Ceiling Zero

Howard Hawks! James Cagney! Pat O'Brien! Not available on DVD!



Ceiling Zero was originally a play, but then it was made into a movie in 1936 and consequently into this keen novelization I've got here, which is a hardback. It's got some stills from the movie, which it refers to as "Illustrations from the Photoplay". Neat!

The book is pretty straightforward, combining verbatim dialogue with simple declarative sentences like "Outside the window he heard the motors of a passenger ship roaring at full power." There isn't much attempt to provide an inner dialogue for characters, which fits fine with the movie itself. I happen to live near an excellent video store, so I was able to rent the VHS, and I can report that people talk way too fast in it. I'm a huge fan of Howard Hawks's His Girl Friday, which I used to think had the fastest dialogue in movie history. But Ceiling Zero knocks it aside easily. Cagney already tended to bark all his dialogue, and when Hawks got his hands on him, it's like listening to a Tommy gun. And Pat O'Brien is even faster. So fast, in fact, that he frequently lapses into incomprehensibility. It's like watching a movie about angry auctioneers that have drunk too much coffee. So there's not a lot of opportunities for the author of the novelization (possibly Frank Wead, author of the play and screenplay, but more likely an uncredited starving writer) to shove in thoughts and feelings.

There's a big crash in the movie (not a spoiler; it's right there on the front cover), and here's how it's described in the book:

Through the dense mist the blurred outline of the mail plane could be dimly seen. It glided through the fog straight for the hangar. There was a terrific tearing crash as the metal plane ripped into the side of the building. The wings folded crazily back against the fuselage and fell free. Then the boom-boom of exploding gas tanks and a burst of flames.

Exciting!

Now, this movie isn't for everyone. Cagney's character is kind of a cocky jerk, which I admit isn't all that unusual for him, but he's a more aggressive ladies' man than usual. I think it's the fact that his character is 34 and spends a lot of time hitting on girl aviator Tommy Thomas, who is 19, that kind of soured me on him. Also, how come the female characters in this movie are named "Tommy" and "Lou"?

Like I say, this movie is only on VHS, and even then you have to get lucky. It'll eventually show up on Warner Archives (although that still won't mean that Blockbuster or Netflix will have it), so I present yet another adaptation: the Lux Radio Theater version! It was surprisingly common for movies to have a shortened radio version broadcast with much of the original cast. So if you want to know what a radio version of a movie version of a play about aviation would sound like, it's on this page along with various others. Enjoy!

The Happening (not the M. Night Shyamalan one)

Ah, 1967, when no subculture was too obscure to be exploited. I give you... The Happening.



This should not be confused with the M. Night Shyamalan movie by the same name. It should also not be confused with an actual "Happening", which in the 1960s was a weird art experience thing where people would show up at a place and hang out with no real plan. It was sort of like flash mobs are now, I think. When you hear Austin Powers (or the character in Beyond the Valley of the Dolls from whom Mike Myers borrowed the line) say "It's my happening, baby, and it freaks me out!" that's what they're talking about. A Happening.

But there is no Happening in The Happening. It starts with a big drug orgy, then four listless characters escape from the police and accidentally kidnap a mob boss. Actually, he kind of kidnaps himself. He's a take-charge kind of guy. Then no one pays the ransom, so he raises it. Which is not the way it's supposed to work. Normally the hostage just sits there tied to a chair or something. Anyway, it ends on kind of a nihilistic, existential note, the way movies in the sixties often did. You should see Dirty Mary Crazy Larry, for example.

The novelization does its best to make the random events interesting. But there's only so much you can do with characters like this. Practically as soon as the four protagonists have met, on page 13, this happens:

Full sunlight had turned Sandy cynical.

"He's a cheap hustler who wants to be legit," she said.

Without taking his right hand from the wheel, Taurus swung his left in a half circle and backhanded Sandy hard and full in the face.

Classy, eh? And Taurus is one of the heroes of this little epic. So's Sandy, who a few pages later has the most memorable line in the book (or, I suspect, the movie):

"Hit me again," she suggested. "A real wham. Maybe I'd feel something anyway, hey Taurus?"

Yeesh. People in low-budget movies in the sixties were serious weirdoes if you ask me. Anyway, Sandy's the only real reason anyone remembers this movie even exists, because here's a picture from the back cover:



That's Faye Dunaway in her first starring role. Later that year, she'd also appear in Bonnie and Clyde, which is a much better movie about directionless clowns committing crimes.

Santa Claus Conquers the Martians

I've got almost ninety movie novelizations, you know. But I've been trying to decide how quickly to spool them out. So here's the plan, for now: every Monday, a new post about a movie novelization. Other posts to appear at random.

Now, with that out of the way, check this out!



The movie came out in 1964. The novelization came out in 2005, and I don't think it's even authorized. As far as I can tell, the movie might be public domain at this point. So why would you write a novelization of a terrible movie from forty years ago?

Well, this is one of those movies that's mysteriously beloved. It was on Mystery Science Theater 3000 (and also Cinematic Titanic, which I still think was an odd choice) and appeared in one of those Golden Turkeys books. It's got defiantly weird acting, especially from Dropo. And it's got a very young Pia Zadora, which makes this one of the best movies she ever did.

The novelization is by someone who knows how bad the movie is. It's told in the voice of Girmar (Pia's character) and is full of things like this (after someone has told an excruciatingly unfunny joke about a "Martianmallow":

By the way, that Martianmallow joke ended up sweeping Mars. I mean really sweeping. And it spawned a movement. Within a year after the completion of the Santa Claus incident, Martian jokes were all the self-deprecating rage on my planet.

Not that they were any funnier than Martianmallows.

Or, take Dropo. Please. (classic!) Here's part of the description of the scene where Dropo puts on Santa's spare outfit:

The heavy red coat was next. He slid his arms into the sleeves without removing his eyes from the mirror. Could this be the same Dropo who, in the fractal school yearbook mind chip, was voted Most Likely to Cause an Unwanted Disruption? Yes, it was. And soon things were going to be very, very different.

So although the book is supposedly narrated by Girmar, the narrator seems to share the audience's exasperation with Dropo. And his antics. It's a little meta, especially at the end, when she complains about Pia Zadora's wooden portrayal of, um, herself.

Another fascinating element to this book is that it includes a DVD for the movie that it's novelizing. You don't see that too often!

Star Trek: The Motion Picture

The novelization for the new movie (which I enjoyed a lot) isn't out yet. So until I get it, let's go back in time to 1979...



That's right, this book was written by Gene Roddenberry, the creator of Star Trek. And unlike "George Lucas's" Star Wars novelization, this one was apparently actually written by the person it says it was written by! Incidentally, I think it's weird that the original story for the screenplay was from Alan Dean Foster. Not that Mr. Foster isn't a talented writer; it's just that he's written so many movie novelizations himself (including Star Wars, actually), it's weird to see him at the other end of the chain.

Now, the book opens with a preface from Admiral James T. Kirk:

My name is James Tiberius Kirk. Kirk because my father and his male forebears followed the old custon of passing along a family identity name. I received James because it was both the name of my father's beloved brother as well as that of my mother's first love instructor. Tiberius, as I am forever tired of explaining, was the Roman emperor whose life for some unfathomable reason fascinated my grandfather Samuel.

This is interesting for three reasons. First, I like that the first thing on Roddenberry's mind was to clarify exactly what Kirk's middle name was. Second, this directly contradicts the new movie, which is kind of neat. Third, "love instructor"? What's going on here?

After Kirk's preface, there's something labeled "Author's Preface", and it's pretty weird:

Considering Admiral James Kirk's comments is his own preface, it may seem strange that he chose me as the one to write this book. I was, after all, a key figure among those who chronicled his original five-year mission in a way which the admiral has criticized as inaccurately "larger than life."

So... this book's "author" is in the Star Trek world, and was responsible for a television show about the Enterprise at some point in the past. An in-character Gene Roddenberry, in other words. Later in the preface, he even says "Why STAR TREK again? I supposes the real truth is that I have always looked upon the Enterprise and its crew as my own private view of Earth and humanity in microcosm." It really is an author's message, but it's pretending to be from within the Star Trek universe. It's complicated.

There are other fascinating things about this book, both from a deleted-scene standpoint (the character "Decker" of the movie was supposed to be the son of the "Decker" from an episode of the series) and from a transliteration standpoint ("V'ger" is spelled "Vejur" everywhere in the book. Weird). There's also a little digression revealing that McCoy prefers homeopathic treatments. But the things which stands out is the spot where Gene Roddenberry decides to comment directly on the canonicity of Kirk/Spock Slashfic. On page 22, there's this line:

Jim! Good-bye my . . . my t'hy'la.* This is the last time I will permit myself to think of you or even your name again.

Those are Spock's thoughts, and they go to a legendary footnote:

* Editor's note: The human concept of friend is most nearly duplicated in Vulcan thought by the term t'hy'la, which can also mean brother and lover. Spock's recollection (from which this chapter has drawn) is that it was a most difficult moment for him since he did indeed consider Kirk to have become his brother. However, because t'hy'la can be used to mean love, and since Kirk's and Spock's friendship was unsually close, this has led to some speculation over whether they had actually indeed become lovers. At our request, Admiral Kirk supplied the following comment on this subject:

"I was never aware of this lovers rumor, although I have been told that Spock encountered it several time. Apparently he had always dismissed it with his characteristic lifting of his right eyebrow, which usually connoted some combination of surprise, disbelief, and/or annoyance. As for myself, although I have no moral or other objections to physical love in any of its many Earthly, alien, and mixed forms, I had always found my best gratification in that creature woman. Also, I would dislike being thought of as so foolish that I would select a love partner who came into sexual heat only once every seven years."

Ha! Although I can't help but notice that all this really says is that Kirk wasn't monogamous. And who ever said he was? Plus, if this section is to be taken as canon, it means that Kirk definitely has experimented with something other than "that creature woman."

Last Action Hero

I actually kind of enjoyed Last Action Hero, even though it's now a legendary flop. It helps that I watched it as a projectionist, so I was all alone in the theater the night before opening night, watching it mostly to make sure I had attached the reels correctly, and didn't accidentally play a reel backwards or something.

This played well with the plot of the movie, which involves a kid getting to see the new big action movie all alone in the middle of an empty movie theater. And this was very much the New Big Action Movie. They were going to have an advertisement on the side of the space shuttle, but the launch got scrubbed or there was a public outcry or something. The point is that they got lots of press coverage even though they didn't end up buying the ad space. Nice job!

This copy of the book came with a movie ticket being used as a bookmark. Tragically, it is not for Last Action Hero but Jurassic Park. What fun is that?

Oh, and the novelization is okay, I guess. It plays up the wacky aspects of the movie more than the action scenes, but that's what the movie did too. That's why everyone hated it.

Star Wars

This isn't the oldest movie novelization in my collection, but I'm pretty sure it's the first novelization I personally read. Let's go back to the time when Star Wars was fun!



Before I get into the book, I would like to point out that it doesn't say "Episode IV" or "A New Hope" anywhere on it. This is just "Star Wars", which is "From the Adventures of Luke Skywalker". However, don't get the idea that this breaks the continuity put forth by the prequels:

Aided and abetted by restless, power-hungry individuals within the government, and the massive organ of commerce, the ambitious Senator Palpatine caused himself to be elected President of the Republic.

Yeah, that's pretty much what happens in the prequel movies. But I'm more interested in this line at the end of the prologue:

"They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Naturally they became heroes."
-Leia Organa of Alderaan, Senator

Man oh man, I must have read this book a million times when I was a kid, because I remember that line like it's tattooed on the inside of my eyelids. Which brings us to the thing that this book always reminds me of: this is what made me aware of the question of what's canon. You know the attack on the Death Star, right? Sure you do. Here's how it's described in the book:

"This is Blue Five," Luke announced to his mike as he nose dived his ship in a radical attempt to confuse any electronic predictors below. The gray surface of the battle station streaked past his ports. "I'm going in."

"I'm right behind you, Blue Five," a voice recognizable as Biggs's sounded in his ears.

Wait, what? Blue Five? But in the movie, he's Red Five! This was very confusing to Young Monty. I watched the movie, loved it, read the book, and loved that too. And then I saw the movie again, and something bothered me about it. Eventually I realized that Luke's callsign in the book was different from the one in the movies. Is he Blue Five or Red Five? Which one is right?

The other exciting thing about the book is that it was my first introduction to the idea of deleted scenes. This wasn't just before DVDs, it was before home video. And there are scenes in the book with Luke's childhood friend Biggs Darklighter. Special added backstory!

Oh, and if you're curious, not only does Han shoot first, but Greedo doesn't even appear to get a shot off:

"Over my dead body," Solo said unamiably.

The alien was not impressed. "If you insist. Will you come outside with me, or must I finish it here?"

"I don't think they'd like another killing in here," Solo pointed out.

Something which might have been a laugh came from the creature's translator. "They'd hardly notice. Get up, Solo. I've been looking forward to this for a long time. You've embarrassed me in front of Jabba with your pious excuses for the last time."

"I think you're right."

Light and noise filled the little corner of the cantina, and when it had faded, all that remained of the unctuous alien was a smoking, slimy spot on the stone floor.

Solo brought his hand and the smoking weapon it held out from beneath the table, drawing bemused stares from several of the cantina's patrons and clucking sounds from its more knowledgeable ones. They had known the creature had committed its fatal mistake in allowing Solo to get his hands under cover.

Oh yeah. That's the stuff. Frankly, the book resonates with me almost as much as the movie does.

Battlestar Galactica (the original one!)

That's right: a novelization by Glen A. Larson and Robert Thurston from 1978, describing the events of the original Battlestar Galactica. I think this counts as a "movie novelization" because this is the original two-hour "movie" that I vaguely remember actually being in theaters. Anyway, it's hilarious.



Actually, the back cover is even more entertaining than the front:



I love that the only person who gets mentioned by name is John Dykstra. Actors? Writers? Forget 'em, kid; we're here for the special effects from the Star Wars guy! And they were pretty good, but they don't really come across in the book. You'd think they'd play it up in the combat scenes, describing things as exploding in an expensive manner, with a noise that would really impress you if you could hear it, but none of that really happens.

But! I want you to look at Lorne Greene up there. He's the glowering white-haired gentleman in the circle. How would you describe him? If you're Glen A. Larson or Robert Thurston, here's how:

Commander Adama's angular cheekbones seemed the work of skilled diamond cutter. But his cold, penetrating eyes could not have been designed by even the finest of artisans. The members of his crew feared Adama as much as they loved him. There was a popular superstition aboard the Galactica that, when the commander became angry, those powerful eyes retreated into his skull and gave off rays that made him look so inhuman he might have just materialized as a god from some new alien mythology. Although tall and strong, he had none of the muscular man's typical clumsiness in normal movement.His gestures were smoothly graceful, and there was an ease in his bearing that made even his enemies comfortable with him—at least when he was comfortable with them.

That's right; the original Commander Adama had magical retracting laser eyes. Take that, Edward James Olmos!

While we're at it, here's how Starbuck is introduced:

Starbuck didn't have to look over his shoulder to know that a gallery of onlookers had formed behind him. When he had a pair of rubes like these two on the line, word always spread through the ranks of the Galactica, and people came running to the ready room. It was considered a privilege to be in onthe kill. Starbuck's gambling acumen had become so famous that his name was now a part of fighter-pilot slang. To be starbucked meant that you had allowed yourself to be maneuvered into a situation in which your defeat was inevitable. It was in the vocabulary of battle as well as in that of the gambling tables.

Like an actor, the handsome young lieutenant knew how to play to an audience. He let his face, so clean-cut for a man so diabolically shrewd, assume a mask of naiveté, as if he had just boarded the battlestar fresh out of space academy. Awkwardness substituted for the normal grace of his movements, and he leaned into the table like a man who wondered how he had gotten himself into this mess in the first place. All part of the setup. The gallery knew it, just as they knew he was ready to sweep down on his foolish opponents like a Cylon patrol from behind a cloud cover.

I remember this scene from the show. The rubes win the hand, but later on Starbuck is about to win his money back when the alert sounds and everyone has to go get in their Vipers and put John Dykstra to work.

This is not, as the cover claims, The Greatest Space Epic Ever, but if you're old enough to remember the original series, it's an adequate replacement for watching the show. And if you only know the recent series, it's probably a weird, jarring experience as you keep having to remind yourself that these aren't the Boomer and Apollo you remember. Either way, the scene where Adama looks at his daughter Athena and muses on her sensuous curves is really, really strange.