As a kid growing up in Southern California, Godzilla, King Of The Monsters wasn’t about the deeper meaning and not-so-subtle references to World War II’s turning point or the horrors of war.

I didn’t care anything about that. (More accurately, I didn’t know any better.) None of my friends did.

We were just thrilled with the giant monster aspect. And Godzilla was the pinnacle of those thrills, the epitome of giant monster flicks.

So imagine my further thrill years later when I discovered there was so much more to Godzilla than simply fond childhood memories of the rampant destruction of Tokyo by sheer kaiju brute force and devastating atomic breath; Godzilla, King Of The Monsters wasn’t the original film at all but a hastily put together, Americanized version utilizing just over an hour’s worth of the Japanese Gojira, the superior, deeper and thought-provoking forerunner to the classic Godzilla more commonly known to the masses.

I was riveted to the screen when reporter Steve Martin (Raymond Burr) detailed Tokyo’s ruination from the rampaging Godzilla each time it graced the family television set, times that were too few and frustratingly far between as a kid. I was equally riveted at finally getting a copy of Gojira to see what was cut out of and changed in the film, how it differed from what I affectionately recalled from those youthful years. Was it a completely different film as I’d heard?

Knowing Gojira — which preceded Godzilla, King Of The Monsters by a couple years — was filmed in its original Japanese wasn’t daunting in the least to me. (I know a lot of people have problems with viewing a foreign film. Many folks are thrown by the incomprehensibility of a different tongue just as much as they are by subtitles flashing at the bottom of their screens, things that can and do contribute to the lack of enjoyment of non-English speaking films.) But I’m not one of them. And in fact Gojira, in its nascent form, is truly different than its bastard son … and not just in its language. It’s a more jarring and empathetic film, it’s a longer running film (clocking in at almost 100 minutes versus the 80 or so minutes of the Americanized version) not to mention it’s a captivating and intriguing piece of film making.

The idea Gojira was (and still is) firmly enmeshed with glaring comparisons and references to the World War II bombings of Japan less than a decade prior to its original 1954 release. A majority of those haunting images and scenarios were effectively slashed from the English version with only bare bones snippets left intact. This is one of the most obvious differences found when you compare the films side by side. They aren’t the most telling, however. There are a few scenes that had to have chilled the blood of some movie-goers of the time Gojira was released with the war still fresh in memory:

In one scene a physician runs a Geiger counter over a child in the aftermath of one of Godzilla’s rampages; the counter ticks wildly indicating horrifically the child’s exposure to radiation. In another, a mother comforts her daughter as the sound of Godzilla’s wrath plays out all around her. (“We’ll see daddy in heaven” the mother says in an effort to placate the girl.) There’s also a scene with a commuter train filled with Japanese verbalizing their fears about the creature. (“I hope I didn’t survive Nagasaki for nothing” one woman hrmphs.) Not so blood chilling — but equally as poignant — is a council meeting debating whether the monster’s affiliation with H-bomb testing should be revealed, sparking possible public hysteria. There are plenty more examples such as these removed from the Raymond Burr interpretation. Observers of the original realize each instance of excisement hugely alters one Godzilla rendition from the other.

One really interesting notice in Gojira was the presence of gratuitous (for the time) nudity. There are scenes of topless women when a fishing boat survivor washes ashore early on in the film which really surprised me. This is something that couldn’t possibly be present in Godzilla, King Of The Monsters … could it? But, on review, there it was. The exact same scenes, never cut from the original. I reasoned my fascination with the film was the monster aspect and had nothing to do with underlying morals or otherwise. Of course, this was all part of the intrigue of getting my first glimpse of Gojira and the fun of comparing one film to the other.

The flush of excitement of the version I saw as a kid will forever remain. Come on! Giant, destructive monsters! The stuff of popcorn Saturday afternoons and thrills and chills! And that’s why the recent reboot held (and, for me, delivered) such promise. Just as arousing though is Gojira and all its ominous undertones.

This Halloween? I suggest you go “old school” and kindle a different sort of scare instead of the glut of current slasher flicks or shallow horror schlock. Expand your mind. Get retro, go kaiju … and go Gojira instead.

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once observed, “The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained by sudden flight, but they, while their companions slept, were toiling upward in the night.” Have you ever tried to look for a needle in a haystack for the one you love? Maybe you have, but I’m betting most of you out there haven’t. We go about our daily routines toiling our lives away to achieve a piece of that poetic greatness Longfellow described, only maybe occasionally taking time out to make those we love smile.

Several months back, I was blogging about a space cartoon (Hanna Barbera’s Space Stars) and reminiscing about a title whose name had escaped me. I erroneously thought it was titled The Third Planet from the Sun and was frustrated that I couldn’t find ANY evidence of it on the Internet. I hadn’t seen this cartoon since I was maybe 12. I knew I wasn’t crazy or making it up. I’m happy to report that my boyfriend finally found it for me on the Internet – its correct title is The Mystery of the Third Planet and the entire cartoon can be found on YouTube (in English and Russian, but we’ll get to that later).

As soon as that bittersweet-sounding music cued up and the narrator began the tale, “This is the story of an adventure that will take us beyond our universe to the third planet in the system of the sun of Alderaban, where strange creatures are to be found, where we hope to solve a mystery,” I got a little misty-eyed as the memories of watching this repeatedly at my grandparents’ house flooded over me in nostalgic waves. It represents a time in my life in which I couldn’t get enough of anything involving space exploration, for it was my childhood dream to be an astronaut.

The animation on The Mystery of the Third Planet is bizarrely beautiful and highly imaginative, which sums up my style pretty well. To put it simply, it looked different than any of my other cartoons. To this day, I still don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it. There are a lot of reasons why it didn’t look like anything else I was watching as a child. Upon doing some Internet research, The Mystery of the Third Planet (a.k.a. The Secret of the Third Planet and Tayna tretey planety in Russian) is an animated feature from 1981 that was produced by the Soyuzmultfilm Studio in Moscow and directed by Roman Kachanov. What are the odds that my beloved cartoon came from Cold War-era Russia with love? It’s based on a children’s science fiction novella titled Alice’s Travel from the Alisa (Alice) Selezneva book series written by Kir Bulychov. While considered a cult classic in Russia, I’m betting most other U.S. children of the ‘80s do not share my affinity for this movie – and that’s truly a shame.

The year is 2186, and the plot revolves around a girl named Alice, her father Professor Seleznyov and his right-hand man Captain Green who embark upon a space expedition to gather rare animals from across the universe for a planned space animal zoo on Earth. Along the way, they get caught up in the world of espionage and a mystery involving the disappearance of Captains Kim and Buran, as well as the extinction of speak birds, who only speak the truth and mimic everything they see and hear (imagine how popular these would be in real life!).

For some inexplicable reason, the main characters were renamed Kristen and Professor Adam Steele in the English-dubbed version that I am familiar with, although Commander Green was not renamed. It was released in the United States first in 1987 and again in the 1990s on VHS. According to Wikipedia, Alice and the Mystery of the Third Planet was also released on a 1999 DVD collection and various other DVDs with different cover art. I would love to own a copy of this in my personal collection, but it seems hard to come by unless you order it on Amazon or a like site.

One of the most interesting characters is introduced early on – Ramos, the loud-mouthed colorful “person” with wild, green hair, googley eyes, a bulbous nose, multi-arms and roller skates found on the planet Bluke who is also an expert in rare animals (pictured above). Some of the more elusive figures include Dr. Bentley, Kim and Buran, and Nobody, a pig-like creature that looks and sounds like a throwback to Peter Lorre, down to his laugh and mannerisms. The planets’ backdrops and inhabitants are so visually wild they’re not to be missed – especially that planet at the end, which is exactly where I would want to live out the remainder of my days minus those ugly, menacing spear birds. That flora and fauna look so enchanting! Where else but this movie will you see a purple flying cow, a diamond turtle, mirror flowers, robots waiting tables in a diner offering “Earth breakfasts” or rocks that are capable of projecting images from the past? Those who know me best will probably have little difficulty understanding why this was one of my childhood favorites.

If you’re looking for an animated movie that is as vibrant and imaginative as it is obscure, you can’t go wrong with The Mystery of the Third Planet. It moves at a fast pace with lots of twists and turns along the way that translate into it not being everyone’s cup of tea. But it was certainly something I really enjoyed as a child that I’m happy beyond belief to be able to share with others today as part of this unusual Throwback Thursday installment of CliqueClack. Sometimes when you go looking for a needle in a haystack, you can make a person’s day with the smallest amount of effort.

//www.youtube.com/watch?v=NWTPMCD3SeQ

If you watch the 1995 version on YouTube (Alice and the Mystery of the Third Planet), it has a different dialogue and the names haven’t been changed. This leads me to believe that it might more closely follow the Russian translation. However, this is not the movie and dialogue I remember from my youth. I find the variances in the different versions further add to the tale’s mysterious charm.

//www.youtube.com/watch?v=3lEoewc7Yns

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“If you have never spent whole afternoons with burning ears and rumpled hair, forgetting the world around you over a book, forgetting cold and hunger – If you have never read secretly under the bedclothes with a flashlight, because your father or mother or some other well-meaning person has switched off the lamp on the plausible ground that it was time to sleep because you had to get up so early – If you have never wept bitter tears because a wonderful story has come to an end and you must take your leave of the characters with whom you have shared so many adventures, whom you have loved and admired, for whom you have hoped and feared, and without whose company life seems empty and meaningless – If such things have not been part of your own experience, you probably won’t understand what Bastian did next.”

And thus begins one of the most beloved children’s books of all time – The NeverEnding Story by German author Michael Ende. Until last night, I had never actually read the book, which was first published in German in 1979 and translated into English in 1983. But what he wrote still rings true, if my bloodshot, “I was up reading until 1 a.m. even though I had to be up for work by 6 a.m.” eyes are any indication. While it’s hard to believe that it’s been 30 years since the film adaptation of The NeverEnding Story premiered on July 20, 1984, part of me knows not only is that possible but it’s probably been at least a good 25 years since the film first rocked my world.

Whether discussing the book or the film, the minute I was introduced to Bastian Balthazar Bux and his love for books and hatred for school bullies, I fell in love and the landscape of my imagination was forever changed. The NeverEnding Story was a film I used to watch at my grandparents’ house almost on repeat. As a child who came down with the incurable lifelong disease known as bookwormitis earlier than perhaps most, it appealed to my six senses (sight, sound, touch, smell, taste and imagination) more than many other kids’ movies of the time. Who was not to be entranced by a fantasy world as rich as Fantasia with its wildly inventive inhabitants of all species, sizes, shapes, colors and even textures (if you count the Rock Biter)? I think Bastian (Barret Oliver) and Atreyu (Noah Hathaway) were two of my earliest childhood crushes.

And when I discovered that Bastian got to become a character in the book he was reading as well as that fantasy world’s savior, I knew I was hooked. Sure, Dorothy may have ventured into the colorful Land of Oz inadvertently becoming its savior when she dropped her house on the Wicked Witch of the East, but she wasn’t reading about Oz in a fabulous looking book with an almost hypnotic-looking snake amulet on the cover that she had stolen from a cranky, old man in a bookstore. Nor did her movie have a rockin’ ‘80s soundtrack with a title song sung by Limahl from Kajagoogoo!

After reading the book, there are some things I’m sad I didn’t get to see translated onto the big screen. These would include Ygramul the Many (a swarm of bugs in the form of a giant spider who was feasting on Falkor when Atreyu came along and saved him), the Wind Giants, the House of Change and especially Perilin the Night Forest and Grograman, the Lord of the Desert of Colors and the Many-Colored Death. A night forest with edible luminous fruits and a desert with rainbow-colored sands and a lion for its protector? Sign me up for those special effects, please! I can overlook the fact that Artax was supposed to talk or that Atreyu was supposed to have olive-green skin.

The NeverEnding Story remains one of my all-time favorite films. Few films can compete with its sense of adventure and passion, its fantastic musical score, its story or its elaborately designed characters and costumes. I was a little surprised to discover the author of the book was not pleased with the film – that is until I read his book. The poor man probably felt like they had chopped his literary masterpiece in half because that’s exactly what they did. And a sequel didn’t come along until 1990, which was poorly received.

Aside from the fact that it starred Jonathan Brandis as Bastian, I remember being disappointed the first time I watched The NeverEnding Story Part II: The Next Chapter. The actors were all different and the production had a cheaper look to it. The plot was terrible and the villainess and her minions looked like something off Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. It somehow felt all wrong. This was not the magical Fantasia (or Fantastica, as it’s known in the book) that I remembered. However, after reading the book, I have a little more respect for the sequel than I used to. Believe it or not, it actually did follow the book’s plot – the other half of the book that had been previously ignored. It might have botched the story in its delivery, but it makes more sense if you actually read the book. Bastian never left Fantasia and returned. Once he came and gave the Childlike Empress a new name (Moon Child – though that’s much harder to decipher from watching the film), the book goes on to describe his many adventures through Fantasia before he is returned to the human world and his worried father.

Don’t get me started on The NeverEnding Story Part III: Escape from Fantasia, which came out in 1994. Part III is a colossal waste of time and a scourge on anyone’s memories of Fantasia. Its plot is not only painful to sit through, but it has nothing to do with the book. Aside from the cheesiness factor of seeing Jack Black pretend to be a nasty high school bully resplendent in a clichéd black leather jacket (despite that he was around 25 years old at the time), there are absolutely no redeeming factors for this part of the franchise. I never watched the animated series, so I can’t vouch for its integrity.

If you’re of a certain age, perhaps you remember the first time you watched The NeverEnding Story. If you giggled the first time you saw the Rock Biter roll across the screen on his gigantic Big Wheels made of stone or at the concept of a “racing snail,” you might be an ‘80s kid. If you ever wanted your very own luckdragon to soar the skies like Bastian and Falkor, you might be an ‘80s kid. If you were terrified of Gmork the wolf and The Nothing (which may or may not have haunted your dreams and kept you awake at night), you might be an ‘80s kid. If watching Morla the Ancient One sneeze all over Atreyu made you slightly sick to your stomach, you might be an ‘80s kid. If you cried when Artax sank into the dismal Swamps of Sadness, you might be an ‘80s kid. I don’t care how old I get … I still get misty-eyed when Artax bites the dust. I was six years old when I dramatically reinterpreted the Artax death scene for a large group of friends, but that’s another story for another time. (Get on my level!)

If you’re an ‘80s kid and are darn proud of it, Warner Bros. Home Entertainment recently announced The NeverEnding Story: 30th Anniversary Edition Blu-Ray and The NeverEnding Story II: The Next Chapter Blu-Ray will be released in October 2014. May the beloved creatures of Fantastia – those dreams and poetic inventions – continue to live forever in our hearts because that’s where they truly belong.

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It’s July.

We’re in the second half of the year and smack dab in the middle of summer. (*yeesh* Where did the first half go … ?!?) And, with the weather running in the triple digits, what better time to think about — you guessed it — Halloween. Or at the very least what better time for a Throwback Thursday Frankenstein film? (If you know me, connect all the dots in this paragraph and you’ll realize every bit of it makes sense.)

Fond Halloween memories — and my desire over the years to pay a revisit to this film I haven’t seen in ages — led me to 1973’s Frankenstein: The True Story. But I came to the conclusion while watching it there’s a big difference between a film as a “fond memory” from decades past and it being presented in the flesh. Translation: Time hasn’t been kind.

First off: Who was the Brainiac that decided to bill this adaptation as “Frankenstein: The True Story” … ??? Because it veers pretty far from Mary Shelley’s book. You could make a solid case of taking all the liberties used in the film, rolling them in a big ball and using it to discount the presupposed “true story” aspect and no one would fault you for it. But not all the liberties taken were bad ones; in fact, they served to keep the film engaging and also kept it grounded so that it didn’t take off and become a derailed mess.

Some Good

• First and foremost, putting Frankenstein’s creature in a fair light as a beautiful creation was a nice beginning touch. A brand new race of humans, after all, with beatific features and snow-white innocence can only enhance the evil that lives hidden beneath, an evil which will inevitably surface.
• The make up effects? Nifty stuff. The gradual transformation of the creature is interesting to behold. By tale’s end not only does it appear the sores and welts and deterioration are raw and painful, but they symbolize the physical manifestations of the rot and failure of man when he meddles in places he shouldn’t go.
• Digging up the graves of the newly dead, Frankenstein is heard stating “You know … I find I enjoy being a criminal,” something that comes back to haunt him several times over — not only in the form of Polidori but in his eventual rejection of his creation when he sees it begin to turn.
• David McCallum as the surly, withdrawn Dr. Henri Clerval: I loved every minute of him. From “consoling” villagers who had just lost loved ones right on down to giving the cold shoulder to Frankenstein’s fiancé Elizabeth when she came to call, he was a most terrific ass!
• One of the things I remembered about the film from all those years ago and hadn’t changed in the least was the score for the film. It was still the driving, ominous, rhythmic thud I recalled on first seeing it in two parts on television.
• Elizabeth? Her role in this adaptation was badass. There was nothing meek or fragile about her. Compare this Elizabeth to the one in the 1931 version and it’s a complete 180° turn around.

Some Bad

• The editing of the film is flawed. The are just as many scenes which yank you out of a chapter unceremoniously as there are awkward, prolonged fadeouts that leave you wondering if you should hold tight or head to the kitchen for a snack.
• That Brainiac who decided the non-sensical title of the film? I’d bet dollars to donuts he was the same yahoo responsible for James Mason’s right eyebrow sticking up comically throughout the film. Unless I’m completely off base, that wasn’t a fashion statement back in merry old England at the time.
• The creature — with its mind shifting back and forth between child-like naivete to a Clervalish lucidity — is often seen struggling to comprehend the events around him. Understandable as he hasn’t a clue what’s going on within his relatively new body. But the comedic kicker comes at the end of the film as he tends to Frankenstein: There’s a scene where the creature looks Frankenstein over and, satisfied he’s on the path to recovery, pats his hand several times in acknowledgment. I nominate that as one of the dopiest scenes in the film.
• While the make up effects are pretty impressive, the props are atrocious. The hand and arm Clerval was experimenting with … Agatha’s/Prima’s disembodied head … the creature falling from the cliff in a suicide attempt … the female body in the bath solution awaiting reception of its new head. These props were cheesecake and laughable. And that goes double for some of the lab equipment the doctors were mucking about with.
• The opening in the glacier at the very end of the show? I don’t think that thing was the same shape in any two scenes. Not only that, it bounced around as if it was positioned by a matte painter who had been up for 24 hours straight and had just finished his second pot of coffee.
• Do I need to go into the psychedelic-colored water globules in the bath solution used to create Prima? No, I do not. They just have to be experienced for themselves.

The down and dirty of the film? Its good stuff was equally countered by its bad. Overall, the film offers nice twists on themes we all know by heart. Add to that the fact this is a more thought provoking Frankenstein film (precisely what the producers were aiming for) and in many cases, despite some cheese factor, it worked rather well.

Is Frankenstein: The True Story worth the viewing if you’ve never seen it? Absolutely. But it didn’t hold water as it did the time I first saw it as a kid, all wide-eyed and champing at the bit for more.

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Last time I reviewed a DVD from the Warner Archive Collection, I concluded that actors are some of the vainest people to walk the earth. Continuing in that trend are the main characters of this week’s movie — Anything Goes (1956), starring Bing Crosby, Donald O’Connor, Mitzi Gaynor, Zizi Jeanmarie and Phil Harris. In this film, Crosby and O’Connor play a couple of big-time Broadway acts who join forces to appear in a show together. Because both men consider themselves top billing for the act, both take it upon themselves to find and sign the perfect leading lady for the show.

Crosby finds himself signing Patsy Blair (Gaynor) while traveling abroad in England, while O’Connor finds himself signing Gaby Duval (Jeanmarie) in France. Both bring their girls aboard a boat that has set its course for New York and antics ensue as they try to convince each other that their lady is the right one for the part and they attempt to keep both women in the dark about the role having been doubly cast. This creates some memorable scenes with fast-talking and the clever usage of extras to block conversations at times. My favorite scene of this nature involves a pair of French-speaking sailors who just happen to converse in front of Crosby and the ship’s captain so the audience can’t hear the master plan that will woo back the hearts of both leading ladies. It’s just so ridiculous that it’s almost fun.

Naturally, both men fall madly in love with the opposite’s leading lady and each is full of remorse that they ever wanted to cast another leading lady. However, by the film’s end, a brand new show is written that makes it possible to cast both women as leading ladies and life presumably ends happily ever after for all four.

Isn’t life in a musical from the 1950s grand? You’ve got the wonderful boat setting, the excitement of being cast in a Broadway show, the tenderness of falling in love (although really, who falls passionately in love at first sight?) and the exquisite costuming and well-choreographed musical dance numbers. I’m a longtime admirer of musicals, and I think I respect dancers because I’m far from graceful. I grew up fondly watching Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dance their way across any number of locales and star-crossed lovers’ angles. By now, I’d like to think I’m somewhat of an expert on this genre and I can tell the difference between a first-class musical and one that is a little sub-par. I hate to admit it, but this one would be in the latter category.

The opening musical number “Ya Gotta Give the People Hoke” is certainly no “Make ‘Em Laugh,” though it has a kindred spirit in that both feature an eager O’Connor singing his heart out while attempting to be a clown and get a laugh from the audience. Somehow it just ended up a little flat and hokey, but I blame the writing more than I blame the acting, singing or dancing. O’Connor was certainly a talented man. If I had to award prizes for the best musical numbers in the film, I’d have to say it’s a toss-up between “You’re the Top,” “It’s De-Lovely” or “Blow, Gabriel, Blow,” which comes at the very end.

Another notable standout is “Bounce Right Back,” which involves O’Connor delighting a room full of small children in the ship’s playroom. I thought it was sweet that he took the time to sing to a little girl who was feeling left out when the other children were ignoring her. Seeing O’Connor bounce around on various balls and his tap shoes is a playful, rambunctious scene not to be missed. In a musical that is perhaps mediocre when compared to some of both gentlemen’s more famous ones from their impressive bodies of work (White Christmas, Singin’ in the Rain, etc.), this was a bright, shining moment that I’m happy I took the time to watch.

Anything Goes features a talented cast and hardworking crew, though I can’t say it’s the best musical or romantic comedy I’ve seen from the era. The DVD may not have any bonus features, but the film has been restored to its amazing Technicolor splendor and is certainly worth a once-over. At the very least, it provides an enjoyable escape from the bitter cold that has plagued much of the U.S. this winter. It made me want to take a tropical cruise, preferably one where people burst into random musical numbers for no reason, if such a thing exists. Anything goes!

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Fact: You can’t see everything, you can’t get to everything, you can’t know everything. That’s precisely why things have the tendency to slip through the cracks.

Take Colossus: The Forbin Project for example.

How did I miss this film? It wasn’t for lack of trying (I wasn’t!) or knowing it was out there. (I didn’t know!) If films like this have buzzed under my radar, I’m certain there are others awaiting my discovery.

I was introduced to Colossus by a brother from another mother, a relative-in-law who shares not only the same humor I do but a lot of my same interests. In this case he shared a heretofore unknown film.

Released at the beginning of the 70s, Colossus is a smart science fiction thriller based on the titular novel by Dennis Feltham Jones. It tells the story of a government defense computer which not only becomes smarter (in leaps and bounds) than its creators but ends up acting on its own delusions of grandeur with cold and exacting efficiency. Dr. Charles Forbin (Eric Braeden) has birthed Colossus, a supercomputer created to maintain control of the United States’ nuclear weapons systems and would, in turn, push toward world peace. The computer is designed not only with its own defense system (rendering it impervious to physical attack) but with a self-sustaining nuclear reactor. (Yep. I smelled trouble right there.) During a national press conference, the President of the United States (with Forbin in tow) announces Colossus’ activation as the perfect defense system. (That “trouble” feeling? About to become a reality. And sure enough …) Shortly after Colossus’ switch is flipped, it cryptically informs the conference “there is another system” which causes the room to buzz. Immediately, there is a call from the ambassador of the Soviet Union who announces they have supercomputer version of Colossus dubbed “Guardian.” And the film is really off and running …

In rapid succession, Colossus establishes communication with Guardian, sizes it up, begins communications and melds with it after establishing a common binary language. Surprise! Neither Forbin nor his team of scientists can decipher the chit chat between machines. Alarmed, both the US and Russia decide to pull the plug on the back and forth and the communication line is severed. Neither computer takes lightly to this and it’s requested the link be re-established by both machines. Naturally, this is refused prompting Colossus to threaten action … and that action comes in the form of a nuclear launch both on the US and Russia. Chop chop, the link is reconnected. While the launch at an Air Force base in the U.S. is averted, a strike on an oil field in the USSR is not. That target — and a nearby town — is obliterated. Colossus means business.

Want to know more? Too bad … seek out the film or look up what happens yourself. But I wouldn’t cheat — I’d hunt down the flick and revel in the 100 minutes in all its glory. Trust me: The search for this flick is worth it. I will throw you a bone, however, and pass this much along: It’s not a feel good story in the vein of, say, WarGames. It’s much, much better.

The film — and if I haven’t crowed about it enough I’ll say it again: Go get it! — is packed with a ton of familiar faces. Beside Eric Braeden (who still holds a stint on daytime television’s The Young And The Restless), Colossus boasts spots from 70s Playboy model Susan Clark (from television’s Webster … and you might recall as Cherry Forever in the scandalous-at-the-time Porky’s), Georg Stanford Brown (The Rookies, Roots, Stir Crazy), Marion Ross (Mrs. C on Happy Days … !!!) and character actor James Hong (everything from Kung Fu to All In The Family to Blade Runner to Kung Fu Panda). As an added bonus (and something I found of delightful interest) voice and character actor Paul Frees (gads of Disneyland/Disneyworld work, the voice of Boris Badanov from The Rocky And Bullwinkle Show and tons more) is uncredited as the sterile, synthesized voice of Colossus. (Interesting Aside: Forbin’s character was rumored to have Charlton Heston and Gregory Peck in consideration in the early going.)

Admittedly, there’s a lot of popcorn fluff out there when it comes to science fiction flicks (along with a bevy of groaners). But there are also some terrific, tightly written and intelligent offerings worth seeking out. Colossus: The Forbin Project is one of the latter. If you’ve never seen it, you’re in for a treat.

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Welcome, kiddies! It’s time for another Halloween edition of Throwback Thursday. This week we’ll be taking a look at two “classic” films from the Warner Archive Collection: Let’s Scare Jessica To Death and The Frozen Dead. These films have all the genre tropes to make for some spooky viewing – graveyards, madness, a haunted house, reanimated corpses, a disembodied head, and Nazis! But to these parts add up to some good scares?

Starting with the “classier” of the two movies, Let’s Scare Jessica To Death is a movie I seem to remember from TV, probably the ABC Movie of the Week which brought us such gems as The Night Stalker, Moon of the Wolf, Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark and Trilogy of Terror. I was surprised, however, to discover that Jessica was actually a theatrical film released in 1971.

The story is fairly simple: a recently institutionalized woman (Zorah Lampert), her husband, and a friend decide to get out of New York City and live a quiet life on a farm in the country. The quiet life is meant to help keep Jessica mentally balanced, but she finds that harder than expected when they get a less-than-warm welcome from the townspeople and it’s rumored that their new home is haunted. Jessica keeps seeing and hearing strange things, finds a dead body that disappears, and keeps seeing a young woman in white. Is she losing her mind again, or is someone trying to push her over the edge?

From the terrific title, one would assume that maybe her husband, their friend and the very well-dressed vagrant woman they find squatting in their new home may somehow be in cahoots, but for what gain? Unfortunately, the title is extremely misleading. No one is actually trying to scare Jessica to death, and the house isn’t even haunted. But there are other strange things going on in the town that is only hinted at early in the film relating to the former owner of the house. It takes so long to get to the reveal that the movie should have been called Let’s Bore Jessica To Death.

On the bright side, Zorah Lampert gives a terrific, honest, endearing performance as a woman who really doesn’t believe she’s losing her sanity but can’t make heads or tails out of what’s going on (nor can the audience). On the negative side, the film has one of the most grating musical scores ever. The Warner Archive DVD is actually a manufacture on demand version of the out of print Paramount DVD, which looks and sounds fine for a film of its vintage. The DVD includes a subtitle option and a scene selection menu. Let’s Scare Jessica To Death may be one of Stephen King’s favorite horror films, but I found it more head-scratching than spine-tingling.

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The idea was recently tossed to me by a new friend that I might be a cereal nerd. I didn’t even know how to properly respond to the mildly teasing accusation. I’d never before pondered the issue. How does one determine if they’re just a casual appreciator of colorful, sugary-coated splendor in a bowl or if they have crossed that fine line towards becoming a bona fide cereal nerd?

Well, this depends upon how you define it. If counting down for the release of all five General Mills’ monster cereals in their vibrant vintage packaging – including the re-release of two flavors I’d never had the chance to eat within my lifetime – makes me a cereal nerd, well then I’ll proudly be the first to let my geeky banners fly. If you don’t judge me walking past you in the Target aisle with seven cereal boxes plus the free accompanying cereal/Halloween recipe book hoarded into my shopping cart, then I certainly won’t judge you for wearing that ridiculous outfit or having that really bad haircut.

Available exclusively at Target, if you haven’t already purchased one or all five of the vintage monster cereals yet, I strongly encourage you to immediately go out and do so now. Due to moving expenses last month, I had to wait several weeks and was forced to hit three different stores before I was finally able to snatch them up. These cereals would make a wonderful addition (food or décor-wise) to any Mad Monster Parties you plan to throw this season.

The monster cereals have long been among my favorites for obvious reasons. They signify four things I love best: fall, Halloween, cereal and the celebration of classic monsters. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been obsessed with the likes of Count Chocula, Boo Berry and Franken Berry. If I had to pick a favorite among the staple three, I’d be hard-pressed to say Boo Berry. I love blueberry-flavored anything, and I think that ghost is adorable with his little hat and bowtie!

Further supporting evidence of my being a closeted cereal nerd for those keeping tabs: I have all the popular cereal mascots displayed in my kitchen (including a stuffed Boo Berry and a stuffed Count Chocula, as well as a plastic Boo Berry bank). I might have a tube of Count Chocula-flavored chapstick in my purse, but I won’t admit that to just anyone. I also made a Lucky Charms blanket several years ago with this fun fabric I found at the crafts store featuring Lucky the Leprechaun and all those magical marshmallow shapes. I guess maybe I am over the moon for cereal.

Can you imagine my excitement when I found out General Mills was not only releasing the monster cereals in packaging to mimic their original character looks and designs, but was also issuing the two fabled flavors I’d heard of but had never eaten? Fruity Yummy Mummy was only sold from 1987-1992. There’s a sporting chance I might have eaten this before, but I don’t have any memories of it, as I turned 10 in 1992. And the other, Frute Brute, hasn’t been on the shelves since 1982, the year of my birth. Here’s a fun bit of trivia for you: vintage boxes of Frute Brute appear in two Quentin Tarantino films: Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction. Now you’re probably going to have to re-watch both of those to spot them, aren’t you? Maybe you are more of a cereal nerd than you think, but your secret is certainly safe with me.

But what do the two “new” flavors of monster cereal taste like? Heaven on a spoon! Fruity Yummy Mummy has an orange creamsicle flavor, while Frute Brute has a cherry-almost-fruit punch flavor to it that dances upon the tongue in sweet, sweet delight. Seriously, where have these been all my life? I was going to compose a love sonnet or an ode in their honor – perhaps I will do that later.

I sincerely doubt there is any nutritional value to these cereals (I love the fruit and vitamin-charged marshmallow claims in the original Frute Brute commercial posted below). While not a part of a nutritionally balanced breakfast, these cereals continue to pack a powerful nostalgic punch for the inner kid in all of us, poised to sit down in their PJs and watch retro Saturday morning cartoons. Or maybe that’s just what I plan to do this beautiful fall weekend.

//www.youtube.com/watch?v=aR3vQbuqej4

It’s Throwback Thursday once again here at CliqueClack, and for the month of October we’ll be looking back at horror films, TV and even cereals of the past. So sit back, dim the lights, grab a bowl of Franken Berry and join us as we stroll down memory lane … while always looking over our shoulders. You never know who … or what … may be lurking in the shadows.

While most of the world is busy celebrating, justly, the 75th anniversary of The Wizard of Oz, with its spiffy new IMAX restoration and 3D conversion (and we’ll have a look at that in another column), a small circle of movie fans, particularly in the horror genre, are celebrating the 60th anniversary of another milestone in entertainment, Warner Brothers’ House of Wax starring Vincent Price, Phyllis Kirk, Paul Picerni, Carolyn Jones, Frank Lovejoy, Dabbs Greer and a relative unknown by the name of Charles Buchinsky who would later be known as Charles Bronson.

In 1952, filmmaker Arch Obler and his brother, an ophthalmologist, developed a process of shooting film in 3D using two cameras shooting into mirrors which approximated the distance between a person’s eyes. Their independent movie, Bwana Devil, wasn’t very good but the process made an impression on Jack Warner, who wanted to purchase the distribution rights to the film. He lost out to United Artists, so he rushed his own 3D film into production with the demand that it be shot, edited, scored and ready to hit theaters in five weeks. Warner was told the only way that could happen was if the film was shot in chronological order so each day’s footage could be edited then scored, but that it would be more expensive to shoot that way. Warner wanted to be the first major studio to produce a 3D film, so no expense was spared and House of Wax was born.

What helped speed the process along was the fact that House of Wax was actually a loose remake of an older Warner Brothers film, Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933), which was one of the earliest two-strip Technicolor films, itself a bit of an anomaly for a horror film that would normally have been shot in black and white. House of Wax follows the story of an artist who is severely disfigured in a fire which destroys his life’s work as well, and the revenge he exacts on those he feels responsible for his plight.

Jack Warner hired Andre De Toth to direct the film … but De Toth only had one eye! He couldn’t even see in three dimensions but he managed to turn out what is regarded as one of the finest 3D films ever made. His artistry was aided by his cast, headlined by Warner contract player Vincent Price, who had been making movies since 1938 but had never been considered a leading man. Price nearly turned down the film to appear in a Broadway show, but he thought the movie would be a better career move and he was right.

This was Price’s first real horror film, but he still would not be a true horror icon until five years later when he appeared in The Fly (in a supporting role!). Here, he plays the artist Henry Jarrod, a man devoted to his wax figures, treating them as almost human. When an associate burns down his wax museum, effectively murdering Jarrod’s friends and scarring Jarrod physically and emotionally, there will be hell to pay as Jarrod exacts his revenge and tries to rebuild his wax museum using a new process that renders his figures startlingly lifelike. So lifelike that they raise suspicions in Sue Allen (Kirk), who is convinced the Joan of Arc figure is actually her murdered friend Cathy Gray (Jones). Price plays Jarrod perfectly, making him a sympathetic and tragic figure even when we know the monster he has become.

The film’s period production design, set during a kind of “Gay 90s” era, is stunning and all of the sets are constructed with careful consideration for the 3D process. De Toth gives each scene a great sense of depth but uses the process for crowd-pleasing moments such as a skeletal arm reaching into the audience or a paddle ball bouncing off our noses (a bit that had nothing to do with the movie, but was pushed on De Toth by Warner to make the crowds happy … and it did). The film’s vibrant color also helps make the wax figures look even more lifelike while making Price’s burn makeup even more hideous. The film was even presented with a stereophonic soundtrack, dubbed WarnerPhonic, in theaters equipped to handle it. The film was a smash, and even to this day, it remains one of the top ten grossing horror films of all time when adjusted for inflation.

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MGM is well-known for being the studio that produced “more stars than there are in the heavens” as well as some of the most popular and beloved all-singing, all-dancing movie musicals of all time. One of MGM’s biggest stars from 1945 to 1956 was Esther Williams, who wasn’t a singer or a dancer, but who appeared in a string of the studio’s most popular musicals at the time. Not just musicals, but “aquamusicals” which showcased Williams’ real talent for swimming (Williams was signed by Louis B. Mayer because he wanted a sports star to compete with Fox’s popular Sonja Henie, an ice skater who made a series of successful ice-musicals).

After such hit films as Million Dollar Mermaid and Dangerous When Wet, Williams took time for maternity leave with the knowledge that she would return to star in the film Athena. But MGM decided to move forward with the film, rewrite it as a singing and dancing musical, and cast Jane Powell in the lead. Williams was then shuffled over to Jupiter’s Darling, starring alongside George Sanders, Howard Keel and Marge & Gower Champion. With Williams’ death in June (2013) at the age of 91, the Warner Archive Collection released (coincidentally?) Jupiter’s Darling as a Manufacture on Demand offering just two weeks later. (Michael Ansara, who passed away on July 31 — also at the age of 91 — appears briefly in the film.) Unfortunately, the film is one of Williams’ lesser efforts.

The story revolves around Willliams’ Amytis, a headstrong Greek woman betrothed to the future Roman dictator Fabius Maximus (Sanders). While he, and his mother, keep pressing her to set a wedding date, she keeps putting him off with “maybe next year.” It should be enough to send anyone running, but he’s smitten … much to the dismay of his mother (even if the marriage was arranged). Amytis would rather drive her chariot recklessly through the countryside or go shopping in town (yes, the female stereotype is on full display), even buying a slave, Varius, for her own slave Meta after she becomes smitten with him. The two, played by the dancing Champions, break into a bizarre song and dance number about the joys of being a slave. It’s okay if you have a pretty woman to slave alongside, I suppose.

But trouble is brewing outside the walls of Rome as Hannibal (Keel) is making his way to sack the city with his army and elephants. Amytis finds herself smitten and captured (along with Meta) by Hannibal, but she uses her feminine charms to make him delay his attack on her home (and there is some surprising suggestion of sexual conduct that probably got past the censors only because the two were shown in separate tents the next morning). But when Hannibal learns that Amytis is actually betrothed to Fabius, his feeling of betrayal leads to all-out war on Rome, forcing Amytis to make a major decision: stay and defend her home while being stuck in a loveless marriage, or “sacrifice” herself to Hannibal to save the city.

While the script for Jupiter’s Darling is a bit weak and very dated, the production value is top notch. The film uses a lot of outdoor locations, but even the interior sets have much more grandeur to them — even the tents — than anything in Land of the Pharaohs. The Archive Collection DVD presents the film in very good condition, preserving the film’s Cinemascope aspect ratio, bold, bright colors and stereophonic sound. What the film lacks, however, is the main selling point: Esther Williams swimming. She gets one big fantasy musical number in an insanely fabulous swimming pool, using her beauty to bring statues to life, but the other two times she’s in water, she’s teaching Hannibal to swim or trying to flee his soldiers. The tunes aren’t very memorable either, but Hermes Pan’s choreography for the Champions is interesting, innovative and beautiful as usual.

Besides the main feature, the DVD include a trailer and a deleted musical number which is certainly an interesting bonus. I don’t believe George Sanders was ever a song and dance man (even though he did sing in Call Me Madam with Ethel Merman, and recorded an album of love songs!), and that may be why the number was cut. Williams didn’t do her own singing, but Sanders must have because no one could have matched his very distinctive voice. It’s not terrible, but hearing him croon a love duet with Williams is just totally unexpected. The song, however, is short as it turns into yet another dance number for the Champions (who seem to be the real stars of the film … and their dance with Hannibal’s elephants would have had PETA in an uproar). Jupiter’s Darling isn’t a bad movie, it’s just bland and suffers from not having enough of the expected Esther Williams swimming spectacle.

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