Sunday, January 22, 2017

Robots of the 1980s: A Gallery

The 1980s brought a new era  of robots to the cinema and our TV screens.  The age of robot sidekicks was largely over, as Star Wars (1977) receded from the forefront of popular culture (although there were still some, like Bubo in Clash of the Titans [1981]).

Robots in the 1980s were often villainous in nature, or the central protagonists.  The 1980s was, in many ways, the great age of robot protagonists such as Voltron, the Guardians of the Gobots, and the Transformers.

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Saturday, January 21, 2017

Saturday Morning Cult-TV Blogging: Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle: "Tarzan and the City of Sorcery" (November 20, 1976)



In “Tarzan and the City of Sorcery,” Tarzan saves an imperiled boy from a lion, and then learns that his father has been transformed into a baboon by an evil and deceptive queen, Nubia who claims to possess magic powers.

In her city, Nubia’s people worship Tarzan as a 400 year old jungle God, and so Nubia perceives the king of the jungle as a threat to her power.

Despite this fact, Tarzan must convince the people that Nubia possesses no magic and is merely fooling them. He is pitted against the Mighty Luxor, a crocodile, but eventually his wisdom and reason carry the day (along with a bit of help from Tarzan’s animal friends).


“Tarzan and the City of Sorcery” is a middling entry in the series if for no other reason that it features familiar -- or stock -- characters and situations. We have already encountered evil queens aplenty on the series, and Tarzan has come to the aid of many a young stranger. He's also led several insurrections of "the people" against autocratic leaders.

Similarly, Tarzan has already traveled to several intriguing “lost worlds,” and helped set them on a path of freedom and dignity. Already in the series we have seen an underwater kingdom, a Roman kingdom, a Viking kingdom, and now -- this week -- an Egyptian-styled one.



And speaking of familiar or stock material, Filmation’s Flash Gordon (1979) also featured an episode in which the hero (Flash, in that circumstance) traveled to a faraway kingdom, only to learn that his doppelganger is worshiped there, in stone form, as a God.


Still, there are some worthwhile points in this particular episode of Tarzan. It is interesting that Tarzan, a man of nature, is constantly called upon to be the voice of rationality and science, for example. He notes (quite rightly) that “Not being able to explain something does not make it magic.

His final speech to the no-longer cowed populace is also inspiring (if heavy-handed): “The greatest magic of all: intelligence and love for one another.”

Next week: “Tarzan at the Earth’s Core.”


Saturday Morning Cult-TV Blogging: Shazam: "Bitter Herbs" (September 18, 1976)


In “Bitter Herbs,” Billy Batson (Michael Gray) and Mentor (Les Tremayne) get lost, and a tire on their RV blows out. Captain Marvel repairs it. 

Later, the Elders summon Billy and tell him that no one should “judge someone because he worships differently.”

After the repair, the duo continue on their journey to visit Jack Michaels, an old friend, who is also Jewish.  After their arrival, Mento and Billy meet Jack's teenage son, Yale (David Gruner), and learn that a local racist, Orin Clyde (Landen Chiles) is discriminating against the boy, refusing to let him a club called the Overlanders.  He sabotages Yale's bike, and puts salt water in his canteen in an attempt to dissuade him from sticking with the club.

Worse, as Billy finds out, Orin is smuggling stolen art across the Mexican border.  Again, it’s a job for Captain Marvel.


This episode of Filmation’s Saturday morning series, Shazam (1974-1976), takes on anti-Semitism. 

In particular, a man named Orin says of Jews that “They’re different from us,” and that he doesn’t want “any Jews” in his club. It's pretty ugly, but also true.  We all know that there are people who not only belive this kind of poison, but express their ignorant views for others to hear.

This kind of overt prejudice goes up against the words of the Elders, and the episode's conclusion is that “people must learn to understand” that not everyone is the same, or shares the same sets of beliefs.

All of this material is handled in a manner appropriate for Saturday morning entertainment of the 1970s, but like last week’s show, the episode feels the need to include a kind of criminal subplot too.  

So Orin, played by Linden Chiles, is not only a bigot, but a criminal who is smuggling art. The action scene this week involves Mr. Clyde – the bigot – contending with a mountain lion, and Captain Marvel saving him. 

The jamming together of the two plots makes for a fast-paced episode, of course, but I can’t help but wonder if the point of the show is somewhat lost.  

Bigots are bad people, but not all bigots are criminals. The truly insidious thing about prejudice is that sometimes it is expressed where and when you don’t expect it. By a family member at an event. At a friend’s house. Or by our leaders in Congress, or in the White House. 

These people are ignorant and wrong to carry such beliefs, but they may not also be a criminal, an actual law breaker.  I fear that young people watching this episode would conflate the two ideas and not understand the distinction. They might believe that only criminals are bigots, when in truth prejudice runs deep and wide across a swath of people, some of whom have never broken a single law.

Next week: “Ripcord.”

Friday, January 20, 2017

The Films of 1964: Seven Days in May



“There’s been abroad in this land in recent months a whisper that we have somehow lost our greatness; that we do not have the strength to win without war the struggles for liberty throughout the world.  This is slander, because our country is strong. Strong enough to be a peacemaker. It is proud. Proud enough to be patient.  The whisperers and the detractors, the violent men are wrong. We will remain strong and proud, proud and patient, and we will see a day when on this Earth all men will walk out of the tunnels of tyranny into the bright sunshine of freedom.”

-Seven Days in May (1964), written by Rod Serling; directed by John Frankenheimer.

Seven Days in May, a film, penned by Twilight Zone (1959-1961) creator Rod Serling is based on a 1962 best-selling novel that concerns an attempted military coup of the U.S. government by an extreme right-wing, four star general.

Like the tale depicted in The Manchurian Candidate, Seven Days in May is actually an unusual -- and often uncomfortable -- fusion of historical inspiration, and speculation that, given the vantage point of time, reads like prophecy.

Specifically, Seven Days in May looks to historical figures and events for the nature and details of its villain, the treasonous General Scott (Burt Lancaster).

But simultaneously, the 1964 film forecasts the future (or rather, the now…) in terms of right-wing outrage over any U.S. President or agenda not to its ideological preference. 

As you may have noticed if you’ve been conscious at all for the last eight years, it’s not just that the President’s agenda is wrong to these folks, it is that it is illegitimate and dangerous, and that the Commander-in-chief is actually traitor (or “other”) for possessing non-right wing values and beliefs.

We have seen this very dynamic recur in at least three presidencies in modern times, and Seven Days in May -- in a brilliantly-worded finale -- exposes such narcissistic “patriotism” for what it really often is: sedition and treason. 

You simply can’t lay claim to being a patriotic American citizen if your sole mission in life is to destroy the legally elected U.S. President. 

Seven Days in May gives us two military men, both right-wingers, and allows us to compare them, side-by-side (much as The Manchurian Candidate provided us two right wing senators -- Harding and Iselin -- and afforded audiences the same type of comparison).

One right-wing soldier in Seven Days in May, played by Kirk Douglas, understands his duty, and obligation under the law, to serve the Commander-in-Chief, even though he disagrees with the president’s politics.  Douglas’s Casey is able to put his personal belief system aside and trust in the people who sent the President to office.

And then there is another right-wing soldier, the aforementioned Scott (Lancaster), who plots a revolution to substitute his own judgment for that of the lawfully elected U.S. President. Duty is not what calls Scott. Evangelical certainty, and moral self-righteousness are his only guideposts.

Seven Days in May is a battle between these two men and their competing visions. One man serves his country, and realizes that to be President is to see things in a different way than a general, or soldier might.

The other man serves only his ideology (and thus his vanity). In serving this idol, he steps over the will expressed by the American people.

Seven Days in May is disturbing -- and tautly edited -- as the exquisite screenplay by Serling fleshes out the details of the coup attempt, and the President’s last-ditch attempt to hold onto the sacred responsibility that “We the People” entrusted him with.

Like The Manchurian Candidate, this film may feel dated to some today, in part because the Halls of Power featured in Seven Days in Men are populated exclusively by white men, and in part because the depiction of Eleanor Holbrooke (Ava Gardner) is a bit patronizing. She is treated, even by Casey, as a child; one who can’t select for herself how she should live, or who she should be.

But again -- as I always like to point out -- films are made in a historical context.

It’s true that Seven Days in May has seen time pass it by in some ways. But like The Manchurian Candidate, it seems to resonate more fully today than it has in some recent years.  In some fashion, it has been passed by modern contexts, and in other ways Seven Days in May is again frighteningly timely.


“Why, in God's name, do we elect a man president and then try to see how fast we can kill him…”

Marine Colonel Jiggs Casey (Kirk Douglas), through happenstance and coincidence, discovers that his superior, the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Scott (Lancaster) is moving men and equipment in preparation for a coup in just a matter of days.

In just a week, Scott and those he commands will seize all television and radio communication in the United States, using a secretly-funded and secretly-manned unit, ECOMCON (Emergency Communications Control) to usurp authority from the historically unpopular President, Jordan Lyman (Fredric March).

Scott’s reason for the coup is simple. He disagrees with a disarmament treaty between the Soviet Union and the United States that the President supports and wishes to see ratified.  Many Americans feel just as he does, and many of them protest outside the White House.

Casey reports everything he knows about the coup attempt to the President, and Lyman’s chief of staff, Paul Girard (Martin Balsam).  Girard rejects the tale as paranoid fantasy, but the President realizes he can’t afford to be caught flat-footed, and organizes a brigade of trusted aides to help him determine where he stands. 

As everyone is quick to realize, General Scott controls the military, and therefore possesses force. The President’s great power, by contrast, is the moral authority of his office, and the Constitution.
Girard is killed in a suspicious plane crash while soliciting the aid of a Navy officer (John Houseman) who refused to be part of the coup. 

Meanwhile, the President’s friend, Senator Raymond Clark of Georgia (Edmond O’Brien) is held in custody by Scott’s men when he attempts to find the secret ECOMCON base.

Casey is ordered, against his will, to hunt down incriminating love letters from Scott to his former lover, Eleanor (Ava Gardner), so that the President, if necessary, can “slime” his enemy with them. 

The President absolutely resists this option -- realizing it works against his moral authority -- and instead demands, in a face-to-face meeting, Scott’s resignation.

But Scott is not ready to give up his grab for power just yet…


“And from this…desperation we look for a champion in red, white and blue. Every now and then, a man on a white horse rides by, and we appoint him to be our personal god for the duration.”

Seven Days in May opens with a pan down across the United States Constitution. The writing on the document is large enough, and clear enough that we can read it. 

As the camera pans down this founding document, the numerals 1 to 7 are scrawled hastily and awkwardly over it, in black writing. 

This writing suggests that in just seven days, the Constitution can be desecrated, if Scott’s plan is carried out.

The writing over the founding document is thus akin to graffiti, despoiling the image of the Constitution.


And this optical “superimposition” of graffiti, of writing, over our Constitution also serves as a metaphor for Scott’s actions. By planning to take power from the President, and from the people who elected him, he is similarly spoiling or betraying America. We see the Constitution literally soiled. And we see Scott’s plan to trample it.

After this dynamic and effective opening, Seven Days in May cuts to a protest outside the White House as it becomes violent.

On one side of the divide are the folks who see the disarmament treaty as a cowardly, treacherous act. 

On the other are those who agree with Lyman, and view the treaty as a way to help secure peace in our (nuclear) age. Frankenheimer’s camera takes us right into the scuffle with a shaky cam, quick cuts, and very informal camera work. This approach makes the protest surprisingly visceral, and also has the effect of making us feel under siege; like we are there, experiencing the protest and the blows ourselves.


This technique is perfect because, of course, we are there. We all grapple with issues like this, on a daily basis.  We all stand to win or lose, depending on how things turn out, depending on what our leaders decide.

These two scenes, in tandem, create quite an ominous or tense mood right out of the gate. First, we see our most revered founding document desecrated, and then we see civil debate break down into irreconcilable violence. 

Together, these two moments light the match, the fuse that burns throughout Seven Days in May right up until the film’s cathartic and uplifting final speech by Lyman, a true statesman.

In terms of its approach to history, Seven Days in May has clearly selected some historical inspirations for Scott, the self-aggrandizing “patriot” who is convinced, primarily, of his own greatness/correctness.


Some critics (and indeed, Frankenheimer himself), view Scott as a Senator McCarthy figure. McCarthy, as I wrote in another review, led a witch-hunt against “Communist infiltrators” in the U.S. Government to make, actually, a name for himself.

Other see Scott as a corollary for General Edwin Walker, a man whom President Eisenhower chastised for putting his own personal politics above his duty. Eisenhower asked for, and received, Walker’s resignation.

Today, men of this stripe are still with us, putting their personal religious beliefs and views on ideology ahead of their job as military men or advisors to the government.  So, Seven Days in May has not created Scott out of whole cloth in some attempt to discredit people on the right side of the political spectrum.  Instead, a straight line can be drawn from men like McCarthy, and Walker to Scott…and then people in the present time.

And again, we have the example of Casey. He is from the same political party and belief system as Scott, but he is not a demagogue or an ideologue. He is a patriot who sees the system as wise, and protects it from desecration.

What Seven Days in May also gets right is the long, historical -- and let’s face it -- disgraceful attempt to dismiss and diminish peace efforts (and treaties, specifically) as insidious weak-kneed methods by which Presidents plan to destroy America. 

Think this is a belief that only occurs in fiction? 

Consider the skepticism with which President Reagan -- a conservative! -- was greeted, by right-wingers in 1988, when attempting to get a disarmament treaty with Russia through the Senate.  One senator said, almost word for word, in that meeting, what Scott says to Lyman in Seven Days in May, beginning with the assertion “The Soviets have broken most every treaty they have ever signed.”

If you require a more recent historical example of the principle and scenario spelled out in the Frankenheimer film, just remember the response to the U.S.’s attempt to make peace with Iran in 2015-2016.  Some 47 senators signed a letter warning Iran that they would not consider any such treaty binding.  Essentially, they were circumventing the prerogatives of the U.S. President, in an act that some have called “mutinous” and “traitorous.” 

Seven Days in May cannily includes a Senator (Whit Bissell) in the conspiracy “loop” with Scott, and goes just one step further: making the mutiny and treason manifest as a military take-over.


Most deftly, however, Seven Days in May gets right the notion we see so often in our national discourse; that people are loudly patriotic only so long as their party and beliefs are in power. 

When they are not in power, what do they do? How do they act? What do they say?

They talk down America.

They say specifically, that America is no longer great. They say it is weak. (And only they can make it strong again. Not with their action, but with their “beliefs.”)

Posted at the top of the review is the speech by President Lyman in Seven Days in May, which addresses this terrible quality, the diminishing of America to score political points…even when the whole world is listening. 

President Lyman rightly reports exactly what this kind of talk really is.

It is “slander,” he declares. America is great.  Great enough to be both strong and patient, and to seek ways out of wars, rather than finding excuses for fighting them.

That speech calls out men who purport to be patriots but actually root against America when their team isn’t in power. 

Lyman has another great moment in the film.  He is baffled -- as often I am -- by the hatred of these so-called patriots for the very government they claim to revere.


He reports: “You have such a fervent, passionate, evangelical faith in this country. Why in the name of God don’t you have any faith in the system of government you’re so hell bent to protect?”

That’s a good question.

And one we should all still be asking, even fifty years since Seven Days in May’s premiere.

The Films of 1962: The Manchurian Candidate


“There are people who think of Johnny as a clown and a buffoon, but I do not. I despise John Iselin and everything that Iselin-ism has come to stand for. I think, if John Iselin were a paid Soviet agent, he could not do more harm to this country than he’s doing now.”

--The Manchurian Candidate (1962)


In every presidential election, the term “Manchurian Candidate” gets lobbed like a hand grenade -- by the press, and voters -- at some aspiring politico who is feared to possess allegiances beyond the American populace.

Such a candidate -- a Manchurian one -- is widely defined as an individual “seeking elective office who appears to support one thing or group, but is actually supportive of another thing, or another group.”

The 1962 film, The Manchurian Candidate concerns a hard-right-wing candidate, Johnny Iselin, who was secretly (and perhaps unwittingly) the tool for Russian and Chinese communist interests. 

These foreign powers, in the film, interfered in an American presidential election using brainwashing and murder. 

So on one hand, the film’s candidate, Iselin -- described as “a clown and a buffoon” in the dialogue -- is a McCarthy-like hunter of communists who makes rousing, patriotic speeches. But on the other hand we have the knowledge that this candidate is a craven, grasping, hapless tool controlled by insidious foreign forces that stand to benefit -- or be rewarded -- by his election to the highest office in the land.

Back in 1962, the John Frankenheimer film (based on the novel by Richard Condon) was generally considered far-fetched, imaginative, and wild in its plot and details. 

Today -- with a mounting evidence pointing to foreign influence in our most recent election -- we might view the film as prophecy; as the shape of things to come.

The Manchurian Candidate was remade in 2004, but it is the black-and-white 1960s effort which remains the superior work of art, in part because of the director’s careful use of symbolism (mainly images of Americana), and in part because of its use of contradictions, in terms of character and plotting, to constantly engender surprise and shock.

It’s true that the film has aged some, as all works of art do. 

Instead of casting a Korean man in a crucial supporting role, for instance, the filmmakers cast Henry Silva…a Sicilian, in that role. When this character speaks, he does so in the kind of broken English you hear in black-and-white World War II movies. Accordingly, the performance doesn’t translate well to today’s more culturally-aware context.  Similarly, there’s a talk, late in the film, of sending a Christmas card to a Buddhist that is, if not in bad taste, at least unnecessarily insensitive.

These are very small things, however, when one considers the remarkable artistry of the film, and its weirdly prophetic nature. 

After all, consider the following: This film not only predicted the idea of a sort of right-wing double-agent running for President, but imagined -- the year before the assassination of JFK -- how a “loner” (or patsy) could possibly be harnessed to inflict terrorism on a population.


 “It’s the most rousing speech I’ve ever read. It’s been worked on, here and in Russia, on and off, for over eight years.”

In 1952, during the Korean War, a troop of nine American soldiers are captured by Russian forces, and helicoptered into Manchuria, where they are brainwashed by a scientist from the Pavlov Institute. 

Among those captured are Bennett Marco (Frank Sinatra) and Raymond Shaw (Laurence Harvey), step-son of Communist-bashing, right-wing U.S. Senator Johnny Iselin (James Gregory).

The soldiers are returned to the U.S. believing a false story that Raymond saved their lives. He is decorated for this act of (fictional) gallantry, but in truth, he is now an agent acting against the United States, though he does not realize it. 

Instead, he is triggered to obey his American handler (his mother [Angela Lansbury]) when he sees a Red Queen in a deck of playing cards.

Disturbed by nightmares of his brainwashing experience, Bennett Marco investigates Raymond Shaw in his capacity as a military officer. He comes to befriend Raymond, a not very “loveable” or likeable loner. 

When Raymond is ordered to kill a U.S. Senator Harding (John McGiver), and Harding’s daughter, Jocelyn (Leslie Parrish) -- Raymond’s new wife -- he must obey.  But his hatred for his mother grows.

When he learns that he is to be the assassin at a political convention, and pave the way for a “Manchurian” candidate, Raymond acts of his own accord, and earns the medal that his country awarded him.


“I’m on the point of winning for them the greatest foothold they would ever have in this country. And they paid me back by taking your soul away from you…”

Although I have described The Manchurian Candidate as prophetic, it also takes inspiration from recent American history.

The character of Johnny Iselin is clearly based on Republican senator Joseph McCarthy (1908-1989); a homegrown demagogue who made a name for himself in the U.S. Senate, and across the nation for his accusation that the U.S. Government had been infiltrated by communist agents and sympathizers. 

McCarthy undertook a witch-hunt to find and slime his enemies on those terms (as Angela Lansbury does in The Manchurian Candidate), and at one point claimed he had a list of “205 names” representing communist sympathizers in the U.S. Government. Later, he claimed to possess a paper with “57” such names instead.

In The Manchurian Candidate, Iselin first claims “207 names” and then, after seeing a bottle of Heinz 57 Ketchup, likewise modifies his claim to “57” communists.



The shift to 57 is both a biting attack against McCarthy, and a joke at the same time. The number 57 is easy for Iselin to remember because of effective product placement. It appears on a ketchup bottle. And like Heinz and its ketchup, Iselin is similarly advertising himself as a kind of brand name: a brave communist hunter!

What The Manchurian Candidate suggests, via Iselin’s comical inability to settle on a particular number of communist infiltrators, is that the man is indeed a clown and buffoon, but a dangerous one who has the full attention of the national press. 

Reporters record and mindlessly transmit across the nation (via TV) the McCarthy-like senator’s every accusation, and that’s the point. Iselin is a huckster, but one who understands how to manipulate television and thus make a name for himself. 

As Mrs. Iselin notes, no one questions that there are communist sympathizers in the government after Johnny Iselin’s televised “stunt.”  They only question the number of them. In political conversations and rallies, lies are accepted as facts, even without evidence, if they are repeated often enough. It's fake news.

What The Manchurian Candidate comments on, then, is the dangerous power of the Mass Media to not only inform, but to mis-inform. The press can spread truth, or fiction with equal power. It can highlight the words of a statesman, or an unrepentant, attention-hungry liar. Many people in the audience cannot discern which they are seeing, honest patriot, or serial liar. That’s a big problem for democracy, and one not easily solved.


Iselin, after all, gets the vice-presidential nomination of his party in the film, not for statesmanship, not for political accomplishments, but for his crusade to find communists in the U.S. Government, a crusade built entirely on fictional accusations.  His lies are his experience.  His lies are his portfolio. And he nearly rises to the highest office of the land based on those lies.

As other reviewers and scholars have noted, Iselin and his wife are associated, throughout the film, with imagery of Abraham Lincoln. 

Not simply Americana, but specifically of our sixteenth President.

Iselin’s reflection, for example, is seen in a Lincoln portrait at one point. And at a party for his son and Jocelyn, Iselin actually dresses as Lincoln. Throughout the film, busts of Lincoln are seen in the Iselin study too.




Why associate a McCarthy-esque charlatan with Abraham Lincoln, a man for whom so many hold such high esteem? 

Well, some scholars have suggested that the Iselins have selected Lincoln as a paragon to hide behind. They have gone overboard with their Lincoln love, only to cloak their true anti-American proclivities. 

After re-screening the film, I think there’s more specific commentary here. After McCarthy - and especially today -- one must ask: what has happened to the party of Lincoln?  

This was the party that freed the slaves and ended slavery in America. How has it gone from the heights of Lincoln to the depths represented by McCarthy? 

How has it gone from holding the fabric of a nation together, to manipulating the press to tear that fabric apart for individual or personal gain?

The multitudinous images of Lincoln throughout the film remind us how the noble have fallen, how a party has fallen from greatness. It’s not just that the Iselins’ hide behind Lincoln, it’s that they use his party as a base from which to launch an attack on the greatness of our nation. They appear to be extreme patriots, and are, in fact, betrayers.

The Manchurian Candidate also associates the Iselins’ nemesis (a very responsible and noble member of the party of Lincoln, by contrast…), with a symbol of Americana even more ingrained in our national psyche than that of Lincoln: the bald eagle.

When Raymond declares his desire to marry Jocelyn, Senator Harding is seen in front of a huge symbol of a bald eagle, with wings unfurled. 


These wings seem to sprout, literally, from his shoulders. Similar eagle imagery is seen in association with him, later. When Raymond is a programmed assassin, he crosses the threshold into Harding's kitchen to murder the senator. Over the threshold, the symbol of an American Eagle is visible. If Iselin is a corruption of the Republic party, Harding is the party's (and nation's paragon).



In the latter example, the symbol of the eagle showcases Raymond's point of transgression. The murder of Harding is the murder of liberty.


Also, consider the symbolism of Iselin wiping his cracker across the surface of a cake decorated as Old Glory, the American flag.  It's a desecration.  Just as Iselin's rise to office is a desecration to democracy, the Constitution, and to America.

So what does the film’s symbolism reveal to us then, if taken in conjunction?

Iselin is a McCarthy-esque demagogue who, if elected, would take the party of Lincoln down, and literally serve a foreign power. Harding, by contrast (a man of the same party) understands the real spirit of America, even though Mrs. Iselin has called him a “communist.” 

The battle in the film is thus between those who stoop to exploit patriotism and nationalism, and those who understand the real, true values of America, and seek to protect it. 

Raymond, similarly, appears to be a loner and assassin, but he is actually the courageous savior of American freedom, appropriately eulogized in the film’s moving coda.

I wrote in my introduction about the contradictions in The Manchurian Candidate, and how well they function to craft this particular. 

Consider, in this film, we meet a man who is a bitter, nasty loner, but who desires only to be lovable. Everyone seems to hate him, and he is a pawn of the villains. But, as noted above, he gives his life to save our country.  So the jerk and brainwashed assassin is also a great patriot, taking matters into his own hands when he knows the army and police are too late to act.

We also meet a nefarious communist scientist/agent, who loves a good joke. He is no Fu Manchu stereotype, but a jolly man who loves a good guffaw, and encourages humor in his compatriots. He doesn’t present as dastardly, but as jovial.

Similarly, we encounter a monstrous (and indeed, incestuous…) woman who hides behind the imagery of Abraham Lincoln, and calls out other Americans as communists when, in fact, she is a communist agent herself.

Part of the joy inherent in viewing this film, even several times, is grappling with these contradictions, and the way they simultaneously shade and reflect character, or identity. 

What are we to make of the eerie coincidence that Jocelyn shows up at the masquerade party as the Red Queen, the very figure that “activates” Raymond, the wolf in sheep’s clothing?

For years, many have also speculated about Janet Leigh’s character, who befriends Marco and engages in a weird conversation with him that also seems to suggest, at least tangentially, that she is a spy sent to handle him.

This, my friends, is a film with layers, and the contradictions are part of that layering. We are asked to look beyond the surface, and search for the truth.

And let’s face it, these contradictions are also a key part of the down-and-dirty fighting of American political campaigns. 

The camera records people and events, but it can’t tell us who is lying, or who is being truthful. It can’t expose the contradictions for us. We have to be smart. We have to be critical thinkers.

Unfortunately, the camera goes to the loudest blowhard, not the smartest or most judicious individual.  Our very media, our method of discourse, appears to encourage and reward extreme behavior, and the most extreme candidates.

The Manchurian Candidate saw this problem clearly more than a half-century ago (as did A Face in the Crowd in 1957.)

The Manchurian Candidate is a well-made, well-filmed effort. Consider, the moment, for instance, at the Lady’s Garden Club, when the true nature of the event is exposed. Frankenheimer’s camera goes around in a circle. Upon the completion of the circle, the ladies have been replaced by the communist agents and audience.

Or consider the karate fight sequence, between Silva and Sinatra, which is masterfully choreographed and cut, and starts with a kind of lightning bolt or shock, as Marco recognizes Silva's character.

The film’s craftsmanship holds up well in terms of relating the twisting narrative to audiences, but the production’s use of symbol-laden imagery makes it a document of value and enduring truth in terms of understanding American politics. 

The Manchurian Candidate reminds us that the most independent, patriotic voice in the room -- or on camera -- may not, in the final analysis, be either independent or patriotic.