All posts by Rod Lott

Watching the World Die: Nuclear Threat Films of the 1980s

On the cusp on turning 12, I was floored by the March 20, 1983, broadcast of Special Bulletin, the NBC made-for-TV movie designed to look like a real-time news broadcast of a nuclear incident on the East Coast, courtesy of domestic terrorists. Although I knew it was fake, the effect was so chilling that exactly eight months later, my mom forbade us from watching ABC’s highly contentious The Day After, in which the threat — and eventual nukes — came not from our own, but the Soviet Union.

We American kids grew up with the fear, worry and anxiety of nuclear war as all too tangible. U.S.-Soviet relations were so bad, the mushroom clouds were not a question of if, but when.

You had to be there. Be glad you weren’t.

Not to say 2024 is all wine and roses; despite the Cold War in our collective rearview mirror, we’re inching closer to That 1983 Feeling than we’ve ever been. At least today, we have Mike Bogue’s Watching the World Die: Nuclear Threat Films of the 1980s to keep us company. Just hopefully not in a bunker.

Something of a companion to Bogue’s previous tome, 2017’s Apocalypse Then (which focused on 1950s atomic cinema and shares McFarland & Company as publisher), Watching the World Die is, rather surprisingly, not the grim, doom-and-gloom read I expected. Documentaries aside, which the author purposely doesn’t include, the decade’s movies on the topic were largely escapist, thereby taking the edge off. Having characters like Yor, C.H.U.D., Hulk and Godzilla romping around will do that.

In all, Bogue casts his critical eye on 121 films in detail, from populist blockbusters (WarGames), well-intentioned flops (Superman IV: The Quest for Peace) and indie darlings (Miracle Mile) to three James Bond entries and many more Italian SFers. However, where Watching the World Die most excels is in rummaging through the junk drawer of VHS obscurities — not because Bogue’s writing differs in these essays (it doesn’t), but because the flicks get bonkers.

You may have heard about the Steve Barkett ego project The Aftermath, but what about Thomas A. Cohen’s survivalist family saga, Massive Retaliation? The Dack Rambo vehicle Ultra Warrior? Or Canada’s Survival 1990 with its dog-eating mutants? Giving attention to such forgotten B- and C-level genre productions is something of an archeological dig of unpopular culture; that Bogue’s shovel dug that deep into oblivion is enough to forgive his book’s exclusion of comedies — the intentional kind, I mean. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon or McFarland.

I.S.S. (2023)

Academy Award winner Ariana DeBose does the thing — playing an astronaut, that is — in the film I.S.S. Those initials are short, obviously, for International Space Station, which mice scientist Dr. Foster (DeBose, 2021’s West Side Story) joins in the opening moments.

Foster’s arrival brings the station’s total head count to six: three Americans, three Russians. Unlike their countries’ leaders, they get along pretty well. On her second day, however, that cordial relationship heads straight for the scissors when they witness massive explosions decimating Earth below. Almost immediately, both sides are ordered by their respective governments to take control of the orbiting station “by any means necessary.” Goodbye, glasnost!

If a suspense film in the stars seems an odd match for DeBose, that goes double for director Gabriela Cowperthwaite, the acclaimed documentarian of Blackfish. Turns out, such worries are for naught. DeBose holds her own as part of an iron-strong ensemble that includes Chris Messina (2023’s The Boogeyman), John Gallahger Jr. (The Belko Experiment) and Hollywood’s most reliable Dane, Pilou Asbæk (Overlord). While Cowperthwaite lets each shine, she places particular attention where she should: creating tension and stress. Now, we’re not exactly dealing with Gravity here, but the movie is better than its release in the wasteland of January would suggest.

Of course I.S.S. employs effects, but it’s not driven by effects. No alien aboard, either, although the fear of “the other” pervades every corridor as each cosmonaut and astronaut remains uncertain who, if anyone, is an ally. Made all the more problematic by a setting that’s claustrophobic, despite the vastness of space, the movie is an interesting game of trust involving man, machine and mutually assured destruction. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

The Phantom of Hollywood (1974)

For the movies, Gaston Leroux’s opera-dwelling phantom has been a literary gift that keeps on giving. Witness Brian De Palma’s cult classic Phantom of the Paradise, the ’80s straight-to-VHS slasher Phantom of the Mall and the somewhat obscure The Phantom of Hollywood, a 1974 CBS movie of the week.

Without me telling you, you can guess its basic story points: The fictional Worldwide Studios has plans to demolish its backlot, which doesn’t sit well with the masked, mace-wielding figure who lives among its sets and subterranean tunnels. Once he gets wind of it, he leaves notes and makes calls to studio execs (Rat Packer Peter Lawford among them) that amount to outright threats of death: “To destroy the backlot is to destroy yourself!”

They ignore him; fatal “accidents” happen; the Phantom kidnaps a lovely woman (Skye Aubrey, The Carey Treatment); and things don’t go as smoothly as he planned.

Given our overexposure to Leroux’s plot, it’s not at all taxing to guess the identity of the Phantom. This is no detraction, however; its very familiarity is comforting and welcome. The pleasures of this Phantom, as with every twist-’em-up version, is seeing how the filmmakers will modernize each element of the original Opera. So what if this one is a little insidery and self-congratulatory? It does not fail to entertain, and does so efficiently, in fewer than 75 minutes.

It’s an added treat for old-school film buffs, as viewers not only see clips from celebrated movies like The Wizard of Oz, but also get good glimpses of the MGM backlot, which ironically, was being destroyed at the time. That might be the only reason this nifty telefilm exists. Regardless, I’m glad it does. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

The Childe (2023)

Allow me to save you a trip to Google: Not a typo, a “childe” is the son of noble birth. In the case of Marco, the young man at the center of South Korea’s The Childe, he’s an amateur boxer in the Philippines. Just a poor boy though his story’s seldom told, the 24-year-old fights to earn enough to pay for his ailing mother’s surgery. 

A miracle seemingly arrives when Marco is summoned to Korea by the father he’s never known, an über-wealthy tycoon who wants to foot the medical bills.

So what’s the catch? Cute that you think one exists … because many do, each aiming to kill Marco. Key among them are his own — albeit heretofore unknown — brother (Kim Kang-woo, Doomsday Book) and a mysterious assassin (Kim Seon-Ho).

Laden with surprises, misdirects and other on-your-toes keepers, The Childe is one of those pics where the less story you know going in, the more rewards you reap. That stands to reason since its writer/director, Park Hoon-Jung, previously gifted the world with the diabolic screenplay to I Saw the Devil, a modern classic of crime cinema. Although not up to that vaulted pedestal, The Childe excites and entertains with a breathless rush of action. Hoon-Jung (The Witch: Part 2 — The Other One) stages both foot pursuits and car chases with elegance, then one-ups himself with a 30-minute showdown in one wing of Dad’s mansion — all while a comatose body lie behind the shooters in a makeshift operating room.   

Newcomer Kang Tae-Ju may be the movie’s protagonist, but the true star is the magnetic Seon-Ho, a K-drama heartthrob in, unbelievably, just his first feature. His hitman character is a psychopath with a Joker-esque smile, no scruples and such confidence, you know the guy is dangerous, but aren’t sure how dangerous. That only makes him more terrifying, putting the chill in The Childe. His performance would be reason enough to view if Hoon-Jung’s film were bereft of thrills. Lucky for all involved (you included), it’s not. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

First Time Caller (2022)

From his Denver home, arrogant right-winger Brent Ziff (Abe Goldfarb) hosts a popular livestream trafficking in conspiracy theories and other hot-button topics — you know, loves crypto, hates pronouns. It’s the kind of show where phrases like “big simp energy” get uttered on the reg. Twenty minutes in, he connects with a longtime listener, First Time Caller.

That would be Leo (voiced by Brian Silliman, Men in Black: International), who points Brent to a feed of a concert in Seattle, because in a few minutes, it will be wiped out by a surprise tsunami. Brent figures Leo for yet another crackpot … until the unexpected event actually occurs. According to Leo, his words aren’t predictions, but proclamations.

And his psychic gift feels like a massive bowel movement, so there’s one thing Matt Damon’s similar soothsayer in Clint Eastwood’s Hereafter didn’t have.

Although slick in production, First Time Caller lacks more than a hyphen. At an abbreviated 75 minutes, it’s essentially a real-time exercise of two people conversing in one room, and our eyes meet only one end of the line. (Comedians Greg Proops and Kevin Pollak play other callers in brief spoken cameos.) No matter how much co-directors Goldfarb and J.D. Brynn gussy up the screen — notably with superimposed audio patterns — the situation isn’t arresting enough to sustain itself.

The movie’s biggest handicap is not that Brent is an exceedingly obnoxious, even odious character. (Although he is.) It’s that this concept’s legs are built to stand as a short film, a short story or perhaps a single episode of TV or a podcast. (In fact, this is based on a podcast called The Earth Moves, two eps at 53 minutes total.) Once Brent and Leo start speaking in circles, the more obvious First Time Caller is biding time until reaching its shit-or-get-off-the-pot conclusion. We want to see the story through — just without several trips ’round the same ol’ mulberry bush.

Compare Brent to shock jock Barry Champlain of Oliver Stone’s Talk Radio: Barry (Eric Bogosian) is every bit as unlikable, right down to his venomous political views and haughtiness toward everyone else. Even with markedly lower stakes and an extra half-hour, Talk Radio is more compelling because Bogosian’s script gives Barry what Brent sorely lacks: multiple points of conflict with multiple characters. Or in short: subplots. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.