QuikReview – Top Gun: Maverick

So. I had absolutely nothing better to do with myself this afternoon, so I went and watched Top Gun: Maverick. I’ve never watched the original Top Gun (though it’s stunted baby cousin, Navy SEALS, was, well, it wasn’t good either but I had a crush on Michael Biehn.)

Anyhow, this movie: it took precisely ten seconds for me to start grinning, and I never really stopped. This is a movie that knows precisely, exactly, who it’s audience is, and exactly, precisely what they want. (besides stuff going vroommm vrmmm whooosh sssssshwooooo pchwa!, or, “he’s on my tail he’s on my tail! Aaaaahhhhh!!!” and, “Bravo dagger turn flight alpha heading and take altitude 505!” and, “Copy that Blue Leader!”) And it gives it to them right and proper, and…

….and that’s all it takes, really.

The audience wants to see their heroes win. Yes, heroes have to lose a bit, but. They have to win after they lose, and the audience knows this. Mess with this formula for no good reason and you end up with a disaster on your hands. The audience wants to see their heroes fight, struggle a bit, come back up, and win. They want to see their rivals give them a grudging but heart-felt nod of acknowledgement. They want to see them blazing into the sunset with the girl.

Does this movie have flaws? Sure, but off the top of my head the only one that bothered me was actually turned into an asset. The ever-more-compressed timeline keeps the pace such that when the climactic plot events turn from “dramatic” to “highly improbable,” to “okay, seriously, what?”, we’re still invested, still carried along, still wanting to see our heroes survive and win, and slightly too busy watching them do this to ask questions.

I’ll also give full kudos to the film for having the basic intelligence to answer the question that the audience members (me) was asking, namely, “Why don’t you bomb the hell out of the airbase before the fighters start the Death Star trench run?” (They do. End of story.)

Respect + intelligence = success.

Man, if only the rest of Hollywood could get it….

Rated: VRMMM VRMMM SHHHHHVOOOOOOOSHHHH thudathudathuda BOOOM

The Shadow Magazine #192 – The Invincible Shiwan Khan

shadow_magazine_vol_1_193So….

I have thus far been highly and remarkably unimpressed with Shiwan Khan. In each of three outings so far, he’s had a predictable pattern: 1) arrive in New York, purpose: World Domination! 2) hypnotize white American girl into thinking she’s Chinese and serving as his messenger, 3) attempt to bribe, steal, or inveigle goods or services that, WITH YOUR LIMITLESS ORIENTAL WEALTH OF MYSTERIOUS ORIGINS YOU COULD VERY WELL HAVE LEGITIMATELY PURCHASED, HELLO, 4) get caught by The Shadow, 5) run away like a little bitch.

The pattern gets set in The Golden Master, Shiwan Khan’s first appearance, and I mentioned how underwhelming an antagonist he was there. It’s reinforced in Shiwan Khan Returns, the ending of which features the Kha Khan completely failing to accomplish anything except the manufacture and theft of a piecemeal helicopter, which he uses to, as previously indicated, run away with his tail between his legs. The pattern continues in The Invincible Shiwan Khan, although it does get switched up somewhat with the addition of Dr. Roy Tam and the likes of Vic Marquette. Shiwan Khan also switches tactics yet again from using flashing lights or even distinctive sounds as a method of mental resonance for contacting his victims. Now he uses…smells. Yeah, smells. Seriously.

Yes, Shiwan Khan–with his ability to telepathically overwhelm weak or unprepared minds–is personally dangerous. But when what he’s up against is The Shadow he’s also just….so damn outclassed. He’s rather pathetic and I’m not sure how this guy ended up as “The Shadow’s greatest archenemy.” I mean, aside from Walter B. Gibson hyping it up on purpose. It really doesn’t come across nearly so well when an author deliberately writes a character to be The Archenemy, honest-to-whiskers it’s gonna be so awesome when they meet next time!!!….as when it happens naturally. One feels that Doctor Moquino was a bit more of a natural case, because each time when he died, it was with an appropriate sense of “I shot him and he fell into a river, off an exploding barge,” or, “I shot him a bunch and left him inside an inescapable death maze of a house, which exploded.” And finally, “I shot him a bunch AND saw him fall down a bottomless fissure into a cavern that has no exits or way back up.” At least those deaths weren’t punctuated with breathlessly smug narrator informing us that Shiwan Khan would meet his fate! One of these days. Next volume. Somewhere along the road. Also, Doctor Moquino didn’t ever cut and run: he stayed to fight it out each time, which, y’know, I can respect.

All that being said, Shiwan Khan actually does manage to escape with his life, though this is not  particularly impressive (see: “like a little bitch”); and he does take a bunch of unwitting victims along with him. Part of this is lies with the fact that The Shadow of the 1940s is no longer the invincible, unknowable, alien figure of dread, bravura, and the night itself. Apparently, the editorial decision was made to tone him down and make him more….unimpressive. He still wields .45s, but now he largely “clips” thugs (Thuggees?) rather than dropping them; and that’s when he’s not just pistol-whipping them instead. His laugh tends to be more of a narrative device, not to mention a long-range communication method (no, seriously), than a genuine expression of challenging, or ironic, blood-thirsty, or ghoulish mirth.  Almost all of the clever/mastermind-level crooks have identified Lamont Cranston with The Shadow, even if they don’t really know the whole secret of that particular dual identity. And it takes him two whole minutes to wrestle a naljorpa into submission.

While The Shadow does outwit and outmaneuver Shiwan Khan at every step of the way (except the steps that involve not sending Harry Vincent to uncover vital information), he also misses his shot by a fraction of an inch due to (I am not making this up) the oriental fiend’s cunning construction of his new Throne Room as a slant-floored funfair-type crazy room. (That being said, an inferior Shadow is still superior to basically any other hero out there, because he still retains the essence of his character: knowing at least as much as the audience does, and pure, raw, undiluted will.)

Anyhow. Plot. 1) Shiwan Khan arrives back in New York, now styling himself Shiwan Tulku and while still employing what’s left of his Mongol horde, now also assisted by a gaggle of skeletal Tibetan naljorpas, mystics who have seen The Other Side and are now amply content to pass the veil of this life for the next. He intends on 2) stealing, not riches or weapons, but people this time. 3) Shiwan Khan hypnotically recruits Lana Luan (nee: Beatrice Chadbury, and yes, he takes the same frikking girl under control as his pawn again), to serve as a messenger. Which promptly leads to 4), because you do not mess with people whom The Shadow has rescued.

I mean, aside from Harry Vincent: professional rescuee.

Anyhow, 4) continues with The Shadow deftly outmaneuvering Shiwan Khan’s first attempt to eliminate him and also exposes him–and an inkling of his methods–to the New York City police. Commissioner Weston, once convinced, promptly calls in the FBI. The Shadow susses out Shiwan Khan’s new game–luring suitable disciples with the promise of their uttermost desires in Xanadu, a city the likes of which Shangri-La has got nothing on–and, while losing the requisite Random Mad Inventor, gets a bead on Lana Luan and a direct line to whatever Shiwan Khan’s next move is going to be.

Part of the reason Shiwan Khan is just, as mentioned, so damn outclassed is The Shadow’s organization. We’ve seen his agents–Moe, Hawkeye, Burbank, Cliff Marsland, Jericho Druke and (sigh) Harry Vincent–at work so many times before. We’ve seen them respond instantly to a low-toned whisper in the dark, seen them fling themselves into hopeless danger with only the trust in the mighty fighter who is their chief to rescue them, seen them lay down enfilade fire and rally to the mysterious blinks of a tiny, changing light. We know how well the team works, and here, they’re a well-oiled machine, amply aided by Dr. Roy Tam and his modernized Chinese-Americans. (Yat Soon, the Arbiter, one surmises, has been forgotten or perhaps has joined his ancestors.)

There’s also, because wouldn’t it come in useful if there was someone we could use as bait for the guy who likes to hypnotize beautiful women into thinking they’re Chinese and using them as minions, the linguistically-gifted Myra Reldon, an FBI asset. Myra has popped up before, generally with the alias of Ming Dwan and yellow-toned pancake makeup, in various ventures in which The Shadow plays a starring role. The adventures she experienced make her someone who responds instantly when a note arrives, written in fading ink and showing for a crest and signature the fleeting outline of a hawklike profile, topped with a broad slouch hat! (A previous volume shows that The Shadow producing the effect by twisting his hands together in a strange, supple fashion. Which, well. Okay, that is kind of cool. Do Deformed Rabbit now.)

Anyhow. Lana Luan is neutralized and Ming Dwan placed as a mole inside Shiwan Khan’s organization, The Shadow maps out the entire underground lair and the FBI is notified. Vic Marquette, who has worked with (for) The Shadow before, obeys implicitly. Dr. Roy Tam’s organization provides cover (dragons make everything awesome), and the countertrap is faultlessly sprung! However, since we are only at about 70% of the way through the novel, something is bound to go wrong and it promptly does with the aforementioned funhouse trick throne room and then, also, a firebomb.

And so on until we get to 5) which, dude, really….how can you say The Shadow–who had plenty of time to map out the entirety of the evil headquarters–seriously didn’t take thirty seconds more to stick his head inside the throne room itself? But anyhow, there’s also the matter of Harry Vincent still stuck aboard a yacht along with lots of other innocent (dumb) people who stopped to sniff the roses….

So it ends, rather frustratingly, with 6) the rather unenthusiastic promise that Shiwan Khan will return and This Time it’ll be the last one.

One would hope so, anyway.

Anyhow.

I don’t really feel like discussing how the 1990s movie pulled its ideas really heavily from the Shiwan Khan arc and this story in particular (there’s a phurba in this one, but it is actually given its deadly ability via a trick mummy case and a really skinny guy hiding in back…)

Rated: Fractions of an inch won’t cut it. Kill him already!

Postweekend notes

So Friday I was posted to an out of town conference that happened to be about half a state closer to my family than my usual stomping grounds, so I just drove the rest of the way there.

– “I had my friend’s birthday present sitting by the door, under my backpack, and I forgot it.” “That makes me feel better about forgetting a flash drive.”

– The local bookstore produced:
Doomstar – Edmund Hamilton
When The Green Star Calls – Lin Carter
Outposter – Gordon Dickson
On the Run – Gordon Dickson
To Say Nothing of the Dog – Connie Willis

– The new Dune movie is for normies. That’s fine. That’s actually [grits teeth] a good thing.

My problem with it is how the filmmakers deliberately and consistently took away opportunities to show Paul, Leto, and especially Jessica, being commanding, cool, decisive, intelligent, or even competent. Jessica spends 80% of her screentime blubbering. Paul spends about half of it being called “boy” and spoken down to. Even Leto’s big scene–rescuing a stranded sandharvester crew at the risk of his own life–falls completely flat. Its impact is diluted by, well, not letting it be impactful. There’s no sense of non-artificial danger, no clear proof that the Harkonnens are sabotaging the spice mining; no moment where the character–or movie–acknowledge that the characteristic action of a brave and decisive leader is to act to save the lives of his men.

Take the scene post Leto’s death where Jessica and Paul come to terms with it. In the novel, Paul gives his mother a posthumous message from his father, knowing that she’s going to utterly break down on receiving it–and does so deliberately, knowing that now is the only time she can afford to do so; and that they both need to be on their game going forward. In the film: Jessica just huddles up and starts (again) crying.

Take Jessica’s confrontation with the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam. In the novel, the Reverend Mother is uncompromising in pointing out to Jessica that a) she has chosen a path, b) there is no escape, c) there is no more help to be had, and also D) THE MISSIONARIA PROCTECTIVA EXISTS, PSST, THAT’S KIND OF IMPORTANT TO THE OVERARCHING PLOT, DON’T YOU THINK? But, after all this, when she turns to go, Jessica sees tears on her old teacher’s face. Here…there’s nothing. There’s not even the explanation that the Reverend Mother is the Emperor’s Truthsayer, or a clear reveal of what hold they have over Jessica, or why. AND KNOWING ABOUT THE MISSIONARIA PROTECTIVA WOULD REALLY, REALLY HELP EXPLAIN THE REST OF THE PLOT.

All the characters are flattened, and while it’s in an attempt to make them more “relatable,” it comes at the cost of cutting out the core of who they are. And I don’t like being told that I can’t relate to people who are intelligent, competent, stoic, commanding, and cool.

– “Who is that?”
“It’s the same guy it was the last five times you asked, Mom.”
“Oh. Aquaman?”

The Shadow Magazine #30 – The Death Giver

shadow_magazine_vol_1_30The earlier Shadow is much more a powerful figure of mystery and grandeur, not revealing his true face even to the audience, defeating his opponents coolly, rescuing innocents with swift and awesome competence. Yeah, that means mostly rescuing mostly Harry Vincent, but still…

Story-wise, with The Shadow still a relatively new figure in the underworld, underworld players have not quite yet figured out the correct or necessary countermeasures, i.e., overwhelming firepower, manpower, and muzzlepower. And–this may be an unintentionally brilliant writing strategy, too–the earlier years of The Shadow’s anti-crime reign of terror feature a lot more small-time evil masterminds than the later ones…possibly because The Shadow weeding out the smaller ones left room for the big guys to expand into. Doctor Moquino mentally enslaves wealthy socialites and manipulates them into voluntarily parting with their entire wealth. The Death Giver wants….one. million. dollars., and is none too organized about getting it.

So! Death has struck twice on a commuter train: random people, same place, same time, no suspects, and no detectible cause of death save for traces of poisons and traces of burns somehow occurring unobserved on a crowded morning train. The police are baffled. Commissioner Weston is no less baffled than Detective Joe Cardona, but his higher rank means that at least he has someone else to shove in front of the firing squad of public opinion when, as they inevitably do, the deaths keep coming.

Meanwhile we are introduced to a random millionaire businessman, who has been receiving mysterious notes on postcard. Deciphered, they are a death threat and a warning not to call the police. Except that he does, whereupon his crooked butler toggles a switch that makes his own telephone electrocute him. So now he’s dead and there’s no way to get one. million. dollars. out of him. (The Death Giver, as I have mentioned in previous reviews, is kind of unhinged and frankly also pathetic.) –especially as now The Shadow has sniffed out a new threat, and is on the trail. Except that the crooked butler, mad with terror both of the far-reaching grasp of his true master and the black-cloaked shape looming like Death itself actually in the room right now, snatches madly for what he thinks is a weapon given him by said master….and is promptly killed by it. Leaving no forward trail for The Shadow.

Whilst this thread has been unravelling, the Death Giver’s actually trusted lieutenant has scoped out another potential millionaire victim for the scheme of terror, threats, and eventual death. The Death Giver gives only one reward–whether they succeed or not. 

 And so it goes. 

(Another trick of the early books is that sometimes The Shadow never appears “on camera” at all.–later on, Gibson abandoned the idea, but he at first hinted that The Shadow’s true face was horribly disfigured to the point of not being there. In this book, he does appear to several characters, but his face remains hidden behind his high cloak collar and broad-brimmed hat. When he takes them off, he’s disguised as someone else. He does not use any of his established alter egos in this story, visit the Cobalt Club, or hang out with the Commissioner, either. It’s all business, darkness, vengeance, the gaping muzzle of an enormous automatic, and the trailing echoes of sardonic, ghoulish laughter.)

As mentioned, this is a book fairly light on minions (because they keep killing themselves off) and while there are no all-against-one gun battles or even The Shadow’s signature “leap into a crowd of thugs and start pistol-whipping them” tactic, there’s plenty of high stakes, fast movement, and stuff blowing up. This is one of the stories where The Shadow, ultimately, doesn’t really run into any genuine setbacks (bar having to rush to a location and pull Harry Vincent out of the blast zone), doesn’t make any mistakes, outmaneuvers the villains effortlessly, and, overall, hardly seems to exert himself.

And it’s still awesome, because Walter B. Gibson was just that clever. Gibson never fell into the trap of writing The Shadow as conveniently only slightly more powerful than his current batch of enemies. His power level, intelligence, and ferocity never varies. Sometimes the going is harder, because he’s up against someone with comparable intelligence, or comparable attack, or who can afford more than two minions at a time–and sometimes, well, it’s isn’t. The Shadow always throws himself fully into whatever he’s doing; he’s always fully engaged, always using his full power, mental and physical, to battle against evil.

And the evil always loses.

So the Death Giver himself, despite his evil lair with an agonized living corpse in a glass coffin set in the floor, and (in lieu of a trick floor, because, duh, I have my centerpiece there) trick ceiling, and also a pair of large black retainers, because what evil mastermind’s lair is complete without a couple of big guys just standing around, providing cannon fodder?–is unhinged, and, honestly, my reaction to this story was and remains “squidge him out like a bug.” He is, it transpires, a former chemist specializing in poison gases whose work was rejected by the American government, and who took that rejection very much to heart. Also, he needed money in a bad way. I’m not sure how these two circumstances lead to “imprisoning a man in the floor and starving / poisoning him to death slowly over months” but there you go.

The cover seems to show The Shadow’s agents, but I’m blowed if I can match who any of them are except Cliff Marsland on the right. I’m guessing that’s Burbank in the very back, because he takes after the chief in also liking to hide his face, but if the top hat guy is Rutledge Mann, he’s not chubby enough, and is the blond one Clyde Burke? So who is the second from the left dude?

Rated: I’m with the guy who stomps out criminals like the vermin they are.

QuikReview: Gunman’s Walk (1958)

gunmans-walok-still
(reposted from: Watchlist Update)

This one was actually kind of hard to watch: it’s about a strong and headstrong man who goes his own way and raises his sons to do the same…and how his sons, well, do the same.

Van Heflin is solid and by turns charming and unpleasant as patriarch Lee Hackett, who considers himself one of the boys, except for when he doesn’t, and don’t you forget it, kid. He owns the biggest spread in the state, and built every bit of it up with his own hands at the barrel of a gun, wrestling control from wrestlers and Indians. Only….

…only, that was a long time ago and the place is civilized now. It’s illegal to wear guns in town. (It’s illegal to shoot people, too.) Lee himself skirts around issue #1 by having a thorough understanding of issue #2, but his eldest son…

Tab Hunter (also seen as a juvenile in the George Montgomery flick Gun Belt) is Ed Hackett: handsome, ambitious, sullen, resentful, and generous by turns. (Except the handsome bit. He hangs on to that with great prowess throughout the entire movie.) He’s grown up in the shadow of his father and wants to move out of it, but at every turn keeps finding that Dad is–and indeed, all the other authority figures in town are–just a little ways ahead of him. Like, twenty years ahead of him. And when you’re playing with fire and loaded guns, and even if Dad does keep bailing you out of trouble–you don’t get a whole lot of second chances.

Hunter gives an excellent performance–he considered it his best role, apparently, as it gave him a chance to show he wasn’t just another pretty face. He also rides impressively well, so he’s got that going for him, too.

James Darren as the Good Son and Kathryn Grant as the half-Sioux but entirely civilized love interest whose brother was killed…semi-inadvertently…by Ed, have less material to work with but still serve their parts well as the immovable moral centers around which the rest of the characters circle, orbit, and/or crash.

Another reviewer pointed out that this movie might also be read as anti-gun. I suppose you could make that argument, but I find it more of a condemnation of the people who take on a deadly responsibility, perhaps themselves with a clear understanding of what it is–but who fail to teach their children the same. Lee carries a gun as a statement of power, independence, and self-reliance, not quite understanding why this statement is out of fashion in the modern day, but still somewhat understanding that it is. On the other hand, his son, who has absorbed that wearing a gun means standing apart from people who don’t, is violently confused as to why there still seem to be constraints, and so many conflicting rules about his behavior…when he’s the man with the gun.

The ending is standard and a bit pat, but it’s also what the audience, having grown to understand the characters and know their ways, knows is coming–and wants to see.

Rated: four white mares out of four.

The Shadow Magazine #186 – City of Ghosts

shadow_magazine_vol_1_186Oddly enough, The Shadow’s real nemeses aren’t the fiendish and dastardly masterminds that spring up, have grandiose nicknames that are not nearly as impressive as they think they are (see: The Death Giver and The Python), commanding heaps upon heaps of minions ready to positively leap into the fray against a cackling black-clad figure with two .45s. You’d think that after a while the supply of such minions would lessen, but, well, whatever.

As it turns out, The Shadow’s real and most highly persistent struggles are with: a) standing with his back to open doors and/or windows, and b) country bumpkins with shotguns. No, really, he tends to have genuine trouble with country boys, since they generally aren’t dyed-in-the-wool crooks who already know, fear, and dread the dimmest inkling of his presence. He can’t and won’t shoot innocents, even to spare his own life; and they tend to have numbers, shotguns, and a good reason for aiming both of them towards the nearest and most likely target….which is generally The Shadow, standing between them and the actual bad guys.

Also: it is a truth universally acknowledged that you have Made It as a pulp hero when you have defeated a giant reptile in its own habitat. Tarzan managed it in his thirdmost book, going knife-to-snout with a giant crocodile in the depths of a Deepest African River. The Shadow does similar here, only with the sensible aid of a .45 and also using a wooden post to jam into its mouth while he delivers the killing shots. Come to think of it, though, The Shadow also has previously fought and defeated Koon Woon (giant python) in #137 – Grove of Doom, so that should also count. Admittedly, that is a sample size of two here, but they’re both iconic heroes, so my point stands. If anyone has other instance of pulp heroes fighting giant reptiles, send ’em in.

So.

City of Ghosts begins with a visit by Lamont Cranston (wearing his real estate investor hat) to the extremely depopulated Pomelo City–a place so plagued by bad luck, ill fortune, mysterious plagues, and the extremely localized reappearance of the otherwise-extinct Florida black wolf (seriously, heh)–that only three men remain in the town itself, under the literal gaze of a flock of buzzards, even. Outside of town, there’s a lone big-money rancher, Clenwick, who has taken over the mortgages of many other cattlemen in the area, and only one family of any importance: the Severns. The Severns’ mortgage is also held by Clenwick, but he….lives with them and pays them rent? Or something. And there’s a bunch of ranch hands and country bumpkins (“crackers”) living in the vicinity, too, but they don’t, y’know, count except when it comes to screaming and shooting wildly at things. More on this later.

The remaining three townsmen shortly becomes two after the introduction of a mob crew hiding out in a dilapidated gas station, working for a shifty character named Enwald. There’s also another mob crew, one which works for Tony Belgo, a New Yorker in search of a better business opportunities. Ones that are less…shadowy, you might say.

This also introduces the crackers-with-shotguns angle, as a couple carloads of them come rolling into town just as The Shadow has burst out of a burning building and sledges down a couple of baddies–and it also introduces a central conceit of this novel, which is that The Shadow becomes very, very firmly identified in everybody’s mind as an actual ghost, appearing briefly and then blending weirdly with the roiling smoke and the darkness of night.

Back to the plot: the remaining (two) townsmen actually have a workable plan for developing a local spring into a tourist attraction: a beautiful area with a rock fall and pool where, once, a mighty warrior sacrificed himself by diving into the water below.

Meanwhile, Lamont Cranston saves young Laura Severn from a giant, man-eating-sized alligator. This gets him into the Severn / Clenwick household, where he is introduced to her wheelchair-bound, embittered brother, Roger. He is also able to witness the ingress of Enwald to the group. Enwald, it transpires, is looking for and/or connected with “Terry Knight,” a Texan wildcatter who briefly passed through the area and then moved on, address unknown, current location unknown, status unknown. (He dead, Jim.)

The Shadow–despite sussing out the true players and angles here–is operating single-handed here, and between the ranch hands opening fire whenever they see him, the crackers opening fire (while screaming in superstitious horror) whenever they see him, and the mobsters opening fire (while screaming in entirely reasonable terror) whenever they see him, he’s got his work cut out for him.

An interesting part of this novel–note cover–is the use of fire, somewhat more consistently (thematically?) than other books. The Shadow is first revealed as “the ghost” via a building fire. Later on, he lights a brush fire, only to be revealed again by its light and (remember those screaming crackers with shotguns?) forced to take on the semblance of the legendary Seminole ghost warrior by diving into the rock pools below. But this isn’t where it finishes. There is an all-things-awesome scene later on in the novel, when, during the climactic battle, The Shadow is outnumbered and under hard-pressed retreat. Suddenly, his foes to draw up in baffled shock: he has vanished utterly, black garb shrouding him invisibly on the ash-covered ground burnt by the wildfire. More, as the climax to that final battle, he ignites the slime-filled giant sinkhole with a flare–revealing that it is filled with, not stagnant water, but oil–reason enough for….but that would be telling.

What’s more, this story has somewhat more heart than the usual. Lamont Cranston’s befriending of the winsome blonde isn’t unusual, as he’s always been a (calm, indifferent) charmer; it’s his brief relationship with the crippled Roger Severn that really gains importance.

They were almost at the glen, when Roger broke loose with a bitter outburst that proved a real index to his mood.
“Everybody lets me down,” he grumbled. “Clenwick talked about sending me to a New York specialist, but he’s been too busy to attend to it. Cranston handed me a lot of soft soap that I might have believed, if he hadn’t shown himself a fool, last night.
“He said I’d forgotten how to walk; that if I made up my mind to it, I’d be on my feet again. He said if I couldn’t do it on my own, he’d shock me into it. He argued that the strength of my arms proved that my legs were strong, too.
“So why should you have the weeps? Cranston didn’t promise you anything, then let you down, Laura. But he did just that to me.”

But it soon transpires that The Shadow is as good as his word, and the audience is able to witness an embittered, damaged, helpless young man redeem himself, make amends to his remaining family–and, indirectly, help save the city of ghosts from the man who would make it a city of the dead!

Not bad for a story that’s all of seventy-odd pages long and eighty-three years old.

Rated: I see a knight of ghosts and shadows–I see a soul of iron and flame–

The Shadow Magazine #182 – The Golden Master

shadow_magazine_vol_1_182So among The Shadow aficionados, Shiwan Khan and the stories featuring him are said to be considered among the best of the best–the most challenging villain, the most evocative plots, the most deadly escapades. Shiwan Khan was the only villain to return four times in different novels (Diamond Bert Farwell returned twice, and Doctor Moquino, three.) He’s iconic enough that the 1991 movie cribbed heavily from his stories–including this one–for material.

The only problem is, Shiwan Khan’s introduction is distinctly underwhelming. Shiwan Khan himself is introduced appropriately, built up in standard style, shown to have both a grandiose aim (world rulership, naturally) and practical vision for attaining it (munitions and airplanes), and a deadly and mysterious ace in the hole (the ability to telepathically control certain people in certain circumstances.) He has minions galore, including his own trick taxicab ring. The thing is….

….there’s never really a sense of threat to him.

Possibly, this is a factor of Shiwan Khan just not scoring a very high body count and holding the city in terror, the way Doctor Moquino did. Or, it could be because The Shadow susses out his main trick and the way to counter it extremely early on in the story. Then, too, Shiwan Khan’s blackmail scheme against the civilian proxy heroes of the novel is shown to be compromised almost immediately after it occurs, diluting that source of danger. And then finally, The Shadow recognizes the true danger of the threat in true Shadow style and responds promptly with every single agent he has or can call on in a pinch. (Minus Miles Crofton, who hasn’t been seen since Shadow over Alcatraz, but, of course, including Harry Vincent. Sigh.)

So. Plot. Shiwan Khan can mentally connect with certain people by using a system of flashing lights to hypnotize them and also himself; while under his control, he can order them to do practically anything–such as alter the contracts for a large shipment of airplanes, and then march out to an unknown location, pick up a gun, and shoot someone.–which is where Paul Brent, the civilian-of-the-novel, finds himself after the sound of a gong breaks his trance. A beautiful girl in Chinese dress takes the gun from him, and he books it without stopping to ask too many questions, such as why her eyes are glazed over. It might as well be revealed now that she is actually Beatrice Chadbury, the missing and hypnotically compelled niece of a wealthy munitions manufacturer, who has a new lamp in the corner of his study, a lamp that sometimes flickers and flashes….

Soon after, The Shadow arrives at the scene of the murder, and after a brief game of cat-and-mouse, gets into a tussle with the Mongol minion who was stationed on site to make sure both of the pawns did what they were actually supposed to. The minion escapes, wounded, and The Shadow makes a quick exit while the cops are flatfooting it up the stairs. The police actually uncover the next clue, while Lamont Cranston loafs around with his buddy the police commissioner: a valuable and rare Asian ruby, which can be traced more immediately back to a reclusive and antisocial collector, Twindell, who has recently begun liquidating his jewelry collection in lieu of ancient, priceless porcelain dragons….sourced from Tibet.

Meanwhile also, mobbie Flash Gidley has acquired a fancy new radio set, with colored lights that flash in a weird, enticing manner….And so it goes, with the caveats that I mentioned before: despite Shiwan Khan’s best efforts, he just doesn’t seem like very much of a threat. He’s the sort of villain who gloats while the going is good and then cuts and runs immediately when it turns against him….which probably does explain why he lives to snivel another day, come to think of it. (Also: he has a swivel mechanism built into his throne, which, PWAH.)

Thing is: The Voodoo Master is a much better story than this, and Doctor Moquino is a stronger villain just on the one-off. Heck, The Crime Master was a better villain than this, and he was basically Dark Helmet playing with his dolls. The way to be a dangerous villain in The Shadow stories is a) to have an impregnable base (note: underground bases are actually more likely to be invaded and destroyed than skyscraper-based ones), b) to have a large enough organization to afford to take massive casualties, c) to be constantly on the aggressive, and d) constantly on the move. The key is forcing The Shadow to defend innocents instead of just tracking you down and shooting you dead, and also staying mobile enough that he doesn’t get a good fix on you and loop the cops in. Shiwan Khan has obviously never read either the Evil Overlord List, or preceding Shadow volumes.

All that being said, this is still a decent mid-tier Shadow story, and there are some additional bits of lore revealed, such as the what’s inside B. Jonas office that The Shadow uses for a contact point, but whose door is cobwebbed shut and which has never been seen to be opened or inhabited. Turns out there’s a secret entrance in the back closet, and The Shadow leaves a spare cloak and slouch hat there so anyone entering will think that they’ve found the way to his sanctum, instead of a mail drop.

Rated: I’m kinda really wanting to get a slouch hat, but….

The Shadow Magazine #67 – The Unseen Killer

shadow_magazine_vol_1_67So it appears that I have been doing the brisk Police Commissioner Weston a disservice. He has not, in fact, ever been convinced of the presence of an invisible man, to the point of ordering his detectives to take appropriate actions when guarding doors and windows against said invisible murderer’s entry–or exit. It was actually Commissioner Barth.

Weston, you see, departed New York somewhere around mid-1934 for a heroic stint establishing a….tyrannical police state in a dubiously-named South American nation, okay. His replacement, Wainwright Barth, is something special, even by pulp fiction incompetent detective standards. (It’s explained that Barth lobbied intensively for the job and got it mostly because a) being a former financier, he was able to handle the administrative portions of it, b) absolutely no one else wanted to. It’s also explained that Weston gets his job back very quickly once he returns.)

This era of Shadow stories is interesting, since globe-trotting millionaire Lamont Cranston maintains a friendship with both police commissioners, frequently gets invited out to crime scenes, and is solicited for his opinion on tricky matters. The difference is that while Weston will begrudgingly acknowledge when Cranston has a good point, Barth gets agitated when his own investigative incompetence is highlighted. Needless to say, Cranston handles both with aplomb and, often, the trailing echo of a whispered laugh.

So. An invisible murderer. An incompetent police force. The Shadow. What else does this book contain? Well, for one: a mad scientist, an ex-aviator and soldier of fortune, a couple of majority stockholders, a group of swindlers, a couple of slick gang leaders, and more gun-toting mobbies than you can shake a stick at.

The majority stockholders have lost a lot of money to a trio of swindlers. However, one of them still has a lot of faith in the mad scientist he is funding–despite the failure of the last big invention, which also lost money–and, in order to assuage the doubts of other board members, arranges a viewing of the latest: a device for the devisualization of solids. Lamont Cranston, wearing his tech investor hat (would he be a SpaceX shareholder today, one wonders….), and Commissioner Barth are along for the ride. We know there is going to be major hijinx, because we have also seen the two main mob leaders (themselves, of course, acting on behalf of the Big Boss), meticulously planning a hideout and alibis.

The devisualization test subject is Miles Crofton, a former aviator and soldier of fortune; a capable man with some unsavory associations in his past. He disappears, but then also escapes the laboratory. Threatening letters signed by “The Unseen Killer” are found almost immediately, and, shortly, one of the swindlers gets murdered in his own home. The doors and windows are locked and there is no sign of forced entry.

To give some credit to Commissioner Barth, he does propose a second test of the devisualization device–casually volunteering ace detective Joe Cardona as the guinea pig, heh–but the mad scientist’s sudden death (accompanied by another threatening letter) only reinforces his belief that there really is an unseen killer around. The Unseen Killer promptly demands that the remaining two swindlers turn their ill-gotten money back over to him, on pain of….death. The Shadow, of course, has sussed out the disappearance, and the basics of the ongoing scheme, but with the death-by-gunshot-wound of the first lead, he and his agents must scour the underworld for the next, looking for both the plotters and the not-really-invisible man–and the unseen mastermind behind it all.

And so it goes, down to a very satisfying climax indeed.

So, at the slight risk of spoiling a 92-year-old novel, Miles Crofton is innocent and in fact becomes one of the Shadow’s agents. He’s got rather the most thankless task of any agent–yes, even more so than Harry Vincent–because he’s the private pilot to one of the most badass aviators in all of pulp or adventure fiction.

Speaking of agents, they’re present but far in the background. Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland end up on the active side of a kidnap-slash-rescue operation, for once. Jericho Druke gets to pop up, bang some heads together, and then play innocent once the police arrive. Pietro the fruitcart vendor makes his second and I believe last appearance, possibly because it’s lampshaded how conspicuous and improbable he is on a stakeout team. And the hunchy, ambling Hawkeye provides one of the biggest breaks in the case, by uncovering the Unseen Killer’s hideout spot.

Gibson’s Shadow stories didn’t contain much outright funny bits, but there’s more than a generous sprinkling of dry, sly humor to them–such as Joe Cardona’s uneasiness at being voluntold to become the next Invisible Man, or Cranston’s missed sarcasm to Commissioner Barth. (A different story sees Cranston and a tubby civilian banker get taken hostage and encouraged to stick ’em up. The narrator observes: “[civilian’s] hands went up as if impelled by springs. Cranston’s followed at a more leisurely pace.”)

Rated: Really, Commissioner? Really?

Movie Review: Interceptor (2022)

interceptor-208051131-largeImpressively not-dumb….for the most part.

Even though it features a strong female immigrant protagonist who has suffered from a sexual assault from a commanding officer and has had her career derailed as a result, who is aided by a very beta immigrant brown male and opposed by white males, one a resentful uber-loser with a Southern accent who calls himself a patriot as he murders his fellow soldier, of course, and one an all-Midwestern boy with enormous resentment for the failings of capitalist America and also his rich daddy…..it’s kind of still good? (Oh, and even though the lead’s hair does somehow go from being in a bun to being in a ponytail with no explanation, there is a good reason for her to be in a singlet the entire time: acid. Yep. Acid. ‘Cuz acid burns things, duh.)

This film was written and directed by an Austrialian (and stars a bunch of Aussies). As a matter of fact, the writer/director is Matthew Reilly, who I know from Ice Station and his apparent penchant for writing modern-day pulp action thrillers. All I have to say is in that case he should keep his whore mouth shut about America; and additionally, that the movie was about twenty minutes longer than it should have been. Also, boy oh boy are those some of those slowest Navy SEALS ever.

That being said, the good really does outweigh the bad, because need I mention there’s also a random ninja? Honest to God, there’s a random Chinese ninja guy who shows up, does a couple of kung-fu poses, and then gets blasted out of the hatch with a shotgun. (Turns out the emergency command center shotgun only has one bullet and hasn’t been fired in a couple of years, which provides a neat reason for the heroine to get blown backwards across the room when she fires it, and it’s now dangerous to fire again. But then, everyone in this movie doesn’t have very good trigger discipline; they tent to burn through their ammo immediately on full auto.) There’s a happy ending. Good girl Captain Collins gets a tip of the hat from the Russian sub captain, a promotion directly from the President, her dad survives, even the turtle survives. That’s not a spoiler by any stretch of the imagination.

Oh, and also there’s the fact that the heroine’s struggles end up getting shown on the Emergency Broadcast System (which she can’t turn off), and we also get some random San Francisco hippie guy who looks unnervingly like Discount Chris Hemsworth commenting on the action (“Oh c’mon, give her some guns, man!”) (On further research, turns out it was Chris Hemsworth: he’s her husband. Womp womp.)

Plot? Oh. It’s Die Hard with an army girl, on a missile base. There you go.

Elsa Pataky is all cheekbones and sleek ponytail, and looks to have some actual muscle on her frame. She’s by no means a great actress, but she’s game, gung-ho, and does her best. The fight scenes are…okay. Yeah yeah yeah, 100-lb woman vs 250-lb men unrealistic, we know already. What the movie does right is to show that Collins is winning because she’s a smarter, more determined fighter than those she’s up against. I’m definitely not buying the crossing the monkey bars with one arm scene, though.

There are some rather nice flourishes, too: head villain drawing a sad face in the blood of a man he’s just killed on the door the heroine refuses to open, “If’ you’re going to kill me, just kill me. No mansplaining,” “She took that photo for charity, by the way.” “My daddy woulda made me open that door. Noo question!” “Please stop taping the window….[lame grin] for me?”

Rated: This is the last day of my vacation and I refuse to do anything productive in it.

(repost) Movies with my Mother: Rogue One

rogue_one_2016_intl_original_film_art_f_1200x(Reposted from a time at which the prospect of further degradation to Star Wars still stung.)

“Where is the girl?”
“I dunno.”
“There was a girl. There was! She got out of bed and then what?”
“I dunno.”

“Is this the same guy?”
“I dunno.”
“Why do you think I brought you in here?!”

“What? To the people who were rescuing her?”

“This thing makes my teeth go on edge.”
“Sh.”
“It’s stupid.”
“Shhhh.”

“Is that her mother?”

“Whhhat!? The father?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what they want him to do?”

“Where they going?”
“Jeddha.”
“Which is?”
“Some planet.”
“It must be where they have the Death Star, or, uh, the Alliance people. Somewhere with all these stupid names.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“Mnmn.”
“You said you looked at it.”
“I skipped.”
“What is going on here?”
“I think he’s a fanatic.”
“Was that a defector?”
“He’s going to kill the guy.”
“Why?”
“Bcause he’s a fanatic.”

“He’s still alive?”
“NO, he’s long dead, he’s CGI.”
“Whhat?”
“They’ve got his voice wrong.”
“Whhhat, he’s fake? He’s really fake?”
“They got his voice so wrong.”
“I’m amazed he’s even there.”
“OH WAIT UNTIL YOU SEE THE FAKE CGI LEIA AT THE END.”

“Is this CGI too?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Everything is CGI.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Even the people.”

“Why are they having that out?”
“What?”
“The pilot.”
“Who?”
“The pilot who defected. I thought the Alliance had him.”
“No, they’re the Alliance splinter group fanatics.” *{Educated guess.}
“Tch.”

“Who was he really going to if he wasn’t going to them?”
“I dunno.”
“Why don’t you watch the movie, instead of typing, so you can tell me?”

“Who is he?”
“He’s Donnie Yen.”
“Never heard of him.”
“You don’t watch enough kung fu movies.”
“He’s Chinese? He is not Chinese.”
“He is Chinese!”
“Look at him, he is not Chinese.”
“What?”
“He is not Chinese.”
“Him, there, is not Chinese?”
“Not him, there, him, this guy, here.”

“See, kung fu guy.”

“You know what the Imperium would have done if they had known she was a hostage? They’d have gone and rescued her and messed up the alliance cell that was holding her. Or killed her.”

“Wait a minute, everybody’s listening.”
“Yeah.”
“So everybody hears it?”
“Yeah.”
“So it’s not a secret message.”

“He’s lying?”
“I dunno.”

“OH THERE’S NO WAY IT WOULD REACH THAT FAR UP INTO THE ATMOSPHERE!”
“Sh.”

“What’d he say?”
“She’s afraid he’s going to kill her father.”
“Oh, well we know that.”

“What’s this?”
“I dunno.”

“Where did all these folk come from?”
“I dunno. I dunno! The tape skipped!”

“What!? What happened?! How! How did she find him just like that? They gon’ get her!”

“Did he kill him by any chance?”
“No, the rebels killed him, I think. The airstrike killed him.”

“Ok, tell me what’s happened when I come back.”

“Jyn realized that Cassian was planning to kill her father, and she accused him, and he’s denying it….but he admitted that he was going to, and she got mad, and he says she’s a hypocrite for only just now caring about the rebellion now that her father’s dead; and he’s a soldier who has to follow orders.”
“Mhhm.”

“Oh, oh, oh, it’s the bit with Darth Vader come quick. Oh, well, the first bit with Darth Vader.”
“He’s CGI, too?”
“No, he’s real.”
“Is he going to look ugly or something?”
“No, he looks like Darth Vader.”
“He has the thing on his head.”

“Duhnnnn duhhhhh duh na na nah….I didn’t say that.”

“Is he going to kill this man? Why would he need to kill him?”

[“I deserve”]
“Uh oh.”

“He killing him? Why’s he doing that?”
“Cause he’s….I dunno. He’s very annoying.”

“Tsch! That’s what Rogue One is? Tehee.”

“Dude. DUDE. IS THIS GUY EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE THERE? NO HE’S NOT.”

“Who? Who are they talking about?”
“LEIA.”
“Oh. Waitaminute.”

“Ok, they say this half of the movie is a lot better than the other half.”

“Oh my gosh, they coming there?….That’s not them. Uh oh.”

“That was an Unnecessary Combat Roll.
“It was?”

“What are they doing?”
“Setting bombs.”
“Where?”
“Wherever they want.”

“Where were they going before?”

“Uh oh! Look!”
“What, what happened?”
“Look!”
“Oh. Them things.”

“WHY ARE YOU SHOOTING OUT OF THE WINDOWS?!”

[carnival claws for the files, really?]

“What is it with this guy and his cloak?!”
“I do not know.”

“He’s dead? Why wasn’t The Force with him on the way back?”

“Heh. The Force is not with him. Heh. Sorry.”

“WOULDN’T THE OTHER SHIP MOVE?”
“Sh.”
“IT WOULD MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!”
“Hush!”

[THAT DARTH VADER SCENE]
“Who are these? Rebels? Uh oh. Oh my.”