Hmm. To shmoosh or not to shmoosh? Should this author, in blatant flouting of recent tradition, resort to shmooshing a lot of hot air into a blog post, or instead commit to some overly worthy bit of storytelling or reviewing? It would be so easy to fall into a habit of endlessly alternating between focus and non-focus, between trying to get to the conclusion of 'Wordspace' and just pitter-pattering at the keyboard until at least four paragraphs of text have miraculously emerged. No, on this occasion the pattern must be broken. Let's shmoosh!
Originally, almost a couple of weeks ago in fact, this title was going to be used for blathering about my attempts to shmoosh the first phase of the serial story 'Triangles' into a single entry, and how bizarrely difficult it is to get into full shmooshing mode. Once you've got there though, shmooshing (please don't go thinking that 'shmoosh' is a real word, by the way!) is very easy; you just need to be mildly deranged, partially phased into a different mental dimension, and inordinately unaware of everything else but the paper in front of you. Editing demands paper; Nothing else will do! Similarly, hot air condensation needs a keyboard and a mild instability.
Oh, to shmoosh, or not to shmoosh? It's a tough path. Even now the temptation is to twist off onto a targeted tangent and talk about the rather excellent episode of 'Maverick' that just spun off the DVD player, or to wonder at the novels currently being processed in my book pile, or even to write a totally redundant blog about the famed classic movie 'Jaws' that I watched earlier in the day. No, there's very little left to be said about 'Jaws', if anything at all. Only Spielberg and Dreyfus know whatever else is there to be said, and they're not telling!
Oh, the reams of things that could be reported, if it were that kind of day. Yes, the pool was crowded once again, with families making and characteristically rude invasions and hogging the place. Yes, preoccupations are growing with somehow finding copies of the lesser known and short-lived 1993 series 'Moon Over Miami'. Darn, I wish I had never remembered it existed! It was actually a sweet detective romantic comedy show that ran for only thirteen episodes, and which almost no-one remembers. It will never make it to DVD on anything but bootleg, but oh it would be a nice bootleg to have! It's just one of those odd moments of television that will never reappear again, like 'Sharky and George', 'Crazy Like A Fox', 'Close And True' and horribly 'Muppet Babies'. Getting back on track: Yes, this is yet another day of not learning Greek. All these things are normal.
Blast, now I'll be thinking about 'Muppet Babies' too! It's a world of torment for the man-children out there! No wonder the world is full of confused people! 'Batman' still won't arrive for weeks, in order to dispel the gloom.
Bring on the orange jelly and article corrections. It's going to be a long haul.
O.
PS Consider yourself shmooshed.
Sunday, 16 November 2014
Friday, 14 November 2014
In the library
The village library is full of fascination. It might be a moderately sized room, airy and spacious and lined with books, but there is a sense of history about the place. You can imagine generations of people wandering in and out, while you while away an afternoon there as a volunteer, some by choice and some by association. Stories flit through the mind, some true, and some obviously made up.
There was 'Rusty' Jack Jones, the miner who tried to foment the great library revolt of 1972, but was unfortunately foiled by a library attendant with a handy line in projectile manuals. The library revolt was sadly a failure, and the systemic despotism was continued until Dai 'Whistle Blower' Jones made it across the border to the next county and spilled the beans to the relevant authorities. There followed then a purge, the likes of which had not been before and never since. People still wince at the very mention of Whitaker's Almanack.
As I sit here, considering the truths of lengthy unemployment and a week of no job news while the people tap away on the library computers, it's a good time to count the positives. Crikey, the world is still spinning, life goes on, the whole of season two of 'Dharma and Greg' (don't ask) is stretching ahead on DVD, things are there to be done, and piles of books are waiting to be read!
Oh, books, the panacea for all the worst horrors of existence. Life would be a totally different experience without books. Without books, there would be no village library and stories about Mabel Ablewhite, the deranged book bender of Dyfed. Mabel was on a library watch list across all of South Wales, mainly due to her intense and compulsive bending of paperback books. Ultimately she was caught trying to bend a telephone directory in the late 1980s, in the wrong direction, and was never seen or heard of again after being taken away by some heavily laden library assistants.
Books have been with me as long as I can remember, before computers, television and music. Long may it continue. Oh, how lucky it was to have so many Star Trek novels of my own and books to read at primary school!
O.
There was 'Rusty' Jack Jones, the miner who tried to foment the great library revolt of 1972, but was unfortunately foiled by a library attendant with a handy line in projectile manuals. The library revolt was sadly a failure, and the systemic despotism was continued until Dai 'Whistle Blower' Jones made it across the border to the next county and spilled the beans to the relevant authorities. There followed then a purge, the likes of which had not been before and never since. People still wince at the very mention of Whitaker's Almanack.
As I sit here, considering the truths of lengthy unemployment and a week of no job news while the people tap away on the library computers, it's a good time to count the positives. Crikey, the world is still spinning, life goes on, the whole of season two of 'Dharma and Greg' (don't ask) is stretching ahead on DVD, things are there to be done, and piles of books are waiting to be read!
Oh, books, the panacea for all the worst horrors of existence. Life would be a totally different experience without books. Without books, there would be no village library and stories about Mabel Ablewhite, the deranged book bender of Dyfed. Mabel was on a library watch list across all of South Wales, mainly due to her intense and compulsive bending of paperback books. Ultimately she was caught trying to bend a telephone directory in the late 1980s, in the wrong direction, and was never seen or heard of again after being taken away by some heavily laden library assistants.
Books have been with me as long as I can remember, before computers, television and music. Long may it continue. Oh, how lucky it was to have so many Star Trek novels of my own and books to read at primary school!
O.
Wednesday, 12 November 2014
Story: Wordspace, XXII
(Part I , XXI , XXIII)
The Conclave of the Abstracts assembled in a semi-circle about the portal from which Mystery's band had emerged a few hours before. The Lesser and Greater Abstracts present settled into a quickly constructed amphitheatre, built out of the consonants and vowels that could be quickly harvested from the nearby vegetation. Even in the scrub surrounding the Zone of Jargon enough was found to seat the grandness of Time, the melancholy of Death, the radiance of Life, and the clipboard of Destiny.
Mystery opened the Conclave, and immediately they made a small poll to determine who should chair the occasion. After only one round of votes, the winner turned out to be saintly Truth, who shuffled to the impromptu podium (a pile of ampersands), and addressed the masses somewhat lengthily, but of course with great fidelity to the purpose at hand.
Mystery stepped back into the crowd and looked at the audience beyond the abstracts, the nouns and adjectives with nothing obscure to their meanings, all waiting to see what might happen. Only the sentries maintained a vigil apart from watching the Conclave, where Truth had introduced Introspection, and was now listening to that fine and thoughtful word's report on the current state of the Wordspace.
War and Tactics were amongst the serried ranks of the Abstracts, taking notes, and Cloud was overhead. Somewhere out there in the wilderness, Earth and the other Elements were hopefully still surviving, or else they would be reborn out of the Well of Vocabulary, fresh and innocent all over again. Almost everyone had been at some point, Mystery himself remembering days of idle learning amongst his mentors and at the foot of School himself. He wondered idly about Fire, who shimmered so when it got agitated.
The report ran that the Invader had roundly trounced and annihilated several of the small colonies, and had almost crushed Earth's group before they had barrelled him over and made a run for the Zone. Then they had run, according to the Zone's guardians Constancy and Solidity, and this second group had arrived some days later. Dedication, this group's leader, had decided the Zone to be a last bastion of safety, and a good defensive position, should all efforts to resist fail. Now there would be resistance aplenty, if the Destructives had their way.
Once the report had completed, Truth invited War to the too-small podium, and there he asked the questions that would shape his thinking of how to continue. He sought descriptions of the Invader, hints on the motivation, interrogated Mystery and Club on the report from the mysterious Silly Stone, and then stood silently for a moment.
A sentry hooted from its perch on the side of the Zone, and Mystery turned to look at the horizon. The dust of punctuation was stirring. Something was about to happen. He turned to look at the band he had rescued from the Zone, who were as suddenly uncertain as he. War whistled, and called out orders, and his army formed.
Here ends Phase 1 of 'Wordspace', which shall be continued another time.
The Conclave of the Abstracts assembled in a semi-circle about the portal from which Mystery's band had emerged a few hours before. The Lesser and Greater Abstracts present settled into a quickly constructed amphitheatre, built out of the consonants and vowels that could be quickly harvested from the nearby vegetation. Even in the scrub surrounding the Zone of Jargon enough was found to seat the grandness of Time, the melancholy of Death, the radiance of Life, and the clipboard of Destiny.
Mystery opened the Conclave, and immediately they made a small poll to determine who should chair the occasion. After only one round of votes, the winner turned out to be saintly Truth, who shuffled to the impromptu podium (a pile of ampersands), and addressed the masses somewhat lengthily, but of course with great fidelity to the purpose at hand.
Mystery stepped back into the crowd and looked at the audience beyond the abstracts, the nouns and adjectives with nothing obscure to their meanings, all waiting to see what might happen. Only the sentries maintained a vigil apart from watching the Conclave, where Truth had introduced Introspection, and was now listening to that fine and thoughtful word's report on the current state of the Wordspace.
War and Tactics were amongst the serried ranks of the Abstracts, taking notes, and Cloud was overhead. Somewhere out there in the wilderness, Earth and the other Elements were hopefully still surviving, or else they would be reborn out of the Well of Vocabulary, fresh and innocent all over again. Almost everyone had been at some point, Mystery himself remembering days of idle learning amongst his mentors and at the foot of School himself. He wondered idly about Fire, who shimmered so when it got agitated.
The report ran that the Invader had roundly trounced and annihilated several of the small colonies, and had almost crushed Earth's group before they had barrelled him over and made a run for the Zone. Then they had run, according to the Zone's guardians Constancy and Solidity, and this second group had arrived some days later. Dedication, this group's leader, had decided the Zone to be a last bastion of safety, and a good defensive position, should all efforts to resist fail. Now there would be resistance aplenty, if the Destructives had their way.
Once the report had completed, Truth invited War to the too-small podium, and there he asked the questions that would shape his thinking of how to continue. He sought descriptions of the Invader, hints on the motivation, interrogated Mystery and Club on the report from the mysterious Silly Stone, and then stood silently for a moment.
A sentry hooted from its perch on the side of the Zone, and Mystery turned to look at the horizon. The dust of punctuation was stirring. Something was about to happen. He turned to look at the band he had rescued from the Zone, who were as suddenly uncertain as he. War whistled, and called out orders, and his army formed.
Here ends Phase 1 of 'Wordspace', which shall be continued another time.
Monday, 10 November 2014
Phone Calls
This was going to be called 'What if the world was a shoelace?' but the title was too good so it's being saved for some greater inspiration, perhaps one involving the meaning of life, the universe and spinach. Oh yes, spinach must have a meaning, but who are we to judge? Spinach Existentialists Anonymous?
Phone calls happened today, and they were stressful. Surely other people can't have as much trouble with the beastly things? Preparing to make a phone call is a microcosm of the problems of procrastination writ large. Can you have a microcosm writ large? Let us assume for now that we can. Procrastination is a cumulative problem, a barrier that grows thicker and more impenetrable with every second and every task put off. So it is with phone calls.
Breaking the barrier of procrastination is something that really needs to be trained into you, sometimes by the fascinating field of Cognitive Behaviour Therapy, or CBT. At first experience, CBT seems far less than useful, but if very often works. In my case, I just had to become aware of the dangerous behaviour and break the habit as well as I could. Those grooves in the brain surely do take a lot of writing over. Grooves in the brain... like grooves on a record... Both can be formed by the Electric Mayhem, and equal depth...
"What, a seemingly random mention of the Electric Mayhem?"
The Electric Mayhem Orchestra were the house band on 'The Muppet Show', the raucous and impulsive rock group that dominated every moment they appeared in. If you want to beat procrastination, then the Mayhem are the ones to emulate, especially the drummer Animal. Go for it, people, and listen to the patronising blogger. Just be ready before you jump.
We can be sure Animal wouldn't have a problem with making phone calls; he would just use the receiver as a drumstick. Maybe there are better role models, after all.
O.
Phone calls happened today, and they were stressful. Surely other people can't have as much trouble with the beastly things? Preparing to make a phone call is a microcosm of the problems of procrastination writ large. Can you have a microcosm writ large? Let us assume for now that we can. Procrastination is a cumulative problem, a barrier that grows thicker and more impenetrable with every second and every task put off. So it is with phone calls.
Breaking the barrier of procrastination is something that really needs to be trained into you, sometimes by the fascinating field of Cognitive Behaviour Therapy, or CBT. At first experience, CBT seems far less than useful, but if very often works. In my case, I just had to become aware of the dangerous behaviour and break the habit as well as I could. Those grooves in the brain surely do take a lot of writing over. Grooves in the brain... like grooves on a record... Both can be formed by the Electric Mayhem, and equal depth...
"What, a seemingly random mention of the Electric Mayhem?"
The Electric Mayhem Orchestra were the house band on 'The Muppet Show', the raucous and impulsive rock group that dominated every moment they appeared in. If you want to beat procrastination, then the Mayhem are the ones to emulate, especially the drummer Animal. Go for it, people, and listen to the patronising blogger. Just be ready before you jump.
We can be sure Animal wouldn't have a problem with making phone calls; he would just use the receiver as a drumstick. Maybe there are better role models, after all.
O.
Saturday, 8 November 2014
Story: Wordspace, XXI
(Part I , XX , XXII)
"Redundant miscellany" was what Mystery said into the aperture beside the portal. Two layers of jargon away, the form of the guardian waved some letters in assent, and operated the primitive switch that kept the portal safely locked down.
Mystery waited.
The exit portal opened, in the airlock fashion that had defined the entrance, and Mystery led its band of saviours, or so it hoped they might be, through into the wider world of the Wordspace. As they began their transition, War suddenly whirled and clutched two of the cohort, and then flung them far into the interior of the Zone. The portal closed long before they reached the egress, War never looking back as they assembled outside and shuddered under the great syllables of Sky.
"Not all of us were safe to be trusted." Was all War would mutter, and Mystery didn't debate the point; some words were too destructive to be even with his band of Destructives. He instead directed his attention the guardian, in this case Constancy's apprentice Solidity. "Greetings and conjugation to you, friend."
"May you be free of punctuation," replied Solidity, "and welcome." The youthful guardian bowed to Mystery and its companions, not entirely without fear. Lies winked at it.
Outside the portal, they were surrounded by chaos as hundred of words scattered about setting up makeshift structures and organising themselves. To one side some of the Lesser Abstracts were assembled and waiting for Mystery's arrival, while high above on the side of the Zone it could see sentries posted, and on the horizon his old friend Cloud was zooming along, possibly on patrol. Truth waved from a cluster of Greater Abstracts, and Lies went to meet its old friend, while Mystery was detained by duty.
The remnants of the Council watched Mystery approach, with its friend Club behind him and to its left and War to its right. Surprisingly, Mystery felt more people get in line, and saw Truth and Lies flanking him too. The Lesser Abstracts assembled include Medicine, Regulation, Refraction, Wimsy and Entertainment. Wimsy winked, even as Regulation shrank backwards at the growing presence of War. The whole atmosphere changed, as it became clear that there was now a genuine leader in the room.
"Tell us now whether we are in present danger, then if there is opportunity what has been going on while Mystery was recruiting us, what you know about the traitor Change, and then we will organise our plans." War's tone was imperious as it commanded the Council. "Where are the Great Ones, who used to be in charge?"
Mystery murmured, "The Great Abstracts abdicated responsibility in favour of a rotating Council of Lessers shortly after sending you into exile."
Regulation handed over a printed report, which War consumed quickly. It looked at the Council. "We shall have a Conclave of all Abstracts present."
A conclave!
To be continued...
"Redundant miscellany" was what Mystery said into the aperture beside the portal. Two layers of jargon away, the form of the guardian waved some letters in assent, and operated the primitive switch that kept the portal safely locked down.
Mystery waited.
The exit portal opened, in the airlock fashion that had defined the entrance, and Mystery led its band of saviours, or so it hoped they might be, through into the wider world of the Wordspace. As they began their transition, War suddenly whirled and clutched two of the cohort, and then flung them far into the interior of the Zone. The portal closed long before they reached the egress, War never looking back as they assembled outside and shuddered under the great syllables of Sky.
"Not all of us were safe to be trusted." Was all War would mutter, and Mystery didn't debate the point; some words were too destructive to be even with his band of Destructives. He instead directed his attention the guardian, in this case Constancy's apprentice Solidity. "Greetings and conjugation to you, friend."
"May you be free of punctuation," replied Solidity, "and welcome." The youthful guardian bowed to Mystery and its companions, not entirely without fear. Lies winked at it.
Outside the portal, they were surrounded by chaos as hundred of words scattered about setting up makeshift structures and organising themselves. To one side some of the Lesser Abstracts were assembled and waiting for Mystery's arrival, while high above on the side of the Zone it could see sentries posted, and on the horizon his old friend Cloud was zooming along, possibly on patrol. Truth waved from a cluster of Greater Abstracts, and Lies went to meet its old friend, while Mystery was detained by duty.
The remnants of the Council watched Mystery approach, with its friend Club behind him and to its left and War to its right. Surprisingly, Mystery felt more people get in line, and saw Truth and Lies flanking him too. The Lesser Abstracts assembled include Medicine, Regulation, Refraction, Wimsy and Entertainment. Wimsy winked, even as Regulation shrank backwards at the growing presence of War. The whole atmosphere changed, as it became clear that there was now a genuine leader in the room.
"Tell us now whether we are in present danger, then if there is opportunity what has been going on while Mystery was recruiting us, what you know about the traitor Change, and then we will organise our plans." War's tone was imperious as it commanded the Council. "Where are the Great Ones, who used to be in charge?"
Mystery murmured, "The Great Abstracts abdicated responsibility in favour of a rotating Council of Lessers shortly after sending you into exile."
Regulation handed over a printed report, which War consumed quickly. It looked at the Council. "We shall have a Conclave of all Abstracts present."
A conclave!
To be continued...
Thursday, 6 November 2014
One Day Late
Ah, a late post. In the chaos of preparing for today's interview, which went incredible badly and will not be alluded to further, yesterday's post went nowhere at all! It vanished into the hole of trying to sleep while being sick and nauseous and then doing very badly indeed. How is that for negligence on the part of the Quirky Muffin authorial staff? Guilt has overcome me.
In truth, it would have been difficult to write something anyway yesterday, both because of the nervous dehydration and the chaos that has sleeted in from the transitional windward side of things. It very much feels like things are about to change in certain unpredictable ways, and that all is about to become just a bit wobbly, which of course is simply a premonition. A premonition?
Premonitions are very personal things, and not entirely to be trusted, if at all. For all that, I believe in them always. Something weird is going to happen, even if it's just a lifechanging piece of music (listening to a nocturne by Glinka right now, by the way), or a wander by the river that will prompt a spectacular thought. Something will change, and probably for the better. Oh, premonitions, you're always wrong but I'll believe in you anyway.
On a side note, one of the words I picked out from Phrontistery for a post has morphed into a suspected story idea, which is currently going under the codename 'Mythogenesis', and will kick off once two of the three ongoing stories have been finally put to bed. Three is too many to have ongoing at one time, and so it will have to wait, but the word itself is fascinating:
mythogenesis - origin of myths.
Doesn't that word ring up all kinds of fascinating angles and ideas, of people on some other plane designing myths to be deployed down to civilizations on distant worlds of wonder and spectacle? No? What about rice pudding? Does it inspire thoughts of rice pudding? I firmly believe that most myths actually did spring from rice pudding and only human egocentricism prevents us all from realising this utterly devastating fact. One day the penny will drop, and global peace will fall as we unite in abject hilarity.
The world is a strange, strange place.
O.
In truth, it would have been difficult to write something anyway yesterday, both because of the nervous dehydration and the chaos that has sleeted in from the transitional windward side of things. It very much feels like things are about to change in certain unpredictable ways, and that all is about to become just a bit wobbly, which of course is simply a premonition. A premonition?
Premonitions are very personal things, and not entirely to be trusted, if at all. For all that, I believe in them always. Something weird is going to happen, even if it's just a lifechanging piece of music (listening to a nocturne by Glinka right now, by the way), or a wander by the river that will prompt a spectacular thought. Something will change, and probably for the better. Oh, premonitions, you're always wrong but I'll believe in you anyway.
On a side note, one of the words I picked out from Phrontistery for a post has morphed into a suspected story idea, which is currently going under the codename 'Mythogenesis', and will kick off once two of the three ongoing stories have been finally put to bed. Three is too many to have ongoing at one time, and so it will have to wait, but the word itself is fascinating:
mythogenesis - origin of myths.
Doesn't that word ring up all kinds of fascinating angles and ideas, of people on some other plane designing myths to be deployed down to civilizations on distant worlds of wonder and spectacle? No? What about rice pudding? Does it inspire thoughts of rice pudding? I firmly believe that most myths actually did spring from rice pudding and only human egocentricism prevents us all from realising this utterly devastating fact. One day the penny will drop, and global peace will fall as we unite in abject hilarity.
The world is a strange, strange place.
O.
Monday, 3 November 2014
Television: 'Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea' (1964-1968) [Revised]
Very few television series had the personal impact that 'Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea' had on me. Long before 'Star Trek' was back in reruns on BBC Two, 'Voyage' was on Channel Four, who were gleefully running all the worst episodes in the Sunday morning graveyard slots, along with Diana Rigg in 'The Avengers'. Historically, 'Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea' is well known for all its worst elements, for all the men in rubber monster suits who dominated two thirds of its run, for the dimwitted behaviour of the crew, the total seriousness of all the performances even in the the midst of utter lunacy, and the 'Seaview rock and roll' as crewmen lurched from side to side on set in no way that corresponds to the exterior shots of the submarine Seaview. On many levels it was total rubbish and budget-starved gibberish, but the whole thing is saved by one inescapable fact: 'Voyage' is also often one of the most fun and imaginative television series you could hope to see. We could also supplement this fact with the high end underwater production values and special effects that became its headlining merit for at the least the first few seasons.
It may have been nonsensical, but 'voyage' has one thing that it can hold over its smarter and better-made step-cousin 'Star Trek', and that is the freedom to be utterly bananas at any point it wants to be. 'Star Trek' was by far the better show, but it did live within the boundaries of its own reality, with little license to ever get outside that box. 'Voyage' morphed into strange variants of itself with every season, and stuck to no continuity of reality other than what was happening in any given episode, with the crew being relentlessly surprised every week at whatever madness had engulfed them. Submarine interior over-run by jungle? Check. Admiral Nelson has turned lycanthropic but been cured by a deliberate case of 'The Bends'? Yep, we can do that. An espionage story? Why not? Atmosphere on fire, and we'll put it out with nukes? Okay. The catch all response was to try it out, except in the third season, when ever week was a rubber monster or mad scientist incident, with Captain Crane brainwashed inevitably as the topping on the cake. Crane must have been brainwashed so many times that it was ridiculous to think he had anything left in that cranium at all...
I'm writing this in the wake of watching the last of the one hundred and ten episodes, and completing one of the greatest and daftest DVD marathons of recent history. It's over now, and that's a sad thing. There will be no more criminally bad twisting of the submarine by a hand just off screen, nor will the incredibly uncredible flying sub crash into the ocean any more, like a slab of rock doing a belly flop. It's done. Until the DVDs get cracked out again at some indeterminate future, of course.
'Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea' was the brainchild of one Irwin Allen, first in feature film form, and then as this television show. Allen, who was the science fiction shlock king for a period in the 1960s with this, 'Land of the Giants', 'The Time Tunnel', and 'Lost in Space', saw that he could reuse a lot of the best special effect shots of the movie, recast the whole endeavour, and make a great looking science fiction show about a futuristic nuclear submarine and its crew. He may or may not have been partly inspired by a pilot for a show called 'Star Trek' that finally emerged in February 1965, or vice-versa. It's hard to tell. What emerged was a deadly serious dramatic television series focussed on espionage stories for its first season, so serious that it became so openly mockable as to be absurd. Irwin Allen, was in the words of David Hedison "totally humorous", and so were his series. To be fair, many dramas were deadly serious for a long, long time on US television, with 'Maverick' and 'Voyage' contemporary 'The Man From UNCLE' being rare examples of a more naturalistic tone before 'Star Trek' destroyed the mold of how to make genre television. Just to make sure no humour got into the mix, stars Hedison (Captain Lee Crane), Richard Basehart (Admiral Harriman Nelson), and the supporting cast played it so seriously that even the semi-regular end of episode jokey wrap up sequences would fall to the ground dead on arrival. That was all part of the fun!
'Voyage', as stated previously, had a different 'typical style' each season. In the monochrome first season, it was espionage and even featured women occasionally. Colour arrived with second season, as well as the influence of the super-hit 'Batman' (finally coming out on DVD soon), and so a healthy mix of 'monsters of the week' got wrapped in with spy stories, mind control and idiotic evil scientists. In the third season all traces of womankind got eliminated as did the expense of significant guest stars and the madness was ratchetted up to eleven as legions of monsters cascaded on to the submarine Seaview every week, with Crane being mind controlled on a regular basis, and Nelson becoming ever more exasperated while actor Basehart despaired for his very future. Finally, in the fourth season, and on a greatly reduced budget, the show reverted to some kind of a balance of episode types and credibility, but too late for the ratings and it got cancelled ironically after one of its strongest episodes. In fact, the fourth season is probably the first or second strongest season of the show, proving that ratings mean nothing for series quality, if we didn't know that already.
Oh, 'Voyage', you were silly. Nelson's handpicked crew often were so stunningly incompetent or slow on the uptake that you wondered how they passed the navy tests, but at least they could be relied upon to be serious at all times, which was something. Very often the most sensible person on the submarine was one of Seamen Kowalski or Paterson, both of whom seemed capable of fixing everything with no hesitation. Chief Sharkey, the only non-commissioned officer functioned mainly as an exposition monkey, and first officer Chip Morton had the grand honour of stolidly commanding the ship because Nelson and Crane were too busy most of the time being brainwashed, turned into monsters, or being ingenious to cover up for Nelson's terrible judgement in choosing scientists to run his installations. It was a fun, fun series, with only two or three episodes being so bad as to be unwatchable. Of those few stinkers the one that sticks out as worst by far is 'The Hear Monster', in which the Seaview is apparently menaced by a heat monster played by a bunsen burner on a small cart. Let us not finish on a low though, for this was one of the most imaginative series of the 1960s, however terrible it might have been at times. There was a freedom to be writing on a show that wasn't expected to make sense, and it must have been intoxicating at times, especially as they almost always wrapped up the plot with a brief handwaving explanation in the last thirty seconds.
I'll miss 'Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea', at least until I rewatch a few, but now it's time for something else: 'The Invaders' is coming! Or 'Quincy, ME', or even the long awaited 'Star Trek' rewatch.
O.
It may have been nonsensical, but 'voyage' has one thing that it can hold over its smarter and better-made step-cousin 'Star Trek', and that is the freedom to be utterly bananas at any point it wants to be. 'Star Trek' was by far the better show, but it did live within the boundaries of its own reality, with little license to ever get outside that box. 'Voyage' morphed into strange variants of itself with every season, and stuck to no continuity of reality other than what was happening in any given episode, with the crew being relentlessly surprised every week at whatever madness had engulfed them. Submarine interior over-run by jungle? Check. Admiral Nelson has turned lycanthropic but been cured by a deliberate case of 'The Bends'? Yep, we can do that. An espionage story? Why not? Atmosphere on fire, and we'll put it out with nukes? Okay. The catch all response was to try it out, except in the third season, when ever week was a rubber monster or mad scientist incident, with Captain Crane brainwashed inevitably as the topping on the cake. Crane must have been brainwashed so many times that it was ridiculous to think he had anything left in that cranium at all...
I'm writing this in the wake of watching the last of the one hundred and ten episodes, and completing one of the greatest and daftest DVD marathons of recent history. It's over now, and that's a sad thing. There will be no more criminally bad twisting of the submarine by a hand just off screen, nor will the incredibly uncredible flying sub crash into the ocean any more, like a slab of rock doing a belly flop. It's done. Until the DVDs get cracked out again at some indeterminate future, of course.
'Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea' was the brainchild of one Irwin Allen, first in feature film form, and then as this television show. Allen, who was the science fiction shlock king for a period in the 1960s with this, 'Land of the Giants', 'The Time Tunnel', and 'Lost in Space', saw that he could reuse a lot of the best special effect shots of the movie, recast the whole endeavour, and make a great looking science fiction show about a futuristic nuclear submarine and its crew. He may or may not have been partly inspired by a pilot for a show called 'Star Trek' that finally emerged in February 1965, or vice-versa. It's hard to tell. What emerged was a deadly serious dramatic television series focussed on espionage stories for its first season, so serious that it became so openly mockable as to be absurd. Irwin Allen, was in the words of David Hedison "totally humorous", and so were his series. To be fair, many dramas were deadly serious for a long, long time on US television, with 'Maverick' and 'Voyage' contemporary 'The Man From UNCLE' being rare examples of a more naturalistic tone before 'Star Trek' destroyed the mold of how to make genre television. Just to make sure no humour got into the mix, stars Hedison (Captain Lee Crane), Richard Basehart (Admiral Harriman Nelson), and the supporting cast played it so seriously that even the semi-regular end of episode jokey wrap up sequences would fall to the ground dead on arrival. That was all part of the fun!
'Voyage', as stated previously, had a different 'typical style' each season. In the monochrome first season, it was espionage and even featured women occasionally. Colour arrived with second season, as well as the influence of the super-hit 'Batman' (finally coming out on DVD soon), and so a healthy mix of 'monsters of the week' got wrapped in with spy stories, mind control and idiotic evil scientists. In the third season all traces of womankind got eliminated as did the expense of significant guest stars and the madness was ratchetted up to eleven as legions of monsters cascaded on to the submarine Seaview every week, with Crane being mind controlled on a regular basis, and Nelson becoming ever more exasperated while actor Basehart despaired for his very future. Finally, in the fourth season, and on a greatly reduced budget, the show reverted to some kind of a balance of episode types and credibility, but too late for the ratings and it got cancelled ironically after one of its strongest episodes. In fact, the fourth season is probably the first or second strongest season of the show, proving that ratings mean nothing for series quality, if we didn't know that already.
Oh, 'Voyage', you were silly. Nelson's handpicked crew often were so stunningly incompetent or slow on the uptake that you wondered how they passed the navy tests, but at least they could be relied upon to be serious at all times, which was something. Very often the most sensible person on the submarine was one of Seamen Kowalski or Paterson, both of whom seemed capable of fixing everything with no hesitation. Chief Sharkey, the only non-commissioned officer functioned mainly as an exposition monkey, and first officer Chip Morton had the grand honour of stolidly commanding the ship because Nelson and Crane were too busy most of the time being brainwashed, turned into monsters, or being ingenious to cover up for Nelson's terrible judgement in choosing scientists to run his installations. It was a fun, fun series, with only two or three episodes being so bad as to be unwatchable. Of those few stinkers the one that sticks out as worst by far is 'The Hear Monster', in which the Seaview is apparently menaced by a heat monster played by a bunsen burner on a small cart. Let us not finish on a low though, for this was one of the most imaginative series of the 1960s, however terrible it might have been at times. There was a freedom to be writing on a show that wasn't expected to make sense, and it must have been intoxicating at times, especially as they almost always wrapped up the plot with a brief handwaving explanation in the last thirty seconds.
I'll miss 'Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea', at least until I rewatch a few, but now it's time for something else: 'The Invaders' is coming! Or 'Quincy, ME', or even the long awaited 'Star Trek' rewatch.
O.
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