Betty is offered an extra-terrestrial book as proof of the aliens' existence. The aliens ultimately take the book back, however, conveniently defying Betty any hard evidence of the encounter.

But my problem is with the idea of the alien book itself. We're nowhere near the advent of interstellar flight, but in a few short years, print books will go the way of the dodo on Earth, totally extinct; relics. Would aliens capable of interstellar flight and mind-bending amnesia tricks still carry around books on their space ship (where space and weight would presumably be at a premium....)? Wouldn't they at least have Kindle?

Secondly, there's the alien confusion about "time." To The Interrupted Journey's credit, the book openly and fairly acknowledges this paradox. Specifically, the aliens tell Betty to "wait a minute" at one point but later, during her exam, confess no knowledge and/or understanding of time or even of the passage of time. For instance, concepts such as "years" and "old age" are beyond the Saucerites. If the aliens could translate thought well-enough to use the phrase "wait a minute," why couldn't the same technique bring them an understanding of time?

Thirdly, the physical description of the flying saucer -- Barney and Betty's mutual description -- feels uncomfortably like a 1960s phantasm of "future" technology. Barney sees (through his binoculars...) a group of aliens standing at a large black control panel. Again, in the decades since this book's publication, we've seen the revolution of miniaturization, not to mention the development of touch screen consoles. And if CNN Election Night Coverage is to be believed, we even now deploy holographic technology on a routine basis.

So why would aliens from a futuristic society (a society advanced enough to possess interstellar flight...) rely on old-fashioned, bulky, non-touch screen computer panels? More to the point, perhaps, why would four-foot tall aliens have laboratory bays with human-sized examination tables.

When Barney first detects the aliens (as reported in a startling hypnosis session) he briefly mistakes the uniformed extra-terrestrials for Nazis. In another portion of the book, he admits that he has a deep-seated affinity for the people of Israel. He identifies with them deeply, apparently fearing a similar form of persecution (as a black man married to a white woman in 1960s America). Given his initial description of the aliens as "Nazis" -- in tandem with this self-acknowledged psychological affinity for Israelis -- the intrepid reader may begin to suspect that this alien encounter could, in fact, be an hallucination, a folie-a-deux...an event entirely psychological and not what we would consider "real."

Also, there are a few notable difference in Betty and Barney's story that do bear a casual mention. Betty initially claims that the aliens possess "Jimmy Durante"-type noses. By contrast, Barney says that the aliens have no noses...only recessed nasal slits. I'd be willing to chalk this up to the fog of abduction, but it's a discrepancy nonetheless.

Finally, Betty admits that she and Barney do have some at least sub-conscious awareness of the burgeoning sci-fi pop-culture of the 1960s. In particular, she mentions The Twilight Zone by name during one of her hypnosis sessions. And then there's this little factoid, straight from Wikipedia:

"Entirely Unpredisposed author Martin Kottmeyer suggested that Barney's memories revealed under hypnosis might have been influenced by an episode of the science fiction television show The Outer Limits titled "The Bellero Shield", which was broadcast about two weeks before Barney's first hypnotic session. The episode featured an extraterrestrial with large eyes..."

But listen, I'm no debunker. I have no interest in that job assignment. In terms of UFOs, let's just say......I want to believe. I really do. More than that, I'm inclined to believe. But to protect myself, I also set a pretty high bar for that belief. Disappointment can be a bitch.

My feeling on the subject of UFOs has always been that, given the size of the universe, it seems entirely plausible that alien civilizations might indeed exist....somewhere.

It is also entirely plausible to me that some life forms "out there" would be sufficiently advanced for interstellar travel. There's a caveat, however. Space traveling requires considerable resources, not to mention a a tremendous amount of energy, and it seems to me you would only travel some place far away (like Earth...) for a matter of great import.

Which leaves me to consider four options in regards to the Hills. One: the abduction happened in exactly the way the couple described, and I'm incredibly wrong in whatever skepticism I harbor. I sure hope that's the case.

Or Two: the abduction happened all right, but it was a top secret government or military experiment (god, I love a good conspiracy theory...). Probably one involving mind-altering drugs.

Or Three: the abduction occurred, but the voyagers aboard the UFO were not aliens; rather evolved, time-traveling humans from a distant future (!). Okay, so that's far-fetched...

Or, lastly, the Hills (now both deceased, unfortunately...) experienced something traumatic but entirely human on September 19, 1961; something that they didn't understand, and that their minds couldn't adequately process, That mystery accounts for the story of The Interrupted Journey.

Again, I want to believe. And while reading this book -- for a time -- I did believe. Betty and Barney Hill seem like good people, caught up in a terrible mystery. I don't know that you could ask for better, more credible eye-witnesses. But in the end, one couple's word -- even word of honor -- is simply not good enough. Not to sway me, anyway.

I wish desperately that the Hill Abduction could be proven conclusively; that The Interrupted Journey could be respected as something more than a fine, remarkably frightening campfire tale.

Perhaps one day it will be. But for now, if I have to go on the record about this book, it's just one hell of a good read.

RETRO TOY FLASHBACK # 84: Big Jim Sky Commander (Mattel; 1973)

Who is Big Jim? Well, he's not a porn star, I assure you that. If, uh, that's what you were thinking.

Instead, Big Jim is a globe-hopping adventurer and boy toy icon of my favorite decade: the dazzling 1970s. Big Jim was Mattel's alternative to Hasbro's popular G.I. Joe, a less overtly military, war-oriented action-figure line that endured for much of the decade.

Instead of being a soldier in the Army, Big Jim was what in you might call an "all rounder" -- an athlete, a secret agent, an astronaut, a scientist and even an outdoors man...a true renaissance man, I guess. His buddies included Big Jack, Big Josh, Big Jeff, Dr Steel and Chief Tankua. Many of these figures featured karate chop arms: you'd press a square in their backs and they'd deliver a karate chop to an enemy...like your brother or sister.

For the avid toy collector, there was a whole universe of Big Jim toys to collect back in the day. Big Jim had a very cool brown camper/van, for instance, one perfect for jungle expeditions. Big Jim also had a dune buggy, a rescue rig, a Corvette and even a Safari House, a green camping tent and his own Kung Fu Studio. He was also known to tangle -- occasionally -- with gorillas and sharks.

However, my favorite toy from the Big Jim line (after the ubiquitous camper...) was his aerial HQ...the Big Jim Sky Commander (1973).

This massive toy is four-and-a-half feet in length with when fully opened. It could also be folded up into the form of a compact carrying case, which makes it perfect for quick transportation in the event of an afternoon at granny's house.

The Sky Commander features four compartments overall. There's the cockpit (with chair and steering wheel...), the situation room (replete with maps, Morse Code device, navigation table, and tools), the bunk room (with bed, sink, food supplies, a storage unit on the floor and a rest room), and finally, the tail section.

The tail section is decorated with a cool Big Jim logo (a soaring eagle...) and you can make out the details of the engine technology too.

This "around-the-globe jet headquarters" transports Jim from one secret assignment (or vacation, I guess...) to another. To help with ultra-high-speed pick-ups, the Sky Commander also comes with a working winch and rescue basket/litter. So you can actually reel action figures up into the plane...

The Big Jim Sky Commander (according to the legend on the back of the box) was perfect for "air search and rescue," "ecology," "trouble-shooting" and even "science" as Big Jim "jets around the world."

I had one of these toys when I was a kid. I was at a garage sale with my parents when I was about five, I guess. For sale was an array of Mego Batman figures (good grief!) and also the Sky Commander plane...alongside a similarly-designed Barbie plane. My sister got Barbie, I got the Sky Commander (and Batman) and we were both happy for days.

I realize that in 2009 this toy probably looks pretty darn primitive (most of the cool equipment is merely drawn on the vinyl), but I had hours, probably months of fun imagining stories for Big Jim and this thing. The Sky Commander was a passport to great adventure for a young mind.

I found one of 'em recently on E-Bay , and bought a Sky Commander for my two-year old, Joel's Christmas. He's already running around the house shouting "Big Jim!"

Theme Song of the Week # 40: Nowhere Man (1995)

What I'm Reading: The Interrupted Journey (1967)

"Barney got out, the motor still running, and leaned his arm on the door of the car. By now the object had swung toward them and hovered silently in the air not more than a short city block away, not more than two treetops high. It was raked on an angle, and its full shape was apparent for the first time: that of a large glowing pancake..."

-From The Interrupted Journey by John G. Fuller (Dell; 1967), page 30.

CULT MOVIE REVIEW: Phase IV (1974)

"The name of the game today is king of the hill..."

-Computer scientist James Lesko (Michael Murphy) contemplates war with the "goddamned" ants in Phase IV (1974).

Saul Bass (1920 - 1996) was one of the cinema's greatest graphic designers, a revered film artist who contributed the memorable title sequences of such films as The Man with the Golden Arm (1955), North by Northwest (1959), Spartacus (1960), Psycho (1960), Good Fellas and others.

Bass also storyboarded for Hitchcock the famous shower scene with Janet Leigh in the aforementioned Psycho. Bass's only contribution as a director, however, is the little-seen (but highly entrancing...) science-fiction horror film of the early disco decade, Phase IV (1974).

Phase IV follows a strange phenomenon in outer space, one that changes variables in "magnetic fields." The mystics on Earth predict earthquakes; others predict "the end of life as we know it." But when the cosmic effect reaches our planet, the change it causes goes unnoticed, at least for a time. Because it effects only the smallest of us...the ants.

Specifically, ordinary ants of different species soon begin communicating with one another, "making decisions," according to the on-going voice-over narration from Michael Murphy, who plays investigator James Lesko. In one isolated Arizona desert (no, not peaceful Verde Valley...), the ants begin to construct tall monoliths...a series of very advanced, human-proportioned towers. The ants have also mysteriously begun to attack livestock: burrowing inside animals and leaving a distinctive mark of three small circles. They've even begun crafting huge crop circles...perhaps paving the way for an alien invasion? Signalling the vanguard. Or is it something else?

An obsessed, egomaniacal scientist named Hubbs (Nigel Davenport) and a computer scientist/linguist named Lesko (Murphy) take up residence in a small high-tech dome adjacent to the ant towers, in hopes of understanding what the ants are up to.

When the ants go stealthy; refusing to show their hand, Hubbs decides on a pre-emptive strike to draw them out. He launches grenades at the ant towers and brings them all down in a destructive flurry, reducing them to rubble. By moonlight that very night, the ants retaliate: first attacking a local farm, and then establishing a ring of reflective towers around Hubb's dome; towers that will burn the humans out (after first rendering their computers inoperable).

Meanwhile, a farmer's beautiful daughter, Kendra Eldridge (Lynne Frederick) survives the ant strike on her family ranch and joins the scientists as they attempt to solve the riddle of these highly-advanced insects. Hubbs wants to launch a decapitation strike; to pinpoint the Queen Ant and kill her, thus nullifying the ant threat. "You must show them that man will not give in," he believes.

By contrast, Murphy (with the help of his computers) learns the ant language and starts to transmit geometric shapes and mathematical figures to them, hoping that there can be some "rational accommodation of interests; some agreement" between species.

All throughout the film -- as the ants grow more intelligent...and remain one step ahead of the perplexed human scientists -- titles appear on-screen indicating different "phases" of this odd and increasingly apocalyptic crisis. The final phase -- Phase IV --arrives with a new dawn, a new sunrise, as the ants use Kendra to draw out Lesko.

What occurs in the film's final sequence -- as Kendra and Lesko meet (and mate...) inside a sandy ant hill -- represents some weird sort of species apotheosis (for man and the ants...). This trippy climax renders Phase IV the 2001: A Space Odyssey of attacking-ant movies. It intimates that the ants -- experts in specialization and self-sacrifice -- have begun to teach humans the very same qualities. And that, with the ants help, humans are now evolving into...something.

The film's final line indicates a weird ambiguity. "We were being changed and made a part of their world," says Lesko. This description could easily portend a new beginning for humanity, one of true freedom and cooperation. Or it could represent slavery...under the domination of the ants (or aliens who have utilized the ants?).

Phase IV makes splendid and pervasive use of close-up natural photography of ants and other insects (conducted by Ken Middleham). There is no Hollywood fakery involved in these amazing, lengthy sequences: no models; no digital creations...just real ants going about their business with frightening dedication.

There's an almost awe-inspiring (and again, totally real...) sequence in which one ant attempts to carry back to the Queen a piece of the pesticide that has killed his brethren. Exposure to this pesticide chunk is fatal to the ant, but he marches along, as far as he can. When he expires, another soldier ant arrives and continues the journey. When that ant dies, another ant arrives and continues the journey. This goes on and on - uninterrupted by human interaction or comment - until the last ant gets the chunk of poison to the queen, and she very quickly is able to create an immunity to the weakened poison in future generations, as she lays eggs.

Another scene of incredible visuals involves the ants lining up their dead (after one of Hubbs' attacks). They lay the corpses out in rows, belly (or thorax...) up...and then stand at a form of attention; as if honoring their dead at a funeral.

Another of Phase IV's most tense and fascinating scenes involves a showdown (inside the coils of an air-conditioning unit...) between a predatory preying mantis and an industrious ant attempting sabotage.

It seems odd (to say the least), but Bass determinedly grants the ants (and their side) as much screen time as the human stars, and the effect is startling and .interesting. You start to wonder which species is altruistic and which is warlike; which species understands love and which species doesn't. Hubbs insists that the ants aren't individuals, but rather merely "individual cells." The ants do understand self-sacrifice -- to protect their queen -- because she is at the center of their lives. Yet Hubbs doesn't see that this urge to protect the queen is, in some form, an act of love. He can only see the ants as an enemy; as an inferior enemy, actually. In his smug blindness, he doesn't see how he is outmaneuvered.

By balancing the ant storyline against the human one, Bass crafts a strange but powerful sense of equivalence. Who are we -- in these circumstances anyway -- to judge ourselves superiors? Who are we to -- as Hubbs suggests -- to teach the ants "limits?" To "educate them?" Indeed, Hubbs is hardly praise-worthy or a paragon of virtue. He treats even his fellow man with cold stoicism. "People die sometimes," he says at one point, without any expression of true feeling. What makes him the better creature?

Phase IV is an unsettling, spooky film. It's not just about a war between man and insect. Rather it depicts a war between the ideals of individuality and the community. Bass shows us the ant world on a scale we've never seen before, and even though these smart ants oppose us and our culture, you can't leave this film without some sense of admiration for them.

Hubbs would have done well to remember that old proverb: "Be thine enemy an ant, see in him an elephant."