THE FORTY-NINERS. Allied Artists / formerly Monogram, 1954. “Wild Bill” Elliott, Virginia Grey, Harry Morgan, John Doucette, Lane Bradford. Written by Daniel B. Ullman. Directed by Thomas Carr.

   But first a word about Wild Bill Elliott, born Gordon Nance, who started out his career at Columbia under the name Gordon Elliott as an all-purpose and mostly uncredited supporting player until he landed the lead in the 1938 serial The Great Adventures of Wild Bill Hickok, which led to a series of low-budget westerns at Columbia, billed as Wild Bill Elliott and sometimes playing Hickok in adventures that, as you might expect, had little to do with the actual James Butler Hickok.

   Many of these were a cut above average, and a few, directed by Joseph H. Lewis, even artistic at times, but in ’43 he left Columbia for Republic. There the budgets were bigger and the films generally more fun, but it was still a loss in prestige to go from the smallest of the Major studios to the biggest of the Minors, which was Republic’s place in Hollywood’s caste system.

   Republic even tried to lift Elliott out of the “B” ranks for a time, upping his budgets, offering more “adult” story lines and dropping the “Wild” from his billing, but eventually he returned to “B” status. His last film at Republic, The Showdown, was shot entirely on studio sets with back projection, reflecting Republic’s growing disinterest in the budget prairie film in general.

   At which point Elliott moved to Monogram, which was definitely a step down, but surprisingly his films here got even more interesting — not better made, but with distinctly off-beat characterizations and story lines.

Elliott himself, billed once again as “Wild Bill Elliott” smoked and drank, cussed now and then, and wasn’t above dealing out nastiness when called for. He even played an occasional outlaw, though reformed by film’s end, and in one movie he beats information out of a bad guy while holding him at gunpoint—hardly sporting, that, and unheard of in the better class of B westerns.

   In 1955 even Monogram tired of the low-budget western and moved Elliott into a series of detective stories, but Elliott had ended his sagebrush career with a flourish of sorts, as borne out in The Forty-Niners.

   This starts out with Dragnet-style voice-over narration, and when I say “Dragnet-style” I mean you can practically hear Jack Webb’s flat monotone in Wild Bill Elliott’s voice. Her gives dates and times, tosses in cop-comments like “It was a routine assignment” and even synopsises the outcomes in Court.

   The wonder is that writer Daniel Ullman (who made kind of a specialty out of detective/westerns) still wrought a perfectly fine western out of all this.

   Wild Bill plays a U.S. Marshall cold on the trail of the owlhoots who ambushed a fellow-lawman. His only lead is a gambler (played by Harry Morgan, who also featured in Elliott’s last Republic picture) who can lead him to the baddies as long as he doesn’t realize that’s what he’s doing. Morgan plays the kind of good/bad guy later personified by the likes of Arthur Kennedy, and he does it pretty well, grinning and joking as he cheats at cards and blackmails killers who are now comfortably ensconced as respectable citizens.

   His only weakness is a soft heart for the gal he left behind and an aversion to cold-blooded murder when that becomes necessary to eliminate Elliott, whom he’s come to respect and admire. It’s an interesting part in a movie that moves along at a brisk clip, with plenty of action and enough curves in the plot to keep you guessing, even as you realize the pre-ordained outcome dictated by the genre, and reflecting that as Wild Bill took his last ride into the sunset, he did it with a certain amount of style and the quiet dignity that becomes a western hero — even a cut-rate hero ending his days in the B-movies.

KEITH McCAFFERTY – The Gray Ghost Murders. Viking, hardcover, February 2013. Penguin, trade paperback, December 2013. PI Novel: Sean Stranahan; 2nd in series. Setting: Contemporary Montana.

First Sentence: The hands shook as the watcher adjusted the focus ring of the binoculars.

   Katie Sparrow’s search and rescue dog doesn’t find a reported lost hiker. Instead, they find a buried body which, when uncovered, was a murder victim. And then they find another.

   Fly-fishing guide, painter and PI Sean Stranahan is hired to find a lost tackle box. The box is also an entry to his being introduced to the members of the Madison River Liars and Fly Tiers Club; a group of men who bought a cabin along the river. It is they who really want to hire Stranahan to find two valuable fishing flies which have been stolen from their cabin. The trail turns very dark as Sean is asked to help the police with the murders while still searching for the flies.

   From the beginning, the author’s love of fly fishing is very apparent. Even if fishing and hunting, are not your style, don’t let that stop you from reading this book for it is the characters that carry the story.

   Stranahan may be described as extremely good looking, but that really doesn’t much play into the character. Yes, women are attracted to him, but he is anything but a womanizer, and how refreshing is that. Not only that, there is no profanity in the book; another nice change.

   And although he knows how to use a gun, he doesn’t own one. If anything, it is Sherriff Martha Ettinger who comes across as the tougher character, except where her love life is concerned. Then, she is classically vulnerable.

   Katie, the dog handler, facilitates moments of humor… “Godfrey, a schoolteacher with a scratch to itch and lay south of his belt buckle and a history of women cutting his fact out of photographs….” What’s nice is that are the characters are clearly drawn and distinct.

   McCafferty provides excellent descriptions which help the reader understand the love of fly fishers and give a desire for traveling to Montana… “Above him was one of those summer skies that people who live in the East can’t believe are real, the light over the Gravelly Range lavender bleeding to pink, the clouds rimmed with golden light from the setting sun and the river a study in pointillism, as wavelets bounced colors back and forth…”

   The plot is interesting and compelling. There are layers and twists enough to keep you going. There is a classic short story, “The Most Dangerous Game,” referenced which, if the reader is familiar with the story, gives a hint of the story’s path, but one isn’t certain quite how it’s going to play in. There are characters one suspects, but enough uncertainty to keep one guessing.

   The Gray Ghost Murders is a very good read. It kept me involved from first page to last.

Rating: Very Good.

      The Sean Stranahan series —

1. The Royal Wulff Murders (2012)
2. The Gray Ghost Murders (2013)
3. Dead Man’s Fancy (2014)

THE MUMMY. Hammer Films, UK, 1959. Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee, Yvonne Furneaux, Eddie Byrne, Felix Aylmer, Michael Ripper. Screenplay: Jimmy Sangster. Director: Terence Fisher.

   Over the past fifteen years or so, film and television writers have embraced both fanged vampires and, to a lesser extent, furry werewolves. With the exception of The Mummy (1999) and the franchise it launched, mummies, those aristocrats ensconced in linen and raised from the dead, have not played prominent roles as villains. This is unfortunate.

   Not only are mummy tales, when critically unwrapped and analyzed, as terrifying as vampire yarns. They also provide a fascinating insight into how Anglo-American filmmakers have understood their particular era’s relationship to the ancient Egyptian past. From Napoleon Bonaparte’s first campaign in Egypt (1798) and British Museum’s Rosetta Stone exhibit (1802-present) to the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb (1922), the mysteries of long-vanished Egyptian civilizations have piqued the curiosity of western observers.

   Mummy films are the cinematic representations of this strange, enduring fascination. The two best-known mummy films are undoubtedly Universal’s The Mummy (1932) starring Boris Karloff and the aforementioned 1999 quasi-remake starring Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz.

   But there’s also a 1959 mummy film that deserves ample consideration. The Mummy, starring Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee, and Yvonne Furneaux, is perhaps the least known of the three films of the same name. To varying degrees, the plot is borrowed from three previous, even lesser known, mummy movies, The Mummy’s Hand (1940), The Mummy’s Tomb (1942), and The Mummy’s Ghost (1944). Directed by Terence Fisher, The Mummy (1959) is a Technicolor Hammer Production with great horror film acting, lavish and colorful settings, and an excellent, memorable score composed by Franz Reizenstein.

   The film begins with an archaeological dig in Egypt. It’s 1895 and three members of the same family discover the tomb of Princess Ananka, the high priestess of the ancient Egyptian deity, Karnak. Because John Banning (Peter Cushing) is injured and somewhat immobile, the English archeologist’s father, Stephen Banning (portrayed by Felix Aylmer), is tasked, along with his uncle Joseph Whemple (Raymond Huntley), with entering the tomb.

   Along comes Mehemet Bay in a red fez (portrayed by the Cypriot character actor George Pastell). He warns the two men against disturbing the dead, lest they unleash a curse against desecrators. As you might imagine, the enterprising Englishmen don’t heed the warnings of this excitable foreign fellow.

   Skip to three years later. It’s 1898 and Stephen Banning is back in England. Sadly, the poor chap’s gone completely mad. His son, the scholarly John Banning, is now ambulatory and living with his wife (Yvonne Furneaux). Life is apparently pretty good for the younger Banning, who appears to be living a plush life on an English country estate.

   But good things never seem to last for those who disobey warnings not to disturb the dead. We know that there’s trouble ahead when Mehemet Bay arrives in England on a quest to avenge the opening of Princess Annaka’s tomb. After Stephen Banning is found dead in his room (murdered by the mummy Kharis), a police inspector by the name of Mulrooney begins to investigate the mysterious goings on.

   Through extensive flashback scenes narrated by Peter Banning (Cushing in a quite memorable voice-over role within the film), we learn that Kharis (Lee) was the high priest of Karnak. Centuries ago, Egyptian authorities mummified Kharis and buried him alive as punishment for his attempt to bring Princess Annaka (also portrayed by Yvonne Furneaux), whom he loved, back from the dead.

   The second half of the film revolves around Mehemet Bay’s attempt to utilize Kharis to kill the other two Bannings before heading back to his native Egypt. There’s a notable scene in which Peter Banning and Mehemet Bay tensely discuss the ethics of archeology, perhaps a subtext about London’s historical meddling in Egyptian affairs.

   If the plot sounds somewhat convoluted, you’ll have to trust me both when I say that it’s really not and, even if it were, it really wouldn’t matter all that much. In many ways, plot isn’t what makes this version of The Mummy a classic horror film worth watching at least once.

   It’s the filmmakers’ skillful use of color and lighting, particularly when combined with Reizenstein’s score, which transforms a film with an otherwise standard mummy-seeks-revenge plot into a captivating cinematic experience. Although the Egyptian scenes are clearly sets and not filmed on location, there’s something about them that makes them incredibly vivid.

   One final note: while watching The Mummy on DVD, I kept thinking how much I’d like to see the film in a dark movie theater, particularly one with a great sound system. Who knows? Maybe some day, I shall.

TAYLOR McCAFFERTY – Pet Peeves. Pocket, paperback original, 1990.

   If you’re tired of private eyes in big cities, you might dip into (Barbara) Taylor McCafferty’s Pet Peeves. Haskell Blevins returms to his hometown of Pigeon Fork, Kentucky, rents an office upstairs from his brother Elmo’s drugstore, and hangs out his shingle.

   And waits, in the eternal tradition of PI’s. Eventually the beauteous Cordelia Turley turns up to turn Haskell’s knees to mush. And to hire him to find out who killed her Granny. Sheriff Vergil Minrath has not made much progress over the past seven months, though there are some low-lifes in the underbrush that might serve as suspects.

   Pleasantly whimsical tale.

      The Haskell Blevins series —

1. Pet Peeves (1990)
2. Ruffled Feathers (1992)
3. Bed Bugs (1993)

4. Thin Skins (1994)
5. Hanky Panky (1995)
6. Funny Money (2000)

   As many of you may know I love going to pulp conventions and I’ve been attending them since 1972. I have a maniacal desire to read and collect old books and pulps. I realize it may be an addiction and a vice but it doesn’t seem to hurt my health or finances like drinking, drugs, gambling, or chasing women. Well at least it didn’t hurt me until this convention.

   For the last few months my legs have developed a pain which bothers me while sitting and sleeping. I’m often awakened at night by the pain and I’ve yet to find a comfortable position to sleep. I’ve seen different doctors and pain pills don’t help that much. A nerve doctor said maybe my back problems was the cause and I have scheduled further x-rays and MRI’s. But the main thing the medical profession agreed on was that I would not be taking any 15 hour trip to Chicago. (Airplanes are a problem because of claustrophobia and limited bags to bring back pulps.)

   Needless to say, being the insane collector that I am, I ignored all medical advice and on Thursday, April 24, I was in a car heading from Trenton, NJ to Morristown, NJ, where I was one of five collectors who had rented a big van. After an hour in the car, and even before getting to the van, I was in distress and reminding myself that I was a book collector and reader and nothing was going to stop me. I had to keep saying this to myself several times during the trip, which I now refer to as Death Trip 2014.

   But somehow, 15 hours later, I limped into the Westin hotel near Chicago and thought only about going to my room and having a stiff drink, pain pills or no pain pills. But in my room, the usual desire to meet other collectors and talk about books and pulps, kicked in and I went to the hospitality room. Once there, I stationed myself against the wall near the refrigerator where the beer was and I proceeded to drink, thinking By God, I made it.

   And I’m glad I did because I met a man who runs one of the very best pulp blogs. Sai lives in India and administers a blog called Pulpflakes. A great name for a great website and it’s all about pulps, the authors, the editors, the artists, the magazines. This was Sai’s first pulp convention.

   Another interesting person was Mala Mastroberte, the queen of the pulp pin-ups. Ed Hulse had the great idea to have her at his BLOOD n THUNDER table and perhaps it was too great an idea. I heard more than one collector refer to table not as the BLOOD n THUNDER or Ed Hulse table, but as the Mala table. Mala was a big hit and fortunately she had her boyfriend to watch over her because some collectors are all about the books and they don’t know how to act around women. Nothing worse than a leering bookworm. I ought to know.

   But don’t feel too sorry for Ed Hulse because he stumbled across the find of the show. Shortly after the convention opened he bought several long comic book boxes of ALL STORY. Most seemed to be priced at $5.00 and included several Edgar Rice Burroughs issues. Most were from 1917-1920 and there were over a hundred. I need one issue from this period and since I only need a total of 4 to complete my set, I was naturally very excited and figured the issue had to be there.

   Since we were all busy the first few days of the convention, there was no time to look through the magazines until Sunday afternoon. With great anticipation I watched as the magazines were sorted into years and then into months. The issue I need is dated July 7, 1917 and I noticed there were 11 months well represented from 1917. But one month was completely missing. You guessed it. No July issues at all.

   There is nothing more embarrassing than seeing some old guy sobbing because he needs a pulp. I managed to control myself and slunk off to the bar to drown my sorrows. I can deal with leg pain but not with missing out on my book wants.

   A good friend of mine told me about his find. He bought over 50 WEIRD TALES from the 1930’s for only like $25 to $45 each. I couldn’t believe such good luck and almost had him convinced that something must be wrong with the issues, perhaps pages excerpted or poor condition. But no, the magazines were ok.

   At this point I’d like to talk about the importance of attending these conventions, not only Windy City, but Pulpfest and the few one day shows that are held. I realize there are valid reasons for not attending, such as poor health and lack of money. But I’ve always forced myself to figure out someway to attend because I find so much not only in the dealer’s room but through friends and contacts. For instance I managed to get the several lots I wanted in the auction. If I had stayed home because of my leg problem, I never would have gotten them.

   And the conventions revive your interest in collecting, which I seriously believe is one of the joys of life. I actually feel sorry for non-collectors and people who call collectors the dreaded “hoarder” name. (There is a big difference in meaning between “collector” and “hoarder” but that’s another subject that many non-collectors simply do not understand at all.)

   Collecting has helped increase my desire to keep living, otherwise I might just pine away and eventually waste away like many of my non-collecting friends. I would have to say collecting books and pulps is the grandest game in the world and one that can give your life meaning.

   Now you might ask what did I get after all the trouble described above? Well, one problem with living a fairly long life is the chance that you might start to run out of things to collect. I guess at one time or another, I’ve collected just about every major pulp, digest, and literary title, including many slicks. I never bothered with the love, sport, and aviation genres but I’ve been involved with most other titles.

   So my wants are getting kind of esoteric and bizarre. A few issues here and there to complete sets. A few pulp artists or magazine cover paintings. Many years ago I used to collect the hero pulps but I sold them all. But the auction listed several lots of the SHADOW digests. They had most of the issues from 1944-1948, a total of 40 in all.

   I was interested in these issues because the magazine became more of an adult crime magazine during the post war years. Returning WW II vets did not give a damn about the Shadow but the back up stories and novelettes were of interest. I managed to be the high bidder on all the Shadow digest lots, a total of 10 lots. The average price came out to only $21 per issue which was far lower than the $50 -$80 prices that I saw in the dealer’s room.

   Another item I desperately wanted was a preliminary sketch by artist Lee Brown Coye. The finished piece of art in FANTASTIC, February 1963, I think is stunning and I noticed the preliminary drawing was very detailed and close to the finished art. Again, I was the winning bidder at $650.

   Speaking of the auctions, there were two that lasted several hours during the evening. The Friday auction was mainly from the collections of the Jerry Weist estate and the Robert Weinberg collection. The Jerry Weist items were mainly very nice condition SF magazines and the Weinberg collection included some stunning SF correspondence, cancelled Munsey and Popular Publications checks and all sorts of interesting items.

   The original manuscript of C. L. Moore’s “Black God’s Kiss,” which appeared in WEIRD TALES, October, 1934, bought the highest amount of money I’ve ever seen at a pulp convention auction: $4,500 plus the $500 buyer’s premium. That’s $5,000 for an iconic, unique item.

   Some other authors represented by checks and letters were L. Ron Hubbard, Farnsworth Wright, Henry Whitehead, Abraham Merritt, Austin Hall, Homer Eon Flint, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Murray Leinster, Isaac Asimov, Fred Pohl, Otis Adelbert Kline, George Allan England, Algis Budrys, Eric Frank Russell, and others too numerous to name.

   The Saturday night auction was made up of over 100 lots listing most of the issues of the SHADOW magazine. Most issues went for reasonable prices. Following the SHADOW auction there were almost another 100 lots listing various pulp magazines but there also was a Frank R. Paul illustration from FANTASTIC NOVELS which went for $800.

   The Windy City show is not just the dealer’s room and auction, though that’s what most collectors are interested in. There also was a very large art show with quite a few pulp paintings and illustrations from the collections of Doug Ellis and Deb Fulton, Robert and Phyllis Weinberg, and others. Ed Hulse put on his usual fine film show which lasted all day and even after the auction in the early morning hours. The themes celebrated the 95th birthday of BLACK MASK and WESTERN STORY.

   There were two panels after the dealer’s room closed. The first one was on a subject that was very much needed but had often been ignored over the years at Pulpcon. The Western Pulps panel was comprised of Ed Hulse, Walker Martin, and Tom Roberts. In about an hour we tried to make up for lost time and discuss major elements of this important topic. Which of course is impossible since there were scores of western titles and it was the biggest selling genre by far except for perhaps the love pulps.

   I gave my opinion concerning the best western pulp magazines, all of which I have collected over the years. The biggest of all was WESTERN STORY, 1919-1949 with over 1250 issues. I need about 11 issues including the first one and I’ll never be able to complete the set but I have hopes of getting it down to single digits.

   The second best and some would say even better than WESTERN STORY, was definitely the Doubleday issues of WEST during 1926-1934. During this 8 or 9 year span the magazine was often published on a weekly and bi-weekly schedule and had all the good authors. It was sold to another publisher in 1935 and continued on for many years but not at the Doubleday level. Third and fourth best would be DIME WESTERN and STAR WESTERN and some feel they were the best westerns published by Popular Publications.

   We now live in a era that has no western short fiction magazine and this is hard to believe when we look back to the 1930’s and 1940’s when the newsstands groaned under the weight of these titles.

   There were many interesting western writers and some of my favorites are Luke Short, W.C. Tuttle, and Walt Coburn. Coburn had a drinking problem and this showed in some of his work but when he was feeling good and sober, he was one of the best because he grew up on a working cowboy’s ranch and knew how the men dressed, talked, and rode. Black Dog Books will soon be publishing a collection of Coburn’s fiction from WESTERN STORY. Keep an eye out for BULLETS IN THE BLACK by Walt Coburn. Introduction by the great James Reasoner.

   My old friends of 20 or 30 years ago would have said that I have committed sacrilege by not including Max Brand. Max Brand collectors used to be all over the place at Pulpcon, collecting the pulps, binding the stories into home made books, writing articles and talking about him. In fact, if they were still alive I would not dare say anything negative about Brand. Not if I wanted to keep their friendship. They loved Max Brand and for over 50 years I’ve tried to love him also. Some of his work I like and some I hate. I now would have to say that Max Brand wrote too much and too fast and that’s going to hurt him as far as being remembered.

   The Second panel was on Saturday night and discussed Hammett, BLACK MASK, and the Detective Pulps. Moderated by John Wooley along with such experts as Ed Hulse, Digges La Touche, and Bob Weinberg. I was so jealous about not being on this panel that I tried to pick a fight with Digges by yelling at him, “So You’re the expert on Earle Stanley Gardner!”. But I didn’t have enough to drink to be drunk enough, so they ignored me.

   Bob Weinberg did make one interesting statement about the cover art of DIME DETECTIVE being better than the covers of BLACK MASK in the 1930’s. Maybe the late thirties yes, but when Paul Herman, another BLACK MASK art collector, and I heard this, we started muttering that though we love and have covers from DIME DETECTIVE, the early 1930’s covers of BLACK MASK are amazing. Joe Shaw made sure the cover artist captured the tough, hardboiled, atmosphere of the magazine.

   The funny thing is that someone told Bob Weinberg about my disagreeing with him. Later on, he approached me and told me I was wrong, and how could I say such a thing, etc. But this just shows why Bob and Paul and I, are pulp art collectors. To collect cover art you must be opinionated and passionate about the subject. Otherwise you don’t collect original art at all.

   The program book, which is compiled and edited by Tom Roberts, is excellent. About 50 pages on the detective pulps, another 50 pages on the western pulps, and 50 pages on art and film. I’m certain you can get a copy from Black Dog Books.

   On Sunday, I talked with Doug Ellis about the attendance. He said they broke 500 for the first time ever (the most the old Pulpcon ever had was 300) and had 150 dealer’s tables. I spent the entire three days limping around the room and the place was always busy. The old Pulpcon used to have periods where it looked deserted but you don’t see this at Windy City or Pulpfest.

   So, on Monday morning, in a steady rain, we just barely crammed in all our treasures into the great white van. There were a couple times I almost said to stop the van, so I could get out, but we made it back to Morristown in about 14 hours. I was so exhausted that I wondered if I could make it to the car for the ride back to Trenton. We transferred all the boxes to Digges’ car and were ready to go. I told myself, look I just made 14 hours, I can make another hour or so. Then Digges told me the car battery was dead and the car would not start.

   At this point the details are a sort of blur for me. I remember standing in the dark and thinking what now? If it was up to me, I’d still be standing there. Fortunately Ed Hulse’s sister let us come into her house even though it was late and gave us coffee. She even called her Triple A and had them jump start the car. So off we finally went.

   Now the big question is will I be able to make to Pulpfest, August 7, 2014? Collectors, you better believe it!

ASA BAKER – Mum’s the Word for Murder. Stokes, hardcover, 1938. De11 #743, paperback, 1953, as by Brett Halliday; several other Dell printings likely, including Dell #5918, 1964.

   Asa Baker — the narrator, not the pseudonymous author — writes Westerns when he doesn’t have writer’s block. Thinking of branching out into the mystery field, he accompanies his friend Jerry Burke, co-ordinator of law enforcement in El Paso, Texas, while he investigates several murders that had been advertised beforehand in the newspaper. Three unconnected killings take place, each announced in advance, with the primary suspects all having unimpeachable alibis.

   The plot is a good one. While contending something is a “first” is folly without having read every mystery published, I will say it is the earliest example known to me of this device. The most well-known use of it didn’t appear until 1950.

   That having been said, I cannot otherwise recommend the novel. Baker fancies himself the superior of the El Paso Chief of Detectives, but is just as much a nitwit. Jerry Burke is colorless. The writing is little above hack.

   In addition, the paperback edition also has the flaw, or so I would contend, of having been updated. For example, pay phones cost a dime in the edition I read [from 1964] , whereas they were only a nickel in 1938.

Editorial Note: Mike Nevins reviewed this same book in one of his columns late last year, while you can find my comments on The Kissed Corpse, the other “Asa Baker” title, posted here on this blog earlier this year.

JOHN MAIR – Never Come Back. Victor Gollanz Ltd., UK, hardcover, 1941. Little Brown & Co., US, hardcover, 1941. Oxford University Press, US, softcover, October 1986. Film: Tempean, 1955, as Tiger by the Tail; released in the US as Cross-Up.

   I want to preface this review by saying that I have long suspected that there is no vast, secret conspiracy to weaken our nation, rule the world, or put mind-control drugs in our morning coffee. There may be a litany of irritating little organizations with these ends in sight, but no vast secret one.

   That’s what I suspect, anyway, and there’s a good reason why I know there isn’t any Giant Conspiracy secretly running our lives: If the Army taught me anything at all, it’s that the bigger the organization, the more the entropy — as Edward Snowden, Private Manning and Major Nidal have so clearly/tragically demonstrated. And I recently found my anti-paranoid suspicions pleasantly realized in this old book.

   I first heard about John Mair’s Never Come Back from a passing reference in (where else?) a reference book. Intrigued, I found a copy (and isn’t the internet a wondrous boon to curious readers?) and proceeded to enjoy a thriller like no other.

   Subsequent research has led me to discover that all the best things about it have already been written, but I’ll recap my thoughts here anyway, as this is a book that deserves notice, particularly for fans of John Buchan.

   The central character, Desmond Thane, starts out as a hack-writer for a syndicate, making up human interest articles that are sold to newspapers as filler. He quickly finds himself in Richard Hannay territory though, after leaving the apartment (or flat, if you must) of a murdered woman who turns out to have been involved with one of those Shadowy International Organizations that seem to have been rife in England between the wars. As one might expect, he’s soon in possession of the usual MacGuffin, suspected of the murder, and on the run from the SIO.

   But there are some telling differences here: Thane actually is guilty of the lady’s murder, and he commits another in the course of the narrative. He’s a writer, With a literary approach to intrigue, and also something of a smart-ass. While dodging bullets and brutes, he tends to view his plight with a jaded philosophical detachment:

   That’s the attitude we get from Thane as Mair trots him through the usual paces of the genre with style and speed. We get kidnappings by various and sundry bad guys, narrow escapes, cross-country chases, phony cops, seductions, a criminal mastermind with dreams of global conquest… I could go on, but if you’ve read much of this sort of thing, you pretty much know what to expect.

   The difference here is Thane’s attitude and Mair’s canny view of the whole genre — not quite spoof but definitely dubious. The Sinister International Organization turns out to be rather bureaucratic and inefficient, Thane resists torture only because he doesn’t know what the hell the bad guys are after, and when he finds out how valuable it is, his first thought is to sell it back to them and retire in comfort.

   There are about a dozen pages of misplaced whimsy while he fakes amnesia, but things soon get right back on the sardonic track; It seems that the Chairman of the SIO board (and would-be Ruler of the World) has written a book and Thane, like any curious man of letters, feels compelled to read it. Which leads to a scene so unexpected and screamingly funny and perfectly Right that I won’t spoil it for you — check it out.

Biographical Note:   This was the author’s one and only novel. He died in 1942 in a training flight accident as a pilot for the RAF. The book has been reviewed elsewhere on the Internet by author Martin Edwards on his blog. Check it out here.

“STEEL.” Episode of The Twilight Zone. CBS. Season 5, Episode 2. October 4, 1963. Lee Marvin, Joe Mantell, Tipp McClure. Director: Don Weis.

   Stories set in a future that have long since passed are often particularly fascinating to read. They do not merely portray imagined futures. They also provide critical insight into how writers understood their own eras within the context of History’s tripartite realms of past, present, and future. Most significantly, many of these stories revolve around man’s complex relationship with technology.

   Consider, for instance, George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949), Nevil Shute’s On The Beach (published in 1958, but set in 1963), and Arthur C. Clarke’s, 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968). The years in which those novels are set have long since come and gone. When we read these novels, we are reading fiction set simultaneously in the future and in the past. True, they are works of fiction; the books’ authors did not intend them to be prescient renderings of what was yet to come.

   Still, it’s worth reflecting on the fact that humanity did not usher into existence the most compelling aspects of these novelists’ imagined futures. More countries have democratically elected governments than ever before. Humanity avoided a nuclear holocaust. Man hasn’t traveled to Saturn. Scientists have not created an artificial intelligence nearly as advanced as HAL. Well, not yet, anyway.

   Similar to the aforementioned novels, The Twilight Zone episode, “Steel,” based on a Richard Matheson story of the same name (published in the May 1956 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction), also takes place in a future date that is now past.

   Originally aired on October 4, 1963, “Steel” is set in a future 1974 in which human boxing is no longer permitted. Android-like robots are the only ones allowed to box; human boxing was criminalized in 1968. Rod Sterling’s narration provides context and instructs the viewer that such a law was passed in an attempt to abolish one facet of human cruelty:

   The episode begins with Steel Kelly (Lee Marvin) and Pole (Joe Mantell) escorting a shrouded figure off a bus and into a small town diner. We soon learn that the mystery man accompanying them isn’t a man at all. Rather, he — it — is a fighting android answering to the name of Battling Maxo (Tipp McClure).

   Steel Kelly and Pole are in need of some prize money. Maxo, a B2 unit and a heavyweight, is set to fight a more advanced B7 unit named Maynard Flash (Chuck Hicks). Problem is, Maxo experiences mechanical failure right before the big fight.

   That’s when Steel Kelly, a former boxer, comes up with what he considers to be an ingenious plan. He’ll pretend that he’s Maxo and will go in the ring against Maynard Flash. Pole urges against this idea. Steel, portrayed with gusto by Lee Marvin, is not about to be swayed. He’s determined to see this through. All too human, Steel is both courageous and foolish. As one might guess, he doesn’t win the fight.

   Sterling’s ending narration emphasizes that the main theme of the episode is man’s relationship with technology:

   Upon hearing these words spoken and seeing Steel collapsed on the floor, I initially felt a sense of disappointment at how the episode ended. Lee Marvin was excellent, the androids appeared both plausibly human and uncannily creepy, and the writing was tight and without sentimentalism. But something was missing.

   That’s when I realized that “Steel” is best appreciated within the context of stories set in the past, but which take place in the future, similar to the novels I alluded to previously.

   In order to appreciate this particular Twilight Zone episode, one has to imagine oneself watching it when it was first aired, some two years after President Kennedy’s moon speech and two months after Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream Speech” in which he declared that, “1963 is not an end but a beginning.” Indeed, “Steel,” when considered within dual contexts of advancing technology and changing legal norms, packs more of a punch than when viewed without reference to contemporaneous political issues.

   The episode’s theme of man’s relationship with technology, however, is a far more universal one. Ever since the Gothic horror of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818) and Victorian-era science fiction, the relationship between man and machine has been a constant theme in the genre. In this light, “Steel” isn’t a bad episode. It just seems as though it would have been a much better episode to watch and to ponder in 1963 than in 2014.

THE EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURES OF ADELE BLANC-SEC. 2010. First released in France as Les aventures extraordinaires d’Adèle Blanc-Sec. Louise Bourgon. Mathieu Amalric, Gilles Lellouche, Jean-Paul Rouve, Jacky Necessian, Philip Nahon, Nicolas Giraud, Laure de Clermont. Written and directed by Luc Beeson, based on the comic albums by Jacques Tardi.

   Cartoonist Jacques Tardi is likely best known at this site for his iconic adaptation of Leo Malet’s hardboiled sleuth Nestor Burma to graphic form, but long before that he put pencil to paper to record the adventures of Mam’zelle Adele Blanc-Sec. early 20th century reporter, adventuress, and proto feminist extraordinaire.

   And like the dry white wine she is named for Adele has snap and bite, a tall red haired lovely dreadnought ploughing all before her beneath her wake. She’s a lady on a mission, and nothing and no one will distract her.

   Droll is the best way to describe this charming film which you may compare to The Assassination Bureau and Dinner for Adele (Nick Carter in Prague), two other charming forays in the early 20th century as seen through its popular literature and rose- colored glasses.

   Bear with me as I try to describe the plot, though it is no easy task. In Paris Professor Esperandieu (Jacky Necessian) is experimenting with his power to project his mind when he awakens a pterodactyl in an egg in a museum in Paris. The new born escapes and promptly tries to eat the newly named Foreign Minister, who dies with his showgirl mistress in the Seine when his car is attacked.

   Across town Inspector Caponi (Gilles Lellouche) is assigned to the case of the Minister and the pterodactyl and young scientist Zborowsky (Nicolas Giraud), who has a crush on reporter and author of Le Monstre du Glaces, Adele Blanc-Sec, and his mentor Professor Menard (Phillipe Nahon) have discovered their pterodactyl egg has hatched, a fact they would just as soon not share with Caponi so they put him onto Esperandieu as an expert in the Jurassic era.

   Adele is busy in Egypt where she is stealing the mummy of Rameses II’s physician Patmosis despite double crossing native partners and her ruthless nemesis Professor Dieulveult (Mathieu Amaric). She won’t be deterred though, her sister Agathe needs care only the physician Patmosis can provide, and she is determined to return to Paris with his body where Esperandieu will awaken him to cure Agathe.

   Adele outwits her greedy partners and escapes Dieulveult with the mummy in spectacular manner while piloting his coffin down the Nile.

   Back in Paris as Adele is returning home with Patmosis, the government has summoned big game hunter Saint Hubert (Jean-Paul Rouve) to dispatch the pterodactyl and Esperandieu has been arrested and is about to be executed for his role in the minister’s death.

   Still with me?

   Now Adele has to rescue Esperandieu, awaken Patmosis, and save Agathe, who has a hat pin skewering her head and is in a trance-like state, thanks to a particularly savage return by Adele in a heated tennis game five years earlier.

   While Saint Hubert and a reluctant and hungry Caponi seek the pterodactyl, Zoborowski lures the pterodactyl back to the museum, and a frustrated Adele attempts time after time to help Esperandieu escape.

   One false move or note, and this kind of froth can fall completely apart, but writer director Luc Beeson (The Professional, La Femme Nikita, The Fifth Element among others) keeps it moving like a clockwork and gets more than able support from his flawless cast, including his lead, Louise Bourgon — the image of Tardi’s Adele, if even more formidable.

   And if she can’t rescue Esperandieu any other way she will break him out with the help of the pterodactyl as she rides it across the Paris skyline.

   Even awakening Patmosis turns out to be less than helpful when it turns out he is nuclear physicist and not a physician, but a tour of Rameses II’s mummy and his court is at the Louvre, and the power Esperandieu used to revive Patmosis before he died (he was psychically linked to the pterodactyl who suffered a fatal wound from Saint Hubert) may have awakened Rameses and his court including the physician.

   All she has to do is break into the Louvre with Agathe in a wheelchair and Patmosis re-animated mummy in a bowler hat and suit.

   This clever and playful film walks a fine line between farce and fantastic adventure , by turns dime novel, silent serial, and gentle satire without ever murdering the delicate mood that calls for with a false move or step. Bourgon, in particular, as our heroine manages a fine balance between outspoken modern woman, brilliant adventuress, and vulnerable sister who only wants to atone for her mistake.

   This won’t be for everyone, but if you enjoyed The Assassination Bureau, Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines, The Great Race, or Dinner with Adele, you will likely be delighted by this one.

   And there is one joke, as dry as Adele’s name, that is worth the whole film when the awakened Rameses, admiring the courtyard of the Louvre notes it could use a pyramid.

   Now why didn’t the French think of that?

   The film ends on a perfect note as the lovestruck Zoborowski meets the revived Agathe and finds a new romance, and an exhausted Adele prepares to sail on a well deserved vacation — pursued by Dieulveult’s assassins — as her ship — the Titanic — sails …

   Granted the CGI is a bit rocky here and there though more realistic would likely have ruined the look and character of the film. The special effects aren’t there to take away from the story anyway, but only to enhance it. Whatever else, this film, dedicated to Tardi, is tribute to his talent as artist and storyteller.

   I warn you though, I haven’t done it justice, I don’t think any review could.

ISLE OF MISSING MEN. Monogram, 1942. John Howard, Helen Gilbert, Gilbert Roland, Alan Mowbray, Bradley Page. Screenplay by Richard Oswald and Robert Chapin from a play by Ladislav Fodor. Directed by Richard Oswald.

   An unexpectedly classy thing to come from Hollywood’s second-most-beggarly studio of the 1940s, thanks mainly to a literate story from Ladislav Fodor (who gave us Tales of Manhattan and Kiss Before the Mirror), evocative camerawork from Paul Ivano (of Universal’s Sherlock Holmes series), and a surprisingly sumptuous cast for a Monogram film.

   John Howard, from Paramount’s “Bulldog Drummond” series headlines as the governor of a prison island somewhere in the tropics returning to work from vacation who meets a lovely woman (Helen Gilbert) on board the ship taking him back and persuades her to stop over on the island for a few days so they can get to know each other.

   Turns out the lady in question has an agenda of her own and has deliberately wangled the invitation to the island prison to help her husband (Gilbert Roland, then at the nadir of his career) escape. Dramatic complications ensue when she discovers that he is no longer the gentle, loving man she married, and, later, that he never was, really.

   Meanwhile, other complications are busy ensuing, including Howard’s officious lieutenant (Bradley Page) who feels duty-bound to check up on Miss Gilbert’s background, and Alan Mowbray’s delightful comic/pathetic drunken doctor, compelled by his love of beauty to help her in what he knows is an ill-advised scheme.

   All this spins out in a little over an hour, and if the ending seems to lack punch, the surprising depth of characterization makes the trip worthwhile. Director Oswald (father of Gerd Oswald, of the old Outer Limits show) did some interesting work back in pre-Hitler Germany, then fled to the U.S. where his career never got out of the “B” picture rut. His work here shows genuine sensitivity.

   Similarly, Bradley Page was a perennial second-string movie bad-guy who deserved better; in fact his easy-going outlaw in The Outcasts of Poker Flat (RKO, 1937) deserves a place in Western Movie lore that somehow slipped between the hoofprints.

   John Howard was forever stuck in place as the low-budget Ronald Colman, and Gilbert Roland ended up a respected character actor, but the real treasure here is Helen Gilbert. Miss Gilbert (whose many husbands included composer Mischa Bakaleinikoff and gangster Johnny Stompanato) simply radiates a sensuality that even a low-wattage movie like this cannot dim, the sort of thing one sees in actresses like Dietrich and Moreau, who had big studio resources to back them up. Her luminous presence here is just the foremost pleasure of a film that deserves seeing.