Please tell me the sentiment of the following review: It is said that there are some people out there who actually ADMIRE Monogram's movies. Well -- and why not? Monogram Studios lived on a kind of Cost Plus basis; cost, plus enough to pay the rent and buy a pizza and a bottle of robust muscatel every once in a while. Sure, they're cheap. But let's face it: they're coarse, fast, Philistine, vulgar, but exhilarating. They have no pretensions at all. They're designed to divert the audience for an hour or so at the bottom of a double bill. So what if John Wayne gallops through the Wild West along a road lined with telephone poles? This isn't art, it's entertainment.

Take this movie, "Flight to Mars." At the beginning, when we're first meeting the characters, a man might introduce his female companion abruptly, avoiding any tedious subtlety: "Professor, this is my fiancée and assistant, who is a rocket scientist and a beautiful woman. She loves me but is growing impatient with me because I'm always wrapped up in my scientific work. Perhaps you could steal her from me, marry her, give her the babies and the picket-fenced home she yearns for. If necessary I will die on this journey to see her dreams realized. Also, she likes it a little rough." It saves a lot of writing and shooting time, doesn't it? That's what people mean when they say a narrative is "fast". (This one was shot in five days.) Why should we have to hint about these things? I mean, what the hell is this, a cheap sci fi movie or Henry James? Actually this is a particularly well-funded example of a Monogram movie. It's in color, for one thing. "Cinecolor" to be exact. (You can tell it's not any other "color" you'd recognize.) And look at the cast. The female lead is dismissible, as is usual with Monogram, but the male leads are definitely up there on the B List. Cameron Mitchell as the reporter, yet to hit his stride as a male lead, which, come to think of it, he never really did. And Arthur Franz as the pipe-smoking head scientist, the pride of Perth Amboy, New Jersey. And -- for science fiction fans -- how about THIS pair of aces: both Morris Ankrum AND John Litel! There's not really much point in describing the plot in detail. The five crew members crash land on Mars where they find an underground civilization inhabited by organisms whose evolution was isomorphic with ours, right down to their having five digits and willowy babes in short skirts. And they picked up English from listening to our broadcasts. American broadcasts, that is, judging from their speech. They're led by a sinister cabal who try to hijack the space ship, build many imitations of it, and colonize earth. They do not succeed.

The special effects aren't very special. The men walk around a couple of spare sets, wearing black costumes with stylized lightning bolts emblazoned on their chests and scarlet capes billowing behind them. Their names consist exclusively of English phonemes -- Alzar, Terris, Ikron. The lissome Martian who falls for Arthur Franz is named Alita, with an Indo-European diminutive appendage, and she already knows what kissing is.

Overall, I found it as snappy as it was intended to be, but dull too. The story is that of any Buck Rogers 1930s serial. Once the earthlings and the Martians meet and it's established that they have a common language, and that the Martians have a sinister agenda, that's it. In two hours, even an indifferent screenwriter could turn this into a story of Nazi spies in World War II. The plot is done by the numbers, the dialog has no sparkle, the acting is pedestrian.

However, dedicated aficionados of Monogram productions should enjoy it. After all, Jean-Luc Goddard, the contrarian French egghead, dedicated "A Bout de Soufflé" to Monogram, so they can't have been all that bad.
OPTIONS:
- negative
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negative