Friday, February 12, 2010

CULT MOVIE REVIEW: Tales from the Hood (1995)

As the amusing title indicates, Tales from the Hood is actually Tales from the Crypt with an African-American spin. Overtly concerned with issues of race in 1990s America, this is a horror anthology that -- while exhibiting a strong social conscience -- also features a commendable sense of balance. Two stories deal with white racists (on the police force and in politics, respectively) who victimize people of color, while the other two tales feature violence in the black community perpetrated by fellow blacks. Virtually every macabre tale in the anthology is closely related to real life, 1990s events, as well.

Today, Tales from The Hood’s best remembered story is likely “KKK Comeuppance,” which feature a white racist (Corbin Bernsen) terrorized by ambulatory black slave dolls, a kind of off-kilter tribute to the 1970s Karen Black TV-movie, Trilogy of Terror.

The first story featured in Tales from the Hood is “Rogue Cop Revelation” is a revenge-from-beyond-the-grave-style story, pure and simple, with racist cops paying the cosmic price for framing and murdering an innocent black political activist. Said activist, Clarence, returns from the grave and murders the offenders one at a time, in gruesome and extremely gory fashion. Wings Hauser plays the lead bad cop, named “Strom” after Dixie Party candidate and late U.S. Senator Strom Thurmond from South Carolina. Early in the tale, the police stop Clarence in his car and nearly beat him to death for being a “political agitator.” The visual of several white cops circling and beating a black man -- defenseless on his knees -- blatantly echoes the videotaped Rodney King beating transmitted on CNN. Later, a fire on a city street brings to mind the imagery of the 1992 Los Angeles Riots that the King verdict spawned.

But the cops in this story aren’t merely physical abusers. They are drug dealers interested in framing and discrediting black community leaders and destroying the black culture. In one especially incendiary scene, a white cop actually urinates on Clarence’s grave. The word epithet “nigger” is bandied around a lot here too, but again, that’s accurate to the historical record of the 1990s: LAPD detective Mark Fuhrman, detective on the O.J Simpson case, was reported to have used that offensive descriptor by four witnesses at the trial, and was even captured using the term on audiotape. The point of all this: blacks and whites have very different views of the police force, based almost entirely on context of race.


In “Rogue Cop Revelation,” the scales of cosmic justice are righted when the evil cops are murdered by the resurrected Clarence. And importantly, a black cop who does not help Clarence is judged just as guilty as the bad cops here. His crime: race betrayal.

Tales from the Hood’s second tale, "Boys Do Get Bruised," involves child abuse in a black family. A school teacher, played by director Rusty Cundieff comes to suspect that a little boy, Walter (Brandon Hammond) is being beaten at home by his mother’s new boyfriend. Little Walter calls the boyfriend a “monster” and draws terrifying pictures of him.

The Twilight-Zone style twist at the end reveals that Walter -- like Anthony in "It's a Good Life" -- has the power to give life and breath to his drawings. Meaning that he cannot only draw monsters…he can erase and crumple them too. Again, there’s some powerful imagery here. Walter’s mother is beaten savagely with a belt in one sequence, and in another, there’s an all-out battle for survival in the family kitchen, the “hearth,” of this house. David Alan Grier plays the abuser in this story, and is actually pretty terrifying. Child and partner/spousal abuse is by no means an African-American occurrence alone, but it is important to remember how often domestic abuse occurs in “the hood” of the film’s title: an urban neighborhood with low incomes, high unemployment, crowding, and too many guns (and too much alcohol consumption).

In Family Violence in a Cultural Perspective: Defining, Understanding, and Combating Abuse, Dr. Kathleen Malley-Morrison and Dr. Denise A. Hines wrote that living “in neighborhoods with the lowest per capita income was associated with four times the risk of partner violence in comparison to neighborhoods with the highest pro-capita income.”(Sage Publications, 2003, page 137.) Tales from The Hood thus laments the conditions that have given rise to the “monster” played by David Alan Grier, and imaginatively locates the "cure" for such problems in the creative imagination – in art -- and in the education of the next generation.

The film's third vignette, “KKK Comeuppance” features a fictionalized version of the controversial figure David Duke (1950 - ), a former Grand Wizard of the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, who ran for the governorship of Louisiana in 1991 and ultimately won 55% of the white vote in that election. In favor of segregation and separatism, Duke was convicted for tax fraud in 2002.

In Tales from the Hood, the David Duke figure is named Duke Metger. Like his real life model, he’s former Klansman and governor of a Southern State who ultimately seeks the Presidency (as Duke sought that high office in 1988 and 1992). Metger lives in an opulent old plantation where black slaves were once abused, and now – in the era of Newt Gingrich’s Angry White Man and the congressional elections of 1994 -- rails against affirmative action, reparations, and any other governmental intiative that he deems might benefit African-Americans.

Forecasting comments made in the 200s by Don Imus, Metger also refers to blacks as “nappy-headed” and even mocks Rodney King by sarcastically asking, “Can’t we all just get along?” Duke gets his comeuppance when the souls of the murdered slaves come to life inside small, angry dolls buried under the plantation’s floorboards. Tellingly, Duke actually uses an American flag to bludgeon both the slave dolls and the “Voodoo Mother” who gave them life, a visual representation of America’s perceived hostility to the African-American experience and history.

The special effects in this vignette remain astounding, even fifteen years later, and Corbin Bernsen gives a go-for-the-gusto performance as the villainous, racist Metger. He makes the most of a distasteful role, and he’s one of those villains audiences will love-to-hate. Some might accuse this particular story of lacking subtlety or nuance, but the details of Metger’s beliefs and history so closely parallel those of David Duke's public life that the argument doesn’t hold water. In other words, it’s hard to believe anybody could be so utterly hateful to other human beings, no matter their skin color, but if you’ve ever listened to David Duke speak, you know "KKK Comeuppance" is no exaggeration.

The final tale, “Hardcore Convert” gazes at a vicious black figure, an ignorant, vicious gang banger named Crazy-K. Life is cheap to Crazy-K, and he commits murder (over money and drugs) as easily as he exhales. He is incarcerated, in the course of the story, with a “white power” Nazi, and the message comes through that Crazy-K’s anti-social behavior is only doing the Nazi’s work for him; confirming the white world’s opinion of many blacks as anti-social thugs and criminals.

Crazy-K undergoes a “behavior modification” program while in prison, and is told by his tormentor/doctor (Rosalind Cash) that “you’ve got to take responsibility to break this chain” The behavior modification regime in this case involves a viewing of real-life, documentary photographs and images of violence perpetrated against blacks in American history. This montage, -- a kind of homage to Clockwork Orange's Ludovico Technique -- begins with images of whites killing blacks but by the end of the presentation we see blacks murdering blacks and a sub-culture devoted to “gangsta” values. This sequence is simultaneously a critique of white and black violence, and as such a perfect summation of the film’s viewpoint, that indeed, blacks have been victimized by whites in American history. But – importantly -- they’ve also been victimized by themselves...and even if they can’t change the fact of the former -- the fact of ignorant white racism -- they can change the latter. And need to do so.

Ultimately, director Rusty Cundieff, -- who studied journalism at Loyola and also majored in the philosophy of religion -- does a terrific job crafting a horror film that is simultaneously poignant and entertaining. It’s an audacious, fearless enterprise, and Tales from the Hood is frightening, funny, even-handed and also remarkably moral.

The film's wraparound segments, involving a grinning Clarence Williams III (and titled "Welcome to My Mortuary") are also on point with the film's message. Williams plays Simms, an undertaker who greets three young "gangstas" and tells them the macabre tales that make up the film's duration. What these youngster soon learn, however, is that there is more on Simm's mind than simplestorytelling. It's no coincidence that these young men have come to him, and to his mortuary, and that's the film's take away point: about a generation of boys "in the hood" facing the specter of early and violent death, reliving a cycle of seemingly inescapable violence.

Again, I've always insisted that the best horror films are those that reflect the reality of their times. Tales from the Hood is a product and genre curiosity of the 1990s, the era of Rodney King, O.J. Simpson, the Clarence Thomas Hearings, the L.A. Riots, Clinton as our "first black president" and so forth. As these examples make plain, it was a span when race relations were once more front and center in the American conversation, and Tales from the Hood doesn't shy away from commentary on that dialogue.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

The Many Cult-TV Faces of: Joan Collins




In the 1960s and 1970s -- long before Dynasty -- Joan Collins made the rounds on several cult TV favorites, as villains, damsels-in-distress and double-crossers. How many of the many cult-tv faces of Joan Collins can you name? Series and episode titles?

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Tuesday, February 09, 2010

CULT TV FLASHBACK # 101: Cosmos: "The Shores of the Cosmic Ocean" (1980)

"The cosmos is all there is, or was, or ever will be..."

-Carl Sagan, Cosmos: A Personal Journey


I still remember feeling a keen sense of anticipation as I sat down to watch the first hour-long episode of the PBS series, Cosmos: A Personal Journey (September - December 1980). I was in the fifth grade at the time -- just ten years old -- and my English teacher, Mr. Rice, had assigned me to "review" the premiere episode, "The Shores of the Cosmic Ocean." It was my first written TV/film review of many, I suspect...the inauguration of my own "personal journey," as series host Carl Sagan (1934-1996) might have aptly described it.

I recently re-screened the first episode of the award-winning Cosmos, "The Shore of the Cosmic Ocean," and it was amazing and gratifying to me how many ideas, how many visuals, how many specific moments I recalled with clarity, nearly thirty years later.


"The Shore of the Cosmic Ocean" opens with a view of tumbling, crashing waves, and then a long-shot view of a solitary man on a mountaintop. As this figure nears us, this very intense-looking man garbed in a red turtleneck and corduroy jacket begins to speak in forthright, blunt terms about the human race and our place in the universe. Meet Carl Sagan, our host, teacher, and philosopher-in-residence.

He speaks explicitly of the danger of the Cold War and our new found technological capacity to destroy ourselves. But he also notes appreciatively that, as a species, we are "young, curious and brave." What will follow this introduction, he states, is nothing less than the story of us, of humanity, floating "like of mote of dust in a morning sky."

After reminding us that for this TV journey we will require "imagination and skepticism both," we then board "a ship of the imagination," a glowing star craft that resembles a dandelion seed.

Next, we travel alongside our host for a close-to-thirty-minute voyage through the universe. We visit quasars, pulsars, a supernova, a stellar nursery, various galaxies ("chains of islands in the cosmic ocean") and more. We see the Orion Nebula, the Hercules Cluster, Andromeda, the planets of our solar system large and small, and then set a course into "the shallows of the solar system," where we finally reach blue, clouded Earth. This great, beautifully-rendered sojourn through galactic space ends pointedly with a montage of human faces, one that reveals us in all our great diversity and all our great similarities.

This entire segment features a trippy 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) quality, with host Sagan at the lonely control panel of a vast, minimalist-looking space ship bridge, staring into a huge view-screen.

The evocative, emotion-provoking Vangelis musical score adds to the aura of portentous discovery, and even the narration (written by Sagan, Ann Duyan and Steven Soter) boasts a lyrical, poetic quality. Sagan speculates about alien life forms; about their politics, music and religion. He wonders if alien races, like humans, pose a danger to themselves. His every word is, without exaggeration, mesmerizing.

Yes, Cosmos is an educational program produced in 1979-1980 for Public Broadcasting, but it has such a distinctive feel and mood. Some less-than-generous souls might term the vivid language a tad florid, but I disagree. Sagan loves words -- loves the act of communication -- as much as he loves science here. Therefore, his mode of transmitting fact and speculation is both colorful and individual. This is his "Personal Journey," the series announces; the equivalent, perhaps, of a modern-day vlog, in some weird sense. So indeed it is appropriate Cosmos should be stamped with Sagan's persona, his unique and dramatic way of both seeing and saying things.

After disembarking from our "ship of the imagination," Sagan next time-travels back to the Great Library of Alexandria in antiquity, "the brain and glory of the greatest city on the planet Earth." Thanks to some 1970s-era blue-screening composited with miniatures, we actually see Sagan stroll through the corridors of this great "citadel of human consciousness," telling us of the over one million scrolls of knowledge it once housed. It is right here, says our host, that Euclid studied and learned; that Archimedes pondered; that Ptolemy contemplated the stars.

In detail, Sagan relates how another user of the great library, Eratosthenes, calculated the circumference of the Earth...and was pretty darn accurate in his estimation. This particular segment of Cosmos reminds us of humanity's capacity for greatness. "The drama of the human species," as Sagan would say, is about our curiosity, our quest for knowledge, our unending capacity to grow, change and adapt to our new understandings about the cosmos.

The final bit of "The Shores of the Cosmic Ocean" is downright humbling. Sagan leads us to a giant calendar displaying the twelve months of one year. Then he describes "cosmic time," stretching from the Big Bang...to now. The human portion of that calendar, Sagan says -- our entire recorded history -- fits into the last ten seconds of December 31st. Before that, perhaps, we were just "star stuff."

As Sagan is visually "zapped" or "beamed" into this cosmic calendar, I registered again how cleverly Cosmos deploys special effects. This is no dry science show; no emotionless recitation of dull fact. It is -- as promised -- a kind of imaginative, speculative journey rendered dynamic through up-to-the-minute, state-of-the-art visuals (for 1980, of course...).

This first episode of Cosmos culminates with Sagan's suggestion that a new calendar year is about to commence, and how long our dominion lasts in that new year will depend on which of our human qualities wins outs: our tendency towards self-destruction; or our curiosity and need to acquire ever more knowledge.

Other segments of Cosmos include "One Voice in the Cosmic Fugue," "The Harmony of the Worlds," "Heaven and Hell," "Blues for a Red Planet," "Traveler's Tales," "The Backbone of Night," "Journeys in Space and Time," "The Lives of the Stars," "The Edge of Forever," "The Persistence of Memory," "Encyclopedia Galactica, "and "Who Speaks for Earth?"

Yet it is this premiere that I recall most vividly so many years after the initial broadcast. Sagan had a way with words, and a personal mode of contextualizing the cosmos in distinctly human terms. Nothing lasts forever, "not even stars," he tells us, reminding viewers that mortality is universal. The series Cosmos won't last forever, either, but after thirty years, Sagan's intellectual curiosity remains irresistible, and his exploration of "all there is, was or will be" is both valuable and illuminating.

I'm definitely going to get this series for Joel when he is old enough to appreciate it. Why? Specifically, Cosmos, though educational in tenor and approach, is actually dramatic, even enthralling, in a unique way. It boasts an unending sense of wonder about everything, about the order of the universe. And today -- in the era of seemingly "billions and billions" of dark science fiction TV series -- that sense of limitless imagination, that sense of renewed marvel and optimism makes Cosmos not a just a retro-curiosity, but a beacon in the night as bright as a pulsar.

Monday, February 08, 2010

CULT TV FLASHBACK # 100 Tales of the Gold Monkey (1982)

Donald Bellisario's name remains familiar to a wide audience of TV viewers, not just for popular programs such as NCIS, JAG, and Quantum Leap, but for eighties classics such as Magnum P.I. and Airwolf.

Yet way back in the year 1982, Bellisario also crafted the cult adventure program Tales of the Gold Monkey, an expensive, high-profile initiative set in the South Pacific during the late-1930s.

At the time of the series' broadcast on ABC, many TV reviewers complained vociferously that Bellisario's latest endeavor was nothing but a rip-off of Steven Spielberg's high-profile, summer blockbuster, Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981).

To wit: like Raiders, Monkey was set in the 1930s. And like Raiders, Monkey was considered a "pastiche" of 1930s era cliffhanging adventures, one re-purposing old genre tropes and chestnuts for a younger generation not yet familiar with them.

Adding to the lurking (but inaccurate...) sense of "copying" Raiders of the Lost Ark, another very similar adventure series aired on TV the same season that Tales of the Gold Monkey bowed, CBS's Bring 'Em Back Alive starring Bruce Boxleitner as Frank Buck. It was also set in the 1930s, in Singapore.

To misquote Oscar Wilde, to produce once TV series like Raiders of the Lost Ark in a season may be regarded as unfortunate; to produce two looks like a pattern. Or so the critics implied.

But whereas Bring 'Em Back Alive disappeared without a trace in short order, a dedicated fan base sprang up around Tales of the Gold Monkey. And it has been lobbying for years to bring the series back alive on DVD in the States. The reason for this steadfast dedication: it was far from the rip-off reviewers accused it of being.

On the contrary, the series was a loving excavation of the classic Hollywood 1940s-1960s adventure film...and one with spirit, camaraderie, and an abundance of humor. Simply stated, Tales of the Gold Monkey was much more Howard Hawks than Steven Spielberg. It was more Cary Grant than Harrison Ford.

Tales of the Gold Monkey is set in the year is 1938, as fascism is on the global march. Heroic but capricious American pilot Jake Cutter (Stephen Collins), his loyal mechanic, Corky (Jeff MacKay), and Jake's trusted one-eyed terrier, Jack, face peril and intrigue during their runs to the South Pacific island of Boragora. They battle Nazi spies, the Japanese Empire, slave traders, and even primitive natives. They just want to mind their own business, but the winds of war are upon them.

Jake's romantic interest in the series is Sarah Stickney White (Caitlin O'Heany), actually a secret agent for the United States government who is masquerading as a second-rate singer/entertainer. Bon Chance Louie (Roddy McDowall), the enigmatic French proprietor of Boragora's most popular watering hole, the Monkey Bar, is another of Jake's allies.

While piloting his beloved (but always-in-need of repair) seaplane, The Grumman Goose all across the Marivellas, Jake frequently butts heads with two recurring foes: Kohi (Marta DuBois), a seductive Japanese princess, and her warrior guardian, Todo (John Fujioka). These villains hardly seem like Raiders characters either; more like Princess Ardala and Killer Kane from Buck Rogers, actually.

Several years ago, I interviewed Gold Monkey writer and director Tom Greene on assignment for Cinescape (before it went out of business), and he shared some of the behind-the-scenes history of Gold Monkey with me. In particular, Greene established the fact that Bellisario first pitched Gold Monkey to the networks in 1979. Chronologically speaking, that's well before the cinematic arrival of Indiana Jones. Bellisario's inspiration in creating Gold Monkey was actually...the films of Humphrey Bogart.

"Tales of the Gold Monkey was homage to those great Hollywood films of old," Greene reported. "Don's a romanticist when it comes to Hollywood -- he lives it and breathes it -- and that's what Tales of the Gold Monkey was all about."

An example of this love of "old Hollywood" is evident in the very names Bellisario selected for the Gold Monkey dramatis personae. Series hero Jake Cutter was named after Captain Jake Cutter, a Texas Ranger portrayed by John Wayne in the 1961 film Western, The Comancheros, directed by Michael Curtiz (Casablanca [1942]).

And Jake's profession as independent, small-time transport pilot was a reflection of Cary Grant's similar occupation in Only Angels Have Wings (1939), a Howard Hawks production.

Even Gold Monkey's loyal sidekick "Corky" was intentionally designed as an amalgam of all those famous Hollywood "character" or "sidekick" roles that had been seen throughout the years.

"Corky was a combination of three characters in film history," the late actor Jeff MacKay described for me during a phone interview in 2000. "One is Curly Howard of The Three Stooges. The second is Walter Brennan in To Have and To Have Not (1944), and the third is Thomas Mitchell in It's a Wonderful Life (1946). Corky was the heart-of-gold, true-blue friend that the hero could always rely on, even though he had human foibles and weaknesses."

While preparing the series for its network run on ABC, the creative staff of Tales of the Gold Monkey moved into the old Alfred Hitchcock building at Universal Studios, another place rife with history. Though the series was budgeted at a once-astounding $900,000 per hour long segment, an entire island (and the recreation of a time period...) still had to be constructed in believable fashion

"Don's a perfectionist" episode director Harvey Laidman, who helmed several episodes of Tales of the Gold Monkey, told me during another phone interview. "He has a very vivid picture in his mind of what he wants...at the time we were doing Gold Monkey, I think he saw it as an action show and he wanted good, credible action that made sense."

Greene likewise notes. "Don's one of the last producers who makes television like feature films, Every week on Tales of the Gold Monkey is like watching great 1930s features." Indeed, that very quality is what brings dedicated viewers back to the series over the decades.

Tales of the Gold Monkey survived an entire season -- 22 hour-long episodes -- and audience attention slowly began to build. In no small part, that was probably due to the increasing boldness of the series' writers, who kept piling on more action, and more expensive stunts.

Greene gleefully reminisces about one such inspiration which also, not surprisingly, came from movie history. "One of the last episodes we did was "Boragora or Bust" about a gold strike, and the whole thing had to do with a revolution. We had this magnificent stuntman, Richard Farnsworth's son, and I said to him, 'can you jump a motorcycle with a sidecar, like the Steve McQueen motorcycle jump in The Great Escape (1963)? He said he could, so suddenly I had this flash of Steve and Jeff in this motorcycle and side car, going over a collapsing bridge, and soaring over it. The next thing I knew, we had it in the episode!"

That kind of thing went on all the time, which is why, decades years later, director Laidman still considers Gold Monkey the most exciting (and demanding) series he's been associated with. "It was a war movie every week. It had flying -- which I loved -- and we were in the Goose shooting process shots for two whole days on episodes. There were war scenes, battles, and I got to use vintage equipment. There was even one show with a China Clipper, but the production company just built a door, and Albert Whitlock painted the rest of the plane around it. It was incredibly ambitious."

Unfortunately, Tales of the Gold Monkey had a secret enemy in its midst. "The network didn't like the lush look of the series," line producer Don Baer reported to me. "They wanted it to be light and sunny, like a kid's show. They saw it as bright. The villains had to be clear-cut and the very idea that characters might speak with foreign accents really bothered them. It was unbelievable. Everything had to be articulated and clear, and the intrigue was not what they were looking for, so the show was considered controversial."

"Right after the pilot, we had a meeting with network staff in Bellisaro's office," Baer remembers, "and Don was reciting some of the developing story lines. We were all nodding our heads...it was great stuff. But the network staff just sat there and said, 'No, that's wrong. Don't do that.'"

And rather than encouraging Tales of the Gold Monkey to break away from any and all similarities to Raiders of the Lost Ark, the network demanded commonalities. "The studio kept pushing for mud people and monkey people and other elements that would play up the similarities," Greene told me with not a little irritation.

For Greene, working with ABC -- and their demands to turn Gold Monkey into a kid's show -- was daunting. "We had to overload episodes with swearing so we would have grounds to negotiate with Standards and Practices," he relates. "We would trade them a 'damn' or 'hell' for something we wanted to leave in. During one episode, we had these gorgeous dancers doing the can-can and I offhandedly joked that the performers were not wearing underwear. Well, someone from the network overheard and thought I was serious. Before I knew it, execs were screening the can-can footage frame-by-frame to see if they could detect visible genitalia...."

Ultimate, ABC canceled the series at the end of the first season, yet even that didn't mean that the show couldn't go out in style; or in the tradition of "old Hollywood" it had established with such conviction and fidelity in its almost two-dozen episodes. In fact, the series was supposed to end with another unlikely homage.

"I'd been working on Gold Monkey around the clock, and one night I turned on the TV and fell asleep," Tom Greene told me. "Suddenly I woke up and saw Frank Sinatra and Spencer Tracy walking around our Monkey Bar set! I thought I'd gone nuts. Then I realized I was actually awake, watching a movie called Devil at 4 O'Clock." That film -- concerning a volcanic eruption on a South Sea Island, was made in 1961, but Greene detected how it could add some visual effects luster to Gold Monkey's final show.

He continues: "The next day, I went to the art director, and he told me that he had built our series sets based on old studio blueprints from Devil at 4 O'Clock. So I said, 'great, let's do a volcano show and the stock footage from the movie will match our standing sets.' That's exactly what we did, in what was supposed to be the final episode of the series, called "A Distant Shout of Thunder." When people saw it, they thought we'd spent millions of dollars destroying our sets when in fact it was just a perfect, magical blend of new footage and stock...."

It seemed a spectacular finish to a spectacular series, but before long, the network struck again. "After we completely destroyed the island, ABC asked us to do one more episode..." Greene laughs.

Today, director Laidman attributes Gold Monkey's continued cult popularity to its timeless tales of adventure. "I thought the stories were absorbing, interesting, and a little corny in a fun kind of way. Bellisario had a rough-n-tumble sense of humor that resonated with audiences."

Producer Baer concurs: "It had the romance of the 1930s, the bigger-than-life hero with the leather jacket, and the elements of intrigue of that time period. It was a lot of fun. That plane [the Goose] was a magic carpet and it could take you anywhere..."

So here we are in 2010, still lacking a boarding pass for that magic carpet. Isn't it about time for an official DVD release here in the United States? There's been one in the UK, I understand. But after all, if (TV) adventure has a name, it must be...Jake Cutter.

(JKM's note: My ill-fated Cinescape retrospective on Tales of the Gold Monkey was not printed before the magazine went under in 2001; but that [lengthier and much more-in-depth] retrospective is posted at my web site here.)

Sunday, February 07, 2010

Sci-Fi Pulse Reminder: Interview with JKM at 5:00 pm (EST)


Hey Sunday Readers:

Don't forget, I'm interviewed on Sci-Fi Pulse with host Ian Cullen and Marx Pyle today, at 5:00 pm (EST). We discuss my writing career, the state of sci-fi TV, web series and much more.

Don't miss the show, and thanks for tuning in.

- JKM

Millennium Group Sessions 21: John Kenneth Muir Part 2

The second part of the audio interview I did with Back to Frank Black, and wonderful podcast hosts Troy and James, is now available for a listen.

I had a great time chatting with these gentlemen, and I hope to work with them both again in the future. They are dedicated, informed and gracious: great hosts!

Our topics this time include more on classic MIllennium (including a discussion of some of my favorite episodes), and also my web series, The House Between.

Check out Part 2 of the interview
here.

And don't forget, I'm on Sci-Fi Pulse with Ian Cullen at 5:00 pm today...