:Ben's Cavern of Splendor

This week was mainly focused on spreading my attention to Soviet cinema as well as making headway on the collaborative project. I’ve found some great resources in Thomas J. Slater’s Handbook of Soviet and East European Films and Filmmakers, Anna Lawton’s Kinoglasnost: Soviet Cinema in Our Time, Josephine Woll’s Real Imanges: Soviet Cinema and the Thaw, Chris Jordan’s Movies and the Reagan Presidency, and others. What I have discovered in my research is that there is not as much anti-capitalist sentiment in Soviet cinema on the whole as much as I assumed. It seems like a great deal of effort was spent towards antagonizing the Stalin era more than worrying about Americans. While this alters the scope of my final project considerably, I’m going to gun ahead with some of this stuff anyway because it still has a lot of value.

The entire day of Halloween was spent on the collaborative project, and despite a late start, there was a plethora of captured shots that should serve the editing process well. Yesterday I spent time trying to whittle down the transcript which will potentially dominate the audio element after I had work, while the rest of the group continued to shoot.

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The Power Rangers have a long history of providing campy entertainment for children. Using footage from the Japanese television series “Super Sentai,” an entirely new plot is fabricated around it. American actors are shot in new scenes to fill in the story, not unlike Raymond Burr’s performance in the heavily edited American version of Godzilla. From an adult perspective, these shows served little more purpose than selling toys, but for the kids, it was about vanquishing evil and saving the day. Spurred by its immense success, Hollywood was driven to get a piece of the action. What resulted was the critically lambasted Mighty Morphin Power Rangers: the Movie (note the lack of apostrophe in Morphin). Universal Studios decided early on to ditch the archival footage and make it a full-on production, stretching an already thin idea into barely a whisper. Its legion of young fans (author included) rushed to theaters to see the final product and made it a resounding financial success. The critical consensus was cruel yet completely accurate: Power Rangers was definitely a bad movie. It was so bad, in fact, that there is evidence to suggest that it achieved the exact opposite effect of what it was trying. Merchandising aside, all the film had to do was clearly express that the Power Rangers were the heroes and that Ivan Ooze, intergalactic criminal extraordinaire, was the villain. But if one examines it closely enough, there is not much preventing one from asserting that the Power Rangers are the antagonists. Mighty Morphin Power Rangers: the Movie mistakenly fashions itself as a Marxist tragedy, exhibiting the classic struggle between idealistic Socialist precepts and conformist fascism.

The trouble begins with the alleged protagonists. The film opens with a scrolling introduction that states that “[c]enturies ago, a legendary interdimensional being known as ZORDON came to the City of Angel Grove…for his neverending struggle against evil…[T]he noble master sought out six extraordinary teenagers and gave them the power to transform into a superhuman fighting force.” There is no other mention of Zordon’s motivations or political leanings. From this we can gather that he recruits children and forces them into life-threatening labor with no pay. These are not consenting adults with certified positions in authority but masked vigilantes. Eventually in the film the Rangers seek his counsel and the viewer soon discovers that Zordon delivers his orders as a giant Orwellian head, imposing and somewhat frightening.

Zordon is in no way portrayed as objectively good besides the fact that he smiles frequently, and as a result the actions of his subordinates is called into question.

These “extraordinary teenagers” have little in the way of character depth or individuality. Roger Ebert said in his review that they “are not, properly speaking, even characters. They are color coded products,” and that “[n]one of them ever says anything more interesting than ‘You guys!’” Even outside of their costumes, they continue the trend of wearing their designated color.

This mindless conformity forsaking personality for pigmentation is all part of Zordon’s plan to subjugate his slave labor force and make sure they do not get any funny ideas about questioning his leadership capabilities. The vast majority of the time, they spout interchangeable puns at their opponents upon their defeat, displaying less than honorable responses to their victories. Every fight scene is a montage of these puns, and considering how there are maybe 20 of the film’s 95 minute running time that do not feature some form of combat, the film’s PPS (puns per second) ratio is among the highest in cinematic history.

When attempting to have six “protagonists,” many are bound to get lost in the shuffle, but none suffer a worse fate than Aisha, the yellow ranger. There is arguably not a single instance in the film in which she contributes positively to the team’s efforts. In the case of every battle, there is at least one sequence of her getting beaten up or cast aside. This resembles the motif of a secondary villain more than a hero, and within the context of Zordon’s master plan (which is truly unclear), her losing efforts appear to be her only defining characteristic.

But this is all less than half of the argument, as the motives of Ivan Ooze are of the most paramount concern. Zordon gives his slanted side of the story: “6000 years ago a morphological being known as Ivan Ooze ruled the world with a reign of unparalleled terror. He was on the verge of completing the construction of his ultimate weapon, the Ectomorphicon Titans.” The Rangers can do little but trust this explanation, but the viewer should not. Historically, every nation has made motions to improve their military technology, and not all of them are subject to classification of evil. Ivan Ooze renews this plan with his resurrection, and this time, he seeks revolution. Right off the bat one can notice Russian Revolution era allusions, such as his Slavic name and facial hair not unlike that of Vladimir Lenin. While his intentions are just as ambiguous as Zordon’s, his actions paint a clearer picture.

As far as one can tell, the initial reason for the construction of these grand structures is the creation of work. Ivan Ooze gathers all of the parents of Angel Grove to extract these machines from the Earth, and despite the difficult nature of the labor, it is nowhere near as dangerous as what Zordon makes his employees do. In every shot where one sees a parent working, he or she is wearing a hardhat. Clearly Ooze cares for the safety of his proletariat force, and provides them with the means to operate in a safe, comfortable working environment.

In order to halt the Power Rangers from putting a hitch in his plans, Ivan uses his vast powers to summon Tengu warriors, which are old legends from Japanese folklore. While the writers of the film may have thought that this would be a great opportunity for the Rangers to battle against mythical and evil demons, the facts suggest that Tengu eventually came to be known more as protectors of Buddhist thought who follow their Dharma with fervor. It cannot be proven beyond a reasonable doubt that these were diabolical spirits. The Power Rangers may very well have been fighting against one of the most peaceful religions in the world.

The greatest argument against Ivan Ooze’s good nature comes with his decision to order the parents of Angel Grove to return to the construction site and “leap to [their] doom,” but considering the odds, he may have been making the right decision. He had his Ectomorphicon Titans assaulting merely one city, Angel Grove, amongst a world with many nations with many arms opposed to his attempts for Socialist revolution. Instead of putting his forces through the pain of defeat, he orders them to kill themselves as a show of solidarity to their cause. In response to this, one of Zordon’s many brainwashed children who idolize the Power Rangers, Freddy, recruits the rest of his friends to try and halt this honorable path. While the majority of the kids try to push back the adults from the ledge, Freddy gets a hold of an industrial hose and forces them back with intense blasts of water. The only event one can recall large hoses being used for besides putting out fires is the subjugation of a group of people, as exhibited by the efforts of the police force to quell protests during the Civil Rights movement of the United States. The worst comes when the parents realize the “error” of their ways and join their children in their worship of the false idol that is the fascistic Zordon.

While it is never prudent to wish for such a poor effort to be put into filmmaking, it is definitely inevitable. It is interesting to consider that Mighty Morphin Power Rangers: the Movie does not do a bad job of bringing its point across at all; in fact it succeeds quite brilliantly. It just happens to be unintentional. For a Hollywood family film, it raises rather adult questions of conformity and consumerism. There are few better examples of arguments against toy-based franchises.

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By 1959, de-Stalinization was well underway in the Soviet Union, and while the Communist Party still maintained a fairly restrictive policy over its citizens, the current oppression was relatively light. Socialist realism was still a major element of Soviet film, which is understandable considering it was the only permitted style of production allowed under Josef Stalin’s rule. But the new leader of the country, Nikita Krushchev, permitted more room for filmmakers to stretch their creative muscles. They still were not able to openly criticize their government, but they could at least tell a story that did not involve a factory worker going on strike. Grigori Chukhrai’s Ballad of a Soldier was a well-received film that offered a great deal of reflection on the country’s role in World War II and the direction its culture was rapidly taking. It was about dismantling the predisposition of heroism and superiority behind the nationalistic perception of the Soviet Union’s victory and offering an unprecedented human aspect to a society that made a heavy sacrifice in its fight to preserve its ideology. Ballad of a Soldier presents a protagonist, Alexei, whose innocence and moral fortitude strike a deep contrast against his surrounding environment, war-torn Russia, and this contrast provides a new perspective to the Soviet way of life.

The film opens on a somber note, with a mother living in a small village, daily walking down the road, hoping for her son, Alexei, to return from the front lines. A voice-over informs the viewer, “The one she used to wait for, her son Alyosha, did not return from the war.” It goes on to call him a hero and a liberator, but as this information is conveyed, it is clear by the mother’s melancholy nature that such accolades mean nothing compared to her loneliness. The concept of heroics bears little meaning against the toll of a person’s loss. With this short first scene, many Soviet assertions kept in place by Stalin are washed away by reality. The rest of the film is a flashback, which Josephine Woll says “emphasizes war as a fatal irruption into ordinary life; the body of the film concentrates on the ‘normal,’ even if that normalcy exists within an alien and abnormal state of war” (96). Alyosha is the beacon of hope for the country, and his true heroics are unexpected.

The next scene goes back to the root of Alyosha’s heroism, which turns out to be unintentional and quite serendipitous. He is fearfully running for his life from a German tank, and manages to get to an anti-tank gun just in time to save his own life. His general grants him several days leave to go home and see his mother, saying that “[t]he Army could use more cowards like you.” Woll writes that “[Alyosha] performs his feat precisely because of his fear.” In the eyes of his superiors, his motivations are not of great concern; they care more about the fact that his efforts can be exploited to serve the interests of the state.

Alyosha inadvertently rights a great deal of wrongs on his road trip. He befriends a lame soldier returning home for good who has a wife waiting, but he is doubtful of her faithfulness. He starts to write her a telegram telling her he will not be returning. Alyosha scolds him for such a lack of gumption, and compels him to get back on the train.

Once the soldier arrives at the station, his wife runs towards him through a large crowd in a frantic tracking shot, desperate to be with her lover. Not all events are as upbeat. Another soldier from the front persuades Alyosha to bring a bar of soap to his wife, to convince her he is still alive and well. When he arrives, the wife has taken another suitor and tries to hide this fact from him. Alyosha takes away the soap in disgust, and instead rewards it to the soldier’s bedridden father, who truly appreciates the gift. He thanks Alyosha endlessly, confident he may one day see his son again.

Woll continues that “in Ballad no single brilliant feat constitutes heroism…What would be admirable as a single week’s worth of actions becomes something much greater, because we know it is the last week of such actions, and he will have no more of them. [Alyosha's] entire life becomes the exploit” (98). The film serves almost as a request to the viewer to continue the legacy of this noble being, and fight for the cause of honor.

One of the more prevalent instances of Alyosha’s naiveté is his inexperience with the opposite sex. For the majority of his journey, he is accompanied by the train-hopping beauty, Shura. They become entangled in what is clearly a romantic encounter, but the film never offers closure to the issue. They care deeply for one another and help each other out in difficult situations, and their longing is clearly displayed in lengthy shots of them staring at one another.

Shura says early on that she is on her way to visit her injured fiancé, but her tone is deceptive and perhaps implies her fear towards such an abrupt relationship. Despite the obvious attraction, Alyosha never becomes frustrated or angry by their separation. He values her friendship and personality over her good looks, and this innocence is yet another defiance against the power of uncertainty. Once they part ways, there is hope in both of their eyes, but the viewer is cursed by awareness of Alyosha’s tragic end.

At the end of the film, Alyosha is reunited with his mother, but this joyous occasion is sadly brief because he took so long to get home. As he wanders away on the same road from the beginning of the film the viewer is finally given the same perception as the previously mysterious mother figure, knowing that this meeting would be their last. In their last moments, Alyosha begs for forgiveness, despite all the good deeds he has accomplished on his journey. His humility is admirable and heartbreaking.

The story structure of Ballad of a Soldier is what most greatly supports its effectiveness. Thomas J. Slater writes that the film “reveals how a poetic memory can be more valuable and accurate than anything presented as socialist realism” (18). It could be said that it has more in common with the foundations of Russian literature than those of cinema. Much like a character by Dostoevsky, Alyosha heals hearts with his free willed compassion, and serves the people better in this way than by single-handedly destroying two tanks on the battlefield.

Though more expressly anti-Stalin films would come in later decades, Ballad of a Soldier made great strides in artistic progression in the Soviet Union. No one in the film is to blame for their circumstances, and the only real opposing force is a lack of faith. Alyosha is a model for the loss of innocence and responsibility of the Russian people, and at the time, the country was a grieving mother waiting for its rational goodness to return home.

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Roderick George Toombs, known to his fans as “Rowdy” Roddy Piper, is one of the most successful professional wrestlers of his generation. Finding fame in the infant years of the World Wrestling Federation, he fashioned himself a rather memorable legacy as the villain in the kilt. It was only inevitable to assume that he could make his way to the silver screen with such recognition, following in the footsteps of Terry “Hulk” Hogan, André the Giant, and Jesse “the Body” Ventura. His film career never truly flourished, most likely due to the lack of mass appeal of his first movie, John Carpenter’s They Live. Much like most Carpenter films, despite its low production values and occasionally juvenile perception of violence, it still had a lot to say in an unbelievably intelligent way. On the surface it appears to be just a stock action film primarily in existence to propagate the stardom of Piper. But on a more meaningful level, They Live portrays a dreary American society devastated by an obedient consumer market of sheep, blissfully unaware of the oppressive menace looming over them.

This threat is clear from the establishing shots of the picture, showing Los Angeles as an empire subjugating its minions. Whereas cityscapes are usually utilized to convey a sense of majesty and grandeur, the cinematography of They Live makes tall buildings look as ugly as possible amongst the smog.

Where they are shown at the top of the screen, the underbelly of the city sits under them.

Clearly a Western homage, Carpenter makes the urban environment as desolate and barren as the punishing deserts of Sergio Leone’s films. He said in an interview, “I was never attracted to Leone’s irony about the western as much as I was to his pictorial sense, to his feel” (Boulenger 212). Much like Leone’s Man with No Name, Roddy Piper appears in the distance not from endless stretches of sand dunes, but from a seemingly infinite stretch of railroad tracks, a working man down on his luck, seeking prosperity in the land of opportunity.

Even the iconic use of a sunset is somehow slanted as unpleasant, looming ominously in the horizon behind a smattering of skyscrapers.

At its core, They Live can be interpreted as a harsh criticism of the media and its lack of ethical responsibility to the consumer. The film reveals high class society to be that of an alien threat who has secretly been enslaving the working class and preventing them from rising to the top. They achieve these by transmitting subliminal commands through all forms of media, from billboards to television. They are simple messages such as “Obey,” “No Independent Thought,” and “Consume.”

Carpenter stresses that this is a lot less of a Cold War film than an expression of something lost in his country: “We are no longer producing anything in the United States. We are just consuming and eating our way through. We are buying things, accumulating things, throwing money away, but we aren’t making anything good anymore” (209). Like Carpenter, the main character is not a Marxist; he states, “I believe in America. I follow the rules. Everyone’s got their own hard times these days.” The title of the film seems to simply be a B-movie kind of name, but its appearance in the film suggests otherwise. Piper’s character finds it on the wall of the alien resistance’s hideout: “They live, we sleep.”

The non-subliminal media we see is amusingly kitsch. One example includes a commercial portraying a woman jogging while admiring her newly acquired manicure. The point comes across very clearly that it does not matter if they are aliens, but that everyone continues to do nothing about it.

This comes to a head when Piper’s character tries to convince his friend to believe what he has seen, that extraterrestrial forces control the Earth. What ensues is a battle for ignorance. His friend, played by Keith David, so vehemently prefers his wretched life that he does not want to be told the truth. They proceed to beat upon one another for about ten minutes in one of the most brutal fight sequences ever made. Carpenter contended that the scene is “more like a ballet” (212). The opposing forces of reason vs. blissful ignorance duke it out in gloriously epic fashion. The scene is the most well-recognized of the film, mostly due to its bombastic nature, but it truly fits with the theme of the picture. David’s character has a wife and two children, and despite his bad luck with getting work, he is fond of his quiet life. He represents the average American consumer, voting once every two years and saying he is making a difference. Piper believed in the dream and the result of his discovered deception compels him to lead the war of information. He is the activist and the instigator. He brings about change with action.

They Live will remain one of the more lasting portrayals of Reagan’s America. From the decline of the media’s moral turpitude to the crippled job market and, of course, Roddy Piper’s mullet, it could only be made in the United States with such a rich context. While not a direct reference to the ideological clash of the Cold War, it still should be included in the debate for its capitalistic antagonism. Among a slew of action films starring professional wrestlers, it is certainly one of the smarter ones. A boy can now dream that one day, after his enjoyable stint in the ring, he can hang up the tights and pursue a great artistic vision.

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I will now proceed to insert personal experience into the beginning of this argument, a technique I am not fond of nor feel is in any way formal. I am hating the fact that I am even using the first person. However, I feel compelled because in this context, it lends a great deal of perspective to what is being discussed. When Edward Dmytryk’s 1946 film Christ in Concrete (also known as Give Us This Day) premiered in Venice, he was in prison for refusing to testify to the American Congress about his Communistic ideologies. The release of his film in the United States was suppressed and essentially terminated by the efforts of the American Legion to intimidate movie theaters. A groundbreaking work for American cinema, it never received its recognition thanks to its allegedly socialist-leaning theme. That was 50 years ago. Last week, I simply made a request, and the DVD arrived in my mailbox a few days later. There is a fascinating contrast between the vehement elimination of intellectual property of yesteryear and the contemporary flux of information’s availability today. That said, the film is still quite plainly slanted to the far left in its portrayal of an Italian-American bricklayer trying to beat the rat race and support his family. Much like the protagonist, the film itself is Italian-American in style, blending tragic neorealism with shadowy noir to weave the tale of an impoverished immigrant in troubled times. The true antagonist of the film is not a figure but the ideal of capitalism itself, haunting the main character Geremio as a dream of a family and prosperity worth any price.

The first sacrifice he must make is honesty to his bride-to-be. Working in construction in the 1920s, labor is a sparse prospect. In a letter he receives from his future wife in Italy whom he has never met, she tells him she has no demands of his character or wealth. The only thing she wants when she arrives is to have a home of her own instead of a rundown apartment in Manhattan. Instead of saving his funds and satiating her request, he impatiently tells her he already has a house and that she should arrive as soon as possible. It is the first sign in the film of his anxiety towards the long road to fortune. He rents out a home in Brooklyn for their honeymoon, guiding her on wisps of truth in order to maintain joy for the occasion.

When the illusion collapses around them, she is shattered, but they resolve to save as much money as possible to reattain their happiness. When the going gets tougher, he subsequently remains dishonest, having affairs and spending their money on wine. His lust for satisfaction slowly deteriorates his soul.

He also consistently shows disdain for appreciating his comrades in the workplace. When the foreman offers 100 dollars to the man who works hardest over a week, Geremio is hellbent on winning for it would bring his family very close to the amount they need for a house. His close friends come together and assert that since they all work hard, whoever wins should divide the prize among all of them. Geremio is initially opposed to this idea, as it contributes the taint of Marxism to his individualistic pursuits. He eventually agrees, albeit begrudgingly. Soon after, the Great Depression sets in motion, providing little work for the men. Geremio laments, “The dream is dying, and it is worse than hunger…Heaven has forgotten us.” When waiting for a shift, the foreman arrives to inform the group that he has but one job for one man. The group agrees to give it to a man with no money and children to feed, but not before Geremio argues to get it for himself, despite his hefty savings to provide for his family. The men deride him for his selfish nature, and he once again concedes, but his true intentions are well known.

He finally moves slightly up in the world as a foreman, disproving his friend Luigi’s early assertion that “it’s easier for a bricklayer to go down than up.” He is able to provide work for his companions, though it only serves as a metaphor for their doomed aspirations. They are now involved in demolition, razing the towering buildings they once proudly erected. Geremio cares little for their safety, favoring efficiency over security. Because of this, Luigi falls through a floor and is permanently crippled.

Finally recognizing his faults enough to make a change, Geremio resolves to turn his life around, at home and in the workplace. His newfound moral stability is unfortunately too late, as the construction site collapses upon him and his workers. In true neorealist fashion, Geremio falls into a pit and tragically drowns in wet concrete. From the film’s point of view, an ethically minded individual cannot hope to join the ranks of a corrupt capitalistic institution such as the United States. Erica Sheen wrote in her essay “Un-American” that “Christ in Concrete…examine[s]…the central contemporary question for the Italian-American community: America’s claim to the status of ‘terrestrial paradise’ for the postwar immigrant.” In essence, Dmytryk wished to tear down the veil and bring his perception of reality to the forefront of American thought.

He utterly failed, and the cinematic history train left the station without Christ in Concrete. In the era of Cold War cinema, it was an intriguing blip on the radar, as it was a film that resembled an Italian-American immigrant, not only in story, but in style. Its blended aura makes it unique in its history. Had it actually received an audience it likely would have been viewed as inferior to both the neorealistic and noir films that it is clearly influenced by. Much like the working force of the film’s story, it would likely be neglected and drown in a sea of debris.

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Christ in Concrete brings the Neorealist movement to an American setting. It fits perfectly within the context of The Great Depression. Directed by Ukrainian-born blacklisted director Edward Dmytryk, it seeks to decry the institution of capitalism by portraying the hardened lifestyle of an urban working class family in New York City. The protagonist is Geremio, a brick layer who seeks the dream of prosperity and a home with a family to live in it. He marries an Italian immigrant who shares his aspirations, and the two spend years trying to save up his small wage to purchase a house in Brooklyn. His job proves erratic and in no way prosperous. His comrade Luigi puts it eloquently: “It’s easier for a brick layer to go down than up.” Over time, Geremio grows disgruntled with his impoverished way of living and seeks solace through affairs and alcohol. The Great Depression kicks into high gear, with little opportunity for work and even less to save his funds. He says “The dream is dying, and it is worse than hunger.” Confiding in his close friend, he states that “Heaven has forgotten us.” He evntually becomes the foreman of a demolition business, hiring all his old friends. He is commissioning them to destroy everything that they have built, and they resent him for it. Furthermore, he cares little for the safety of his workers, favoring efficiency over security. At its climax, Geremio is tossed out of his apartment by his wife for adultery, and he resolves to make himself a good person. He reunites with his family and friends, telling them that speed is no longer the priority, but safety for his workers. The next day at work, the entire structure they are destroying collapses upon them, casting Geremio to the ground and burying him, the proverbial Christ, in wet cement. With his dying breath he cries out for air and apologizes to his wife. The American Dream crumbles under the weight of reality. This film is a prime example of antagonism of capitalism within a Western movie industry.

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By the 1980s, the whole of Cold War cinema was less serious. Gone were the days of paranoia, replaced by films of a more bombastic nature. American action cinema still featured prominent Russian antagonism, but the portrayals of mustache-twirling Soviet villains were less sinister and more comedic. Mutually assured destruction had been an assured fact for so long that it did not even feel threatening anymore. While satirical film provided some of the most memorable of Cold War films, none stand alone so uniquely as Stuart Gordon’s Robot Jox. Released in 1990 at the tail end of the Soviet Union’s existence, it was a financially unsuccessful B-grade science fiction film that on the outset looks like a mess of a movie that deserves its obscurity. The reality is that Stuart Gordon is the kind of director who thrives on the intrepid nature of lesser artistic quality. Through its tongue-in-cheek future, Robot Jox analogizes the Cold War to sexuality in many forms, saying that the senseless aggression between international superpowers is the result of pent-up carnal frustration.

The film illustrates the setting of a futuristic society solely concerned with competing with its opposite superpower. War is “outlawed,” and territorial disputes are settled by human-controlled robot-on-robot combat which is envisioned by citizens as a sporting event. Scenes within cities of this civilization show advertisements depicting pregnant women, exhibiting the government’s insistence on reproduction for the good of the state.


By the start of the movie, the next step for The Market (the United States’ futuristic moniker) is genetically engineered combatants. This scientific breakthrough is met with great disdain by Achilles, the film’s protagonist and The Market’s best robot jock, who perceives the concept of test-tube created humans without conception to be abhorrent. He pejoratively refers to them as “tubies” and cracks a sexist joke directed at one of the female subjects. Every other male in the film reacts in a similar manner when confronted with the concept of sexless procreation. They are so intimidated by this prospect that they seek gratification in the battlefield.

Achilles faces further chagrin by the main love interest who consistently rejects his advances. Athena, the aforementioned female genetically engineered fighter, clearly shows romantic interest in him, but cannot bring herself to reciprocate his feelings. When Achilles elects to retire from the robot jock business, she attempts to take his place as combatants for the rights to the resources of Alaska. Achilles is so tormented by the thought of the object of his affection fighting to the death that he returns to the game. The ensuing scene consists of Athena sedating him to take his place in the fight. They then battle, ending up on his bed. Whereas other films might allow a romance to commence from here, Athena still does not respond to his attempts, knocking him out and heading towards the final battle with the Russians. He is castrated in essence by this event, and has no choice but to vent this dissatisfaction against a robot opponent. It is a bruised ego, and not a conflict of ideologies, that causes such a great rift between nations.

This leads to the climax, which could only be described as an erotic action scene. The Russian, Alexander, initially faces off against Athena, knocking her giant robot down with ease. His robot fist then pounds away at her face in a repetitive thrusting motion. Clearly defeated, Achilles rescues her and takes over the robot himself. The referees declare the battle over, but both competitors forsake these rules and continue to fight. He then rolls under his opponent dealing damage to his underside. Alexander then unveils what can only be described as a giant chainsaw phallus, ramming it into the face of Achilles’ robot. It is by far the most explicit of sexual metaphors in the film.

The battle concludes with Alexander’s robot being destroyed, but they refuse to quit. Alexander’s last stand is lying on the ground with a rock. In one of the more fondly ridiculous endings of Cold War cinema, an amusingly simple string of dialogue ensues:

Achilles: You can live.

Alexander: Yes, if I kill you.

Achilles: We can both live!

Alexander: We are dead. We are robot jocks.

Achilles: (tosses weapon aside) We can live.

They then smile at one another, and Achilles gives him a thumbs up. Alexander reciprocates this gesture, and the final shot of the film is these two fists pounding against one another in brotherly friendship.

Robot Jox is about dissecting the prospect of machismo as the result of homo-erotic reservations. The characters are not concerned with the fate of Alaska, nor even their own legacies. All they seek is companionship, and in the end, they are happily rewarded. Though overtly simplistic, it resembles the best qualities of Hollywood b-movies. They make their points with far stranger methods than more mainstream American films. In a fashion, they are experimenting with traditional narrative and allowing it to flourish in unprecedented directions.

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Red Planet Mars (1952) is by far the most blatant and bizarre work of American propaganda I have seen so far. It attempts to antagonize the Communist government of the Soviet Union as a godless, evil institution with little more interest than subjugating its people. The plot details the revelation of  radio contact with alien civilization by an American scientist, which goes on to reshape the state of international and domestic society. Its most fascinating attribute is its lack of a clear-cut noble protagonist, unusual for this era of Hollywood, instead replaced by a blind technocrat, who seeks the answers of the universe at the cost of his country’s infrastructure. His wife in turn provides the ethical, faith-based perspective that is clearly the best path as laid out by the intentions of the film, challenging her husband with what I would call the “Plan 9” argument, which is to say that the defiant pursuit of absolute technology will lead to end times. The usual Russian stereotypes run abound in Red Planet Mars, from the stern, brutal forces of the Red Army to the cackling, evil statesmen. In one scene, a group of impoverished and dreary-looking Russians listen to the American radio for news, only to quickly hide it when soldiers enter the room to make sure no one is having too much fun. The real mind-boggling stuff comes to fruition when the Martians reveal their utopian society is the result in the belief of a Christ-like supreme being. The Russian citizens portrayed earlier take to the streets in religious fervor, attempting to have a service, only to be savagely gunned down by the barbaric soldiers. Eventually, the people revolt, murdering the entire Soviet government, and in complete un-ironic fashion, establish a theocracy led by the patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church. Peace and prosperity is thus joined on Earth, and the film ends with the zooming title card “The Beginning.” It appears the portrayal of Communists as atheists is a big antagonistic angle with American Cold War cinema.

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The rough cut is finished. I was done on Thursday, after tweaking certain placements of found footage. The only thing I’m really wondering is how smooth the audio is going to go. I revised the last paragraph of the narration, and in my second recording session my tone sounded (at least to me) to be noticably different. I’m going to ask the class after they watch it if they noticed anything. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. There are a couple of moments in the narration where I want to smack my forehead, but I’m not sure if this is because it’s actually not good or just that I’m tired of hearing it after the 100th time. It will be refreshing to listen to outside opinions. Also, I finally pegged a title: A Delightful Tale of Death and Derision. I’m partial to misleading titles.

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Post-production has gone fairly well. I spent the week capturing and logging everything I could and throwing it all together with the voiceover. I’d call it about half done. I could have very well been finished with the project by now if I hadn’t had so much trouble with capturing footage from the VHS copy of The Bridge Game. Simply transferring it from the VCR through the DV deck was ineffective; the picture came out bizarrely warped. It was then recommended that I try using the transfer station, which has a much higher quality DV deck. The results were better, but there was enough distortion present that it was unsuitable for my film. Tomorrow I am going to drop off the VHS along with a blank DV at Electronic Media and they’ll try recording it using some crazy newfangled technology that is apparently better than what I’ve been trying. I should have the footage hopefully by Wednesday. I will also be tweaking the final paragraph of my narration to more clearly convey my ideas. Without any hitches, the rough cut will be finished on schedule.

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