The astro-cruiser arrives in record time. The Commander and Fred-6 stand upon the surface of the planet, the light of its green sun bathing them in emerald lushness.
Duck: I hope you don't mind going on the mission with me, Fred-6. I felt you were the best qualified to help me in this crisis.
Fred-6: Think nothing of it, Duck old kid. Always glad to lend a hand in a pinch.
Robot slaps Duck on the back (a little too hard).
Duck: I'm… I'm glad you feel that way.
The Commander pats the package carried by Fred-6.
Duck: I only hope the Professor's calculations are correct.
Robot nods in grim agreement.
Fred-16: You and me both, sport.
Fred-6 and the Commander set out across the eerie alien landscape. Unknown to them, General Thoraxid has crawled from a nearby vertical shaft, and is trailing them at a distance. The Commander pauses, removes hat, wipes brow.
Duck: Whew! All this heat from that green sun's getting me down…
His attention is drawn to the inside of his hat. He reaches into it and extracts Troppo's apple. A note is attached to its stem.
Fred-6: That's a funny way to carry your lunch.
Duck: It's from Troppo! Listen… "If you have need of me, cast this magic apple to the ground. I may respond once, and once only. Your wish will be my command."
Fred-6: Sounds like a handy thing to take on a picnic.
The Commander slips the apple into his pocket, pats it.
Duck: This could come in handy later on.
Thoraxid peers at the pair from behind a large outcropping of stone. He pulls a long horn from his belt and blows it. An almost sub-sonic tone issues forth. The insectoid blows a second time.
Duck and Fred-6 look about in confusion.
Fred-6: What the heck kinda noise izzat?
A monstrous spider confronts our heros. Thoraxid tucks the horn in his belt and takes a powder, still unseen.
Duck: That's the largest Zhamboolian land spider I've ever seen… but such creatures are indigenous to Mars… what is one doing here?
Fred-6: Purely an academic point, Ducky old sport. We have more immediate concerns now. Like not getting trampled on and et!
Duck draws his sword.
Fred-6: Uh… no offense, but don't ya think we oughtta use the apple?
Duck: Not to worry, Fred-6. I've handled bigger and nastier beasts than this one. Besides, we may have even more serious need of a miracle before this mission is over.
Duck does battle with the great spider. Fred-6 hides his eyes a lot. At length, Duck is knocked to the ground. His sword skitters away.
Fred-6: Commander! Use the magic apple!
Duck is in a swoon and beyond receiving any communication. The slavering jaws of the monster move in for the kill.
Fred-6: Sufferin' electrodes!
The automaton puts down his package. The robot's arms snap into an outstretched position. A blinding ray issues from his hands. The ray vaporizes the spider. The recovering Commander is awestruck.
Duck: You… you never told me you could do that!
Fred-6: I guess I'm just the shy and modest type.
Duck: Well… why didn't you do it sooner?
Fred-6: I thought you'd get mad at me, old fellow. After all, I didn't want to endanger your macho self-image.
Duck: (disgusted) Help me up.
Fade out.
Fade in. In long shot, the Commander and Fred-6 see the huge bunker housing the gun. They strike out toward it.
Narrator: Crews prepare the Neo-Cosmitronic Radium Cannon for firing. In the shadow of the awesome weapon, one of the Rear Admiral's most powerful lieutenants communicates with his master…
Caligula Jones: Yes, yes, the cannon will be ready for firing within the hour.
Goose: (over radio) Are you certain? There must be nothing left to chance.
Jones: Of course I'm certain. You may rely on it, Rear Admiral. Everything will go perfectly, or my name's not Caligula Jones!
Goose: (over radio) That is well.
Jones: And that's another thing! What's the big idea of planting one of your spies here to watch my every move?
Goose: (over radio) To whom are you referring?
Thoraxid enters frame, stands behind Jones. THe insectoid holds a sheet of paper.
Jones: That's a laugh! I mean your buddy Thoraxid. How dare you send a giant cockroach to eyeball me? I've gotta a good mind to stuff his slimy peepers down his throat! Furthermore, I intend to--
Jones becomes aware of Thoraxid's presence.
Jones: To… to… I… i… intend… uh, ix-nay on the ug-bay.
Thoraxid hands the paper to Jones.
Jones: Rear Admiral! I have just this moment received Earth's reply to your ultimatum.
Goose: (over radio} Ah, excellent. How do the people of Terra respond to my generous offer?
Jones: (studying message} I can't make heads or tails of this… what does "Nuts!" mean?
Goose: (over radio) It means, my dear Jones, that you prepare the cannon for immediate firing! Over and out!
Jones: Good! I wanted to blow the joint up anyway! General, check the reactor pit!
Thoraxid dutifully exits. On a narrow catwalk, he inspects the raging furnace. Thoraxid rejoins Jones. He delivers an A-OK salute, followed by a few gesticulations.
Jones: (nasty laugh) So… the reactor has nearly reached critical mass. Nothing can stop it now… nothing, of course, 'cept for gold ore.
A perplexed Thoraxid gesticulates some more.
Jones: What?
Thoraxid repeats himself.
Jones: Didn't the Rear Admiral tell you anything? According to Dr. Vorca, the Neo-Cosmitronic radium beam cannot penetrate the element gold. Now just consider the possible side effects of that. After the Earth is destroyed, its gold fields will still be floating free in space, ours for the taking.
Duck: (off-screen) So Professor Trapezoid was right.
Jones and Thoraxid turn to see Commander Duck and Fred-6.
Duck: The Professor suspected that your "ultimate" weapon had just such a weak point.
Jones: You self-righteous banana slug! You make me sick! So you found me… so what! Fat lot of good it'll do you. (suddenly cagy) This ain't how I planned things, but maybe it's a better development than i thought. (sneering) How sweet it will be to watch your face, as your beloved Earth is destroyed. Millions of worthless Earthlings vaporized into atoms before your very eyes…
[UDuck[/U]: I come not to bury Terra, but to save it! (to the robot) Fred-6!
Fred-6 rips the covering from the package he carries: it proves to be the golden statue of Commander Kong.
Duck: Fix the statue of Commander Kong into the barrel of the cannon.
Jones: No! Wait! you don't understand what that will do! If all this power can't be projected at Earth, it will destroy this planet instead!
Duck: Oh. (thinks it over) In that case, I suggest that we all depart this planet as soon as possible.
Fred-6 returns to his place at the Commander's side. He carries the head of an annihilatron. He throws it away, dusts hands. He makes a circle with thumb and forefinger.
General Thoraxid readies his arm for firing.
Jones: I have a better idea… say your prayers, Duck!
Jones signals to General Thoraxid. Fred-6 follows this action, sees Thoraxid, then turns back. Sudden realization prompts the robot to perform a double-take. As Thoraxid fires, Fred-6 steps into the path of the flying arm, saving the life of Commander Duck. THe arm imbeds itself in the robot's metal chest.
Duck: (peeping around the robot) You guys are crazy!
The Commander and Fred-6 move into action. A donnybrook ensues. While the robot mops the floor with Thoraxid, Duck and Jones have their own struggle. Duck soon gains the upper hand.
Duck: Yield, Jones… yield, or so help me--
Jones tosses his weapon away. Flames shoot from the reactor; black smoke begins to billow. Duck is thrown back by the explosion.
Fred-6: Much as I enjoy playing with you boys… the reactor furnace is about to erupt.
Thoraxid hoofs it out of the chamber.
Jones: You aint' heard the last of me, Duck.
Duck: Always happy to beat you to within a inch of your life, Jones.
Jones blows a razz-berry at Duck. Exit Caligula Jones. Fred-6 enters frame.
Fred-6: Our ship is at least three miles away. We can't possibly reach it in time.
Duck: Then we're doomed… unless…
The Commander pulls Troppo's apple from his pocket. He throws it to the ground. There is a great cloud of smoke. A gigantic image of Troppo's face appears, floating above them. It looks around.
Troppo: Holy Kazoozis! What a mess!
Duck: Hello, Troppo. Things are pretty tough. Do you think you can presto us to our ship?
Troppo: Do I think I can… does Felicity have a tail? It will be duck soup. Now take a deep breath… Presto Modesto!
The Commander and Fred-6 vanish. The image of Troppo fades. A red glare envelopes the chamber. The Neo-Cosmitronic radium boils within the reactor. The cannon glows red with the pressure of the restrained elements. Increasingly powerful explosions send pieces of steel and masonry plummeting into the reactor pit. Finally, the cannon misfires, showering the chamber with neo-cosmitronic radium.
As the Commander's astro-cruiser sails away from the planet, an inferno of cosmic fire engulfs the surface of the world.
The scene shifts, and we find ourselves in an intergalactic eatery. An elderly Commander Kong sits at a small table. When he speaks, we realize that he has served as our narrator. Kong directly addresses the audience.
Kong: And so, although my beautiful golden statue was destroyed, the galaxy was once more made safe for the free planets. (lights up a cigar) You know, I'm proud of the way young Duck handled the whole affair. He's got some style. Reminds me of myself. Yessir, I think the kid's going to be all right. (suddenly thinking of something) Excuse me.
Commander Kong pounds his cane on the table.
Kong: Waiter! Waiter! I've been sitting here fifteen microns! Where's that banana colada I ordered?
Caligula Jones enters in full waiter drag, the drink on his tray, a towel over one arm.
Jones: I'm sorry, sir. You see, this kind of work is new to me.
Jones serves the banana colada.
Kong: Well, just see to it you don't make Commander Duck sorry he recommended you for our rehabilitation program.
Kong drops a coin onto Jones's try and wave him away.
Jones: Yes sir. Thank you, sir.
Caligula bows in thanks. As he exits, he bites the coin to test its authenticity.
Thank you J! Hope it lives up to expectations! I'll have another Commander Duck screenplay to present next round, a considerably shorter one. Also, a further example about this length, ("Sky Giant of Titan"), though not right away. It's a rewrite, combining elements from several different drafts, and I never did complete the blasted thing. Close to three decades in the works... high time to add the finishing touches!
This Commander Duck script was written well before the others and did not include any input at all from GM. I'd intended it as a special effects exercise (the alien warrior would have been a stop-motion puppet), hence the heavy emphasis on visuals and the short running time. Running time still wasn't short enough… no aspect of the film was ever produced.
The Lost Warrior
a screenplay by
Foster Glenn Oakes
CHARACTERS
Commander Duck
Prof. Trapezoid
Fred-16 (the giant robot)
Felicity Feline
Swenson
The X-Minus-Zero.
Announcer: This is the space station X-Minus-Zero. It occupies an orbit somewhere between the Earth and the Moon.
The Commander.
Announcer: Manned by a crew of extraterrestrials under the leadership of Commander Duck, celebrated Sky Marshal of the Galaxy, this gleaming citadel of the stratosphere maintains a constant vigil against those who would threaten the safety of our planet. And now, our story.
Cut back to the Space Station. Cut to control room. The Commander staunchly guides the course for the X-Minus-Zero. Enter Felicity, missive in hand. They do the Commander Duck salute.
Felicity: Felicity Felinus reporting, sir.
Duck: Good evening, Felicity. Ah, I see you have your daily status reports.
Felicity: Aye, sir. This page should be of special interest.
Duck: Why, this is from Prof. Trapezoid, our contact on Earth. He states that he has discovered and unearthed the body of a huge alien, frozen in the icy wastes of Antarctica.
Felicity: That's not the half of it, Commander. Take a squint at this picture the Professor sent.
Duck: Crawling Cosmos! (cut to the photo of a giant alien body, fully armed, standing upright in a block of ice) This is a Zagtite warrior from the planet Epizealium, in full battle dress!
Felicity: I haven't seen armor like that since Epizealium warred with Earth, these many years past.
Duck: That is undoubtedly when the Zagtite became fixed in the ice... probably through a crash landing. I hope the Professor is wise enough to leave him frozen.
Felicity: What harm would it do to thaw him out? Epizealium and Earth have a strong peace treaty now.
Duck: This alien warrior wouldn't know that! For him, the blazing battle with Earth would still be at its peak! Felicity, I must go to Prof. Trapezoid's laboratory at once, if only to insure that the Zagtite remains undisturbed. Take command of the ship. I'll return as soon as I can.
Felicity: Aye aye, Commander. I'll have your shuttle craft stand by.
The outside of the space station. Huge bay doors draw back, and the shuttle craft glides into an orbit around Earth. Cut to the Professor's lab. The Professor and Fred-16 stand in front of the frozen alien. Beside them is a weird projector-like contraption.
Professor: What an amazing find, eh Freddie? (the robot nods in agreement) Now, this temperature projector can produce enormous degrees of heat and cold. I'll use it to thaw the body of this alien... but we dare not do so until representatives of Epizealium can be on hand to help him adjust to present-day living. You know, when he was entombed, Zagtites and Earthmen were desperate enemies. Defrosted too soon, he could cause untold damage. Come, Freddie. We'll send a communication to Epizealium right away.
Exit Prof. and Fred-16. Enter Swenson, Professor Trapezoid's handyman.
Swenson: Goody, goody! Professor Trapezoid is nowhere around. He's so fussy. I can never get any cleaning done while he's here. (running his finger over the projector) Whew! Just look at all this dust!
Swenson starts to tidy up around the projector. He lifts the "ON" switch so that he can clean under it, and the machine grinds into life. Steam begins to drift from under the block of ice. Soon, the room is filled with thick vapor, as water drips onto the floorboards. The Zagtite flexes its muscles, then lets out a terrific roar.
Swenson: Uh-oh! I better get out of here!
The Zagtite breaks through the lab wall and into the street. The Professor follows, ray gun in hand.
Professor: Good Lord! The Zagtite is loose upon society!
From off-screen, a hand reaches out and grips the Professor's shoulder. The Professor whirls around, only to find the Commander.
Professor: Oh, it's you, my boy! You gave me quite a fright!
Duck: Quick, Professor! Where's the Zagtite?
Professor: He lumbered off in the direction of the city hall. We've got to stop him before he creates an interplanetary incident!
Duck: Have Fred-16 bring your temperature projector. Perhaps we can refreeze him before it's too late. Meanwhile, I'll try to prevent him from doing any damage.
The Commander runs off in the direction of the Zagtite. He sees the beast bending a lamp post into a weapon.
Duck: You there! Stop! (the Zagtite turns) Cease these hostile activities! The war with Earth is over! (The Zagtite hurls the lamp post at him. The Commander ducks.) I didn't think he'd believe me...
The Commander fires two shots at the Zagtite. They bounce harmlessly off the giant's armored frame. The beast lumbers to attack, and the Commander dashes down an alleyway. The Zagtite passes by without spotting him.
Duck: (into speaker) Commander Duck to Professor Trapezoid. I've drawn the Zagtite away from the municipal buildings. He's headed for the residential section. I'll try to head him off.
The Commander zig-zags down side streets until he reaches a main boulevard. He looks desperately around for the alien, when the Zagtite's mammoth claw descends from behind to engulf him. The other titan limb lofts a wicked, glittering steel blade. At that moment, Professor Trapezoid and Fred-16 round the corner with the temperature apparatus.
Professor: Freddie! Free the Commander at once! I'll ready the projector.
Fred-16 strides to the Commander's side. With his powerful metal arms, he pries open the Zagtite's claw. He and the shaken Commander dart quickly out of the path of the "Freeze" beam. In an instant, the Zagtite is immobilized into a frosty white statue.
Commander: That was quick work, Professor. I'll contact Epizealium immediately and have this warrior taken away for indoctrination into normal society. And Fred-16, thank you for saving my life. Those iron muscles of yours really did the trick.
Professor: Can't imagine how my temperature projector malfunctioned and released the Zagtite. Hmmph! You should see the state of my lab. What a terrible mess! Swenson must attend to it at once!
Commander: My work here is done. It's back to the X-Minus-Zero... but I'll be ready for action if ever you need me again.
The three comrades do the Commander Duck salute. Fade out. Fade in on darkness, as the shuttle craft sails back toward the space station.
As longish, ambitious screenplays had paid off in precious few finished films, I contemplated a handful of scaled-down projects (both in terms of running time and production value), any one of which might easily have been completed over the course of a weekend. This will be the first example; more will follow. Ultimate results: no finished films. Hardly a tragedy, as the concepts were all painfully limited and pedestrian, while the execution proved sophomoric. Add lack-of-scope to those defects, and any results, however portfolio-swelling, would forever have been an embarrassment. The text alone will be tough enough to take…
Armageddon 3000
by Foster Glenn Oakes
CHARACTERS
Capt. James Corey
Dr. Abraham Mason
Patrick Russell
Adam
Norman
INTERIOR. In a laboratory stand three men. CAPT. JAMES COREY works a tape recorder, while DR. ABRAHAM MASON and PATRICK RUSSELL take their positions on the disks of a time-transportation platform.
Corey: This is project leader Capt. James Corey. I am making my final report before entry, via time warp, into the 31st century. Accompanying me are (cut to Dr. Mason) Dr. Abraham Mason, electronics and physics expert; and (cut to Russell) Mr. Patrick Russell, engineering specialist. For the next twenty-four hours, the three of us will be living in the year 3000 AD.
Capt. Corey joins his comrades on the time-transmitter. The trio vanish into a vortex of special effects magic.
Titles and credits.
EXTERIOR. They emerge into a scene of urban devastation, staring about them in bewilderment. Capt. Corey indicates a direction, and the team begins its tour. At length they come upon a towering statue of intimidating alien visage.
Mason: Nothing born on Earth could have created a monstrosity of this sort.
From behind them, out of gaping tunnel mouths, hordes of ragged human beings swarm to attack. They clobber Mason and Russell. Corey turns, preparing to fire his gun, when a tall blond wretch, ADAM, clubs him as well.
Adam: Take them to Norman. He will best know their worth.
The dingy band drags the three adventurers down below. INTERIOR. They herd their ancestors through a subterranean passageway and deposit them before NORMAN, a lean, raggedy old fellow.
Norman: Well done, Adam. Now, back to your post.
Adam and his men exit. Norman turns his attention to the new arrivals.
Corey: Who are you?
Norman: Call me Norman… leader of all that remains of mankind following the great Martian invasion of 2954. I alone am old enough to remember…
Corey: Do you mean an alien power has conquered Earth? How could this happen?
Norman: Only a decade before the tragedy, our planet had attained a period of perfect peace. All nations had totally disarmed.
Russell: Those extraterrestrial devils! Disrupting mankind's fondest dream! Why don't you retaliate?
Norman: We have since lost the art of making war, and therefore cannot beat back the single sentry who remains as warden of our planet.
Mason: Don't you have books telling of weapon technology?
Norman: Yes. But none exist who are trained to understand them.
Corey: Doc, Pat… examine those books. See if you can come up with some sort of weapon that will be effective.
Several hours pass. In montage, Russell and Mason peruse the ancient texts and construct the devise. Soon they present a crude, bulbous rifle to Capt. Corey.
Russell: This should do the trick, Jim. It's a simplified version of a laser cannon.
Corey: Good. Let's get that Martian!
EXTERIOR. Corey and Russell find the hulking, fearsome alien at its post. They advance toward the strange creature. Russell fires his pistol to gain its attention. The beast turns, enraged, and charges at the two men. They race away, but Russell is too slow. The creature grabs up the puny human, dashing him to the asphalt and squashing him with its massive war club. Corey rushes on until he reaches Dr. Mason. Mason fires a bolt of solid light into the body of the monster, which stops in mid-stride. Alien limbs tremble uncontrollably as the beam bursts through the other side of the creature's body. It slumps over, dead.
Dissolve. The next day, Mason and Corey join Norman and his blond-haired aide at the crest of a hill overlooking the newly liberated city.
Mason: I'll stay here, Capt. Corey. My knowledge will be needed if the Martians ever return.
Corey: Good-bye, Doc. And good luck.
Corey checks his watch, then hurries to the point of transmission. In an instant, he disappears back into the past.
This next cheap-o screenplay is even more thread-bare limited than "Armageddon 3000", would have been a lot easier to shoot (all set-pieces were designed to take advantage of simple-to-access local landmarks), and might even have been fun to watch as an example of gross-amateur film production. Even so, goose eggs. It had become increasingly difficult to put a cast and crew together:
The Lost Future
a screenplay by Foster Glenn Oakes
CHARACTERS
Dr. Augustus Welles (narrator)
Dr. Joyce Edwards
Prof. Adolph Van Horne
Sgt. Mark Obrien
1st Mutant
2nd Mutant
3rd Mutant
Exterior. The members of the expedition relax prior to their journey.
Narrator: Our expedition began on my country estate, where I had set up the time warp device which would transport us into the 25th century. I, Dr. Augustus Welles, would serve as the leader of the expedition, as well as the biology and meteorology expert. The renowned Prof. Adolph Van Horne, of the Austrian Institute of Geology, was our soil and mineral specialist. My close friend and colleague, Dr. Joyce Edwards, was our botanist. Sgt. Mark Obrien, army weapons expert, was the fourth member. For the period of twelve hours, my research party would be projected into the future, to the year 2450 A.D.
Obrien takes out a strange looking gun and fires it at a statue on the lawn. The stone figure crumbles and collapses flat. He hands the gun to Van Horne.
Narrator: Before our departure, Obrien demonstrated the compression gun he had invented, which made objects collapse under their own weight. He entrusted the gun to Prof. Van Horne. Finally, all was in readiness.
Welles adjusts the time-warp machine and takes his place alongside the others. Instantly, their surroundings change. They find themselves in a wild, wooded area.
Narrator: My first observation in the world of 2450 was that the atmosphere seemed to have gained the ability to filter out the sun's damaging rays while allowing only the most nourishing ones to penetrate. In such an environment, evolution could run wild. Prof. Van Horne and Joyce went to search out plant and soil specimens. I took Obrien and started my examination of the local fauna. The animal life appeared to be harmless, composed primarily of strange-looking insects.
While Joyce and Van Horne search for specimens, strange mutants emerge from subterranean holes to attack them.
Narrator: Mutations of the former human race set upon Joyce and Prof. Vanhorn with malignant purpose. Mark was first to hear their cries for help. His mastery of the oriental defense arts gave him an upper hand.
As Obrien fights the mutants, he hurls one into a nest of the “harmless” bugs.
Narrator: The insects' venom dissolved the mutant’s flesh. My blood ran cold to think that it could have been me. A giant mutant, possibly the leader, emerged from one of the tunnels. Mark was doomed to certain death unless I acted swiftly.
Welles picks up a fallen stone axe and hurls it at the giant mutant. It's blade sinks deep into the creature’s chest.
Narrator: The mutant went down, fatally wounded. The tangled vegetation of the woods adjoined a sterile plain, which we explored. In the distance, lay the ruins of a futuristic citadel, a monument to the downfall of man. Nearby, an odd rock formation attracted Prof. Van Horne’s interest. His scientific curiosity nearly proved fatal.
The rock formation raises up on pillar-like stone legs. It proves to be a huge creature, bent on mayhem.
Narrator: Van Horne turned the compression gun on the menacing beast just in time. It crumbled into a pile of scrap rubble right before our amazed eyes.
The party departs the barren plain and make its way to a placid lake.
Narrator: On our way back to our entry-point, we came upon a small lake brimming with a flock of seemingly benign ducks. In one horrible lesson, we learned the grotesque perversities of evolution gone mad. Against my advice, Obrien approached them; too late, I caught the glint of tiny, razored teeth. To our horror, the feathery fiends swarmed over our unfortunate comrade like piranhas. We could only watch, helpless. Forlorn as we were, the time had come to return to the 20th century and document our horde of priceless knowledge.
A remaining mutant skulks nearby, observing them. The three adventurers transport back into the present. The mutant approaches the spot from which they disappeared, only to vanish himself.
Narrator: We had no way of knowing that one of the mutants had followed us by means of a delayed warp. Prof. Van Horne was exhausted from the expedition, and decided to rest while Joyce and I began our reports.
Interior. Van Horne reclines on a sofa. The mutant grasps him from behind, wrenching his head from his shoulders.
Narrator: Joyce discovered the body, mangled into fine pulp by the horny fists of the mutant.
The monster chases Welles and Edwards into the bright sunlight. It looms over them, only to stagger and collapse. It's withering limbs burst into flames.
Narrator: As the terror from the 25th century closed in on us, a fearful change occurred. I understood at last that this mutation was being exposed to the deadly rays of the sun for the first time in its miserable life. As we watched, the last remnant of our lost future became a scattering of blackened ash on my lawn.
My third retro-cheapie screenplay. "Living Lightning" had potential, though little of it shows up on the page. Everything would have depended on clever fight choreography… at best, it might have been recalled one of those frenetic bits of Benny Hill mock-silent slapstick. We'll never know how successful it would have been:
Living Lightning
a screenplay by
Foster Glenn Oakes
Narrator
Living Lightning
Prof. Gordon
Johnny
Gorgoro
Mong
Narrator: Monstrosities undreamed of menace mankind in the year 2104. The lizardmen Gorgoro and Mong arise from the Earth's past to ravage human treasures. But one force of beneficence exists to challenge their twin threat: the interplanetary hero known as... Living Lightning!!!
Living Lightning materializes; fanfare.
Narrator: Living Lightning! The being with the power of living lightning!
Additional fanfare.
Narrator: With his human assistants, Prof. Gordon and Johnny...
Prof. Gordon and Johnny appear on either side of L.L. He places a hand on each shoulder.
Narrator: ...the mighty space lord battles the beings that would make our galaxy an unsafe place in which to live.
L.L. raises his arms in a gesture, and all vanish.
CREDITS.
EXTERIOR. Cave in the center of a cliffside. Gorgoro and Mong creep headfirst through the aperture and into the chasm.
Meanwhile, Johnny totes a briefcase through cracked, barren terrain. He hears a signal from his walkie-talkie and answers a call from Prof. Gordon.
Johnny: Johnny here.
Gordon: (in his lab, INTERIOR.) This is Prof. Gordon. Listen carefully: Gorgoro and Mong are after you. I'm sending the signal for Living Lightning at this moment.
Johnny: Dont'cha worry, Prof...(At the term "Prof", Gordon rolls his eyes heavenward and massages his brow in a pained fashion.) ...I won't let'cha down, boy. I'll protect this (indicates briefcase) intervolometer with my life.
Gordon: (dryly) I don't need to tell you what could happen should they gain control of that weapon. They could rule the world, that's what! Good luck, son.
Johnny: (once Gordon has signed off) I'm not your son!
Johnny puts the walkie-talkie away and returns to his task. He enters a narrow stone corridor. Mong emerges to block his path. The young man turns to flee, only to find Gorgoro, a weird pistol clutched in his claw. The lizardman fires a blast of red light, rendering Johnny senseless. They close in for the kill.
L.L.: (off) Good shot, Gorgoro. Why not try one in my direction?
They turn to see L.L. standing stalwartly at the crest of a hill. The dual demons produce their clubs. L.L. draws his sword and descends slowly on the two homosaurs, who make disgusting noises. Gorgoro attacks; L.L. clouts him with his fist and when Mong fires his gun, he dodges the blast.
L.L.: You need practice, Mong. Watch me!
L.L. fires a burst of his own, hitting his target. Mong sinks, toasted. Gorgoro rises again to attack and throws a hand grenade, just missing L.L. They engage in hand-to-hand combat. Meanwhile, Mong has recovered and charges toward the two. But Johnny has likewise shaken off the effects of the ray and grabs onto Mong's ankle. The reptile beats the boy senseless and stalks toward L.L., who is mopping the floor with Gorgoro. L.L. recovers his sword; he and Mong duel fiercely. The space lord wounds Mong, but Gorgoro hurls another grenade, which connects. Our hero is stunned and both lizardmen fire their weapons, roasting his body to a red hot turn. Johnny revives and picks up L.L.'s fallen pistol, blasting Gorgoro. Mong turns to fire.
L.L.: No you don't, you filthy reptile!
L.L. leaps at Mong, who kicks him back and then lands a large stone on the cosmic warrior. Gorgoro steals up behind the groggy L.L. and prepares to smash him with his club. Johnny retrieves L.L.'s sword and tosses it toward him.
Johnny: Living Lighning!
L.L. catches the sword; he and Gorgoro have a long duel. At length, the space lord slashes forward, picking up Gorgoro's severed head.
L.L.: I think this is the last we'll see of you. (He tosses the head away.)
L.L. turns to see Mong menace Johnny. An unexpected voice comes from off-screen.
Gordon: Get back, Johnny.
Prof. Gordon steps forward and fires twice at Mong with a revolver. The bullets bounce harmlessly off. Mong is inches from the briefcase when L.L. dives on top of him. The two superbeings wrestle: the space monarch hefts the lizardman aloft, snapping his spine. He then picks up the case and hands it to Gordon.
L.L.: Put it in a safe place, Prof. Gordon.
Gordon: I'll have it safely locked away. The world will be secure...until the next time.
L.L. makes a pass and vanishes into thin air.
Johnny: Well, Living Lightning, we sure made 'em eat--hey, where'd he go?
Gordon: (placing his hand on Johnny's shoulder, as they look out toward the horizon) Back to his realm, son. Back to the stars.
Johnny shrugs off Gordon's hand. Gordon glances at him, annoyed. Then, their twin visions become fixed again on the blazing horizon. Fade out.
I'm not sure when exactly this was written; fairly early, probably, based on its crude layout. It's an even less ambitious version of "The Lost Future", set in a South American jungle:
Capt. Howard in the Amazon
a screenplay by Foster Glenn Oakes
CREDITS
Intertitle: Capt. Howard—Famous Adventurer (shot of Capt. Howard, with automatic pistol)
Intertitle: Dr. Richardson—Renowned Scientist (shot of Dr. Richardson, examining rock with magnifying glass)
Intertitle: Jim Roland—Big Game Hunter (Shot of Jim Roland, with pith helmet and big game rifle)
Intertitle: Capt. Howard’s home in San Francisco.
Captain Howard is in his house, going through old books. Suddenly, he comes across a map in one of the volumes. He unfolds it. Cut to shot of the face of the map, bearing the title, “Treasures of the Lost Empire”. A dotted line leads through a jungle to a spot marked “X”. Greatly excited, Capt. Howard takes his automatic out of a drawer, tucks the map safely under his belt, and walks out of the room.
Intertitle: With his two close companions, the Captain makes his way into the Amazonian jungle.
Capt. Howard, Dr. Richardson, and Jim Roland make their way through the jungle. Howard chops his way through the brush with a machete. Dr. Richardson examines the surrounding plants with his magnifying glass. He goes over to a tree and takes a close look at its bark. The camera pans up to reveal a poisonous snake perched on a branch above him. Jim Roland sees the snake, takes aim, and fires. The snake falls to the ground, dead. The three stop to consult the map. Capt. Howard points out a direction, and they strike through the trees. Soon, they arrive at the spot.
Intertitle: Unknown to the adventurers, a demon guards the buried loot.
A fearsome looking Demon observes them from hiding. It sneaks toward the men, hiding behind shrubs. Dr. Richardson goes off in search of new subjects for study. As he gets out of his companions eye-sight, the Demon jumps out and slashes him. The Doctor falls to the ground, severely injured. Meanwhile, the remaining men have uncovered the treasure. They load it into burlap sacks and prepare to leave, when the Captain realizes that Dr. Richardson is missing. The two split up and look for him. Jim Roland walks past a tree where the Demon is hiding. The Demon clubs him with a tree branch. Meanwhile, Howard finds Dr. Richardson. As he hands the Doctor his canteen, the Demon appears. It charges toward them. Howard pulls out his automatic, firing into the beast. It sinks to its knees, mortally wounded. Captain Howard produces his machete and slices the head from the kneeling figure.
Intertitle: The adventurers make their way back to civilization.
Capt. Howard, Dr. Richardson, and Jim Roland are back at Howard’s home. They toast their success, examining the treasure heaped on a table before them. Dr. Richardson produces his magnifying glass and studies the Demon head, which has been stuffed and mounted.
-END-
Props:
books (for shelf)
treasure map (coffee on sheet of typing paper to weather it, and make marks with felt pen)
automatic pistol (toy)
machete
canteen
hunting rifle (pellet gun)
snake (rubber toy)
magnifying glass
blood (catsup or poster paint)
treasure (plastic dishes and vases spray-painted gold)
burlap sacks
club, tree limb
three champaign glasses
champaign (sparkling apple juice)
The Demon can be played by any one of the actors wearing a specific costume, since not all three will be seen with the Demon at once.
Most often, GM and I collaborated on our screenplay ideas, but this one became a minor competition. "Mad Slug" was the name of a local rock band GM knew, and the funky-phrased juxtaposition inspired us into separate horror film concepts. He never got around to actually writing his down; it would have involved a traveling carnival whose titular attraction escaped its compound occasionally to lunch on luckless townsfolk. Mine will be presented tonight. Anyone familiar with my past scripts will recognize the repeated motif of a jungle setting. This was something of an enforced preference; I lived in a rural area, far from town but plenty close to any number of wooded backdrops. An actual jungle picture was a lot more feasible for me to execute than any sort of concrete one:
Fade in. The Keeper of Arcane Knowledge sits placidly, waiting for the audience to arrive. Odd curios and peculiar, decrepit-looking books line the shelves. Directly before him rests a particularly disreputable tome.
Keeper: (speaking directly to the camera) Ah, welcome friends! You’re just in time... for terror! I am the Keeper of the Vault of Arcane Knowledge. In the surrounding volumes you will find stories to turn your blood to ice and hair to snow! Tonight I have elected to relate a tale of mollusk madness entitled...
The musty book-cover folds back to reveal the title page, which reads:
MAD SLUG
A FERAL PRODUCTION
SCREENPLAY BY
FOSTER GLENN OAKES
The screen goes black.
Fade in on two empty long-stemmed wine glasses. The neck of a bottle appears to fill each one with rich red liquor. A pair of hands then enters and elevates the glasses out of frame.
Cut to RAMON CORTEZ, as he lifts the glass to his lips.
Cortez: To a mutually beneficial association, Señor Chambers.
Cut to MR. CHAMBERS, who sips.
Two-shot: Ramon produces a rolled map, plops it onto the table.
Cortez: Now señor, if you would care to examine the chart I’ve drawn up--
Chambers: Just one momento there, Mr. Cortez. You promised me corroborative evidence. Or did it slip your mind?
Cortez: Please forgive my hastiness… you are right, of course. I shall produce the plates you are so eager to see…
Cut to position directly overhead, as Ramon produces some illustrations from a satchel.
Cortez: I could not find copies in the library at Pedreiras as I hoped and was forced to contact Prof. Lamera, an instructor from my college days. These belong to his private collection: (he displays the first; it features various extinct animals, dominated by a huge, crude, but anatomically accurate slug head) an ancient painting from a cave in the vicinity of the Lagos Negro. Note this figure: it is quite unlike anything in any primitive artwork yet found.
Chambers: That is blamed odd. What's the date of this find?
Cortez: Roughly 22,000 B.C.
Chambers: (pointing toward the central depiction) That thing's scale seems a might exaggerated. Aren’t those elephants off to the left?
Cortez: … mastodons, yes. And what of the prominent position this strange figure occupies… it must have been an object of overwhelming terror and importance in the tribe’s bygone world!
Chambers: Might also have been a coca-induced nightmare.
Cortez: Except that I have uncovered two further examples, much later ones, which substantiate it. (he brings out the second print, in which Norse warriors battle against a massive slug-headed sea serpent) Here… a German woodcut, recounting a bold Viking expedition into the Lagos Negro area. Of course, the reproduction of events is crude and fanciful, based as it was on descriptions centuries after the fact. But see how it agrees with the more accurate cave painting.
Chambers: (thoughtfully) Yeah… impressive. Okay, let's take a squint at that final print.
Cortez: This illustration was made by an eye-witness in 1834, part of a British expedition attempting to trace the Rio Negro to its source. Upon reaching the lake mouth, this is what was said to have confronted them (presented is the rendering of a colossal slug, awkwardly posed but very precise in its detail). As one can easily tell, it corresponds most closely to the essentials of the earlier sightings.
Cut back to two-shot.
Cortez: If these reports are indeed valid, some unknown, unthinkably gigantic species of river mollusk might even today inhabit the basin of the Lagos Negro. Photographic proof could make this startling possibility a scientific certainty.
Chambers: Winning you a Nobel Prize, or some such geegaw. But what about my end… the publication rights?
Cortez: As I promised, they will be yours to control… a generous return for the cost of fitting out our trip.
Chambers: Just how tough will it be to reach this "Black Lake"?
Cortez: Ah, that brings us to my map.
Cut back to the overhead shot.
Cortez: The region has been very poorly explored and even less well charted. But I have pieced together directions based on a host of native accounts: one week by canoe before rapids make the Rio Negro impassable; at that point, we proceed along a land route to the lake's mouth… two weeks away.
Cut back to the two-shot. Chambers lifts the bottle, refilling both glasses.
Chambers: To a "mutually beneficial association", Mr. Cortez.
Cut to the overhead shot of the map. Zoom in on the map, and fade to darkness.
Fade in on the tree-tops of the Brazilian jungle. Beyond the dense brush and creepers, the Rio Negro swirls angrily. Cortez, followed closely by Chambers, hacks his way through the dense cover. He soon signals for a halt.
Chambers: Hot damn, I’m exhausted! (he plops himself down beside Cortez and mops his brow) Three days, boy. You said we'd spot the lake in three more days.
Cortez: And so we shall, my friend. We make very good time. You have your quinine tablets? (Chambers smiles. He has obviously heard this question many times throughout the journey. He displays the small brown bottle, then lets it drop back into his pocket) Good. Let us press on.
They exit the frame. The camera pans up into the tree-tops. Cut to a subjective shot, as the men make their way through thick vegetation. Cut to a shot of the map, as the camera zooms in. More subjective shots. Cut finally to a medium shot, as Chambers collapses against a tree to rest. He fails to notice a coiled snake in the branches above him. Cortez pulls out a pistol and blasts the reptile, which drops dead. Chambers whirls, startled.
Chambers: Slick piece'a shooting there, amigo. I didn’t even notice the damned thing.
Ramon: A Bushmaster. Deadly venomous, I assure you. [sternly] Señor, several miles still remain between us and our objective. May I persuade you not to kill yourself before that time…
Chambers grows grim, says nothing. Cortez starts back onto the trail.
Cut once more to the map. Zoom in on the lake, until the camera is resting on the words “Lagos Negro”. Cut to the river bank, as Cortez and Chambers descend to the water's edge. Subjective shot of the lake.
Chambers: (panting) This is it? The Lagos Negro? (Ramon nods yes) It's mighty wide, all right. But where's the giant creepy crawlies you promised? I don't see none…
Cortez: No. He does not know we are here. We must call him.
Chambers: Yeah. We'll just… what?
Ramon produces his hunting knife and cuts a deep gash into his palm. He spatters blood into the water as Chambers stares in amazement. After a few tense minutes, the stillness of the lake is broken by furious writhing and foaming. The gargantuan head of the mighty slug breaks the surface and rears high into the air. Chambers stands aghast, while Cortez exudes quiet reverence.
Chambers: Oh my lord… look at it! Must be two...no, three hundred feet long! Quick, gimme the camera!
Ramon: It’s all right… we will have no need for cameras. (he draws his gun) I’m afraid I have been less than candid with you, señor.
Chambers: What… why?
Ramon: I would never dare to share our god with the outside world. That would be a sacrilege… a betrayal of a trust that has endured since 22,000 B.C. …
Cortez: No. Only very old… and very devoted. The people of the Lagos Negro area vanished long, long ago. Our god is a ravenous god and demands the sweetness of human flesh. A living sacrifice once every month… no tribe could long endure that…
Chambers: Absolutely stark-staring crazy!
Cortez: Though the common people vanished, the priesthood lived on. It was our gift, you see… to endure throughout the ages, that our duties might continue eternally. For the beast must be fed… and to feed, it must have meat. If not the locals of the Lagos Negro… then others.
Chambers: … others?!
Cortez: Of course! Like the Vikings! And the British! Now, finally, you North Americans! What matter if a few escape to tell the tale… a tale too obscure to be believed! In the end, there will always be enough to satisfy! And now, Señor Chambers… it is your turn. Walk out into the water, please. Walk now, señor… or I will shoot you here. Not fatally… but very, very painfully.
Chambers spins mechanically about to face the oncoming horror. He shrinks back and turns pleadingly toward Cortez.
Chambers: … Cortez… Ramon. For the love of god--
Cortez fires a bullet, which takes out a great chunk of Chambers' arm.
Cortez: Precisely, señor. For the love of (glancing toward the approaching monstrosity)… god.
He grimly jesters for Chambers to continue. Tracking shot, as Chambers staggers further and deeper into lake water. Close-up of Cortez, his eyes closed dreamily in silent supplication. Fade out.
Fade in on Keeper, who closes the book and looks back toward the camera.
Keeper: Well, well, friends… did that little morsel of horror have the effect on you I promised? No? Well, perhaps you should see what it's done to the person sitting next to you! (slow zoom in on his features) He doesn’t look well at all, does he! Just see how moist and slimy his skin has become! Don’t allow his feelers too close to your face! Well, my friends… good-night!
Shock-cut to the face of the giant slug. Cut to black.
It's been quite awhile since I offered up one of GM's screenplays and there are several still I'd like to include. As I'm winding down to the conclusion of this thread, I'd best get cracking. GM wrote "The Clockwork Man" prior to his "Ape on the Loose" (presented here earlier)… the two bear so many plot similarities, it might almost be counted as a primer for the later film. Footage for it was shot, but not very much; the murder of Dr. Moreau and Branhauser's discovery of Olga/Kolb's dalliance are the only scenes I can remember having been screened for me. Ordinarily, GM would have played the part of Branhauser, but the actor slated for Rabat balked at putting on dark makeup so they switched assignments. My friend was rather disenchanted with the outcome; according to him, the moment in which Branhauser is meant to display "shock, horror, distaste, hate, and grim determination" finds the character looking mildly dyspeptic. Oh well… I'm not sure I would have handled the challenge any better. The actor finally did relent and consented to brown grease-paint for the parallel role in "Ape on the Loose", so this trial would seem to have served a purpose:
The Clockwork Man
by GM
Freely adapted from “The Terrible Clockman” by Jules Verne.
Dramatis Personae:
Doctor Eric Branhauser
Olga Branhauser, Eric’s wife
Inspector Rabat
Doctor Moreau
Professor Kolb
Marcel, a waiter
Claudine, a lady of the evening
Yvonne, a housemaid
Caliban, the Clockwork Man
the time: 1900
the place: French Morocco
the first scene—the Branhauser house
Branhauser tinkers on a desk with a small mechanical figure. Enter Olga, who touches him lightly on the arm.
Olga: Eric—Doctor Moreau and Inspector Rabat have arrived.
Eric: Excellent—excellent. Show them in, Olga.
Exit Olga, to return with Rabat and Moreau. Eric greets them warmly.
Eric: My dear friends--welcome.
Rabat: An invitation to one of your marvelous demonstrations is an invitation I never refuse, Doctor Branhauser.
Eric: I’m so glad you could make it, Dr. Moreau.
Moreau: (coldly) My pleasure.
Eric: (a bit taken back) Ah, well, yes. (enter Olga with a bottle of wine) Thank you, my dear. (exit Olga) Some schnapps, gentlemen?
Rabat starts to nod, when Moreau very deliberately examines the bottle’s label.
Moreau: A very bad year... terrible, in fact. I believe I shall forego your... refreshment, Branhauser.
Rabat: I am sure your wine is more than worthy of my poor Moroccan palate. A glass of it would be most appreciated.
Eric: Of course, Inspector. (he pours some for Rabat and self—Rabat very deliberately raises his glass to Moreau)
Moreau: Would it be too much to ask you to get on with the demonstration, Branhauser?
Eric: Oh, yes, of course, Doctor. As you gentlemen know, I have always believed that missing arms and legs could be replaced by artificial limbs operated by gears, springs, levers, and balances.
Moreau: (derisively) Clockwork.
Eric: Why, yes, to put it simply.
Rabat: And crudely.
Eric: After a time, I conceived that the best way to demonstrate my theory would be to construct a small model completely fashioned from these elements.
Moreau: How quaint! A mechanical doll!
Eric: Well, a bit more complex than that, Doctor. Here is the result of my work.
He unveils a small, metal figure.
Moreau: A toy! Bah! Enough of my time has been wasted.
Moreau uses his cane to sweep the model to the floor, smashing it to bits. Eric is shattered. He sinks to the floor.
Rabat: (placing his cane over Moreau’s wrist) You wear out your welcome all too quickly, my dear Moreau. (bending to Eric) I am sure Dr. Moreau will be only too happy to recompense you.
Eric: Recompense me? How can you recompense a man for eighteen months of research and experimentation? This man has very literally destroyed a year and a half of my life.
Rabat: I see. Then I take it you do not wish to swear out a complaint.
Branhauser shakes his head no.
Rabat: Come, Moreau. At least have the decency to leave a man alone with his sorrow. (in a low voice, to Eric) I am most sorry, Eric.
Exit Rabat and Moreau.
Eric: What Moreau has undone, I can recreate. And recreate I shall!
Moreau: You know, Inspector, it’s a funny thing—but just as I swept the doll from the table, it made a strange, whirring noise. Why, if I didn’t know better, I would swear it screamed.
the second scene—a sidewalk café in central Casablanca
Rabat: Mark my words—one day, your ruthless and cavalier treatment of your colleagues will prove dangerous to your reputation, Dr. Moreau.
Moreau: Nonsense, my dear Inspector. Oh, Marcel! Marcel!
Marcel: Oui, Doctor?
Moreau: A glass of your finest brandy, please.
Marcel: And you, Inspector?
Rabat: Mmmmm...a crème de menthe, Marcel.
Marcel: Very good.
Moreau: I’ve been invited to Branhauser’s demonstrations before. The man has no aptitude for the more serious aspects of science. In fact, I genuinely believe he missed his true calling. Why, with his talent for creating mechanical dolls and devices, he would have made a marvelous stage magician.
Rabat: Leonardo Da Vinci would also have made an excellent prestidigitator. Yet he was one of the fathers of modern science.
Marcel serves the drinks, then exits.
Rabat: Thank you, Marcel.
Moreau: As always, your prose is very attractive, Inspector—but it contains precious little substance.
Rabat: I consented to drink with you, Doctor, but I do not have to endure your boorish remarks. (he stands and drops a few coins on the table) Good evening.
Moreau: Why, of all the cheeky...I’ll have your job, you heathern!
Rabat: Not before I have your head, good sir. Adieu.
Branhauser closes the front door behind him. A letter is in his hand. He is extremely excited.
Eric: Olga! Olga!
Olga: What is it, Eric?
Eric: Professor Kolb’s reply just arrived via the afternoon post. (he opens and reads the letter)
Olga: Well, what does he say?
Eric: He’s decided to come! He says here he’s intensely interested in my theories.
Olga: How wonderful! When will he arrive?
Eric: The seventeenth. Why, that’s the day after tomorrow.
Olga: I’ll prepare the east bedroom for him.
Eric: I’ll have to redouble my efforts to complete the initial stage of the project in time.
Olga: (biting her lip) Does that mean you’ll again be working both night and day?
Eric: Why, of course it... (Olga looks downcast) Oh, dearest Olga—I know I’ve been neglecting you terribly of late, but you, of all people, know how important it is for me to prove my theories by consummating this project.
Olga: Certainly I do, darling... it’s just that—you seem so... distant these days.
Eric: Soon things will be s they were before, Olga. But first I must finish my work. I cannot allow Moreau to have the final laugh.
Olga: Moreau, Moreau, Moreau! It seems he’s all you talk about anymore. Why do you allow his impudence and shortsightedness to torture you so?
Eric: Because the man is a knave and a fool, Olga. (move to cu) And I never could stand a knave and a fool.
Olga looks worried.
the fourth scene—Branhauser’s workshop
A montage of scenes showing Branhauser in the act of creating Caliban, the Clockwork Man, piece by piece, section by section. No real details (such as the head) are clearly shown.
the fifth scene—the Branhauser house
Olga: And how was your journey, Professor Kolb?
Kolb: Most pleasant, Mrs. Branhauser.
Olga: Eric speaks of you often.
Kolb: I am flattered that I made such a strong impression upon him. I can honestly say that Eric was the most gifted student we ever had at the university.
Olga: You cannot imagine how pleased Eric would be to hear you say that, Professor. If you will excuse me, I shall tell him you have arrived.
The Professor nods agreeably, and rises as Olga exits.
We see Eric working on Caliban—but the side of Caliban toward the camera is shrouded from sight. Upon Olga’s entrance, Eric starts and completely covers Caliban.
Olga: Eric--?
Eric: I’ve told you never to enter this room without knocking. My work cannot—must not—be disturbed. Very well—what is it?
Olga: Professor Kolb has arrived.
Eric: What? Professor Kolb? Is it... so soon... the seventeenth?
Olga nods.
Eric: I’m... I’m sorry, Olga. I have allowed my work to attain the better of me. Please tell the Professor I’ll be up in a few moments.
A transition.
Kolb and Eric enter the workshop.
Eric: And this is my laboratory.
Kolb: Very impressive, Eric. (spotting Caliban) But what have we here?
Eric: Here we have the pinnacle of my career—the embodiment of all my theories—the ultimate in mechanical achievement (he grips the cover)—Caliban!
A close-up of Caliban’s features.
Kolb: Good God!
Eric: Only a few more adjustments are necessary before he will be ready for the second and final stage.
Kolb: (fascinated, examining Caliban) How will it be powered?
Eric: Do you not mean, how will he be powered?
Kolb: Mmmmm? Oh, of course. How will he be powered?
Eric: Electricity. It comprises the second stage of which I spoke. There will be a storm tonight. The fires of the heavens shall forge the soul of my Caliban. Will you help me breathe the breath of life into this magnificent steel body?
Kolb: I will consider it the greatest honor of my career to assist your genius, Doctor.
the sixth scene—the workshop
Caliban’s wrists are secured to two wired metal plates. We see he is on a tilt-table. Machinery is much in evidence. A number of cables lead into Caliban’s chest. Outside, a storm rages.
Eric: These switches must be thrown at precisely the proper moment, Professor. A second’s delay could well mean failure. The storm is reaching its peak. Everything depends on the next few seconds.
Exterior. We see lightning strike a metal pole. Interior. The instruments on the machinery go wild.
Eric: (screaming) Now!
The switches are thrown and sparks explode from the machinery and Caliban. Suddenly, all is silent. The two men cautiously approach Caliban.
Eric: (pulling the cables and unfastening Caliban’s hands) Awake, Caliban! Awake and come forward.
Nothing happens.
Eric: Awake and come forward.
Nothing.
Eric: Caliban!
Kolb: I fear it is no good, Eric.
The men start to remove their lab aprons and exit. Unseen by them, Caliban stirs to life. He upsets some equipment. The men turn around.
Kolb: (in hushed wonderment) Caliban.
Eric: He lives. Great God in heaven, he lives!
They rush to him. Kolb is spellbound; Eric is ecstatic. A montage of tests follows. Caliban is drilled in walking and changing direction. He lifts heavy trunks and machinery easily. Eric has him delicately pick up a statuette, then deliberately crush it. (at this last action, Kolb looks dubious)
Eric: I think Caliban has been through enough tests for his first day of life.
Kolb: (shaking his head) It’s unbelievable. You are a genius, Dr. Branhauser.
Eric: I merely put into practice the very concepts you inculcated in me at the university. Why don’t we celebrate with a glass of brandy?
Kolb: An excellent suggestion, Doctor.
Eric: Recline, Caliban.
Caliban complies. Kolb puts his arm about Eric as they exit.
the seventh scene—Eric and Olga’s boudoir
Eric rises on one elbow and determines that Olga sleeps. He exits scene.
Moreau: Well, Branhasuer, one does not see you much in public these days.
Eric: My work keeps me occupied.
Moreau: Your work? Tell me, have you built any more models like the last one?
Eric: Not exactly like it, no.
Moreau: Ah, I perceive that your feelings are hurt. I am sorry I tipped over your little trinket, Branhauser.
Eric: (softly) It was not a trinket, Moreau.
Moreau: No, of course not. I’m sure it was an extremely clever toy.
Eric: (crashing his hand to the table) Damn you, Moreau. Damn the day you were born! (pause) You must forgive me. The hour grows late. Very late. I must be on my way.
Moreau: Yes, I think you had better be on your way, Doctor.
Eric exits into the darkness. A few seconds later (long enough for some suspense), Caliban appears. Claudine screams and flees. Caliban lifts Moreau by the throat, strangling him by hanging. Marcel rushes in, but Caliban effortlessly strikes him to the ground. Caliban slowly turns and exits.
An inebriated housemaid makes her way home. She sings “Alouetta”. Branhauser and Caliban loom out of the darkness. She faints. Branhauser and Caliban go on their way. She awakes and crosses herself. She produces her bottle of alcohol and earnestly empties the contents.
the tenth scene—the house of Rabat
We see Rabat, in dressing gown, scoop up a telephone and place the receiver to his ear.
Rabat: Inspector Rabat. Marcel? What is it, man? Calm down. Doctor Moreau murdered? By a what? I shall be there within the quarter-hour.
He hangs up and exits the scene.
the eleventh scene—the Branhauser house
Enter Olga. Kolb is seated in the main room with a book.
Olga: Have you seen Eric?
Kolb: No, but I have heard him. He is in the laboratory.
Olga falls to crying.
Kolb: What is it, my dear?
Olga: It’s Eric. He has become like a stranger to me. And his work is the cruel mistress who has taken him from me. Why, he even takes his meals in the laboratory. I’m no longer anything more than a servant to bring those meals to him.
Kolb: You poor girl...
Kolb touches Olga on the arm, and something like electricity seems to pass between them. They embrace and kiss. Unobserved by the pair, Eric enters and sees all. Shock, horror, distaste, hate, and grim determination cross his face within a few moments. He returns to the laboratory.
the twelfth scene—the Branhauser boudoir and Kolb’s room
First we see the Branhauser boudoir. Olga is in bed, reading. Transition to Kolb’s room. He lies on the bed, smoking a pipe. The door bursts from its hinges as Caliban and Eric enter. Eric chloroforms Kolb, and Caliban lifts him. Eric and Caliban exit with their human cargo.
the thirteenth scene—the workshop
Kolb awakens to find himself strapped, face-down, to the very table on which Caliban as created. He is gagged. Eric Branhauser, by now wholly mad, horsewhips Kolb. Caliban stands by. Branhauser ceases his activity.
Eric: And now, my dear Professor, you will die on the very table upon which my Caliban was born. (he picks up a transfusion unit) You know the function of this apparatus, do you not? Yes, I see by your expression that you do. Its primary use is the transfusion of blood. I want you to experience the exquisite torture of watching your life blood flow into these jars.
Branhauser starts the process. (the apparatus consists of a syringe and two tubes with a cut-off valve, so it must be operated by hand)
The inspector arrives and knocks on the door.
Eric: Stand guard, Caliban. (he tightens Kolb’s gag and exits)
We see Olga has come downstairs. Eric comes up through the lab door. As he goes to the front door, Olga slips into the lab.
Eric: Inspector! Come in. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? (he seats Rabat and himself)
Rabat: I am afraid this is a business call, Doctor.
Olga enters the lab room and spots Kolb. She lets out a cry.
Rabat and Eric hear the scream.
Olga rushes to free Kolb. Caliban turns from the shadows. Olga is trapped. She screams again.
By now, Rabat and Eric are at their feet. They rush into the laboratory.
Eric realizes in horror what has happened, but Rabat is dazed by the scene. Eric positions himself between Olga and Caliban.
Eric: Halt, Caliban. Come no further.
Caliban stops, confused. Eric relaxes a bit. Caliban then grabs his waist and lifts him. Rabat shoots at Caliban, but to no effect. Eric’s spine snaps, and Caliban drops him lifeless to the floor.
Caliban turns on Rabat and strikes him to the floor. As he is about t strike the death blow, Olga screams. He turns and pursues her upstairs and outside. Rabat revives and follows. Olga has fallen at the edge of the cliff on which the Branhauser house resides. Caliban has almost reached her. Rabat hurls himself into Caliban’s back, and the Clockwork Man goes over the edge to oblivion. Rabat helps Olga up, who rushes back to Kolb and frees him. Olga and Kolb embrace. We last see Rabat looking sadly down at Caliban. The closing shot of the film is of Caliban’s broken, shattered body. The mighty Caliban has been reduced to metal junk.
"Vengeance is Mine, Sayeth the Ape" was GM's sequel to "Ape on the Loose". One of its scenes, at least, was shot (the murder of Devereaux); use was made of an unrelated theatrical set, same as he'd done for the first film. This is the initial draft of the screenplay; I persuaded GM to rewrite it, as I felt the audience had been robbed of an extra monster (Cabal has to give up his desiccated mummy persona in order to become the ape). Also, all that climactic spy stuff seemed to come out of left field. I'll present this earliest version first, after which I'll post the revision:
Vengeance is Mine, Sayeth the Ape
a screenplay by GM
Dramatis Personae
Dr. Henri Auclair
Paulette Auclair
Gaston
Felix Devereaux
Jacqueline
Zena
Anton Cabal
TITLE: French Morocco 1915
A cemetery. Two figures stand regarding a crypt.
Gaston: Are you sure this is wise? It is still so light.
Henri: The citizenry is extremely superstitious. No one ever comes near this section.
They move forward, blotting out the frame.
A laboratory. The two men examine a corpse.
Henri: The tissues are in excellent condition.
Gaston: It is fortunate the body was interred above ground, in an air-tight crypt.
Auclair stands erect.
Henri: Prepare the instruments, Gaston. This night we shall begin implanting the necessary artificial organs.
A transition. Dinner. Dr. Auclair and his wife Paulette are being served by Zena, their maidservant.
Paulette: Henri---I thought it would be nice if we went to the cinema tonight.
Auclair: I cannot, my darling. I have some vital work to finish in the lab.
Paulette: Are you persisting in your efforts to solve the mysteries of my father’s experiments?
Auclair: Of course not, dear Paulette. You know as well as I that his notebooks are too incomplete. His secrets died... with him.
A transition. The laboratory. Auclair and Gaston stand poised over a form completely swathed in bandages.
Auclair: The weeks of work have been worth it, Gaston. He is ready.
The body is injected. Auclair earnestly massages the chest (and so the heart). The form breathes. Its eyes open.
Auclair: He lives, Gaston. After a quarter of a century in the tomb, Anton Gabal lives!
They help Cabal from the table. A transition. Cabal is unbandaged and clad in a dressing gown. He holds a hand mirror and gazes at his features. He fingers his beard.
Auclair: The beard was my own idea, I’m afraid. I thought it gave you a certain flair.
Cabal considers, then nods his approval. He lowers the mirror.
Cabal: Then, you are my... son-in-law? (Auclair nods.) 1920---There is much I must learn of this world.
Auclair: There is much the world has to learn from you, Dr. Cabal. I would like to know the secrets of your research.
Cabal: So you shall, Dr. Auclair. Tell me, my wife Louise...
Auclair: (hanging his head) She... died... over twenty years ago.
Cabal: I would very much like to visit her grave.
Auclair: Perhaps tomorrow. Tonight, it is of utmost importance that you rest.
A transition. Auclair and Cabal stand before a grave.
Auclair: (softly) It is said she betrayed you.
Cabal: I would forgive her everything if I could but see her again. Tell me, whey did she die so young?
Auclair: When you... died, Louise was pregnant with your child... my Paulette... a fact Louise’s second husband, Felix Devereaux, soon discovered. He knew you had to be the father, and he hated Louise for it. I am afraid he abused her terribly. It is a small miracle she survived long enough to give birth to Paulette.
Cabal: I should have killed Devereaux when I had the chance.
Auclair: I suspect many of his colleagues here in Casablanca share your opinion. He is less than popular.
Cabal: So---Devereaux is still a resident of Casablanca?
Auclair nods. Close-up of Cabal, as grim determination clouds his features.
A transition. The sumptuous interior of Devereaux’s home. Devereaux sits, smoking his pipe and reading. Mrs. Devereaux enters the front door. She has a package.
Felix: (rising) What have you there, my pet?
Jacqueline: I picked something up at the bazaar.
She unwraps it, revealing a huge sword in a fancy scabbard.
Jacqueline: The merchant said it once belonged to a desert chieftain.
Felix: A handsome trophy, Jacqueline. I think it might go well over the fireplace.
Jacqueline: Has Yvette started dinner yet?
Felix: I wouldn’t know. Why don’t you look in on her?
Jacqueline nods, and exits. Felix places the sword against the fireplace. Enter Cabal. Felix senses his presence, turns to face him.
Cabal: You have a fine home, Dr. Devereaux. A fine home, and a beautiful wife. I once had a beautiful wife, too.
Felix: How dare you enter a man’s house this way? Who the devil do you think you are?
Cabal removes his hat. Devereaux is aghast.
Cabal: Long time no see.
Felix: No...no...
Cabal: Yes! Oh, yes!
Felix: For the love of God, Cabal...
Cabal: (laughs) Vengeance is mine---sayeth the Lord.
Cabal snatches up the sword and proceeds to make ground round out of Felix.
Transition. Jacqueline re-enters as Cabal exits. Only Felix’s hand and sleeve are visible from her position behind the chair.
Jacqueline: You’d better dress for dinner, Felix. (no response.) Felix?
She touches his sleeve. The hand, severed at the wrist, falls from it. Jacqueline screams. A transition. Cabal sits at the lab table, humming and working. Enter Gaston, who notices the nearby sword.
Gaston: What is this?
Cabal: Hmmm? Oh, that. It is my friend’s sword... his terrible, swift sword.
Gaston ponders the matter, then mentally dismisses it.
Gaston: You’ve done enough work for today, doctor. Dr. Auclair gave me this---for you.
Gaston presents Cabal with a large box. Cabal opens it.
Cabal: A dinner suit?
Gaston nods. A transition. Auclair and Paulette are seated at the dinner table. The doctor abruptly goes behind her chair and embraces her.
Auclair: Happy birthday, Paulette.
Paulette: Oh, Henri. I was afraid you had forgotten.
Auclair: On the contrary. I have a marvelous birthday surprise for you.
Paulette: A surprise? What is it?
Auclair: You will see. Gaston, bring in our honored guest.
Gaston leads in the wizened, pallid Cabal. At the sight of his mummified form, Paulette screams and crumples.
Auclair: Merciful Heaven! The shock was far greater than I anticipated. Gaston, get him our of here!
Gaston leads Cabal out, as Auclair tries to revive his wife. Back in the lab, Cabal is visibly upset.
Cabal: She... she loathes me, even as her mother came to loathe me.
Cabal cracks Caston’s skull with his cane. Cabal opens his notebook. He starts to mix his formula. Paulette comes around. She glares at Auclair.
Paulette: You... you unspeakable monster. By some unholy use of science, you have managed to revive the corpse of my father.
Auclair: That’s right, Paulette. Resuscitation of the dead will be my contribution, your father’s anthropoid formula will be his.
Paulette: Contribution? To what?
Auclair: To my government. Think of it---soon, armies of ferocious killer apes, guided by human brains, will be marching side by side with my legions of the dead. Marching for the greater glory of the Fatherland!
Paulette’s eyes pop in horror. Cabal downs the formula.
Paulette: But... but you’re French!
Auclair: That is surely the greatest compliment I could ever receive---to have fooled even you.
Paulette: But Gaston...
Auclair: His real name is Gerhardt.
Paulette: I am going to call the authorities.
She goes to the telephone. Cabal has become the man-ape. Paulette slowly sets down the telephone. We see that Auclair holds a gun. The ape confronts Zena in the kitchen.
Zena: I resign! (She bolts out the door.)
Auclair raises the gun.
Auclair: I was genuinely fond of you, my dear...
The ape falls upon him, felling him. Paulette watches the process in terror. The ape sees her, but to his eyes she is Louise. She faints, and he carries her to the lab. He sets her on the table as Gaston revives and appraises the situation. Gaston tears a live wire loose from some machinery, and crawls up behind Cabal. He electrocutes him. The ape falls against the criss-cross pattern on the wall, contorting himself into a Christ figure. He falls to the floor and becomes human.
Cabal: (with his dying breath) Louise...
Gaston carries Louise to safety. He then takes the unconscious Auclair into the lab. Gaston locks the door. Auclair revives in time to see Gaston tear loose a second wire.
Auclair: No!
Gaston: The game is up, Henreich. We have failed. Our orders were quite explicit in outlining a course of action for this eventuality.
Auclair is in a cold sweat.
Gaston: We must destroy everything---even ourselves.
Auclair lunges at Gaston, as the latter applies one wire to the other. The house erupts into flame. The explosion awakens Paulette. Zena rushes to Paulette and helps her to her feet.
Zena: What has happened, Madam?
Paulette: I’m sorry...I cannot seem to remember. In fact, I cannot remember much of anything...
Zena looks perplexed and confused.
Paulette:… not even my own name.
One final shot of the burning house, and then...
THE END
Next: Vengeance is Mine, Sayeth the Ape (revised script).
Vengeance is Mine, Sayeth the Ape (revised script).
Vengance is Mine,
Sayeth the Ape
A Screenplay
by
GM
Original Story
by
GM
and Foster Glenn Oakes
TITLE/ FRENCH MOROCCO
1895
Narrator/ French Morocco, 1895.
A hand lifts a flask of liquid and pours the contents into a metal cup. The hand grasps the cup and withdraws.
Narrator/ Dr. Anton Cabal develops a formula…
The camera moves in on the flask.
Narrator/ The baleful influence of this drug…
The ape's powerful hands encircle Louise's throat.
Narrator/ … casts Cabal over the brink of madness. An attempt to strangle his wife Louise…
The Inspector raises his pistol and fires.
Narrator/ … is cut short by a police official's bullet.
The ape stiffens and falls. The Inspector sadly lowers his pistol. The screen goes black.
Narrator/ But this was not the end of the story…
The main title and cast credits follow.
TITLE/ FRENCH MOROCCO
1920
A cemetery. Two figures stand regarding a crypt.
Gaston/ Are you sure this is wise? It is still so light.
Henri/ The citizenry is extremely superstitious. No one ever comes near this section.
They move forward, blotting out the frame.
A laboratory. The two men examine a corpse.
Henri/ The tissues are in excellent condition.
Gaston/ It is fortunate the body was interred above ground, in an air-tight crypt.
Auclair stands erect.
Henri/ Prepare the instruments, Gaston. This night we shall begin implanting the necessary artificial organs.
Dinner. Dr. Auclair and his wife Paulette are being served by Zena, their maidservant.
Zena/ (to Paulette) Please, madam…
Zena exits.
Henri/ What's this, Paulette? Are you and Zena having secrets?
Paulette/ Henri--Gaston has been--annoying Zena again.
Henri/ I cannot afford to let him go--he's the best man in all of Morocco.
Paulette looks pleadingly at him.
Henri/ All right. I will speak to him about it, I promise. (a pause) By the way, I hope yo have not made any plans for this evening. I have some vital work. In the lab.
Paulette/ Oh? What is it you're working on now?
Henri/ I… would rather not say. Not just yet.
Paulette/ Henri--are you persisting in your efforts to solve the mysteries of my father's experiments?
Henri/ Of course not, my darling. You know as well as I that his notebooks are too incomplete. His secrets… died with him.
Auclair glances behind him. There, on the wall, is a portrait of Cabal and his wife Louise. It comes sharply into focus.
The laboratory. Auclair and Gaston stand poised over a form completely swathed in bandages.
Henri/ The weeks of work have been worth it, Gaston. He is ready.
The body is injected. Auclair earnestly massages the chest (and so the heart). The form breathes. Its eyes open.
Henri/ He lives, Gaston. After a quarter of a century in the tomb, Anton Cabal lives!
They help Cabal from the table.
A transition. Cabal is unbandaged and clad in a dressing gown. He holds a hand mirror and gazes at his features. He fingers his beard.
Henri/ The beard was my own idea, I'm afraid. I thought it would give you a certain flair.
Cabal considers, then nods his approval. He lowers the mirror.
Cabal/ Then you are my… son-in-law?
Auclair nods.
Cabal/ 1920--There is much I must learn of your world.
Henri/ There is much the world has to learn from you, Dr. Cabal. I would like to know the secrets of your research.
Cabal/ So you shall, Dr. Auclair. Tell me, my wife Louise…
Henri/ (hanging his head) She died… almost twenty-five years ago.
Cabal/ I would very much like to visit her grave.
Henri/ Perhaps tomorrow. Tonight it is of utmost importance that you rest.
The cemetery, next day. Auclair and Cabal stand before a grave.
Henri/ (softly) It is said she betrayed you.
Cabal/ I would forgive her everything if I could but see her again. Tell me, why did she die so young?
Henri/ When you… died, Louise was pregnant with your child… my Paulette… a fact Louise's second husband, Felix Devereaux, soon discovered. He knew you had to be the father, and he hated Louise for it. I am afraid he abused her terribly. It is a small miracle she survived long enough to give birth to Paulette.
Cabal/ I should have killed Devereaux when I had the chance.
Henri/ I suspect many of his colleagues here in Casablanca share your opinion. He is less than popular.
Cabal/ So--Devereaux is still a resident in Casablanca?
Auclair nods. CU of Cabal as determination colors his features.
The sumptuous interior of Devereaux/s home. Devereaux sits, smoking his pipe and reading. Mrs. Devereaux enters the front door. She has a package.
Felix/ (rising) What have you there, my pet?
Jacqueline/ Something I picked up at the bazaar.
She unwraps her cargo, revealing it to be a huge sword in a fancy scabbard.
Jacqueline/ The merchant said it once belonged to a desert chieftain.
Felix/ A handsome trophy, Jacqueline. I think it might go well over then fireplace.
Jacqueline/ You never did care much for that painting.
Felix/ I will speak to Phillipe about it.
Jacqueline/ Has Yvette started dinner yet?
Felix/ I wouldn't know. Why don't you look in on her?
Jacqueline nods, exits. Felix places the sword against the fireplace.
Enter Cabal. Felix senses his presence, turns to face him.
Cabal/ You have a fine home, Dr. Devereaux. A fine home, and a beautiful wife.
CU of Cabal.
Cabal/ I once had a beautiful wife, too.
Felix/ How dare you enter a man's hone this way? Who the devil do you think you are?
Cabal removes his hat, but Deveraux does not recognize him. Cabal uses his hand to cover his beard. Deveraux is aghast.
Cabal/ Long time no see.
Felix/ No… no…
Cabal/ Yes. Oh yes.
Cabal picks up the sword, unsheathes it. Deveraux covers his face with his hands.
Blackness fills the screen. Cabal walks away, revealing that the blackness was his back. Cabal exits as Jacqueline re-enters. Only Deveraux's hand and sleeve are visible from her position behind his chair.
Jacqueline/ You had better dress for dinner, Felix.
No response.
Jacqueline/ Felix… ?
Jacqueline touches Deveraux's sleeve.
CU as she screams.
Cut to now-empty sleeve. Camera pans down to reveal severed hand now on floor.
The laboratory. Cabal sits at a worktable, testing chemicals and humming. In background, Gaston sits, drinking heavily. He has several "French postcards" spread out on the table before him. He knocks over his bottle.
Cabal/ Are you still here, Gaston? I thought you left for home some time ago.
Gaston/ I'm not surprised. Nobody notices me. Taken for granted, that's what I am. Taken for granted.
Cabal is a little amused by Gaston's drunkenness. Gaston staggers over to the worktable, notices the nearby sword.
Gaston/ What, may I ask, is this?
Cabal/ Hmmm? Oh, that. It is my Friend's sword… His terrible, swift sword.
Gaston/ What? What's that supposed to mean? You think you're awfully clever, don't you. You all think you're so-o-o clever.
Cabal/ Look, my friend, I am extremely busy. Would you please be so kind as to annoy some other party?
Gaston/ Huh? Am I to understand you wish me to leave?
Cabal/ That, my dear Gaston, would provide me with boundless pleasure.
Gaston/ Awww…
Gaston exits. Cabal continues his interrupted work.
The kitchen. Zena is performing some domestic duty. Gaston enters and grabs her from behind. She struggles free, only to be grabbed again. She strikes him.
Zena/ There. You should be ashamed of yourself. If you touch me again, I shall report it to madam.
CU of Gaston. as thought crosses his fogged mind.
Gaston/ Madam…
He stumbles out. Zena adjusts her clothing and nods her self-righteousness at his departing back.
The main room. Paulette sits in a chair. working at a sampler. Gaston lurches in.
Paulette/ Oh, Gaston. You startled me. I thought you left hours ago. Is there something I can do for you?
Gaston/ Yes. This.
He grabs her, pulls her to him. He forces his mouth over hers. Paulette twists her head away. She screams.
Enter Auclair. In typical movie hero fashion, he pulls Gaston away from Paulette and fells him with one punch.
Henri/ This it it, Gaston. This time you have gone too far. Please gather whatever belongings you have here and leave. You no longer work for me.
Gaston belligerently leaves. Henri comforts Paulette.
The laboratory. Enter Gaston.
Cabal/ Oh, it's you, Gaston. Well, my friend, I am even glad to see you. I have done it. This vial contains the exact formula I devised in 1895, identical to the last chemical. I only hope mankind will find a more practical use for it than I did.
CU of Gaston. A second thought crosses his drugged brain. He procures some ether and renders Cabal unconscious. He pours some of the formula into a glass and downs it. The transformation occurs. He bolts from the lab.
Zena still works in the kitchen. The man-ape confronts her.
Zena/ I resign!
Cabal begins to revive.
Auclair and his wife sit on a chesterfield before the fireplace. Her head rests on his shoulder. The ape tears into the room. Auclair quickly snatches up a poker, rushes toward the ape. They struggle. Paulette watches, aghast.
Cabal quickly appraises the situation in the lab. The vial is still open. He sniffs the glass, realizes the truth. He starts out, hesitates, procures the sword. He exits.
The ape disarms Auclair (who has sustained a few claw marks) and pitches him into a corner, where Auclair crumples up. The ape starts for Paulette, who promptly faints. Cabal enters with the sword. He glances down at Paulette. To his eyes, she momentarily becomes Louise. Auclair revives.
Cabal/ Henri--get her out of here! I'll hold him off as long as I can!
Henri scoops up Paulette, exits. Cabal and the ape have at it.
Outside, Henri sets Paulette on the ground.
Cabal and the ape still battle.
Henri races back into the house.
Henri enters the main room. The ape lies on its back, the sword projecting from its chest. Cabal is badly wounded. Before Henri and Cabal's eyes, the ape becomes Gaston. Henri snaps out of his bewilderment and goes to Cabal.
Cabal/ I am afraid I am not going to survive this one, my friend. Gaston… managed to damage some organs that even you cannot replace. I do not complain… I have enjoyed one more chance that most. Oh, yes. My inside coat pocket.
Henri reaches in and procures a paper.
Cabal/ My formula. I know you will do whatever must be done. The picture… over there… may I have it?
Henri gentry props up Cabal. He takes Cabal's wedding picture from the wall. He hands it to Anton, who gazes at it lovingly.
Cabal/ Louise…
Cabal clutches the picture to his bosom. He closes his eyes. He re-opens his eyes as a surge of pain violently passes through his frame.
He dies.
Henri hears a noise. He quickly meets the revived Paulette at the door. He turns her from the grisly scene before she can see it. She starts to speak. Henri interrupts.
Henri/ Please, darling--no questions. As it is, I shall have to spend the rest of our days trying to explain--to make you understand. Send someone for the Inspector. Perhaps--of all the world--only he will truly comprehend.
Exit Paulette. Henri returns to the main room. He covers Cabal with his coat. (The shot should be composed so that the coat covers the frame).
Henri walks to the fireplace. He pauses a moment, then drops the formula into the flames. CU as the paper burns.
Cut to Henri's face.
Henri/ Rest lightly… Father.
As Henri watches the flames, the camera pulls backward and upward. Fade
This GM screenplay idea was snitched from the well-known series of "Fly" films produced by 20th Century Fox throughout the '50s and '60s. Or, perhaps, from the original George Langelaan short story which inspired them… GM was one the few people I knew who'd actually read it. He shot and edited the film in its entirety, though (as indicated below) a soundtrack had yet to be recorded. This, in fact, never happened; "The Journal of the Fly" remains mute to this day. Considering the sizable amount of dialogue, dubbing sessions would have proved a huge pain in the ass; having already made a pig's breakfast out of my own "Masters of the Cosmos", I appreciated the difficulties quite well.
This script is particularly noteworthy for me, in that it marks my first association with GM. He recruited me from my college dramatics class (which he'd since moved beyond) to play the part of Eliot Davis. My imposing height and lanky build fit the mercenary bodyguard well in his eyes. He and his then-girlfriend took on the roles of Zachary and Esmeralda Mason, but found it necessary to also essay Saxon and Schallert when scheduling conflicts compromised the production. Radical costume and makeup changes, along with misdirection cinematography, solved the dilemma nicely; I think few would have spotted the double casting.
The Journal of the Fly
by GM
The Dubbing Script
CU as a notebook is positioned on a satin-draped surface. The book opens, revealing a quote from the works of William Blake. An off-screen voice intones the passage:
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
The second page reads “A Royal Studios Presentation,” the third reads “Journal of the Fly,” and so on for the remainder of the credits.
A wipe. We are transported to the home of Doctor Zachary Mason and his wife, Esmeralda. Zachary pours a toast.
Zachary: To the success of the Mason Matter Transmitter!
Esmeralda: To the success of the transmitter!
They drink a little of the liquor.
Esmeralda: Zachary...
Zachary: Yes?
Esmeralda: I want you to promise me you won’t do anything... well, foolish... at the demonstration.
Zachary: (off-screen) What do you mean, foolish?
Esmeralda: Like... like trying to transmit yourself via the machine.
Zachary: Is that what’s been troubling you? You needn’t even have brought it up. The apparatus it too experimental, too dangerous. The teleportation of my carcass is not part of the demonstration, on that you have my solemn word.
She smiles and they embrace, only to be interrupted by the sound of the door chimes. Esmeralda answers the alarm. Enter Doctor Marilyn Saxon, Professor Myron Schallert, and Dr. Peter Harper. Unseen by Saxon or Schallert, Peter gives Esmeralda a foreboding glance.
Peter: Dr. Saxon, Professor Schallert, this is Dr. Zachary Mason and his wife Esmeralda. Zachary, Esmeralda, this is Dr. Marilyn Saxon and Professor Myron Schallert, both of the Hintermann Institute of Scientific Research.
Schallert: A pleasure.
Saxon: Dr. Harper has spoken highly of your work, Dr. Mason. I hope his confidence is justified.
Zachary: So do I, Doctor. Shall we commence the demonstration?
Esmeralda seats the guests. Zach proffers an open candy dish to Saxon and Schallert.
Zachary: Would anyone care for a bon-bon before we start?
Schallert almost accepts a sweet, but a look from Saxon kills his desire. Zach then offers a sweet to Peter, who appropriates the entire dish of candy.
Zach sets up the apparatus, then turns to address his audience.
Zachary: Behold the Mason Matter Transmitter. Note the antenna. Its function is to broadcast power to the two plates. Place an object on Plate A, switch on the apparatus, and the object is electronically reduced to atoms. The individualized atoms are then transmitted through the air and reintegrated on Plate B. And now, a practical demonstration.
Mason places an apple on Plate A and flicks a switch. An electronic hum starts. The apple vanishes and reappears on Plate B. Mason picks up the apple and takes a bite from it.
Zachary: Crisp and delicious as ever, and not an atom out of place. And now, a subject from the animal world.
A caged pair of parakeets is placed of Plate A.
Zachary: Now hold still, Aloysius. You too, Winnifred.
The birds disappear to reappear on Plate B.
Zachary: Behold Aloysius and Winnifred—as fit as ever—and every emerald feather in its proper niche.
A long silence.
Schallert: Capital exhibition, Doctor. Your parlor tricks and the expert showmanship with which you perform them would put even P.T. Barnum to shame!
Saxon: In truth, your “apparatus” would seem to owe less to Albert Einstein and more to Harry Houdini.
Zachary: My friends, what you seen is genuine. I assure you, my transmitter is no hoax.
Schallert: Then why not transmit an unprepared object for us?
Esmeralda: Unprepared?
Saxon: Like your wife, Dr. Mason?
Schallert: Bravo! Just the thing!
Esmeralda gives Mason an anxious look.
Zachary: I am sorry. Such a thing is impossible at this stage in the development of the machine...
Schallert: Ha!
Saxon: Impossible indeed!
They rise to leave.
Peter: Please—I implore you to wait. Dr. Mason is a serious scientist.
They ignore him and exit. Esmeralda exits room, crying.
Zachary: Convince them to return, Peter. Tonight, at midnight, I will attempt my own transmission.
A clock strikes midnight. Esmeralda lies asleep. Zach’s bed is unslept in.
Meanwhile, all save Esmeralda are assembled as before. Mason smiles ironically.
Zachary: Nothing up my sleeves. (he bows like a magician) The Transmission of Dr. Zachary T. Mason.
Zach steps onto the plate. Peter flips the switch. Sweat breaks out on Zach’s brow, he shudders, and then—he is transmitted. Zack starts to collapse.
Peter: Zach!
Peter catches Zach and helps support him.
Schallert: Fantastic, Doctor. I, for one, am thoroughly convinced. Congratulations!
Saxon rebukes Schallert heavily with her eyes.
Saxon: I’m wondering, Doctor. Do you suppose we could see it once more? As representatives of the Institute, we cannot be too careful.
Schallert: Oh, yes. Just for verification, you understand. The Institute, you know.
Peter: Of all the—can’t you see how weak he is?
Zachary: Hush, Peter. It’s all right.
Zach steps onto Plate A.
Esmeralda rises, sees empty bed, and exits.
Peter re-activates the machine. He spots a fly on Zach’s hand.
Peter: Zach—a fly!
Zach opens his eyes and glares at the insect.
Peter: The control—it’s stuck.
Zach shakes his hand to no avail, then—transmission!
We see Esmeralda about to enter the room.
Shot of Zach’s normal hand and torso, then pan to monstrous claw.
Peter: (voice-over) Merciful God! His atoms have become scrambled with those of the fly!
Esmeralda enters. She spies her husband and screams. On her scream, we see the face of the Fly. She screams again. The Fly clasps his ears, for his insect auricles cannot abide the shrill noise. Esmeralda faints.
Peter: Zach, this is Peter. Do you understand...
Apparently not, for he sweeps Peter aside like a toy with his claw. The others shrink back, as the Fly exits. Peter rises and confronts Saxon and Schallert.
Peter: Zach and the fly have been fused into one being. He’s confused, possibly deranged. We don’t know whether the creature’s brain is Zachary Mason’s or the fly’s, or worst of all, a highly unpredictable combination, a hybrid of the two.
Schallert: I—
Peter: I’ll look after Mrs. Mason. Get home, both of you. Lock your doors and windows, and, Lord help me, arm yourselves. Oh, and one more thing.
Saxon: Yes?
Peter: Forget how very sophisticated you are—and pray.
At home, Schallert arms himself with a derringer.
At hearthside, Schallert addresses his pet pooch.
Schallert: Now be a good boy, Fritz—and don’t let anything into the house—not even a fly.
The telephone jingles and Schallert answers it.
Schallert: Yes? Oh, it’s you, Dr. Harper.
We see the Fly petting the Dog. The critter joyfully wags its tail.
Schallert: Thank you for your concern, but I assure you that I am quite capable of protecting myself.
The Fly, now in the house, secures a fireplace poker.
Schallert: Yes...yes, I will. Good night, Doc...tor...
We see that the Fly has shoved the poker through Schallert’s abdomen. Schallert sinks to the floor.
The Fly finds an abandoned hovel and sinks wearily into the sparse comfort afforded by this make-shift shelter.
The Mason home. Esmeralda answers the door and in pops Peter.
Esmeralda: Have the police found him yet?
Peter: (shakes his head no) I doubt if the authorities will be able to capture him alive. Our only hope is that some instinctive drive will prompt Zachary to return here.
Davis: (as if in immediate response) So all I have to do is keep free of Mason’s freak arm and I’m home free?
Saxon: Precisely. Mason’s superhuman strength resides only in the transformed claw—it is his sole defense—his only weapon. It is the claw that makes him dangerous.
Davis: I get’cha.
Saxon: And don’t let his somewhat macabre appearance unnerve you. You’ll need all your wits to deal with him. He has insect as well as human cunning now. Poor Schallert underestimated him, and now he’s dead.
Davis: (slyly) You intend to turn him over to the police?
Saxon: Remember your place, Davis. I could telephone the agency for another professional bodyguard.
Davis: Sure you could. That is, if you wanted to be left here alone for about an hour.
Saxon: I don’t know why, but I’ll tell you my plans. Mason is far too valuable a specimen to be surrendered to the long arm of the law. He deserves intensive study. I have a dissection room reserved on stand-by at the Hintermann Institute. When we have Mason, I’ll telephone the Institute to send some men and a truck.
Fade out. Fade in as Saxon sits in a patio chair, reading. Out of the darkness, Mason emerges. Davis nabs the creature in a half-nelson. Saxon quickly chains the claw to an overhead bar. Davis produces a pistol.
Saxon: (in triumph) I’ll be back... after I make my call.
She exits. Mason strikes Davis’ gun with his human hand, then uses his claw and human hand to rend his chains. Davis regains his gun and Mason seizes the bodyguard’s face in his claw.
Saxon, at telephone, turns at sound of Davis’ scream. She hangs up the receiver and procures a gun from a near-by drawer.
Mason breaks into the house and confronts Saxon. She fires twice. The first bullet misses; the second buries itself in Mason’s arm. The pistol jams. Mason closes in on Saxon.
Cut to Esmeralda and Peter.
Esmeralda: Peter—what do flies eat?
Peter: Flies are... scavengers, Esmeralda. They eat anything and everything. However, all varieties have one common food—blood.
Return to Saxon domicile. The camera circles the room to the sound of liquid slurps. At length, the camera comes to rest on the lower half of Saxon’s torso. We also see a portion of Mason’s back, and it is clear he is at her throat. A discreet fade.
Esmeralda lies in bed, asleep. We hear scuffling noises. We pan to see the Fly, a blood-soggy bandage girdling his shoulder, towering over her bed. He rests his head on the blankets, dog-like.
Peter bursts into the bedchamber. Esmeralda, who was feigning sleep, sits up as Mason backs into the center of the room.
Esmeralda: Peter—his arm! He’s been hurt.
Peter: Zach! Please listen to me. Please try to concentrate on my words. Another transmission through the machine might return you to normal. It’s your only hope. Please—I implore you to come with us.
Mason struggles to understand, then wearily nods his head. He swoons from the wound.
Peter: (off-screen) He’s fainting—the wound must be more serious than it looks!
Peter and Esmeralda, all fear gone, pick him up and escort him to the machine.
The Fly stands on the plate. The machine sparks to life. Peter and Esmeralda look anxious. The Fly is transmitted, and Mason is again normal.
Zachary: At last... I can think clearly again.
Peter spots the fly and snatches it.
Peter: The fly! Now I’ll rid the world of you, you murderous thing.
Zach touches Peter’s arm, restraining him.
Zachary: Let him go, Peter. He, too, has suffered.
Peter complies.
Esmeralda and Peter embrace. A wipe.
We return to the journal, as a sheet turns to reveal the legend:
This title is, of course, a take-off of the notorious (and, by me, much loved) 1958 drive-in cheapy, "Attack of the Fifty Foot Woman", though its Victorian time frame and south seas location set it distinctly apart. GM wrote it primarily for his girlfriend, who would have played the title character. He intended to direct and assume the minor role of Captain Striker; I was scheduled for Mala (another hulking, slow-witted side-o-beef… type-casting, perhaps?) and special effects duties. These visuals would have called for forced-perspective foreground miniature construction, an inexpensive (and frequently very effective) technique for adding grandeur to low-budget productions. To that end, I completed a portion of the great island wall in styrofoam, but never got to use it; like so many other of our overly ambitious schemes, this one never reached its first shoot. The performer selected for Rollo Farnsworth dropped out unexpectedly, and the rest of the acting roster had never been selected at all. It was common practice for GM to film early scenes and use them to interest prospective participants; unfortunately, that oft-successful strategy failed to work this time:
The Liberation
of the
Fifty-Foot Woman
A screenplay by
GM
Fade in on a CU of the bottoms of an enormous pair of bare feet. The camera elevates itself, and we see that the feet belong to a beautiful, silver-tressed woman of Amazonian but nonetheless plausible dimensions. She lies prone on an operating table, clad only in a set of Edwardian underwear.
A man in a laboratory smock enters the frame. He and the lady smile at one another, but there is a terrible tension behind their smiles. The man raises his arm; in hand he clutches a small hypodermic syringe. His eyes squint, focusing on the needle, as some fluid squirts from the tip. Dr. Augustus Fairchilde's other hand comes into view; in it, he clutches a fluffy ball of white cotton. This he rubs gently against the woman's neck. As the needle nears her throat, she restrains the doctor. Their eyes meet and, a moment later, so do their lips. Following this impulsive act of osculation, the lady settles into her former position. She presses her eyes tightly shut. Reluctantly, Fairchilde plunges the needle into her white throat.
The injection completed, Fairchilde nods to his assistant, Veronica Vandemeer, who has witnessed the foregoing events from a position across the chamber. She nods in reply and commences adjusting the dials on an electronic console. Meanwhile, the doctor attaches some wires to his comely patient's wrists. This done, he joins Veronica at the console. Both of them don goggles with dark lenses.
Fairchilde grasps what is obviously the master control switch. He exchanges anxious glances with Veronica, screws up his courage, takes a deep breath, and plunges the lever forward. On either side of the operating table, giant electrodes spark into life, the resulting arc forming a nightmare rainbow over the half-clad woman.
As the blazing electricity illuminates the features of the doctor and his assistant, the scene fades to black.
Titles and credits.
An early model flying machine plummets from the heavens and buries itself in the ocean.
Fade in on a vast beach. Angry waves slap against the shore. The camera pans the barren expanse, finally coming to rest on the unconscious figure of a young man, sprawled upon the sand. Abruptly, two feet of Fankensteinian dimensions stride into the frame and slow to a halt a few inches from the castaway. Panning upward, the camera reveals the owner of these gunboats to be a Polynesian native of stern demeanor.
The lips of the young man part, and a moan escapes therefrom. Grunting intelligently, the native squats down and scoops the lad into his massive arms. His human cargo well in hand, the Polynesian advances toward the camera until his bulk fills the frame, prompting the screen to go black.
Unbeknownst to the audience, the blackness filling the screen ceases to be Mala's chest and instead becomes the back of Dr. Augustus Fairchilde's coat. The audience only becomes aware of this as the good doctor moves away from the camera and exposes the opulent drawing room around him. As Fairchilde hobbles about on his dragon's-head cane, he addresses a revitalized Rollo Farnsworth, who reclines on a sofa, wrapped in a blanket and sipping a steaming cup of tea.
Fairchilde: You were more dead than alive when my servant found you, Mr. Farnsworth. That was three days ago. Now that you are strong enough to talk, I find I can no longer restrain my curiosity. How did you come to be washed onto my island?
Rollo takes a drink of tea.
Rollo: I was testing my uncle's new aeroplane when...
Fairchilde: Aeroplane?
Rollo: Yes... a flying machine.
Fairchilde: Ah... your uncle is an inventor, then?
Rollo: Not a very good one, I'm afraid. His creations always manage to come unglued at a crucial moment. Somehow he convinced me his aeroplane would be different.
Fairchilde: What is your uncle's name? Perhaps he is a colleague.
Rollo: Uncle's also called Rollo Farnsworth. My mother named me for him--he being her favorite brother. Say, are you an inventor, too?
Fairchilde: The name of Dr. Augustus Fairchilde is rather well-known in some circles. My work, however, is more medical than mechanical. I'm in glandular research.
Rollo: (obviously having no idea what "glandular" means) I see.
At this point, Veronica Vandemeer enters the parlor, a book clutched to her bosom.
Veronica: (taking notice of Rollor and the doctor) Oh. Excuse me...
Fairchilde: Come right in, my dear. It's time you met our guest.
The doctor conducts Veronica to the couch upon which reposes Rollo. Rollo hastily rises.
Fairchilde: Miss Veronica Vandemeer, this is Rollo Farnsworth. Mr. Farnsworth, my sister by marriage.
Veronica extends her free hand.
Veronica: Charmed.
Rollo: (clumsily accepting the proffered fingers) Likewise, I'm sure.
Unknown to the doctor, Veronica presses a slip of paper into Rollo's palm.
Veronica: Pray resume your former position upon the chesterfield, Mr. Farnsworth. I am sure you are still too weak for any of the standard social graces.
Rollo: Thank you, Miss Vandemeer.
As Rollo reseats himself, Veronica crosses to the bookcase and therein replaces the volume she carries.
Rollo: And when will I have the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Fairchilde, Doctor?
Veronica and the doctor exchange cryptic glances.
Fairchilde: Veronica and I live here by ourselves. Except for Mala, of course.
On this last line of dialogue, the Polynesian servant has appeared in the doorway.
Fairchilde: Mala, will you convey Mr. Farnsworth back to his room. (to Rollo) Tomorrow you may go out into the air. As a matter of fact, I will conduct you on a tour of some of the island's more interesting sights. That is, if you should so desire.
Rollo: I shall be looking forward to it, sir.
Fairchilde: Excellent. Mala?
The Polynesian bodily scoops poor Rollo into his arms and exits.
As this happens, Veroncia selects a tome and takes a chair. Fairchilde walks to the window and stands, arms folded behind him, gazing into the darkness of the night. He speaks without turning.
Fairchilde: Our guest is gone, my dear. It is no longer necessary to mask your distaste for me.
Veronica: You should have been a writer, Augustus. Your flair for melodrama is most profound.
Fairchilde: So self-righteous.
Veronica: Self-righteous?
Fairchilde: Do you deny that you blame me, and me alone, for what has happened?
Veronica: The blame is mine also. We share it equally.
Fairchilde whirls to face her.
Fairchilde: Damn you! How many times must we go through all of this? There is no blame. It takes two people to manage the apparatus. You were better qualified to assist me than Viola, having operated the machinery on several occasions. Remember, Viola volunteered. I was as against it as you were at first, but she insisted. I saw no harm in it.
Veronica: No harm in it? She was your wife!
Fairchilde: How could I have foreseen the outcome? A dosage that small should have prompted a growth of three to four inches, no more. I merely wished to discover the effects of the process on the human animal.
Veronica: And are you satisfied with the results of your experiment, doctor?
Fairchilde looks down at the floor, wipes a hand through his hair. He turns from Veronica and hobbles back over to the window.
Fairchilde: Perhaps it is as George Bernard Shaw has said--"Science is always wrong: it never solves a problem without creating ten more."
The scientist sighs deeply.
Fairchilde: If you should want me, for any reason, I will be where I am every night--in the laboratory, searching for a cure.
Fairchilde turns from the window and begins to exit. Veronica half-rises from her chair, extending her hand and opening her mouth as if to say something of comfort. She hesitates, and then it is too late, for Augustus is gone. Slowly, the woman sinks back into her seat. After a moment of deep thought, she shakes her head as if to clear it and opens the book she has chosen from the bookcase. As she begins to read, the camera closes in on the cover of said book.
There is a rough cut to the cover of another book. The camera pulls back, and we see that this particular volume is being perused by none other than Mr. Rollo Farnsworth. Mala has just finished tucking the covers around the patient, who reclines quite comfortably on a huge four-poster. The native stands at attention, waiting for approval. When Rollo nods a thank-you, the servant lumbers from the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
Safe at last from prying eyes, Rollo unfolds the note Veronica has given him. As he scans the contents, we are treated to a CU of the message:
A SUPPLY BOAT IS SCHEDULED
TO ARRIVE IN THREE DAYS. AS YOU
VALUE YOUR SANITY, BE ON BOARD
WHEN IT RETURNS TO THE MAINLAND.
Rollo leans back, knitting his brow as he digests Veronica's warning.
The scene shifts to Fairchilde's laboratory. The doctor works like a man possessed, mixing various chemicals into a glass beaker and jotting down the reactions in a notebook. As he pours some liquid from a rather large bottle, the camera moves in on this action, centering itself on the bottle and glass beaker that is receiving its contents.
The camera cuts to a CU of a similarly-shaped bottle of amber liquid. A rough, sinewy hand pours its contents into a metal cup approximately the same size as the aforementioned beaker. The camera pulls back, revealing the owner of said hand to be the Polynesian.He gulps down the stuff in the cup. Producing an ordinary cigar box, the native positions it carefully on the table before lifting the lid.
Back at the lab, Fairchilde pauses in order to look longingly at a framed photograph that graces his worktable. A tear overflows the doctor's eye. The camera moves in back of Fairchilde, angling itself so that it peers over his shoulder, at the picture. We see that it depicts the Amazon who appeared in the pre-title sequence. The eye of the camera closes in on the photographic image until it fills the screen.
There is a rough cut to a startling CU of a "French" postcard. The eye of the camera falls back until we perceive that the item in question is held by Mala, the mad Polynesian. Several other "novelty" cards are spread about on the small table before him. The camera moves around the savage until we are facing him. We discover that he peruses the postcard with a longing not unlike that of his employer for the Amazon's photograph. Mala drains the half-filled cup in front of him, then reaches for the liquor bottle, which now reposes upon one corner of his table. Seizing it in his rather unsteady hand, he fills his cup, selects another card, and commences the emptying of this new cupful.
We return to the drawing room. Sitting in the same chair as before, Veronica continues to digest the contents of her book. She is startled be an off-screen crash. As she looks up, the camera pans around behind her, simultaneously revealing what she discovers. The Polynesian stands in the doorway, a drunken leer distorting his already grotesque features. He lurches toward Veronica.
Veronica: Mala! What is the meaning of this intrusion?
By way of reply, the servant laughs in an unclean manner and continues his uneven advance in the direction of his prey. Miss Vandemeer rises to her feet in preparation for flight, but Mala's speed belies his state of inebriation. He grasps her roughly and begins to nuzzle her neck. Needless to say, our heroine lets out a scream calculated to awaken the deceased.
Rollo's quarters. As Veronica's second scream reverberates throughout the manor, the youth flings off his covers and leaps from his bed. We follow his progress down the stairs and into the drawing room. His peepers widening in disbelief, Rollo stops just inside the doorway.
Mala has forced Veronica to the floor, his gnarled hand clasped over her tender mouth. As he lowers his body over hers, a sharp "crack" shatters the air. The Polynesian's frame contorts, as he rolls off his terrified victim. The camera pans upward to reveal an enraged Fairchilde, an ugly leather whip sprouting from one of his hands. The medico starts really laying on the strokes. Crawling for all he is worth, Mala seeks to evade the cutting blows.
Rollo helps Veronica to her feet, then crosses to Fairchilde, restraining the doctor's arm at the beginning of a downstroke.
Fairchilde ceases his struggling, gazes blankly into Rollo's face, then slowly regains his senses. Mala collapses, his back a bloody mess of welts. Dropping the whip, the doctor backs out of the room, his eyes wide with the horror of what he has done. Veronica sinks into an armchair, sobbing uncontrollably. Rollo bends to pick up the whip. As he rises, he collides with a small table, upsetting the covered tray thereupon. It clatters to the floor, its cargo rolling free from the metal and cloth. Rollo's eyes again widen as he holds this cargo: a large, steel syringe. He lifts the implement, scrutinizing its contours, his brow knit in unbounded puzzlement. Fade to black.
Fade in as the camera tracks through the jungle with Fairchilde and Rollo. The good doctor bravely leads the expedition.
Rollo: (puffing) Do you think it was safe to leave Miss Vandemeer at the house, unattended?
Fairchilde: (not at all winded) Certainly. Mala has run off into the jungle before. He'll return when he's sober, without any memory of what occurred during his state of inebriation.
The two enter a clearing. Gesturing grandly, the doctor indicates something as yet off-screen.
Fairchilde: Behold, Mr. Farnsworth--the Great Wall of Sha-Mar Island.
We are treated to a shot of the massive structure, in all its boundless glory.
Rollo: Golly.
Fairchilde: Yes, it is an impressive sight.
Rollo: It's very old, isn't it?
Fairchilde: As ancient as the stone heads of Easter Island or the temple of Stonehenge, and just as much a mystery. The Lord only knows who built it, or why.
Rollo: What's on the other side?
Fairchilde: There's a narrow stairway by which we may ascend to the top of the structure. Come--I think you'll find the view... interesting.
There is a transition, and we rejoin Fairchilde and the youth as they gain the summit of the edifice. The lame doctor leans heavily on the boy's arm until he is sure of his balance.
Fairchilde: I know not to what purpose the ancients may have put this might edifice, but it has served my needs admirably.
Rollo: Your... needs, sir?
Unhooking the cord about his neck, Fairchilde passes of binoculars to Rollo.
Fairchilde: Observe, my young friend--my very own "Valley of the Dragons".
Rollo turns. We see through his optical organs as his vision sweeps the valley floor. A vast and tangled jungle greets him. Brontosauri glide across an emerald lagoon, as pteradactyls flap their leathery way through the misty gray heavens. Rollo looks questioningly at the doctor, then claps the binoculars to his eyes. The audience is now treated to a cavalcade of close-ups of the prehistoric flora and fauna. Rollo again exchanges looks with Fairchilde.
Rollo: How...?
Fairchilde: Those... animals are the result of my work. The products of my glandular research.
Rollo is too stunned to offer any comment. So, after a pause, Fairchilde continues.
Fairchilde: At first, I thought that only growth and distortion would be my scientific legacy. Then, at length, I perceived a pattern to these "distortions". My test subjects, my snakes and lizards, were regressing down the evolutionary scale. Unwittingly, I had unlocked an ancestral memory in the genetic make-up of these creatures.
Rollo: (still gawking through the binoculars) This defies belief!
Fairchilde: Soon I became obsessed with the concept of treating the glands of human beings in such a way as to awaken these ancestral memories.
Rollo: (lowering the binoculars) Wouldn't a human who... regressed... just become a caveman, a mindless Neanderthal?
Fairchilde: Not necessarily. Do you know your Bible, Mr. Farnsworth?
Rollo: A little, sir.
Fairchilde: There's a passage in Genesis: "There were giants in the earth in those days." Were the Neaderthals a race apart? Was mankind as we know it today actually descended from a tribe of giants? This I had to know.
Rollo, who has resumed his peering through the binoculars, permits an exclamation to escape his lips.
Rollo: Great Scott!
Fairchilde: What is it, my boy?
We see what Rollo sees: a ruined yet still magnificent temple, overgrown with jungle crawlers. Great carved pachyderms adorn the structure.
Rollo: Some ruins...
Fairchilde: Ah, yes... "The Temple of the Elephants", I've dubbed it. A truly magnificent structure, built by the same people who erected this wall, I suspect.
Rollo: Well, I'll be... this is fantastic!
The young adventurer glances at the doctor before retuning to his optical explorations.
Rollo: A corner of my parachute has become snagged on one of the towers.
We see exactly what Rollo describes, from his point of view.
Fairchilde: Your... parachute?
Rollo: Yes. I... I dropped it when the aeroplane was coming down.
Fairchilde: (rather amused) I see.
Rollo: Wait a minute... one of the dinosaurs is tearing the parachute loose...
We see an extremely tight shot of the corner of the fabric tearing free of the tower.
Rollo: It's carrying it away into the jungle.
Fairchilde: (smiling) What variety of dinosaur is it?
Rollo: Can't tell... it's hard to make it out through the trees...
The boy again lowers the binoculars.
Rollo: What kind of dinosaur is pink all over, with sort of a silver mane?
A stricken look crosses the scientist's face.
Fairchilde: Let us descend, Mr. Farnsworth. There is something I wish to confess.
Perplexed by these words, Rollo helps the medico down the stone stairway.
There is a transition. The two men stand facing each other at the base of the Great Wall. Rollo expectantly awaits whatever it is that Fairchilde has to say.
Fairchilde: This is not going to be an easy story to tell, Mr. Fairchilde.
Unseen by the two men, a long bamboo tube extends from the foliage.
Fairchilde: What you saw just now was not a pink dinosaur. It was... arrgh!
The doctor clasps the back of his neck. After a long moment of silent agony, he falls.
The bamboo tube withdraws.
Kneeling anxiously over Fairchilde, Rollo pulls the medico's fingers away from throat. The youth gasps as he discovers the feathered dart that protrudes therefrom. Abruptly and without warning, a heavy war club crashes against Rollo's skull. Everything goes black.
The Fairchilde parlor. Veronica hands a cup and saucer to Captain Striker.
Captain: It's always a pleasure to take a spot of tea with you, Miss.
Veronica: Your company is always welcome, Captain Striker.
She returns to her tea service in order to pour a cup for herself. As soon as her back is turned, Striker (who has tasted the tea with some distain) hastily produces a flask, with which he "flavors" his tea.
Veronica: You're decidedly ahead of schedule this trip, Captain. You know, we didn't expect you until Friday.
Captain: We ran into an unexpected bit of good weather.
The seaman "toasts" Veroncia with his tea, then launches into a mighty sip. Fade out.
Fade in on a CU of an unconscious Rollo Farnsworth. Slowly, his eyes blink open and he returns to the land of the living. As the camera trucks back, we see that he hangs suspended between two eight-foot pillars. Enter Mala, garish warpaint adorning his features. He quickly gags Rollo and produces a dagger of jagged metal set in a bamboo handle. Cruelly, he carves a row of symbols into Rollo's bared chest. Stepping back, he admires his bloody handiwork.
Mala: Smell of blood make devil woman come!
The native approaches a gigantic gong. Grasping a nearby baton, he sends the instrument's deep reverberations echoing through the jungle.
Back in the parlor, Veronica bolts upright.
Captain: What in the name of all...
Veronica: Something is terribly wrong. Captain, are you armed?
Striker stands and whips out twin automatics.
Captain: At your service, madam.
Mala continues whacking the gong. A great besandaled pair of feet thunder through the jungle, prompting earth tremors with each footfall. Assorted dinosaurs look up, screech, and slither away. The film cross-cuts between Mala and the gunboats in order to build up some tension. Something monstrously huge crashes into the bolted gate in the Great Wall of Sha-Mar Island. The baton slides from Mala's fingers, as he looks gateward in a state of high anticipation. As the bolt begins to crack and give, a frantic Rollo vainly struggles against his bonds.
Veronica and the Captain arrive on the scene, but remain in the brush, watching. There is a supersonic snap, as the ancient bar flies asunder. Swinging wide, the doors of the gate reveal the besandaled tootsies. The camera pans up a pair of gams the size of twin redwoods to reveal a fifty-foot version of our silver-tressed darling, swathed sarong-style in Rollo's parachute. Young Mr. Farnsworth's eyes grow as wide as saucers.
A CU of Viola's face, as she surveys the clearing.
We see the clearing from Viola's point of view. Our attention is seized by something which protrudes from a particularly tangled mass of underbrush. The camera zooms in, revealing the "something" to be the lifeless legs of Doctor Augustus Fairchilde. Viola scoops Augustus' body up into her hands. There is an extreme CU of her face as one long tear slides down her mammoth cheek.
Viola: Au-gus-tus! Au-gus-tus!
Mala begins to edge away nervously. Suddenly, Viola notices the brightly feathered dart in Fairchilde's neck. Plucking it free, she holds it between thumb and forefinger, examining it minutely.
Viola: (her face hardening) Ma-la!
The servant tries vainly to flee, but Viola's gargantuan strides overtake him. Her foot crushes him into the earth. Rollo turns his face away: Veronica buries her features in the Captain's chest. Viola turns her attention to Rollo. She uses her gigantic forefinger to probe and disrobe the helpless youth. Inadvertently, she frees him from Mala's gag, prompting Rollo to unleash a larynx-rattling scream. Before the last of it has escaped his throat, Viola has snatched our hero from between the pillars and spirited him away into the prehistoric jungle beyond the wall.
Veronica addresses the Captain.
Veronica: Anguish has distorted Viola's reason! We must try to rescue Mr. Farnsworth before it is too late!
She starts for the gate, but hesitates when she realizes Striker is not following. Turning, she discovers that he is still standing where she left him, his mouth agape. Veronica performs a "follow me" gesture.
Veronica: Do come on.
Dazed but game, the Captain goes just that.
The fifty-foot beauty saunters through the jungle, Farnsworth well in hand. Quite without warning, she finds herself confronted by a huge and hissing prehistoric serpent in the shadow of the towering Temple of the Elephants. Parking Rollo in a nearby tree, Viola launches into battle with the snaky behemoth.
Racing through the primeval world, the Captain and Veronica find their progress halted by a great snarling lizard.
Captain: By the great god Harry!
He uses his blazing automatics to dispatch the caterwauling beast. It goes down in a shower of scales, leaving the rescuers free to continue on their mission.
Firmly grasping the coiling creature by its squirming throat, the mile-high maiden delivers her adversary an uppercut of atomic proportions. The battered snake undulates away into the undergrowth. Her challenger duly dispatched, Viola returns her none-too-welcome attention to poor Rollo. Veronica and Striker arrive on the scene as Viola plucks up the youth and reaches for his noggin, a message of evil intent etched into her features. The Captain raises an automatic, but is restrained by Miss Vandemeer. She cups her hands around her mouth and shouts.
Veronica: Viola! Viola!
Viola turns slowly.
Veronica: Sister, don't you understand? That man in your hand is just as much a victim of Mala's evil hatred as was your Augustus. He is in no way to blame for your husband's death.
Comprehension spreads itself across Viola's features. She sets Rollo down next to Veronica. He immediately collapses into her arms. A sad look of resignation writes itself across the giantess' face. She walks to the Temple of the Elephants and positions herself between two columns in one of the least damaged sections of the structure. She braces a hand on each column.
There is a CU of Viola's face, as a single tear fills her eye and spills down her check. The tiny trio are aghast.
Veronica: No!
Viola pushes with all her might against the columns. The structure gives way, collapsing heavily on the poor woman. Veronica begins to weep uncontrollably. Rollo has recovered sufficiently to help Striker lead her away.
The final shot is of Viola's hand as it juts from the wreckage, the disturbed dust of ages past slowly settling about it.
This is a very early GM screenplay, written in the company of such titles as "Dr. Malvado's Chamber of Evil" and "Ape on the Loose". That would have been in the mid-to-late '60s, when spy fantasies were at the height of popularity. "Interpol Confidential" bears a stronger cinematic kinship to the mass of foreign and domestic James Bond knock-offs than it does to the genuine article; its style is deliberately over-the-top and cheesy (007 never would have faced any villain with a high concept designation like "Mephistopheles"), while daring-do is uncharacteristically split between a pair of stalwarts (again with the Rollo Farnsworth! GM never did find the right vehicle for him!). Aside from the never-resolved hurdle of dialogue dubbing, the film wouldn't have been particularly difficult to complete and I suspect that a lack of competent acting talent, rather than any want of willingness, held him back. GM doubtless would have played Agent Mephistopheles, just as he'd done Malvado; he relished colorful villain roles.
Interpol Confidential
A Screenplay by
GM
Dramatis Personae
Operator Seven
Operator Ten
Laslo
Gustav
Helmut
Flash LaRue
Rollo Farnsworth
Madame Tamara
The Leader
Agent Mephistopheles
Interior of a shack. Gustav, Helmut have Op. Seven and Op. Ten trussed up in a pair of chairs. Cut to door, as Mephistopheles enters. Laslo, who has opened the door, follows. He closes the door.
Mephistopheles: Which one has the secret information?
Gustav: (indicating one of the two) Operator Ten.
Mephisto: And who is this one? (he places his cane on his chest)
Gustav: Operator Seven.
Mephisto: Is he of any use to us?
Gustav shakes his head “no”. Mephistopheles emotionlessly flips a trigger on the cane and blows a hole in Op. Seven’s chest.
Mephisto: Since this one has the information, this is the one we shall demand payment for. But first... we shall have to prove we have him.
Mephistopheles snaps his fingers. Laslo hands him a fancy dagger. Mephistopheles descends on Op. Ten.
Fade out.
Fade in on an official-looking building. Title: American Headquarters for Interpol. Cut back to building as zoom begins.
Cut to interior of office. The Leader presses an intercom.
Leader: Send in Operators LaRue and Farnsworth, please.
They enter.
Leader: Flash LaRue and Rollo Farnsworth, you have been chosen for a mission of the utmost delicacy. One of our operators has been kidnapped. He has in his possession certain vital information, and we must have him back. We believe Operator Ten was abducted by agents in the employ of this man.
Cut to CU of a picture of Mephistopheles in the Leader’s hand.
Leader: We know little about him, aside from the fact that he is a free agent who once worked for a hostile foreign power. This foreign power code-named him Mephistopheles. Now he is on his own, working for his personal gain.
The Leader produces an attaché case.
Leader: The terms of the ransom are simple. An attaché case, filled with pounds, francs, and other European currencies, is to be delivered to a pre-arranged location. That’s your department.
He hands over the case.
Leader: Don’t return without this attaché case... and Mephistopheles.
Flash: Sir, are you sure Mephistopheles isn’t bluffing? Operator Ten would be difficult to catch. I know him. He’s slippery as an eel; one of the best. How do we know for sure Mephistopheles has Operator Ten?
The Leader produces an ornate wooden box.
Leader: This box arrived this morning. We checked the fingerprints on the contents with those in Operator Ten’s file, and they match. There can be no mistake.
He opens box. LaRue and Farnsworth react strongly. We see that the box contains Op. Ten’s severed hand, complete with identifying ring.
Fade out.
Fade in on the operators as they stand outside a gypsy fortune teller’s establishment. Sign: Have your future told by Madame Tamara.
Rollo: Madame Tamara?
Flash: She’s the best contact I ever had. Come on in, you might learn a thing or two.
The operators part the curtained doorway and slip inside.
Tamara: Be seated, gentlemen.
Flash: Greetings, Madame Tamara. What does your crystal ball tell you about a man called... Mephistopheles?
Tamara: It is all becoming clear. The gentleman you ask about is very strong, very powerful. This is indicated by the card of the Emperor. (CU of card.) He is also full of tricks. This is indicated by the card of the Magician (Ditto.) Above all, he is completely, supremely evil. This is symbolized by this card—the card of the Devil. (CU.)
Flash: Do you divine anything more specific?
Tamara: I do. Mephistopheles has a mansion in San Francisco, a penthouse in New York, an estate in England, a villa in France, and a castle in Spain, all owned under different, assumed names. He commands a small but efficient network of agents, all of them in his personal employ. He also captains his own private submarine.
Flash: Quite impressive. Anything else?
Tamara shakes her head “no”.
Tamara: How about your future? (She proffers Flash the deck.) The symbols of the Tarot know all, tell all.
Flash selects a card. It is the death card. He replaces it.
Flash: (signaling for Rollo to come along) Thank you, Madame Tamara. It’s been an enlightening and mystical experience.
Tamara: But wait... before you leave, you must first cross my palm with silver.
Flash: You’ll be paid in the customary manner.
Tamara: (smiling playfully) And when will that be, Mr. LaRue?
