Hello, Lamppost, What'cha Knowin'?

As someone who is a frequent pedestrian in suburban areas--and at night--I have often had the experience of walking past a streetlight only to have it suddenly go off. In fact, there was a period a year or so ago when this happened rather frequently; it seemed like every time I walked past a streetlight, it would go out. And it's a something I have experienced for many years.

This "phenomenon" has been reported by others, as well, and all sorts of explanations have been offered for it, the most common of which involves something to do with one's own body causing what some experts (and, yes, it is shocking to learn that there are actually experts in this) refer to as "street light interference." That is, the human body emits some sort of energy field (static electricity, some say) that makes the light go out.

Um...no. I would imagine that any force or field (or force field) that could affect a lightbulb as high up as a streetlight would probably fry the computer I am sitting at, as well as any electric or electronic device in whatever room I was in--not to mention the mobile phone and iPod I would be carrying on my person at the time the streetlight went out. Now, granted, the ability to shoot out vast quantities of electricity would be very cool, but, well, I will just have to resign myself to the fact that that is not going to happen. Alas.

I mention this because there is an article on this phenomenon in the latest issue of the Skeptical Inquirer (frustratingly, they don't post their current articles online), but there is an online edition of a short book on the topic found here (link opens a PDF). In a nutshell, and not surprisingly, so-called "streetlight interference" is likely the result of mechanical problems with the lamp combined with the tendency for people to notice things that are out of the ordinary; that is, we are more likely to notice the one or two times that a streetlight goes out than we are to notice the hundred or more times we pass a streetlight and it stays on. (Heck, around here, I'm happy just to notice any streetlights at all.)

As for the experience I had for a period where several streetlights in the neighborhood would all turn off as I passed them...well, I figured (and the SI article confirms this), all the lamps in a given neighborhood were probably installed at the same time and ergo the bulbs--with some degree of variation, and maybe a few that were broken by other factors--would all start to go on the blink (as it were, and which is typical behavior for dying lightbulbs of the type used in streetlights) at roughly the same time.

Supporting my theory was the fact that around the same time, I noticed that the streetlight outside my front window also had a tendency to turn on and off. I knew it couldn't be me, because the lamps inside the house were fine. But then, after a few nights of this, one afternoon I noticed some workmen from the City out front changing the bulb. The lamp hasn't gone off since--nor have any of the other streetlamps in the neighborhood. That appeared to solve that.

So I guess my fantasies of having some kind of superpower will have to remain just that. Maybe I will write a comic book about a superhero who has the power to turn streetlights off. I'm not sure how effective that would be for defeating the forces of evil, but it seems there are more than enough superheroes out there conquering the forces of evil. Now conquering the forces of public works, that's something else...

“I saw how the sausage was made in the economy, and it was really freaky.”

Want to know how Wall Street works--or doesn't? Be sure to check out this riveting piece from Conde Nast Portfolio by Liar's Poker author Michael Lewis about "the end of Wall Street." We can all fantasize:

I had been waiting for the end of Wall Street. The outrageous bonuses, the slender returns to shareholders, the never-ending scandals, the bursting of the internet bubble, the crisis following the collapse of Long-Term Capital Management: Over and over again, the big Wall Street investment banks would be, in some narrow way, discredited. Yet they just kept on growing, along with the sums of money that they doled out to 26-year-olds to perform tasks of no obvious social utility. The rebellion by American youth against the money culture never happened. Why bother to overturn your parents’ world when you can buy it, slice it up into tranches, and sell off the pieces?

Prognosticating the Printing Industry

Over at the PrintCEO blog, shameless promotion for my and Dr. Joe's new Printing and Creative Forecast 2009 special report for WhatTheyThink. This is the 10th industry forecast report I have worked on since I started working with the original TrendWatch partners in 1999, and every year I am reminded of the somewhat famous quote from John Kenneth Galbraith: "The only function of economic forecasting is to make astrology look respectable." Indeed.

Another Long National Nightmare Nearly Over

Well, maybe not "national," but a long nightmare nonetheless:

SU fires Greg Robinson as head football coach

Syracuse University head football coach Greg Robinson was fired on Sunday by director of athletics Daryl Gross, ending a turbulent era that began with great optimism only to deterioriate into misery, hopelessness and the worst four-year run in the program's 119 years of competition.

When they started selling Prozac at the concession stands at the Carrier Dome, I knew it was getting bad. Ken A. and I ventured out last weekend for the UConn game. It was rather like watching a train wreck in slow motion. Robinson's record for ther past four years? 9-36 overall and 3-24 in the Big East. This season, SU is 2-8 and 1-5 after losing to Connecticut.

It's not just a silly fan thing either. A lot of the Syracuse economy (bars, restaurants, hotels) is based on attracting large crowds of rabid alumni. Not to mention corporate sponsorships and other things that bring money into the school. And this is not the time for the school (or anyone, really) to be losing money from any source!

At any rate, hopefully basketball season will help reignite some of the fire that has gone from the fans' ardor.

Shock the Monkeys

The Encyclopedia Britannica defines an “island” as “any area of land smaller than a continent and entirely surrounded by water.” I only mention this because the film featured in this week’s Mis-Treatment—Kong Island—is set in Africa which, by definition, is not an island (or a single country either). But then geological confusion was the least of the problems of this movie.

Previous entries in this series are:

The Skull
Voyage to the Planet of Prehistoric Women
Voyage to the Prehistoric Planet
The Wasp Woman
The Horrors of Spider Island
The Atomic Brain
The Amazing Transparent Man
She Gods of Shark Reef
Moon of the Wolf
Santa Claus Conquers the Martians
Queen of the Amazons
The Incredible Petrified World

Kong Island (1968)
Auteur/Perpetrator: Robert Morris (actually Roberto Mauri)
Star(s) of Shame: No one to speak of
Monster: Radio-controlled gorillas; really dumb evil genius
“Plot”: Um...ah...that’s a good question; I’ll have to get back to you on that

Kong Island is one of those movies that have a multitude of titles, depending on what poorly executed part of the film it was trying to emphasize. When it was marketed as a “scantily-clad native babe cavorting in the jungle,” it was called Eva, la Venere selvaggia (or, in English, Eve, the Wild Woman). When it was marketed as “King Kong-esque rogue gorillas attack humans,” it was called Kong Island or, in one iteration, King of Kong Island, despite the fact that Nairobi is decidedly not an island. Kenya dig it? There may also have been versions entitled Kong of King Island, Island of Kong King, Kong of Kong Kong, and, Island of Island Island. I say, let’s just call it King Eve, Wild Kong of Woman Island and be done with it.

Call it what you will, the fact is that a turkey by any other name would still be as painful to watch... Yeah, this one blew. They should distribute it on Blew-Ray DVD. Speaking of video quality, the version in my science-fiction movie boxed set does appear to have been digitally remastered from the original 20th-generation EP-mode VHS version taped off a poorly received UHF channel.

We open on a Jeep trucking (or Jeeping, I guess) through what looks like a rock quarry. So obviously, the movie did not skimp on the scenic locations. The Jeep rounds a corner and Bert (Brad Harris, our hero, by the way) holds them up at gunpoint, demanding money that is apparently being transported in the Jeep. However, Bert’s cohorts jump the gun, so to speak, and start firing on the Jeep’s passengers. You know that Bert is the good guy because he voices mild complaint about the fact that four people were just killed in cold blood. Bert and two other guys (one of whom is wearing dark glasses and a hat) are after the “payroll money”—$300,000—that the jeep was carrying. And since the name of the company is written in crayon on a strip of cardboard and taped to the windshield of the Jeep, you know it’s a top-notch company they’re stealing from. “That means we’ll never have to work for a living anymore,” says one cohort, and is immediately shot. Well, he was prescient, I have to give him that. Who shot him? Bert’s partner—who then shoots Bert. Bert goes down, but will survive to fight another day.

Cue titles...

After a stark black-and white title sequence, we are in some kind of operating theater...or “cave” might be a better term for it. Two white-masked figures are daubing red tempera paint behind the ear of what looks like a gorilla mask. Oh, I see: they are actually making an incision so they can implant what looks like a binder clip behind the ear of a gorilla. It must be Africa because the heartbeat is vaguely polyrhythmic. This takes rather a while and I am guessing the sound editor just saw 2001 because all we hear on the soundtrack is the heartbeat and the sound of heavy breathing.

The “doctors” remove their masks and chuckle mischievously; I think they’re actually my HMO’s in-network doctors. One guy is Albert, the guy who shot Bert before the title sequence. The other guy is named Turk, and is Albert’s hired goon. He struggles to remove his large face from his surgical mask, and it turns out he kind of looks like Eddie Rabbitt.

The gorilla stirs and starts wheezing horribly. It was a bold choice to place the microphone in the ape’s larynx.

We then cut abruptly to some kind of bar or restaurant, where an African woman is singing “Go Down, Moses.” Oy. The owner, Theodore, comes in and he just looks like he’s going to be unpleasant. And, sure enough, the first thing he says is “Hurry up,” in a crotchety voice to the cleaning woman. He stops at the bar, chugs down a drink, and proceeds into what I assume is his home, which is attached to the restaurant. He suddenly has a cigarette in his mouth; was it in the drink? He pauses outside a door and hears a female voice. He enters and Ursula, his wife, tells him that they have a visitor: Bert, who is apparently a “prodigal” of some kind. They all provide some back story: Theodore mentions Bert’s pre-title sequence “accident” and thought Bert had left Africa. Bert says no, but that there is little work for mercenaries at the moment. Who would have thought that the job market in the middle of the African jungle would be bad? Meanwhile, Ursula is parading around fixing drinks with her robe wide open. When you got it, flaunt it, I guess.

Bert asks Theodore, “Have you seen Albert?” Theodore looks shifty and says, “No.” So, in other words “Yes.” Ursula is begging for more back story: “Which one was Albert?” But then she answers her own question: “Oh, yes, I think I remember your mad doctor friend.” She insists that she hasn’t seen him for several years. But she says it in such a way that implies, “Oh, I’ve seen him rather recently and am plotting something with him.”

Bert has no ear for nuance, and hopes he can find him, “I want to see him about this.” And he opens his shirt to reveal a large scar on his shoulder. Thank you.

As Bert leaves the room, Ursula closes her robe. Show time’s over, apparently. Theodore closes the door and confronts his wife. “So you’re back to your old game, eh?” Parcheesi? Chutes and Ladders? Hungry Hungry Hippos? Bert overhears their loud conversation from the hall. Theodore is not happy that Bert is back; Ursula was in love with Bert at one time. I don’t know what made Theodore suspicious; maybe her swanning around in front of Bert mostly nude? “Be careful, Ursula,” says Theodore, proving once again what an utter dickweed he’s going to be. “If you’re lying to me, you’ll regret it.” I can’t see why she would ever want to take off with someone else. Ursula responds, “Just remember this...” A kiss is just a kiss? “He’s the one you have to worry about.” Bert smiles in satisfaction at hearing his character sketch.

Bert walks down the hall and passes another door and hears another female voice within. He pauses to listen. Man, this is more like “Eavesdropping, the Wild Woman.” He barges in and we pan slowly up the legs of Diana, Theodore and Ursula’s daughter, who is unaccountably glad to see him. She is holding a rifle—was she talking to it? She throws herself at Bert and sits on his lap while he is standing up, which is no mean feat. A gun is poked into Bert’s back. “Better take your hands off her,” says a gruff voice. Oh, it’s just some good-natured ribbing from Robert, Diana’s brother. Diana says she is going big-game hunting in the morning. “What animal are you hunting?” “Sacred monkeys,” she says. “I’ve never heard of them,” says Bert. “What are they?” Robert explains, “They’re supposed to be some kind of sacred wild monkey.” Ah! That explains everything. Now I get it. That’s—huh?!? Now wait a minute. Sacred to whom, and is it generally a good idea to hunt animals that are considered sacred in other people’s religions? “It’s in the forbidden part of the jungle,” says Diana. “Forbidden to white men.” I guess she thinks because she’s a white woman it doesn’t apply to her. Either way, gee, I can’t imagine anything going wrong on that trip. “Bert,” says Robert, “why don’t you come with us? It’ll be a hell of a lot of fun.” Yeah, venturing into forbidden parts of the jungle, crapping on natives’ religions, shooting monkeys. Sounds like a ball. Who could possibly turn that down? As it turns out, Bert does. “Firearms make me sick,” he says, picking up the gun.

They talk about old times, albeit very briefly, and Robert mentions Turk, “Albert’s friend, the one with the scar on his face.” He apparently comes around to Theodore’s restaurant, and this intrigues Bert. He nods thoughtfully, then we pan over and zoom in on some kind of African mask painting.

Cut to later that evening, at the local dance club. (In Nairobi? Huh?) Everyone is a-movin’ and a-groovin’ to the epic instrumental “Music for Surf Guitar and Hammond Organ” (it was 1968). Bert sits at the bar; Ursula points out that there is a man in the bar “who has been eyeing you for a long time.” Oh god, I hope this doesn’t turn into Brokeback Jungle or something like that. Said “guy” looks like a cross between Jack Lemmon and the guy who played the psychiatrist in M*A*S*H. Could he possibly be more out of place? They exchange unknowing glances.

Diana shows up, wearing a leather go-go outfit held together with white duct tape. Ah, the late 1960s! They then start boxing with each other...oh, that’s dancing. My mistake.
We then pan around the room to see everyone frugging like mad. It’s like one of those party sequences in Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In. I expect to see Joann Worley, Arte Johnson, and/or Henry Gibson pop up. Is that a chicken joke?
We return to Bert and Diane and they compare wristbands, watched over by the Jack Lemmon/psychiatrist guy. Then, in walks Turk, and Bert is not happy. Turk takes off, with Bert in hot pursuit. Outside, Bert is set upon by four guys wielding machetes. In a classic James West disarm, Bert takes down four guys with one blow. There is a brawl, and Bert is ultimately saved by the Jack Lemmon/psychiatrist guy. Bert thanks him; “The pleasure was all mine.” Bert then walks off, apparently uninterested in who this guy is and why he just saved his life. Go figure. Diana is waiting for him. “You were right; it’s the men and not the animals who are the real danger.” I think that’s generally a given. “Right now, it’s men not animals that I’m going to settle with.” But after that, look out, rhinos. She again tries to cajole him into going hunting with her. He again declines.

I have to say at this point that however much the movie may suck, the soundtrack music is surprisingly good, being a kind of 60s acid rock with vaguely African music. Peter Gabriel, eat your heart out.

The next day, a caravan of Jeeps sets out on Diana’s hunt for the sacred monkeys. They pass by a couple of elephants. “Too bad we’re not hunting elephants,” she says. “I’ll bet you are,” returns Robert. What? Welcome to Non-Sequitur Theater. “It’s so exciting,” she quivers. Yeah, exerting one’s dominion over the creatures of the earth, killing things. I know I can’t get enough of that. “I can’t wait to find out if there really is a sacred monkey,” she says. “I told you it’s just a legend,” returns Robert. So wait a minute: is this only a big snipe hunt?! Don’t tell the guys who are lugging the gear.

“Look, a pair of lions!” shouts Diana. Replies her brother, “And they didn’t even condescend to look at us.” Who could blame them? “Look at those birds!” shouts Robert. Unfortunately, the Jeep is jouncing around too much so all we can see are white blurs. And besides, they’ve lived in Africa for years and they’re still amazed by birds?

The drive continues on in silence for a while. Cool music, through.

They arrive...wherever they are, and begin unloading the Jeeps. Meanwhile, Turk watches them through binoculars while really cool fuzztone guitar chords strike up. Turk must have severe vision problems or really cheap binoculars because the field of vision is rather restricted.
The hunters lug two Jeeps worth of crap into the jungle. This takes rather a while. They come upon two leopard cubs and Diana thinks they are too cute to kill. Awww.... So they move on. They come across what one could assume is the cubs’ mother, and proceed to fire at it. Boo!! Fortunately, the leopard has far more intelligence than any of the humans in this movie and easily outwits the mighty hunters by hiding behind a tree. They give up. Whew!

They trudge onward. This takes a while. Cool music, though.

They come across a campsite and cut to later that evening. They are finishing dinner. “You’re really a good cook, Molumba,” says Robert, sarcastically. Ha ha ha. Diana actually liked it. “You must be very hungry,” says Robert. “Your appetite is never like this at home.” Diana never has a second cup of coffee at home.

Meanwhile, the native guides are taking loudly amongst themselves. Robert asks Molumba what the problem is; “My men don’t want to continue. There’s a devil in the jungle. They say, there is a powerful evil spirit.” Yes, we know; you’ve been lugging her crap. Robert knows how to sensitively handle native religious beliefs. “Tell them I’ll double their pay, and be ready in the morning.”

Later that evening, Diana is undressing in her tent. Of course; you knew there was going to be at least one scene of Diana undressing. But as the cool fuzztone guitar returns, a guy in a gorilla suit peers out of the bushes and watches Diana undress. A second gorilla appears and peers. One of the gorillas bursts into Diana’s tent and carries her off. She drops her bracelet. Meanwhile, the other gorilla attacks the humans, leaving one dead and Robert dazed on the ground. The gorillas flee into the woods. Gorilla, you’re a desperado. Turk appears and stands over Robert. “Now remember this...” A kiss is just a kiss? Oh; “Diana’s life depends on you. Go back to Nairobi. Immediately. And explain what happened to your father.” What happened to his father? Oh, I see, never mind... “And say, if he wants his daughter back alive, there’s only one way to get her.”

Cut to—hey, wait a minute! What’s the one way to get her back?

The gorillas carry Diana through the woods; someone in desperate need of a pedicure finds Diana’s bracelet on the ground in her tent. Man, this is like “Accessory Island.”

Back in Nairobi, Robert is explaining to Bert about the monkeys, how one grabbed Diana and the other attacked the rest of the camp. “It’s like they were...human almost....They behaved as if they had a plan, as if it had been prearranged, as if they were some kind of robots.” So were they humans or robots? Bert is a mite skeptical. Theodore comes in and pleads with Bert. “I don’t know who else I can turn to to help Diana.” He avoids looking at Robert while saying this. Probably for good reason. Bert is hesitant, and Robert opts for the passive-aggressive route. “Well, if Bert doesn’t want to help, we’ll look for Diana ourselves.” “You haven’t got a hope of finding her. I’m not going,” says Bert. “I’d lead the safari myself if I were younger,” says Theodore. Man, this is like “Wuss Island.” Theodore offers him money.

“Bert,” says Robert, “there’s something important I didn’t tell you. I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me. I saw Turk out there.” Yeah, that’s so much more unbelievable than the robot gorilla thing. That gets Bert’s attention, and to symbolize Bert’s inner turmoil the cameraman abruptly zooms in from a long shot to a close up of his nose. “I’m convinced that he’s behind it. The kidnapping,” adds Robert. “I’ve changed my mind,” says Bert, “I’ll go.” Well, I guess we know what his priorities are: “I think you mentioned money.” Jeez. Weren’t Bert and Diana dancing the night before, and now he has to be bribed to go save her? What an ass. Theodore hands him a wad of bills; he looks at it confusedly. “You’ll get the other half when Diana is safe,” says Theodore. Bert stalks off. A fine, noble hero this guy is. I think I’ll root for the monkeys.

After Bert is gone, Theodore chuckles. “You did it, Robert.” Robert is ashamed, as well he should be—for any number of reasons. Hmm...so they’re setting Bert up for something. Pity. And to get out of this scene, we pan over and zoom into another African mask. Is the director also shooting a documentary on African art?

At the bar, Bert sits adown and calls “Whiskey.” Ursula sidles up and says “Two whiskeys.” Wow can she drink. But then to be married to Theodore and in love with Bert, I’m guessing she hasn’t been sober since the Taft Administration. “Watch your step,” she advises him. “You may find it’s dangerous to violate ancient taboos.” Wasn’t this advice she should have given her daughter? “Don’t say anything,” she warns, as Theodore comes over and ushers her away.

Cut to the next day, and Bert, Robert, and several others are on a boat. Boat? But Diana’s hunting party didn’t take a boat anywhere. Where are they going? Bert points out some birds. Was the screenwriter a birdwatching aficionado? Oh, no! Robert is being attacked by a large, furry creature! Oh, wait, that’s just his body hair. Oh, please please please put a shirt on. He tries to shoot a crocodile but misses, and one of the other guys in the boat is struggling to not laugh uproariously. I guess it’s good for the indigenous fauna that the hunters in this movie couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn. Oh, no! Robert is rubbing water all over his body. I haven’t been this ill since The Horrors of Spider Island. Bert eyes a bunch of hippos lasciviously. “I wish it was me in there swimming.” Yeah. Well you know, a childhood obsession with Henrietta Hippo on The New Zoo Revue can recur at the oddest moments...

Soon, they are walking through the woods. “Something’s moving,” says Robert. “A python,” says Bert. (Cue “The Liberty Bell.”) “Don’t kill it,” says Bert as Robert raises his gun. Wow, that’s not a line one hears too often in this movie. Like he could even hit it anyway.

Meanwhile, the Jack Lemmon/M*A*S*H psychiatrist guy pops up from behind a street and looks on. Now wait a minute. How did he follow them without them noticing another boat following them?

They all continue through the woods. It takes rather a while. Cool music though. Sounds vaguely like The Residents’ “Six Things to a Cycle.”

Someone yells out, “The sacred monkey! The sacred monkey!” And we pan up to a chimpanzee in a treetop. That’s the sacred monkey? Don’t let these guys watch BJ and the Bear. (God, I’m old.) But wait: “I don’t mean the chimpanzee.” What then? No, don’t tell us or anything.

They walk on and come across their campsite from the previous evening. “It’s just as I left it,” says Robert. So the maid didn’t come by to tidy up? I guess not; even the dead guy is still there. Funny; I would have thought there would be any number of creatures in the jungle that would take care of a dead body on the ground. I guess the local fauna are all on a hunger strike or something.

Secretly watching them is a very scantily clad female figure sitting in a tree. I’m guessing this is Eve, the Wild Woman? She kind of looks like a composite of the two women who were Dawn in Tony Orlando & Dawn. (God, I’m old.)

“All right, step on it,” shouts Robert. Um, what exactly? “Take that body down the hill and bury it.” That goes over well with the locals. “No! Taboo! Taboo!” “Don’t be stupid! Do what you’re told,” admonishes Robert. It’s amazing he’s never been murdered in his sleep. You know you’re being a dink when Bert is the voice of sensitivity and understanding. “There’s no reason to act like that,” says Bert. “You’ve been getting worse and worse since we left the boat. What’s wrong with you kid?” Kid? He’s like 45. “I’m getting worried about you.” Robert has some issues, probably stemming from the fact that he’s setting Bert up to be killed. Psychological depth? Nuance? In this movie? Oh, I don’t think so.

Meanwhile, Eve looks on. And the Jack Lemmon/psychiatrist guy camps nearby...

In the woods, Robert and Turk confront each other. Robert insists he delivered his part of the bargain (Bert) and demands to have his sister back. They nearly come to blows.

Here’s what I don’t get (among other things). If Turk (or Albert, whom Turk is working for) wanted Bert, why not just go into Nairobi and capture him? Sure, they screwed up the first time, but he’s just one guy. Surly enough hired goons—or the gorillas—could get him eventually. Why concoct a needlessly complicated kidnapping plot, talk/bribe him into going to rescue her, and then capture him along the way? And then, even once Bert is out in the woods, wait a good long time before going after him? This is like Rube Goldberg planning revenge.

So Turk says, “I’ll let you see your sister when I’ve got Bert. And that won’t be none to easy.” Why? Bert doesn’t have super powers or anything.

Robert stalks off.

Across the camp, Eve slinks around and wanders into Bert’s tent and ogles him while he sleeps. So what would stop Turk from taking him now? Getting people in this movie to do anything is such a chore. Man, it’s Like “Lethargy Island.” As Eve is staring intently at Bert, something startles her and she jumps back (aided by cutting a few frames from the film) and she darts into the jungle.

It is suddenly the next day, and Eve is calling to her chimpanzee. “Hymie!” Hymie? The Jack Lemmon/psychiatrist guy looks on. Everyone is always watching everyone else surreptitiously in this movie. Man, it’s like “Voyeur Island.”

Bert and co. are on the move again. It takes rather a while. No music this time; but lots of loud jungle noises (except for that “ooh ooh ooh, ah ah ah” creature you always hear in jungle movies. Eve and Hymie the chimpanzee follow them and Eve giggles at a lion. You can’t hide your lion eyes. There are random intercuts between Bert’s party, Eve, and random jungle animals. At one point, a leopard shapeshifts into lioness.

Suddenly, the jungle noises abruptly stop. I guess the sound editor’s tape ran out. Bert stops. “Hey,” Bert protests. He needs the sounds of the jungle to relax him, like some people need a white noise machine to sleep. One of the guides says, “When the jungle is quiet, the spirit of death is near.” “We’ll soon see if there are any spirits around here,” says Bert, brandishing a rifle. He’s not clear on the concept. Even the Jack Lemmon/psychiatrist guy is concerned. Who is that guy?

The fuzztone guitar kicks in—Ah, the Ape Theme! Two gorillas leap out of the bushes and jump on the Jack Lemmon/psychiatrist guy. Bert hears the melee and/or the guitar theme, and rushes over. He fires some shots. he hits one gorilla, and the other takes off. Bert rushes over. “Ugly beast,” he says looking at the dead gorilla. Hey, you’re no prize yourself, pal. He asks of the Jack Lemmon/psychiatrist guy is OK. He is, but he’s not happy about it. “Thanks. Now we’re even.”

Bert asks what he wants. “My name is Forrester,” he says. “And I’m working with Interpol.” Oh, really? I especially liked Turn on the Bright Lights, but all three albums are pretty good. So why is he out there following Bert? Is that the Heinrich Maneuver? “I’m investigating your robbery.” He explains that he is looking for Albert, adding, “She was all right ’cause the sea was so airtight, she broke away.” The Interpol guy gives some more back story about the robbery we saw before the title sequence: “When you were in the hospital, you were delirious for weeks.” Only weeks? “From what you said, we were able to reconstruct the crime.” What’s to reconstruct? Three guys robbed a Jeep, and one partner shot the other two. It wasn’t exactly the Brinks job. Says the Interpol guy, “We only let you go so you would lead us to Albert Muller,” and then adds, “How are things on the West Coast? I hear you’re moving real fine. You wear those shoes like a dove.”

The Interpol guy explains that they are looking for Albert because they think he is experimenting on “conditioned brain reflexes in certain kinds of animals. The results could be disastrous.” Or just plain silly. It’s a fine line. Bert, of course, has his priorities. “What do I get out of it if I help you?” Once again: our hero, ladies and gentlemen. The Interpol guy promises him some kind of reward, like maybe their live EP. Bert is still eager to settle his score with Albert. “I won’t save him,” says the Interpol guy. But, I thought...weren’t you trying to...oh, never mind.

They come back across Robert, who has been attacked by the gorillas. “It wasn’t part of the plan,” says Bert, and he admits that he was wise to the fact that the whole thing was a set up. Oh, come on: this guy isn’t that smart. “Who put you up to this: Diana?” Yes, that’s right: the girl who was kidnapped. OK, yes, he really isn’t that smart. Robert admits that Albert was the one who kidnapped Diana—and Robert admits that Albert is working on...something. “Even my father put money into it.” There’s a prospectus I’d like to see. But, before he can say anything more, he is shot by Turk standing in a nearby tree. He also takes out a few of the natives who were charging out of the woods at him.

Bert and the Interpol guy sneak away, but are captured by a local tribe and are tied to a stick and carried away. Yes! Meanwhile, Eve looks on with concern.

Turk reconnoiters with Albert and has to admit that the plan has gone wrong, that Bert was captured by a local tribe of Hakawi or something (is this F Troop all of a sudden?). Albert says, “I had everything planned to the letter. It was perfect.” Um, no, it really wasn’t. “It was the gorillas that ruined the plan,” says Turk. It was beauty killed the beast! No, actually, I think the blame goes all the way up to the top on this one. “What went wrong? What?” asks Albert, ignoring everything Turk has just said. Some evil genius. They take off. “We have work to do,” says Albert. I bet.

Meanwhile, Bert and the Interpol guy are untied. “Why are they untying us?” Bert explains, “They’re savages. They expect us to run for our lives.” Ah. So...they then run for their lives. They charge down into a ditch and the tribe stands up top hurling spears at them,. Naturally, they all miss. No one can hit anything with any weapon in this movie. I think they need an optometrist. Man, it’s like “Myopia Island.”

Bert stabs a native with his own spear and takes off into the woods, ditching the Interpol guy. He comes to a stream by a waterfall, takes his shirt off and goes for a swim. Ugh. This takes rather a while. Cool music, though.

He is startled to see that, placed on top of his shirt over on a rock, are two bunches of bananas and a flower. Hymie the chimpanzee makes fun of him. He swims over and has a banana. Across the lake, he spies Eve, and we zoom into his banana-filled open mouth. Thanks for the chew’n’show, movie. “Hey,” he yells through a mouthful of banana. Our hero! He charges over towards her, and she flees. One could hardly blame her. She’s gone, and he returns to the bananas. She then returns to the rock across the stream. She smiles at him. What the heck is going on? He lights a cigarette and they stare at each other. He throws the cigarette in the stream, and the littering doesn’t seem to bother her.

The apes’ fuzztone theme kicks in, and, sure enough, one of the gorillas comes out of the woods right behind Bert. Eve starts yelling something in Junglese at it, and we zoom in on the stitches behind the gorilla’s ear and hear loud static. Huh? I think the gorilla’s now picking up AM radio. Bert spins around, draws a knife, and stabs the gorilla. Eve seems cool with this. Bert sneaks off, finds a cave, lights a fire, and goes to sleep.

Meanwhile, Ursula Undress is getting out of a bathtub. She dons a robe and pads into her bedroom, where Theodore is sitting, waiting for her. “I hope I’m not bothering you, sweetie,” he says, although you get the sense that he’d prefer it if he were bothering her. He caught her as she was packing, about to skip town. They fight; Theodore thinks she was planning to run off with Bert. She admits that living in the African jungle wasn’t the high life she had been led to believe it was. “For years you promised to take me away from this hellhole—Paris, London, Rome.” Not Schuylerville?

Now Theodore really turns on the charm. “You think you can just pack a bag and go?” Well, that was the idea. “Everything you own is mine!” You can’t walk out on me, I’m Charles Foster Kane! Well, maybe not... And he proceeds to give her a beating, which makes him even more loathsome than he had been before, which is quite something. “You’d like me to let you go, wouldn’t you?” Well, yes! Of course!

She dashes to the dresser and pulls out a gun. “Come any closer, you’ll get exactly what you deserve: bullet in the gut.” That gut? Better use at least a few rounds, or maybe a bazooka. “You’re revolting to me. I just can’t bear to have you touch me.” She does have a point. “Oh, calm down, Ursula. You know it’s just because I love you that I’m jealous.” Sorry, pal; you lost any sympathy when you beat the crap out of her. I vote for the bullet in the gut. He insists that thanks to Albert’s invention, which he helped finance, they’re going to be rich. Uh, I wouldn’t count those chickens just yet... He then snatches the gun away from her. Damn. He then starts kissing her madly, and thankfully we cut away to some burnt embers.

Eve is skulking about Bert’s sleeping body. He leaps to his feet, and knocks her to the ground. Whoa—she’s got nothing on under her long black hair. She is a wild woman. “That’s more like it, woman,” he says. Ugh. Well, this movie ratcheted up the loathsomeness in the past 10 minutes. He tells her he is not going to hurt her. They smile at each other. “Are you the sacred monkey?” he asks her. What? Where did that come from? Is he bananas? He attempts to communicate with her, but it doesn’t work. “I’ll call you Eve,” he says. Sure, why not? He then finds Diana’s bracelet on her. Once again, the accessories pay off in this movie. He tries to persuade her to take him to Diana.

In Albert’s lair, a radio-controlled gorilla wanders past cages of prisoners. It opens Diana’s cage and escorts her to Albert. “You monster! You maniac!” she shouts. Albert chuckles. “You think I’m a monster?” Actually, I thought she meant that the gorilla was the monster and Albert was the maniac, but if the shoe fits... Albert then has to repeat his order to the gorilla three times before it obeys. He then introduces Diana to the gorilla, which he calls Malik. Sure, why not?. “Just like a robot. It always obeys.” Well, it takes three tries, but eventually it obeys. The gorilla is the culmination of all his theories. Which are, what exactly?

Here’s the part where the mad scientist explains his plan and how everything works so at some point he can be easily thwarted. He leads Diana up to a large luminous brain on the wall. “This brain is the nerve center that controls all the apes.” He then shows her the transmitter, and probably where the instruction manual is. “Their will ceases. It puts them at my command.” Yeah. “They’re my pets. I’ve managed to eliminate their savage ways.” No, you haven’t. You’ve just harnessed them for your own ends. He then demands obedience from her, or she’ll end up in the cage with the other women he plans to experiment on.

“I can take control of all humanity with this invention. I’ll be rich and powerful. All of you will do as I say!” Huh? That’s his big plan—to implant radio receivers in everyone on earth? What was the population in 1968, 2 billion or something like that? That’s a lot of operations, and I’m guessing some folks will be trying to stop him once he gets beyond the five people who live in his jungle village. You know, it’s one thing to develop a technology, but very often you need a strategic partner to effectively deploy it. Then again, this clown would have been a natural during the dot-com boom.

On the wall, the brain throbs. I know how it feels. There are either intruders, or the cave has a migraine. It could go either way at this point. Albert sends Turk (who has been pretty quiet during all of the foregoing) out to see who it is. Albert puts Diana back in her cage.

Outside, Bert and Eve look quizzically around. Eve leads him toward Albert’s cave. Albert has a loudspeaker system set up, and announces, “Bert. I’ve been waiting for you.” He then explains how he had Theodore send him into the jungle. Albert says that he had been afraid that the native tribe had foiled his plans, “But you were too smart for them. You’re an excellent specimen of the human race.” No, he most certainly is not! “That’s why I chose you for my first experiment on a human being.” Oh, is that all? OK, that’s sounds fine. I say go for it. “Ha ha ha! You’ll have the honor of being the first man to become my slave!” You know, the evil is one thing, but the gloating is really just the worst. Albert eggs Bert on as Bert makes his way through the cave. Albert really is a bit too pleased with himself, and for no good reason.

Bert takes a while to wander through the cave. Cool music though. Turk jumps out at him. “I keep bumping into you everywhere I go. It must be fate,” says Turk. Um, no, it’s your boss who brought him there. Weren’t you listening to the PA system, or anything else Albert had said throughout this movie? Then the PA cuts in again. “Bring him here, Turk!” That startles Turk, and gives Bert the opportunity to run away. Turk starts shooting at him.

Meanwhile, one of the gorillas meets up with Eve, who calls the ape “Loomba.” There is some static from the radio receiver, then Loomba captures her and brings her into the cave.

Inside, Turk is looking for Bert, while Albert is being a pain in the tuchis over the PA system. Turk sees a boot sticking out from behind a rock, and thinks he has him. However, it is just the boot, and Bert is actually hiding behind him. He slugs Turk and Turk goes down. “Now I’m gonna kill ya,” says Bert.

OK, get this: the rifle is on the ground some distance from Turk, but not far from Bert. Turk sees the rifle, but scrambles in the other direction. Bert makes no move to get the rifle, but grabs Turk and throws him over toward the rifle, where Turk can easily pick it up. An excellent human specimen, eh? But Turk can’t seem to fire it and gives Bert ample time to slug him some more. Somehow, Turk has a knife all of a sudden, but it doesn’t matter because Bert manages to knock him to the ground and disarm him anyway. Does anyone actually know how to use a weapon in this movie? While on the ground, Turk grabs a rock, unseen by Bert who is the one pinning him to the ground, and clouts Bert in the thick boot with it. They struggle some more, and ultimately Turk is strangled by his own rifle.

Back a Albert’s, Loomba brings a screaming Eve in, and Albert is pleased to have the sacred monkey captured by one of her subjects. Albert gloats to a woman who speaks no English that he now controls all the gorillas. Um...yeah. On the wall, the brain throbs some more and Albert sends the gorilla out to attend to whoever it is. He then gets back on the PA system and tries to cajole Bert into obeying him. Man, this guy has control issues. Albert tells Bert that Eve and Diana are his prisoners, and their life depends on Bert obeying. “You wouldn’t want their deaths on your conscience.” Well, with Bert, it really depends how much money is involved. Albert gives Bert 10 minutes or he turns the women over to the gorillas, “and there won’t be much left for you. The gorillas are getting excited.” I thought he had removed all savagery from then, unless he’s ordering them to get excited about killing women. Albert keeps droning on and on... He’s worse than the gorillas.

At that point, Theodore and Ursula show up and insist that Diana be released. He is also pissed that Robert was killed. Albert suddenly has a headache. So do I. Theodore orders him to open Diana’s cell. And he does. Theodore takes him to task, but then Ursula points a gun at Theodore, and lets Albert disarm him. “Surprise, Theodore. I wasn’t going to escape with Bert but with him.” Six of one, half dozen of another really. “Albert promised to take me away from this horrible country.” She then shoots Theodore. Let the cast-thinning begin! Diana is upset that her father was killed, and Ursula then yells at Diana: “I hate you! I hate you! It’s all your fault I could never get away!” She is about to clout Diana with the butt of the rifle, but Eve leaps out and stops her. They wrestle. Albert chuckles. Albert then shoots Ursula. “I’ve been hunting the sacred monkey for a year, and I don’t intend to lose her now. When I want something, I take it, and I keep it forever.” Jeez.

There is another gunshot. It’s Bert, one of the only characters left alive. “Not this time, Albert.” Albert commends Bert on his punctuality. “But I haven’t lost the game yet.” Neither the excellent human specimen nor Diana who is looking right at him notice the two gorillas lumbering up behind him. The gorillas grab Bert. Diana tells Bert to shoot the brain on the wall. While the gorillas hold him, he shoots the red light—but I thought that was just the visitor alarm. Whatever it is, the result is that the monkeys all clutch their heads, and all the equipment bursts into flame. Cover me though the fire indeed. Pretty touchy stuff. Eve then takes control of the gorillas, and Albert chews the scenery big time. “I’m your master!” he cries, and runs down a cavern. Two gorillas catch him and carry him off. You get the sense that there won’t be much left. The rest of the equipment goes up in smoke.

Outside, Bert and Diana bid Eve farewell, although now they call her Eva. And the payoff? Diana gives Eve(a) her bracelet. Yes! The accessory motif pays off. And Bert and Diana sail off, as Eve(a) ambles back into the jungle with Hymie the chimpanzee.

The end.

Hey, what happened to the Interpol guy? I wanted to quote some more lyrics.

I have decided to take a tip from the evil genius in the movie and overthink and overplan everything I do. So here’s my plan. The next time I want to have a pizza delivered, instead of just calling up and ordering one, here is what I will do. I will have my animal henchmen (there are no gorillas here in Saratoga, so I will have to make do with what I have; thus, my army of radio-controlled squirrels) carry off the daughter of the pizza shop. I will then have my hired human goon (well, an intern, a local student who wants to learn graphic design—I get a fair number of resumes) persuade one of the pizza shop’s delivery guys to rescue his boss’ daughter by leading an expedition (complete with large, pepperoni pizza) into the labyrinth of Geyser Crest. Then, I will have my squirrel army attack, and carry the pizza back to me. It’s perfect! What could possibly go wrong?

Turkey Day

My November crossword puzzle is now available in AcrossLite or PDF format.

ad:tech NY State of Mind

This week I ventured down the Hudson to New York to cover the ad:tech show for WhatTheyThink. My attempts at liveblogging for PrintCEO blog can be found here,
here, here, and here. Follow the links for full coverage of Day One and Day Two.

We're Beatrice

Beatrice Grace Romano (aka Trixy) was born on October 31, 2008. The specs as they were relayed to me are 7 lb 13 oz, 21" long. Mother and child are doing great; father is doing as well as can be expected.

Lost in Translation

If you were a lorry driver in Wales and saw this sign, you might be a bit confused, particularly since the Welsh translation reads: "I am not in the office at the moment. Please send any work to be translated."
I'm not sure that's an effective advert for this person's translation services.

You would think that in Wales they would be reasonably adept at putting signs in Welsh, but apparently this is an ongoing problem. The BBC article lists some other errors:

• Cyclists between Cardiff and Penarth in 2006 were left confused by a bilingual road sign telling them they had problems with an "inflamed bladder".
• In the same year, a sign for pedestrians in Cardiff reading 'Look Right' in English read 'Look Left' in Welsh.

Coyote Waits

One of my favorite mystery writers is no more:

Mystery writer Tony Hillerman dies at 83

Tony Hillerman, author of the acclaimed Navajo Tribal Police mystery novels and creator of two of the unlikeliest of literary heroes -- Navajo police officers Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee -- died Sunday of pulmonary failure. He was 83.

I've read just about all his Navajo Tribal Police books (although I think I missed the last couple); A Thief of Time, The Dark Wind, and Skinwalkers are probably the best of the series—or at least they're my favorites. Time to go reread them, methinks. Hillerman's books were wonderful for conjuring up the landscape of the American Southwest—in all its beauty as well as its peril. It's one of my favorite parts of the country to visit. His books also also gave me a profound love and respect for Navajo culture, which has a lot to recommend it. I had the opportunity to see Hillerman speak at the L.A. Book Fair in 1998 or 1999 and the rather large auditorium was packed. He will be missed.

Hells Cells

For those about to calculate, we salute you.... Believe it or not, the most recent AC/DC video (what, you didn't know they were still around and had a new album out?) is being distributed...as an Excel spreadsheet. I kid you not. Sez Wired:

Phil Clandillon and Steve Milbourne, who work at a digital design boutique division of Sony/BMG in London, have put together what they call "the world's first music video in Excel format," for AC/DC.

They decided on this unusual format because they wanted the video to penetrate even the most Draconian corporate firewalls. After all, who can't receive an Excel spreadsheet?

So I guess you can create a pivot table and see if those dirty deeds were in fact done dirt cheap. Download the actual spreadsheet here. Sigh: it doesn't work on a Mac. But here is a YouTube promo video for the video (?):

Bored Out of "The Skull"

This special Halloween installment of Mis-Treatments detours from my cheesy Sci-Fi box to a movie that I actually deliberately bought: the 1965 thriller The Skull.

I first saw The Skull sometime in the 1980s; it must have been on Elvira: Mistress of the Dark or as a late movie on some independent TV station (remember those?). Ever since, it has been one of my favorite bad movies, and it has probably been at least 15 years since I saw it last. It came out on DVD earlier this year, so how could I resist? (I actually like this movie and I am only slightly ashamed to admit that.) Welcome to this week’s Mis-Treatment: The Skull.

Previous entries in this series are:

Voyage to the Planet of Prehistoric Women
Voyage to the Prehistoric Planet
The Wasp Woman
The Horrors of Spider Island
The Atomic Brain
The Amazing Transparent Man
She Gods of Shark Reef
Moon of the Wolf
Santa Claus Conquers the Martians
Queen of the Amazons
The Incredible Petrified World

The Skull (1965)
Auteur/Perpetrator: Freddie Francis (sorry, you lose all horror cred when you have a ludicrously alliterative name)
Star(s) of Shame: Peter Cushing looking only slightly less cadaverous than he did in Star Wars 12 years later; a young, hunky Christopher Lee if such a thing could be said to be possible), with far less hair than he had as Saruman in The Lord of the Rings movies
Monster: Demonically possessed and oddly ambulatory skull of the Marquis de Sade
“Plot”: A British collector of bizarre crap is stalked by the skull of the Marquis de Sade, which drives him to murder...or something vaguely like it

One basic problem with the movie—aside from the fact that it really is quite dull—is that it is based on the premise that the Marquis de Sade was demonically possessed and was evil. While it’s true that the word “sadism” was derived from his title (his full name was Donatien-Alphonse-François, Comte [or “Count”] de Sade), and he did have a bizarre fetish for inflicting pain as part of his prodigious sexual proclivities, he wasn’t really evil, just a major pervert. In “literary” (and one uses the term loosely) circles, he is known for the novel Justine, which I have thankfully never read but which I understand is some kind of Family Ties fan fiction featuring Justine Bateman (damn Wikipedia). I guess De Sade’s Tina Yothers fan fiction has been lost to the ages, for which we should all be happy.

Anyway, De Sade was notorious for all sorts of perverted sexual acts and he was variously imprisoned and thrown in a mental asylum because of them. There is no evidence in any of his writings that he ever had any particular interest in Satanism (he admitted to being an atheist which, despite the belief of some, is not the same thing), or that he ever had Lucifer on his speed dial. De Sade also never killed anyone, which I guess would ruin it even for him. But then one questions how a decapitated skull could indulge in the activities for which the Marquis was notorious, since a skull by its very anatomical nature lacks the, um, pertinent parts. Still, this was 1965 and it was a good excuse to have a disembodied skull flying around horribly overdecorated English sitting rooms, so perhaps I shouldn’t complain.

The movie opens, as any self-respecting horror movie should, with a prologue set in a cemetery, where a cat meows and an iron gate blows in the wind (huh?). Or was it the wind... Bwa-ha-ha!
The rattling of the gate annoys Pierre, who is very edgy when he is robbing graves. He and his partner unearth a coffin, although we don’t know whose it is (except if we read the back of the DVD case or had some vague idea of the premise of the movie). He forces open the coffin to reveal what I guess is the body of the Marquis de Sade, who has certainly seen better days. Try getting women now, pal. Heh.
Pierre can barely contain his glee, and he looks like a kid in a candy store, albeit an old kid in a horribly freakish candy store. He takes a shovel and plunges it downward, which I guess was supposed to convey that he had chopped the Marquis’ head off, but all that really happens is that an owl freaks out, jumps onto a tree branch, and starts meowing like a cat, for reasons passing understanding. I guess even the wildlife surrounding the Marquis de Sade is perverted in some way. (Did the cat and the owl, um...you know; owl and the pussycat indeed.) Now a distant wolf starts getting in on the action. A regular menagerie-a-trois we’ve got going on here; the Marquis would be proud (or something). Pierre skulks (skullks?) off carrying something wrapped up in a black cloth. I’m guessing it’s either the head of the corpse he just defiled or he’s going bowling. It could go either way at this point.

He returns to his cluttered house, gathers some bottles, and takes the head-in-bag into the bathroom. If he starts singing “Rubber Ducky You’re the One” I’m turning this off. However, the bathtub is occupied by who I assume is his mistress, proving that he has little in the way of taste. She kind of looks like Bob Costas in drag. Ugh. He asks what she is doing there; now wait: he just dug up the Marquis de Sade and someone needs to explain sex to him? Jeez. She tries being seductive, but he has his skull to think about, and he kicks her out. She reminds him that he gave her his key; I guess he never expected her to actually use it. He says, “Not now. I’ve got to be alone tonight.” And then he disappears into the bathroom. Ah, now I understand: he had bad Chinese food for dinner. Been there...

In the bathroom, Pierre puts the severed head in the sink and pours various chemicals over it, presumably to remove the flesh. At least he’s not boiling it in a kitchenette in a Syracuse University dormitory.

Meanwhile, his mistress lies seductively on the bed eating a bowl of marshmallows. Huh? She lies back and utters a small moan. I guess this scene was targeted to the small demographic that is turned on by the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. When you’re dealing with the Marquis de Sade, no fetish is too bizarre. Hm. Is her safe word “Fluffernutter”?

Meanwhile, in the bathroom (there’s a phrase one tries not to write too often), Pierre reaches into the sink and pulls out a nice, clean skull. I hope he rinsed it off, or the flesh on his hands will dissolve, and then there will be a disembodied skeletal hand creeping around in addition to the skull. But that’s a whole other movie.
On the bed, Marshmallow Girl (I’m guessing her name is Marsha?) calls out to Pierre, and she dashes to the bathroom door. Barging into the bathroom, she screams, although we don’t know why, but can take any number of good guesses. We zoom into the skull sitting on a marble table and the titles start zooming out of its eye socket.
Christopher Lee is credited as “guest star.” How does a movie have a guest star? Was this actually a long-running TV series? (“Next week on ‘The Skull,’ Peter breaks mom’s favorite skull while playing basketball in the house”...”Next week on ‘The Skull,’ Rockford and the severed head of the Marquis de Sade play a deadly game of cat and mouse”...“Next week on ‘The Skull,’ Benson, Mrs. Kraus, and the severed skull of the Marquis de Sade get trapped in a meat locker and reevaluate their relationship...”) We also learn that this movie was based on a story by Robert Bloch, a somewhat popular horror writer famous for the book that Psycho was based on, as well as a couple of Star Trek episodes (including the one where Scotty is accused of being Jack-the-Ripper).

And we jump out of the titles to purportedly to an auction in present-day London where Christopher Lee has just successfully bid on about £90 worth of books. We pan over and land on Peter Cushing. I thought I smelled his foul stench when I started this movie. He was perhaps hoping a Death Star was on the auction block, but no such luck. Behind him, Anthony Marco inhales a large quantity of snuff. Don’t tell me this is going to be a snuff film.

On the auction block, four freakish figures are up for bid. They represent, the auctioneer tells us, the hierarchies of hell. I didn’t know hell was quite so organized. (But then after Q4 sales dropped, there was a reorg and Beelzebub replaced Lucifer as VP of Marketing. The Prince of the Fallen Cherubim was given his pink slip.) Christopher Lee is visibly upset, likely because at various points in his career he has played all of those characters. Peter Cushing (his character name is Chris Maitland) and Christopher Lee (Matthew Phillips) get into a bidding war for the evil figures; Lee gets stuck with them with his bid of £1500. There’s a sucker (and an evil one, too) born every minute.
Afterward, Maitland asks Phillips why he paid so much for them; Maitland admits he only wanted them “because they would go well with my collection.” I’m guessing it’s not a collection of Star Wars action figures. Phillips has no idea why he wanted them so badly. Some people are just shopoholics. I’ve known women who reacted the same way around shoes, and many of those shoes were no less evil.

Meanwhile, Snuff Man (Marco) pays a visit to Maitland’s house. He is greeted by Mrs. Maitland (Jane), whose face looks like she was the survivor of a terrible trash compactor incident.
In Maitland’s drawing room, he certainly has enough crap. His whole house looks rather like Sir John Soane’s Museum. I wonder if he has a crypt in the basement. Maitland’s wife obviously doesn’t like Marco; she’s acting like Darth Vader. She asks Maitland why he puts up with him. “I need research materials and he is the only one who can get them for me.” What, dare I ask, is he researching? Giant planet-destroying space stations? Jane is frightened of Marco. “It’s because people all through the ages have been influenced, and terrorized, by these things that I carry out research to try and find the reasons why. It’s all part of the unknown, and the unknown is always intriguing.” Um, what are you talking about? It’s a smarmy guy in your foyer holding a shopping bag, not one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

Marco is ushered into the Crap Room, and tells Maitland that he has something “choice” to sell him: a book entitled The Life of the Notorious Marquis de Sade. “A man who has become a symbol of the cruelty and savagery that is in all of us.” He has?
Marco then provides a short biography of the Marquis. “There were rumors that he dabbled in sorcery, making sacrifices of blood to his master, the devil.” No, there really weren’t. Even Wikipedia doesn’t mention that. “A most interesting man. A most interesting book.” Marco asks £200 for it; Maitland scoffs, but then Marco points out that it is bound in human skin. (Now there’s a product an service differentiator for today’s commercial printers. Try that, Amazon Kindle.) Maitland asks Marco where he got the book; presumably not on eBay (although one never knows) and Marco points out that Maitland has never been so particular before, and takes a tour of the various items in the room, a shriveled hand here, a knife owned by the wife-murderer Bluebeard there. (Make note of the knife; we’ll be seeing it again.) “You didn’t ask about their pedigree.” “I needed them for my work.” What work, I again ask, not sure I want to know. ”Yes,” says Marco, “demonology, black magic, witchcraft.” Oh, he works on Wall Street. Now I get it.

Maitland opens a wall safe located behind some false books on his shelf and takes out £200. He closes the safe. You know, it would be a lot more secure if you couldn’t actually see the safe when the false books were in front of it. Doh! “By the way,” adds Marco on the way out, “I may have ‘another item’ for you....I think you’ll find what I have for you is ‘most interesting.’” The location of the secret Rebel base? Nah, no such luck. But I wonder what it could be. Really, I am in complete suspense. Or something.

We then dissolve to Marco’s flat, and I am sure I do not want a peek into this guy’s personal life. And, what a surprise, his place is full of arcane crap. Man, who was the set designer for this movie, Charles Addams? Marco enters, sniffs some more snuff, counts his money, then goes to the closet, where the skull is sitting on the top shelf. He takes it down, smiles admiringly at it, then kisses it. Now we’re getting into a whole weird area.
The next night, Marco takes the skull round to Maitland’s. Maitland admits that he enjoyed the book Marco brought round the previous night. “I hope what you’ve brought me this evening is just as interesting.” He then takes out the skull, and you know he’s dying to say “Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him, Horatio. A man of infinite jest.” Well, in the case of the Marquis de Sade, infinite something. Not sure “jest” would be the right term. Infinite “ewwwww” maybe. “So small and delicate,” says Marco. Are skulls really all that delicate? “And all I’m asking is £1,000.” Seems like rather a bargain. I mean, Christopher Lee had paid £500 more than that for those lame devil statues.

Maitland is aghast. “A thousand pounds?! For a human skull?” He’s right, you know. You can get a whole pallet full of human skulls for half that at Sam’s Club. Marco is insulted. “Do you think I would bring you an ordinary human skull? Do you think I’d ask you for a thousand pounds for the skull of a nobody?” This isn’t the skull of some Joe the Plumber (it’s probably a lot more capacious, with less bone). He is proud of his wares, I’ll give him that. “Marco, I wouldn’t pay that price for Napoleon’s skull,” says Maitland. What about for Carrie Fisher’s?

Marco puts the skull down on the desk. “You see before you the skull of Donatien Alphonse François—Marquis de Sade.” That, and the musical sting, get Maitland’s attention. Naturally, Maitland would like some proof. Marco grabs a Havelock Ellis book (Skulls in Relation to Society, perhaps) from the bookshelf, and relates the story of the prologue of the movie. The Marquis de Sade’s skull was stolen by a phrenologist (you know, someone who believed the bumps on one’s head were some kind of indication of mental health) who wanted to study the skull to see if the Marquis was truly insane. Now, we’re back to Marshmallow Girl barging into the bathroom, and this time we see what she screamed about: Pierre dead in the bathtub. Well, most accidents do happen at home. We zoom back to the skull on the marble table—oh, no, the movie is starting again! Are the titles going to come out of its eye sockets again?

Fortunately, no, Marco continues. The executor of Pierre’s estate—Dr. Londe—is muttering to himself and puttering around Pierre’s house cataloging bizarre items. The woman returns, and she asks if Pierre had bequeathed to her all his marshmallows. The executor asks her who she is, and she giggles. OK, then. She mentions that Pierre had brought “something” back with him the night he was killed. “It changed him. Made him evil.” Why, because he kicked her out of his house for one night out of how many? That’s not really evil. Rude, yes, but hardly evil.

The executor mutters and putters some more. He holds up a freakish blue head with enormous ears; “wonderful, just wonderful.” A fine arbiter of taste he is. He comes across the skull and cavalierly tosses it onto a couch. The skull is not happy about that, and transports itself instantly to the mantlepiece, where it sits next to a black raven. This is turning into a weird Poe poem all of a sudden. The executor is bemused (or horrified, it’s hard to tell) and the skull silently forces him to grab a letter opener... Meanwhile, Marshmallow Girl emerges from the bathroom and starts packing her stuff into a wicker box. She grabs a marshmallow from the bed and disgustedly throws it away. How fickle! Well, maybe she’s moved on to Circus Peanuts. Behind her, the executor sneaks up and plunges the letter opener into her back. No more marshmallows for her. And we get the first Skullcam, where we see out of the eye and nose sockets of the skull. Which is very realistic, because when I see things, I can always see the edges of my eye sockets and even my nostrils. My optometrist can’t explain it.
Marco finishes up his story while we get Skullcam 2 looking at him and Maitland. “Dr. Londe could not explain his action to the police. To all their questions, he merely replied ‘The skull, the skull.’” I’ve taken tests like that.

Maitland is still skeptical. Marco appeals to his own reputation of not purveying fake items. Marco is easily talked down to £500. Maitland accuses him of having stolen the skull. Maitland needs some time to think it over, and Marco gives him his card. “If you change your mind, come round tomorrow night.”

Some time later, Maitland is playing billiards at Christopher Lee’s place. Maitland tells him about the offer of the skull—and Christopher Lee knows the skull is authentic “because, my dear fellow, it was stolen from me.” It turns out that he is glad that the skull has been stolen; he thinks it is “dangerous.” Lee cites as evidence that De Sade said that he wasn’t mad, but Lee believes instead that he had been “worse than mad: possessed...possessed by an evil spirit, a spirit which still inhabits the skull.” He goes on to tell Maitland that he kept the skull in a locked glass case in his library, and once a month, during the two nights of the new moon—the time of devil worship and black magic (it is?)—he found that the skull had been “removed” by invisible beings that would use its power. “Sometimes, I would even hear them calling me to join them in their ceremonies.” Yeah; uh huh.

Maitland says that he would jump at the chance to cavort with the evil ones, especially Dark Lords of the Sith; “It would make a great chapter in one of my books.” Christopher Lee chides him for being so cavalier about evil. Lee knew that if he set foot in the same room as the skull, “I would do whatever the skull wanted me to do.” He then points out the evil statues he had bought at the auction, and recalls that he was unsure why he had bought them. “Why did you?” Maitland asks. “Because the skull wanted me to,” he replies. Yep; you can imagine him continuing, “And when I’m at the grocery store, the skull makes me buy M&Ms, Snickers Bars, potato chips, and pint after pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream.” Come on, Chris; we’ve all used that excuse before!

Maitland is having none of it. But Christopher Lee says, “Keep away from the skull of the Marquis de Sade.” You know, not many people know this, but that was the original lyric to the Beach Boys’ song “Runaround Sue.”

We dissolve again to Marco’s hovel, and Mr. Snuffleupagus takes another snort. No one does snuff anymore, do they? I guess we should be thankful. He goes to the closet, and the skull is gone. He turns around, and—dah!—the skull is right behind him, being held by the apartment house’s caretaker. “Is this what you’re looking for?” Come on: just one “Alas, poor Yorick.” Please please please! Oh, you’re no fun, movie. Marco asks where the landlord got the skull. “In the ’all,” is the Cockney-esque reply. “In the broom cupboard.” He hands the skull back. “If you can’t keep your pets inside your own apartment, you won’t be allowed to keep any!” is what you would expect the response to be. As the caretaker leaves, he asks if any of the junk in the apartment is worth anything. Apparently, it is not. “Anyone’d have to be barmy to collect things like this.” He does have a point.

Back at Maitland’s place, he sits down with the Marquis de Sade’s book and reads into the night, and we pan over the assortment of crap in his house, most of it involving weird, distorted heads of various kinds. I swear I saw a Mrs. Butterworth syrup bottle in there somewhere, but perhaps it was just a trick of the light. There is a strange montage and some odd music on the soundtrack, which is interrupted by a knock at the door. In walk two be-trenchcoated and be-fedoraed figures who abruptly announce that they are the police and that Maitland is under arrest and escort him out. This next bit is rather confusing, and it’s unclear if it’s a dream, or a skull-induced nightmare, or actually happening. The drive to the police station takes place in uncomfortable silence. However, when they arrive, Maitland says, “But this isn’t the police station.” We are not sure where it is, and Maitland is tossed unceremoniously into what at first seems to be a bare room but as we pull back we see that at the far end sits a judge, whose desk is full of more arcane statuary and curios. Man, does everyone in London have a weird statuary and curio fetish? And they say the Marquis de Sade was mad.

The judge glowers at Maitland, who insists on being told why he was brought there. The two “police” men clop over (everyone in this movie sounds like they are wearing giant tap shoes), hand Maitland a gun, and force him to play Russian roulette or the planet Alderaan will be destroyed. “Would you prefer another target, a military target? Then name the system!” That gets the judge nowhere, ironically. Anyway, the judge starts making strange hand signals. At one point, it looks like Maitland is being signaled to steal third base, but I could be reading that wrong. Maitland wins (he would have to, as the movie is only half over), and the judge grabs the gun, fires it, then laughs maniacally. Maitland then finds himself alone in a blood red corridor. The corridor has a series of vents, each of which spews out some kind of thick smoke which quickly fills the room. It also appears as if the walls are closing in, kind of like the trash compactor on the Death Star, now that I think about it. Through the smoke, the skull looms toward him. I think the lesson here is not to eat a Pizza Hut Super Supreme pizza right before bedtime.
Maitland claps his hands over his eyes as the skull bears down on him (it would be one hell of a head butt, I’ll give it that) and when he opens his eyes again, he is safe...but in a strange building. He walks down to the street level and discovers that he is in Marco’s apartment building. Hmm. I think I’d rather be in the smoky corridor with the skull. So would Maitland it would appear, and he goes home rather quickly. His wife is asleep on the couch, and he is pleased to see her. She fixes him a drink, and asks where he has been. He tells her he had a terrifying dream and woke up in Marco’s rooming house. His wife ain’t buying it. She goes to bed and sleeps fitfully. Maitland gets money out of the not-well-hidden safe and decides to pop by Marco’s—even though it is something like three in the morning. You know what they say: the skull never sleeps.

Maitland knocks on Marco’s door, and there is no answer. He tries the knob, and the door is unlocked. The room is dark and seems devoid of life—but then it did even when Marco was there. Maitland struts around like he owns the place, and opens the closet. A black mummified figure flops out and falls to the floor. Kind of like Fibber McGee’s closet, only weirder. He reaches up and grabs the skull and makes for the door. As the door swings away from the wall, Marco’s body flops onto the floor. Maitland isn’t sure what to do; he is clutching the skull like a football and looks like he’s about to run downfield with it at any moment. He goes out into the hall and stashes the skull in a closet, then returns to Marco’s room and calls the police.

Maitland’s story to the grouchy inspector is that he had come by to pick up a rare volume that Marco had, he found Marco dead, and called the police. Not too far off. The doctor is about to say something interesting about the body, but the caretaker arrives and interrupts. The doctor then himself interrupts—“Do you have a pet, a large dog perhaps?” The caretaker says they don’t allow them, then is quickly ushered out by the inspector, obviously an animal lover. The inspector is mad at the doctor, “Doctor, what do animals have to do with this?” he asks testily. Jeepers, give your own forensic examiner a chance, would you? “His jugular vein was bitten...clean through,” says the doctor. So nyah. So the skull bites. That could be the tagline for this movie.

We cut to Christopher Lee’s house, and a closeup of his clock. Hm. Could that be considered a Dooku clock? He is telling Maitland that the previous night was the first night of the new moon. (How many new moons a month are there in this movie?) That is, the first night of the evil skull-induced rituals. That means that tonight is the second night (you can’t put anything over on him). “If you have the skull,” says Christopher Lee, “get rid of it.” He then gives Maitland some kind of gold sphere on a chain—“protection against the skull, against the evil worshippers.” Maitland humors him. You know this won’t end well.

Maitland sneaks back to Marco’s building and retrieves the skull from the closet. The caretaker catches him in the act and asks if he is stealing something. “No, this belongs to me.” The caretaker doesn’t believe him and there is a slight altercation which is ended when the skull (maybe?) forces the caretaker to fall over a railing and plummet down a stairwell through two stained glass sky lights to his doom. Maitland isn’t all that broken up about it.

He goes home and locks the skull in a glass display case. Yeah, that’ll hold it. He takes out the talisman Christopher Lee gave him: the sphere actually opens up into a cross. It’s always crucifixes that thwart evil in these movies, but I wonder if any religious iconography would do. For example, what if he had a Star of David: would that work? Or a gold Buddha statue? Or a Navajo sand painting? What about a copy of the collected works of L. Ron Hubbard? I gotta know.

Later that night, instead of turning on the lights, he lights a bunch of candles in the skull room—I guess to really ratchet up the creepy factor. He then retires for the night (so was he lighting the candles for the benefit of the skull and/or the invisible evil worshippers?). You know how in the 1950s and 60s, married couples on TV and in the movies couldn’t be shown sleeping in the same bed? I guess in Britain, they couldn’t even be shown sleeping in the same room, because Maitland has his own bedroom and his wife’s bed is not much wider than an army cot. I guess it’s not so strange that they have no children and Maitland has a kooky skull obsession. Maitland slips into a smoking jacket and returns to the skull room—watched by the Skullcam. He spends the night staring at the skull. I think he needs a television.

The wind blows the window open, the curtains flutter, and the skull unlocks the cabinet. It clears off a round table and floats over to it. Maitland watches this all pretty calmly. The Marquis de Sade book then floats off the bookshelf and settles next to the skull. We get Skullcam perspective again, and even when Maitland stands up, the Skullcam pans up to follow him, even as the skull stays still on the table.
Maitland puts on a trenchcoat and leaves the house. We dissolve to a closeup of Christopher Lee’s Dooku clock, and Maitland breaking into the house. He is after the evil statues. Christopher Lee catches him, and warns him again to get rid of the skull. Maitland is sick of hearing about it, so he smashes Christopher Lee over the head with the Lucifer statue, and Lee collapses onto the pool table, scattering the billiard balls. It was a nice break, I have to give him that.

Maitland returns home with the statue, and the skull is waiting for him, like a faithful dog. Maitland places the statue next to the skull and the book, and it does make for a nice still life. Maitland then discovers there is blood on his gloves, although it could just as easily be marinara sauce or even red wine. For all he remembers, the skull sent him out for a lovely Italian meal and not to kill Christopher Lee and steal his devil statue.

Suddenly, the skull has drawn a pentagram around itself on the table with chalk or White Out or something (I hope it comes off; that’s a nice table). Maitland is under the skull’s control, it would appear, and he is sent right to the Bluebeard wife-murderer knife we saw earlier.

You know what playwright Anton Chekhov once said,: “If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired.” But then of course, Pavel Chekov once said, “If you mention nuclear wessels in one movie, you must maintain a ridiculous Russian accent for the rest of your career.” Points to ponder. But not for too long.

Anyway, Maitland grabs the knife and heads to his wife’s room. It’s actually rather convenient how the skull magically opens all the doors for him. I wouldn’t mind owning the possessed skull of the Marquis de Sade just for that alone. It would be a great help when carrying in groceries. He is about to stab his wife as she sleeps, but at that moment she rolls over, bringing the crucifix she wears around her neck into view. That, happily, prevents Maitland from stabbing her. It’s a good thing for her that he’s not Richard Dawkins. He tries to flee the room, but the skull has locked the door. He runs out through his own room and ends up back in the skull room. He tosses away the knife and is about to clout the skull with the evil statue, but I guess thinks better of it. He locks both the statue and the skull in the cabinet, blows out the candles, takes the key to the cabinet, and wraps Christopher Lee’s talisman around the latch. “That’s enough shenanigans from you, Christopher Michael Skull” he chides. He stalks out of the room and for good measure the skull magically smashes the mirror on the wall as he passes. The skull is not happy. Maitland retreats to his bedroom and takes off his bloody gloves. He looks in on his wife, who I guess could have slept through the London Blitz.

He collapses on he bed and starts weeping—yep, skull remorse. We’ve all been there.

Meanwhile, the skull is pissed, and is open for business. The wind bursts open the window again, and the skull relights the candles and bursts through the glass case. It is back in its pentagram. It calls to Maitland, and is now pretty insistent about him obeying. He is dragged downstairs for a face-to-skull meeting. I’ve had jobs like this. He retrieves the knife, stands with it, torn over what to do next. He can’t stop thinking about his wife’s crucifix and then, for some reason, he looks over at the display case, and the metal sphere of Christopher Lee’s anti-skull talisman suddenly opens into a cross. That tears it—Maitland drives the knife right into one of the skull’s eye sockets. Oh, that’s going to go over well.
Wisely, he beats cheeks out of there. Now the skull is really pissed. The knife is suddenly gone from the skull’s eye socket, but when Maitland walks into his bedroom, he sees the knife sticking out of his pillow. That’s not good. He tries to leave but is locked in his room. “Jane!” he yells, pounding on his wife’s bedroom door. Good luck waking her up.

The house starts shaking. He keeps yelling and pounding the door. “Jane! Stop this crazy thing!”

Now, the skull comes looking for him. It lifts up off its table and flies through the house. Suddenly, it is in his room. Gulp! As it heads toward him, you can’t help but wonder why he just doesn’t cut the strings that are holding it up, which are clearly visible. There is a lesson for us all: you buy a cursed skull, there will always be strings attached. As Skullcam zooms in on Maitland screaming, we fade to black. He’s dead, Jim.

The next morning, the room is trashed. His wife stirs in bed; oh, so she’s finally up, and at the crack of noon, too? She notices the wall hangings are askew, and charges into Maitland’s room: there he is, lying on the bed, his neck ripped open, and the skull sitting on the foot of the bed with bloodstained teeth. (This is why I will never get a pet.) She screams.

The inspector is back, investigating. He examines the skull room and the broken display case. The doctor comes in and explains that Maitland’s neck was ripped open, “just like in the Marco case.” “What’s the connection?” asks the inspector. “What connection could there be?” asks the doctor. “Witchcraft?” We pan down to the skull, sitting in its pentagram on the table. “Hardly,” says the inspector, and through the Skullcam we hear him say, “Not in this day and age....Not in this day and age.” Right.
Close up of skull, run end titles.

The end.

You know, I was in Costco the other day, and they had on sale a dozen possessed skulls for $19.99. Well, how could I refuse? The Marquis de Sade’s skull wasn’t included, but there were some other skulls that kept me up for several successive new moons.

The Marquess of Queensberry’s skull used its pyschic ablity to get me to break into other people’s homes and start boxing with them.

While taking Bob Denver’s skull out of the packaging, I was struck by lightning, and the skull fused to my hand. Thus, whenever I gesticulated or tried to put my hand down on a table or sleep in hammock suspended over the Skipper’s hammock, injury and destruction were the results, to hilarious effect.

Julia Child’s skull insisted on being boiled in a heavy cream sauce, with plenty of cooking sherry, until it finally fell off the counter and rolled around on the kitchen floor, giggling.

Every time I took the skull of Pope Gregory XIII out of the box, nothing really happened, but it was suddenly 11 days later.