Earth vs. the Flying Saucers

(1956) Directed by Fred F. Sears; Written by Bernard Gordon and George Worthing Yates; Screen Story by Curt Siodmak; Suggested by “Flying Saucers from Outer Space,” by Major Donald E. Keyhoe; Starring: Hugh Marlowe, Joan Taylor, Donald Curtis, Morris Ankrum and Grandon Rhodes; Available on Blu-ray and DVD 

Rating: ***½ 

“Saucers were very prominent at that time, and Charles (Schneer) cut out a thing in the paper and said, ‘Let’s make a picture about flying saucers.’ I hesitated… but I thought it was a challenge to get… some sort of personality in the saucers, that there was some intelligence guiding them.” –  Ray Harryhausen (from DVD commentary)

If Earth was ever visited by extraterrestrial beings, what would that encounter look like? Would they attempt to hide their presence from us, or would they make some sort of grand gesture, purposely arriving at a prominent location or center of government? Not long after the alleged incident in Roswell, New Mexico, along with many other sightings, UFOs became a hot topic for Hollywood, with genre classics The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951), The Thing from Another World (1951), and The War of the Worlds (1953). A few years after the initial wave, producer Charles H. Schneer approached effects maestro Ray Harryhausen to make their own movie about the subject. The resulting film, Earth vs. the Flying Saucers,* his second collaboration with Schneer after The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953) plays like a story ripped from the headlines, taken to its logical, horrible conclusion. 

* Not-So-Fun-Fact: Due to the blacklist of the 1950s, screenwriter Bernard Gordon’s name was left off the credits. His name was only recently restored to the credits, when the film arrived on DVD.

In the opening scene, we’re introduced to newlyweds Dr. Russell Marvin (Hugh Marlowe) and Carol (Joan Taylor), driving along a deserted road, enroute to a rocket test base. As he begins to dictate through a tape recorder, he picks up strange sounds emanating from a huge disclike flying craft* that buzzes their car. Dr. Marvin and his wife arrive at the base, just in time to witness the impending launch of another rocket (the previous 10 went missing), but they soon discover an unauthorized visitor at the site – (you guessed it) a flying saucer. In typical Hollywood military fashion, our first direct encounter with an extraterrestrial being is marred by shooting first and asking questions later (a decision that doesn’t bode well for the soldiers on base or humanity in general). Meanwhile, in the ensuing commotion and destruction, they abduct Carol’s father, General John Hanley (Morris Ankrum), extracting his knowledge with an “infinitely indexed memory bank.” Dr. Marvin learns, belatedly, that the sounds he recorded were an initial attempt by the aliens to communicate with him.** Defying orders from his superiors, he decides to take matters into his own hands, arranging a second meeting with the extraterrestrials, *** in which he learns their malicious intent. Now, it’s us against them, as Dr. Marvin and his colleagues race against the clock to find a weakness in the invaders they can exploit. 

* Fun Fact #1: The telltale sound of the saucers came from an unlikely source – a recording of sewage moving through the pipes of the Redondo Beach wastewater facility in Southern California. The sewage plant, with its myriad twisting pipes, also served as the “high tech” rocket research lab. 

** Fun Fact #2: If the alien leader’s voice sounds familiar (despite the intentional distortion), it belongs to announcer Paul Frees who lent his ubiquitous vocal talents to many projects (including the “Ghost Host” in Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion). 

*** Fun Fact #3: The meeting spot where Dr. Marvin makes his rendezvous with the aliens is Zuma Beach, in Malibu, California.

Since the movie is called Earth vs. the Flying Saucers and not Dr. Marvin and His Delayed Honeymoon, we’re not here for the romantic subplot but to see the aliens blow stuff up. Ray Harryhausen delivers on the promise with his usual aplomb, depicting the obliteration of various Washington, DC architectural landmarks, including the Washington Monument (a scene later parodied in Tim Burton’s 1996 comedy, Mars Attacks). A hallmark of Harryhausen’s formidable skill is imbuing his creations with personality (personality that often eclipses the human characters), which extends to inorganic objects. The flying saucers* are far more than blank, featureless discs, displaying counter-rotating sections on the top and bottom, suggesting a mechanism that provides lift. The nodules on the bottom of the spacecraft served a dual purpose: imparting additional detail to the saucers, as well as enabling a practical location for Harryhausen to anchor the supporting wires. Other than the suits,** we almost never see the aliens, themselves (one is briefly revealed without their helmet). 

* Fun Fact #4: According to Harryhausen, he created eight saucers for the film: four little ones for medium shots, three larger ones for the long shots, and the biggest one (approximately 12” in diameter) for close-ups. The largest model included a telescoping cylinder for entry and exit into the saucer. 

** Fun Fact #5: Besides his animated sequences, Harryhausen made another important contribution to the film, suggesting to the filmmakers that the aliens’ suits were comprised of “solidified electricity.” As someone with a liberal arts background, I’m not sure how plausible that would be, but it sure sounds cool.

Earth vs. the Flying Saucers is not without its minor nitpicks, starting with the interior design of the spacecraft. There’s too much empty space in the saucers, leaving a large, cavernous area containing nothing (when space would likely be at a premium for an interstellar craft). And where would the telescoping cylinder (providing egress to the craft) fit? Space efficiency questions aside, probably the most problematic element is the overzealous use of stock footage* throughout. While obviously a cost-saving measure (with most sci-films of the era relegated to low-budget B-pictures), the over-abundance of stock footage causes credibility to strain at the seams at times. In one scene, a shot of jet fighters scrambling against the extraterrestrial threat is intercut with footage of propeller planes crashing. Thankfully, most of the footage used integrates more convincingly, but these momentary lapses demand our suspension of disbelief.   

* Fun Fact #6: In the sequence where a cathedral is blown up, the filmmakers repurposed an effects shot from The War of the Worlds, depicting the destruction of Los Angeles City Hall.

Perhaps the most frustrating aspect of Earth vs. the Flying Saucers is that it glosses over one of the most intriguing themes it raises: conflict started over miscommunication. Arguably, the war between an alien race is at least partially due to our negligence. I can’t help but speculate what could have been if humans had found a common ground with the aliens, but amidst the milieu of paranoia and distrust of the mid-50s, a peaceful solution wasn’t in the cards. There’s much ado about the colorized version in the DVD’s supplemental materials (endorsed by Harryhausen himself), but despite the advances of the process, it looks unnatural and uncanny (and not in a good way). I much prefer the original black-and-white version, with its moody contrast and newsreel footage quality. Whichever version you choose, however, you’re guaranteed to see a film that lives up to its title.

It Came from Beneath the Sea

(1955) Directed by Robert Gordon; Written by George Worthing Yates and Harold Jacob Smith; Starring: Kenneth Tobey, Faith Domergue, Donald Curtis and Ian Keith

Available on Blu-ray and DVD

Rating: ***½

“It’s just like the basic concept of Mickey Mouse. He only has four fingers… So why animate an extra one that you’d hardly ever show? Nobody counted them. I didn’t think anybody would count them… Unfortunately, one time I was interviewed by a certain magazine (Famous Monsters of Filmland), and I let it be known that the octopus was actually a sextopus.”
 – Ray Harryhausen (excerpt from 2007 DVD commentary)

Thanks to Quiggy from The Midnite Drive-In and J-Dub from Dubsism for hosting the Disaster Blogathon, a three-day exploration of calamity in its myriad forms. Since this blogathon coincides with Sea Monster Month, I present for your approval Ray Harryhausen’s sea monster spectacle, It Came from Beneath the Sea.

 Ah, 1950s America… McCarthyism, the omnipresent threat of nuclear annihilation, and growing social unrest. If that wasn’t enough to make you question the “good old days,” every manner of super-sized radioactive creature was out to kill us. Okay, maybe that last threat was fictional (as far as we know), but that premise was enough to keep audiences glued in their seats and ready to come back for whatever new terror awaited them. It Came from Beneath the Sea was the brainchild of producer Charles H. Schneer, who after watching The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms, wanted to collaborate with Ray Harryhausen on a movie depicting a creature destroying San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge.

The movie begins with some unnecessary voiceover narration (don’t worry, it’ll be back to annoy us) before we’re introduced to the crew of a U.S. nuclear submarine as they narrowly avoid a disaster, escaping the sticky clutches of an unknown aquatic beast. This prompts the navy and the sub’s commander, Pete Mathews (Kenneth Tobey) to lead an investigation, recruiting two top marine biologists, Professor Lesley Joyce (Faith Domergue) and Dr. John Carter (Donald Curtis).

Amidst the sea monster plot, there’s a tepid love triangle between Mathews, Joyce and Carter. At least on the surface, the two scientists appear to have much more in common, which should have created more friction with Mathews. Carter seems to be a genuinely nice guy, recognizing her for her accomplishments and respecting her credentials. Instead, the script chooses to place the alpha-male Mathews as victor by default (I suppose the heart wants what the heart wants, but I have to question Joyce’s judgement in this case). Joyce isn’t that easy, however, as illustrated by an innuendo-laden scene that sneaked by the censors. When Mathews comes on a bit too strong, she teases him, embracing a graduated cylinder in a way that seems a bit too familiar (wink, wink).

It Came from Beneath the Sea takes a reasonably progressive stance toward women, at least by 1950s standards, albeit through mixed signals. In an early scene, pompous Navy officials dismiss Joyce’s theory about a giant octopus. Domergue effectively communicates her character being shut down through body language, displaying a combination of devastation and barely suppressed anger. In a later scene, when Commander Mathews tries to convince her to leave, it’s clear that he’d rather have her out of the way than concede her superiority in her field of expertise. Dr. Carter reminds Mathews that his colleague Joyce is smart, independent and capable, yet somehow manages to be condescending (“…there’s a whole new breed that feel they’re just as smart, just as courageous as men.”). Less than a minute later, his speech is undercut when the title creature makes a dramatic appearance on the Oregon coastline, causing Joyce (in typical ‘50s fashion) to scream her head off.

Because the film was a low budget production, the filmmakers relied on ingenuity* to tell their big fish (uh, cephalopod) tale. One trick was the abundant use of stock footage. Most of it blends in quite well, especially introductory shots of the atomic submarine Nautilus (the real one, launched in 1954). Subsequent shots don’t match up, as when we see the crew on the deck of a conventional World War II era submarine,** which misses the clean lines of the vessel that was established in the opening scene. Cost-cutting measures carried over to the music score from Mischa Bakaleinikoff, consisting of music sourced from other film soundtracks in the Columbia Pictures library.

** Fun Fact #1: The filmmakers couldn’t get cooperation from the City of San Francisco to shoot within the city, necessitating the crew to shoot location footage (including the famous bridge) covertly.

** Fun Fact #2: Likewise, the submarine interior was filmed inside a real (non-nuclear) Navy sub in dry dock, adding to the authenticity of the cramped scenes. However, it’s easy to see, even by 1955 standards, that this is not the interior of a state-of-the-art modern submarine.

Despite some penny pinching, Ray Harryhausen works his stop-motion magic with the giant octopus.* Due to time and budgetary limitations, it proved cost effective to animate six tentacles instead of eight, although Harryhausen joked that the radioactive beast would have been reduced to a tripod if the budget had been much smaller. The interior metal armature was provided by Harryhausen’s father, a longtime collaborator on his film projects. As with many of his creations, Harryhausen added signature touches, such as a subtle flick of a tentacle, which infused the creature with a lifelike eccentricity. Whether it's sinking a ship, tearing down the Golden Gate Bridge,* or wreaking havoc on the San Francisco waterfront, it’s difficult not to feel a sense of perverse pleasure from the trail of destruction caused by the mutant octopus.

* Fun Fact #3: To create the texture of the octopus’ skin, Harryhausen used crumpled tin foil and made a cast.

** Fun Fact #4: Harryhausen built a replica of a section of the Golden Gate Bridge out of lead, which would crush easily. Where’s the replica now? According to Harryhausen, it once belonged to science fiction editor/collector Forrest J. Ackerman, but has since been acquired by filmmaker Peter Jackson.

Between the scenes of monster mayhem, there are some pacing issues, but it’s a small price to pay for the dividends we receive, courtesy of Mr. Harryhausen’s mesmerizing effects. After all, we’re not here for the scintillating dialogue, smoldering romance, or pseudo-scientific conjecture. We’re just here to see a malevolent creature from the deep tear the crap out of the Golden Gate Bridge and cause wholesale destruction on land and sea. I’m happy to report that It Came from Beneath the Sea more than delivers on that account.

Little Shop of Horrors

(1986) Directed by: Frank Oz; Written by Howard Ashman; Based on the musical play by Howard Ashman, which was based on the screenplay by Roger Corman and Charles B. Griffith; Starring: Rick Moranis, Ellen Greene, Levi Stubbs, Vincent Gardenia, Steve Martin, John Candy and Bill Murray

Available on Blu-ray and DVD

Rating: ****

“…Howard Ashman was very helpful…he suggested not to be subtle. Just to be flat out bold, and start singing immediately, as opposed to trying, in most musicals, where you transition from talk to singing. Here, on purpose, on stage, on the movie, we have them singing flat out immediately, and it’s a wink to the audience saying, ‘We know it’s a musical we’re just gonna go all the way with it.’” – Frank Oz (from DVD commentary)

Whenever someone says they don’t like musicals, Little Shop of Horrors inevitably pops up on most people’s short list of exceptions. It’s not difficult to see why. In some ways, it’s the anti-musical, with its morbid, B-movie premise, based on the off-Broadway stage production, which in turn was based off the quickie Roger Corman comedy/horror film from 1960.* The core story remains intact: A young nebbish toiling away in a skid row flower shop inadvertently stumbles upon a plant with an unusual appetite. He nurtures the sickly flora to health, but before he knows it, it’s the plant that’s controlling him, not the other way around. Budgeted at a relatively modest $25 million,** director Frank Oz’s version of the film was substantially more elaborate than the source material, with the six-month shoot taking place on the cavernous 007 sound stage at Pinewood Studios.

* Fun Fact #1: I’m not counting the 1973 pseudo-remake/softcore parody, Please Don’t Eat My Mother.

** Fun Fact #2: Producer David Geffen originally envisioned Little Shop of Horrors as a low budget (around $6 million) production, with Steven Spielberg executive producing and Martin Scorsese directing.

Rick Moranis was perfectly cast as Seymour Krelborn, the klutzy florist who becomes an unwilling accomplice to the monster plant’s murderous diet. Ellen Greene excels (in a role she originated on the London stage) as Seymour’s ditzy-but-big-hearted co-worker Audrey. Vincent Gardenia amuses as their sarcastic, penny pinching boss Mr. Mushnik (spelled “Mushnick” in the Corman film). Crystal, Ronette and Chiffon (Tichina Arnold, Michelle Weeks and Tisha Campbell-Martin, respectively) serve as a musical version of a Greek chorus, our tour guides through Seymour’s skid row neighborhood. Levi Stubbs from The Four Tops lends his amazing vocal talents for the enormous carnivorous plant, Audrey II. The plant itself,** designed by Lyle Conway, appears in four different sizes, with the final form requiring a crew of up to 60 individuals to operate.

* Fun Fact #3: Before Greene was (wisely) selected, the studio considered Barbra Streisand and Cyndi Lauper for the role of Audrey.

** Fun Fact #4: In his DVD commentary, Oz explained that three sets were employed to create the illusion of Audrey II singing and moving: one with human actors, one specifically with the plant, and another one for special effects. Moranis alone was shot in the standard 24 fps, but due to the limitations of working with foam rubber, scenes with Audrey II were shot in 16 fps and sped up. Likewise, when the human actors appeared together with Audrey II, they had to act out their scenes very slowly, to match the slower frame rate.

As good as the leads are, many of the smaller roles almost steal the show, with all at the top of their comedic game. John Candy, who ad-libbed his dialogue, appears as Wink Wilkerson, the manic host of a radio show focusing on weird things. Steve Martin plays the sadistic dentist Orin Scrivello like a sociopathic Elvis. He finds his match in a masochistic patient played by Bill Murray (taking over the role from Jack Nicholson in the original film), also ad-libbing his lines. The movie also features fun cameos by Christopher Guest and Jim Belushi.

A musical is only as strong as its songs, but thanks to the songwriting team of Howard Ashman and Alan Menken (The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast), Little Shop of Horrors is more than up to the task. “Skid Row (Downtown)” is an early standout, conveying the desperation of Seymour and Audrey’s living conditions. “Somewhere That’s Green” is Audrey’s ode to suburban life that jumped off the pages of Better Homes and Gardens, replete with Tupperware parties and eating TV dinners with her imaginary family (including kids that are carbon copies of their parents). “Dentist!” is Orin Scrivello’s tribute to sadism. With the show-stopping (Oscar-nominated) “Mean Green Mother from Outer Space” Audrey II reveals his true intentions.

(Spoiler Alert) The “Director’s Cut” Blu-ray recreates, in a rough form, what preview audiences experienced, and much to Oz’s dismay, rejected. As originally planned, the film remained true to the stage production, as well as, the original movie. Unfortunately for Oz and a team of effects people who worked on the original ending, preview audiences in San Jose and Los Angeles didn’t like the idea that Seymour and Audrey were killed off, and the plant prevailed. In the end, the original ending was scrapped, in favor of something more audience-pleasing. Admittedly, seeing this different version, after the revised ending I’ve known and loved all these years, was a hard pill to swallow. I’m glad we can finally experience the film, more or less, as it was intended, but it’s a complete, and not entirely comfortable, shift in tone. According to Oz: “…when the plant kills Seymour and Audrey on stage, the actors afterwards take a bow. The difference is in movies they don’t take a bow. They’re gone and so the audience lost the people they loved, as opposed to the theater audience where they knew the two people who played Audrey and Seymour were still alive.” (excerpt from 2012 Entertainment Weekly interview, “Little Shop of Horrors: A Q&A with Frank Oz”)

Little Shop of Horrors is one of those uncommon instances where the new version improves upon the source material. Not to denigrate the Corman movie, which is charming in its own right, but the 1986 film adds a level of pathos not present in the original. Despite being a multimillion dollar production, Oz and writer Howard Ashman stay true to its humble origins. The combination of infectious songs, funny gags, likeable leads, and a great monster add up to an irresistible viewing experience. If you haven’t seen it yet, what are you waiting for? If you have, see it again.

First Men in the Moon

(1964) Directed by Nathan Juran; Written by Nigel Kneale and Jan Read; Based on the novel by H.G. Wells; Starring: Edward Judd, Martha Hyer and Lionel Jeffries

Available on Blu-ray and DVD

Rating: ***½

“H.G. Wells did suggest that perhaps the ant men grew intelligence far in advance to the human race on earth. So we wanted that element, and I designed the moon creatures as ants, intelligent ants.”– Ray Harryhausen (from The Harryhausen Chronicles featurette)

Thanks to Debbie Vega from Moon in Gemini for hosting the Outer Space on Film Blogathon. Be sure to check out all of the participants here.

The imaginative worlds of H.G. Wells and Ray Harryhausen’s fanciful stop-motion creations are such an ideal pairing* that it’s not surprising Mr. Harryhausen intended to make a film version of one of the author’s works since the 1930s. It is surprising, however, that Harryhausen first adaptation of a Wells story wasn’t until 1964,** with First Men in the Moon. Based on Wells’ 1901 novel, the story is mainly set in 1899, incorporating co-writer Nigel Kneale’s (Quatermass and the Pit) idea to frame the Victorian-age story with a modern-day (circa 1964) lunar expedition. Nathan “Jerry” Juran, who previously collaborated with Harryhausen on 20 Million Miles to Earth and The 7^th Voyage of Sinbad, once again provided directorial chores.   

* Fun Fact #1: Harryhausen tried to get a production of War of Worlds off the ground in 1949, but couldn’t garner enough interest from short-sighted film producers. His sketches and test footage remain, providing us a tantalizing glimpse of what could have been.

** Fun Fact #2: The first adaptation of Wells’ novel was in 1919, but this version appears to have been lost.

First Men in the Moon begins with a multinational voyage to the moon (a joint venture between the U.S., Soviets and Great Britain). As they begin to explore the lunar surface, their moment of triumph is cut short. They discover someone has beaten them to the punch, with a small, weathered British flag as evidence. A U.N. team is promptly dispatched to England, to learn about the origins of the expedition. The investigation leads to a rest home, where an elderly gentleman, Arnold Bedford (Edward Judd in old-age makeup)* relates his fateful extraterrestrial voyage, with most of the remaining story told in flashback. Bedford, up to his ears in debt and hoping to make a quick pound, forms a business partnership with Professor Cavor (Lionel Jeffries), who has invented a gravity-defying substance, Cavorite. Cavor creates a spherical-shaped craft for the lunar voyage, and they embark on a trip to the moon, with Bedford’s unwitting fiancée Kate (Martha Hyer) in tow. When they arrive, they encounter an underground city populated by the Selenites, a race of intelligent, insectoid creatures.

* Watch for a small, but amusing role by veteran actor Miles Malleson as the Dymchurch Registrar, who helps the U.N. team discover the whereabouts of Bedford.

Bedford, our nominal protagonist, starts out sympathetic, but becomes increasingly irritating as his incompetence grows. He makes one poor decision after another. He uses his fiancée as a pawn in his scheme to avoid his debt collectors. When he observes the results of the professor’s amazing invention, he latches on to it as means of getting rich quick. Not long after his arrival on the moon, he gets into trouble with the inhabitants.  First Men in the Moon employs the age-old cliché in which the woefully outnumbered, albeit morally and physically superior protagonist, successfully defeats the natives on their own turf. Cavor observes, “You’ve certainly given them a taste of human violence.”  Bedford shows no remorse for the havoc he creates, or consideration for the consequences of his actions. Cavor wants to establish communication with the Selenites, contrasted with Bedford, who wants to survive at any cost, even if that involves killing Selenites along the way.

Lionel Jeffries shines as the absent-minded Professor Cavor, an incurable eccentric who possesses an indomitable childlike sense of wonder and prefers guard geese to guard dogs

(It’s hard to resist lines like, “Geese, I adore. Chickens, I detest.”). He’s introduced as a scatter brain, but his true colors emerge, once he’s on the moon, facing the unknown. In one scene after a group of Selenites are no longer needed, they’re cocooned and placed in suspended animation for later use. This evokes some mild social commentary by Cavor: “Well, it’s a unique way of dealing with unemployment. Entirely reasonable, I suppose.” That is, until the horrible ramifications catch up, and Cavor and Kate realize they could be next. He meets with the Selenite leader, The Grand Lunar, who decides the secret of Cavorite should remain with them, to prevent more humans from coming. Considering Bedford’s rash actions and Cavor’s unflinching account of humanity’s checkered history, the Selenites’ concerns don’t seem unwarranted.

The most under-developed character is Kate (Martha Hyer), which isn’t too much of a surprise, considering her character wasn’t in the source material (Shouldn’t the movie be called First People in the Moon?). To her credit, she isn’t a mere damsel in distress, and doesn’t scream at the sight of the Selenites. She does her share of fighting when they try to drag her away, and actively assists Bedford with the repair of the sphere. To her detriment, her character is far too fickle. After she falls victim to Bedford’s fraudulent attempt to transfer the title of his rented cottage to her, she threatens to leave him, but her ire is only temporary. Ultimately, she sticks with him, despite the clumsy subterfuge.   

* Fun Fact #3: Although the film insinuates that Kate is the youngest, Martha Hyer was the oldest of the three leads, being 8 years Judd’s senior, and nearly two years older than Jeffries.

 

As with any film involving Ray Harryhausen (he also served as executive producer), the effects are the true star. While Harryhausen created the stop motion effects, he coordinated with Les Bowie’s effects company, which assisted with the moon sets and other effects. As with other film projects, his father Fred Harryhausen designed the armatures for the moon creatures. It’s a little too obvious that the filmmakers cut corners where they could – most of the Selenite footage is nothing more than people in awkward rubbery suits. The animated sequences, which are sadly not as prevalent, are much more convincing, featuring more insectile Selenites, as well as a giant mooncalf, which resembles an overgrown caterpillar. The sets and props are well done, capturing a distinctly Victorian appearance. Most notable is the distinctive sea urchin-shaped moon vessel, with a plush interior, furnished in green velvet, wood paneling and brass accents.

First Men in the Moon is best categorized as a science fiction/fantasy, for playing fast and loose with the science. I’m not an expert in astrophysics, but I question the validity of the mysterious substance Cavorite and its gravity blocking properties. Also, Cavor and Bedford’s moon suits are conspicuously missing gloves, leaving their hands, and presumably the rest of their bodies open to the vacuum of space and any temperature extremes. There’s also a convenient solar eclipse, which temporarily shuts down the city, and places the Selenites into a deep sleep. When the mooncalf meets its demise, the Selenites scavenge every last scrap from the carcass, leaving a skeleton (!). Considering the creature appears to follow the same basic insect physiology of the Selenites, it should have had an exoskeleton, rather than an endoskeleton. Perhaps it was some sort of hybrid, so I’ll give it a pass. And yes, I know we’re not supposed to ask these things. By this time, I think we’ve established Nathan Juran wasn’t Stanley Kubrick

There’s an undeniable sense of déjà vu about the story elements, cobbled together from other H.G. Wells stories. Cavor’s discovery that the sphere was dragged away by the Selenites, echoes the actions of the Morlocks in The Time Machine. Likewise, the film’s ending is lifted from War of the Worlds. There are also some pacing issues that threaten to derail the movie. The story becomes bogged down in a romantic subplot, and we’re almost halfway through the film’s running time before the moon voyage is underway. But despite some creaky elements, there’s much to like about First Men in the Moon. Harryhausen’s always enthralling stop-motion animation and Jeffries’ animated, enthusiastic portrayal of Professor Cavor makes it a delight to watch. It’s a prime example of a sub-genre of Victorian-age sci-fi that was prevalent in the 1950s and 1960s that’s mostly faded away.