Lost ... in Space, and Opportunity

I guess Lost in Space has been on my radar about as long as I've had a radar.  I remember as far back as age 3-4 watching the show, and having a tiny little dimestore spaceship with even tinier spacemen which I decided were the Robinsons.  The show went into syndication almost immediately after leaving the networks in the spring of `68, and was running on local station KTVU (Ch. 2) from the spring of 1970 until early 1972 (I may have seen it even before that).  I watched it pretty frequently and a number of scenes are still burned into the video section of my memory bank, though sometimes altered by time and imagination into something different than they actually were. 

After that early `72 departure, LiS kind of slipped from my memory until it showed up again on KTVU on Saturday afternoons in 1974.  Two years is a milennia when you're ages 6-8 and it was definitely an "oh yeah!  I remember that show!  It was great!" moment.  However, is aired on sporadically (usually afer sports events I think, when there was an hour free on the schedule.  I think there were only 3 or 4 showings.)

After that it was gone again and faded into the background of my mind, until the summer of 1976, when KBHK (Ch. 44) picked it up, running it in the late afternoons.  We had family visitors that summer, and for the the first couple months I only saw it occasionally.  But after our guests left in August, I had a few weeks free to catch it every day.  That's when I decided it was my favorite show.  But it was a short-lived affair: just as school started up, it was replaced on the schedule by the Brady Bunch.

I really missed it this time.  Coincidentally, returning to school that year I made a new friend who was as hot on the show as I was.  Then, in the summer of 1977, it was back, sending the Bradys into orbit.  With nothing to distract me this time out, I watched religiously, often with my buddy. 

That August, KBHK, having run through the color episodes from the second two seasons, began airing the black-and-white first season episodes.  We couldn't wait!  This was the origin story!  This was where it all began!  Neither of us had seen these in years - none of them had aired since at least 1972, and again, five years is a long time when you're bridging the gap from 6 to 11.  

To say we weren't disappointed would be an understatement.  Look, we were 11, and as much as we loved the show, we did realize a lot of it was pretty damn silly, even condescending.  But these episodes were different.  And they were good.  Really good.

Starting with the look.  The episodes were filmed in stark, noir-ish black and white.  Striking aerial shots and occasional odd camera angles gave the show the odd, sometimes surreal look of The Outer Limits.  The storylines, too, had a darker edge.  The Robinsons vulnerability was often emphasized, and many plots sprang from issues of food, water, or supply shortages, or other possible threats to the family's survival.  What's more, the show was often spooky, even frightening.  Many scenes took place at night, and several episodes involved chilling appearances by hostile, or at least unfriendly, alien life forms.  Even today scenes like the horned devil creature crawling up out of the earth in "One of Our Dogs is Missing" or Judy's eerie trance dance in the field of ululating alien flowers in "Attack of the Monster Plants" rattle the back teeth.  

The characters, too, were quite different from what came later.  The most obvious was Dr. Smith.  Instead of buffoonish comic relief, Smith was a cold, conniving, and ruthless son of a bitch, quite willing to sacrifice the entire Robinson clan in order to achieve his wish of getting back to earth.

Dad John Robinson was firm, manly, dashing and alpha male all the way, but also occasionally let his doubts and concerns show.  Maureen Robinson was a space-age frontier mother, but the two of them were depicted as fiercely devoted to one another and very much in love.  They were often shown getting romantic, and moments when they expressed their worries and possible regrets about bringing their family into this situation were touching and well done.  Major Don West was a younger Dirk Squarejaw, but Mark Goddard played him with a certain feisty edge - he and John even butted heads - heatedly, at times.

As to the kids: Judy never was much developed as a character and really never seemed to fit.  She mostly stood around looking pretty, but Marta Kristen, who aspired to be a serious actress, did try when they gave her something to work with.  She was openly hostile to Dr. Smith, and at the same time so gentle-natured that she became furious when he was briefly exiled from the camp - she couldn't stand to see anything mistreated - even a snake like Smith. 

Angela Cartwright as Penny - beautiful even at 13 - was an angelic and dreamy child (though she and Will sometimes bickered) - but the few episodes focused on her were real gems (particularly "My Friend Mr. Nobody" - not only the series best episode but one of the best SF/fantasy episodes ever produced for TV).  And then of course, there was Will.  Billy Mumy was one of the best (and busiest) child actors of his time, and he was perfectly cast.  Will was highly intelligent, with an adult's grasp of electronics, physics, and astronomy; but the writers managed to consistently keep an oft-forgotten fact in mind; no matter how gifted, a child is still a child.  Will was relentlessly brave, anxious to prove himself as and be treated as a man, sometimes defiant, often disobedient (he was constantly running off after being told to stay back at the ship, or messing with things he'd been sternly warned not to mess with).  He was recklessly naive and often manipulated by Smith, and his propensity for saving the day in the end seemed to leave his parents both aggravated and impressed.  

It was also brimming with ideas.  After the first few episodes, which dealt primarily with the Robinsons floating through space and trying just to keep the ship operational, they made rough landing on a planet (they later started calling it Priplanus) and the show seemed to settle into its groove.  Priplanus was actually an interesting place, with unusual weather features, several bizarre lifeforms and, most tantalizingly, the ruins of a vanished, ancient civilization - apparently humanoid.  Aliens encountered by the Robinsons were alien.  In "The Sky Is Falling" an alien family appears on the planet, apparently on a colonization mission identical to the Robinsons.  Though these aliens are entirely human in appearance, and, apparently, in concerns, they are unable to effectively communicate with the Robinsons or overcome their basic distrust.  Others included the eerie, nearly featureless "Invaders from the Fifth Dimension", and the "bubble creatures" seen in episode two ("The Derelict"), nearly formless balloons of lumpy tissue that seemingly communicated via crackling electrical pulses.  

Despite all these good qualities, and the fact that many, in fact most, of the first season episodes are excellent, Lost in Space was still deeply flawed.  The major problem was a lack of attention to detail, largely the result of the lack of a real vision at the helm.  Star Trek had Gene Rodenberry, et al, who believed in the core concepts and themes of the show, and were willing to pay attention to such details as not having 20th century salt shakers on the Enterprise, or making sure there was a mix of ethnicities among the background extras at all times.  This lack of care led to some bizarre foibles: the Robinsons find a dog in a space capsule in "One Of Our Dogs is Missing" and adopt it.  But it is never seen or mentioned again in subsequent episodes.  In "Return From Outer Space" Will is temporarily transported back to Earth, but ends up in a small New England town that seems to be a throwback to the 1940's, not even 1965 (when it was filmed), much less 1997.  No one seems to have thought, or cared, enough to suggest what small-town 1997 might look like.  None of those interesting ideas implicit in the early episodes was ever followed up on (except, maybe, the planet's former inhabitants - unfortunately, not in an interesting way).

I say that Lost in Space lacked a real vision at the helm, but this is not entirely true.  It did, sort of.  The problem lay in the responsible party.  Gene Roddenberry sought to confront Big Issues in the guise of sophisticated science-fiction drama.  The Outer Limits had Joe Stefano, who sought to express his fevered literary ambitions through the lens of science fiction and Gothic horror.  Lost in Space had Irwin Allen, who's only ambition was to put an hour of colorful entertainment and to bring it in on time and under budget (to be fair, the latter was universal in TV production).  Allen had no interest in drama, characterization, or depth.  As David Hedison, who starred in his 1960 film The Lost World and later the pre-LiS series Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, put it: "Irwin totally wasted the top-notch cast.  We spent the whole film running around from one contrived disaster to another." This indeed was Allen's formula - put together an impressive cast, spend a fortune on spectacular sets and effects, and then make a headlong rush from action sequence to action sequence. There's nothing per se completely wrong in this approach, but it limits the potential of the story.  More importantly, in Allen's case, he was quite willing to throw logic out the window - the reason the dog never reappeared was that getting takes with it had caused the episode to go overbudget by eating up more camera time, so he struck a tag scene which would have included the dog and simply had it written out of the show, without explanation.  And although he was willing to spend a fortune on some sets and effects (and boast about how expensive they had been), he would turn around and cut corners on others - again seemingly without any driving logic - thus a good-looking spaceship prop might be inhabited by an alien in what looked like a dimestore monster mask. Allen was often his own worst enemy in terms of getting a quality production out there (though he likely didn't care).  And while most of the actors and others who worked with him speak highly of him while laughing at his eccentricities, he sounds like a classic narcissist - confused, erratic, and completely full of himself.  Latter-day apologists defend Allen, but he was the wrong guy to have the helm for a show like Lost in Space.  While his other three shows of the time (Voyage, The Time Tunnel, and Land of the Giants) could get away with the typical Allen approach, it was touches of real human drama, the very things Allen didn't want, that made Lost in Space special.  The other series were about military men, scientists, and strangers, in science-fictional situations.  Lost in Space was about a family.  As Mark Goddard put it - Lost in Space had heart.

While he deserves credit for pulling it together and getting it on the air, it would have been a much more classic show if Allen had handed production off to someone else and left it completely alone.  Ah well.

The other handicap was the network itself.  CBS saw Lost in Space as a children's show, pure and simple (science-fiction in general was looked down upon in those days - several critics even wrote Star Trek off as kiddie fare).  They demanded an end to the romance between John and Maureen, insisted that the children never appear to be in any real jeopardy, and that monsters never appear actually menacing (thus most LiS monsters do little other than wave their arms around and snarl).  Most of all, they pushed to allow Jonathan Harris, in the role of Dr. Smith, to push the part from a sneaky villain to a completely ludicrous fool.  Smith's actions began to make little sense and, while Harris played the part with gusto and was fun to watch, even by the last few episodes of season one he had devolved from a conflict-causing character to absurd comic relief.  

Season one still ended strongly (after a few stinky puffs that anticipated the disappointing later seasons) with a moving episode, "Follow the Leader", which actually embodied a lot of what was best about the series.  There was still hope.  But when LiS returned the following fall, this time in full color, all hope was dashed.  It had become a ludicrous children's show, closer to H.R. Pufnstuf than anything in science-fiction.  Only an occasional minor gem (such as "The Dream Monster") showed even an echo of the first season's best moments.  Season three made a feeble attempt at righting the ship with a few more serious episodes that put someone other than Smith front-and-center ("Hunter's Moon", the surreal "Anti-Matter Man"), but more typically sank to the bottom of the barrel with episodes like the infamous "The Great Vegetable Rebellion", which even Bill Mumy has apologized for being associated with.  While the episodes were in garish color, they lost the exciting camera work that made the first season visually striking.  The show started to look cheap, and cheaper as it went along.  Finally, after three seasons, Allen pulled the plug when CBS stipulated that it would only be renewed with a significant budget cut.  

But into syndication it went.  And the rest, as they say...

My interest in Lost in Space waned after that summer.  The following summer the Best Buddy
and I watched it, fairly often, but mostly to grouse and make fun of it.  The summer after that, I had moved, but it was still running (albeit at noon now).  I usually watched it all the same, although I often wasn't paying attention.  The first season eps were no longer being shown.  I found the sheer dumbness of the color episodes insulting.  Did they really think I would fall for this even when I was a little kid? (of course I had).  The summer after that, it was back on late afternoons, but I'd lost interest.  If I was watching TV at that time, I'd usually watch Land of the Giants, another Allen show, coincidentally, which was running on a rival station in the same slot.  Giants had some of the LiS vibe but without the silliness, even though it was never half as compelling as LiS had been at its best.  

One afternoon during a commercial, I decided to flip over to KBHK for a sec, and caught about 30 seconds of LiS.  

It felt strange.  It felt like nothing. It had meant so much to me, been so important at one point in my childhood.  Now it was just a stupid show.  All its mysteries had been revealed, and found wanting.  I felt strangely sad and empty.  Sometimes growing up is like that.

Well, so it goes.  I grew up and put away childish things and the only time Lost in Space came up was to get some laughs at a party when someone would shout "Danger! Danger!" or "Oh the pain!".

I might have been done with the show, but it wasn't done with me.  In the late 80's, Lost in Space had made its way to the USA networks, and aired in the late mornings.  In college then, on days when I didn't have a morning class, I'd often sleep in (or sleep it off) until 10 or 11.  Sometimes I'd watch it - they were showing those first season ones again.  The flaws were more obvious to me now - but no denying ... they were still good.  About 8-9 years later, when I finally got the Sci-Fi Channel, I set up the VCR to tape the best of the episodes, though it would be almost another 10 years before I dug the tapes out and watched them (they provided comfort food during a particularly rough patch).  A few years later I encountered the DVD set at the library and, being in the right mood, watched them.  Later I bought the set for myself.

Lost in Space didn't used to get a lot of love from sci-fi critics (much less those critics with no use for the genre in the first place).  Bill Warren, in his classic Keep Watching the Skies condemns it (and Allen's other series) as having no quality and blames it for setting back the quality of TV sci-fi for decades.  Gary Gerani, in his equally classic (and seminal) Fantastic Television as "rarely rising above the level of a Saturday morning cartoon".  Neither are completely wrong.  Certainly the later seasons were mostly little more than a live-action cartoon.  Serious and mature sci-fi shows were a rare thing on TV until at least the early 90's - though how much of this was due to Allen's shows is tough to say.  

But, by 1997, marking the real-world anniversary of the Robinsons departure (September 1997 per the premiere episode), with a big-time feature film based on it in the works, Lost in Space began to get a little respect.  By now the cast were being welcomed at conventions and the Sci Fi Channel was airing a marathon, including the never-before aired original pilot - sans Dr. Smith and the basis for the first five episodes of the series).  The movie was terrible, and a flop, but the love went on.  LiS has taken its place as something of a sci fi TV classic.  

Being a fan of this show is a weird experience.  Go on a Lost in Space forum (there have been several, but this is the active one nowadays) and you'll find the same story: great love for the first season, great disappointment but genuine affection for some of the later season episodes) (yes, having seen those again in recent years, I have a slightly better opinion of them - they are at least colorful, wacky, and unique, once you accept they were going for laughs).  We see the flaws even in those precious Season 1 eps.  But we see the good stuff even more clearly.  Loving Lost in Space means being in love with a show that might have been, as much as the one that actually was.  

Some of its nostalgia, sure.  And for a lot of us, LiS was something of a gateway drug - a sci-fi show a kid could sink his teeth into, before becoming sophisticated enough for Star Trek.  Few of us would argue that Trek et al didn't eat LiS's lunch when it came to serious, thoughtful sci-fi.  But then, LiS was never intended to be serious, thoughtful sci-fi.  It was a family-oriented adventure show, and at that, when it worked, it worked perfectly.  Which is why the show has lasted.

 

I Watched Too Much TV... (Pt I)

... I'm pretty sure that's true.

I have way too many childhood memories connected with the shows and movies I watched as a kid.  Way too many of them have remained obsessions into adulthood.  Way too many.

Still, there seem to be others like me around, who had the tube as a babysitter.  There's worse things.  I wasn't beaten, neglected, or unloved.  I just watched (and remember) too much TV.  More than anything else.  Maybe because I was an unathletic, somewhat solitary (not friendless - I just tended to prefer my own company) kid, those flickering images are my strong memories, instead of - I dunno, playing down at the ol' swimming hole or whatnot.

(Actually I grew up in the suburbs, and we had no ol' swimming hole, nor vacant lot baseball - sorry)



O Best Beloved, television was a different beast then.  We had no cable (there was cable TV to speak of until the late 70's).  No VCR's - much less DVR's.

No, instead you had a dial with channel numbers on it (many of the channels might not even have existed), an antenna connected from the roof to your TV via a wire, and pair of moveable antennas that could be extended from the back of the TV.  We called them "rabbit ears", and sometimes you'd have to position them in bizarre ways to get your station.

TV worked like the radio.  You could tune in signals from stations that broadcast in your area.  And those signals could be interrupted or interfered with by weather and other conditions.  In a storm, you might not be able to get some stations in at all!

And if you wanted to watch your favorite show or movie - you just had to wait till they broadcast it.

I know ... how did we ever survive?

There were two frequencies then - VHF, and UHF.  VHF was where the networks were - ABC, CBS, and NBC (no Fox, CW, etc.  There had once been a fourth network called DuMont, but they vanished in the late 50's).  The networks broadcast there programming through local affiliate stations, who filled the hours outside of Prime Time (roughly 7 - 10 PM) with their own media.  It was also home to PBS.

UHF was the wild west.  All local stations with no network affiliation.  They filled their hours completely with their own stuff.

I should clarify here - ALL stations were local.  You had as many stations available to you as there were stations in your area whose signal you could pick up.  We were lucky where I grew up.  We had ten stations (a few more we could get a fuzzy signal on, sometimes, or just snow).  In Bakersfield they had three!!

Now, I mention that outside of network programming, the stations had "their own media, their own stuff."  By which I mean they filled their hours with locally-produced special interest shows, syndicated programs that were sold to stations independent of the networks, re-runs of older shows, and movies.  Lots and lots of the latter two.

Which meant my whole generation grew up watching old shows and old movies as much as new ones.
And we didn't mind black & white.  We were used to it.
Hell, some of us had black & white TV's!
Yes - it's true - TV's that didn't have color!  They were cheaper.
We had one till I was 11.
It's true.
Heck, we had to do something besides painting on the walls of the cave!

So this is where my TV watching begins, sometime around 1970, 1971.  Anything before that is lost to the mists of time.

The station that looms most profoundly in my memories is Channel 20, known as KEMO.  KEMO was a new and apparently very small station.  But I seem to have watched that above all others.  And many of my most strongly-remembered favorite shows I can trace back to KEMO.

Saturday morning listings aren't available for KEMO, but I have distinct memories of watching Samson and Goliath (a teen who could turn himself into a musclebound superhero - and his pet dog into a lion!) and Fireball XL-5 (an animated sci-fi action show from the UK with lots of rockets and spaceships - done with marionettes no less!) - in addition to network showings of  Scooby Doo (spooky - I liked it! My penchant for scary stuff was already kinking in), Lancelot Link Secret Chimp (chimps in costumed with dubbed voices, acting out secret agent scenarios - honest I'm not making this up!), Pufnstuf (in repeats but still showing on NBC), Doctor Doolittle (a pin-off from the Rex Harrison film which I recall as a particular favorite) the incredibly strange Bugaloos (another Sid and Marty Krofft creation), the long-running Bugs Bunny and Pink Panther shows, and The Monkees (also in re-runs).  Looking over the Saturday morning network listings c. Fall 1970, nothing else sticks out in my memory - either I wasn't watching or none of it made an impression.

 

That was Saturday morning c. 1970-1971 for me.  It was on the weekday afternoons that the richest fare would show most of the programs I loved best.  Aside from Bozo the Clown, which I watched but never actually liked...

Top of the heap: Spider-Man.  Yes, the Grantray-Lawrence Spider-Man with its crude animation, irresistible theme song (still the second-most definitive superhero theme song).  Spider-Man introduced me not only to Spidey in all his wise-cracking glory, but to the rogues gallery of Spidey villains - Doc Ock, The Vulture, The Green Goblin (far less scary in his televised incarnation) and best of all, the impossibly weird Mysterio...
Yeah, Spider-Man rocked.

Not only that, but KEMO also managed to corner the market on the other big superhero show - Batman.  Yes, Adam West's Batman, with its camp and the MOST definitive superhero theme song.  As a kid, I didn't see the camp, and moments such as The Penguin lowering Bruce Wayne into an incinerator, or a confused Catwoman leaping to her "death" were the stuff of rich excitement to me.

Coming in behind those was the bizarre Tobor: The 8th Man.  Tobor was actually an android or robot who masqueraded as a human - until trouble showed up.  It was, in fact, a Japanese import, as were several cool shows I watched growing up.  Seen today, 8th Man looks pretty crude (though no worse than Spider-Man).  But there was a certain depth to the plots, and a real sense of darkness and danger at times that made it especially compelling to a kid.

Also from Japan was the very famous Speed Racer, which I was never as crazy about as some other toons, but still watched religiously.  Speed, like the other Japanese shows, was genuinely exciting and often scary in a way no American shows were (Trixie's nightmare of Speed as a green-faced monster [Ep. 11 "The Most Dangerous Race"], the garden full of iron plants [Ep. 41 "The Car Destroyer", the talking robot in "Race for Revenge" [Ep. 12], the weird giant car that looks like a sawfish [Ep. 47 "Car With A Brain"]).

Another fave was a Japanese-American co-produced cartoon featuring King Kong, which depicted the great ape as a gentle giant who tussled with dinosaurs while protecting his human friends.  The theme songs stays with me to this day.  I had friend who used to crack me up by changing the lyric to "you know the shame of King Kong!"

Ah. but I'm saving the best for last.  Because KEMO was also showing Ultra-Man - Eji Tsuburaya's now-famous judo-chopping giant from space, who knocked off giant beasties in episode after episode.  Seen today, Ultra-Man is beyond repetitive (there were a handful of exceptions) - beastie shows up and makes some noise - science patrol (the intrepid team whose job it is apparently to fly/drive around confronting giant monsters) shows up and ineffectually confronts beastie - Hayata, the team's resident square-jaw, ducks around a corner, whips out the beta capsule, and turns into Ultra-Man, giant wet-suited martial artist from space.  He opens a can of whoop-ass on the beastie, finishing it off just before his five-minute battery gives out, and off he goes.

As a kid, formulaic isn't a negative.  I loved Ultra-Man.  It was full of action and monsters, and Ultra-Man just plain looked cool.  UM, too, had a memorable theme song, and the evocative opening - rattling percussion and swirls of, I assume, paint, unfurling, was a major mindfuck to a 5 year old.  Ultra-Man was The Bomb.

Then, a very shocking thing happened.
In the spring of 1971, KEMO went off the air.
All of a sudden it was just - gone.  No more Ultra-Man.  No more Spider-Man.  No more Batman, 8th Man or King Kong.  No more Samson or Fireball XL-5.  I couldn't wrap my toddler brain around it, but Channel 20 and all its treasures were gone forever....

(to be continued)

Dracula Has Risen From The Bullpen

In honor of Halloween, I thought I’d look at Marvel’s horror line from the 1970’s, specifically, the flagship of that line – the longest-running, and most respected, Tomb Of Dracula.

To backtrack a bit: at the beginning of the decade, DC had started to score with a series of new or revivified horror/mystery anthology titles: House Of Mystery, House Of Secrets, (Tales Of The) Unexpected, et al.  Part of what made this possible was a loosening of the comics code, which now allowed the long-banned use of classic monsters and some G-rated grue.  DC’s so-called “mystery” line is worth a story itself, and some day I’ll write one.  But for now, suffice it to say, DC pounced on the chance and hit paydirt.

Needless to say, as they had done in `61, Marvel looked at DC’s success and quickly moved to do their own version of the same boogie, launching a bunch of horror anthology titles.  Unlike DC, Marvel’s all flopped.  This too is a story to be told, some other time.

Undaunted, Marvel also took a stab at horror comics with continuing characters (DC had also scored with The Phantom Stranger and Swamp Thing, after all), and thus unleashed what was essentially their own take on the classic Universal monsters roster: Frankenstein, a mummy, a werewolf, and not one but two vampires – Morbius, the Living Vampire (a sci-fi vampire who had done a few turns in Spider-Man’s titles), and the granddaddy vamp of them all, Count Dracula.

As usual, Jack Kirby had the idea first:

Jack had this idea to do a book called Dracula, which he thought was going to be very commercial. His idea was to do Dracula at different time periods, an anthology book. One story might have had him in the present day, one story might have him in the past, another would have him in the future. He made the presentation to DC, and Carmine said, "Yeah, we'll get to it, we'll get to it." Then Marvel announced the same idea [with Dracula Lives!]. (Mark Evanier, reported by John Morrow in Jack Kirby Collector 13)

Whether Marvel got wind of Jack’s Drac book, or came up with the idea themselves, regardless, Tomb of Dracula hit the racks in April `72, with a story by Gerry Conway and art by the very fine Gene Colan:

ToD 1 is a fun little romp that pretty well illustrates the pros and cons of the title from its inception.  Frank Drake, an American playboy and son of wealth has blown his family fortune, and his down on his luck when his bud Clifton points out that the old diary, the one written by one Prof. Van Helsing, that’s in Frank’s possession, is the clue to a potential goldmine.  You see, Frank Drake is, in fact, a descendant of the famous Count himself, and there really is a Castle Dracula in Transylvania, and Frank Drake owns it.  If they were to restore the old bat trap, turn it into a tourist attraction ….Off go Frank, Clifton, and Jeanie, the girl Frank stole from Clifton, to Transylvania….

Which turns out to be straight out of a Universal or Hammer film, complete with 19^th-century-style village and villagers, and even a horse-drawn coach ride to Castle Drac, in the midst of a storm (of course the villagers tell them not to go.  Of course the carriage driver leaves them out in the storm to walk the rest of the way to the castle, cuz he won’t go near it). 

So, stumbling around in the castle, which is all kinds of spooky and full of (of course) bats, the three get separated.  Clifton falls through some rotted floorboards into a crypt, where he finds Drac’s stake-impaled skeleton, resting in a coffin. 

Now Clifton, assuming that this is merely the remains of some poor sucker who fooled the local populace into believing he actually was a vamp, and got a stake through his heart for his trouble.  So what does Clifton do?  For absolutely no explicable reason, he pulls the stake out!

This, it turns out, is all it takes to bring Drac back to death, so to speak.  And soon the ol’ Count is all over the castle, terrorizing Frank and Jeanie.  And, despite Frank’s desperate and not-entirely-believing-at-first efforts, Jeanie ends up vamped.

So, you can see, we have, as I said, a fun little romp in the Universal and Hammer mode, with some nice, atmospheric artwork, and, frankly, a pretty healthy dose of the preposterous (why in god’s name would Clifton have pulled that stupid stake out?  Why does Jeanie fly off instead of vamping Frank at the end?).  I’ve seen worse starts.

Issue 2 carries on, with Drac and Jeanie trailing Frank to London (where he’s run off, taking Drac’s coffin with him.  Apparently Gerry hadn’t studied his Stoker, since Drac always had plenty of coffins).  There’s some nice business with Drac stalking early 70’s London, of a sort I would have liked to see continued (Drac actually tries to pass himself off as a normal, albeit eccentric, contemporary man.  This approach was later abandoned completely).

The issue ends with Jeanie staked and Drac fled, after another confrontation with Frank.

#3 is the series first milestone, as new writer Archie Goodwin introduces the all-important supporting characters, Rachel Van Helsing – descendant of Prof. Van Helsing, obsessed vampire hunter, and hot babe; her mentor, Quincy Harker, son of Jonathan and Mina – bound to a wheelchair loaded with Bond-ian vampire killing gadgets, and Quincy’s good right arm, the silent Hindu giant, Taj. 

It also introduces a regrettable, all-too-frequently-recurring trope for the series – the Big Showdown, in which Frank, Quincy, Rachel, and Taj (or some combination of some of the above), confront Dracula.  This inevitably leads to the following scenario: each member of the group attacks Drac, one at a time (the idea of all ganging up on him at once is apparently to strategically sophisticated for this bunch), while spouting tiresome variations on statements such as: “you may think I’m just a weakling, but this time I’m going to kill you, Dracula” (Frank) and “this time you will not escape, evil one!” (Rachel) and “this is our final battle, this time, Dracula!” (Quincy).  Fortunately, Taj, being mute, is spared such a speech.  Drac, meanwhile, knocks them around, inevitably spouting variations on: (to Frank) “spineless jellyfish, how could you be descended from me?!?” (to Rachel) “cold-hearted witch, your crossbow will not help you!” and (to Quincy) “old fool – this time I will finish you!” 

This scene is repeated throughout the run of the series.  Inevitably it goes nowhere – Drac always bails uninjured and never manages to do any serious harm to his opponents.  The “this time it will be different” speeches they keep making at each other quickly become comical through repetition.

Gardner Fox held the writing reins until issue 7, and then it was taken over by Marv Wolfman.  Now Quincy worries about his age, and wonders if he hasn’t wasted his life, having spent the entirety of it hunting Drac.  And silent Taj turns out to have a horrible secret – a son of his own back in India under the vampiric curse.  As for Drac himself, he turns out to be the most complex and interesting character of all – a sinister, ultimate narcissist, convinced of his own rightness and superiority, yet despite all his selfishness, Drac turns out to have other parts to his personality.  Oh and lest I forget, Wolfman also introduced the knife-wielding Blade, a character who would prove very popular (though I myself never cared for him).
Wolfman has written just about every title in the Marvel canon, as well as devising a few of his own.  He has written many comics – some have been quite good; a few have been embarrassingly bad.  Wolfman’s writing on the title has been praised to the heavens, but it is not without its flaws.  Prose-wise, it was consistently very good.  The characterization was very strong.  Wolfman shared, in fact, probably improved upon, Stan Lee’s concept of fleshing out characters by giving them believable, relatable motivations that worked no matter how absurd the context.  Thus, he began to put meat on the bones of these characters.  And what was notable was that they were deeply flawed characters; deeply troubled people.  Frank Drake was tortured by feelings on inadequacy, constantly trying to prove he was something more than a pampered, broke playboy.  Rachel is so driven to kill Drac that she had nothing else to live for – not even her alleged love for Frank. 

Still Wolfman made several mistakes.  Early on, he established that Drac had been alive and active throughout history.  Pretty soon it seemed there were very few years that Drac hadn’t been up and drinking.  This rather undercut the whole concept of his being revived at Castle Dracula (he hadn’t been dead more than 4 years, tops, in 1972).  Making Drac that easy to kill and revive rather cheapened the whole thing.  Also, many of Wolfman’s early issues suffer from some truly dumb plot turns.  This reaches its nadir with issue 19 (“Snowbound In Hell”) in which Drac and Rachel are stuck in the midst of a blizzard in the Carpathians after her helicopter crashes.  This starts off on a bad note (when the copter took off at the end of the previous ish, Frank had been in it.  Now he had inexplicably vanished, and was back in London with Quincy.  Huh?) and gets steadily worse, as Drac keeps a broken-legged Rachel alive, even finding food for her and intending to return her to civilization, while she continually tries to kill him.  Ostensibly Drac keeps her alive in order to feed on her later, since he expects it to be days before they can get out of the blizzard.  However, despite being entirely capable of using his oft-demonstrated hypnotic power on her, or simply biting her and enslaving her (another trick he’s done numerous times before), he simply lets her keep trying to stake him until, finally fed up, he tries to kill her, but is stopped when he is attacked by a ….flesh-eating mountain goat.  Yes, you heard it here first, folks.  Ish 19 is an embarrassment.

gotta watch out for those killer mountain goats...

The series carried on its way, getting even dumber with the introduction of Dr. Sun, a brain-in-a-tank which captures Drac and the vampire hunters.  The less said of Dr. Sun the better, but Marv apparently liked him – he returned in other Wolfman-penned titles.  By this point in reading the series, I’d started to rule ToD to be a rather overrated bummer.

And then, something happened.

Issue 22 kicked off with a new story, “In Death Do We Join,” the story of a violent, abusive man who returns as a vampire to haunt his long-suffering wife.  This ends in a cemetery-set showdown between Drac and this new, arrogant vamp.  And the story is remarkable.  After so many duds, I confess to picking up this issue with a certain sneer, only to have that sneer wiped off by a genuinely powerful, and haunting tale that will stay with me for a long time.   “In Death Do We Join” is one of the finest tales, and easily one of the finest horror tales, Marvel would ever produce.

What follows is a series of very strong issues.  Dracula takes possession of Castle Dunwick, wherein he finds one Shiela Whittier, a fragile young woman who is being terrorized by her father’s ghost.  Drac, for reasons of his own, exorcises the ghost, and he and Shiela begin a strange relationship, Drac surprised by his own ability to care for the delicate mortal woman, Shiela by the contrast between what she knows to be Drac’s nature, and the way that he cares for her.  The vampire hunters, thinking Drac to have died in a train crash several issues back, go their own separate ways.  In issue 25, Wolfman introduces another vampire – Hannibal King, a hard-boiled detective who hunts vampires and, is himself, a vamp.  This too is completely successful issue and widely  (and rightly) considered a classic

Issues 26-28 involve the search for, and acquisition of, a powerful magic artifact called “the chimera,” which can be used for good or evil (guess which one Drac wants it for?).  This is a strong and satisfying storyline, similar to ones Wolfman would pursue less successfully in his later Night Force series.  It ends in a surprising epilogue in which Drac, enraged by Shiela Whittier’s rejection (she turns away from him when his cruelty and evil nature become too apparent for her to ignore during his quest for the chimera), seeks revenge on her.  Shiela manages to deny him even that, though she loses her life.  The jealous, bitter and twisted Dracula that appears in this epilogue has never been more despicable … or more painfully human.  The equally-remarkable following issue is a kind of epilogue to the epilogue, in which Dracula reflects on previous defeats and frustrations: a noblewoman who engaged him to kill her husband in order to help Otto Von Bismarck take power; a blind child whose abusive father Dracula murders as an act of vengeance on the child’s part for murdering her mother.  The girl does not appreciate this act.  An early encounter with Blade is also recounted. 

During this period, Colan and Tom Palmer’s already quite-decent artwork also climbed to a higher rung – full of detail and atmosphere, the comic was as much a joy to look at as to read, and Colan’s realistic, down-to-earth approach was perfect for the mature, psychological stories Wolfman was telling now.

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t last.

With issue 37, Drac arrived in America (Boston, to be precise), and the title started to slide downhill.  First, we’re treated to the spectacle of Drac and Blade fighting a U.S. army platoon mind-controlled by Dr. Sun.  This tiresome Captain America-reject plot took five goddam issues to play itself out.  Secondly, Wolfman introduced the painfully unfunny comic relief character Harold H. Harold, an irritating nebbish who spent most of his time whining and generally behaving like a twelfth-rate Woody Allen character.  Wolfman seemed to like him, though.  He stayed around to the end of the series.

the painfully un-amusing Harold H. Harold

From here, the series became hit-and-miss.  A one-off riff on TV’s “Kolchak: The Night Stalker” in issue 43 was rewarding.  A long story involving Drac’s takeover of a satanic cult, and finding actual love with one of its members, a woman named Domini, with whom Drac would in fact, father a child, had much of the series previous glory in it.  But an unexpected appearance by the Silver Surfer was an unfortunate and unwelcome direction for the series.  It seemed no sooner had the series peaked, then it declined precipitously.

Around issue 60, Wolfman began to right the ship a bit.  Domini gives birth to Drac’s son, who is killed by deposed cult leader Anton Lupeski.  Domini, using strange magic, and opposed by Dracula, resurrects their son, Janus, who is apparently reborn as some kind of angel (though he looks like a third-rate superhero), who, while professing his love for Drac, still fights him (potentially) to the death.  The series becomes weirdly metaphysical, with Janus making vague pronouncements about Dracula’s demise being foretold by destiny, while Drac has a confrontation with Satan himself, pissed off over various foolish deeds of Drac’s.  Drac ends up banished to earth as a mortal.  Desperate, he hunts down his daughter, Lilith, to re-vamp him.  Lilith, still pissed over Drac’s murdering her mother several hundred years prior, refuses and chases him all over New York instead. 

In its final few issues, the series got back on the track of its best moments.  Drac flees to Transylvania, where, beaten and battered, he surrenders to the vampire hunters who have tracked him there (not before treating us to yet another confrontation scenario – yawn), begging them for death.  Having humbled himself, Satan makes him a vamp again.  Drac flees, pursued by the vampire hunters and a horde of pissed-off local vamps who resent his centuries-long domination over them.  He takes shelter in an isolated home, inhabited by a group of children, left alone by their mother as she rushes their sister to doctor.  With the vamps battering at the doors, Drac is forced to fend them off with a large crucifix, saving himself and the children, though burning his hands to a crisp (“Cross Of Fire, Cross Of Fear”, ToD # 69, Apr 1979).  It was a classic story, the best Wolfman had produced for the title in years. 

It was also pretty much the end.  In that issue’s letter column, Wolfman announced that both he and Colan would be leaving the title with issue # 72.  In fact, there would no issue 72.

The 70’s horror boom in comics … in fact, in entertainment, was over. By `75, all of Drac’s fellow Marvel monsters had been cancelled.  Their reprint titles, which had superseded their failed anthology titles, had gone by the end of `77.  DC had mostly retracted as well, though their horror anthologies would continue to limp along till 1980.  Tomb had carried on for an unusually long time, but its sales were falling steadily. 

In fact, it would be 4 months before issue 70 appeared, in a bastardized version – the final three issues had been written and drawn.  Jim Shooter forced Wolfman to cram the material into one double-sized final issue.  Though somewhat compressed, the story, which covers Drac's return to vampiric form, his trial-by-combat with the ersatz leader of the vampire tribe, his final showdown with Quincy Harker and, finally, an aftermath in which the characters try to prepare to move on with their lives.  It was a worthwhile end to an erratic but often impressive series.

It was not quite the end of Dracula as a Marvel property.  He continued for another year in a b&w magazine-size spin-off called, again, Tomb of Dracula.  It lasted six issues (there was also the Dracula Lives b&w from `73-`75, and Giant-Size Dracula, a comic-size annual that produced five issues.  I'll talk about those some other time, as well as the b&w Tomb, some other time). The horror boom was off.  Drac faded from the scene other than sporadic guest appearances. In 1983, a Doctor Strange story had all vampires in the Marvel universe wiped out - which I guess tells you how far the vampire star had fallen for the House Of Ideas.

In 1991, spurred in part I suppose by the Francis Ford Coppola film, Marvel reprinted several key Drac stories, and ran a four-part miniseries entitled Tomb Of Dracula, with Wolfman and Colan at the helm again. It was an unsettling piece, with Drac being resurrected yet again, this time by an overzealous, and foolish, occult researcher hoping to achieve vampiric immortality.  The mini-series was reminiscent of Wolfman/Colan's 80's Night Force series, what with its campus cultists and attempts to raise massive amounts of psychic energy to achieve some nefarious goal.  It was darker - we learn that Rachel died an embittered alcoholic and Blade has become a near-homicidal maniac.  Only Frank seems to have found happiness, with a new wife - until she's kidnapped, possessed by the spirit of the dead Rachel, and drawn into Drac's plans for revenge and domination.  Freed from the restraints of the comics code and the mores of an earlier decade, Wolfman/Colan indulged themselves in all the sexuality, violence and gore they could only hint at in the original run - to the point where it became ludicrous (Drac tearing apart a strip club, gouging out eyes and tearing off faces).  Colan's was not the draftsman he once was, and here he let himself go with wild, twisted panels and montages - he was no doubt aiming for surreal, but the effect was often more sloppy and grotesque.  But it was a good story, with a spectacular ending.  It wasn't a bad epilogue.

What's left to say?  ToD was a good horror comic - probably Marvel's best horror comic, overall.  But it had as many failures as it did successes.  The first three issues (mostly to set the scene), issues 22-36, and 60-70 - and a few scattered winners - slightly less than half its run.  It was a good series, but, given its rep, I wish it had been more.

Just Say Gobby

Spider Man 96-99.
The "drug" issues.  The ones the CCA wouldn't stamp for approval - so Stan published `em anyway.
Actually, I don't care all that much about that.  Let's really look at the story.

This was (again), the return of the Green Goblin.  It is not the best or most important Gobby story, but it sets the stage for their next, and final showdown.  It was his first appearance since the short-lived Spectacular Spider-Man two years prior.  Two years later would come his grand finale in 121-122.

Pete's back from London, where he'd gone hoping (and failing) to find on-the-run g/f Gwen.  All he's got are some photos of Spidey in action across the pond, which he peddles to the Bugle as per usual.  Then roommate Harry presses him to take the long-offered job at dad Norm, aka the Green Goblin's, company.  Pete is understandably iffy about working for a sometime-homicidal maniac who wants to kill him, and knows his secret identity to boot.  Does seem kind a logical, don't it?  But, hoping to make some dough to build a future for him and Gwen, he relents.  Friendly Norm (who's forgotten all about being the Goblin, Spidey, et al) happily hires him.

Okay, so the boss is a homicidal maniac ... this is different from other jobs how..?

After rescuing a kid who's trying to fly under the influence of LSD, we get an embarrassing if well-meant bit of black power anger from Randy Robertson, which sets off poor Norm.  Uh oh.  More uh-oh, that tramp MJ is flirting with Pete right in front of Harry - the minx!!

Yeah, come on - Norman knows where it's at - just look at him!

Final uh-oh; something about a door nearby catches Norm's attention and has a weird effect on him.  When Pete as Spidey follows him later, he gets a rude surprise:

Peeking at Norm while he's changing - for shame, Spidey!

Next we're treated to another Spidey/Gobby punch-out, with the usual "I wasn't expecting THAT weapon!" and "What do I do - I can't hurt him - but he knows my secret identity" tropes, until Gobby finally knocks Spidey for a loop that looks fatal.  Being an idiot as usual, rather than confirm his arch-foe's death, Gobby flies off to do nasty stuff someplace else.

Tonight on "World's Dumbest Supervillains"

Pete makes his way back to his apartment to gather his wits and plan.  There he finds Harry pissed off and popping pills - something he's apparently been doing for awhile now; he's gotten close to a drug dealer near the college (the drug dealer is played by Rip Taylor).  Peter fruitlessly searches for Obsborn, foolishly letting on that he's still alive in the process.  He returns home to find Harry higher than a kite - and he's being watched...

Wouldn't Pete's spider-sense have --- oh, never mind...

However, the sight of Harry in a coma startles and confuses Gobby, who flies off, leaving Peter to rush his stoned roommate to the hospital.

Meanwhile, back in London, Gwen can't forget the boy back home...

Hey, Gil Kane drew a seriously cute Gwen Stacy!

Pete has a little run-in with Rip Taylor and his gang...

Then it's back to scouring the city for Gobby, who finds our hero in no time.

Gobby douses the S-man with a hallucinogenic gas which also somehow neutralizes his powers.  After some scrambling, Pete has one of his brainstorms, and jumps Gobby, forcing him to fly to the hospital where the sight of his son in a coma again pushes Norm into a full breakdown, kicking him into another amnesiac state and thus ending the Gobby menace ... for now....

If it was that simple...

Heading back for his pad, Pete gets another surprise - and, for a change, a nice one!

Reunited with Gwen, back at the Bugle, a newly-empowered Pete finally puts the squeeze on Jonah.

Continuing the trend of social-consciousness, a prison riot turns into a debate on prisoner's rights and humanitarian incarceration.  Continuing the trend of dumbness, it's all a ploy.

Prison riot quelled, Spidey zips off, has a brief encounter re: appearing on a TV show (this has proven disastrous in the past, but what the hell, right?), makes a speech about prison conditions, and ends up running from the cops.  But back home, Gwen's cooked them dinner...

This story is typical late Stan-era Marvel at its best and worst.  Read from an adult perspective, the plot holes are epic.  Why the hell hasn't Pete at least tried to get some grasp of psychology to try to figure out how to handle Norm's insanity long-term?  Or found a better solution?  Or just unmasked him and dragged him to the cops, who, confronted by a raving lunatic and murderer (or at least wanna-be murderer), could probably be convinced pretty easy that anything he said about Spidey's secret identity was just more lunatic ravings?  Why has Pete never had any contingency plan for dealing with Gobby after all these years?  Why are both of them so careless in their dealings with each other - Gobby never ensuring Spidey's dead, Spidey never seeming to do anything but react to whatever Gobby's up to.  And why is it even though Norm hasn't been Gobby for awhile, no sooner does he put on the costume than he's got new weapons?

The drug references are mostly too melodramatic (of course) but aren't completely stupid, and are certainly well-intentioned, as is the prison-riot plot.

As a Goblin story, it's pretty anticlimactic - almost a rehash of Spectacular Spider Man.  Still, the good points: fantastic Gil Kane art (I think Kane was even better on Spidey than Romita, in this period).  And, the soap opera - Marvel/Stan/etc really had that element down cold in this era, keeping the backstory moving without ever letting it get in the way of the action.

Kane's wild perspectives and night-time city-scapes evoke the Ditko days, and Gobby really seems deranged...

Characterization was strong, too.  There was a real effort being made at this time to humanize JJJ; to show that, even if he was an asshole, he had a not insignificant good side.  This interlude with Jonah is one of the best.

At this point, Marvel was something of a victim of its own success.  Read the earlier Goblin stories and you're set up to expect something special here.  What you get is routine and anti-climactic.  The major problem is: the Goblin really doesn't do anything.  He shows up, attacks Spidey, flies away, comes back, attacks him again, gets tricked back into amnesia.

Stepping out of geek-mode, its easy enough to recall that they weren't attempting to produce brilliant comics that surprised readers with their sophistication - they were just trying to get something on the racks every month.  The brilliance came by accident.  But its a shame that Stan or Gil or whoever didn't take a little more time to plan this out, to make the Gob's reappearance something really special.  It would take Gerry Conway to do that a couple years later...