50 Years Ago: Carrie (1976)

Although he had directed many fine feature films before this 1976 thriller (including the exquisite Sisters [1973] and Phantom of the Paradise [1974]), it was Carrie that truly landed Brian De Palma on the cinematic A list.

The director's critically and financially successful adaptation of the Stephen King novel not only assured De Palma a long and storied career in Hollywood, it also set off a virtual blizzard of celluloid King adaptations vetted by high-profile film directors (Tobe Hooper and Salem's Lot [1978], Stanley Kubrick and The Shining [1980], David Cronenberg and The Dead Zone [1981], George Romero and Creepshow [1982], John Carpenter and Christine [1983], Rob Reiner and Misery, etc.). This is a horror trend that endured well into the 1990s, and even to into this decade, though to perhaps a less-significant degree.

Carrie proved so resonant as a horror genre initiative, in fact, that it spawned a fad, a significant  number of B movie imitations. These were films about wronged, lonely teens seeking bloody vengeance against their cruel school mates. These films had titles such as Ruby (1977), Jennifer (1978), Laserblast (1978) and Evilspeak (1981)

With his keen and accomplished visual sense, De Palma creates an intimate portrait in Carrie of this aforementioned adolescent, high-school cruelty. It's Lord of the Flies in a locker room...only with mean girls instead of wild boys. In her review of the film for New Yorker, critic Pauline Kael noted that prior to De Palma's film, "no one else has ever caught the thrill that teenagers get from a dirty joke and sustained it for a whole picture," terming Carrie a "terrifyingly lyrical thriller."

Most critics strongly agreed with the assessment that King's novel found perfect expression in De Palma's capable hands. Film Quarterly, Volume XXI (page 32) in 1977 noted that "De Palma develops his familiar motifs of exploitation, guilt and sexual repression with a sure hand, so that his visual fireworks for the first time do not seem themselves obsessional and out of control."

Roger Ebert wrote in his review of January 1, 1976 that: Brian De Palma's Carrie is an absolutely spellbinding horror movie, with a shock at the end that's the best thing along those lines since the shark leaped aboard in Jaws. It's also (and this is what makes it so good) an observant human portrait. This girl Carrie isn't another stereotyped product of the horror production line; she's a shy, pretty, and complicated high school senior who's a lot like kids we once knew."

Today, no less than three major sequences in Carrie have entered the pop-culture lexicon (and endured there for over thirty years.) These three sequences are so well-directed, so brilliantly-staged that they jump immediately to mind when considering the film. More importantly, they visually support the film's narrative: forging an understanding of Carrie's world and what it means, in some cases, to "grow up." Those scenes are set in a girl's locker room, at the senior prom, and finally, (ominously...) grave side.

We're All Very Sorry For This Incident: The Curse of Blood

In part, Carrie works so splendidly, because of the universality of the high school experience. Sometimes it feels like high school is a realm where cruelty -- along with apathy -- has become institutionalized.

Teenagers often seem to boast a sixth sense (or is it a killer instinct?) about those students who are less well-adjusted, who come from bad homes, or who are just more sensitive...and therefore vulnerable. And then those kids are ridiculed, teased, shunned and mocked sometimes, to the point of sadism.

Probably nothing could expose this milieu more clearly (or more artfully) than the locker room scene that opens Carrie. After a game of volleyball (shot from a high angle, as if to clue in the audience to the fact that something terrible is soon to occur...), De Palma cuts to the gym locker room. The steam from the showers softens the image on screen, providing the impression of a lulling dream, or even a sexual fantasy. Immediately, we start to understand how high school represents a time of sexual awakening.

As the camera pans right, accompanied by the romantic strains of Pino Donaggio's score, the audience sees gorgeous young women frolicking, nude or half-nude after their exertions on the court. As I wrote in Horror Films of the 1970s, this is an "erotic image of wood nymphs at play," one intended to arouse, titillate and stimulate. But as the camera moves past this fanciful action in a forward motion, we soon spy Carrie White (Sissy Spacek) alone in a shower. It's a strangely solitary, personal and erotic moment too. The young woman caresses herself in slow-motion. Glistening water drops decorate her euphoric face. A phallic-shaped shower-head sprays water down upon her.

Carrie's hands wander innocently down to her stomach, then her legs -- and, as curious viewers -- we wonder how far this scene is going to go. As Carrie's hands continue to spiral downwards to her legs, scarlet blood suddenly stains her skin, mixing with the pounding water. It's menstrual blood. On her fingers, on her legs. On the floor.

This is a typical De Palma bait-and-switch, a deliberate reversal or undoing of expectations. Those males in the audience aroused by the sight of female nudity are no doubt -- much like the disturbed school principal featured in the next scene -- not at all aroused by the visual of a high school girl getting her period. A sexy fantasy has given way to common reality

The dream-like nature of this sequence dissipates quickly now, giving way to abject horror. Carrie does not know or understanding what is happening to her. She believes she is dying. From a subjective point-of-view shot, we now see harsh reality: the other high school girls categorically reject Carries' entreaties for help and the "misty" look of the scene has evaporated. With startling cruelty, the girls even toss tampons at the desperate Carrie. We get close-ups of taunting, ugly faces, and hear the girls' mean chants. Those beautiful bodies in the slow-motion dream have given way to the cruel reality of high school. Mocking, teasing, the mob mentality. Like pack animals, the teen girls can smell the weak number in their pack...and go in for the kill.

This scene serves a few important narrative functions. First, the visual obsession on young, sexy bodies (and Carrie's body, in particular...) serve to note the full extent of this character's burgeoning womanhood. Though shy and awkward, Carrie is also beautiful in an innocent way...stepping into the realm of sexual maturity with awkwardness.

Secondly, the hurling of the tampons and the close-ups of twisted, evil faces mocking Carrie help to dramatize what a delicate, uncomfortable, embarrassing time this can be for those undergoing puberty. Through the cruelty of the girls in the locker room, we comes to sympathize for Carrie's feelings of isolation and separation. In addition to her sexual maturation, this scene charts Carrie's first steps into "psychic" maturity as well. Her outrage at the cruel treatment causes a telekinetic burst: the shattering of a lamp bulb over the shower enclosure. This is clear foreshadowing...

Another scene -- less showy and far less notorious than the locker room sequence -- also reveals much about Carrie's school life and builds on our compassion. The only bright light in Carrie White's world is her quiet, heretofore secret affection for classmate Tommy Ross (William Katt). De Palma finds a unique way to connect these characters visually the first time that they share a scene. In English Class, Tommy is highlighted in the foreground of one shot, in an extreme close-up. Meanwhile, Carrie is depicted as diminutive and tiny, in the background of the self-same shot. Interpreting what our eyes see, he is thus paramount -- a towering paragon -- and she is literally almost a midget, an after-thought in distant orbit of his "star." Yet importantly, the characters share the same frame. De Palma's choice of shots here expresses Carrie's own (insecure) view of self. To her, Tommy is "big" and "shiny," at center stage, while she is "small" and far from attention. Almost unseen.

In Horror and Science Fiction Films II (Scarecrow Press, 1982, page 52), critic Donald C Willis noted that "it's debatable who's meaner to Carrie - her fellow students or her director, who draws out their elaborate prank for 90 minutes, then lovingly shoots its penultimate moments...in slow motion."

I understand his point, but, as always, we should ask the question "why?" I submit that that De Palma makes much of the film a torturous build-up to Carrie's moment of explosive rage not so we can mock her; but so we sympathize with her. The film spends much time on Carrie's home life with her stark-raving-crazy mother (Piper Laurie), a zealous, Christian, fundamentalist freak. Between these harrowing home sequences and those set in high school, the audience rightly wonders how much this poor girl can endure Then, De Palma grants us that gleaming moment of hope as Tommy and Carrie appear to develop a meaningful relationship. De Palma again pulls a bait-and-switch (with his lying camera, dammit!), letting the hope linger in our minds that perhaps, just perhaps, Carrie has found the very kindred spirit who will allow her to join the rest of the world and vanquish her intense loneliness and awkwardness. Of course, this is not to be...

Split-Screen Prom Queen

De Palma is renowned for the cleverness of his climactic set-pieces, and Carrie gives us one of his most terrifying, and his most accomplished. His camera prowls the prom as Carrie and Tommy attend the dance and Carrie -- for the first time in the movie -- is all smiles. She is still tender, vulnerable, but her hopes have been raised (as have ours). The gym coach, Mrs. Collins (Buckley) even shares a tender story with Carrie about her own prom.

This is the brand of personal, human story another horror film might not pause to record with such meticulous attention, but again, De Palma pulls the rug right out from under us (and his characters). Mrs. Collins' anecdote -- like the dream-like moment in the shower, or like the hope of a relationship with Tommy -- encourages us in the hope that Carrie is going to have a beautiful experience too. To that end, De Palma's camera dizzily revolves around the happy couple (Carrie and Tommy) as they dance together.

At first, these camera revolutions are euphoric and romantic, an intoxicating moment of hope realized, dreams come true. But then the rotating accelerates, out of control, faster and faster. Because of the off-kilter, fast-moving camera, we just know things are not going to go well. When De Palma's camera then tracks one of the mean girls, P.J. Soles, onto the stage, and the camera determinedly banks up to the rafters, to a shaky pail filled with pig's blood, our hearts sink.

The trap is set.

And again, De Palma gives us a happy moment. Carrie and Tommy are crowned king and queen of the prom, and this revelation is shot using triumphant slow-motion photography. Only this time, we don't feel dreamy or intoxicated...or even triumphant. On the contrary, we're agonized. We know what is coming now, and the slow-motion victory lap drags out our tight-throated feelings of anticipation and dread to an almost unbearable degree. We see what is going to happen but we can't stop it. Now the film marches inexorably towards terror, and the explosion of Carrie's monstrous rage; the force of her anger.

When Carrie is finally "crowned" in pig's blood on stage, the horrifying moment is a specific reflection of the locker-room/shower debacle at the beginning of the film, wherein Carrie first confronted the flowing of her vaginal blood; her messy, confusing entrance into adulthood. Her mother has told her that blood represents sin ("First comes the blood, then comes the sin,") so imagine poor Carrie's terror at being covered in such blood in public; worse -- on stage. By loving Tommy, she must fear, she has again brought the flowing of blood.

Carrie's climactic psychic outburst is depicted utilizing one of De Palma's favorite techniques: the split screen. In this case, the split-screen connotes the instantaneous, light speed transmission of telekinesis; the cause-and-effect relationship of the psychic power. Visualized in one side of the frame, Carrie turns her head, widens her eyes, and casts her gaze upon a specific tormentor. In the other side of the frame, we see the simultaneous psychic effect of the murderous gaze. Someone falls down, someone catches fire, or there is an explosion.

The prom apocalypse also flashily reflects the film's themes. Adults in Carrie are depicted in various shades of negativity. They are colored as uncaring (the principal, who can't remember Carrie's name), utterly mad (Mrs. White), sedated and drunk (Mrs. Snell), or heartless and bitter (Carrie's mocking English teacher). At their very best, the adults might come off as capricious, like Mrs. Collins, whose draconian punishment of the mean girls spawns the revenge against Carrie.

But now that Carrie is an adult -- covered in blood -- we can therefore no longer sympathize with her. Accordingly, she goes beyond the bounds of the "sane" during her incredible telekinetic attack, killing friends (Mrs. Collins) and foes without distinguishing between them. The innocent and the guilty both fall to her wrath and in the end, that's what makes Carrie a monster here...an adult monster like all those around her. De Palma has proven successful at making Carrie sympathetic until this point, until Carrie's "real" entrance into adulthood. The world has taught Carrie to be cruel, and at the Prom, she learns that lesson too well.

Carrie White Burns in Hell. Or, Did You Ever Stop to think that Carrie White Has Feelings?

The third "famous" moment in Carrie arrives at film's end. It's possibly the best sting-in-the-tail/tale ending ever captured on film. It's certainly the most-imitated. Shot in misty slow-motion (again like the locker room sequence preamble...), Sue Snell (Amy Irving) lovingly deposits flowers on Carrie's grave. Her intentions had been good; and despite all the horror Carrie wrought, Sue still has some residual feelings of compassion for the girl who everybody teased. But then, without warning, Sue is pulled down into the grave by Carrie's groping, burned claw. The message: even the innocent must fear Carrie, because she has lost control of her hate.

Sue awakens from the nightmare, traumatized and terrified, and the movie ends with heart-pumping, breathless intensity. We understand that Sue will never be the same; will never view the world the same way. If Carrie has moved into adulthood in the film; so has Sue. She has learned that the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Carrie is a terrifying film dominated by the three memorable scenes I have outlined in this review (the locker room opening; the prom set-piece, and the terrifying coda). But it is more than that too.

Again, as I wrote in Horror Films of the 1970s, what you ultimately take away from Brian De Palma's adaptation is a sense of growing frustration with a world that allows good people to be tormented and then turned into monsters themselves. Carrie was so harried, so abused by everyone in her life that she finally retaliated with the very force of hatred she despised so much in others. In charting this story, Stephen King and Brian De Palma chart a cycle of violence. They remind us how children turn to us -- adults -- for guidance and compassion. How they turn to us as role models, and how they sometimes fall through the cracks and find themselves lost, rudderless..emulating only the worst angels of human nature.

De Palma executes Carrie like a perfectly-realized cruel practical joke indeed; but not to debauch us; not to make us gawk or laugh at lonely Carrie White. On the contrary, De Palma victimizes the audience, much as Carrie is herself victimized throughout this harrowing film. He reminds us that in youth (and indeed, adulthood) we've all had to contend with our own Chris Hargensons and Billly Nolans: people who are cruel simply for the sake of cruelty. With his dream visions shattered by harsh reality, with his dazzling split screens, even with his anticipatory, anxiety-provoking slow-motion photography, De Palma reminds us to stop and remember that other people have feelings too. 

Carrie White burned in Hell all right. But that Hell was called high school. And the real thing could hardly have been worse than gym class.

Saturday Morning Cult-TV Blogging: Monster Squad: "Queen Bee" (September 11, 1976)

Monster Squad (1976 - 1977) -- not to be confused with the late 1980's movie, The Monster Squad (1987) -- is a one-season Saturday morning series developed by Stanley Ralph Ross, one of the key writers of the Adam West Batman (1966 – 1969) series.

Like Batman, Monster Squad’s style is high-camp, meaning that all the heroes face their various crises with melodramatic solemnity, a solemnity that plays to adults as funny but kids as serious. 

Also like Batman, Monster Squad is famous for its rogue’s gallery of celebrity villains.  Some of the actors who wore crazy get-ups and twirled their metaphorical mustaches on the program included Julie Newmar as “Ultra Witch” and Jonathan Harris as “the Astrologer.”

Briefly stated, the premise of Monster Squad is that a young and hopelessly earnest criminologist, Walter (Fred Grandy) has developed a fantastically advanced crime computer at the Chamber of Horrors exhibit in the basement of Fred’s Wax Museum. This large-scale computer can rise out of a sarcophagus platform when in operation, and features a “secret government” channel and radio transmitter.

One day however, the “oscillating vibrations” of Walter’s crime computer awaken three of the museum’s figures, Dracula (Henry Polic II), the Frankenstein Monster (Michael Lane) and The Wolfman (Buck Kartalian). These figures are apparently the real deal, resurrected, and not merely wax representations of them.  However, it is never explained why the wax museum was housing the bodies of such dangerous monsters.

Regardless of their precise nature, these three “monsters” from history wish to atone for their sins by solving crimes with Walter, and thereby making reparations to society.

With Walt operating out of the Chamber of Horrors, Dracula, The Wolfman and The Frankenstein Monster are thus frequently dispatched -- in a black 1970s van -- to combat evil-doers around the city.

The first episode of Monster Squad, “Queen Bee” -- which aired on NBC the morning of September 11, 1976 -- stars Alice Ghostley as the insect matriarch, the aforementioned Queen Bee. As the episode commences, she has ordered her bee minions around the world to attack unsuspecting humans.  This “unexplained rash of bee stings” is noticed by Walt, who captures a bee and attempts to interrogate it with the Crime Computer.

One will notice here that the Crime Computer has a slot designed and labeled for insect analysis. This makes one wonder how often evil bugs show up in town…

After a time, Walt frees the bee, and Dracula tracks it in bat-form to Queen Bee’s headquarters. There, he and his monster must stop the Queen Bee’s plans before the United Nations can surrender the world to her.

The 1970's represents the great era of “killer bee” entertainment, from the movies Invasion of the Bee Girls (1973) and The Swarm (1978) to TV series such as The Starlost (1973-1974) which featured an episode about giant bees called “The Beehive.” 

In terms of “Queen Bee,” the Monster Squad episode reports about the South American killer bee briefly, but otherwise conjures up little in terms of fact.  Instead, the installment features about a hundred bad “bee” puns for Ghostley and her buzzing minions. 

“I bee-seech you,” says one character.  “Bee-ware your fate,” says another.

After a while, we also get “bee-lieve me,” “bee-guiling,” “bee-wildering,” “bee-headed,” “bee-trothal,” “bee-tray” and other variations on the theme.  One non -“bee” joke is Queen Bee’s comment that one of her minions always “bumbles.”

As you can probably guess, this approach grows tiring after a while, though it anticipates the approach to Mr. Freeze in Batman and Robin (1997).  

The episode -- like all Monster Squad episodes -- plays as particularly arched, and not overly amusing. Everyone is in on the joke, but the joke isn’t as amusing as it is on Batman, and this Saturday morning series also lacks the resources, and hence production values of that camp classic.  For instance, here Dracula is put in a vat of honey, and the vat is a tiny little barrel.

Viewers who were kids in the 1970's may be most interested here to see a Mego toy re-painted and used as a prop in “Queen Bee.”  Ghostley’s “bee” communicator is actually a Star Trek walkie-talkie from the age, but painted gold.  The prop -- with a different paint job -- recurs as Walt’s crime computer remote control in the next episode, “Mr. Mephisto.”

Although Monster Squad doesn’t hold up particularly well-today, I remember that I absolutely loved it as a seven year old, and that I wished and hoped for action figures, playsets and other toys featuring these lovable and familiar monsters. There was, as memory services, a board game available at one time.

As bad as some of these episodes are, the opening theme song and introductory montage still provide me a nice kick of nostalgia…

Next week: “Mr. Mephisto.”

Cult-TV Blogging: Star Maidens: "The Enemy"

In the final episode of Star Maidens (1976), Fulvia (Judy Geeson) and her captives -- Adam (Pierre Brice) and Shem (Gareth Thomas) -- prepare to return to Medusa for the hostage exchange.  

At the same time, Dr. Rudy Schmidt (Christian Quadflieg) and Liz (Lisa Harrow) are being ferried back to Earth by Octavia (Christiane Kruger).

The exchange does not go off quite as planned, however, because of a malevolent third party. The Medusans remember -- from their ancient history in Proxima Centauri -- the presence of alien predators who “fed” on them. Now, a deadly spaceship from that force has arrived in Earth’s solar system, ready to once more interfere in Medusan affairs.

The alien ship attacks, attempting to seize the Medusan shuttles, but Adam and Rudy, on separate ships, launch a counter-attack, something the Medusan females are not willing to do. The counter-attack is successful, and Earth and Medusa have their first triumph together.

“The Enemy” is a fascinating episode of Star Maidens, and a segment that makes one wish for further episodes. Although the episode’s final statement on the war of the sexes is not so strong (which I will talk about below), “The Enemy” nonetheless sets the scene for a larger tapestry, had the second season been produced.

Here, the ancient enemy of Medusa arrives in a menacing-looking spaceship, depicted with a miniature that would have felt right at home in Space: 1999 (1975-1977). We never actually see the enemy. But from their merciless voices, we know that the enemies are all male. We see their uniforms, rotund bodies, and gloved hands, but never their faces.

We are told -- via exposition -- that the Medusans, in their original solar system “were preyed upon” by these aliens.  Apparently, these forces have been searching for Medusa for centuries.  And now the enemy has found both its quarry, and Earth. It would indeed have been fascinating to see how this dynamic altered the series in a second season, but alas it was never to be.

In terms of our final statement about men and women, there is finally no ambiguity about where Star Maidens stands. Adam and Rudy take command of their respective Medusan crafts, and fight back against the aliens. 

Several times, Octavia and Fulvia complain that they don’t know how to fight. So the men, who apparently do, must step up to save the day.  

In light of what we have already seen on the series, including Medusan weaponry and security forces, this plot element doesn’t make much sense. Octavia is a hard-nosed, brutal fighter, and head of Medusan Security. It seems highly unlikely that she would “choke” in battle, especially after detecting that her enemies are males.  Her primary prejudice, as we have seen close up, is that men are weak, inefficient creatures who cannot protect themselves. Hence women must protect them.  That through-line is lost in this final episode.

In terms of science, Star Maidens gets into a little trouble here. “The Enemy” continually confuses the term galaxy with solar system, noting that the bad guys have been chasing Medusa from galaxy to galaxy.  In the 1970’s, these terms were used interchangeably in many series, including in Battlestar Galactica (1978).

As this is the final episode of Star Maidens, I do want to reflect on the series as a whole. In brief: I rather enjoyed it, even if I can make the argument that the series did not always know where it was headed, or what its point about the war of the sexes really was. 

I love the production design from Keith Wilson, and the miniature effects as well.  Some stories, namely “Hideout” and “The End of Time” are really fascinating, and suggest that the makers of the series aimed for more than “high camp.”

And “high camp” is what critics have determined the series is. I can see why, based on some early episodes, but Star Maidens is worth a second-look, if only to better understand science fiction on TV in the 1970’s.

Cult-TV Blogging: Star Maidens: "Creatures of the Mind" (1976)

In “Creatures of the Mind,” we return to Medusa for a hard sci-fi story. In particular, a Medusan officer working in the Archive of the Department of Historical Records, is confronted with an old computer that has developed sentience, and wishes to feed on the energy of living beings.

Octavia (Christiane Kruger) assigns Liz (Lisa Harrow) to continue the job in the Archives when the officer descends into catatonia. Liz asks Rudy (Christian Quadflieg) to help, and together they confront the strange living machine.

The dangerous computers nearly take control of Liz, but Rudy saves the day, and actually gets a compliment from Octavia about his performance during the crisis.

Although this is a good, creepy, genre tale, “Creatures of the Mind” doesn’t exactly feel tailor-made for Star Maidens (1976), a series about the war between the sexes.  Instead, it feels very much aligned with many Star Trek (1966-1969) or Space: 1999 (1975-1977) stories involving sentient, mad, tyrannical computers. 

Here the Museum of Medusan History houses just such a danger.

It’s true that Octavia and Rudy must put their differences aside to defeat the danger, making this an example of the “My Enemy, My Ally” story, as well as one about the sexes getting along.  

Still, this story on Medusa doesn’t reveal much about the culture (as “End of Time” did) or expose some flaw in the way the society works (as was the case in “What Have They Done to the Rain?”)  Instead, the story just features a sci-fi standard: the evil, advanced computer.

What the story lacks in customization, perhaps, it makes up for in style. The prologue, with creepy female voices taunting a security officer, is quite unnerving.  The Archive is dark, foreboding, and dangerous, and there is the feel of this as some kind of demonic possession horror story. Only in this case, it is a computer, not a devil that wishes to possess the living.

The budgetary limits of the series are apparent, at least in one regard in “Creatures of the Mind.” Octavia is the Chief of Security for the entire planet, and yet she and Rudy work to save Liz...just the two of them. You’d think she had more scientists and soldiers she could rally to the cause.

Of course, the presence of additional characters would not only be expensive, it would take away from the particularly intimate nature of this horror: creepy computer voices in the dark, promising friendship, but delivering something malevolent and monstrous.

Next week, the final episode of Star Maidens: “The Enemy.”

Cult-TV Blogging: Star Maidens: "Hideout" (1976)

In “Hideout,” Star Maidens (1976) takes us back to Earth for the first time in a few episodes.  Adam (Pierre Brice) and Shem (Gareth Thomas) are still on the run from Fulvia (Judy Geeson), and Earth’s police hunt them down.

Adam and Shem hide in an apartment complex, but Adam is captured by authorities. This leaves Shem to befriend a lonely woman, Rose (Corny Collins), who has just suffered a break up with her boyfriend.  Shem heals Rose, providing an example of what a loving, supportive man can be like.  

Rose, in turn, hides Shem from the authorities, demonstrating her love and affection for him.

When Rose is nearly killed by going down a waterfall at a local park, Shem risks exposure to save her life. The police capture him and bring him to the angry Fulvia. But Shem and Rose have shared something beautiful, despite the relationship’s outcome.

I was set, at the start of “Hideout” to slag the episode as a champion time-waster, a return to the early slapstick car chases and “run around” shows at the start of the season. But, as “Hideout” went on and the narrative developed, I began to see how it might function as one of the best episodes, actually, of Star Maidens.

Overall, this cult series functions by showing us mirror dysfunctional images. We see a human male and female from Earth try to contend with Medusa’s matriarchy, in some episodes, specifically those featuring Liz and Rudy.  And then we see a Medusan woman and man, Fulvia and Adam, deal with Earth’s patriarchy in the episodes set here, on our planet.

Both worlds and both situations are imperfect. In fact, both are highly imperfect. “Hideout” therefore functions as this little grace note, this little “carve out,” if you will, of what a strong male/female relationship could look like, on either planet.  

In particular, Shem treats Rose with respect, loyalty and love. He helps her endure during the times she is weak, and he helps her to be strong. Rose responds in kind, housing Shem, trusting Shem, and choosing to help him when she could simply turn him in to the authorities. They develop a perfect symbiosis. 

If you look at the relationship, it is clearly one of give and take, not of set-in-stone matriarchy or patriarchy. Shem and Rose independently take the lead in the relationship when there is a void to be filled; but they do so to heal and fill the deficits of their opposite number. The Shem/Rose relationship is perhaps the only positive male/female relationship we witness in the entirety of Star Maidens.

This fact makes “Hideout” of great significance. There is so much political, sex role maneuvering in the series, between Fulvia and Adam, even on Medusa between Rudy and Octavia. There is absolutely none of that here. This story is simply about two people attempting to be together in a world that is out to destroy them, and their love.

This story features almost no science fiction trappings, but it doesn’t matter. “Hideout” is the episode about the fact that men and women can get along. In a series about the war between the sexes, the commentary it offers is vital.

Next week: “Creatures of the Mind.”

Cult-TV Blogging: Star Maidens: "The End of Time" (1976)

In “The End of Time,” Octavia (Christiane Kruger) returns to Medusa with Professor Evans (Derek Farr), so he can help negotiate a hostage swap. Once Fulvia and Adam return to Medusa, Liz (Lisa Harrow) and Rudy Schmidt (Christian Quadflieg) can return to Terra.

Unfortunately, something strange has happened on Medusa. All the women have vanished, the men are tranquilized, asleep in their dormitories, and the vast city is abandoned.  The only other people awake and in the metropolis are Liz and Rudy, who are trying to determine what has occurred.

And what has occurred?  

Apparently, “The End of Time.”  As Liz, Evans and Rudy learn, the Medusan people mark time by the life and death of their presidents. Time (symbolically stops for the culture when a president dies, and it does not resume until a new president is selected.  President Clara (Dawn Addams) appears to be dead.

Worse, since Liz was awake during her death, she is accused of being a presidential assassin and exiled to the inhospitable surface of Medusa.

Upon closer inspection of Clara, however, Evans realizes she is not dead, only the victim of a bacteriological infection, a condition that the Medusans have no familiarity with, because they long ago conquered disease. He suggests antibiotics.

When Clara recovers, time is allowed to resume in the city, and Rudy rescues Liz from the surface. Evans returns home, having failed his hostage mission, but having saved a life.

“The End of Time” is another very intriguing episode of Star Maidens (1976), since much is learned about Medusa, and its customs and history. 

For instance, it is reported, at one point that men are put to sleep during the death of a President (the so-called period known as “The End of Time”) so that they do not launch an uprising or attempt to gain control of the planet. Apparently, at one point in Medusan history, a man did lead the planet, and was an unmitigated disaster as a leader.  The technology to tranquilize men is called a “hypnomat.”

We also learn, of course, about “The End of Time” ritual, the stopping of all life on the planet, since a president has died. Time only resumes, in the eyes of Medusa, when a new matriarch rises. Without leadership, without control, Medusa itself seems to die, or at least hibernate.  I wonder how this would work if the planet were at war, or in crisis.

There are two other observations worth making at this juncture (episode ten of thirteen). The first is that the writers absolutely seem to prefer dealing with the “Medusa” story, rather than the “Earth” story, where Fulvia and Adam are suspiciously circling another.  The series boasts a schizophrenic feel because the Medusa stories are presented as straight-up science fiction tales in a futuristic setting, whereas the Earth story is campy, romantic, and at times, blisteringly caustic.  

The last two stories set on Medusa (“The End of Time” and “What Have They Done with the Rain?”) feature strong, mysterious science fiction elements, and social commentary too. “What Have They Done with the Rain?” is about the way that human beings and destroy the environment, and turn a blind eye to the cause of inimical changes. 

“The End of Time” commences as an “Empty City”-type story (think: Star Trek’s “Mark of Gideon” or Space:1999’s “One Moment of Humanity”) but then evolves into a meditation on the idea that sometimes an advanced civilization cannot deal with a “primitive” problem, like a bodily infection. The Medusans so long ago conquered illness, that even the creepy robot doctor is not able to diagnose Clara’s “death.”

The point I am making here is that Star Maidens has a reputation, among those who have seen it, as a “campy” 1970’s science fiction series. That description is apt, but only for the Fulvia/Adam episodes set on Earth.  The episodes on Medusa grapple, ambitiously -- and seriously -- with genre concepts, tropes, and commentary.

The second point I’m going to make here involves the thematic underpinnings of the series. As was the case in last week’s story, this tale focuses on the idea that the women of Medusa can’t help themselves. 

In “What Have They Done with the Rain?” Rudy -- a man – saved the planet from its own environmental short-sightedness. In “The End of Time,” a different man -- Professor Evans -- saves the women of the planet by proving that President Clara is sick, but not dead, and that, therefore, Liz is not an assassin.

When you boil it down, the idea in both stories is that only men can lead, or come up with answers, and that the matriarchy of Medusa would be doomed without them.  

This very concept betrays the thematic thrust established early in the series, that Earth and Medusa are mirror images of one another, and that both are locked in nonsensical prejudices about which gender is superior.  

At this juncture, it’s clear that the series seems to suggest men are better capable of leading, or at least solving problems. We have yet to see a story in which the Earth is doomed, because of the short-sighted behavior we have seen in these two episodes, and only a Medusan woman can save it.

Next up on Star Maidens: a return to Earth in “Hideout.”

Cult-TV Blogging: Star Maidens: "What Have They Done To The Rain?" (1976)

In “What Have They Done to the Rain?,” the ninth episode of Star Maidens (1976), Dr. Rudy Schmidt (Christian Quadflieg) -- a human, male prisoner on Medusa -- is working surface detail on the planet when he notes a dangerous chemical change occurring there. His men are endangered, and a Medusan supervisor sentry slips into the mud, and is destroyed.

Rudy warns Medusa’s president, Clara (Dawn Addams) that something deadly is occurring on the planet, and Medusa’s “Destiny” computer makes the same dire prediction, but can’t compute the reasons why. The computer observes that the “entire planet is under threat.”

Rudy and Liz (Lisa Harrow) conduct their own investigation -- over Octavia’s (Christiane Kruger) objections about a man contributing to the planet’s knowledge-base -- and find that structural areas of the city are collapsing. Toxic waste dumped on the surface of Medusa by the government have created chemical deposits that are eating through the crust of the planet…which is now starting to split. The rain, in conjunction with Medusa’s artificially-produced atmosphere, are accelerating the process of splitting the “shell” of the planet.

With mud-slides occurring regularly, Rudy warns that the Medusans must de-activate their current, dangerous atmospheric processor, and go back to an older model. Octavia refuses to believe it, but President Addams, seeing the wisdom of Rudy’s warning, agrees to make the change.

Once more, we are back on Medusa for an episode of Star Maidens, which means the focus is not on satire and male/female romantic relationships/power dynamics, but on sci-fi storytelling.  In “What Have They Done to the Rain?” Rudy asks a question that might be asked of our people, here on Earth: “Are you going to let your prejudices affect your lives?”

To wit: The vast majority of scientists here on Earth, in 2017, believe that humans are contributing to catastrophic climate change in a significant way, but some lawmakers and citizens refuse to believe the facts, because they disagree with the politics of the scientists, or because the facts conflict with their religious biases.  Or maybe, they economically benefit from not changing, from not adjusting to the facts.

But facts are facts, even if they come from someone who disagrees with you. Notice the title here, which is prophetic: What Have They Done..."  The "They" in question covers the government of Medusa, which is damaging the planet, without thought to the consequences.

So in this episode, facts are facts too, even if they come from a man (a lower class citizen in the matriarchy of Star Maidens). President Clara is, fortunately, able to allow reason to overcome her built in prejudice against men. Octavia, by contrast, is not able to do so. She can’t even believe that a man may have the knowledge to save her planet, because men are inherently inferior in her eyes.

As Rudy suggests in the episode’s coda, he wins a “triumph” for men, by proving his science accurate to the President and governing council of Medusa. But beyond that, he also proves that science and facts are superior to self-aggrandizing mythology and the forces of inertia or the status quo. He is assisted in this effort by Liz, whose position as a woman on Medusa allows her to pick her own team for the investigation. She promptly picks Rudy, giving him a platform to address the problem, and have a voice in its solution.

In some ways, “What Have They Done to the Rain?” is very reminiscent of Space: 1999 (1975-1977).

First, the episode makes extensive use of sound effects heard on the Gerry and Sylvia Anderson series, especially those heard in “Dragon’s Domain” and “Collision Course.”  If you are a fan of 1999, this heavy use of familiar sound effects can be very distracting.

Secondly, the story concerns a man (or woman…)-made problem -- toxins and pollution in the atmosphere -- and predicts disaster of the citizens of a planet do not change their short-sighted ways. In “Breakaway,” the 1999 premiere, Commander Koenig (Martin Landau) learns that the waste disposal area on the Moon, housing Earth’s atomic waste, is dangerous and unstable. 

Those in power, such as Commissioner Simmonds (the late Roy Dotrice) refuse to accept the truth. Koenig attempts to resolve the problem, but fails, and a cataclysm occurs.  In this episode of Star Maidens, at least, Rudy helps the Medusans avoid this environmental disaster.

The only downside to this Medusa-focused episode is that a pattern is emerging. Rudy keeps proving the female population and government wrong, and that subtly suggests the series viewpoint.  It seems the makers of the series are implying that women are unfit or unsuitable to lead or govern. The next episode, "The End of Time," follows on in this pattern.

Next week: "The End of Time."