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Peplum Populist: Hercules, Samson & Ulysses

Peplum Populist: Hercules, Samson & Ulysses

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hercules-samson-ulysses-posterThe “versus film” has been with us for decades, even if “vs.” didn’t show up in early movie titles like Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man. Audiences crave watching cinematic legends smash into each other in duels to the death — or duels to the mutual understanding. Alien vs. Predator, Freddy vs. Jason, Batman v[s]. Superman, King Kong vs. Godzilla (soon ready for a rematch), Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter (this really happened), Sherlock Holmes vs. Jack the Ripper (a number of occasions), and Dollman vs. The Demonic Toys. Bring up anything involving the SyFy Channel and sharks and you get hurt.

Italian sword-and-sandal (peplum) films couldn’t resist putting titans of the ancient world into the ring together, and there’s no finer example than 1963’s Hercules, Samson & Ulysses. The Italian title translates as “Hercules Challenges Samson,” in case you needed to know who goes up against whom and who is hanging around as the sidekick.

When it comes to peplum-as-pulp, Hercules, Samson & Ulysses is the real deal. Appearing at the point in the genre’s evolution when sword-and-sandal films either went stale or went silly, HS&U falls solidly on the positive silly side. It’s an outrageous actioner that knows exactly what its audience wants to see and delivers 100% on the promise of watching two legendary supermen batter each other in muscular absurdity. It may not be the best sword-and-sandal film, but it’s one of the most entertaining. This is the peplum film to watch if most of the genre’s other offerings don’t grab you.

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In 500 Words or Less: Icon by Genevieve Valentine

In 500 Words or Less: Icon by Genevieve Valentine

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Icon Genevieve Valentine-smallIcon
By Genevieve Valentine
Saga Press (336 pages, $24.99 hardcover/$16.99 paperback, June 2016)

On my Top Ten Books from 2016, I mentioned Genevieve Valentine’s novel Persona, a near-future ecofiction novel set in a world where the UN has been replaced by the International Assembly, a body where each country has a Face to represent their interests and those Faces are regarded like Hollywood celebrities. The sequel to that novel, Icon, continues to follow Suyana Sapaki, representative of the United Amazon Rainforest Collective, as she navigates the dangerous politics of the IA, which almost claimed her life in the previous novel. (You may have spotted this one in a Future Treasures post by John O’Neill last June.)

I mentioned the last time I discussed Valentine’s work that her storytelling has a very unique feel to it. A lot of the plot is left to the reader’s interpretation, to the point that even though I had read Persona and recognized most of the returning characters, I spent a few chapters with my head cocked like some confused golden retriever, trying to figure out exactly what was going on. The subtleties that Suyana and her allies are forced to deal with in their world translates exactly onto the page, so if you prefer direct storytelling and obvious clarity, you might not enjoy this series.

What drew me in and kept me reading, like with Persona, was the character work; once again we see paparazzi Daniel Park shadowing Suyana, for example, never admitting to himself that he’s in love with her and pained by the distance between them. My personal favorite was Magnus, Suyana’s personal handler, since once again we don’t know if we can trust him, even though we desperately want to because, like with Daniel, there’s a tragedy to the way Suyana keeps him at a distance, when apparently all he wants to do is protect her.

There are some big reveals with these characters, and intriguing twists that make Icon a great political thriller. However, I’d be lying if I said I enjoyed it as much as Persona. That first novel opens with an assassination attempt, and then follows Suyana and Daniel as they lay low through the streets of Paris, trying to figure out who wants Suyana dead and how to get the upper hand on them. That sense of urgency is missing here, and so I found this novel a lot less tense, even as the characters were discussing and dealing with things that carried a fair bit of weight. There is a pickup as the novel concludes, but it doesn’t really balance the more sedate nature of the rest of the novel.

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Modular: The New Mongoose Traveller #2 — More Than Just a Science Fiction Midlife Crisis Simulator?

Modular: The New Mongoose Traveller #2 — More Than Just a Science Fiction Midlife Crisis Simulator?

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Seen from one angle, the Traveller RPG has always been a Science Fiction midlife crisis simulator, “40-somethings Innnnn Spaaaacccce.”

Seriously!

The character generation system is a mini-game that lets you play through your character’s career all the way into middle-age, a career that most of the time ends in disaster, and always ends with you mustering out to go “travelling.”

Kurtzhau (13) and I rolled up a party and ended up with:

  • A scientist, feeling the bite of age, who’d made a big discovery in his youth, but had been stuck in admin ever since and now craved adventure.
  • A senior NCO soldier forced by job cuts to muster out and now very much adrift in search of a purpose.
  • A pilot who’d unwillingly ended up in the Scouts and spent most of his time as a courier and now belatedly wanted to do something less boring.
  • A veteran of the Merchant Marine who really wanted to be a Free Trader.

You could put them all in a shared apartment and make a quirky sitcom about them. (We put them in a ship and sent them to our Dacre Sector.)

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Wired: The Fiction Issue

Wired: The Fiction Issue

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Wired The Fiction Issue-smallI used to read Wired magazine back in the days when it was actually cool to have an email address (you had to be in academia or some tech savvy business). This was in the dark ages before web browsers and the Internet wasn’t just a place to buy stuff, host porn, post cute cat videos and spread fake news. The only people who used Apple computers were in advertising and not everyone had a cellphone; the ones who did liked to showoff by appending their email with “Sent from my Blackberry” — remember Blackberry?

It was when I was just getting into cyberpunk, which was the magazine’s patron saint of sorts. Bruce Sterling was on Wired‘s inaugural cover and William Gibson (see below) was featured on the fourth issue (1.4 in Wired parlance). Wired was for the cultural technoliterati, the folks “wired in” (hence the title in the days well before Wi-Fi) to how computer technology was going to change the world. And, boy, did it ever.

It was also hard to read, because graphic designers thought they were making some sort of statement using odd and multiple fonts along with disorienting colors and just stuff that gave you a headache to look at but had the appearance of cutting-edge style. Fortunately, someone finally realized that jettisoning the visual clutter made it possible for people to actually read the articles instead of just being bedazzled to gaze at them. Though certain tics remain even today, like sticking a 0 in front of double digit page numbers — pagination doesn’t actually being until page 21, or as Wired likes it, 021 — in a vertical position that isn’t easy to see and mostly only on the left hand even pages. C’mon.

Somewhere about the time when the Internet stopped being an interesting forum of discussion and innovation and turned into a wasteland of constant connection and commerce, I let my subscription lapse. But this past January, Wired published its first ever all-fiction “sci-fi issue.” Despite the unfortunate terminology (which has connotations of bad adventure flicks in futuristic settings, although perhaps the disdain is just insider snobbery — do people nowadays still care and argue about such things?), I thought I’d check out the issue’s idea to, according to editor Scott Dadich, “Think about what is possible, what is plausible, what is terrifying, what is hopeful.”

Lot of plausible here with not much hopeful. Which might be terrifying were it not so close to actual experience (both psychological and technological) that today is, alas, more mundane than profound.

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The Pride of Chanur by C.J. Cherryh

The Pride of Chanur by C.J. Cherryh

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oie_172136AgOgCew8My first encounter with C.J. Cherryh was in Merchanter’s Luck, a short, action-packed story set in Cherryh’s super-dense Alliance-Union Universe. While the plot could have been drafted by any number of skilled space opera purveyors, I’d never before encountered one who wrote with Cherryh’s level of near contempt for explaining things to the reader. She writes in what she’s variably called  “very tight limited third person” and “intense internal voice.” This means characters only think or talk about what actually interests them. Descriptions will not be forthcoming when a character is observing what is commonplace to him. Exposition, well, don’t count on her books having much.

While Merchanter’s Luck, with its thrilling races through hyperspace and deadly mysteries, is quite good, what made me a lifelong fan of Cherryh is a slim volume from 1982, The Pride of Chanur. The title refers to the merchant ship of the same name, one of several operated by the Chanur clan. The Chanur are hani: an alien, leonine race of which only females travel into space, the males being considered too violent and psychologically unstable. The title takes on a second, humorous meaning when the crew of the Pride find themselves harboring and protecting a lone human male.

Since then, I’ve read Pride and its sequels three or four times. They are among the very best space opera stories I have ever read. Cherryh’s writing demands you keep up and are as willing as her heroes to leap into the dark of the cosmos at times. The payoff is a tale of incredible thrills in a highly complex and believably detailed universe.

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Ghidorah, The Three-Headed Monster: The Godzilla Movie to Rise Again in 2019

Ghidorah, The Three-Headed Monster: The Godzilla Movie to Rise Again in 2019

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It’s been a month since Kong: Skull Island came out and grossed over half a billion dollars globally, so I feel safe in 1) discussing the post-credits stinger without a spoiler freak-out, and 2) predicting we’ll indeed see Legendary Picture’s planned Godzilla vs. King Kong film in a few years. Warner Bros. isn’t leaving franchise money on the table, especially with their DC pictures in a shaky place.

But the movie arriving before the Radioactive Terror and the Eighth Wonder smash heads is promised in Skull Island’s post-credits stinger. Godzilla: King of the Monsters, to be directed by Michael Dougherty and slated for release in March 2019, is the third installment in the Legendary Pictures Kaijuverse. Kong: Skull Island contains numerous references that it occurs in the same universe as the 2014 Godzilla, such as the presence of the monster-researching Monarch Organization and mention of the Pacific atomic test originally targeted at killing Godzilla.

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There’s Something Magic About a House: Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

There’s Something Magic About a House: Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

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Howl's Moving Castle-big Howl's Moving Castle Greenwillow-smaller Howl's Moving Castle Eos-smaller

There is something magic about a house, or there should be. There are hints of this in James Stoddard’s The High House, in which the house is a universe unto itself, or in the Professor’s home in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, in which the house is a gateway to universes. We realize in some way that every house holds secrets, that every house is in some sense a castle, and that the portals of every house open either into a wider world without or an inner world within.

This ineffable something about houses motivates Diana Wynne Jones’s Howl’s Moving Castle, which despite the title isn’t really about a castle but rather a house and the family that gets collected inside it. My kids and I are big fans of Studio Ghibli, so the 2004 animated film adaptation by Hayao Miyazaki was our first exposure to the work. Before seeing the film, I had not heard of the late British fantasy author Diana Wynne Jones. Howl’s Moving Castle remains the only work by her I’ve read, though she wrote at least two other novels in which these characters also appear.

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Edgar Rice Burroughs’s Pellucidar Saga: Tarzan at the Earth’s Core

Edgar Rice Burroughs’s Pellucidar Saga: Tarzan at the Earth’s Core

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tarzan-at-the-earths-core-first-edition-j-allen-st-johnYou’ll believe a Stegosaurus can fly!

In the time I’ve written about Edgar Rice Burroughs for Black Gate, only once have I examined one of his Tarzan books. That was eight years ago. This lack of Tarzan representation isn’t because I dislike the character. A number of the early Tarzan adventures rate among my favorite Burroughs novels, and I’ll defend Tarzan of the Apes as one of the twentieth century’s Great Books. But since there’s more information available about Tarzan than any other Burroughs series, my literary adventuring was more interesting when it stayed in hinterlands of ERBiana.

However, it’s a thrill to have the ape-man swing in through the side door during one of my series retrospectives. Let’s welcome Tarzan onto the stage of Pellucidar. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, Sagoths of all ages … it’s crossover time!

Our Saga: Beneath our feet lies a realm beyond the most vivid daydreams of the fantastic … Pellucidar. A subterranean world formed along the concave curve inside the earth’s crust, surrounding an eternally stationary sun that eliminates the concept of time. A land of savage humanoids, fierce beasts, and reptilian overlords, Pellucidar is the weird stage for adventurers from the topside layer — including a certain Lord Greystoke. The series consists of six novels, one which crosses over with the Tarzan series, plus a volume of linked novellas, published between 1914 and 1963.

Today’s Installment: Tarzan at the Earth’s Core (1929–30)

Previous Installments: At the Earth’s Core (1914), Pellucidar (1915), Tanar of Pellucidar (1929)

The Backstory

Although most of Edgar Rice Burroughs’s novels occur in the same universe, linked through the author’s fictional surrogate version of himself, Tarzan at the Earth’s Core is the only point where a character from one series leaps to another as the protagonist. It’s the fourth Pellucidar novel and the thirteenth Tarzan novel — full crossover achieved for the first and last time in the ERB canon.

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The Gestation of Cape and Cowl: Thoughts On Jess Nevins’ The Evolution Of The Costumed Avenger

The Gestation of Cape and Cowl: Thoughts On Jess Nevins’ The Evolution Of The Costumed Avenger

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The Evolution of the Costumed AvengerThough he’s written short stories and three self-published novels, Jess Nevins is likely best known as an excavator of fantastic fictions past: an archaeologist digging through the strata of the prose of bygone years, unearthing now pieces of story and now blackened ashes of some once-thriving genre long since consumed and built over by its lineal successor. Across annotated guides (three to Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill’s League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, one to Bill Willingham and Mark Buckingham’s Fables) and self-published encyclopedias (of Pulps and of Golden Age Superheroes with Pulp Heroes soon to come, as well as 2005’s Monkeybrain-published Encyclopedia of Fantastic Victoriana) Nevins has reassembled old pieces of fantastika, indicating direct influences on modern writing and establishing directories of almost-forgotten story. He’s one of the people broadening the history of genre, in his books, and in articles such as his pieces for io9 on the Victorian Hugo Awards that never were.

Now he has a new book about the development of the superhero and what came before. The Evolution of the Costumed Avenger is subtitled The 4000–Year History of the Superhero, and delivers what it promises. Much that has fallen into obscurity is brought to light in this book. Precedents are unearthed. Archetypal forms are catalogued. But more than that, and perhaps more valuable, known things are recontextualised. Four thousand years of the Western heroic tradition, if not of Western literary tradition, are here imagined in a new way: as prologue to the coming of the superhero. The superhero, lately so central to popular fiction on page and screen, here finds a new apotheosis as the lens through which all preceding heroes are to be perceived. As the end-point of evolution.

And that’s fair enough. That’s what a history often does, foregrounding its subject, putting it at the centre of things. Nevins does his job well, writing in a style that’s academic in its rigour and its careful references to other scholars, while avoiding the jargon and convoluted syntax that mars much academic writing. His prose is clear, yet dense with information, moving quickly while constantly introducing new facts and new ideas. Given the vastness of his subject the book’s quite brief and indeed perhaps too brief: barely 300 pages, though those (like me) who relish discursive and tangential footnotes will appreciate the further 50 pages of endnotes. Nevins’ research is excellent throughout, particularly in the chapters covering the last two or three centuries. As is perhaps inevitable I have some questions and some doubts; most of them revolve around the way that Nevins defines the book in its opening chapter, and around the concluding chapters where Nevins presents a brief history of post–Golden Age superheroes. But The Evolution of the Costumed Avenger is clearly a success, not just an entertaining book but one vital for its field; a work that provides much food for thought to any reader with an even marginal interest in its subject.

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The Secret of Ventriloquism by Jon Padgett

The Secret of Ventriloquism by Jon Padgett

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Secret of VentriloquismA lot of the reviews of this collection compare Jon Padgett to Thomas Ligotti, which is fair, since Jon Padgett has been the long-time moderator of the Thomas Ligotti fansite, ligotti.net, and one of the stories takes its title directly from a Ligotti story. But the big question that potential new readers will likely have when reading those reviews is “Who the hell is Thomas Ligotti?”

So. Thomas Ligotti himself has been called a successor to H.P. Lovecraft (yeah, the Cthulhu guy), but that’s not really accurate. Where Lovecraft dealt with the horrors of the unknowable, Ligotti deals more with the horrors of pointlessness. Where Lovecraft’s stories would end with the protagonists killed or driven mad by eldritch horrors, Ligotti’s stories were more likely to end with those protagonists actually joining forces with the darkness. Pick up Songs of a Dead Dreamer, Grimscribe, Noctuary, and Teatro Grotesco for some truly next generation horror.

Basically, Thomas Ligotti’s horror fiction differs from anything else you’ve read because he places his philosophy front and center in these stories. And while that philosophy (which is sort of nihilistic, but not exactly) won’t resonate with a lot of readers, he has developed a dedicated fan base over the last thirty-five years. One of those fans is Jon Padgett.* And Ligotti’s horror philosophy lives on in the debut collection of stories from this author.

It begins with “The Mindfulness of Horror Practice,” which is more of a thought experiment than a story. Basically, the author walks you through an exercise to place you in the right frame of mind to read the remainder of his collection. It’s quite telling that the collection DOES NOT end with a second primer detailing how to get yourself OUT of this state of mind.

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