Millennium and Muir at the Grassy Knoll

The first part of an extensive three-part audio interview on the subject of Chris Carter's brilliant series, Millennium (1996-1999), has now been posted by radio host Vyzogoth over at "The Grassy Knoll."

In this initial interview, I discuss with Vyzogoth some of the symbols, themes and specific contexts underlining Millennium's stellar first season. In Part 2 (available on April 27), we go on to discuss the specifics of Season Two.

Here's the link to the site. Check it out!

COLLECTIBLE OF THE WEEK: Star Trek (2009)

Red alert: The Playmates toys from J.J. Abrams' upcoming Star Trek (2009) are beaming down to store shelves now. I was in Target with Joel yesterday trying to explain to him that there were no toys available for Thundercats (his new favorite characters...). He was disappointed, but quickly spotted the "starship Enterprise" (from the Galaxy Collection...) at his eye level.

I successfully resisted l my urge to spend a lot of money and settled for the Enterprise and the Original Spock action figure. I then channeled some self-discipline and exercised extreme will-power. Yep, I left the communicator, new phaser, the transporter room diorama and other figures (Chekov, Sulu, Pike!) hanging there...untouched. But wow, these toys are gorgeous.

Better not go back to Target anytime soon. At least not till I get my next royalty statement...

Captain Nemo and The Underwater City (1969)

The Mask Makes The Monster

So I guess you’ve heard the news by now. In Rob Zombie's Halloween 2, Michael Myers will be wearing his trademark Shatner mask in only roughly 25% of the film. And John Carpenter’s Halloween theme – which has endured since 1978 – will not be utilized at all.

These creative decisions are Zombie’s to make, of course, and I suppose he’s got his own vision of Halloween that he is assiduously pursuing here. But his selections cause me some alarm. They make me ask an important and relevant question: when does so much get altered, so much get changed, so much get removed, that a familiar franchise just isn’t familiar anymore?

Michael’s mask – that white, expressionless, emotionless mask – transforms the long-lived character of Michael Myers into something more than a mere mortal. When wearing the mask, he is “The Shape,” or "The Boogeyman." Sans mask, those identities no longer carry significance, psychic weight or importance. And again, those ideas have been important to the franchise’s history: they push Michael across an important line; from being merely another bad "man" to being something more archetypal, something more iconic and more universally recognizable and menacing. Evil with an "E."

I had a movie poster of “The Shape” in my college dorm back in 1988, and I’ll never forget what my R.A. said about it. He had seen the Halloween films but wasn’t a horror movie fan, per se. But he noted this: “That white mask seems to reflect every fear back at you, doesn’t it?” Pretty deep for an R.A.. And pretty insightful too.

But he was right: we invest something of ourselves, of our subconscious in that ivory mask, in that cinematic mirror, and ultimately that’s what great art is all about. How we interpret it.

The very thing that separates Michael from the slasher pack is this sense of ambiguity about his humanity. The white mask ghoulishly represents how easy (and in some senses, cowardly…) it is to hide behind a cloak of anonymity . The white mask also symbolizes Michael’s blank stare, one cast on his victims with hidden indifference and contempt. The white mask furthermore allows Michael to cloak his true motives and give his enemies a bit of the "Trick or Treat." Remember how he cast sad puppy dog eyes at Laurie in the finale of H20, a trick to lure her, in no doubt? Now imagine that scene played out if you’d seen his entire face, not just the eyes. Would the moment have been as effective?

From a practical point of view, the famous white mask of Michael Myers is also efficacious for night time shooting: it is often the only object we see lurking in – or lunging from – those night time compositions that Roger Ebert famously (and accurately) termed impenetrable. Some truly great moments in lighting and mise-en-scene have occurred in the Halloween films as that white, blank face slowly emerges from shadows, or is illuminated hot red (Halloween 2), etc.

Over the decades, scholars, psychologists and critics have suggested many theories about Michael Myers and his unique nature. That he is supernatural; that he is Evil on Two Legs. That he is a sociopath. That he is Laurie’s repressed id. Or even just that he is but a misguided, maladapted adult child…playing a brutal trick-or-treat game without any sense of conscience, remorse or proportion.

Remove the mask from Michael and all that speculation is gone with the wind. A Michael without the mask no longer represents or symbolizes anything larger than himself. He is not the Shape of Fear. He is not the embodiment of terror. He is not id, ego or superego. He is no more and no less than what he appears: a drooling mad-dog killer with hygiene issues.

If Michael doesn’t wear his mask, horror fans, general audiences and franchise followers lose something vital: our sense of imagination and engagement with "The Shape" as an archetype; as a character that is more than the sum of his violent parts and acts. If Michael doesn’t wear his famous mask, we don’t have to guess, speculate or imagine what diabolical psychological and human secrets he boasts. He is just like one of us, except big and strong and mean.

The details of Michael's story won’t really make much sense anymore, either. If he is no longer The Shape, how does Michael survive being burned? Bullets? Beatings? A thick skin I guess…

And again, this is sad to me: something mythic is rendered mundane. Something highbrow has been made lowbrow. Something extraordinary has been rendered…average, "normal."

If Rob Zombie – an alleged fan of the Carpenter original -- can’t see this, fact can’t understand this complaint, can’t artistically make this distinction -- then he doesn’t understand an iota about the Halloween mythos. I don’t say that to be personal, to be mean or even negative, but because I believe it to be true. I’m not saying Zombie can’t tell a good story about a non-mask-wearing serial killer…only that it won’t deserve the title Halloween if that’s the path he chooses.

I also have to wonder about the reasons not to use the famous music, but I confess, I am in nostalgic, not aesthetic territory when I wage this debate. The John Carpenter theme, not unlike the James Bond theme, the Star Trek fanfare, or John Williams’ Star Wars music – is an instantly recognizable trademark of the franchise. The music reminds the viewer that the franchise has a long history, and more so that the emotional connection you forged with the franchise in the past remains.

By taking out the Halloween theme, Rob Zombie seems to be intimating that there’s no room in his interpretation of the mythos for the old guard. For me. I mean, how unimaginative do you have to be, that you can’t find a place to utilize the Carpenter theme song even once? It could be deployed ironically, nostalgically, or bombastically. As a brief fanfare over a title card; or in full-throated mode, fast over the end credits.

How would James Bond fans feel about a film that didn’t feature the 007 theme? Wouldn’t they feel a little ripped off? Like something had gone awry? Like someone behind-the-scenes was, maybe, on an ego trip? The James Bond theme…you don’t want to hear that old thing again do you? This is MY interpretation of James Bond and there’s no room for John Barry, Monty Norman or any “old” interpretation. Fuck those guys, this is the REAL James Bond.

For better or for worse, Rob Zombie has become temporary steward of the Halloween franchise. The films pre-date his presence and they will likely outlast his presence (unless he plans to make them for the rest of his life.) Bluntly put, one responsibility of a franchise director is to hold sacred for the next installment those things that the fans and viewers cherish. To leave those iconic situations, ideas and themes intact for the next guy; for the next film; and for the next generation of viewers.

By taking Michael out of the mask, by not using the long-lived John Carpenter theme, I fear that Zombie is abdicating his moral responsibilities as a franchise director. When he is done with Halloween, what will be left and will it be recognizable? As someone who’s been watching these movies since 1978, I care about the answer to that question.

I realize that some people will likely say this is just "a fanboy overachiever" making a mountain out of a molehill. After all, movies in today’s culture are disposable, and when Zombie is done with Halloween, maybe there will be another re-boot that puts to rights the things he’s done wrong.

But one of the reasons that I enjoy film series like Halloween (and Star Trek, and Star Wars, and James Bond…) is that I appreciate continuity. And make no mistake, continuity is something important: the viewer gets something valuable from it. Again, in some cases, we can begin to truly engage a work of art only when we gaze at the larger picture; at the larger narrative told across a multi-film tapestry. So we want to know that the Kirk of Star Trek IV remembers the events of Star Trek III, for instance. Or, in the case of James Bond, that his core characteristics -- sex, sadism and snobbery -- remain the same even as times and social mores change.

With Michael Myers, the same is true. He’s supposed to be a masked spree killer; but no ordinary man. No...he is “The Shape” or “The Boogeyman." His theme song goes along with that image.

So I wonder when Halloween stops being Halloween, and when it becomes HINO: Halloween In Name Only. To some degree, it’s the aura of hubris that concerns me here too. Zombie wants to keep the title Halloween (or rather, Halloween 2), but he also wants to do his own thing at the same time…even though his changes are radical. If Zombie wants to do a movie about a serial killer without a mask, he should craft an original franchise featuring that character. He’s smart enough and talented enough to do just that. (And listen, I love House of a 1000 Corpses and The Devil's Rejects, so I'm not just picking on Zombie to be a "hater.")

But Rob Zombie shouldn’t corrupt the character of Michael Myers and the character of the Halloween films to fit his particular tastes simply because it’s convenient. Because the well-known title offers him a built-in audience, and a guarantee of a good opening weekend. Zombie has a responsibility to be true to what's come before.

If, in Zombie’s version of Halloween 2, Laurie asks Loomis if Michael Myers was the Bogeyman, I expect Loomis to answer, honestly. “As a matter of fact….he wasn’t.”

Nope.

He was just a big wrestler dude in overalls with a beard. If that's truly "The Shape" of Things to come for this franchise, it saddens me. Michael Myers is a great movie villain and I hate to see him brought down to the realm of the ordinary,

Chillers and Thrillers Looks at Eaten Alive at a Chainsaw Massacre: The Films of Tobe Hooper

My 2003 reference and film study book Eaten Alive at a Chainsaw Massacre: The Films of Tobe Hooper (McFarland) gets excavated and examined in "Building Horror and Suspense Tobe Hooper’s Way," a new, in-depth article by Gary Pullman over at the excellent blog Chillers and Thrillers, a site "on the theory and practice of writing horror fiction."

Here's a snippet:

"In Eaten Alive at a Chainsaw Massacre: The Films of Tobe Hooper, John Kenneth Muir explains some of the narrative and symbolic devices that Hooper uses in his film, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), to build horror and suspense..."

So Long, Starlog...

I'm a day or two behind on this news, but Entertainment Weekly's Pop Watch reports that the 33-year old genre magazine Starlog is "temporarily" folding as a print publication in 2009 (though the online site will continue). This is sad and unwelcome news for the genre, and for me too. Personally, I will forever gaze back on Starlog with nostalgia and great affection .

The magazine was first published back in August 1976 (with a beautiful Star Trek cover) and the periodical looked at the state of the genre -- film and TV -- with great detail, love and intelligence. Starlog was around for the heyday of Space:1999, Star Wars, Star Trek: The Motion Picture, Alien, Battlestar Galactica, The Black Hole, Buck Rogers in the 25th Century and so many other landmarks of the disco decade.

In the eighties, the mag covered everything from Doctor Who and Blake's 7 to Highlander, Aliens and the Star Trek feature films. I had a subscription to the magazine in the 1980s and early 1990s, and spent the early part of the Reagan Era avidly collecting back issues at Englishtown Flea Market (where I could purchase each issue for $2.00).

I especially remember reading and enjoying David Gerrold's columns in Starlog over the years ("State of the Art," and "Rumblings"), plus David Hirsch's great updates about the Gerry Anderson universe (called "Space Report"). I also recall with affection issue #33, which featured reviews of Star Trek: The Motion Picture by Harlan Ellison, editor Howard ("Lastword") Zimmerman and Gerrold. Over the years, I enjoyed reading extensive interviews and detailed retrospective pieces from great writers like Lee Goldberg and Jean-Marc Lofficier. Every summer for a while, Starlog ran a must-have summer review issue too, and had the likes of Ben Bova, Theodore Sturgeon, Arthur C. Clarke, Alan Dean Foster and Robert Bloch penning critiques.

Sure, there was occasionally stuff to complain about in Starlog. For instance, the coverage of Space:1999 seemed particularly jaundiced; I remember how every Star Trek cast member and writer interviewed by the magazine felt compelled to slag it off, even when it wasn't the topic of the interview. But that's water under the bridge. What Famous Monsters represents to the older generation, Starlog surely represents to the Star Wars generation (my generation...Generation X).

I can't tell you exactly why, but I stopped reading and collecting Starlog sometime in the early 1990s, after I graduated from the University of Richmond. Yet every time I spotted a fresh issue at a newsstand or in a book shop, I felt happy and content to see that a cherished old friend -- one which did so much to ignite my love of the genre in film and television, not to mention journalism --- was still going strong.

All good things must come to an end, I suppose, even Starlog. For today I simply want to toast the 33-year old magazine that started so many of us off on our fantastic odysseys. Thanks for all the memories, Starlog, and job well done. If you can, come back to print soon...bigger and better than ever.

You know, just thinking about the magazine makes me want to get my back issues out of storage and read 'em all again...

Against the Grain likes Encyclopedia of Superheroes on Film and Television

My award-winning reference book, The Encyclopedia of Superheroes on Film and Television (now in a second, updated edition) just got another great review, this one from Against the Grain (Volume 20, # 6, page 57). ATG is published six times a year and counts itself a news source "on the issues, literature, and people that impact the world of books and journals."

ATG writes that The Encyclopedia of Superheroes on Film and Television "will appeal to both enthusiasts of the superhero genre as well as serious students of pop culture," that it contains "interesting facts and off-beat trivia" and that libraries will "need a second copy," one for "reference purposes" and one for fans "to check-out."

New From McFarland

The Pleasure and Pain of Cult Horror Films

The horror genre harbors a number of films too bold or bizarre to succeed with mainstream audiences, but offering unique, startling and often groundbreaking qualities that have won them an enduring following. Beginning with Victor Sjöström’s The Phantom Carriage in 1921, this book tracks the evolution and influence of underground cult horror over the ensuing decades, closing with William Winckler’s Frankenstein vs. the Creature from Blood Cove in 2005. It discusses the features that define a cult film, trends and recurring symbols, and changing iconography within the genre through insightful analysis of 88 movies. Included are works by popular directors who got their start with cult horror films, including Oliver Stone, David Cronenberg and Peter Jackson.

Captain America and the Struggle of the Superhero:

For more than 60 years, Captain America was one of Marvel Comics’ flagship characters, representing truth, strength, liberty, and justice. The assassination of his alter ego, Steve Rogers, rocked the comic world, leaving numerous questions about his life and death. This book discusses topics including the representation of Nazi Germany in Captain America Comics from the 1940s to the 1960s; the creation of Captain America in light of the Jewish American experience; the relationship between Captain America and UK Marvel’s Captain Britain; the groundbreaking partnership between Captain America and African American superhero the Falcon; and the attempts made to kill the character before his “real” death.

Hollywood in the Holy Land

This collection of essays analyzes film representations of the Crusades, other medieval East/West encounters, and the modern inheritance of encounters between orientalist fantasy and apocalyptic conspiracy. From studies of the filmic representations of popular figures such as El Cid, Roland, Richard I, and Saladin to examinations of such topics as Templar romance and the role of set design, location and landscape, the essays make significant contributions to our understanding of orientalist medievalism in film.

TV REVIEW: Dollhouse: "A Spy in the House of Love"

Without exaggeration, hyperbole, or histrionics, let me just put it to you straight: "A Spy in the House of Love" is the best episode of Joss Whedon's Dollhouse aired thus far. And more than that, it's the installment of the fledgling series that finally -- perhaps irrevocably -- broke down my sense of resistance to the series, not to mention my considerable feelings of distance and alienation from the heretofore opaque dramatis personae.

And no, it doesn't have anything to do with the fact that Eliza Duskhu makes her initial appearance in the episode brandishing a whip and wearing the sexy leather gear of a dominatrix.

Or not much, anyway.

"A Spy in the House of Love" involves Topher's surprising discovery of a spy inside the Dollhouse, one who can tap into his high-tech imprints and alter them without his knowledge. The NSA is suspected to be behind the secret mole, and one fast-paced portion of the episode concerns an Alias-like infiltration of that national agency by a disguised Sierra. But actually, the episode is structured cleverly to follow our four primary Actives as they go out on individual engagements, These Dolls are Echo, Victor, November and Sierra, and and each mini-adventure adds to the narrative of the main story at the same time that it builds good character touches.

In an act of self-preservation, Echo volunteers, for instance, to be imprinted as an expert interrogator, one who eventually brings down the spy. As I mentioned above, Sierra goes on a dangerous assignment at the NSA. November, meanwhile, unwittingly carries information for the spy inside the dollhouse to a bewildered Ballard (Penikott).

Finally, Victor's semi-regular, "a lonely heart," turns out to be the very woman running the entire show, De Witt (Olivia Williams). For the first time, we get to see the cracks in De Witt's shield: her loneliness, her isolation, her moral qualms about the Dollhouse and it's mission, and so on. You know the truism that it's lonely at the top? Well, De Witt has been living that for a long time, and secretly seeking companionship and solace with a Doll. The important thing is that this aspect of her personality gives us another layer to contemplate and sympathize with, something the druggie episode of a few weeks failed to accomplish.

The identity of the spy is revealed before the episode's denouement and the revelation is quite the shocker. I certainly didn't see it coming. I won't spoil it for you here, but let me say that it made sense, even if it seems to have arisen from left field. I also enjoyed the fact that this "mole" character and Echo launched into a brilliantly-orchestrated physical re-match (their first tussle was in "True Believer"); and that the much-discussed "attic" came into play during the finale.

Like Echo herself, Dollhouse is really and truly evolving. With Echo's dawning awareness, and the presence of several competing agendas and characters boasting hidden loyalties, the new Whedon series has at last ascended to a commendably complex, and highly-addictive level of storytelling. So yes -- after nine episodes -- count me officially as a fan.

CULT MOVIE REVIEW: 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea (1954)

Jules Verne's immortal tale of undersea adventure, 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea has been adapted to film on several occasions, but it is likely the Walt Disney effort of 1954 that remains, for many viewers and film aficionados, the definitive or "classic" screen version of the novel.

Helmed by Richard Fleischer, the veteran director behind Fantastic Voyage (1966), Soylent Green (1973), Amityville 3-D (1983) and Conan The Destroyer (1984), 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea stars James Mason as Captain Nemo, Kirk Douglas as harpooner Ned Land, Paul Lukas as Professor Aronnax and Peter Lorre as Conseil.

Oh, and did I mention Esmerelda, Captain Nemo's pet seal?

I make note of the seal (a character not present in the Jules Verne story) simply because the cinematic version of 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea takes some rather significant liberties with the cherished source material. That doesn't make it a bad film, but it does make the movie a decidedly...different experience.

First and foremost, Fleischer's 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea reflects the Atomic Age of the 1950s and the beginnings of the Cold War epoch. In particular, Nemo's magnificent underwater machine, the Nautilis is powered by atomic energy in the movie rather than the electricity of the book. Now, the movie doesn't specifically single out "atomic energy" by name, but Nemo reveals to Aronnax the sub's propulsion unit and and claims that it harnesses "the dynamic power of the universe," which by my reckoning is a euphemism for atomic power. Especially since Nemo profoundly notes that such power could either "revolutionize the world" or "destroy it."

Additionally, one of the film's final (and most resonant) images is that of the archetypal Cold War nightmare scenario: a mushroom cloud blossoming on the horizon. Nemo single-handedly destroys his high-tech island base, Vulcania (another element not exactly taken from Verne's book...) to prevent it from falling into enemy hands. The result is the mushroom cloud; the tell-tale and ominous indicator of nuclear weapons detonation.

Indeed, much of Verne's novel has been deliberately re-purposed with an eye towards the contemporary (meaning the 1950s context of the film), and specifically the use and mis-use of atomic power. Nemo reveals to Professor Aronnax, for instance, that his wife and child were tortured and then slaughtered when he refused to share the secret of the atom with his captors in the gulag at Rura Penthe ("the white man's grave yard.") Although the death of Nemo's family is clearly inferred in the Verne novel (near the end), the film provides this much-more explicit exposition about the tragedy.

These alterations make the movie's Captain Nemo appear somewhat less misanthropic than his literary counterpart. For instance, in the book, Nemo attempted suicide-by-Nautilus and drove the submarine down into a raging whirlpool, a "maelstrom." He was downcast and sullen over having committed the "murder" of a ship's crew during battle, and desired to end his hopeless, conflicted life. Nemo's last exhortation was a word of surrender: "Enough!"

By contrast, Nemo's demise in the Fleischer film is much more heroic in both magnitude and intention. In order to keep the Pandora's Box of Atomic Energy firmly shut for the time being, Nemo nobly destroys all of his advanced technology on Vulcania and then even scuttles the beloved Nautilus. This final act is not truly suicide anymore, since Nemo has been fatally shot and would have died shortly anyway. Still, Nemo's death in the film brings forth a humanitarian goal: protecting the species from "tampering in God's domain" before it is wise enough to understand that territory.

The film version of 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea then culminates with a decidedly uplifting voice-over from the late Captain Nemo, one that suggests (as his conveyance, the Nautilus, sinks below choppy waves...) that the character harbored some inherent optimism about the future. "There is hope for the future. And when the world is ready for a new and better life, all this will someday come to pass. In God's good time," he declares beatifically, elevated to the level of saint, if not savior.

This distinctly out-of-character statement transforms Verne's dedicated man of science and unrepentant misanthrope into a something quite different: a pollyanna, a humanist! Again, I'm not stating that the film adaptation is of poor quality, only that it is by no means a faithful adaptation of Verne's original literary vision.

In addition to the "comedy" scenes involving Esmerelda -- Nemo's sea pup mascot -- the Fleischer film relies at points on some unnecessarily broad humor. Kirk Douglas's first appearance as Ned --- with a floozie dangling on each arm -- is a perfect example. In this scene, Ned is comically knocked atop the head by a crutch-wielding charlatan, and then he falls splat in a mud-puddle....after going cross-eyed. Bluntly stated, it's not an auspicious beginning to a remarkable and well-loved film.

Again by contrast, in the book, Ned was a forty-year old of considerable experience, intelligence, and seriousness, and not an all-singing, all-dancing, treasure-greedy buffoon...which is precisely how he comes across in the movie. And don't get me started on his obligatory musical number, "A Whale of a Tale." I accept that films made at this time in Hollywood history had to feature song interludes to net a wide demographic and entertain the whole family, but once more the movie puts up a set-piece of such jocularity that it feels out-of-step with the serious Verne story.

I've discussed rather fully how Fleischer's adaptation veers away from the trajectory of Verne's novel, but I haven't discussed yet the plethora of ways in which this classic, much-loved film succeeds on its own merits.

First and foremost, the visual aspects of Fleischer's 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea remain ambitious...glorious, even. Everything -- from the superb miniature (model) work, to the fantastic set design, to the harrowing action-sequence involving an attack on the Nautilus by a giant squid -- still works. The film's visual effects remain compelling, ingenious, and yes, even fresh. There are some moments at Vulcania and beneath the sea wherein the special effects don't appear to have aged even a day. Which is a pretty amazing feat since this movie was released just about sixty years ago. It's one thing to write convincingly of a hunting expedition at the bottom of the sea; it's quite another to see those images play out before your very eyes, rendered entirely plausible...and wondrous.

Furthermore, while one can (and should) make extensive note of the myriad ways the movie changes some conceits in Verne's book, one might also remember that some clever updating of a nearly century-old book was likely necessary. An electricity-powered submarine just wouldn't seem like a very interesting vehicle of fantasy to audiences in the 1950s, would it? The deliberate infusion of Atomic Age moral questions into 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea grants the film a didactic quality, and more importantly, a relevant one.

Admirably, the Fleischer film also fully preserves the Arronax/Nemo philosophical debates of the original text. We learn in the film -- just as in the book -- of Nemo's ingenuity and invention when it comes to diet ("the sea supplies all my wants"), harnessing resources (we actually get to see his men farming at the bottom of the sea...), and inventing new technology (the amazing Nautilus itself). We view his commitment to vengeance, and are afforded some dramatic close-ups of an anguished Nemo at the wheel of the Nautilus, on the attack against those who have so egregiously wronged him. The film also preserves Arronax's first-person narrator role in the form of a voice-over, whether recounting the sinking of the Abraham Lincoln (a vessel not named in the film...) or his first experience with the "twilight world" under the sea.

In the book, Nemo had a manifesto of sorts: the captain's dedicated declaration of independence from nationalism, civilization, and "unjust" wars. That manifesto too survives the translation to Fleischer's film. Mason delivers a calculated, seething, and most importantly, pragmatic monologue about the ways that Man's "evil drowns on the ocean floor," and that -- only beneath the waves -- does there exist true independence; true freedom. I found this speech to be one of the film's finest, most transcendent moments.

In fairness, the Captain's darker side isn't totally ignored, either. I appreciate that the movie provides a sense of balance; making more than mere passing notations about the classic anti-hero's darker side. "The power of hate...it can fill the heart as surely as love can," the movie notes of Nemo, and that observation is right on the money. Aronnax likewise ultimately calls Nemo a "murderer" and a "hypocrite," while Ned terms him a "monster." These declarations seem very accurate to the spirit of the book, and I can't really complain that the movie seeks to provide Nemo a more explicit redemption than that found in the text; so that 20th century audiences return to the light of day with a sense of moral uplift.

It's often quite difficult to judge objectively a movie that you grew up with and which you still love so emotionally. Nostalgia inevitably creeps in and colors perception. In terms of 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, I can say with some certainty that the film remains a technological marvel; that Mason's Nemo endures as an inscrutable, larger-than-life icon, and that the film overall is fast-paced, exciting, and scary in good measure. I'm quite aware that books can't be movies; and movies can't be books: that the two media have as many differences as they do similarities.

Yet, here's the crucial difference in intent: Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea concerned a misanthrope who had given up on man entirely; an anti-hero who had cast off the auspices of "modern" civilization for an exile under the sea, taking only man's best "art" with him (music, paintings, books). Nemo was finished with the world above the waves and no longer cared what we did with our domain above the waves.

In the movie, 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, Captain Nemo is a great inventor with a tragic past who simply believes man is not ready for his new science, a man who actually protects and preserves the corrupt human race by destroying his miracle technology before it can do harm.

That's a pretty big difference isn't it? Maybe not 20,000 leagues worth; but certainly enough to drive a submarine through...

The Secret Coda of The House Between?

Film producer Joseph Maddrey de-codes the mysteries and meaning of The House Between in the first installment of a fascinating three part series here.

Here's a snippet:

"The Secret History of the World begins with the oldest of philosophical questions: What came first – mind or matter? In The House Between, Bill T. Clark – a 20th century scientist – argues the case for matter. Astrid and Theresa – the former a follower of Western religious tradition, the latter a follower of Eastern religious traditions – argue the case for mind. Travis – a lawyer and outspoken capitalist – clearly falls on the side of materialism, while Arlo represents idealism. Over the course of three seasons, these characters struggle to work out this age-old quandary. Their story, in its own oblique way, tells the secret history of the world..."