The future isn’t all it is cracked up to be .

The Man from the Future (2011) O Homen do Futuro

IMDb meta-data is runtime of 1h and 46m, rated 7.0 by 7,100 cinematizens.

Genre: Sy Fy.

DNA: Brazil.

Verdict: Tiremos o chapéu

Tagline: Zero is something!  

Fired by idealism Zero sets out to invent a cheap and green energy source only to create by accident a time machine. With it he decides to go back and correct his life for the better.  

If only he knew what ‘better’ was.

In so doing he obeys the law of unintended consequences the first time. So he tries again…with even worse results. Then he remembers that old Doris Day song, ‘Que sera, sera.’ 

The journeys to and from the past are full of twists and turns, played with high energy. The acting from the two principals is superb. He is barely recognisable from one iteration to the next, and likewise his lady love (who does a star-turn as a hardened convict).  

***

The film is set in a pristine, ultra-moderne Brazil that has touches of Brasilia, but it is not expressly so situated, well, at least not to my ears and eyes.  We watched a Wondrium documentary a few weeks ago about Brasilia so that makes me an expert!

I would be glad to find more genre films from Brazil. I used an episode from City of God (2002) to illustrate Thomas Hobbes on the state of nature a long ago.  

Punch!

Punch the Clock (2016) A Repartição do Tiempo 

IMDb meta-data is 1h and 40m, rated 6.0 by 140 cinematizens. 

DNA: Brazil.

Genre: Sy Fy.

Verdict: McKinsey management par excellence.

Tagline: Suspicions confirmed!

The central patent office in Brasilia is a national disgrace. The work routine is so slow that it takes more than eight years to approve a fully documented simple submission. Its staff members draw comics, smoke dope, sleep off last night’s drunk, fornicate, watching telenovelas, flip through an enormous pile of glossy magazines, use the office phones for personal long distance calls, anything but work.

The result is a mountainous backlog. Meh. 

Then the media attacks and it is time for desperate measures. The manager feels the political heat to do something. Consulting his McKinsey manual, his first thought is to redo the façade of the building to deflect attention, but turns out that is the wrong move.  Then thanks to an invention that looks like a punch clock for employees buried deep in the basement awaiting patent approval is a device that clones individuals.  

Aha! Fresh from a McKinsey seminar, manager has a brilliant idea.  He will trap his staff members in the hidden bomb shelter below the building and enslave them to work, while populating the office with clones who can continue to do nothing.  The slaves below have to work to get food and water. In the bomb shelter one of the employee suffers a terminal allergic reaction from exposure to work for the first time.   

Those imprisoned try to escape. The upstairs clones slowly realise something is amiss when work gets done. 

***

It is a merciless critique of rule-bound bureaucracy that emphases everything but getting the job done. The desperate phone call to emergency services is a cackle, but too convoluted for summary.  The gist of it is no matter what is said, the response is that it is someone else’s responsibility.  Call another number. (The joke is that the same operator answers all the numbers in the run-around.)

This also applied to the Mutt and Jeff police officers who eventually arrive and interview the informant, not about the crime, but about the definition of the situation to see if it is really their responsibility.  The arguments about definitions reminded me of too many seminars where we never got to the point.   

The machine is referred to as a time machine but it is easier to explain with cloning.  

Signal

Signale – Ein Weltraumabenteuer (1970)

IMDb meta-data is 1h and 30m, rated 4.4/10 by 240 generous cinematizens.

Genre: Sy Fy.

DNA: East Germany and Poland.

Tagline: Bland on bland.  

Verdict: Painful. 

In the middle of the Twenty-first Century a Red spaceship near Jupiter reports…alien radio contact, maybe, but then it goes dark.  Another craft is dispatched with a hastily assembled crew to investigate.  

That may sound promising.

What follows is…a slow, meandering trip without any sense of urgency as when the crew of the rescue vessel plays with a robot or makes home movies for fun.  

Didn’t they read the script?

As the end of runtime draws near, they find the mangled remains of the first ship which was hit by the screenwriters old friend, the meteor shower, and rescue the crew who emerge from an elevator where they were stuck for just over an hour. None is comatose. None is mangled.  None is on a stretcher.  None is swathed in bandages. None has blast burns or collapsed lungs. None is dead, Jim.

The end.

There is no further mention of the alien contact.

***

Iron Curtain Sy Fy was always more cerebral and scientific, to be sure, than the Western counterpart of space cowboys but it was also usually more credible than this pleasure cruise. It does show its Red credentials in that everything is a team effort, from the very large group of survivors to the rescue ship. No impetuous individuals of the James Kirk ilk are to be found.

However – and this is a unique event – the captain of the rescue ship faints from the pressure of his duties. Yep. What is even more impossible to believe is that when he reappears on the bridge everyone obeys him, instead of pointing and laughing at him.   

Can you picture Captain Kirk swooning from his weighty duties?  Go on, just try.

Fortunately, when this captain swoons, everyone else just carries on, almost as if he were irrelevant.

Speaking of Star Trek, there is also an anticipation of Counsellor Troi here in that the medical doctor also monitors the mental health of the crew, but then doctors have always done that. Check out the Caine Mutiny

The Don

The Man Who Killed Don Quixote (2018).

IMDb metadata is 2h and 12m, rated 6.3 by 22,000 cinematizens.


DNA: Spain via UK.


Genre: Serio-comedy.


Verdict: Dreamy.  


Tagline: The Life of Brian Quixote.  


In the interest of making a film, a director convinces a shoemaker that he is Don Quixote!  To some degree he also convinces other amateur actors in the village where he shoots the film that they are the characters they portray.  When the film is done he leaves.


By coincidence returning ten years later he finds, during his absence, that the illusion has become reality or is it a fantasy, that he gets caught up in.  Adventures follow.


***


I found it diverting, amusing, entertaining, touching, and puzzling, but many IMDbasers went nuclear on it, evidently because it is not the movie they would have made, if they had made a movie. Uh huh. Ditto some professional reviewers.  It’s a love child of Terry Gilliam, hence the tagline above.  


The village is ‘Los sueños’ and that says it all: The Dreams.  I also found it far too long. Still it offers in addition to the list above a spectacle, with surprises along the way.  


I read an abridgement of the first volume of Don Quixote in a Euro Lit class as an undergraduate and I have never been tempted to return to it. While I enjoyed this outing, I remain content with that situation.  

Excellent

Erich Brown, Murder by the Book (2013).

Good Reads meta-data is 224 pages rated 3.63 by 369 litizens.

Genre: Krimi; Sub-species: Period piece. 

DNA: Brit.

Verdict: More!

Tagline: That old trope again.

Hero writes murder mysteries in 1955 London.  A demobbed soldier he tried investigative work immediately after the war with an army buddy but soon found writing about crime was easier and paid better than dealing with it, or dealing with wayward husbands or wives. In fact he found that he was good at writing and enjoyed it.  Now forty years old and unattached (his wife was killed in the Blitz) he is as unsure with women as a pimply teen.  Hard to credit that but there it is.

Then his agent needs some investigative work and some muscle applied and Hero enlists himself and his contacts from his own days on the street. What seems to be blackmail at first turns out to be far worse when the bodies start falling, and the way they fall.  

The suicides, accidental deaths, and natural deaths of a series of British crime writers just like Hero prove to be murders.  Moreover, a closer examination of each case reveals them to be bizarre and contrived.  Then the murders become more explicit, and Hero realises there is something familiar about a couple of them.

Spoiler ahead! Read on only with your eyes closed.

Someone is murdering them in a manner described in their novels! 

***

The characterisations of the several authors is delightful, and varied from aristocratic hauteur to wealthy bon vivant to deadpan drone to Cockney bantam and several steps between.  

London 1955 is a faint background, but it is very credible, even if everyone drives a car and finds a parking place.

Warning though, I found the pace slow, very, but I kept going because it was so well done.  I also found Hero’s hesitation and confusion about Marie Dupré artificial and likewise her patience with him.  He had been married and survived combat. Surely he would have more salt, while she must have had many suitors. Still together they make a likeable duo. I will certainly read another in the series of nine. Later: Mission accomplished.  Read all nine.

Murder at the Chase, Murder at the Loch, Murder Takes Three, Murder Takes A Turn, Murder Served Cold. Murder by the Numbers, Murder at the Standing Stone, and Murder Most Vile.

The late Eric Brown was one of those one-man industries with a list of books so long I grew weary reading it. He published about sixty novels, 150 short stories, and another trove of chapters in anthologies.   

From Croatia

Gosto iz galaksije (1982) Visitors from the Arkana Galaxy

IMDb meta-data is 1h and 22m runtime, rated 5.9 by 555 cinematizens.

Genre: Sy Fy.

DNA: Croatia.

Tagline: Watch out for Mumu!

Verdict: Mixed messages. 

Hotel reception desk clerk by night, and aspiring science fiction writer by day, Hero gets into the mood by donning a pretend space helmet while pounding the typewriter or dictating into a walkman (remember that?).  His obsession with the story he is trying to compose and the helmet annoy his girlfriend no end, and she enlists his mother to talk some sense into him; to no avail.

After a row with those two he sulks around the apartment, when….a voice from the walkman calls to him. It is Andra, the protagonist of his story, who says she is on the island just off the coast! Zounds!Off he goes to find the characters from his story have come alive from his brow and are impatient for him to finish the story.  Oh, and they also brought along Mumu. Not good. 

***

This sounds kinda like fun but the message is mixed.  There is shoot  ‘em up with corpses, enough nudity to give Mike Pence apoplexy, and dead-end subplots.  Still the direction is brisk and there are sight-gags along the way, and some spicy sarcasm, as when Hero warns the aliens not to show themselves because the townspeople would tear them apart for souvenirs.  

A writer becomes so obsessed with his characters that they blot out the reality and people around is a theme in films, like Les Créatures (1966) and Le Magnifique (1973). 

This film was produced in 1981 by two countries which no longer exist, Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia in Dubrovnik, hence Croatian.  

GUFORS?

Aliens & GUFORS (2017)

IMDb meta-data is a runtime of 1h and 29m, rated 5.8 by 113 cinematizens.

Genre: Sy Fy.

DNA: Yankee.

Verdict: Goofy fun. 

Tagline: Follow your dream (over the cliff).

A twenty-something computer whiz, a physics major, and an MBA team up to run a business: Global Unidentified Flying Object Research and Services in Flat Rock on the Mojave desert of the USA.  They soon become a magnet for all manner of nut cases and comic relief for the townsfolk. 

Japanese lanterns, balloons, mirror reflections, cloud, and vapour, all are dutifully examined, while the testimony of a string of people who have sighted aliens, swapped recipes with them, been abducted and rejected, parade before their video camera.  

Misadventures follow as they try to deal with a vexatious landlord, romance some local girls, deal with smog-mouth (figure it out), puzzle over the string of code that appears on the computer attached to their satellite dish.  Oh, and watch the sky day-and-night.

***

I found it diverting with likeable players, and some fine moments, e.g., when Bo talks about the telephone call that was never made.  

 A Gen-X version of OVNI(s) from France, reviewed elsewhere on this blog.   

Deep in the forest.

The Officer Factory (1960) by Hans Hellmut Kirst

Good Reads meta-data is 1000 (!) pages rated 4.29 by 412 raters litizens. 


DNA: Nazi Germany.


Genre: War.


Verdict: Glacial. 


Tagline: Ideology über alles.  

Somewhere in 1944 Thuringia* is an Wehrmacht officers’s school preparing a new crop for the Eastern Front. Supervising and training these candidates are veterans, most of whom seem to be intact in January of 1944. The instructors work under the baleful eye of the General who is commandant of the installation.  


The routine of this army base is upset by the death of one of the instructors, which is where the story begins.  The death is treated as an accident. In a mine-setting demonstration a defective fuse ignited and killed the officer. Ranks seem to have closed over that explanation.


But as with such an artificial environment there are wheels within wheels, personal and petty rivalries abound.  Beneath the ordered surface is a disordered reality.  


Spoiler.


But no, not everyone accepts that account. In part this satire is also a detective story. And an informal but sanctioned investigation follows. It opens a can of many worms, and the disciplined and ordered facade of the school is shattered to reveal the corruption within it.  


***


The opening scene at the funeral is superbly rendered, and the characterisation of the General then, and later is memorable.  He is an honest man in a dishonest world.  


However, I found it hard going.  The combination of painstaking detail and doomed irreverence of the central character and some others seemed out of place, unless it was intended to be gallows humour, and it left me confused. 


Moreover, the insertion of backstories of the many characters as CVs disrupts the momentum, and adds little. I read the first few CVs and found they added nothing to my appreciation of the characters or plot and flipped over the remainder.  No doubt my loss in there somewhere. 


Vice triumphs over virtue both during the war and after on this telling.  It is indeed negative.  


Finally, it was a torte too rich in that it is over-plotted: there is just so much going on that I lost the thread more than once.  Life, of course, is like that, but stories must abstract from that to allow concentration, and in this novel my concentration was fractured. It is as long as War and Peace but without the epic dimensions. 


Yet it remains that it is superbly written, rigorously developed, and compelling despite these qualifications. I am tempted to try one of the four novels in his Gunner Asch sequence.  


Hans Hellmut Kirst joined the Wehrmacht in 1933 and became a lieutenant and political commissar (Führungsoffizier) who soldiered in Poland and France. Only slowly did he realise that he ‘was in a club of murderers.’  He published forty-six books, most novels, and many of those about honest men trying to remain human in a sea of corrupt criminality.  None of them survive, just as the General and his agent do not in the book discussed above.  


The most famous of his books in The Night of the Generals.  After the war he was a persistent publicist for German war guilt, especially in Poland.  


Ben Pastor cited him as the inspiration for the Martin von Bora series.


*Thuringia has a claim to be being the birthplace of Nazism.  

The Italian Social Republic?

Ben Pastor, The Venus of Salo (2006). 

Good Reads meta-data is 416 pages, rated 4.0 by 2 litizens.  

Genre: Krimi.

DNA: Italian.

Tagline: The end of days. 

Verdict:  A head spinner.

This is Wehrmacht Colonel Martin von Bora’s eighth outing and his steps are weary and sometimes dreary as he tries hold onto this integrity in the cauldron of madness.  He is assigned to the fantasy world of the Italian Social Republic (of Salò) in October 1944. For those who cut that class, this republic was the rump of northern Italy where in late September 1943 Hitler installed the recently rescued Ben Mussolini as dictator for an encore. It is a bizarre world, seemingly run by Italians with Germans monitoring everything. Yes, it is a puppet state, if it is a state in anything but name. And it dissolved in late April 1945. 

Its ministries and offices were housed in the many luxury hotels, palaces, and grand houses in Brescia along the lakes, some in Salò but also scattered further along the Lemon Coast, as it was once called. Lake Garda was the most well-known feature. 

This limbo world is ending with the Allied armies progressing up the spine of Italy day-by-day, the residents of this never-never-land go about their business as usual.  The industrialist does industry. The art restorer restores art. The police officer hands out traffic tickets. The gardener gardens.  All seeming in ignorance, or defiance, of the fact that the end of their world is nigh and that a night of retribution will follow.  

Into this twilight world come the diplomatic representatives of Germany, Japan, Bulgaria, Romania, Hungary, and Thailand along with the client states of Croatia, Slovakia, and even Manchukuo.  Embassy receptions are the social high point.  Although by late 1944 when Bora arrived, the representatives of Bulgaria, Romania, and Hungary were marooned with no homeland to which to return. 

Well, not quite in ignorance since partisan raids, bombings, assassinations are weekly, and the flow of retreating and battered Germans northward is obvious, even as the rhetoric of final victory is turned up to deafening. Despite Mussolini’s personal appeals to Hitler, the fate of Italian soldiers, especially in the eastern Mediterranean, disarmed and interned by the Germans was often terminal. But the residents of Salò seem blind to these signals of the coming apocalypse.   

On the surface the lakeside town where Bora is assigned is calm and attractive.  Many days the war is far away, even if U.S. bombers overfly it en route to or from Turin or Milan.  A valuable painting has been stolen from the local German army headquarters and Bora is to find it, and the culprit(s). In the chaos of murder, Jewish round ups, reprisals, and violence he is to find a painting. Then a series of murders cuts across his investigation, and he is off on the scent.  

***

It is very well done, though I do find Bora’s hangdog depression repetitive.  His problems seem small in the context, and I finished the book wondering about the fate of those he left behind when he was evacuated.  The plot is a braid of many strands and left me with a spinning head as above.  

By the way the author is…..Maria Verbena Volpi (1950+) who has two other series.  Whew!    

N.B.  This telling has nothing in common with Pier Paolo Pasolini’s nauseating film ‘Salò’ (1975) with its graphic and explicit violence of branding, hanging, and scalping; torture of the tongue, genitals, and eye balls; rape of both men and women, and murder in the same milieu.  Enough. 

Inspector Ghote inspects

Inspector Ghote Trusts the Heart (1972) by H. R. F. Keating 

GoodReads meta-data is 201 pages, rated 3.65 by 100 litizns. 

Genre: Krimi.

DNA: Indian; sub-species: Anglo-Indian.

Tagline:  High and Low. 

Verdict: Diverting.  

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The ever reliable, though painfully diffident, Inspector Ganesh Ghote does it again with slow and steady perseverance.

A very rich man’s son is kidnapped and a gigantic ransom is demanded.  But wait!  It is not the rich man’s son but his playmate in a case of mistaken identity.  Nonetheless, the kidnappers press their demands. 

The rich man would certainly have paid anything for his own son, but for the son of an underling who happened to be playing with his boy, well, that is different, or is it?  That is the question. 

H R F Keatings

As usual, Ghote’s approach is compromised and hampered by a bumptious superior.  Nor is Ghote aided by the imperious, if confused, father who thinks he knows better than anyone else, including this nondescript police officer.  

While the others turn this way and that, Ghote sees what is in plain sight, and follows up on it to discover the plot is nearly home-grown, but…..

***

The portrayal of Indian urban life is rich and provides a crucial context for the story.  As well done as it is, I could not help but think of the Akira Kurosawa film High and Low (1963) on the same theme played out with Shakespearean intensity and irony.