The Death of Me Yet (1971)

          Exploring a zippy premise from offbeat narrative angles, telefilm The Death of Me Yet is more a compendium of promising ideas than a fully realized dramatic statement, but an engaging leading performance and solid supporting turns help make the piece as palatable as it is befuddling. The movie is about a KGB sleeper agent living a seemingly normal life in California until circumstances cause him to question his allegiance to Mother Russia. While much the plot comprises the twisty thriller machinations one might expect, The Death of Me Yet dubiously centers a love story involving the sleeper agent and his unsuspecting American wife. The picture churns through narrative elements at an alarming pace, thus depriving major plot components of sufficient oxygen—so while The Death of Me Yet doesn’t quite work as either a thriller or a love story, it’s moderately watchable as an awkward mixture of these genres, especially because leading man Doug McClure does a respectable job of selling both styles.

          The movie opens with an attention-grabbing scene at a KGB facsimile of an average American town, which effectively dramatizes the notion of prepping sleepers. Then the protagonist, who goes by various names including Paul Towers (McClure), gets an assignment from his handler, Barnes (Richard Basehart), so it’s off to America. Cut to several years later, once Towers has established himself as a newspaper publisher married to an American woman (Rosemary Forsyth). Through convoluted circumstances, Towers takes a job working at a defense contractor, which lands him in the crosshairs of an FBI agent (Darren McGavin). Then, once it becomes clear the Soviets consider Towers a security risk, he’s forced to consider switching sides.

          Based on a novel by Whit Masterson (the pen name for two writers who cranked out decades of pulpy books), The Death of Me Yet has enough story for a sprawling miniseries, so tracking every plot twist is more trouble than it’s worth. Yet many scenes within this briskly paced telefilm are potent, and McClure is casually compelling throughout. While hardly an adventurous or nuanced performer, he’s so comfortable onscreen that he gives even the most ridiculous story developments a veneer of credibility. It’s also effective that McGavin, as the FBI guy, conveys a far more menacing presence than Basehart, who plays his Russian counterpart—hardly the conventional approach.

The Death of Me Yet: FUNKY

Warlords of Atlantis (1978)

          Whereas their previous fantasy-film collaborations were UK/US coproductions, the final ridiculous adventure flick directed by Kevin Connor and starring Doug McClure was financed and produced entirely by British entities. Although it’s less widely seen than the previous Connor/McClure movies, Warlords of Atlantis—sometimes known as Warlords of the Deep—is perhaps the most absurdly enjoyable (or enjoyably absurd) film in the whole cycle. Featuring hilariously silly special effects, a gleefully goofy storyline, and some of the most outlandish flourishes in the whole Connor/McClure oeuvre, Warlords of Atlantis is pure Saturday-matinee kitsch. That it’s quite awful when viewed from any rational perspective is beside the point; no kid ever watched an installment of, say, Buck Rogers expecting an edifying experience. Moreover, Warlords of Atlantis is probably the most thoroughly ’70s picture in the cycle, thanks to a head-trip sequence as well as costuming with influences from disco and glam rock. Think Jules Verne crossed with a Yes album cover, and you’re on the right track.

          The story is the usual turn-of-the-century hokum. Inventor Greg (McClure) and scientist Charles (Peter Glimore) venture onto the high seas and descend inside a diving bell, at which point they discover a pathway to the underground kingdom of Atlantis. More specifically, a giant octopus captures the heroes and their crew, dragging them to Atlantis so they can serve local inhabitants as slaves. Naturally, the locals are aliens from another world planning global conquest, and, of course, they’ve spent centuries kidnapping humans and altering the humans’ bodies by installing gills. While Greg rallies slaves for the inevitable revolution against extraterrestrial oppressors, Charles gets strapped into a super-powered helmet that gives him visions of the future because the Atlaneans think his superior intellect makes him an ideal coconspirator in their evil schemes.

          All of this stuff is eventful and zippy, though it’s even dumber than it sounds in this brisk synopsis. What gives Warlords of Atlantis a special kick are the out-there details. The faceless guards serving the Atlaneans look like refugees from a Mad Max theme night at a bondage club; the Altantean king’s outfit suggests a glam-rock bathing costume; and Cyd Charisse, of all people, plays the Atlantean queen. Yet even with all of this nonsense going on, Warlords of Atlantis is all about that gigantic octopus, rendered by sketchy miniature work as well as a full-size head and tentacles that are (barely) animated through puppetry or radio control or some other low-tech methodology. If watching a giant octopus attack a boat in full view of the camera doesn’t stimulate your pleasure centers, your inner child thrills to different types of spectacle than mine does.

Warlords of Atlantis: FUNKY

At the Earth’s Core (1976)

          Difficult as it may be to imagine today, when seemingly every major movie includes sci-fi elements, there was a time when fantasy-themed feature films were so rare that nearly every one of them developed a cult following. This phenomenon goes a long way toward explaining why At the Earth’s Core isn’t universally derided as an embarrassment for everyone involved. Based on a novel by Edgar Rice Burroughs, the creator of Tarzan, this exceptionally silly co-production of U.K.-based Amicus Productions and U.S.-based American International Pictures features monster costumes that look like they were made for a high school play, background paintings and set dressings that one might expect to find in an old Star Trek rerun, and dramatic situations so infantile that it’s amazing actors were able to play their scenes without constantly bursting into laughter.

          Highlights of At the Earth’s Core include scenes of giant winged lizards leaping from their resting places atop a lava pit so they can grab female humans with their talons—that is, after the lizards have finished hypnotizing the unfortunate ladies with their telepathy powers. And in perhaps the film’s finest moment, a ridiculously fake-looking dinosaur lifts a human with its jaws—at which point the film cuts to a miniature shot of the dinosaur chomping on an inert figure that looks like a Barbie doll in caveman clothes. Oh, and the primitive humans living in a primordial realm nestled deep inside the earth all speak English. On the plus side, British horror-movie stalwart Peter Cushing gives a quasi-amusing supporting performance as a dotty old scientist who treks through the earth’s core with his trusty umbrella always close at hand. Pip-pip, old man!

          The larky plot begins in Victorian England, where British scientist Dr. Perry (Cushing) and his American backer, David (Doug McClure), pilot the maiden voyage of a manned drilling machine. The machine malfunctions, taking Dr. Perry and David into a cave near the earth’s molten core. Our heroes are soon taken captive by the Mahars (the aforementioned lizards), but then David decides to liberate the subterranean humans whom the Mahars use as slaves. Helping motivate David’s decision is the presence of a sexy cave woman, Dia (Caroline Munro), since it appears he’s also eager to liberate her from her clothes. All of this stuff trudges along in the familiar way—battles, setbacks, heroism, betrayal, et cetera—and each special-effects scene is goofier than the preceding. About the only genuinely effective element of the film is the largely electronic score by Mike Vickers, which complements the filmmakers’ trope of using tricked-up mechanical noises as the “voices” of underground monsters. FYI, At the Earth’s Core is the second of three fantasy pictures that onetime TV star McClure made for Amicus. Although the other two movies, The Land That Time Forgot (1975) and The People That Time Forgot (1977), form a continuous story, At the Earth’s Core is a stand-alone.

At the Earth’s Core: FUNKY

The Land That Time Forgot (1975) & The People That Time Forgot (1977)

          Based on a novel by Tarzan creator Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Land That Time Forgot is executed with amiable B-movie aplomb. The outlandish tale begins in the Atlantic Ocean during World War I, when a U-boat sinks a British ship. Survivors from the wreck, conveniently led by American submarine expert Bowen Tyler (Doug McClure), manage to hijack the U-boat, only to have the German commander (John McEnry) covertly steer the ship due south, instead of toward America. Soon, the U-boat reaches Antarctica, where the submarine cruises through a tunnel beneath an iceberg and emerges in, well, the land that time forgot: a continent-sized valley populated by cavemen and dinosaurs. You can pretty much figure out what happens next. Sworn enemies have to work together for survival against hostile natives and hungry dinosaurs, and before long everyone’s in trouble because the land that time forgot is about to go kablooey thanks to persnickety volcanic activity. Hate when that happens!

          A joint presentation of U.S. drive-in supplier American International Pictures and cheapo English outfit Amicus Productions, The Land That Time Forgot is silly but fun, a fast-moving lark with laughably bad special effects, so there’s plenty of harmless amusement to be found watching the heroes and their primitive buddies battle carnivorous mega-reptiles. Discriminating adult viewers won’t have a whit of interest in The Land That Time Forgot, but those who remember the joy of getting whisked away by goofy matinee attractions will get a nostalgic charge out of the flick.

          Unfortunately, it’s hard to imagine anyone getting any sort of a charge out of the sequel The People That Time Forgot, which cops a few tricks from the playbook of the original Planet of the Apes film series. Like the first Apes sequel, The People That Time Forgot kicks the previous film’s leading man into a minor supporting role and goes for a simultaneously darker and more simplistic story. And like the first Apes sequel, The People That Time Forgot lacks nearly everything that made its predecessor enjoyable.

          Patrick Wayne stars as Ben McBride, an adventurer who travels to the site of the first movie in order to find his lost friend, Tyler. Soon Ben and his companions hook up with a sexy cavewoman, Ajor (Dana Gillespie), who somehow has immaculate makeup and a push-up bra built into her animal-skin costume. Excepting an amusingly goofy mid-air fight between an biplane and a pterodactyl, dinosaurs mostly take a backseat to the creepy primitive tribes who capture Ben’s crew. And whereas the first picture had all sorts of plot complications stemming from things like how to fuel the U-boat for an escape voyage, the second picture is just a series of insipid cliffhanger moments, and the production design is so tacky it would barely pass muster in an episode of Land of the Lost.

The Land That Time Forgot: FUNKY

The People That Time Forgot: LAME