Moon Zero Two (1970)

          Produced in the UK and released there in 1969, this leaden thriller represented a rare return to the realm of science fiction for British production company Hammer Films, which spent most of the ’60s and ’70s making horror pictures. Aside from the company’s usual tropes of elaborate costumes and set design, however, Moon Zero Two bears no obvious Hammer trademarks. Quite to the contrary, it’s dull, flat, and turgid, whereas Hammer’s other pictures of the same vintage are generally lusty and violent. Starring American actor James Olson, the movie was released in the U.S. in 1970, presumably to piggyback on the success of 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968). Any viewers snookered by the promise of another sci-fi head trip were sorely disappointed, because Moon Zero Two runs the gamut from numbingly pedestrian to painfully stupid. Set in the future, when man has built a group of cities on the surface of the moon, the picture starts with an absurd animated title sequence suggesting the story will be about Cold War tensions. Yet once the narrative begins, Moon Zero Two becomes a tepid crime thriller about land rights.

          Olson stars as Bill Kemp, a space pilot who operates a salvage ship. He makes his living recovering broken satellites and selling the parts. Eventually, Bill is recruited by Clementine Taplin (Catherine Schell) to help find her missing brother, whom she fears was the victim of foul play because he owned the rights to potentially profitable land. A convoluted adventure ensues, during which Bill and Clementine match wits with an unethical entrepreneur, J.J. Hubbard (Warren Mitchell), who wants to seize all the land rights he can get.

          None of the characters is interesting, and the performances are lifeless. Worse, the style of the picture is consistently goofy. The immaculate space suits look like holdovers from bad ’50s movies, and the less said about the dancing girls who perform during innumerable scenes taking place in a moon lounge, the better. Long stretches of time pass without spaceship action, and this movie’s idea of a wild action scene is a zero-gravity bar brawl that the lazy filmmakers merely stage as a reduced-gravity bar brawl. (Picture lots of slow-motion leaping.) For devoted ’70s sci-fi nerds, the most interesting aspect of Moon Zero Two is the presence of leading lady Schell, who later played a shape-shifting alien on the cult-fave UK TV series Space: 1999 (1975-1977). Although hidden behind animalistic makeup on the series, Schell appears in all of her unadorned loveliness here.

Moon Zero Two: LAME

Genesis II (1973) & Planet Earth (1974) & Strange New World (1975)

          Following the demise of the original Star Trek series in 1969, writer-producer Gene Roddenberry spent the ’70s trying to launch a new TV show, as well as moonlighting in features. None of his wilderness-years projects clicked, so once Star Trek was revived in 1979 with the first of myriad feature films (and, later spinoff TV shows), Roddenberry resigned himself to being the godhead of a franchise. Within this context, it’s interesting to look at this trifecta of TV movies, each of which represents a fresh attempt at repurposing the same underlying material. Given the similarity between the underlying material and the ethos of Trek, these movies prove that certain themes and tropes were ingrained into Roddenberry’s DNA.

          The best of the telefilms, though that’s not saying a whole lot, is the first one, Genesis II (pictured above). At the beginning of the story, near-future scientist Dylan Hunt (Alex Cord) is put into suspended animation as part of an experiment. An earthquake buries the laboratory surrounding Dylan’s chamber, so he’s revived more than a century later by citizens of PAX, a peaceful society living underground in the postapocalyptic future. Things get dull quick, because Dylan is smothered with exposition from PAX official Isaac (Percy Rodrigues) and from Lyra-a (Mariette Hartley). Turns out Lyra-a is not from PAX; instead, she’s a mutant from the country of Terrania. Before long, Dylan and Lyra-a flee PAX, because the mutant has convinced the 20th-century man that PAX is secretly warlike. Upon reaching Terrania, however, Dylan discovers that humans are used by Terranians as slaves, so he leads a rebellion against Lyra-a’s people.

          Repeating mistakes from the worst Trek episodes, Genesis II features ridiculous costumes suitable for a cabaret show on Fire Island, overwrought discussions of morality, and turgid storytelling devoid of humor. (Sample dialogue: “You will find it profitless to lie to us, human! Will you repair our nuclear generator?”) Cord is stalwart but stilted, while Hartley’s sexy in a soccer-mom sort of way, but it’s fun to groove on the voices of Trek veterans Ted Cassidy (“Lurch” from the ’60s Addams Family series) and Rodrigues (who later narrated the iconic Jaws trailer). Genesis II contains interesting concepts, but the presentation is far too clinical.

          Predictably, the next version of the material, Planet Earth, is lustier in every sense of the word. Re-conceived by Roddenberry as an action show, instead of a show about ideas, Planet Earth replaces Cord with campy he-man actor John Saxon in the role of Dylan Hunt. The story skips the set-up and gets right to Dylan leading a team of PAX adventurers into a land ruled by cruel amazons, with the nominal goal of rescuing a doctor who’s needed back at PAX for emergency surgery. The vibe of Planet Earth evokes Trek even more than the vibe of Genesis II did. Hunt contrives elaborate strategies, employs flying tackles, and makes out with two different women. (One is Janet Margolin, who would have been a series regular, and the other is guest star Diana Muldaur.) Hunt even narrates the onscreen action in voiceover via “log entries.” Still, the added testosterone means that Planet Earth is significantly dumbed-down from its predecessor, although Planet Earth seems like the most viable launching pad for a series of any of these three flicks.

          The final—and most lavish—spin on this material, Strange New World, was made without Roddenberry’s involvement. (That’s the cost of selling a concept to a network.) Saxon returns, now playing the new role of Anthony Vico, and this time the story involves three modern-day people thrust into the future. The explanation this time is that a meteor shower hit the Earth while the trio were in suspended animation aboard a space station. The pacing of Strange New World is painfully slow, even though two separate adventuress are crammed into 97 minutes. The first involves Anthony’s team encountering the people of Eterna, who survive using clones and other medical miracles but need blood from normal people. The second story dramatizes a clash between Anthony’s team and groups of savages living in a forest and a zoo, respectively. In both narratives, endless exposition and tiresome fight scenes ensue.

          It’s all quite flat and talky, but the photography is atmospheric, the outer-space shots look great, and the supporting cast is colorful: Avuncular Keene Curtis and lovely Kathleen Miller play the teammates of Saxon’s character, and guest stars include Catherine Bach, Martine Beswick, Reb Brown, Richard Farnswoth, Gerrit Graham, Bill McKinney, and James Olson. (Hardcore ’70s junkies will recognize all of these names.) There’s also an amusing contribution to the annals of sci-fi vehicles, because the characters tool around postapocalyptic Earth in the space-age equivalent of a Winnebago.

Genesis II: FUNKY

Planet Earth: FUNKY

Strange New World: FUNKY

The Spell (1977)

          Essentially a rip-off of Carrie (1976), the hit film adaptation of Stephen King’s novel about a tormented teen with telekinesis, this made-for-TV thriller trudges along for about an hour of low-grade suspense before exploding with an action-packed finale, complete with a twist ending. It would be exaggerating to call The Spell special, but it’s entertaining in a kitschy sort of way, and it benefits from a respectable leading performance by Lee Grant, who tries mightily to retain her dignity even during the most outlandish scenes. It’s also novel to see a very young Helen Hunt, who made this picture during her first career as a ’70s child actress, because even though she was only about 14 when The Spell first aired, she already possessed grown-up gravitas. Anyway, the picture concerns Rita (Susan Myers), an overweight adolescent living with her affluent family in a posh suburb. Constantly razzed by classmates about her girth, Rita lashes out one day by telekinetically causing an accident that kills another student. Thus begins a long downward spiral during which Rita succumbs to dark impulses, eventually causing her mother, Marilyn (Grant), to explore paranormal explanations for the crisis. (Hunt plays Rita’s younger sister, a popular kid whose normalcy provides contrast to Rita’s weirdness.)

          Keeping special-effects scenes to a minimum for budgetary reasons, the producers of The Spell concentrate on dramatic bits in which Marilyn and her husband, Glenn (James Olson), grapple with the strangeness that’s taken root in their home. For instance, the picture features a predictable but effective trope of Glenn compounding Rita’s problems by showing favoritism to her sister. (There’s also a fleeting subplot involving a paranormal investigator played by Jack Colvin, who played a similar character on the long-running series The Incredible Hulk.) As far as thrills and chills, The Spell is fairly mild except for the gruesome death of a housewife about midway through the story, and the only real special-effects scene involves a telekinetic showdown during the finale. Still, there are worse ways to pass 86 minutes than watching what amounts to Carrie Lite, although another made-for-TV Carrie rip-off—1978’s The Initiation of Sarah, with Kay Lenz—actually has more campy zing.

The Spell: FUNKY

The Andromeda Strain (1971)

          Long before contemporary virus-on-the-loose movies such as Outbreak (1995) and Contagion (2011), writer Michael Crichton explored the terror of a potentially unstoppable blight with his 1969 novel The Andromeda Strain, which provided the basis for this intense, Oscar-nominated movie. Built around the idea of a virulent alien entity brought to Earth by a returning space probe that crash lands in a tiny Southwestern town, Crichton’s tale spends very little time depicting the effects of the virus on the outside world. Instead, the bulk of his story takes place inside Wildfire, a massive underground complex designed for responding to viral threats. Accordingly, The Andromeda Strain is one of the most methodical thrillers in sci-fi history, favoring logic and reason over melodrama until the final act, which succumbs to silly ticking-clock story mechanics.

          Drawing on his background as a medical doctor, Crichton painstakingly envisioned the procedures that might be followed in such a facility, so the screen adaptation sometimes feels like a training film as it portrays disinfection baths, specimen analysis, and so forth. In fact, the challenges of adhering to scientific method inform the film’s character conflicts—the mastermind behind Wildfire, bacteria specialist Dr. Jeremy Stone (Arthur Hill), repeatedly criticizes his people for succumbing to emotionalism. This cold-blooded approach irks Stone’s subordinates, including compassionate medical doctor Dr. Mark Hall (James Olson), avuncular pathologist Dr. Charles Dutton (David Wayne), and irritable microbiologist Dr. Ruth Leavitt (Kate Reid). These characters must overcome interpersonal friction as they unravel mysteries with apocalyptic implications.

          Director Robert Wise, whose previous contribution to the sci-fi genre was the chilling classic The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951), mirrors the clinical subject matter by utilizing a restrained style. Most scenes are detailed and lengthy, revealing minuscule details about procedure and technology. Combined with the film’s spectacular production design—think smooth chrome surfaces hiding ornate infrastructure—Wise’s storytelling surrounds the characters with dehumanizing atmosphere. Composer Gil Melle’s freaky electronic music, comprising all sorts of mechanized beeps and screeches, jacks up tension considerably.

          The movie occasionally cuts outside Wildfire to depict the activities of military men appraising the contagion’s spread, but the real drama stems from watching the scientists expand their knowledge of the alien killer in their midst. Operating within the tight parameters of the movie’s icy style, leading actors infuse their characters with effective colorations. Hill incarnates a pure scientist capable of fully suppressing his emotions, while to varying degrees his costars let loose. Olsen vigorously attacks the thankless task of portraying the story’s bleeding-heart character, and Reid contributes subtly distinctive work as a woman hiding a secret. Some might find the picture’s approach too muted (the movie is rated G despite fleeting gore and nudity), but given that it spends 130 minutes dramatizing combat against an antagonist the size of a grain of sand, The Andromeda Strain is memorably smart and suspenseful.

The Andromeda Strain: GROOVY

Wild Rovers (1971)

          Even though he enjoyed a long and lucrative career directing light comedies, it’s a shame Blake Edwards made only one proper Western, because Wild Rovers reveals the writer-director’s unexpectedly lyrical approach to the cowboy genre. Starring the unlikely but compatible duo of William Holden and Ryan O’Neal, the gorgeous-looking movie tracks the adventures of a pair of cowpokes whose foolhardy decision to rob a bank triggers a series of deadly events.

          Presented as an old-school epic, complete with a musical overture and an intermission, the film moseys along at a deliberate pace, but it’s never boring; the locations and photography are intoxicating, the action is exciting, and the performances keep everything lively. Moreover, Edwards’ inventive screenplay presents a rich mixture of familiar Western tropes and witty flourishes; the best original elements include novel characterizations and sharp dialogue.

          Holden plays Ross Bodine, a veteran cowboy who’s ready to settle down even though he doesn’t have a financial stake, and O’Neal plays Frank Post, a young man still naïve enough to believe he can shape his own destiny. When Ross casually mentions one day that the only cowboys with money are those who rob banks, Frank gets his teeth into the notion and eventually talks Ross into performing a heist. The movie takes its time getting to this point, creating a persuasive sense of camaraderie between the protagonists before things get sticky, and the robbery sequence is offbeat.

          Instead of busting into a bank at daytime, the men casually intimidate the bank owner at his home during evening hours, holding his wife and daughter at gunpoint while forcing him to head to the bank and unload the vault. Charged with overseeing the hostages, Frank bonds with a puppy and protects the banker’s family from a mountain lion rather than doing anything menacing. Narrative choices like these make Ross and Frank compelling characters—we see how easily they buy into the romantic fantasy of a victimless crime, and feel their anguish when they realize how badly they miscalculated.

          Holden adds an unusual color to his standard world-weary persona, accentuating amiability over cynicism, and O’Neal gives a performance that’s as naturalistic as anything he’s ever done. Eschewing the usual rouge’s gallery of overly familiar onscreen varmints, Edwards surrounds his leads with carefully chosen supporting players—including Joe Don Baker, Moses Gunn, Karl Malden, James Olson, and Tom Skerritt—all of whom make valuable contributions. Framing the actors’ work are spectacular widescreen images created by veteran cinematographer Philip Lathrop, a regular Edwards collaborator; his crisp photography of a sequence in which Ross breaks a wild bronco in a snowy field is particularly outstanding, making the sequence a joyous celebration of the cowboy lifestyle. Even the film’s music is noteworthy, with the great Jerry Goldsmith subtly expressing everything from jubilance to heartbreak.

          The unhurried pace of Wild Rovers ensures the picture isn’t for everyone, but the film’s unexpected emotional complexities reward patient viewers with a tough, elegant statement about masculine identity. (Available at WarnerArchive.com)

Wild Rovers: RIGHT ON