Each decade in recent American history has been classified by some significant
cultural trend. The 80's was the "Me-Decade," the 70's shaped
by the booty-shaking mindlessness of Disco, and the 60's - Hippies and Beatles
notwithstanding - was the decade of the Superspy. Single-handedly created,
and primarily fueled by, the incredible world-wide success of the James
Bond movies, the phenomenon reached its peak with the release of THUNDERBALL
(1965, D: Terrance Young). The following year American theatres were buried
in an avalanche of foreign-produced imitators.
While the superspy format, with its A-Bomb, death-rays, and space-age world
conquest scenarios, are easily recognized as an energetic cousin to science
fiction, few injected overtly horrific elements into their plotlines. AGENTS
FOR H.A.R.M. (1966, D: Gerd Oswald, who directed the classic OUTER LIMITS
episodes "Forms Of Things Unknown," "Don't Open Till Doomsday,"
"The Chameleon" and others) pit good-guy Mark Richman against
unreconstructed Nazi Martin Kosleck for possession of a flesh devouring
space fungus (oddly enough, Kosleck played a crazed marine biologist who
possessed flesh eating microbes in Jack Curtis' 1964 horror film THE
FLESH EATERS). Antonio Margherti's OPERAZIONE GOLDMAN/LIGHTNING
BOLT (1967) is highlighted by the grisly disintegration of the villain's
cryogenically frozen prisoners, made particularly effective through the
use of colorful, Bava-styled lighting.
But leave it to Jesús Franco - along with screenwriter Jean-Claude
Carriere - to go whole hog in mashing the two genres together. Who else
would combine plot elements of THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE (1962, D:
John Frankenheimer) and THE CREATURE WITH THE ATOM BRAIN (1955, D:
Edward L. Cahn) for a send-up of the secret agent craze?
The result CARTES SUR TABLE/ATTACK OF THE ROBOTS (1966), is
a typically frustrating Franco film; a crappy-looking production peppered
with moments of undeniable beauty, energized primarily by its headlong rush
to reach a climax.
Strangely robotic, dark-skinned men in glasses are performing a series
of daring political assassinations across Europe, under the guidance of
a mysterious criminal organization. Following the massacre of the entire
Council of Ministers (filmed in an effective cinema verité style),
the police finally capture one of the killers, but they can't snap him out
of a weird catatonic state. But when one of the officers thoughtfully replaces
his glasses, the man suddenly tries to escape. Shot down in the hall, he
shockingly turns chalky white!
Eventually, Interpol discovers a connection between the assassins: they
all share a rare blood type, RH Zero. Correlating reports of all missing
persons with the same RH factor, they pinpoint Alacante, a town on the coast
of Spain, as the likely center of zombie operations. Desperate to crash
the command center, Interpol decides to send one of their agents with the
same blood type to Alacante as a clay pigeon, hoping his capture will lead
them to criminal head quarters. Only one man fits the profile, a retired
agent named Al Peterson (Eddie Constantine, who, sad to report, died earlier
this year).
Peterson is enjoying the exotic highlife of nightclubs and casinos in the
Far East. Before his old bosses can contact him, Peterson is approached
by another interested party. Lured through a moonlight garden by a talking
statue ("Hey, I hear voices. Just like Joan of Arc!"), he gets
conked on the head and taken to a giggling Chinese spymaster named Li Wi.
Li Wi seems unusually interested in Peterson's blood type, his current affiliations,
and in dark-skinned men who wear glasses. He offers Peterson $100,000 to
travel to Spain and obtain an unspecified scientific process. Rather than
sell out to a lousy bunch of Reds, Peterson fights his way past the guards
and returns to his hotel. In his room, he's confronted by his old Interpol
cronies, who pitch him a deal identical to the one Li Wi just offered -
at half the money, but with substantial patriotic value.
They load him up with a bunch of phony gadgets and send him on his way under
the cover identity of Frank Frobe (as in Gert Frobe, the actor who recently
assayed the role of Auric Goldfinger). In Alacante, he makes contact with
an exotic dancer named Cynthia Lewis (Sophie Hardy) who, in turn, spies
on him through the one-way panel between their hotel rooms.
Meanwhile, Lady Cecilia Addington Courtney (Françoise Brion), an
agent for the "Superior Council" - the force behind the robo-men
- secures a sample of Peterson's blood and rushes it to a secluded mountain
fortress for analysis.
Against the advice of Sir Percy (Fernando Rey - looking quite fetching in
a mad scientist lab smock) she sends a team of zombies to bring him in for
robotizing. Li Wi has a similar idea, and he also sends a team of agents
to capture Peterson. Unfortunately, Peterson is out for the evening, enjoying
Cynthia's saucy nightclub act (Franco himself is tickling the ivories in
the house band). Meanwhile the two criminal factions converge in Peterson's
room, trashing the place in the ensuing melee. When Peterson comes back
to his suite, he finds it a shambles and leaves to lodge a complaint with
the management. While he's out the Chinese - comically - straighten the
room, leaving Peterson to make lame (and lamely dubbed) excuses to the staff.
Later Peterson discovers a couple of bodies that have been left behind.
He hides a zombie's corpse in the bathtub, only to have it discovered by
Cynthia. They relocate the body to a wardrobe - already containing the body
of a Chinese agent. Immediately there's a knock on the door. A team of men
enter and helpfully cart away the incriminating wardrobe, wishing a very
confused Peterson "good night." Returning to the bathroom, Peterson
finds Cynthia enjoying a bubble bath in the very tub which, moments before,
contained a chalk-white corpse. This cavalier dismissal of the recent dead
is both comic and oddly unsettling, a perfect Franco moment. Considering
his later reputation, is it surprising that the scene carries a vaguely
necrophilic overtone?
Peterson visits Li Wi aboard his yacht, demanding some answers. Li Wi happily
enlightens him regarding the dangerous position his superiors have purposely
placed him in. He again offers Peterson a substantial reward to retrieve
the robotizing formula. This time, Peterson accepts. Returning once again
to his hotel, Peterson once again finds an unwelcome visitor - the hotel
evidently having some sort of open door policy towards zombies and spies.
This time it's Lady Cecilia. He taunts her with a pair of glasses he lifted
off a "robot" the night before. She takes them back at gun point
and hightails it, with Peterson in hot pursuit.
But Cynthia, thinking Peterson has turned traitor, is on his tail. When
a convenient herd of goats blocks Peterson's car, allowing Cecilia to escape,
Cynthia confronts him and tries to force him to jump off a cliff. An equally
convenient tour bus blocks her line of fire, and provides Peterson with
means of escape.
At the castle, Cecilia and Sir Percy receive word from the Superior Council
that Peterson is an Interpol agent, and must be dealt with immediately.
Guran, an Interpol agent who has recently been monitoring Peterson's progress,
becomes a target of the killer robots. He and Peterson have just made contact
when the trap is sprung. Cornered at dockside, Guran is done in by the robot
known as Mr. One. Peterson takes out Mr. One with a spear-gun and - on a
hunch - puts on the robot's glasses.
Tuned into the control signal, Peterson is led back to the castle and captured.
He's thrown into a cell with Cynthia, revealed to be yet another Interpol
agent (no doubt a graduate of their rigorous bump and grind academy), and
finally convinces her he hasn't gone over to Li Wi.
Lady Cecilia, meanwhile, has developed quite a thing for our masculine hero.
She has Peterson brought to her chambers and, with an honor guard of robots
surrounding the bed, turns on all her feminine charms. Sir Percy, spying
jealously from the balcony, takes aim at Peterson. But - in a moment lifted
right out of Young's THUNDERBALL - Peterson spins Cecilia into the
path of the bullet. Dying, she still manages to rip the alarm, sending the
robot army after the fleeing agent.
Sir Percy retreats to the lab, and is desperately preparing Cynthia for
robotizing, when Peterson bursts in and short-circuits the controls. The
discombobulated robots turn on their master and, in classic monster movie
style, Percy becomes victim to his own creations.
Using a flare gun given to him by Li Wi - which sky-writes Chinese characters,
no less - Peterson summons reinforcements. Li Wi's men storm the castle,
routing the robots and rescuing the prisoners. But, back aboard the yacht,
Peterson and Cynthia realize they are now under Li Wi's control, and he
expects them to work for his side. Flinging a cigar he thinks is full of
tear-gas, Peterson is crushed to hear Li Wi's men laughing, while their
leader explains to him that he's been given a load of phony gadgets. To
demonstrate, one of them opens a trick umbrella, which promptly explodes
- as advertised - allowing Peterson and Cecilia to escape.
There's been a great deal of confusion attached to ATTACK OF THE
ROBOTS over the years. More than one film source has listed the release
date as 1962 and, due to the presence of Eddie Constantine, have aligned
it with the popular Lemmy Caution series. The cheap black and white photography
may reinforce this impression. But the inclusion of a Presidential portrait
of Lyndon Johnson, pop culture references and the long-in-the-tooth look
of its star confirm the on screen copyright of 1966.
On first viewing the film seems painfully stiff, the low production values
irritating. But a second look reveals a much more fluid pace. And the film's
goofy sense of self-parody grows on you, supporting the notion that Franco's
work is an acquired taste. While most of the daylight footage looks sloppy,
rushed, and visually stark, the night time sequences show a great deal of
care. Moody, thoughtfully composed, and beautifully lit, some scenes go
so far as to evoke a dreamlike unease.
This is not to say that ATTACK OF THE ROBOTS is some kind of undiscovered
classic. The wildly uneven presentation robs the film of much of its potential
fun. Piss-poor dubbing goes further to destroy whatever sense of comic rhythm
the film originally had, though a few zingers survive the questionable translation.
Presenting Peterson with a pair if gloves which purportedly carry a lethal
electrical charge, the Interpol chief dryly observes the current is "strong
enough to kill 20 adults ... or 30 children."
Attacking the problem of being a "famous secret agent," the movie
has Peterson constantly recognized by bellboys and street vendors, who constantly
threaten to blow his cover. In the course of his mission, Peterson has information
delivered to him by 12-year-old secret agents, but still never seems to
have any idea what's going on around him. Some of the silliness is actually
pretty inspired, and goes a long way to keep spirits up during the more
confusing sections.
At the heart of the confusion are the "robots." Just exactly what
are the damn things suppose to be? Are they living people under some sort
of mind control? Reanimated corpses? In either event, the robotizing process
causes the darkening of the skin. In a fleeting but affectionate tribute
to Franco's beloved Universal monster movies, Fernando Rey lowers victims
into some kind of overgrown test-tube. Sparks fly and shadows jump - in
the old Frankenstein tradition - while the tube microwaves the subject,
or some such thing. Slip on the glasses for direct receiving of orders,
dress them in shiny black vinyl, and what you got here is your basic zombie
spy. Or something....
By not establishing the undead status of the assassins, the movie misses
the chance to be genuinely creepy. Not that the "robots" are particularly
imposing anyway. Between the slick grease paint and the nerdy spectacles
they look like a zoned-out math club performing their tribute to Al Jolson.
The stuff of nightmares maybe, but hardly the goosepimple kind. The touches
of visual poetry in some of their nocturnal wanderings - recalling Franco's
EL SECRETO DEL DR. ORLOFF/DR. ORLOFF'S MONSTER (1964) - make
the lost opportunities all the more galling.
On the other hand, Franco really scores with the highly stylized control
room in the castle. Robots man extended rows of ringing telephones and clattering
typewriters, while a dispassionate, disembodied computer voice drones a
endless litany of numbers. Possibly staged as a tribute to ALPHAVILLE
(1965, D: Jean-Luc Godard) the sequence is both visually arresting and artfully
chilling.
The musical score, by Paul Misraki, lacks any immediately hummable themes.
But the overall effect is strong, providing much needed backbone to some
of the more meandering car chases and bus rides. The brassy, punchy melodies
would not be at all out of place in a Mike Hammer movie - and by the way,
neither would Eddie Constantine.
In fact, the strident music, black and white photography, and Constantine's
bulldog features recall a world much closer to Mickey Spillane's roughneck
hero than to the more flamboyant adventures of Derek Flint or Matt Helm.
These are the qualities that provide the direct link to the cops, gangsters
and monsters formula of 50's B-movies like Jack Pollexfen's THE INDESTRUCTIBLE
MAN (1956) and the aforementioned CREATURE WITH THE ATOM BRAIN.
All in all, even non-fans of Jesús Franco should find enough in ATTACK
OF THE ROBOTS to rate it a guilty -- if archaic -- pleasure.
CREDITS:
CARTES SUR TABLE
Spanish t- CARTAS BOCA ARRIBA. US t- ATTACK OF THE ROBOTS. France/Spain,
1966. p co- Speva Films-Ciné Alliance/Hesperia Films. d- Jesús
Franco. sc- Jesús Franco & Jean-Claude Carrière. ph- Antonio
Macasoli. art d- J.A. D'Eaubonne. ed- Marie-Louise Barberot. m- Paul Mizraki.
sd- Jacques Gérard. as d- Pierre Lary. p- Michel Safra. cast- Eddie
Constantine, Françoise Brion, Fernando Rey, Mara Kelly, Dina Loy,
Aida Grace Powers, Sophie Hardy, Alfredo Mayo, Mark Harrolds [= Marcelo
Arroita], Vicente Roca, Ricardo Palacios, 'Lemmy Constantine'. Widescreen.
rt- 85 min.
MICHAEL MONOHAN: Former punk rocker turned film historian, Michael's
review of Franco's ATTACK OF THE ROBOTS is his first for MONSTER!
INTERNATIONAL.