Monday, May 21, 2018

The Devil's Cockpit (aka Nick Carter: Killmaster #23)

The Devil's Cockpit, by Nick Carter
No month stated, 1967  Award Books

A curious thing about this volume of Nick Carter: Killmaster, one of the many written by Manning Lee Stokes, is that it’s sort of a prefigure of a later Stokes joint: The Red Rays. Unlike that one, The Devil’s Cockpit is written in much-preferable third-person, but otherwise it deals with mostly the same subject: a bonkers Red Chinese plot to film anti-US propaganda porn and distribute it to the West in the hopes of spreading anti-American fervor, while also loosening up the morals of the viewers so as to make their ultimate brainwashing all the easier.

Well anyway, only Nick Carter, N3 of AXE, can stop this porn menace – which I kid you not even includes Tiuana Bibles! Nick is more riled up than usual this time, and not just because the CIA agent who was working the case has been killed, literally emasculated, his “shriveled testicles” put in a box and mailed back to his Agency boss(!). No, Nick is sickened not only by the porn, but also by the dirty comics in which characters like Mickey Mouse and whatnot perform perverted deeds. He’s ready to “become Killmaster,” as Stokes often puts it, and even has the armory guy at AXE get him a hip holster for his Luger, Wilhelmina, so he can draw more quickly. (Believe it or not, even though he’s introduced this hip holster apropos of nothing…Stokes never mentions it again or has Nick use it!!)

First though a bit of that random bizarro Stokery we expect from our lovably prolific author – we get a lot of backstory that Nick has just returned from a grueling, hellish training mission in Vietnam, where he was slipped behind the border and basically presented as a live target for the VC. Now he’s back, though still suffering from “jungle rot,” and he’s brought with him Pok, a 16 year old Korean orphan whom Nick now considers himself the “foster father” of. Pok will live with Nick in his New York penthouse, going to school during the day and serving as Nick’s “houseboy” in the evening. Not to mention serving up some pre-PC ethnic humor via his pidgin English: “Everything number one. I go to school half day for first week, get olientated.”

Despite just getting back from ‘Nam (and the date, we’re informed, is September 1966), Nick is again called to DC to meet with boss David Hawk. At AXE HQ Nick’s briefed by the old man, who threw up when he saw what was in the box carried by the CIA man. The threat is this: a series of anti-US porn films have been making the rounds in Europe and abroad, played mostly to lower class people whom we’re informed are so stupid, due to being poor and all, that they’ll take the films at face value. Now the movies are getting even bigger league because they star Mona Manning, former Hollywood megastar, but now “old” and ruined at 45 (though her face and bod are still jawdroppingly hot, Nick muses). Plus she’s bonda fide nuts.  All of this, from the anti-US porn to the former screen siren turned Commie propaganda star, would turn up again in The Red Rays, and in similarly unexploited fashion. 

Nick watches one of the movies, which features Mona and some other dude as criminals drafted by the CIA who go around murdering wantonly and screwing wantonly. Nick is again disgusted. Then he sees the dirty comic books! This plus the “shriveled testicles” of the murdered CIA agent are the icing on the cake – Nick practically begs to be sent off on the mission. But as usual with Stokes Nick has absolutely nothing to go on: the threat is vague, the leads even vaguer. The CIA man was killed in London, where he was investigating a “procurer” of women named Paulus Warner who is from Germany. The CIA believes that these porn movies are being filmed near Budapest, unbeknownst to the Hungarians, and are in fact being funded by the Red Chinese – as Nick states, the Russians don’t go for the hanky-panky stuff, so it would be too much to figure they were behind these dirty movies in their own veritable backyard.

Before heading for London Nick stops back in his penthouse for more un-PC banter with Pok, who informs Nick that a “Florence” has been calling for Nick and indeed is waiting for him in the study. Florence we learn has long set her sights on Nick, who doesn’t much like it when the woman shows the initiative. So to get rid of her he engages her in a yoga-fueled sex marathon, wearing her out good and proper. Stokes isn’t as explicit here as normal, but the fact that he has this sex scene so shortly after the porn movie material – which we’ll recall upset Nick so much – surely must be a bit of intentional humor on his part.

We move now to Swinging Soho, but Stokes doesn’t much bring to life this long-gone era, though Nick does get in a brief tussle with a gang of mods. More time is spent with waiflike Pam, a newbie hooker with a heart of gold; Paulus Werner’s angle is that he finds hookers and showgirls, offers them a gig in movies or whatever, and then takes them back to Budapest, where they star in these porn flicks whether they like it or not. And once the producers are done with them, they’re shipped off to Vietnam and China to sexually serve the troops! I say, Manning Lee Stokes has taken the Yellow Menace into new heights of sadism, though curiously there isn’t a single Chinese character in the novel.

Anyway Nick is approached on the street by Pam and takes her back to his place, thinking on the fly – he might be able to draft her into the rooting out and capturing of Paulus Werner. Humorously, Stokes basically builds up Pam as he goes; when we first meet her, she’s barely attractive, lurking in shadows and quick to jump like some beaten puppy, but she becomes more and more outspoken – not to mention hotter – the more Nick talks to her. By the end of the Soho sojourn Nick and she are engaging in the expected sexual hijinks, though again Stokes doesn’t get as explicit as he does in other volumes. Stokes’s version of Nick is as ever one cold bastard, though; Pam falls in love with Nick, begging to go back to the US and live with him, and Nick tells her he’s starting to feel the same for her – then at novel’s end he just leaves her without a word, figuring the assignment’s over and that’s that, and then goes back to his penthouse for more all-night shenanigans with Florence!

Nick’s first kill occurs here; again proving the brutal version of the Killmaster Stokes gives us, Nick questions heavyset Paulus Werner, toying with him that he’ll send him to America if he answers his questions, but planning of course to kill him. And Paulus too realizes this moments before it happens. But as Jure so wonderfully put it, Paulus is “A fat fucking German pimp whom we don’t feel sorry about!”  (And by the way, Jure, when are you going to start posting reviews again?) Paulus has put together a “troupe” of whores and dancers to take to Budapest for the porn films, and Nick’s plan is to pose as Paulus’s nephew, looking to take over the business.

Pam poses as Nick’s wife in one of Stokes’s usually-digressive and ultimately arbitrary setups, because this goes absolutely nowhere; they slip into Budapest where Pam is arrested as part of the plan. Nick heads into the hinterlands of Hungary where he comes to the castle-like villa of Michael Blackstone, exiled American director who was blacklisted in the ‘50s and decided to become a Commie for the hell of it. Supposedly he’s making the porn movies, as his stamp is evident in their style, yet this is another ball Stokes drops as it turns out in the homestretch that a Hungarian director, Bela Kojak, is running the show – and he has a bit of a Fleming flair to him in that he dresses like a “1920s director.”

But at least this part’s kind of cool as Nick paints his face black and sneaks into the villa, knifing a few servants in cold blood. He finds a veritable orgy taking place in the main area. Another curious miss here is that not much else is relayed about the porn movies; instead, Nick catches sight of the “actresses” being used and abused, including the memorable bit of two towering “Amazons” in fetish gear going around and whipping them! (Later Nick gets hold of these two, who turn out to be former female guards at the Belsen prison camp; he interrogates them and then shoots each of them in the back of the head!) But even more shocking is the sight of Pam and the other girls who were part of Nick’s “troupe.” The long-belabored plan has obviously gone to hell, and rather than jail the girls have been sent straight to the villa.

As Jure mentions in his review, Stokes as ever cuts some quick corners – Nick is captured, tortured, and escapes in rapid succession. An interesting note is that the print is bigger in The Devil’s Cockpit than Stokes’s other Killmaster novels, meaning he turned in a lower word count this time. Maybe he was getting close to burnout? Even more curiously, Nick, drugged by Bela Kojak as part of his own interrogation, is forced to take part in one of those anti-US porn movies, and Stokes not only leaves all of it vague but doesn’t follow up on it! At any rate Nick “performs” with a dusky-skinned pro who is apparently a phenomenal lay, but Nick’s too busy biting his tongue raw so as to keep part of his mind alert, less the drugs fully knock him out. Later Nick will burn the film print, as well as all the other porn flicks in the villa. Take that, seduction of the innocent!

But hopes for a good hero-villain confrontation are squandered, which is par for the course in Stokes. Even though pages were devoted to Kojak literally crushing Nick’s resolve – by placing hundreds of pounds of millstones on his chest – when Nick gets free, running around with some “tommy guns” (despite his broken arm), he doesn’t shoot a single person with them and all he does is fire off a few shots at Kojak’s car as the villain tries to flee the burning villa. Later Hawk will inform Nick that Bela died – eventually – in a hospital. Meanwhile Blackstone and Mona Manning, who finally appear in the text, are given almost cursory sendoffs; they decide to leave Hungary with Nick, even though a return to America will result in prison…and then Blackstone takes matters into his own hands.

That Mona only has a few lines of dialog is typical of Stokes’s usual sloppy plotting, or at least how he will busily set up plots at the outset of the novel, then pad with abandon, and then quickly wrap everything up in the (anti)climax. But damn it all I really like his books regardless. Perhaps it’s because his Nick Carter is so brutal and mean, with none of the niceties other ghostwriters give him. There is also that ultra-macho vibe to Stokes’s work in general which is a bit refreshing or at least unusual in today’s emasculated and chickified era. Yet at the same time, Nick’s sort of a dick and he murders in cold blood, so there’s that.

The Devil’s Cockpit overall is pretty entertaining, and moves more quickly than the usual Stokes installment, likely because it appears to be shorter. But it’s unfortunate that so many subplots are just ignored – there was all kinds of opportunity with fallen movie star Mona Manning, and the entire Chicom propaganda porn threat was so bizarre it really needed more exploitation. One would think Stokes would learn from this, but he pulled the exact same stuff in The Red Rays.  Also, the title has nothing to do with anything and I’m betting it was something Award Books came up with.

Thursday, May 17, 2018

The Eliminator (Jonas Wilde #1)

The Eliminator, by Andrew York
No month stated, 1967  Lancer Books
(Original UK edition 1966)

Yet another of the many series that tried to capitalize on the success of Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels, Jonas Wilde ran for 9 volumes (though for whatever reason the fifth volume, The Dominator, never made it to these shores) and even garnered its own film – Danger Route, in 1967, starring the dude who was supposedly director Terrence Young’s original choice to play Bond in Dr. No. “Andrew York” was incredibly prolific British author Christopher Nicole, who some years later gave us the lusty historical yarn The Savage Sands.

Unlike most other Bond cash-ins of the day, the Jonas Wilde books came out in hardcover. Which is to say they have a bit more of a “literary” bent to them, and are a bit more fleshed-out than typical Bondsploitation paperback series like Nick Carter: Killmaster or Mark Hood. The Eliminator is nearly 300 pages long, and that’s with lots of small print – actually the series would appear to be close to Fleming in that it’s very much in the head of its protagonist, going more for introspection and scene-setting than pulp action. As for Jonas Wilde himself, he’s a 36 year-old professional assassin for Her Majesty’s government. A muscular dude with receding brown hair (just like Grant Fowler!), Wilde is a bit more morose than Fleming’s Bond, and more importantly he only kills with his hands, a veritable lethal weapon of karate skills.

I admit, this part has kind of kept me away from the series until now; I prefer my swinging ‘60s spies to use an accoutrement of weapons and gadgets. But Nicole apparently wants to stay as “realistic” as possible, thus the series strives for the feel of Deighton with a little of the pulp of Fleming. At least that’s so in this first installment, which plays it low-key for the most part. One might complain perhaps a little too low-key, but at least there’s a bit more depth to the characterization than typical for the genre – at least when it comes to the supporting characters. Despite his fondness for cigarettes, cocktails, and boating, Jonas Wilde never really came to life for me. I did though appreciate his glib retorts, many of which seem inspired by Connery’s take on Bond.

We meet Wilde on the job, down in Barbados to take out Hartman, a former Nazi, now a wealthy tycoon. This opening gives an idea of the vibe of the novel as, instead of quick action, it plays out on a long-simmer suspense angle. Wilde is known as the “Nobody Man,” given his ability to immerse himself in a new identity, and here he’s posing as a globetrotting playboy. In this way he’s gotten himself involved with Hartman’s lovely daughter, making her fall in love with him, and this only serves to make Wilde further doubt himself and his career. This doubt already started back home, due to Wilde’s growing feelings for his live-in girlfriend, Jocelyn, whom he met a few months ago. Wilde thinks he’s falling in love with her (not that this prevents him from having some off-page sexual hijinks with Hartman’s daughter), and knows that this means he needs to quit his assassin career, posthaste.

It sort of goes on and on – York is very much in love with his own writing style and with the glib dialog of his world-weary protagonists – until it finally culminates with Wilde and Hartman on a nighttime fishing expedition on Hartman’s yacht. Here the former Nazi tells “Charles Vane,” ie Wilde, that he must leave his daughter forever because he’s nothing but a worm, less than a man, etc, and even finds a moment to vaguely refer to his Nazi days. Here too York shows us the sort of action scenes we can expect – quick and anticlimactic, as Wilde lets Hartman take a swing at him, then easily kills him with a single shuto chop to the base of the skull.

The main plot of the novel kicks in as Wilde heads back to the remote island of Guernsey in the English Channel, following the elaborate but ultimately simple entry and exit process his organization refers to as “the Route.” Perhaps Nicole’s biggest failing is that he doesn’t properly explain Wilde’s organization at the outset. Perhaps if more time was spent on this than the opening assassination of Hartman, the reader would be less out of sorts when the actual reversals and turnarounds begin in the climax. As it was, I had a hard time remembering who was who, but basically there’s Ravenhurst, Stern, Bulwer, and Canning. Most of them are older guys, WWII vets who “travelled” around Europe, meaning going off on assassination jobs. Bulwer was the previous eliminator of the group, but when he himself began to doubt his line of work a replacement was quickly found – Jonas Wilde, who has been serving as eliminator since.

Wilde though is ready to quit; he’s in love with Jocelyn, who tell the truth is presented as the ideal gal: she’s blonde, sexy, spends most of her time in a bathtub, and enjoys serving Wilde the things he likes. Plus she doesn’t talk much!! I mean who could blame Wilde for wanting to quit the assassination game to be with a woman like that. Otherwise there are other reasons behind Wilde’s sudden desire to quit; namely, the suspicion that their ultra-secret conclave has been infiltrated. When Wilde goes to visit his contact Ravenhurst, who creates Wilde’s cover identities and stories, he finds there yet another nude babe: this one brunette, sunbathing under a lamp, and she’s holding a Beretta .25 on him.

She says her name is Marita and she’s Ravenhurts’s niece, unknown to him until just a few weeks ago. She claims to be from California but has a Hungarian sort of accent. Wilde questions her – and possibly also has sex with her (Nicole has a frustrating tendency toward obliqueness at times) – and she says she’s really been sent by Canning, the boss of the organization. She knows all about Wilde, the Route, etc. In fact she knows too much. Wilde has been getting doubts on his most recent assignments, as if he were being sent around on motives not exactly in-line with the British government, and this girl’s strange presence has him in even more doubt.

Meanwhile, there’s another new occurrence – Ravenhurst tells Wilde he needs to go off on another mission, asap. Usually he has weeks to prepare, but not this time. We readers know this is a trap; the novel opens with two men meeting in a porno theater. One of them’s a Russian agent, the other is one of Wilde’s organization. The Russian says that Wilde must be killed – this will be orchestrated by sending him on an elimination job to take out an Easter European germ warfare scientist named Matsys, who is about to be taken over to the US, through England. Ideally Wilde will be killed on this impossible mission, given that notorious CIA agent “Lucinda” (a dude) is in charge of security. But if Wilde manages to survive, the Russian agent says, “the girl” will finish him off when he returns to Guernsey.

Much of the narrative is given over to the hit on Matsys; Wilde takes the job, figuring it will be his last. The action moves to the English countryside as Wilde, posing as a traveling businessman, scopes out the place a few days before Matys arrives. He strikes up a relationship with the thick maid and ends up staying in her room the night before the group arrives – Wilde drugs the poor girl so she doesn’t even get lucky with him. But this is a trap and, after disposing of Matys, Wilde is ensnared by Lucinda’s crew. Here the novel picks up a gear as Lucinda (his last name, by the way) reveals that he, Lucinda, has been on the trail of a certain assassin, one who took out an undercover CIA operative several months ago.

The assassin, of course, is Wilde, who finally has confirmation that he has been used for nefarious purposes lately; there is indeed a leak in his organization, and he’s been used as the blunt instrument. Nicole adds more depth to the story with Lucinda, who was friends with that murdered agent, understanding that Wilde has been used for a sucker, and thus bearing him no ill will. Instead Lucinda lets Wilde go, with the intent of secretly following him, the goal being to use Wilde as a hunting dog to root out the traitor in the organization. The novel promises to head into higher gear as Wilde heads back to take out Canning, whom he assumes must be the traitor; the sudden presence of the mysterious Marita being another clue. She was probably planted with Ravenhurst to kill Wilde.

But Nicole is determined to dole out a leisurely-paced piece of suspense, rather than the blood-soaked vengeance yarn we now expect. Finding Canning has left on a moment’s notice, summoned away by a mysterious call, Wilde instead drafts his lovely young socialite wife Barbara into his scheme. Nicole does deliver good, snappy dialog throughout, and Barbara and Wilde trade a lot of good quips. In fact the dialog is probably one of the highlights of The Eliminator; shame that so much of it was cut from the film adaptation, more of which below. Wilde and Barbara end up booking passage on a boat to find Canning, and here again Nicole obsfucates on whether or not the two have sex, though it seems apparent they do. Next morning Wilde knocks out one of Lucinda’s flunkies, who was shadowing him on the boat, and ditches Barbara.

Still unable to track down Canning, Wilde finds more reversals in Guernsey; Ravenspur is dead, shot by a .25. Marita is clearly the culprit but Wilde knows it would be ridiculous to assume she did the deed so openly. He manages to get her released from police monitoring and they go visit Stern on his boat. Here the novel plays out its climax as Wilde finds out who his real enemies and friends are. Yet Nicole again frustrates; despite the reveal of the villain, who by the way has his own sadistic henchman in tow, instead of a taut action scene we get even more “maritime fiction” stuff, as the climax plays out on a boat upon a stormy sea. Before this though we do have a great, tense sequence where the villain captures both Wilde and Marita and tortures the latter with small dabs of oil on her skin which are set to flame.

This leaves the big finale for the incident so casually blown on the cover copy of this Lancer paperback edition – and the cover photo, by the way, is just a larger image of the British paperback, showing more of the female model’s body. “The girl” mentioned in the opening pages, ie the one planted to kill off Wilde as a last-ditch gambit, turns out to be, of course, the girl Wilde’s so recently proposed to – yes, Nicole really does have his bad-ass spy plan to get married in his introductory novel, same as Fleming did in Casino Royale. Her method of killing him off is pretty damn novel: a poison barb on the tonearm of his record player! (I enjoyed this part because shortly before reading the novel I finally upgraded my own turntable – I went vintage, with a super-cool Pioneer PL-518. Wilde though uses one of those record-changer turntables which basically just destroyed records, so the bastard deserves that poisoned barb on his tonearm. But then he apparently only listens to classical music so those LPs can be bought for a pittance – I mean they’re down there on the value scale with Lawrence Welk albums.)

Anyway, Jonas Wilde of course survives the first novel of his own series; no mystery there. And, per the dialog spoiled on the Lancer cover, Wilde dispenses justice to his would-be killer. I have to admit I was sufficiently caught up in the climax of The Eliminator, though I do wish a bit more happened in the novel. My assumption is this first one went for a low-budget sort of suspense feel whereas the later ones might get a bit more outrageous, or at least exciting. And Nicole’s writing is very good, with the caveat that he is guilty of padding and not fully exploiting his own content. I’ve seen Nicole described as “too prolific,” and I think that aptly sums up his work as it is displayed in The Eliminator. I mean for one example alone he spends pages and pages describing the plight of Wilde’s yacht in the climax, but he kills the main villain off-page! It’s like the sort of thing you’d expect from Manning Lee Stokes.

As for the film version, it plays out on an even lower-budgeted scale. Richard Johnson (the same name as my boss, btw) does not make for a good Jonas Wilde. He has none of the rugged machismo Nicole gives the character, coming off as bland and unmemorable. Plus he plays Wilde as pissed off for the entire film, snapping his lines at everyone, which makes him come off more so prissy and sulky than hardbitten and world-weary. And he’s definitely not believable in the “bad-ass” angle, either – all of which is to say you can see why Terence Young would’ve considered him for Dr. No, as he’s much more in line with Fleming’s concept of James Bond. I think we can all consider it a good thing that Connery got the gig.

Otherwise the film makes strange detours from the source novel; the opening hit on Hartman is excised, and Wilde is introduced to us as casually as possible, just walking through Customs on his return flight to England. What little exploitative content that was in the novel has also been excised; rather than being introduced in the nude beneath a sunlamp, holding a .25, Marita (portrayed by the impossibly attractive Barbara Bouchet) is introduced standing behind a door in Ravenhursts’s villa, fully clothed. The film of course takes its title from the “Route” used by Wilde’s organization, but in the film the character of Bulwer has been removed.

The opening credits state that some “additional material” was provided in the script department by Richard Johnson himself; one assumes this is the stuff that gives him more opportunity to emote as Wilde, like the goofy intro of Jocelyn, which has her posing as a market researcher – a “cute” bit she and Wilde do whenever he returns from abroad, apparently. Wilde’s preference for cocktails has been reduced to Bacardi and soda alone. He does retain his insistence upon only using his hands to kill, and the “action scenes” retain the same abrupt feel as in the novel. But then, there are no protracted action scenes in The Eliminator, and the producers didn’t add any.

Perhaps they should have; the theme song, courtesy Lionel Bart (who also wrote the theme for From Russia With Love), goes for a pseudo-Bond feel, but the film itself doesn’t live up to it. It’s bland and low-key, and, unlike say Dr. No, the viewer never gets the impression he’s watching something “big.” One can see why there were no more Jonas Wilde films, but at least there were more novels, and the second one, The Co-Ordinator, looks to be more of the pulpy sort of spy action I prefer.

Monday, May 14, 2018

The Spider #20: Reign Of The Death Fiddler

The Spider #20: Reign Of The Death Fiddler, by Grant Stockbridge
May, 1935  Popular Publications

I had low expectations for this volume of The Spider – I mean it’s got “Death Fiddler” in the title – but it turned out to be one of my favorites yet. Despite the goofy premise, Reign Of The Death Fiddler is actually one of the more ghoulish titles in the series, complete with a titular villain who likes to dress up as his intended victims (complete with bullet holes in his head and body) and decorates his lair with corpses. 

One thing to note is that this time Norvell “Grant Stockbridge” Page takes a little time to focus on continuity, mentioning previous adventures and also confirming that the Spider’s “look,” ie the hunchback, fangs, and scraggly hair, is now no longer known as the old “Tito Caliepi” disguise (which Page mentions everyone has forgotten), but has become the standard Spider ensemble. We also get lots of reminders how Richard Wentworth’s loyal pal Jackson was killed in a previous volume (one I haven’t read). Also, this volume dispenses with the “story takes place in the same month as publication” setup the others have followed; the events occur over several weeks.

This one opens three months after the previous volume, and as usual things have already gone to hell. Wentworth has spent all these months trying in vain to figure out who the new crime boss is in New York; whoever it is has organized the crooks into such a lightning force that the cops are, as ever, incapable of stopping them, with blatant acts of violent crime staged on city streets in open daylight. Plus there seems to be some corruption in the city’s political realm which is enabling the criminals. As for Wentworth, he’s stymied because, due to this same corruption, he’s lost the license to carry his pistols. So he has resorted to his other mainstay: disguise. For the past several weeks he’s lived in the Bowery, posing as “Limy Magee,” which by novel’s end will be known to the public as one of the Spider’s many alternate names.

The book opens already displaying the brutal tone which will recur throughout; Wentworth, in the Bowery, spots a carjacking in progress, and takes out the hoodlums in vicious manner, using their own guns against them. Things get even more ghoulish when the infamous Fiddler finally appears at a grungy underworld bar Wentworth, still as Limpy, has won access to, given his assistance to a low-level criminal. The Fiddler looks like a corpse, with a gash in his head and bloody clothes. He’s dressed as his next victim, Wentworth realizes.

Page has this annoying bit early on where Wentworth has the chance to kill the Fiddler a few times, but always decides not to, so as to gauge how big the criminal’s empire really is – yet there are also recurring scenes where Wentworth will wish in frustration that he could kill the Fiddler and be done with it. Meanwhile our hero further ingratiates himself into the underworld by staging the murder of a cop who wanders into the bar; defying all laws of reality, Wentworth shoots the poor guy right in the face, yet angles the shot so it just knocks him out(!), then squirrels away the “body.” The cop will gradually figure out that Limpy and the Spider are one and the same, and will become an ally/opponent of our hero as the narrative ensues.

Meanwhile Wentworth is also busy fending off the advances of a “trollop of the underworld:” Snakey Annie, a hotstuff gun moll (curiously always described as “dark”) who hangs out in the bar, has murdered a few people herself, and who is all hot and bothered over how Limpy is such a rising star in the criminal sphere. Brace yourself for this one, folks – I do believe Richard Wentworth gets laid. Seriously! Late in the narrative, even though he “shudders” inwardly at the thought of even touching Annie, Wentworth actually goes off with her, taking her back to his place in the Bowery…and Page ends the scene there. I mean to say, no part where we find out that he knocked her out when he got her there, or pulled some other Spider-madatory duplicity to get out of something the plot is leading toward. Indeed he sees it all as part of his “duty,” even though he detests her. But after this she disappears from the narrative. Hmmm…

As for Wentworth’s actual girlfriend, Nita van Sloan as ever is given short shrift in these early volumes; she has a memorable entrance, proving her own gift for disguise. Going about as Limpy, Wentworth runs into an old woman, who turns out to be none other than Nita. She’s come here, expressly against Wentworth’s orders, to see how her fiance is faring in the Bowery. Later she plays a part in the climactic event, which concerns a Fiddler hit on Macy’s. As for other recurring characters, Commissioner Kirkpatrick is basically bullied into quitting his post, and also advised to run for Senator, but then he’s shot in the gut and spends the rest of the novel in ICU, at death’s door. No doubt none of this will be mentioned in the next book.

But for such a basic setup, Reign Of The Death Fiddler has a lot of entertaining scenes, like when Wentworth, who as Limpy is being groomed as a new flunky, visits one of the Fiddler’s headquarters and finds gruesome effigies of past victims all over the place There is also the usual supernatural vibe to the tale, like when Wentworth discovers that bullets can’t kill the Fiddler – who by the way is “the most cunning and evil foe” the Spider has ever gone up against. That’s a line used in practically every volume, but the Fiddler is pretty cunning, apparently keeping the entire city government in tow, but this plot will be squandered by volume’s end.

The last quarter features several lightning raids the Fiddler’s men make on various places, from the Metropolitan to Penn Station to Macy’s. Early on Wentworth realizes he’s being tested by the Fiddler, being given info on that night’s hit, the villian clearly seeing if “Limpy” will blab the info. So there is added tension where Wentworth must decide if he will indeed spread the word, and if so how he could do so without giving himself away. In the end though he can’t take it anymore and outs himself in typical fashion for the series – he takes a knife right to the Fiddler’s head, only to discover it’s just a wax dummy.

Throughout these raids Wentworth keeps seeing a figure in the melee that looks sort of like Jackson, his dead best bud. Then in the climactic fight at Macy’s, guess what – it is Jackson, who is tearfully reunited with Wentworth and crew. Apparently he faked his death for some convoluted reason, having to do with protecting Wentworth’s name or something, and Ram Singh was aware of the ruse all along. This though isn’t as memorable as what comes before, when the Spider catches the Fiddler in a noose, uses him as bait to keep his men at bay, and then breaks the bastard’s neck – but, as again is typical for the series, it’s not the Fiddler after all, but another stand-in.

In fact the finale is pretty underwhelming, featuring the usual red herring “surprise reveal” of who the Fiddler really is. And Wentworth doesn’t even deliver justice; that honor goes to one of this volume’s supporting characters. But overall this one’s pretty fun, with action that doesn’t get as repetitive as such scenes normally do in the series. There is also a ghoulish tone throughout which adds an extra spark. Too bad though that Snakey Annie isn’t better featured in the narrative (she basically disappears), but there’s always the chance she could appear again in a future volume, if Wentworth continues his “Limpy Magee” double life.

Thursday, May 10, 2018

The President Has Been Kidnapped! (Hot Line #2)

The President Has Been Kidnapped!, by Paul Richards
No month stated, 1971  Award Books

The second volume of Hot Line perhaps indicates why this series never got beyond three volumes. For one, the entire series concept is dropped – that hero Grant Fowler has a “hot line” to the President thanks to a two-way communicator hidden in his cigarette lighter. There’s zero reference to the previous volume and it seems evident the author isn’t even aware of what happened in it.

Again thanks to the Spy Guys And Gals site we know this one was courtesy George Snyder and Dan Streib; while Snyder was also credited for the first volume, his stamp isn’t as evident on this one. Mainly because Fowler isn’t a bossy, arrogant ass; rather, this time he’s prone to fretting and constantly worries over his safety. That is, when he isn’t wondering if he’s fallen in love and should just quit the entire “President’s Agent” game. This stuff is a hallmark of Streib’s work, though, as is inordinate padding and uneventful plotting, all of which runs rampant in The President Has Been Kidnapped. The writing is slightly better than the other stuff I’ve read of Streib’s, so maybe Snyder did some polishing or something, who knows.

Anyway Folwer is re-introduced to us as a 39 year-old with receding brown hair who often considers himself “getting too old for this” and contemplating retirement, yet another recurring Streib staple. He goes to great lengths to pose as an “international wheeler dealer,” and when we meet him he’s negotiating the purchase of an airline. It occurred to me that this novel might’ve been written at the same time as the first one, or maybe Streib just didn’t even read the first one, but anyway it seems great effort is made at introducing Fowler and setting up his character, whereas we already met him in the previous book.

Fowler also now has an assistant, Matthew Lemon, who handles his finance matters; “Grant hated the frail man and his bookkeeper mind.” As if that weren’t enough vitriol, Lemon is later referred to as a “sissyish little accountant.” But Lemon seemingly blows the airline deal, barging in on the conference with news Fowler doesn’t want shared, and thus he’s left with an airline it turns out he didn’t even want to buy – it was all a show, part of his carefully-maintained cover. Turns out the government is going to handle the cost, as Fowler’s services are needed pronto, no time for fancy wheeling-dealing; that Fowler is the “President’s Agent” (his recurring title throughout the book, which makes me suspect this was perhaps the planned series title) is a secret no one knows save for three people, one of whom is the President.

So Fowler puts on his shoulder holster with its .357 Magnum (because nothing says “secret agent” like a bulky hand cannon beneath your left arm) and heads for the White House, where he eventually learns from Secretary of State Michael Kremky – one of the three people who know who Folwer really is, with the President’s matronly secretary being the third – that not only has Air Force One been skyjacked and taken to the banana republic of Conduras (which is between Cuba and Panama, we’re informed), but that the President himself happened to be onboard at the time; something known only to Kremky.

Fowler’s job is to head to Conduras on one of his newly-acquired airliners, posing as a businessman looking to branch out into this new market, and somehow orchestrate the President’s release. Conduras, described by Fowler as a “voodoo den,” is run by a despot named Juan Bahia, who keeps the people in tow; the island is comrpised of “Creoles, Caribs, and blacks.” Fowler puts together a crew on one of his new planes, including arbitrarily enough some dude who used to go adventuring with Fowler in the old days, and a couple busty stews. The Conduras air force shoots them down upon entering Conduran air space.

Here’s another thing about Grant Fowler – he comes off like a complete idiot. Maintaining his playboy cover by all means, he insists the plane keep approaching Conduras, despite repeated warnings from ground control. This results in the airliner crashing, his old pal getting killed (again, one helluva an arbitrary “plot point”), and even the stews getting horrendously injured. Only mousy Matthew Lemon emerges unscathed, but he too will suffer misfortune, as if Streib relishes in occasionally putting him through hell before delivering an almost perfunctorily coup de grace in the final pages. But Fowler of course isn’t injured at all in the crash, and emerges to find Conduras on the verge of revolution.

The novel trades off on “tense” scenes of Fowler hopscotching between the tyrannical forces of Bahia and the native rebels, led by a voodoo priest named El Vicera. It just sort of goes on and on in a permanent spin cycle. We’ll go from the rioting voodoo worshippers to the debauchery of Bahia’s circle. In each instance Fowler finds himself involved with a woman – for the voodoo folks, it’s an “olive skinned” babe with blue eyes named Angela who has an instant lust with Fowler as soon as they see each other, culminating in one of the novel’s few memorable scenes as the two have sex in the middle of the jungle as Bahia’s soldiers hunt for them. The sex scenes by the way aren’t very graphic at all; “She pulled him in to the hilt” and the like.

The other babe is Consuela, Bahia’s incredibly depraved teenage daughter. She’s the type of whip-wielding villainness I like so much; moments after meeting Fowler she’s trying to screw him, and when he turns her down for being a “kid” she’s begging her dad to have him killed. Humorously, Fowler and Consuela have sex, though Streib forgets to inform us of the event until several chapters later – this happens after an elaborate feast Fowler attends, Bahia treating him as an honored guest, given Fowler’s cover as a wealthy businessman looking to branch out into Conduras. After a serving girl is nearly raped for the eager crowd – something Fowler prevents from happening – Consuela leads him off to his room, and only much later does Streib bother to inform us what happened there.

Really though it’s because Fowler has fallen in love with Angela, who is a sort of white goddess for the voodoo-practicing rebels. Fowler is saved by her in their first meeting – which leads to that immediate boink in the jungle – but Angela says Fowler will be considered an enemy if he tries to meet with Bahia. But this Fowler must do, so as to get aboard Air Force One, which, by the way, is sitting on the Conduras Airport tarmac under heavy guard. We’ll eventually learn that Bahia orchestrated the skyjacking, abducting the child of a crew member to ensure complicity. Bahia’s goal is to get the US to turn over control of a supply ship which carries atomic weapons. Bahia however doesn’t know that the President is actually onboard the plane; in fact, no one knows save for Fowler and Kremky back at the White House, but despite this Bahia’s men have wired Air Force One to blow by a certain deadline if his demands aren’t met.

Streib attempts to broaden the action with cutaways to Kremky back in Washington, dealing with various politicians and military officials who want to nuke Conduras. We also have some scenes with the President, fretting aboard his plane. But it’s all just sort of bland and uneventful. Even the occasional action scene is harried and boring, mostly comprised of Fowler trying to run away and hide. Again, he’s lost a lot of the bad-assery he displayed in the previous book, and this is certainly the work of Streib, who is notorious for wussified protagonists. Otherwise there are a few oddballl touches here and there, like Bahia’s personal guard, in black uniforms modeled after the SS; all of them, Fowler notices, have “long, slender fingers, perfectly manicured…the hands of classic homosexuals.”

Even the rebels do the heavy lifting in the finale; Fowler has promised Bahia that supply ship – on orders from the President – but he’ll give the weapons to the rebels. This he promises Angela after another jungle boink. Oh, and Fowler loves her for sure, even begging her to come back to the US with him and get married! This is Streib for sure, folks, and even a newbie to the genre will know what happens to Angela by novel’s end. The finale is pure chaos, with the rebels storming the tarmac before the explosives can go off, and Fowler just managing to get aboard – here Streib pulls Matthew Lemon back into the narrative long enough to kill him off!

Fowler exceeds in freeing the President and Air Force One and preventing Bahia from getting the atomic weapons, but at great price, yadda yadda yadda. No surprise, poor old Angela didn’t make it out on the plane – but another female character did. Given that we’ve learned this particular gal can do “special things with her mouth,” you wonder why Fowler’s so upset. (Okay, spoiler alert – it’s Consuela.) But really it’s the reader who benefits, ultimately, because here the novel ends.

Only one more volume was to follow, courtesy Streib and Chet Cunningham, and here’s hoping it’s better than the others. But given the two authors I’m not holding my breath.

Monday, May 7, 2018


Underwater, edited by Phil Hirsch
September, 1966  Pyramid Willow Books

Curiously, this vintage anthology of men’s adventure magazine stories was published through Pyramid’s “Willow” line, which was intended for juvenile readers. So the stories here were written for an adult readership but later marketed to kids. No fears, though, as the tales in Underwater are pretty tame. According to the copyright page, the stories are taken from Men’s Magazine and Challenge Magazine; no individual issues are credited, just the years 1956,’57,’59,’63, and ’64. Phil Hirsch was the editor of these magazines as well as a host of others; his name appears as editor on about a billion paperbacks.

While the cover gives the impression that the reader will encounter many tales of underwater adventurers facing off against dangerous undersea life, in truth the majority of the tales collected here are about guys being trapped underwater or facing other such desperate situations. Stories with speargun-armed scuba divers facing off against sharks are few and far between. I should note that the men’s mags Phil Hirsch edited were not part of the “Diamond Line,” and instead of novella-length pulp tales it appeared that most of them went for shorter, more “factual” yarns. In other words, it would appear that many of these colorfully-depicted incidents actually did happen.

“Sharkbait Swimmer” by Warren J. Shanahan opens the collection (there is no foreword or anything), and this one is about a daredevil named Fred Baldasare who runs his mouth that he’d easily swim the Messina Straits, which are known for being treacherous. Instead he gets in an arduous scuba swim that goes on for hours, sharks tailing him. He fails, but we learn in a postscript that the experience helped him successfully swim the English Channel.

“Diver Hefling’s Ordeal” is by Jack Dugan and is the first of the “man trapped underwater” stories the collection focuses so heavily on. In this one Frank Hefling is deep beneath Chicago, working on something, when his hand gets trapped, followed by his entire body. It’s a tense tale as fellow divers race against the clock to free Hefling before his air tank runs dry.

“Human Torpedoes!” by Sandy Sanderson is sort of a potted history; it’s all about an Italian frogman squadron in WWII that devised torpedoes that could be ridden all the way to the destruction site. Whereas a similar story in the Diamond Line of men’s mags would flesh this out into a pulpy tale, Sanderson instead goes for a more factual approach. We learn the history of the squad, the determination of its leader Lt. de la Penne, and how they successfully bombed an Ally ship off Alexandria, Egypt.

“Man-Eater!” by Wilbur Fergussen improves things in a big way; this one is in first person, which I don’t like as much, but it at least is more along the lines of what I expected from the collection. Fergussen tells us about how the time he was fishing Dade’s Lake in Arkansas and got attacked by…a shark! The story ends up with him in the lake, defending himself with a knife; a hasty addendum informs us that the shark probably got there due to some fresh water channel, which apparently happens.

We get back to the “trapped underwater” angle with “Nightmare In The Tank,” by Don Dwiggins; this ghoulish tale is about a California diver who gets the bends, and a “civilian rigger” attempts to save him. Instead he’s stuck in a decompression tank with the guy, who ends up dying, and the tale takes on a grisly tone as the rigger’s trapped in there with the corpse for a full day, even as rigor mortis sets in. The moral of the story is that from now on a separate door would be added to decompression chambers in case of similar ghoulish events.

“I was ‘Cuda Bait” is by Frederic Sinclair and is another in first-person. It’s the Florida Keys and our narrator tells us how each morning he’d spearfish for pompano for breakfast. But unknown to him a baracuda was in the vicinity, chasing the very same pompano our narrator set his sights on. He takes a shot at the ‘cuda, misses, and his arm gets snared by the speargun cord. So this one too goes for the “trapped underwater” angle despite the “dangerous aquatic monster” setup; Sinclair ends up offering his own foot as bait to lure away the ‘cuda. It ends up snatching off his flipper, and Sinclair makes it to the surface with his dead arm just in time to pass out. A very grueling tale!

“Dive Or Die” is by Edward Nanas and is another WWII yarn, taking place in Caballo Bay, the Philipines, in 1942. But it just goes on and on; it’s about a few hundred thousand “silver pesos” that have ended up on the seabed, and the “Jap” army drafts some POW American divers to go down and bring up the crates. But those wily Americans begin diverting crates to the resistance movement; eventually they are replaced by Moro divers who are more afraid of the Japanese and thus do a better job. Ends on an open note with Nanas informing us that hundreds of thousands of dollars are still down there.

“Dive Down Niagra” is by Frederic Sinclair, and this one is told like a report. It’s about a daredevil named Red Hill who constructs a tire tube craft which he intends to ride down Niagra. The law tries to stop him, reporters flock to the scene, and Hill dies in the attempt, his brains dashed out on some rocks. The end!

“Death Dive” is by Lyman Gaylor and is another “trapped underwater” story. Navy diver Joe Talarico is deep in the Patuxent River in Maryland when he’s trapped, his lifeline caught, and he has to survive several hours. Another grueling tale, but at this point these stories are becoming repetitive. 

“Devil-Shark!” by Bob Lorenz is the best tale in the collection; another first-person story, it also apparently inspired the cover art. The narrator and his brother have rented a boat in the Gulf of California, piloted by a superstitious Mexican, with the intent of finding a sunken ship and its treasure. But a monster white shark has been tailing them the past few days; the pilot insists that they not kill it, as it would result in bad omens. But our narrator goes down and finds the sunken ship just as a massive storm is setting in; the climax features him against the shark, which finally has closed in for the kill. He takes it out with an explosive-tipped spear. “I hate their guts!” Lorenz ends the tale, referring to all sharks everywhere.

We get right back to the “trapped underwater” angle with “Ordeal Of The Atlantis” by Don Dwiggins; this one I looked up and can confirm it’s a true story. It’s about a researcher named Hans Keller who has devised an “experimental gas” that might allow for prolonged time underwater. He tests it out with a fellow researcher named Pete Small in a diving bell, but things go wrong and both Small and a scuba diver who attempts rescue die. This one’s a grim tale, and pretty depressing. 

“Panic – And I Drown” is by Pete Clark “as told to” Willard Porter, and this one’s at odds with the other stories in that it’s the first-person narration of a surfer riding some hellish Californian waves for the amusement of onlookers. Interestingly the tale is set in ’53, so it’s very early in the whole surfing phenomenon, but again it just doesn’t gibe with the other stories here. But at least it’s not about a guy getting trapped underwater.

Thursday, May 3, 2018

The Penetrator #32: Showbiz Wipeout

The Penetrator #32: Showbiz Wipeout, by Lionel Derrick
July, 1979  Pinnacle Books

After a couple misfires The Penetrator sort of gets back on track, though make no mistake this is a greatly watered-down take on the character, particularly when compared to the merciless incarnation of the earliest volumes. It was Chet Cunningham who gave us that merciless Penetrator (wow that just sounds terrible, doesn’t it), which makes it all the more humorous that in this one Cunningham has Mark “The Penetrator” Hardin practically walking on eggshells to only kill those who truly deserve it.

But at least this one rises a bit out of the torpor which seems to have settled over the series. That being said, Showbiz Wipeout is more akin to a private eye yarn, as Mark suddenly becomes all fired up about a potential creative agency monopoly in Hollywood – clearly the authors used this series to write about whatever their current fancy happened to be. Why this would be of any concern to the Penetrator is something the reader is encouraged not to think about. Even more goofily, Mark is appraised of the situation via the “bulletin board” in his Stronghold, ie the converted mine which serves as Penetrator HQ.

What really has Mark interested is all the random deaths and injuries going on in Hollywood; the book opens on an extended sequence of various notables either being killed, beaten, or swindled by thugs who work for Global Talent Agency. The goal of course is all the Hollywood bigshots under one roof, and the mysterious head of GTA will stop at nothing to achieve his goal. Humorously the LAPD doesn’t even appear to exist, and these murders – including even a staged car crash, as depicted on the cover – are carried out with little concern about running afoul of the law. 

Cunningham fully commits himself to his own goofiness; not only is the Penetrator suddenly interested in this Hollywood nonsense, but he also just happens to have an old college buddy who now runs a talent agency! This is Joey Larson, Mark’s old frat buddy. Mark calls him up, drives over to Los Angeles, and discovers that Joey is stressed out because he too is being hassled by GTA. They want ownership of Joey’s one star client, who just happens to have been the victim of the car crash mentioned above. GTA is also threatening Joey’s life, so Mark puts him up in a motel and insists that he hide there.

Mark poses as “Lance Lansing,” up and coming actor with regional theater exeperience, his headshot and resume prepared by Professor Haskins back at the Stronghold. He gets an interview at GTA, coming off like an ass to the head agent there, a nebbish chump with a “honkey afro.” Mark sneers at the lowball offer he’s given, puts down the agent, and then beats the shit out of the two thugs the agent calls in. Mark also ingratiates himself into the orbit of Lorna Luna, a onetime box-office draw but now “old” at 45. She takes a shine to hunky “Lance” at the party she holds in her mansion, though Cunningham doesn’t have Mark exploit it – and also we get a few random mentions that Mark is only 27 or so, which doesn’t seem right to me. The series has appeared to occur in a sort of real time, ie the first volume was in ’73, seven years before this one, and periodically we’re reminded of the passage of time in various installments…so are we to believe Mark Hardin was only 20 years old in that first one?

Anyway, while Mark passes on Lorna Luna, he does become involved with plucky private eye Angelina Perez, aka “Angie,” a hotstuff Latina who carries a piece in her purse and who was herself hired to look into GTA. Mark becomes so smitten with Angie, in fact, that he occasionally wonders if he should let her know he’s the Penetrator and make her his partner! The veteran Penetrator reader can’t help but wonder why Mark never felt this way about his casual girlfriend, Joana Tabler, who is basically the same as Angie, she too being a gun-toting agent of sorts. Now that I think of it, Joana hasn’t been seen much in recent installments, so maybe Cunningham is paving the way for a new casual girlfriend for our hero. Hell, Mark even ends up not having sex with her, so as not to ruin any potential for an actual romance in the future or something.

Action is infrequent, again keeping with the pseudo private eye vibe of the novel; Mark’s kills are only few, and his first victim is the GTA thug who murdered the girl in the car wreck at the start of the book. Otherwise Mark mostly makes use of dart gun Ava, which per the norm these days is only loaded with knockout doses. The first big action scene comes at an intended trap; the mysterious leader of GTA has figured out that the Penetrator is on the scene, thanks to those handy blue flint arrowheads he always leaves behind, and sets up a “jiggle girl” event which is really just a ruse to lure out the Penetrator. A “jiggle girl” is a new busty actress the studios show off for reporters; the event, which Mark himself realizes is a trap, takes place on the Universal Studios lot and features actors dressed up like Keystone Cops (as shown on the cover – again, the cover is faithful to actual events in the novel).

Again Mark mostly does his fighting with Ava or a .45 automatic. The Keystone Cops turn out to be more GTA thugs, and one of them almost gets the better of the Penetrator, pinning him down during a long chase through some empty studio lots. Here Angie comes to the rescue, blasting away with that gun in her purse, and again there is the blatant disregard for reality as one would normally expect in a Chet Cunningham novel. After the firefight, our heroes basically just drive off and grab a bite to eat. Angie has been digging around off-page, trying to determine the paper trail that will lead to who ultimately owns GTA: we readers learn it is a producer named Jeffrey Scott Duncan who was blacklisted years before, and now aims to get the ultimate revenge on Hollywood by taking control of all the major stars.

The climax takes place at a costume ball in an old villa that’s recently been used for a horror film. Duncan has rigged the place with various booby traps, again expecting the Penetrator will show. He does, dressed as Zorro; Angie goes as a “harem girl.” But by this point Duncan doesn’t have any goons left, so rather than the typical action denoument, we instead have this “tense” bit that goes on and on where Duncan, suddenly acting crazy, reveals that he has a bomb on the premises and intends to blow everyone up as his final act of revenge. Or something. Actually the part with the bomb reveal is kind of funny in a dumb way because Duncan straight-up tells everyone it’s a bomb and they’re going to die, but everyone thinks it’s part of an elaborate act, given that the entire grounds is done up with robotic actors and taped recordings of arguments, sex scenes, and other gimmicks.

The Penetrator again fails to actually kill anyone; Duncan’s fate is so ridiculous I had to read it twice to ensure I hadn’t missed something. (Spoiler alert – the dude’s eaten off-page by a tiger!!) Cunningham winds up the tale with Mark again puzzling over his growing feelings for Angie, wondering if he’ll ever give up the Penetrating life some day and get hitched – or maybe even bring on a partner. But he tells Angie so long and heads off for his next mission, which hopefully will be a bit more fun than this one. I mean, Showbiz Wipeout isn’t terrible – it’s probably the best we can expect from the series at this point – but it replaces the gory violence of the early volumes with a sort of goofy surrealism. Personally I miss the gory violence.

Monday, April 30, 2018

Random Movie Reviews, Volume 9


The Cobra (1967): This is more of a cop film than a Eurospy film, but why split hairs. Our disgruntled hero is Mike Rand, a former Treasury agent now living in Istanbul; a few years he took a bum rap, and now former boss Dana Andrews has come a-calling to see if Mike is interested in taking a new job. A masked villain known as “The Cobra” is looking to hook the West on heroin, working with the Chicoms in some complex scheme. Mike isn’t interested until he learns a woman he either worked with or slept with has been killed in the investigation. Mike by the way is an ass, constantly bitching about something (he has an annoying tendency to call everyone “man,” this being the later ‘60s and all), and to make it worse he isn’t the most skilled agent. The actor playing him (an Italian guy) also handles the action scenes a bit too light in the loafers; seriously there are parts where Mike Rand will punch or kick or run away, and the actor throws in these odd almost ballerina-like touches, like he’s trying too hard to sell it. Oh and Anita Ekberg shows up as a heroin-hooked owner of a fitness center who ends up in bed with Mike, but she doesn’t show too much skin. The action is sporadic and mostly fistfighting, but there’s a firefight in the villain’s refinery at the end. The revelation of who the Cobra is comes off as humorous, as I had no idea who the dude even was. Overall The Cobra is okay – not to mention serviced by a nice widescreen print – but I wouldn’t recommend it to someone new to this particular subgenre.

Operation Counterspy (1965): The same year he starred in Sergio Sollima’s Passport To Hell, George Ardisson starred in this pulpier slice of Eurospy which really needs a better release; currently one can only find a pan and scanned VHS print with hard Danish subs, or a widescreen VHS print with hard Dutch subs, both of them dubbed in English. I saw the former. The print, while cropped, is passable, but it would be great to see this one in sharper clarity. It’s a lot of fun, with more frequent, arbitrary action scenes than Ardisson’s two “Agente 3S3” movies, but not as polished or satisfying as either of them. In fact it’s the too-frequent action that becomes a detriment, particularly given that Ardisson’s character is almost always getting knocked out and/or captured by his enemies.

There’s some unintentional comedy in how Ardisson is dubbed; his character is Lord George Moriston, codename The Ace of Spades, a mega-wealthy freelance English spy. For some puzzling reason, he’s been dubbed with a voice that would be more suitable to a villain; it’s a chilly, pitiless British voice that one would more associate with a supercriminal or something. Also, Ardisson’s blonde hair is dyed black for this one, the producers no doubt capitalizing on the whole “Italian Sean Connery” thing. But he does really look like Connery at times, and as ever Ardisson brings a charisma to the role. I’d say without a doubt he was the best of all the Eurospy stars, and as I mentioned in the comments thread of the previous movie review round-up, I’d be interested to know if the Bond producers were aware of him back in the ‘60s. The guy could’ve made for the perfect replacement when Connery decided to quit being Bond.

The plot has Lord Moriston being called in on a job that has him coming upon some secret plans, which will eventually lead him to an underground installation in the desert in which the villain plans to launch a missile. Along the way he’ll get in a lot of fistfights, the occasional gunfight, and meet a few random Eurobabes. Though curiously Moriston only falls for one of them, and falls hard – the film features several almost awkward scenes where the two kiss a little too passionately. I mean show some reserve, Moriston! The film is hard to gauge because it seems low-budget, yet it has action scenes on a grander scale than many other Eurospy movies, from cars being lifted by wreckers and tossed in the ocean to climactic subgun-blasting battles. The villains are more annoying than threatening: the lead henchman looks like Oliver Hardy after a session or two at the gym, and the main villain is a heavyset guy with a beard who isn’t threatening at all. Though he does of course get to slap a girl around – par for the course in Eurospy – before adding the novel addition of tying her up and whipping off her clothes.

The production seems to have hopped around Europe and Istanbul, but most of the action occurs indoors, so it all could’ve been shot on a set in Italy, who knows. We also get a trip to a club with a belly-dancer; one of the dancers turns out to be the gal who hooks up with Lord George, but even more attractive is the villainous blonde babe who also dances there. But this is another movie that cheats us on the hero-villainess confrontation; the blonde turns out to have her own secrets, as revealed in the climax, which as mentioned takes place in an underground bunker. I wish more of the film had occurred here, as it’s one of those cool sci-fi sort of places common in Eurospy, complete with subgun-wielding goons in silver jumpsuits (with spiders emblazoned on their chests!). Also worth noting that Lord George is a bad-ass here, garrotting guards in cold blood and shooting down goons with a permanent sneer on his face. If only there had been more stuff like this and less of the endless fistfights/Lord George getting captured stuff! Apparently a sequel was planned, but never happened due to scheduling conficts or somesuch.

Spies Strike Silently (1966): Lang Jeffries, who starred in several Eurospy movies (like Cifrato Speciale), stars as agent Mike Drumm, on loan to the British service. This Italian-Spanish joint, unlike many other films in the genre, plays things very straight – perhaps a bit too straight. Jeffries in fact comes off as rather bland in the lead role, sort of a prefigure of Timothy Dalton’s take on Bond. But on the plus side, there’s zero “comedy” antics or general tomfoolery, and plus like many co-productions, this one appears to have had a healthy budget. There’s a lot of traveling around Europe and Beirut, the camera work is downwright artsy for the genre, and the finale is an action onslaught of blasting subguns and mind-controlled, black-uniformed goons buying it in bloodless fashion.

The film suffers from a disjointed opening; an interminable sequence of a group of people just walking around Beiruit, going to a hotel pool, engaging in banal dialog – then the pretty girl jumps in the pool and we get an abrupt cut of her floating there with a bunch of blood around her. From there to Drumm, in London, where he’s briefed by an affable British officer. In Beirut Drumm quickly deduces that there’s more to the murder than meets the eye, particularly when other prominent scientists – each of whom have been working on projects that could benefit mankind – are suffering from similar threats against their loved ones. Action is periodic, with Drumm actually using his gun in a few scrapes – in addition to the genre-mandatory fistfights (which were of course cheaper to film than gunplay), we get a couple parts where Drumm guns down his opponents.

Spies Strike Silently doesn’t go overboard on the Eurobabe angle, but we do have the rather novel appearance of a black actress in one of these films; she’s quite attractive, especially in her mid ‘60s hairstyle and clothing. Then there’s the brunette babe who turns out to be working for the villains – never trust the brunette babes in these movies. Finally there’s a British gal Drumm hooks up with late in the film. However it’s my sad duty to report that agent Mike Drumm fails to score in the entirety of the film! Perhaps it’s his aura of taciturn blandness that fails to entice the ladies. There is though as mentioned a polished feel to the film, with unusual angles and shots that appear to have been carefully staged.

A bit after the hour mark the film takes a turn toward sci-fi, which seems to be mandatory for these films, and no doubt influenced by the similar transition in Dr. No. The villain, a dude named Rashid, is your typical mad scientist type who has created a drug that turns people into his puppets; in his Beirut home he has an entire underground base complete with black-uniformed, submachine gun-wielding goons. There’s also a cool pop art-esque room where potential subjects are strapped to a mod chair and brainwashed. Drumm almost becomes the latest unwitting assassin, only to escape – and then get caught and brainwashed, anyway!

The finale is pretty spectacular, at least when the genre average is taken into consideration; Drumm and his affable British pal lead a squad of Beirut soldiers on an assault of Rashid’s place, and there’s copious gunplay and dudes getting mowed down by subgun autofire. Sure, sometimes the prop guns don’t even belch smoke, let alone flame, and the dudes falling down don’t have a single bullet hole on them, but you have to give them credit for trying. But for some reason it doesn’t end there; instead the climax rips off Goldfinger, only in a car instead of on an airplane. The film ends with Drumm learning his next assignment will take him to…Ohio!? But it appears that, though Jeffries made other Eurospy flicks, this was the only adventure of Mike Drumm.

Spy in Your Eye (1965): This Italian-German production stars future soap star Brett Halsey as “Brad,” American agent who reports to none other than Dana Andrews. Like most Eurospies with a German pedigree, Spy In Your Eye benefits from a healthy budget; there’s a fair bit of globetrotting and some money was clearly spent on sets. Also of note is the English dub, which is so well-done it actually made me look it up – and sure enough, the script for the English dub was courtesy an uncredited American producer. Despite the dubbing, Spy In Your Eye could almost pass as an American production given this extra care in the dialog department – and it’s helped that both Halsey and Andrews dub their own voices.

Halsey makes for a passable Eurospy lead; he’s tall and lanky, and sort of looks like Wally from Leave It To Beaver. Interestingly, he’s more “Timothy Dalton” in his delivery than “Sean Connery;” again like Dalton’s take on Bond, Halsey presents a secret agent who is a bit more taciturn and, well, dull. His assignment has him going around Tangier and Paris, trying to keep the daughter of a scientist from Red agents. The villains aren’t that menacing, a factor not helped by the fact that the main one looks very much like modern fashion icon Michael Kors. Dana Andrews plays Halsey’s boss, and he is the recipient of the titular “spy in your eye;” early in the film he has surgery to get a sort of bionic eye to replace his missing left eye, but it turns out the Kors lookalike and his fellow Commie spies are using this artificial eye to spy on Andrews and Halsey, monitoring their every move.

While it’s sort of lacking on the Eurobabe front, there are a few action sequences that move beyond the genre-norm of fisticuffs, and the villain’s lair is built on a revolving set. One switch of a button and a medical lab becomes your average Eurospy sci-fi headquarters. This transformation results in one of the goofier deaths in Eurospy history, as a villainess is crushed to death (seemingly) by a slow-moving piece of equipment. Honestly, it’s like that part in Austin Powers where the random stooge has plenty of time to get out of the path of Austin’s zamboni machine (or whatever it was) but just stands there sceaming. Otherwise the film plays it pretty straight, without even the usual genre-spoofery one finds in the typical German Eurospy movies. That being said, a robotic Napolean (clearly an actor in costume) factors in the plot.

In 1979 Halsey published a paperback original in the Harold Robbins mold titled The Magnificent Strangers; set in the early 1960s, it’s about a group of American actors working in Rome. I’ve had it for quite some time and keep meaning to read it. Halsey would certainly be able to tell the tale, as he lived and worked in Rome for several years before coming back to America to star in General Hospital. Dude was even married to Luciana “Fiona Volpe” Paluzzi!!

Thursday, April 26, 2018

The Book Of Bond (or Every Man His Own 007)

The Book Of Bond (or Every Man His Own 007), by Lt.-Col. William (Bill) Tanner  
No month stated, 1966  Pan Books

In 1965, the same year he published the awesome and highly-recommended The James Bond Dossier, Kinglsey Amis posed as William “Bill” Tanner and published this separate look at the James Bond novels of Ian Fleming, but this one in a more humorous vein (and it’s even more scarce on the second-hand market). Not that the Dossier wasn’t humorous, but whereas it was an overview/study of the Bond novels, The Book Of Bond is more of a satirical how-to manual for “would-be Bonds,” taking instructions directly from Fleming’s books, but filtered through Amis’s sense of humor. And I have to stress again, this dude is very funny.

Tanner of course is a character within the Bond novels; he’s M’s Chief of Staff and supposedly Bond’s best friend. Amis starts off the jokery posthaste by mentioning this in the brief bio at the start of the book, stating that Bond took Tanner out to dinner “at least once.” As Amis himself noted in the Dossier, it’s hard to imagine James Bond having “friends,” so this is actually an in-joke for those who have read both books. And as Amis also stated in the Dossier, readers themselves don’t want to be friends with Bond – they want to be Bond. Clearly then The Book Of Bond picks up from this idea and shows the reader how to go about it.

This slim Pan paperback (there doesn’t appear to have been a US paperback edition) is almost like the 007 version of a study Bible; Amis will mention such and such elements from the series, and to the left of the text we’ll have a reference to the work in question via book title and chapter. So we’ll have say “DN 9” for Doctor No chapter 9. The short stories from For Your Eyes Only (Octopussy And The Living Daylights not being published yet) are referred to by the book’s title followed by the number of the story within; ie, the title story of that book is “FYEO 1.” There are also photo-realistic ink drawings throughout the text.

The first chapter is devoted to “Drink,” and Amis briefly outlines the various spirits Bond has consumed, advising would-be Bonds that drinking is very important if you want to be your own Bond. “Your daily intake should stay around half a bottle of spirits.” But avoid beer whenever you’re in England: “To be seen with a pint of beer in your hand would be instant death to all your hopes of 007ship.” Beer is okay when out of the country, though; whiskey is more along the lines of what you want, in particular bourbon. As for gin, you want Beefeater’s or Gordon’s, and for vodka, you insist on Russian, “neat and ice cold.” Brandy though is “essentially a medicinal drink for certain emergencies or ordeals.” Next we come to cocktails: “you don’t do the making, of course, but you should know how.” As for champagne, you’ll drink anything well-known, but table wines really aren’t your thing. Same for liquers. As for soda? “None.”

Throughout Amis subtly pokes fun at the source material, illustrating the appearance of each drink via sly references to the novels – not in a snarky way, but in a way that makes clear his love of Fleming’s work. For example, in the “cocktails” section Amis details a few of the mixed drinks Bond has consumed, one of them of course the Vesper, from Casino Royale; Amis goes on to suggest that, upon drinking this concoction, you should compliment the bartender (whom of course you had to tell how to make the drink in the first place) and say that, while good, it would’ve been better with Russian vodka instead of potato vodka – all, of course, the same as Bond in Casino Royale. Amis specifies though that you must hope the bartender is particularly dense, as potato vodka is practically “bath-tub water,” and you’d be hard-pressed to find any establisment that serves it, even behind the Iron Curtain.

Chapter two is all about “Food.” “Your position here is being gourmet while pretending not to be.” Under General Principles, Amis stresses, “Never invite anybody, least of all a girl, to a meal at your flat.” This means you would have to chose the course and also oversee the preparation of the meal, which goes against another 007 dictum: “Show no knowledge whatever of how food is actually prepared.” Finally, “a cheap way of asserting your individuality” is to always complain about the service and the fare in the various restaurants you frequent, particularly when on a date.

“Smoke” is the subject of chapter three: “The two basic points are to smoke hard and to enjoy it.” As we all know, Bond smokes a whole bunch of cigarettes in the novels: “Your basic consumption is sixty a day” if you want to be your own 007. However, be sure to “Treat it as a pleasure, not a habit.” We also get some details on Bond’s “specially-made” cigarettes, which in fact are available for anyone to purchase at certain tobacco shops. Also handy tips on how to exhale – only either as a hissing sound between your teeth, or through your nose.

Next we come to “Looks” in chapter four: “Those under four foot six and over seven foot would be better to model themselves on one of the original 007’s enemies.” As for your age, “You should be, or should aim at seeming to be, between about thirty-seven and thirty-nine,” and your hair must be black, even if you have to dye it. Amis frets over those suffering from baldness; “Sean Connery can carry off a toupee,” but for the average guy this might prove to be troublesome. As for your weight, “A paunchy 007 cannot exist.” Hardly anyone notices eye color, fortunately, but you should have a tan – though if you have to resort to a tanning bed, you must hide the fact. Amis jokes that you can hide it along with your spare toupee, dentures, etc.

Chapter five is all about “Excercise” and goes over what few physical activities we’ve seen Bond endure in the series. You should Golf on weekends; “Your handicap has risen to nine.” Skiing is also important, and here Amis relies heavily on On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. Swimming gets most of its details from Live And Let Die. Unarmed Combat leans heavily on Goldfinger: it’s probably best not to tell your female companion gory stories about past battles; just leave it at, “I only know five ways of killing a man with a single blow.” As for Keeping Fit, we get the morning routine from From Russia With Love, which is hilariously simple: “twenty slow press-ups” and some toe-touching, etc. 

“Clothes” are the topic of chapter six, with a brief rundown of “the original 007’s” standard wardrobe, from his suits to what he wears to the beach. You can find all of this stuff, along with images, over at the Clothing Of James Bond website. But Amis stresses that you must avoid anything “gaudy” or “obviously expensive” in your wardrobe. He also says not to get a 007-mandatory gun, as the holster will mess up the line of your coat and will get in the way of your golf swing. Instead, go with a knife hidden in a compartment above the heel of your shoe.

Next up is “Accessories,” chapter seven: here too Amis advises against “unnecesary ornament,” ie things like gold watches and whatnot. He says to focus on only three items: Luggage (using the tricked-out one in From Russia With Love as an example), Writswatch (a Rolex Oyster Perpetual Chronometer – which by the way makes for a handy “knuckle-duster”), and Saftey Razors (you want an old Gillette). In chapter eight we go over “Cars:” You tell people your car is a 1954 Continental Bentley, even if you don’t actually own one, but you’ve also been known to drive an Aston Martin DB III with reinforced bumpers and hidden compartments within. Your first car, a classic Bentley, was destroyed by an insane former Nazi.

Chapter nine is about “Places:” You don’t pretend to have been everywhere, despite the amount of traveling you’ve done, but you know what you like – and it isn’t Paris. “You have cordially disliked Paris since the war.” Amis briefly goes over Venice, Istanbul, New York, and places outside New York, relying as ever on material from the novels. Chapter ten is “Chat,” where Amis says that, despite all the vague remarks you make, the time will come when you will have to actually talk to someone. He says to stick to generalizations and thrown-off remarks, and in a humorous sequence provides conversation scenarios based around events in the novels.

Chapter eleven is “Culture,” where Amis says you should only have a “modest” library, as having a lot of books is more typical of a villain(!). We get a list of all the books Bond is noted as having read in the series, with the note that “you aren’t an author of note,” providing an example of the “original 007’s” attempt at haiku in You Only Live Twice So I take this to mean Amis considers Fleming’s poetry subpar. You can also claim that one day you’ll write a book on Unarmed Combat, to be titled “Stay Alive!,” but of course never actually do it, just like Bond in Goldfinger. We have a very brief overview of the theater, music, and cinema mentions in the series – Amis wraps up by saying that Bond is really more interested in trains, fast cars, and of course women.

Chapter twelve is focused on “the most important” part of the 007 character: “Gambling.” Amis says you can’t hope to gamble in the amounts Bond himself does, but to go through elaborate schemes to fool people into thinking you’re a famous high-roller. This incurs visiting the casino early, tipping the various employees and making yourself known, then returning soon after and exploiting the image you’ve just created. While you yourself never actually gamble, you pick out someone at a table who looks “sinister” and stare at him all night, calmly exhaling smoke through your nostrils. Explain to your female companion – you of course have picked one up if only due to the image you’ve created – that you aren’t gambling because you’re “after bigger fish.” Then continue to stare meaningfully at your pretend target.

Chapter thirteen is “M (for the older reader)”: “When 007ship begins to strike you as too expensive, too strenuous, and (above all) too juvenile a pursuit, the time has come to make the switch to Mship.” As we’ll recall from The James Bond Dossier, Amis is no fan of M, and this brief snapshot of the crusty old bastard is a hilarious piece of character assassination. Basically, dress however you want and always be testy with others, but of course you’re doing all this yourself, as M himself appears to be sexless. You of course have “damnably clear” eyes. You smoke a pipe, but limit yourself to two cheroots a day; it “must be coincidence” that cheroots are normally smoked by “very bad people” in the Bond novels.

Chapter fourteen is dedicated to “Girls (for the 007-chaser),” and is a guide for women on how to pick up their own 007. Using the various Bondgirls as illustrative examples, Amis breaks it down to Clothes (“near the top of the price range” but “unlikely to look good on anybody over thirty-five”), Looks (“ideally you need to be a blonde” with “blue or possibly grey eyes” and, of course, “beautiful firm breasts”), and also the type of car you should drive to get any 007 panting with lust. Amis mostly leans on Domino from Thunderball, Vesper from Casino Royale, and Solitaire from Live And Let Die; I was surprised that Honeychile Rider of Doctor No is only mentioned so far as her “outdoors” clothing goes (ie leather belt, snorkel mask, and nothing else). Amis rated Honey as his favorite Bondgirl in the Dossier, so I expected to see more about her here.

The final chapter is “Research” and returns to the role-playing antics in the Gambling chapter. Here Amis dispenses with the Bible study-esque book references in the left column and instead comes up with scenarios for the more advanced would-be Bond to attempt, once he’s gotten the hang of the material presented in the previous 14 chapters. This entails Excercises (go around your hotel room searching for bugs in the presences of your latest female companion, etc), Experiments (mail yourself a clock and immediately dunk it in water upon opening it, again in front of your latest female companion, etc), and Teamwork (try to contact other would-be Bonds, using the recognition code from From Russia, With Love; ie I use a lighter,” etc).

And that’s it, just barely over a hundred pages in this Pan edition, The Book Of Bond is a humorous look into Fleming’s work, at least filtered through Kinglsey Amis’s own perception of it. It’s not nearly as insightful or entertaining as The James Bond Dossier, but I’d say it too is highly recommended for the Bond fan, and also should be mandatory reading for any modern-day continuation author looking to set their Bond novel in Fleming’s day – which is to say, as with the Dossier, you aren’t going to find any watered-down modern sentiments here. And I think Fleming himself would’ve enjoyed this one, but then he was always self-deprecating about his work.

Monday, April 23, 2018

Waters Of Death

Waters Of Death, by Irving A. Greenfield
No month stated, 1967  Lancer Books

It appears that Irving A. Greenfield started off as a sleaze writer, one of the many authors serving as Vin Fields, before branching out into sci-fi under his own name, then moving into trash fiction in the ‘70s, and finally writing the many-volumed Depth Force series in the ‘80s and ‘90s. Greenfield’s writing though appears to remain consistent no matter the genre or year – slightly melodramatic, at least when concerning the torrid love lives of his characters, yet curiously threadbare in the description and plot departments, with major events (and the deaths of major characters) occurring off-page.

While Waters Of Death suffers from these same things – and more – it did well enough with the sci-fi readers of the day to warrant a few printings. The year is 2167, and Greenfield only gives us the trimmings of this hellish future society; basically, the Earth is overpopulated and undernourished, and all food is harvested from the sea. Society has broken down into rigid, progressivised hierarchies very much along the lines of that seen in the vastly superior After The Good War. But it’s sort of the same thing – there’s a single global government (the horror, the horror), independent thought is prevented at all costs, and any infraction against the government is dealt with quickly and mercilessly.

This is something our hero of sorts discovered two years ago: Dr. Robert Wilde, 35, of the Institute of Oceanography and Marine Biology. We get some vagueries about “independent research” he conducted a few years ago on underwater harvests or something; when the ruling party discovered this, Wilde was drummed out and cast in a loserville sort of purgatory. But in this hellish future society, being a government outcast is akin to being a social leper; Wilde was not only ridiculed, but his wife turned on him and began openly sleeping around. Wilde only stays with her so as to be with his son, because apparently – Greenfield doesn’t elaborate – children are only raised by married parents. Otherwise they are sent to government foster homes to be raised in a hive mentality setting. 

Not that Wilde, as he’s presented to us in the novel itself, appears to give two shits about his son. Greenfield’s characters are as a norm incredibly self-involved; I think my own son, who is only 14 months old now, is more aware of the feelings of others. Rather, Greenfield sort of goes through the motions that Wilde wants to see his son, yadda yadda, but the kid’s in like three pages of the book and, humorously enough, rarely even referred to again. There isn’t even any regret on Wilde’s part when his wife announces she’s to become a government whore of sorts at the local “sex center” – another vaguery of Greenfield’s, that there are veritable temple prostitutes in this future society – and thus the kid will have to go to a foster center, after all. Oh, and Wilde’s wife is pregnant with another man’s child!

But Wilde’s thoughts are more on the new job he’s been tasked with, one that might bring him back into the prominence he once enjoyed. His old boss at the Marine Institute has called him in and offered Wilde the opportunity to redeem himself; the sea farmers in the Caribbean are apparently revolting, as crops are dying and being destroyed by mysterious means. Leading the revolutionaries is Jessup Coombs, Wilde’s old friend; we’re briefly informed that, fifteen years ago, Wilde spent a tenure with these very same sea farmers. After a big blowout with wife Marion (“If you were a real man you’d hit me”) and son John (who screams “I hate you!” when he catches Wilde finally taking Marion up on her offer of hitting her), Wilde says to hell with it and heads off for the Caribbean.

First though he bangs the secretary of his old Institute boss – there’s a lot of secretary banging in Waters Of Death, in fact. As with most sci-fi, this novel is more about the era in which it was written, thus this 2167 is run by straight white males who drink and smoke and keep leggy secretaries in their office, mostly for sexual services. But curiously Greenfield keeps the sex off-page, and even the expected exploitation of the female characters is kept to a minimum; at least, it’s nowhere as explicit as the material he wrote in Depth Force, or another books of his I have from 1973 titled The Pleasure Hunters, which is filled with graphic screwing.

As mentioned, Wilde and Jessup were friends back in the day, but anyone expecting some “how’ve you been, you old so and so?” camaraderie between the two has never read an Irving Greenfield novel. Indeed, Jessup barely even remembers Wilde, and the fact that Wilde once worked beside these sea farmers is a simple plot contrivance that is never expanded upon. Jessup himself fades into insignificance; he’s built up as a revolutionary firebrand, but instead he’s more interested in picking up the wallflower secretary of the local government official. Yes, here’s another secretary prime for the exploiting, though Greenfield builds up a growing love between the two…then doesn’t do much of anything with it.

In fact Wilde’s time with the sea farmers itself is glossed over. What exactly he’s doing here isn’t much detailed, nor is the daily life and tools of the sea farmers. We do learn they are at the lowest strata of society, with precious few rights, something adding to their growing hostility. Jessup claims the farmers are not destroying the crops, and we readers know he speaks the truth, as we’ve seen the perpetrators: a shadowy cabal of government officials who have banded together in the hopes of starving the populace, killing off a large portion of it, and then swooping in to take control of the entire world. They are led by Zahn, global government Security Chief; one of the plotters is named Ahura Mazda, and whether it’s the ancient Zoroastrian god come to life Greenfield doesn’t say. I liked to pretend it was.

So much stuff is unexplored. Before leaving for the Caribbean, Wilde is given this proto-cyberpunk data dump into his brain, the government not only feeding him sea farming data but also secretly implanting pro-government propaganda. This doesn’t go much anyplace. Instead, we have yet another spawning romantic subplot, as Greenfield realizes that Loraine, the young brunette daughter of a sea farmer widow, is a mega babe, with “full breasts” and everything, though again Greenfield curiously leaves the sleazy a-doings off-page.

Action scenes are as outline-esque as those in Depth Force; a bunch of “renegade sharks” attack the crops late in the novel, and Jessup rounds up some sea farmers to hop in their underwater vessels to go fight them, armed with “high-intensity sonic beams.” Here Greenfield proves the sloppy execution he’s sometimes known for, as Jessup is killed – just like that, folks. He goes down to save a comrade, radios to the others that he can’t make it out, and that’s it. I kept expecting him to show up again, sharkbitten but alive, or for Wilde to go to his rescue, but it doesn’t happen. He’s dead, Jim, and that’s that. For that matter, Wilde thereafter leaves the sea farmer community, and we aren’t even properly informed of the fact until he’s already back at the Institute, doing studies on his findings underwater (whatever the hell they were).

The climax is particularly rushed. The shadowy cabal gets their hooks on the new leader of the sea farmers, spurring him to start a revolution, and soon scads of people are dying off-page. In fact, this new leader himself is perfuntorily killed off-page, us readers only informed of the event in passing. This after we’ve gotten a few scenes from his viewpoint which imply he’s going to be a major character. Jessup’s secretary girlfriend is never mentioned again, and we learn, again in passing yet mercilessly so, that Loraine too has been killed (and probably even raped) in the rioting.

Not that Wilde bats so much as an eye. Instead he takes his “findings” to his old Institute boss; he’s learned that man himself is causing the destruction of the sea harvests, due to chemicals being put in the ocean and scaring the aquatic life or somesuch. But he’s again branded a rebel and this time he’s thrown in a government prison. Soon he learns of the rioting going on around the world. And only here, like over a hundred pages later, does Wilde even bother to think of his son again, wondering what happened to him. Dad of the year, folks!

Greenfield goes for one of those downbeat endings that would be all the rage in the ‘70s; the rioters, now that the sea crops have all been destroyed, have turned to cannibalism, and Wilde, thinking he’s being freed from prison by a group of rioters, discovers instead that they’ve come here to eat him. And here Greenfield ends the tale, Wilde getting his “throat ripped open” by the very same government secretary he was having an affair with, early in the novel.

This one was lifeless, folks, and I wouldn’t recommend it. Greenfield was capable of better and one sees why he eventually moved out of the sci-fi field. But you’ve gotta love the cover art on this second edition: “Waters Of Death – starring Drew Carey!!”