Revisiting “The X-Files”: Season 1

CARTER, Chris (Creator), “The X-Files – Season 1”, Ten Thirteen Inc./Twentieth Century Fox Television, 2001-2002.

I spent some time at home alone the other week and I developed a sudden urge to re-live the adventures of one of the X-Files’s best villains – Eugene Tooms. Entering this rabbit hole meant taking a few stabs at the assembled material because, while I always remember that there’s a Tooms episode entitled “Tooms”, I always forget what the first episode in which he appears is called. I always know that it’s a fairly early episode, but there’s another story called “Conduit” – a likely contender for the title of a story about a villain who can slide through pipes - on the first disc which always throws me off. Long story short, I ended up watching the whole first season. Perhaps after this I won’t forget where to look in future!

Running through the material assembled on the DVD set, it’s interesting to note how this series took off and how it learned to walk after its initial crawling phase. As seen in the most recent iterations of this show, Chris Carter and crowd are sentimentalists about TV, especially the type of programming that predominated from the 60s into the 80s, and their tendency to crib from that source in regard to everything from actors to storylines starts to be revealed by walking down this particular memory lane. It’s clear that Carter had a solid vision of what he wanted this show to do, and that vision is a strong framework which propelled this series into the phenomenon that it later became.

There are low points, however, although most of these boil down to personal taste. For me, I can do without the so-called “Mythology Episodes”, recognizing of course that much of the over-arching tension of the series and the inter-character strife depends directly upon this element. There’s a lot of “Monster-of-the-Week” (MOTW) type stuff going on as well that, uniquely in these early stages, falls flat and never gets re-visited, causing some head-scratching in later seasons. A feature of strong television shows is their ability to reintegrate past material and to generate story from such revisiting; many opportunities for such growth get seeded here and are – with the weird exception of Tooms – never followed up.

Many of these first season episodes are peppered with the daily minutiae of Mulder and Scully’s (especially Scully’s) workaday routine – signing vehicles out of the car-pool, collaborating with old associates, inter-office politics, etc. Later seasons dispense with this stuff entirely, short-cutting it for brevity’s sake, which tends to sever the show loose from its moorings, from my perspective at least, and elevate the main characters out of the real world in which they’re supposed to be grounded. Fortunately, at this early stage, Carter’s cringeworthy fascination with Nazism is not so blatantly on display – a definite plus.

I didn’t watch these episodes in any particular order – I watched the Tooms stuff and then cherry-picked my way through the rest, until – once I’d decided for sure that I was going the see them all – I’d ticked them all off. In reviewing them though, I’ll take them disc-by-disc:

Disc One:

We kick things off (“Pilot”) with what will later become a by-the-book abduction scenario for our Filers of X. Scully gets dragged from her cozy position at Quantico to become a watch-dog for Mulder’s activities and they head out to Oregon in an uneasy alliance. The first mission sees aliens and shady government operatives enabling the abductions of teenagers and the ensuing cover-up of that activity, involving the replacing of buried bodies with ring-in simians. Our dynamic duo is harried and harassed, their hotel rooms burned to destroy evidence, and with local officials warning them off. Much is speculated upon and much is learned with Mulder becoming increasing annoying due to his unwillingness to share what he knows with his new partner.

In episode two – “Deep Throat” – Mulder is directed by his eponymous informant to check out the goings-on at an air force base in Idaho. Initially, the duo is called in by a concerned housewife whose air force pilot husband went missing and then re-appears in a state much worse for wear, leading her to suspect military shenanigans. Mulder, of course, jumps to the conclusion that the air force is test-driving new aircraft, modified from captured alien tech, at which notion Scully just rolls her eyes. Siding with local bored teenagers to gain access to the base (Seth Green in an early pre-“Buffy” role), Mulder gets captured by the authorities and Scully dances a delicate two-step to have him relinquished. In the end, nothing definitive is learned and even the housewife backs away from her “I demand answers!” stance. It’s interesting to note that Jerry Hardin who plays Deep Throat is very similar in appearance to Darren McGavin of “Kolchak: Night Stalker” fame, Carter’s self-professed inspiration for much of the “X-Files”.

Next comes “Squeeze”. This is the first Eugene Tooms episode and is the title I always get wrong. Dragged to a crime scene where the murderer’s point of access is a complete conundrum, Scully’s bemusement is undercut by Mulder’s awareness that clusters of five similar deaths have been taking place at 30-year intervals since the start of the century. In another nod to the “Night Stalker”, the duo is directed to a retired police officer who had a personal interest in the case, and they begin to unravel the mystery of an immortal mutant human who can slide through tiny spaces and who hibernates for 30-year intervals emerging to devour the livers of five randomly-chosen individuals. Our heroes track Eugene down but are stymied by the fact that no-one is going to get behind their ‘crackpot’ theory concerning Tooms’s uncanny abilities. Tooms gets locked away before he can chow down on his crucial fifth organ, and we’re left with a cliffhanger indication that a jail is no place that can hold a guy who can slide between bars…

“Conduit” plumbs some more UFO lore (specifically, the events surrounding Falcon Lake in Manitoba, which took place starting around 1967) to retail a story about people being abducted by aliens from campgrounds on Lake Okobogee near Sioux City in Iowa. Scully is advised that Mulder has requested travel expenses for a trip to Sioux City based upon a tabloid article about a missing girl and it is revealed to her that Mulder believes his sister to have been similarly abducted. For my money, this is the absolute worst thing they could have introduced to Mulder’s backstory, because it becomes a useless pain-in-the-backside from this point onwards. Anyway, the girl goes missing, her much younger brother starts channeling UFO chatter through television static (alarming the government flunkies), and the kids’ mother goes from helpful to interfering as the (unseen) Men in Black go about their business in the shadows. We’re left with Mulder quietly sobbing in a church over a picture of his sister Samantha, an image which is about as trite as it is possible to conjure.

In these first four episodes, we see shady government intrusion in a ‘boots on the ground’ fashion that we’ll never see again. The Government-within-the-Government has operatives everywhere, shutting down Scully and Mulder with ham-fisted abandon: rooms are torched; witnesses are coerced; local pillars of the community turn out to be paid enforcers. It’s refreshing and believable, but it all gets junked as the popularity of the series evolves. It’s interesting too to see the nuts-and-bolts of the agents’ daily lives (even if that shot of Scully wandering through the partitioned office space gets used more than once), since it grounds them in a quasi-reality quite distinct from the other-worldly superstar status they assume later on. For my money, they should have brought back Fran from the carpool, or at least given her some lines and screentime.

Disc Two:

The guy who gets killed and eaten in the pre-credit sequence of this next episode (“The Jersey Devil”) is the same guy who dies of an embolism from “straining too forcefully” while on the toilet during the later season story “War of the Coprophages”. He shows up elsewhere in the X-world also, but I’m always reminded of that ignominious death every time I clap eyes on him. Still, he’s doing his bit for public health, I guess. Anyway, blink and you’ll miss him here, he gets partially-devoured by the Jersey Devil in the early 50s and photos of his corpse fire Mulder’s investigation in the present era. Of course, Mulder’s probing of the matter is found to be objectionable to the Sherriff’s Office in Atlantic City and he gets walloped and thrown in jail for his pains. He then bands together with other local experts and almost finds undeniable proof of the creature’s existence before the irascible Sherriff shuts him down. And where is Scully in all of this? Hosting children’s parties and going on blind dates arranged by her sister. As you do.

“Shadows” was a story cobbled together after network heavies insisted that Scully and Mulder be seen to be helping “ordinary people”. This episode involves a company doing shady business deals with Islamic terrorists: one joint-CEO commits apparent suicide, and his devoted secretary starts receiving supernatural assistance against those intending to do her harm. Called in when two muggers are found dead in an alley from strange causes, Scully and Mulder trace the goings-on back to the secretary and unearth the conspiracy with ghostly assistance. As tales go, it’s alright, however the secretary is one of the most unsympathetic characters that the “X-Files” has ever coughed up.

In 1995, author Philip Kerr released a novel called Gridiron, about a hi-tech building that gains Artificial Intelligence and starts playing with its occupants in the fashion of a video game. This “X-Files” episode  - “Ghost in the Machine” - lifts that concept in its entirety and runs with it here as a Monster-of-the-Week narrative, adding some connective tissue to weave it into the world of Scully and Mulder. If you’ve read the book, you’ve seen this instalment; I’ve done both. Neither is much chop.

In each successive season of the “X-Files”, it became routine to take the X-Filers out of their comfort zone – a range of homogeneously-anonymized Canadian towns masquerading as places in the US – and dump them in extreme and remote locales – also, for the most part, in Canada. This story – “Ice” – is supposed to take place in the northern fastnesses of Alaska, where a team of geologists researching Arctic ice core samples has come to grief. Channeling “The Thing” as hard as it can, our heroes identify, thwart and contain an alien virus released from the permafrost and save the day, despite the director of the episode telling them to act as manic and unhinged as possible. Not a great moment for Scully and Mulder, but okay for their first ‘away game’.

In these four stories we see that the producers of the show were maybe not so confidant that their vision would be embraced by the viewership. These tales crib so madly from all kinds of well-established sources – “Poltergeist”; “The Thing from Another World” (aka. “Who Goes There?”); “2001: A Space Odyssey” (by way of Gridiron) – that there’s an air of desperately trying to soothe TV heavyweights informing the atmosphere. It must have seemed to Carter and Crew at the time that television audiences weren’t as receptive to their sourcing from the urban legend motherlode as they would have liked. They shouldn’t have worried… Things of note: we spent a bunch of time trying to fathom Scully’s social life in these few stories and we also saw the start of some inter-jurisdictional pissing contests which arise conveniently now and then as the needs of the stories demand. The genius programmer from “Ghost” – as obnoxious as he was – was allowed to drift away into oblivion, where he might well have been a useful contact to be unearthed in later seasons. That episode as well, saw right inside the shadowy government conspiracy, giving us a few moments with the ‘bad guys’ as they reviewed their encounter with Mulder – something that happens less and less as time goes on.

Disc Three:

This is one of those moments when something that seems cool - some feature of the zeitgeist – spurs a kooky X-story that pops like a party balloon in the light of subsequent examination. In “Space”, Scully and Mulder are brought in on an investigation of sabotage in the NASA space shuttle program by one of the technical support crew. It transpires that the former astronaut head of the program is being possessed by a ‘space ghost’ which he encountered while he was out space-walking, and which he inadvertently brought back down to Earth with him. There is a preponderance of imagery riffing off the infamous “Face on Mars” which nowadays – with much better, high definition camerawork – has become a case of myopic wishful thinking of the Hubble variety, and it makes this episode completely un-watchable nowadays, quite apart from the confused and rambling unfolding of the tortured storyline.

In “Fallen Angel” Mulder gets a 24-hour window to investigate what seems to be the case of a crash-landed UFO. Dodging military ‘husher-uppers’ loaded for bear, he sneaks past the perimeter sentries and begins poking about. Inevitably, he gets caught and Scully is sent out to drag his sorry arse back to Washington; but he changes tack, encounters an amateur UFO investigator in the inevitable aluminium caravan, and becomes the target for the crash-landed alien, to the military’s further annoyance. It’s clear that this maudlin NICAP fellow, Max (along with the “Ghost in the Machine” programmer), was the prototype of what would later become the introduction of the Lone Gunmen characters, and it must have tested positively enough with the punters to green-light those characters’ facilitation into the X-World. That being said, however, this guy is about as pathetic as they come. There’s also an interesting moment of casual sexism in the story, where the radar operator who spots the incoming UFO is derided for being ‘just a girl’: we seem to have come a long way since then. Maybe.

Another MOTW episode and another lost opportunity for reintegration. In “Eve”, two young girls on opposite coasts of mainland USA overpower and kill their fathers in identical gruesome fashion at the same moment in time: Mulder is almost wetting himself with excitement while Scully tries to deconstruct every theory he comes up with. It transpires that the girls – codenamed “Eves” – are the product of Government experiments in eugenics, illegally unleashed into a private in vitro fertilisation clinic. The girls are super-smart, psychic and psychotic on top, and try to poison Scully and Mulder in order to avoid being locked up with others of their kind from earlier experiments. It’s compelling and intriguing and the entire concept – multiple cloned criminal masterminds and their hi-tech prison compound – is completely forgotten and dropped by the X-World from here on in.

Mark Sheppard, before being Badger on “Firefly” and Crowley in “Supernatural”, began his TV life as Cecil “Bob” l’Ively, a pyrokinetic firebug in the first season of the “X-Files”, in the episode entitled “Fire”. This is an awful episode. It’s nothing to do with the concept, or the performances of the villain, his victims or of our main cast – it’s completely the wrong-headed addition of a British Scotland Yard agent with history concerning Fox Mulder from his days at Oxford University. This contrived romance is truly hideous: it’s badly performed, poorly constructed and cringeworthy in its execution. Scully rolls her eyes a lot in this episode and it’s nothing to do with the possibility of there being a psychic arsonist on the loose. The British agent drops the ball of this investigation time and again (to the detriment of her clients) in her vulpine need to sink her claws into Mulder and his reactions are entirely of the hot-and-cold variety, impelling the viewers to cry, “for Christ’s sake! Make up your mind!”. The writers also throw in a reference to Mulder being afraid of fire – something that never gets raised again. Not recommended.

“Fire” also ends with yet another super-powered villain locked in a high-security prison facility, being experimented upon by shadowy powers-that-be. Don’t worry though: along with almost every other instance of this type of villain, we’ll never have to worry about encountering them again, more’s the pity. Can you imagine the mayhem that might ensue if l’Ively, the Eves and Eugene Tooms had all broken out and banded together? An opportunity lost to my way of thinking…

Throughout this selection there are further efforts at tinkering with the backstory of our leads. With “Fire” the die is cast and from now on, Mulder’s past cases and career path will keep barfing-up rationales for meeting new people and re-visiting past scenarios, while Scully constantly moves forward from the nest of her family with very few ghosts of her past life (with some exceptions) coming back to haunt her. Fox has history and a complex network of connexions; Dana, generally speaking, doesn’t. That’s what has been decided upon at this point.

Disc Four:

Now, here is where everything comes together, and we get an “X-Files” episode that’s pure magic. It’s likely that what makes “Beyond the Sea” work is simply the presence of Brad Dourif playing the villain, Boggs; there’re more than a couple of creaky additions to the plot, but his bravura performance really sells it. We get introduced to Scully’s family, especially her father played by Don S. Davis, on loan from “Stargate”. He dies of a heart-attack (ironically) after Christmas dinner at Scully’s place and she is awakened by his ghost appearing to her in her house and trying to impart a message. Later, after the funeral, Scully and Mulder are trying to trace a young couple abducted by a serial killer once affiliated with another violent offender – Boggs – currently on death row. Boggs claims that his first brush with death – he was given a last-minute reprieve – blessed him with psychic powers and that he can lead the FBI to the kidnapper’s lair through visions. Mulder sets a trap, which Boggs falls into, and dismisses him; Scully, however, sees something which leads her to believe that Boggs is the Real McCoy. Boggs’s terror of death is palpable throughout this story and his desperation to try and win a deal almost makes the viewer sympathise with him. There’s enough equivocation to leave Scully’s head spinning as she tries to work out if he’s genuine or not but it’s her last act of absolute cruelty – denying Boggs’s wish that she be a witness at his execution – which has to be the unkindest cut of all.

Two things bug me about this otherwise excellent instalment. All the way through, despite the fact that he’s always the first to fall for a conman’s fake psychic-show moves, Mulder tells Scully she mustn’t fall for Boggs’s patter, implying that he’s the only one allowed to do that; the second thing is that, in talking to Mulder about her ghost-dad’s appearance to her at the moment of his death, Scully blithely says, “visions of the dead by loved ones at the moment of death are a common psychological phenomenon” to which I say, what the-? How is this “psychological” and why hasn’t it been completely explained and de-mystified? ‘Cause to my knowledge, it hasn’t.

In “Gender Bender”, the X-Filers come across real, gosh-darn’ tootin’ aliens and get completely outfoxed by them. These aliens exist in a small, reclusive, apparently religious enclave, similar to those of the Amish; however, they exude pheromones which bend humans to their will and can switch gender after marathon sex (which kills any human they do it with). One of them goes rogue and rampages down the eastern seaboard of the US, and the Filers of X set out on their case. Everything winds up back at the aliens’ home turf where Mulder splashes through a bunch of mud and Scully gets romanced by one of the police officers from “Silence of the Lambs” in a funny hat (after which she throws up). Before arrests can be made (and the actual existence of aliens cried from the rooftops) the outsiders make some crop circles and vanish. As with other MOTW beings, these aliens are never heard from again and they fail to measure up to the producers’ later view of what aliens are actually like in this series (which, obviously, is why they got sidelined). Oh, and Nicholas Lea, later to be Mulder’s nemesis Alex Krycek, shows up as the only one of the rogue alien’s bonk-buddies to stay alive afterwards.

There’s an interesting sideline to this: in discussing pheromones, our duo skate around the idea of humans creating them. To be clear: humans do not exude pheromones. At all. Unlike “Space”, where a higher powered telescope put paid to the idea that there is any kind of face on Mars, thus destroying the main plank of the show’s plot, the dialogue here tiptoes around the central notion of the story and, by a miracle, manages not to fall over into the realm of ludicrousness. Unfortunately, while cheering this win, the rest of the tale crashes and burns into a dumpster fire.

In “Lazarus” there’s a departure: we meet an FBI agent under whom Scully studied and with whom she conducted a brief affair, thus seeming to destroy my theory that Scully’s adventures mostly never spring from her past. There’s that ‘mostly’ in there to get me off the hook, however. Here we have two bank robbers on a spree, being pursued by Scully’s ex-lover who is unaccountably driven to bring them to justice. In apprehending them during a heist, the driven agent is shot and Scully kills the robber; during the ensuing paramedic travails, the consciousnesses of both men switch bodies and the former Agent, now the revived bank robber, tries to return to his partner and restart their dangerous crime career. There’s lots of talk of PTSD and over-empathising with the target of one’s obsessive mission, before diabetes and a vicious betrayal sees everyone put out of everyone else’s misery. The only real supernatural touch – a body-hopping tattoo – is completely overlooked by all parties during the course of the proceedings. Nice touch.

“Young at Heart” sees yet another rogue doctor dodging ethics committees and doing whatever they damned well please in order to pursue a scientific breakthrough. Here it’s experimentation on victims of progeria – a disease which causes accelerated decrepitude in children - in an attempt to reverse the effects of aging (somehow). Our doctor performs illegal surgery on a prison inmate after which he is declared dead, despite evidence to the contrary provided by another inmate. The supposedly dead prisoner springs from Mulder’s ever-fertile back-story and turns out to be the ferocious killer he should have shot when he had the chance, regardless of the regulations, and who is now Hell-bent on vengeance, starting with Mulder’s friends. Our villain is cunning and intrepid – also, much younger in appearance, and therefore harder to spot in a crowd – despite having a salamander’s paw for a hand. Mulder beats himself up relentlessly over the situation while Scully does some useful sleuthing and they finally bring the murderer to justice (again).

At this point we have the second oblique Nazi reference which Carter has chosen to sneak into the ongoing narrative. The rogue doctor in “Young at Heart” mentions that his colleagues used to call him “Dr. Mengele”, after the notoriously sadistic German prison-camp medic. This, along with the eugenics mentioned in “Eve” is the thin edge of the wedge of Carter’s flirting with Nazi tropes throughout this series. Here it’s just a casual name-drop; later, after discussions of Operation Paperclip have entered the narrative, the gloves come off and you get a solid sense that, sooner or later, Carter will be dressing up his entire cast in Hugo Boss designed SS-uniforms. And this he does, before the series concludes.

Disc Five:

“E.B.E.”, the title of the first episode on Disc Five, stands for Extraterrestrial Biological Entity and Mulder promises to deliver evidence of such a thing to his new chums, the Lone Gunmen. He doesn’t deliver, however, just as this episode also doesn’t deliver any kind of consistent narrative. This is a so-called Mythology Episode and exists merely to provide connective tissue to other similar episodes and to round-out various side characters. Among those characters are Director Skinner and the Smoking Man, Deep Throat and, most importantly, the Lone Gunmen, who are established here for the first time. There’s some waffle about a truck carrying a UFO across the US, Gulf War Syndrome being a side-effect of alien visitation and a lacklustre break-in by the X-Filers of a covert military base which reveals nada. Nothing to see here. Moving on:

I dislike “Miracle Man” as an episode because to my way of thinking it trivializes the infiltration of American political life by religious cultism, despite the oft-declared separation of Church and State. After recent months of watching the AmeriKKKan Electoral Farce, I had to steel myself in order to jump into yet another exhibition of religious snake-oil merchandising. This story is fine, on balance, but it gets muddied by the bizarre Mythology-extending notion that the after-effects of alien abduction – specifically, the remorse Mulder feels over the loss of his sister - are things which can be identified and healed by the Divine Grace of Gentle Jesus (Praise the Lord!). I think not. At one point, Mulder says outright to the titular miracle man that he’s not going to get into a fight with him using religious rhetoric and this is exactly my position with this type of crap also. I always feel like I need a bath after this kind of thing…

We’ve skated across half-a-dozen different Fortean tropes by this stage of the proceedings, so it seems hardly surprising that we’d finally grab onto some werewolf action. It’s not that clear-cut however: with “Shapes” we take a dive into Native American mythology and pad around awhile with some skinwalkers. Springboarding rather obviously off the oft-reported Fortean goings-on at Skinwalker Ranch, we learn of a rancher fighting a legal dispute over a boundary line which the tribesfolk claim meanders over into reservation territory. Scully and Mulder get called in after a native man is shot and killed, mistaken for some kind of wild beast, but not before he wounds the rancher’s son. Reservation life is graphically, and rather miserably, portrayed here and the usual ‘is he, or isn’t he?’ tropes of werewolf fiction run their course until the final reveal. It’s a good story, but Scully’s willful blindness as to what’s going on sometimes pushes credulity.

In “Darkness Falls” we have the second of two ‘away games’ in this season. After “Ice”, it was obviously thought that these long diversions into strange and new territory were good for ratings, and so, here we are. Unlike that other episode though, this is more of an “X-Files” story, more its own creature rather than an homage to a science fiction mainstay. This tale tells of a band of loggers working in the far distant back-blocks of wooded terrain in Washington State. After mysteriously vanishing, the FBI (i.e., Scully and Mulder) are asked to investigate, Mulder revealing that it’s not the first time this has happened and that another logging team vanished in the same area at the turn of the century. In due course, we meet a forestry ranger who respects both the wilderness and the logging companies’ desire to make profits; a logging company representative who is concerned only about the bottom line and couldn’t give a rat’s about trees; and an eco-terrorist who freely acknowledges endangering logging crews but claims to have evidence that the loggers are breaking laws in order to cut down protected old growth pines. It turns out that he’s right, and the felling of certain of these trees releases a type of mite which – due to the quantities in which it is able to swarm – can suck a human being dry in no time flat, later using the dried husk as a cocoon for breeding more of its kind. The only thing that keeps them at bay is light so, when darkness falls, it behoves our heroes to have a light burning. There are many twists and turns in this tale and the end is a particularly equivocal one, leaving the viewer with a sense of disquiet.

There’s a sense of working towards quantifying the Mythology in these four episodes, possibly as a knee-jerk response to the unfortunate events of “Gender Bender”. “E.B.E.” simply lays out a bunch of stuff for the fans, without even trying to massage the material into a coherent narrative, while “Miracle Man” gets completely broken by an injection of unwanted and unnecessary Mythos material – specifically the useless meanderings over Mulder and his sister. Even the ending of “Darkness Falls” is designed to flag notions of shady Government intervention, however it doesn’t damage the preceding episode overall. It’s as if the creative team won network approval after the generally white-bread stories of Disc Two and here they’re frantically making their mark as hard as they can.

Disc Six:

In “Tooms” we have the conclusion of the Eugene Tooms saga. Our vicious mutant comes up for parole and, despite Mulder’s best efforts, he is released once more into an unsuspecting community. Having been deprived of his fifth liver by the Filers of X last time, he immediately sets about obtaining this prized morsel so that he can fall back into his usual thirty-year hibernation. Mulder, however, has other plans. He interferes with Tooms’s machinations several times (during the course of which we seem to be offered the notion that Tooms is attracted by a certain shade of blue, an ill-conceived and unnecessary wrinkle to this villain’s modus operandi) and Tooms finally lashes out and murders his psychotherapist. The race is then on to apprehend him before he beds down for his thirty-year nigh-nighs. It transpires that a shopping mall has been built over his usual haunt, so he builds his bile-nest beneath the escalator; Scully and Mulder locate him there and finish him off by the simple expedient of turning the moving stairs on. Problem, as they say, solved.

“Born Again” is a tale about reincarnation. A cadre of police officers have made-off with a bunch of cash stolen from a crime scene and agree to leave it untouched in a bank for ten years while the heat cools down. One of them has a bad case of conscience about it all so the others bump him off: more cash for the survivors – woo-hoo! The dead guy’s widow re-marries to one of the tontine partners and life goes on. That is, until another cop in the precinct brings in a lost little girl hanging around outside the station. One of the bent cops is asked to find out her particulars and he inadvertently takes a dive through the upstairs window of the precinct building while alone with her in the interrogation room. Slowly, all members of the crew get whacked and Mulder leaps to the conclusion that the little girl is the reincarnation of the conscience-stricken dead cop. I mean, it’s possible, right? You can practically hear Scully’s eyes rolling all through this episode.

With “Roland”, we have an instance of something that will never, ever happen again in the world of television production: the portrayal of handicapped people by actors who are not so afflicted. Nowadays, the first port of call for casting characters such as these would be to find actors who were really disabled in this way, in order to demonstrate that values of equal-opportunity existed within the production house. Is this a kind of Black Face? Handicap Face? Well, it’s something like it and we’ll – thankfully – never see its like again.

The titular character here is a profoundly mentally-handicapped surviving twin, the other half of which pair was a mathematics prodigy and whose deceased head is now being maintained cryogenically for future use. The frozen twin is Hell-bent on finishing a set of equations which will allow an aircraft to be built that could surpass Mach 15, and, to do this, he psychically drives his handicapped brother into writing and testing the equations at the laboratory where he works as a janitor. Oh, and he also forces him to murder all the other scientists who are trying to take credit for his life’s work, too. Luckily, Mulder is on hand to spot the less-than-obvious clues and reveal the solution.

The series ends with “The Erlenmeyer Flask”. This is a twisty Mythology Episode full of the sorts of go-nowhere leads and vanishing evidence favoured by these types of stories. Scully and Mulder are directed by Deep Throat to investigate a high speed car chase which ends in a harbour facility – the police are suspicious of Mulder and send him away, but not before he realizes that the cars in the chase were switched at some point. Following this lead takes them to an experimental monkey lab where they find a taciturn scientist and not much else: he later turns up dead, murdered by a mysterious crew-cut man. Mulder decides to break into the scientist’s home and, while there, answers the telephone and speaks with the missing driver of the crashed car. This encounter leads him to a storage facility full of large tanks containing the unconscious bodies of several identical men. When he later returns here with Scully, all of the evidence has been removed and Deep Throat meets them, reprimanding them for being too slow. Mulder gets huffy and tracks down the missing car-driver only to see him die at the hands of the crew-cut man. Poisonous gas emitted from the driver’s body takes Mulder out and he is taken hostage. Later, Deep Throat contacts Scully, giving her the means to access a mysterious base and steal an alien foetus: this gives them the ability to barter for Mulder’s return. During the exchange, the crew-cut man guns down Deep Throat and leaves Scully and Mulder behind. Mulder rings Scully some days later while recuperating to inform her that the X-Files unit has been shut down. *Phew!*

One reason why I dislike these episodes is that they’re too dense and impenetrable and, rather than being laced throughout the other episodes in the series, are mashed together into hard-to-digest blobs in lumps throughout the season. The narrative aspects are woeful and sometimes – like “E.B.E.” for example – aren’t even real stories; they’re just weird tone poems to the conspirasphere. Also, anything that happens during them of any real consequence inevitably vanishes or – as in this instance, as the last episode in the season – has no consequences at the start of the next season. Everything gets wiped clean and we just start all over again. In a word, they’re frustrating. Back when these episodes were first aired however, we were all novices at the “X-Files” game and hadn’t twigged to the ‘rinse and repeat’ nature of the ongoing series lore.

*****

What’s the takeaway from re-visiting this fannish televisual mainstay? For those interested in TV writing it’s an interesting exercise in how essential connectors within the plot become edited out as understood options in later stories. In this season (and in the second season too – I’ve checked), such activities as signing cars out of the FBI carpool (hi Fran!), hiring rental vehicles, checking into hotels and catching aeroplanes and busses to get to crime scenes, are shown alongside the more outré elements of the investigations. Later seasons assume the fans know how this stuff is done and drop it from the narratives. To my way of thinking, this lessens the credibility of the work, making our main characters seem like super-beings for whom such trivial activities are beneath their notice. Our Filers are willing to call upon experts and to rope them into their investigations also, in ways that they eschew in later seasons – the investigating group at the end of “The Jersey Devil” for example could almost be a “Cthulhu Now” gaming team. Our duo become more self-reliant, almost to the exclusion of everyone else, in later stories.

In line with this, there seem to be more FBI-based experts in these episodes also. Along with them there is a bunch of equipment that they try awfully hard to convince the viewer to be real when it patently is not – audio and indentikit software just does not look like, or do, the sort of things that they achieve in these stories. Graphology, on the other hand, is a seemingly tried-and-true investigative mainstay, the only qualification required being a willingness by the handwriting expert to flirt outrageously with Fox Mulder. Sadly, the amorous graphologists fall by the wayside in due course, also.

This show covers a huge chronological space and over the years the changing nature of society and technology makes investigative techniques displayed in this early season seem odd and downright peculiar. People don’t take photos of everything they see, for instance, because no-one has a mobile telephone with a camera (the ‘phones they do have are monolithic!). Scully finds fingerprints and calls FBI headquarters to tell them that she’ll “modem them over to Washington” at the earliest opportunity. What does this gobbledy-gook even mean? At one point she’s standing in line at a grocery store and, after her purchases are rung up, she writes the store a cheque. A cheque! What the Hell is that? This is definitely a walk down Memory Lane for some of us, but for younger viewers they must be left scratching their heads and wondering what on earth’s happening.

The torches are interesting too. Early on in the season, Scully and Mulder have simple, bog-standard torches. A few episodes later, these are noticeably brighter. Then they get larger, but with massive batteries attached – almost the size of car batteries – and, behind the blinding cones of light they emit, the producers are obviously hoping that we won’t notice. Then they start imperceptibly to shrink down to normal dimensions once more. I’m left wondering, was torch technology propelled forwards simply by the needs of this television program? From one perspective it certainly seems that way.

A final fun derivative from re-watching these early seasons is watching how often they re-use certain actors, hoping that we won’t notice them walking back on in a different hat. Of course, back in the day when an episode of “X-Files” was a once-a-week event on free-to-air TV, the likelihood of us ever noticing was slim to remote. The fact that the same footage of Scully sashaying through the open plan FBI office space could be re-used without any thought that someone might protest, shows how slim this possibility was. An “X-Files” actor might be a second-string FBI agent one week and sleazy john knifed by a spooked streetwalker the next; Jersey Devil munchies one season; dead from a burst blood-vessel while on the potty, later on. Even shady truck drivers like Ranheim – transporting wrecked UFOs in a truck across mainland USA – turn out to be funicular railway operators “ascending to the stars” in the very next season.

What’s most interesting to watch though, is the nebulous way that Scully and Mulder start to crystallise into shape as each episode goes by. These sorts of shows are the creations of many contributing individuals and so the characters get passed from person to person and modified according to the desires and demands of everyone involved. There are writers and directors who definitely wanted Scully and Mulder to get together; there are those for whom this was a least-favourite option; and then there are infinite shades of intention in between. Watching these episodes is like a roller-coaster of nuance as the creators all try to find that sweet spot which would satisfy everybody. Most likely they hit that point at about Season Five, I’m guessing.

This show is pretty fundamental to TV fandom. It is a touchstone for supernatural investigation, regardless of whether you like it particularly, or if you loathe it. It arose during the time of ‘serial-killer chic’, buoyed by such things as “The Silence of the Lambs”, “American Psycho” and everything ever written by Patricia Cornwell. It (along with “Twin Peaks”) rang a change in the depiction of government agents in books, television shows and movies – before the 80s, ‘G-men’ were always faceless drones; here, they began to be personalized in the same manner that Private Investigators were during the 30s and 40s. Without this ground-breaking vehicle there would be no “Supernatural”, no “Buffy, the Vampire Slayer”, nor a slew of other supernaturally-based prime-time investigative TV shows. Re-visiting the first season, it’s fun to see the initial tottering steps taken by the show – where they compromised; where they bent under network pressure; where they took a mis-step – but it’s impressive how true, overall, the show is to its basic premise and how they work to refine and promote that vision.

Review: Wychwood & Hallowdene

MANN, George, Wychwood, Titan Books/Titan Publishing Group Ltd., London, 2017.

Octavo; paperback; 350pp. New.

There are a number of ways to review things. You can come at them with a hypercritical point of view and simply drag something down into oblivion, or there are more upbeat approaches, where every good aspect of a piece is hyped beyond credibility. A good critic always tries to combine elements of both methods. In addition, everybody has their own personal views about things, and these will always colour their approach to critiquing a work. For me, it’s always – first and foremost – important to determine whether or not I found the piece to be entertaining, either emotionally or intellectually. There are certain types of writing which I completely avoid – fantasy writing for example – because the format is irritating to me and so I question myself as to whether I would be able to give an unbiased assessment. A critic’s evaluation must always be considered a personal opinion and never a statement of absolute fact; it’s an analysis which can be taken onboard by the reader or disregarded as they see fit. And this is how it should be.

This is an ominous way to embark upon a review of these two books, but I have a purpose here and I wanted to lay things out with some level of transparency before diving in.

There has been quite a fuss made about these two books and the reviews I was reading convinced me to give them a try. They are touted as being solid modern entries in the canon of occult detective writing and, since I am a fan of that format, I wanted to see what the noise was about. They duly arrived in the mail and I spent the next week meandering my way through them. I have to say that the hype didn’t quite live up to the reality.

If you’ve ever watched an episode of “Midsomer Murders” then you know what you’re letting yourself in for with these books. These are police procedurals set in sleepy Oxfordshire hamlets, replete with all the kinds of stock characters you’d expect to see on “Midsomer”. As you read through them you find yourself quickly spotting the red herrings and identifying who’s next to get horribly killed in some dramatic set-piece murder. I’m never good at spotting ‘whodunnit’ with this type of thing, but even I knew who the culprit was by about halfway through the first mystery, which is never a good thing.

In the first novel, journalist Elspeth “Ellie” Reeves finds herself returning home from London to her mother’s house in the quaint village of Wilsby-Under-Wychwood, after discovering her boyfriend’s infidelities and deciding to make a messy break of things. As she arrives, she sees police activity in the woods nearby and stumbles across a brutal murder scene, only to be frog-marched away by her childhood playmate and now full-grown local police officer, DS Peter Shaw. As she settles into her new situation, they learn that someone is killing local people in manners outlined by a regional myth-cycle known as the Legends of the Carrion King. It transpires that some people in the community are also being forced to commit suicide in awful ways quite distinct from the Carrion King set-pieces, but these are simply rolled into the mass-killing by the investigators despite having a quite separate modus operandi.

This is the “Midsomer” effect going full-bore here: in the real world of crime investigation, it must happen – and not infrequently – that a series of murders might take place at the same time that another series of killings is happening. Police investigators are surely trained to separate different strands of nefariousness and identify the work of different perpetrators; it surely can’t be standard practice to throw subsequent murders onto the same stack and treat them all as a single phenomenon? However, that’s what happens here, and it stretches credibility somewhat. This is either, two murderers with different MOs at work, or one psycho with two distinct ways of working which would be – prima facie – highly unlikely. Our coppers make the unlikely choice, and I was left thinking, “really?”.

I mentioned above that I dislike fantasy writing. The reason for this is that I like the world as it is (or was in the case of historical writing) and starting with a consensual understanding of reality before embarking upon the author’s narrative is how I like things to be. If I have to take on board the fact that there are Elves and Dwarves, or that the physics of the planet conform to the inside of a lava-lamp, then my eyes glaze over: I don’t like being lectured at and the world is already an interesting place, thank you very much. With crime fiction or horror writing, those forms of writing depend on a mutual knowledge of reality and how things work, otherwise, for me, there’s no point writing the stories in the first place. Adding a criminal or supernatural element into an understood world tests the author’s ability to convey that reality accurately as it reacts to these stressors; that’s what makes these types of writing interesting (to me, at least). What George Mann does here however, is overturn our understanding of reality by injecting a massive fantasy subtext into the proceedings and asking us to take it as read.

Mann tells us that the forest of Wychwood, which dominates all of the small villages in the area where his stories occur, was the birthplace of the “Carrion King” legends. This myth cycle is colourful and violent and sadly, put together from whole cloth to serve the local crimes unfolding in this novel. To this end, we are treated to long expository tracts concerning these myths and frankly, they’re dull. Again, “Midsomer” does this very thing – cite a quaint, fictitious, local legend – whenever a murder investigation tiptoes around a supernatural rationale, and it’s trite when they do it as well. If these were actual, real legends, I would have sat up and taken interest; as it was, it just left me cold. Actual local folklore is quite interesting; made-up stuff is not. I direct you to Long Lankin as a case in point.

However, this is not the supernatural element which makes this an occult detective novel. It transpires that our villain has a means of using mirrors to take control of people, with the grisly rationale of making them commit apparent suicide under villainous remote control. Our heroine sees this take place at the end of the book and is able to prevent it, but it – and the two other deaths executed in this fashion – are simply swept under the rug of the larger investigation and filed away. I couldn’t help but think that this was what the book should have been about: the Carrion King supertext should have been abandoned in favour of this far more compelling, but seemingly tacked-on, sub-plot. In the end, the cops ignore it, our heroes ignore it and we, the readers, are asked to ignore it also. Very unsatisfying.

As to the characters themselves, they were about as lacklustre as you could expect. Dialogue in this book is seen as an opportunity to dump massive amounts of expository material, and the actors are all bland and interchangeable, tricked out with tacked-on identifiers to try and differentiate them. Much popular writing these days is of this pre-chewed, easily absorbed quality and I should barely even mention it but for the fact that it, rather than the characters themselves, are what leaps off the page. If there’s any individuality to the author’s style at all, it’s, once again, a wholesale adoption of the “Midsomer Murders” format with all of its bland, by-the-book shortcomings.

In summation, was I entertained? Well, I was diverted - with the exception of having to listen to an entire mythology that was bogus and indulgent – and that was enough to tempt me to read the sequel.

MANN, George, Hallowdene, Titan Books/Titan Publishing Group Ltd., London, 2018.

Octavo; paperback; 336pp. New.

My main reason for picking this up was that the previous book left the two protagonist characters in a “will they? Won’t they?” holding pattern regarding their nascent romantic entanglement and, like a sucker, I wanted to see how that worked out. Turns out, it was just a fait accompli as the sequel opened, but I forged on regardless. I think that Mann actually wants his main characters to be as bloodless as he can possibly make them, for some heretofore indiscernible reason. The other characters in the tale make up for this, however.

This time, Mann doesn’t try to force-feed us a bunch of hokey folklore; at least, the folklore he does deliver is of a suitably local variety, not a vast swathe of Joseph Campbell-cribbing pastiche. Here, we have a large boulder being removed so that neighbourhood development can occur, a rock which – as local legend tells – marks the grave of a spooky witch of bygone ages and keeps her curse upon the village of Hallowdene at bay. Of course, there are those who say, “it’s just superstitious nonsense” and those who cry “Woe! The curse is come upon us!” and thus, shenanigans ensue.

This is a far better story than the one covered in Wychwood. It’s more compact; the characters are a little better drawn, and the story unfolds more naturally. I was sensing though, that someone might have challenged the author to play his cards closer to his chest and make the ‘big reveal’ at the end a little harder to spot. As it is, the villain of the piece is easy to identify because Mann doesn’t bring them into the spotlight at all: if you’re looking for whodunnit, in this case it’s the character with the least amount of screen-time. Because of the determined efforts to keep this person out of view, all of the other red herrings and false leads which get painstakingly constructed just fall by the wayside.

There were some weird imbalances along the way. We spent far too much time with the archaeological team, far too little with the film crew, and none at all with the café owner who was the keystone in the complex web of relationships that surrounded the Hallowdene murders (again, playing his cards too close to his chest). It felt like the author was being deliberately abstruse, and logic was buckling under the weight of it. The supernatural elements of the tale are reserved to one murder suspect being repeatedly possessed by the ghost of the dead witch in an attempt to tell the truth concerning her lynching back in the Seventeenth Century; again, this was noted in passing by the investigating characters and quietly pushed to one side during the solving of the case.

Not that I mind entirely. Splicing the supernatural into the everyday is a high-wire act and needs to be done with care, and this was handled much better than in the previous instalment. I think – personally – Mann has discovered that making one half of your occult detection dynamic duo a police officer is fraught with limitations which put serious brakes on how far you can explore occult activity in a police procedural format. Later adventures might well see DS Shaw pushed a little further into the background, perhaps.

Once again though, we’re in “Midsomer” territory and the sense of just watching a cozy British crime drama is paramount. There’re the local gentry with their hidebound and quirky demonstrations of power over the local region; the struggling and exasperated village business owners with money, time and effort invested in the local community; young and troubled youth trying to break free of societal or parental control and find their own way; and local “villains”, skating the edge of legality and firmly under the police gaze. It’s effortless; it almost writes itself. Unfortunately, since the damned show is on TV at any time you care to tune in, and since the supernatural elements of these stories are soft-pedalled almost into non-existence, it begs the question as to why Mann even bothers?

*****

There is actually a Wychwood Forest in the UK, south of Chipping Norton and west of Oxford. You can look it up on Google Maps and it certainly has an evocative and spooky atmosphere about it. Sadly, much of this moodiness is not conveyed in either of these books to any great effect. I can certainly see the inspirational qualities, but these seem to have been lost in the desire to tell a pedestrian country-house murder of the TV variety. These books are okay in their own way: they retail plots that begin and end in a mostly satisfying fashion, albeit with supernatural elements that are served poorly and which sit uncomfortably in the police-procedural context. However, if you want a really good, compelling crime story set in a place called “Wychwood” (Wychwood-under-Ashe, to be precise), you’d be better served picking up a copy of Agatha Christie’s Murder is Easy (Known as Easy to Kill in the US). That’s your best bet.

Castro...

From a certain slant, the character of Old Castro in HPL’s “The Call of Cthulhu” looks like it was named after an associate of Lovecraft’s whom he met during his stay in New York. I say that it looks that way but there’s a bunch of textual (and contextual) evidence that works against this idea which even HPL’s biographer L. Sprague de Camp overlooked. It’s likely – on balance - that Adolphe Danziger de Castro was not the inspiration behind the character (or, at least, its name), but from where, having eliminated this option, might it have sprung?

The name Castro is a very old one, originating in Spain. It literally means “castle” and was assigned in its early iterations to those who lived in, built or maintained such edifices. There are Italian, French and Portuguese versions of the name and variants in other associated dialects as well. Additionally, it’s one of the oldest Spanish immigrant names in mainland USA, being first recorded in Santa Barbara, California, in 1794. These days, genealogical sources for the history of the Castro clan are concentrated in Spain and along the Western seaboard of North America, Hawaii, and the Philippines. Of course, there are Castros all over the planet, and evidence of their multitudinous existences can be found alongside them; but evidential historical material for the various branches of the clan are singularly to be found in these areas. As Spanish names go, it’s probably not exactly the equivalent of “Smith” in English, in terms of being as common as muck, but it’s certainly close.

Lovecraft was probably looking for a fairly standard Spanish name for this fellow in his narrative; he was probably wanting to create a character who was an immigrant of some kind, an outsider from somewhere else, and the logical options for a place of origin were all the homes of Spanish-speaking communities – Mexico; Central or South America; the Caribbean, or Cuba. This last country might have been floating high in HPL’s thoughts.

Cuba was going through various ructions in the early part of last century. It went from being a protectorate of the US, to an independent state (with heavy US oversight), to a Republic, across the first 40 or so years of the Twentieth Century and there was a heavy cross-pollination of people and ideas between the two countries. Cuba was a key place for Americans to visit after the introduction of Prohibition, and the illicit importation of rum and other alcohol from Cuba and the rest of the Caribbean was a giant money-spinner for the US criminal community. After the stock-market crash in 1929, New York was reported to have been overrun with Cuban bartenders looking for work – obviously, these last events post-date Lovecraft’s crafting of his tale, but it shows the links that existed between the two countries at the time.

Fidel Castro and his socialist power-plays were decades away from Lovecraft in time when he was putting together this story; however, the name was common enough in the Spanish-speaking world that it would have made sense to him to use it for this particular character, underpinning his creation’s low social standing and status. As a name for a lowly commoner, a humble labourer or drifter, it’s more than suitable; but what inclined him towards the name as appropriate for someone steeped in illegality, or criminality? It’s clear from his correspondence that, for most of his life, HPL looked down upon anyone ‘foreign’ to US society, or existing outside of his own bubble of genteel, white, Anglo-Saxon refinement; so combining notions of the ‘commoner’ alongside those of the ‘criminal’ in the creation of Old Castro was probably just instinctual as far as he was concerned. However, there was a very famous Nineteenth Century criminal incident involving a person with the name “Castro” that might just have tipped the balance for Lovecraft as to whether or not to use the name in this instance.

We know, just to get this out of the way right from the start, that Lovecraft considered himself a ‘man out of time’; that he would have liked to have time-travelled back to the Nineteenth Century – or earlier – to an era when he felt his nature and capabilities were more suited to the life which he would liked to have led. It’s not unreasonable therefore, to infer that he would have read up on those periods where he felt himself to be more spiritually at ease. If he did – and most of us think he did - it’s highly likely that he would have stumbled across the kerfuffle that was the case of the Tichborne Claimant.

*****

While few nowadays might have heard of this Nineteenth Century scandal, at the time it was a huge affair and its ramifications – both social and legal - were serious and wide-ranging. British society was sharply divided on the question and a small industry of publishing and other forms of income generation to fund legal challenges coloured society at all levels. It spawned fraternal organisations working both for and against the claims of those involved and influenced media and governmental discussions within England and throughout the Colonies. Essentially, it was the tale of an incidence of fraudulent impersonation.

In April of 1854, Roger Tichborne, heir to the ancient and highly lucrative Tichborne title and estates, went missing when the ship in which he was travelling was wrecked soon after leaving Valparaiso. His mother – French and living in Paris – was beside herself with grief, refused to acknowledge that her son had died, and sent out notices across the globe asking for information as to his whereabouts. Her prime motivation was that some of the people aboard the foundered ship were rescued by another passing vessel which later offloaded these survivors in Sydney. It was assumed that Roger Tichborne was one of these and, for reasons unknown, had decided to lie low and to not notify his relatives of his status. In the meantime, the title passed on to another Tichborne, who proceeded to drink himself into oblivion.

In Australia, eager opportunists were on the alert for anyone who might fit the description of the blue-eyed, slightly-built, dark-haired young man, and a reputable lawyer thought he’d found the fellow working as a butcher in Wagga Wagga. He wrote to the Dowager and told her of his discovery, keen for her to forward funds which would help her putative son pull himself together and get back home. Eventually, she agreed to do so and - after a wild period of partying in Sydney, funded by the promise of the soon-to-be-gained inheritance – the so-called "Tichborne Claimant" went to London, prior to journeying on to France, there to confront his mother and be accepted as the rightful heir. It couldn’t fail; after all there was little to differentiate the two men:

Some of you might have spotted the obvious error. Roger Tichborne had been a willowy, dewy-eyed sort of a lad, while the Claimant was 25-stone (160kgs) of work-hardened muscle, running swiftly to fat, with reddish hair and grey eyes. Roger had been raised in Paris and spoke French fluently (and spoke heavily French-accented English); the Claimant knew not a word of the language. Further, he could never remember the first name of his supposedly beloved mother. Incredibly though - and probably driven to do so through grief - at their first meeting, she claimed vehemently that he was her son, returned miraculously from the sea.

Inevitably, the matter went before the courts. Both sides in the debate plundered the list of Roger Tichborne’s known associates looking for those who were prepared to sign affidavits as to the true identity of the Claimant (and paying exorbitant bribes to get the right responses). Meanwhile, the Claimant’s movements and activities in Australia were examined with a fine tooth-comb and it swiftly turned out that he’d shot himself in the foot almost before the swindle had even begun: upon arriving back in London, the first thing he did after disembarking was to contact his old family, the Ortons, and he was eventually unmasked as Arthur Orton, butcher, from a long line of English butchers. The trial lasted two years from 1873 to 1874 and the jurors found against Orton, who was sentenced to seven years in gaol for fraud, concurrent with a seven year sentence for perjury (he had, during the trial, defamed Lady Radcliffe, Roger’s ex-fiancée by claiming to have slept with her; turns out, Roger had an unfortunate deformation of his penis which meant that this was highly unlikely). Orton saw out his sentence, then wrote a book explaining why he’d done what he did. This led to a career on vaudeville stages in England and the US where, after getting up and telling everyone who he was, the audience was invited to pelt him with rotten fruit. He died in 1898.

*****

So, what does this have to do with HPL and his character from “The Call of Cthulhu”? Interestingly, after Orton first fled England, he tried to lay low in various occupations, all of which failed, including a stint as a sheep rustler. Because of this last career choice, he had to keep a low profile, moving to the (then) remote town of Wagga Wagga and changing his name to “Thomas Castro”. Until presented with the temptation to ride the Claimant ticket as far as it would take him, he was content with this assumed name and, even after his association with the Ortons was revealed during the trial, tried reverting to this assumed identity rather than be exposed as a member of his own opportunistic clan (it was his own brother who shopped him to the Tichbornes for a large pay-day).

Despite the outcome of the trial, the case resonated long afterwards through British society. In legal circles, the matter of his sentencing was considered contentious, the concurrent sentences being seen as a watering-down of the Might of the Law and the arguments about whether or not it was appropriate went on interminably. Tichborne Claimant memorabilia had been selling like hotcakes and, even today, fetches good money (a Tichborne Claimant legal defense bond sells for about $150 these days, and his cartes-de-visite are to be found everywhere). The idea of a lower class man risking everything on the throw of a dice just to blacken the eye of the nobility stoked a fire throughout working class England and cries of “Justice” for the "deprived" Claimant were heard right through to the next century. For the Tichbornes, it was a hollow victory, as all of their cash had been squandered to pay for bribes and legal costs.

I’m not certain as to which side of the debate Lovecraft would have weighed in on, but I’m fairly sure – as conservative as he was – that he would have deplored the actions of "Castro". For HPL, social class was a fait accompli, and someone trying to better themselves through the tawdry involvement of the courts and an assumed persona would have been something that would not have sat right with him. Noble bloodlines, familial inheritance and long genealogies are things that Lovecraft would have championed; not for him the “rags-to-riches” Hollywood happy ending of a Preston Sturges melodrama. Further, this was a tale of attempted corruption, of an assault upon the pure lineage of a genteel line of descent. The whole issue smacks of the type of hated miscegenation which, before New York, would have made Lovecraft’s blood boil. And it would have informed the character of “Old Castro” to a tee.

Did HPL know about the Tichborne Claimant affair? We’ll probably never know (although I’m sure someone out there with an intimate knowledge of his correspondence will tell me!). However, the scandal was huge and occupied almost sixty years’ worth of broadside real estate, even following "Castro’s" death, after he returned, broken and humiliated, from his tours of America. But there’s another reason why the matter might have leapt on to Lovecraft’s radar: the Tichborne family line was haunted:

In the Thirteenth Century, Lady Mabella Tichborne lay dying. As her time drew near, she implored her husband to instigate a tradition whereby, each Lady Day (March 25th), loaves of bread would be given freely to whomsoever showed up to the estate to claim them. This would come to be called the “Tichborne Dole”. Lord Tichborne, grumpy old bugger that he was, said that he would allocate grain for this purpose from as many fields as she could walk around carrying a burning torch. She managed to drag herself off her deathbed and crawl around a 23-acre field north of Tichborne Park which, to this day, is still known as “The Crawls”. Afterwards, she cursed the family line before dying, saying that, if the Dole were ever discontinued, thereafter the family would produce seven sons who would themselves only produce daughters, thus destroying the clear line of familial descent. The Dole was interrupted in 1821, supposedly activating the curse, which led directly, some say, to the ruination of the family that took place thereafter. You don’t have to have read “The Rats in the Walls” to know that this sort of thing was grist for Lovecraft’s mill and that, if he’d caught wind of it, he would have followed it up.

*****

This is all just supposition because, as I’ve already said, there’s no way to prove any of it. Most likely, HPL picked the name 'Castro' randomly from the ‘phone book and just liked the sound of it. It just seems odd to me that the character has a name at all, when the story would have sailed on equally as well if he’d been nameless. I like to think that Lovecraft was a little less arbitrary than that. This is a writer, remember, who took the time to research what publications were being printed in Sydney in 1925 (The Bulletin wasn’t quite the sort of journal that HPL thought it was but, whatever) and where the Australian Museum was located in the same city while putting together the exact same story. He named this guy for a reason; we might never know what that reason was, but we can still speculate.

All we do know is that it wasn’t – apparently – Danziger.

Review: "The Witch"

 

EGGERS, Robert, “The Witch – A New England Folktale”, A24/Parts & Labor/RT Features/Rooks Nest Entertainment/Maiden Voyage & Motte Street Pictures/Code Red Productions/Scythia Films/Special Projects, 2015.

An ongoing complaint that I have with horror movies of late is that they don’t really say anything new. There’s a lot of pretty photography, some swell acting and interesting use of special effects (both digital and otherwise), but on the whole it’s all in support of material which is pretty lacklustre. The recent version of “The Colour Out of Space” springs to mind as does “Midsommar” – very nice to look at but nothing we haven’t seen before. Here too, we have the same notion – this is a very attractive piece of work but the story, the issues it wrestles with, the themes and subtext, are all tired old notions and tropes that offer nothing new to what has been done elewhere. It interests me to note that the production house A24 helped make this thing (along with a mind-boggling slew of other companies) and that they also had a hand in making “Midsommar” as well as Eggers’s next offering “The Lighthouse”. Is the creation of cinematic white bread fare (“Lighthouse” excepted) their raison d’être I wonder?

This isn’t necessarily a bad thing from a certain point of view. Many old-time film staples are no longer available, in any kind of format. Old ground-breaking movies are referenced as seminal but aren’t screening anywhere, able to be purchased on disc or tape, or streaming on any platform, even YouTube (although what IS available on YouTube is pretty amazing). Taking these old horror stand-bys and putting them through a 21^st Century production routine is one way of ensuring that the old ideas don’t disappear into the haze of current blockbuster fare – there’s a reason we have radio stations that play Golden Oldies. However, it seems to me that these “new” films rarely take the time to acknowledge their roots and to tip their hats to the masters of yore. Memories are long however, and there are those of us who are simply left scratching our heads and saying “and…?”.

Basically, if you’ve seen “Children of the Corn” or “The Wicker Man”, you’ve seen “Midsommar”; if you’ve seen “Creepshow” or “The Thing from Another Planet”, you’ve seen “The Colour Out of Space”. Here, if you’ve seen “The Crucible” by Arthur Miller, then you’ve seen “The Witch”. It’s not as if the storylines are necessarily the same – if fact they’re suitably different – but the issues, the tropes, the way the plots unfold, the issues which they dangle from, are all standard and well-thumbed. In fact, they’re expected, to such a degree that these films must only be considered pastiche versions of earlier material, with an unacknowledged fealty to what has gone before.

There’re are some caveats with this movie. The long list of production companies that starts the film is a clear indicator that this is a first feature from an upcoming director. When you’re new, you have to hustle a lot to get funds for your project, and here it’s clear that Eggers spent a long time schmoozing before his film got green lit. A common feature of this practice is that you don’t want to scare away the money by doing something that’s too ‘out there’, that’s untried and which may not induce a return on investment by attracting viewers. Therefore, it’s not surprising that Eggers’s first feature is somewhat comfortable; that it’s a safe option in many respects: we have to acknowledge that there would be no “Lighthouse” without the “Witch” paving the way.

That being said, Eggers does work hard to make his piece seem a little bit above the herd. He is a stickler for period detail and there’s plenty to enjoy here. The language especially rings true here, taken as it is from old journals and court case transcriptions: if you’re going to build characters from their dialogue you can do worse than use the actual words of those who lived when your story is set. The result is very satisfying and works better than just having the actors bung on a cod-Brit accent and tossing in handfuls of “thees” and “thous”. Of course, using actual Brits to portray your nascent Americans is a smart step also. There are nice period details outside of the language too – the wardrobe and set design has all been obviously well-researched and the functioning of this stuff is nicely established.

Eggers likes having animals act in his flicks and this caused me huge problems during “The Lightouse”. I had to stop the film at the point when Young Thomas thrashes the seagull to death and I spent a long time checking up whether or not they had actually killed a bird on film – thankfully they did not. Here in “The Witch” there are a lot of animals involved – several goats, a horse, a dog and some ravens – and I was bit leery of some of it. There are at the end, several goat carcases lying about which always gives me pause – the sophistry that “these are animals which will probably be killed anyway so let’s record it for posterity”, is a thin and nasty one as far as I’m concerned and needs to be stopped, otherwise we should just go all Michael Cimino on our movies and kill anything that moves for the sake of cinema verité (I don’t think). This is cinema people, not snuff video production. There are standards. There are actually moments in “the Witch” where it’s clear that no animals are involved in some of the scenes where they are crucial, and that their involvement is implied rather than shown. Black Phillip’s attack on William is revealed as a jump-cut and the resulting collapse of the burgeoning log pile is filmed so that neither the actor or the animal – it’s clear – are anywhere near the potential danger. It’s nowhere near as bad as the fact that Barry Lyndon’s leg is actually stuck through the bed he’s lying on at the end of the eponymous film, but it’s ballpark.

Along with this there’s a confusing moment after Thomasin and Caleb are lost in the forest and their horse – Bert – is scared off. Caleb tries to re-locate it and only finds a mutilated body fallen into a thicket at a later stage. I had to stop the film at his point because it wasn’t clear if the body was that of the horse or of the dog (which had also fled from the witch’s assault): it was far in the background, fuzzy and indistinct. Kudos for sparing us the trauma of a dying animal but points off for nebulosity.

The atmosphere of the film is suitably moody and dark, in line with the tempestuous emotions of the players. Eggers’s film crew, under the guidance of Jarin Blashcke, are top notch and really deliver the goods here, while offering a promise of what was to come in their next project. The supernatural elements are all nicely low-key, allowing an equivocal perspective on the events while also delivering some good shocks. The apple was a particularly nice touch, I thought. The ending felt a little twee to me – if the reveal that (*gasp!*) the witches are real was supposed to be startling, then it was killed at birth (much like the infant Samuel at the start, which was genuinely alarming and which actually de-bags the cats that the ending was relying upon). I was left wondering why we were being asked to be shocked by something which, from the beginning, was a fait accompli.

All of this aside, this is an entertaining work but, if you’re the sort of person who gets stressed by the tangles of bigoted religious distrust upon which “The Crucible” is built, then you might want to steel yourself. Eggers takes old cloth and makes new jackets from it – not as ineptly as in that despicable version of the “The Scarlet Letter” that starred Demi More and Gary Oldman (shudder!) – in fact, it’s quite an engaging piece. But nevertheless, it’s still old ground being covered.

Three-and-a-half Tentacled Horrors.

*****

Postscript: The marketing for this film is really annoying. If you look it up online you’ll see a cool image of a goat’s head (Black Phillip) and the standard title and tagline. But when I bought the DVD, the cover here in Australia is a cheesy shot of a naked chick walking through the woods under a full moon (as seen above). I mean, who makes these shit decisions? I’d rather have the goat’s head image than yet another cheesecake-y soft-porn shot that makes me uncomfortable when I front up to the cash register. All I can say is that marketing types have filthy, dirty little minds that inevitably run to lowest denominator thinking. This film is not about naked chicks walking through forests; it’s about something else. I refuse to even consider the possibility that the promoters of this DVD actually watched the thing – they just looked at some screen grabs and said, “that’ll do it – the shot with the naked chick”. Sheesh!

The other point that bothers me is the amount of flak the title gets for printing the word “witch” with two V’s rather than a W. Lots of commentators bitch about how, by the time this film is set, W’s were in common parlance and no longer cobbled together from unused V’s. Now, that might be true, but when you’re pilgrim settlers on uncharted shores, your available stocks of movable type are limited and, if you’ve lost your W, then two Vs will do it. Cut these guys some slack!

Hobo Signs...

In the aftermath of the Civil War in America, many displaced people – some the victims of war; some freed slaves, or those seeking freedom - took to the roads looking for places to live, to lay low, or to start new lives. Much of the movement of these displaced people coincided with the expansion of railroad networks and the growth of industry in the post-War era; the homeless wanderers made their way across the country by means of hopping illegally onto railcars and “riding the rails” to wherever the trains were headed. As a group, this itinerant underclass became known as “Hobos” and they were a feature of the American landscape right up until the end of the 1930s.

In line with the pioneering literature of the country – from dime store cowboy novels to the loftier heights of such works as Huckleberry Finn – the lifestyle of the hobos became suffused with romantic notions of freedom and of being footloose – not tied down by the tiresome exigencies of a tedious workaday lifestyle. Hobos took on the sheen and romance of the European Troubadours, becoming a gypsy race free to roam and do as they pleased, without having to answer to any higher power. Of course, there was the downside to this lifestyle, in that it was based on a certain level of illegality – flouting carriage laws as they pertained to rail networks, and some petty larceny in order to avoid starvation – and a degree of danger – of being run over by a train, or of being beaten up by zealous law enforcement agents – but this was considered a fair exchange for being free to do as one chose.

In cinematic circles, this romantic sheen was all too clear - performers such as Charlie Chaplin, Laurel and Hardy, Buster Keaton and W.C. Fields, along with many others, created characters and made films glorifying the gleefully shambolic lifestyle of the hobo. In fact, the down-at-heel, hardscrabble homeless clown became an entertainment staple informing all kinds of media representation from blockbuster movies to Disney comics.

Hobos were said to have their own codes of governance – particular rail networks were jealously guarded by hobo factions who prevented others from using them – and to have their own argot in order to speak without the uninitiated overhearing what was being discussed. Such notions have been the tradition in many underworld societies across the planet from the earliest times and finding these associations within hobo lore is hardly surprising. Along with a vocabulary of jargonistic terms however, hobos are almost unique in having their own written form of secret communication, a system called “Hobo Signs”.

These signs were a collection of symbols that could be quickly and easily scrawled in chalk, or scratched, on walls, telegraph poles, fences and other community features so as to impart information about the locality to the initiated. A short search online will bring up many complex syllabaries of these signs collected from many sources and a facility in using them can be gained in fairly short order. Using the symbols, hobos could warn each other of the presence and temperament of dogs or other building occupants; could point the way to local campsites; and could identify good places where trains could be jumped, amongst other crucial information.

Some commentators claim that the system was merely a simple and useful means whereby wandering individuals - down on their luck and just looking to get by - could help keep each other from harm. However, as with most things of this nature, some factions could turn the benign system to dark ends and, as a result, many symbols arose which were of benefit to that subset of hobo-kind referred to as “yeggs”, or hobos who survived by means of breaking and entering buildings and from thievery. Ultimately, a dark tone of criminality suffused the code system.

The symbols were made available to young people through the American scouting movement who included the syllabary in their guide-books as a way of identifying local hobo activity: such codes were often thought to be educational to young minds who were also taught other code systems from semaphore, to Native American pictograms to Sherlock Holmes’s “Dancing Man” cipher. But here’s the kicker: the Hobo Sign code was not real.

*****

Many people in American history spent time on the road, living rootless lives and freewheeling their way across the country, illegally riding the trains. Among them were full-time hobos such as Jack Black (not THAT Jack Black), Joe Hill (not THAT Joe Hill), Bertha “Boxcar Bertha” Thompson and writer, Jim Tully; and other part-time hobos such as Woodie Guthrie, Jack London, Harry Partch, Louis l’Amour, Jack Kerouac and Robert Mitchum, among many others. None of these people mentioned, or recorded in their memoirs, ever having encountered a system of information transmission which helped them make their way across the country. In fact, the closest they come to it is Jack London’s memory about “monicas” (aka, monikers) being used:

“Water-tanks are tramp directories. Not all in idle wantonness do tramps carve their monicas, dates, and courses. Often and often have I met hoboes earnestly inquiring if I had seen anywhere such and such a ‘stiff’ or his monica. And more than once I have been able to give the monica of recent date, the water-tank, and the direction in which he was then bound. And promptly the hobo to whom I gave the information lit out after his pal. I have met hoboes who, in trying to catch a pal, had pursued clear across the continent and back again, and were still going.”

In this sense, the “monica” is the equivalent of the modern graffiti artists’ “tag”, but with the more prosaic function of simply letting others know about who had passed through, when, and to where they were headed.

From the 1890s (when the term “hobo” arose in California) through to the end of the 1930s, newspapers reported sightings of hobo signs in local communities and even printed photos of hobos drawing the signs on walls and telephone poles – these were invariably staged by journalists filling a slow news day. Oftentimes partial syllabaries were published along with such fare in an attempt to instill local fear of the homeless within the community.

Ultimately, this is why the notion of a hobo sign language arose: America is a place which prides itself on the idea of everyone having a fair go, of everyone being able to achieve their goals by means of determination and hard work; an underclass of freedom-loving iconoclasts who flip the bird to this notion of the American Dream is undesirable to the status quo. A sign language which reveals just how the hobo community supposedly dupes and cons the average householder in order to slack off from responsible productivity is an object lesson to the citizens. This false cipher gives license, on some level, to the average American to despise the homeless and unemployed outsiders amongst them and, with impunity and justification, treat them with harsh – even brutal - disrespect. As sinister as the Hobo Signs might seem themselves, their purpose in being made is far more sinister again. Protocols of the Elders of Zion, anyone?

The American Boy Scouts were given this information as a spur to keep them from dropping out and deciding to jump off the Capitalist treadmill, instead adopting a slacker lifestyle (as we would term it nowadays) forged by sponging off others in the glamorously cool way depicted by Chaplin and others in liberal Hollywood. It’s highly likely that the Hobo Signs were derived by their conservative creators from Native American pictogram forms that proliferated among the Plains and Pueblo Indians (and other nations): this is in itself ‘marginalization by association’ and adds extra layers of wickedness onto the whole process. In fact, since to create the symbols and their meanings their originators would have to have had a level of understanding about hobos, the homeless, and their lifestyle, the stunning lack of empathy towards this subsection of the community that they reveal is truly gob-smacking in its cruelty.

*****

So, what does this have to do with Call of Cthulhu and the idea of a world infested by the Lovecraft Mythos? Well, as much as tentacular horrors from outer space don’t really exist in the world (as far as we know), other unreal things might also inhabit our roleplaying worlds with impunity. In a fantasy world – or a fictional recreation of the factual one – such things as the Hobo Signs might be real, and function as their creators had intended. A tale of Mythos horror might well be revealed by the Investigators stumbling upon a cryptic communication being passed by itinerant drifters. The symbols indicate that there is “bad water” at a particular campsite: in what way is the water “bad” exactly? Investigators might follow directions given them by a dubious character only to encounter a hobo sign telling them to “run away!”: what do they do? A party might even adopt the symbols as a means of covertly discussing logistical or other issues in the course of their adventures. And what if the Hobo Signs were not in fact being used by hobos at all, but by some other, darker, malign and not-quite-human element of society…?

It’s a bit disillusioning to discover that something I read years ago in my Childcraft Encyclopedia - and which I took as gospel – turns out to be so much horse-pucky; however, the true nature of the phenomenon is illuminating and, on balance, hardly surprising. That being said, other aspects of the hobo lifestyle – their code of conduct and ethos, their jargon (much of which has passed into vernacular American English) and the lives of the famous among them – are true, and they throw illuminating spotlights onto the world in the times during which Lovecraft wrote and in which Lovecraftian stories are set. As usual, it’s an object lesson in learning to sift the evidence of history wisely…

Review: "The Lighthouse"

EGGERS, Robert, “The Lighthouse”, A24 Films LLC/Regency Enterprises/RT Features/Parts & Labor Productions, 2019.

Now, this is more like it.

I was beginning to think that the horror genre, at least in terms of cinema, was becoming a pre-chewed slab of James Wan-styled inconsequence. Everything was turning on sinister poppets and dead nuns set in pastiche previous decades trying too hard to be authentic. There didn’t seem to be a genuine vision out there, trying to find its own way through the morass. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, there is a fair deal of interest out there in the genre and in taking it in new directions; none of it seems to be making it to the big screen, however. How good then, to discover something like this.

“The Lighthouse” is Eggers’s second full-length feature and is also (as was his first film) set in the New England area of America’s East Coast (I feel I need to be specific about this – most places where the British established colonies have regions named ‘New England’; Americans seem to think they are unique in this regard when they quite patently are not - the southern coastal region of New South Wales, for example, is also called “New England”). The scene is a lonely lighthouse on a rugged shoreline and the characters consist of two dour and weathered men both named Thomas (although initially, we are introduced to the younger of them as “Ephraim”). This set-up is hugely claustrophobic and lends itself immediately to all kinds of psychological distortion, since it turns out that at least one - or both - of them go quite loopy.

Adding to this closed-in feeling, the entire film is shot in monochrome, in a ratio of 1.19:1 (making each shot almost square) and using special lenses which modify red tones, causing them to darken significantly. This means that all imperfections in the actors’ skins are highlighted, giving them a craggy, beaten and slovenly look – perfect for two blokes living in hard weather on the far backside of the world. Every frame of this film feels like an old-time photograph come to life and this is a revelation. Adding to this, the dialogue is all taken from original sources, patterned after actual logs and accounts written by people of the period. It sounds a bit cod-pirate initially, but once you’re in the swing of it, it works beautifully.

In terms of casting, two better actors couldn’t have been chosen. “Old” Thomas is played by Willem Defoe who inhabits the role of the Ancient Mariner to perfection, while “Young” Thomas is portrayed by Robert Pattinson. Now, Pattinson is not my go-to guy for anything, really - he irritates the be-jeezus out of me more often than he doesn’t – but here, he’s perfect. He looks right; he sounds right; he’s just right for the part, as much as it pains me to say it. Of course, I watched all of the special features on the disc and the interviews with him talking about the role were just as I imagined they would be – affected; bored; self-obsessed – so it just goes to show that, when pressed, he’s a better actor than he claims not to be (he’s spent a bunch of time in the media recently claiming that he “doesn’t know how to act” – he’s lying, folks, and here’s the proof).

Defoe has that tried and tested ability to go from disdainful patriarch to grinning maniac in a heartbeat which has worked for him time and again across his career and here it not only works a treat but it feels real; multi-dimensional. Nothing rings false and both of these guys pitch to the back row in terms of their performances. Just watching them both chew up the gorgeous, weather-beaten scenery is worth the price of admission.

The narrative arc of this film is taken from a real historical event which happened in Pembrokeshire in Wales, in 1800-1801. Two lighthouse-keepers (or “wickies” as they called themselves), both named Thomas – Howell and Griffith - began a four-week stint at the Smalls Lighthouse situated 32 kilometres off the coast. The two were known to harbour animosity towards each other, inevitably falling to violent argument whenever they found themselves in each other’s company. A short illness affected the older Thomas after their arrival and, in the teeth of a rising gale, forced him to succumb. The younger man, fearing that investigation would mark him as the man’s murderer, kept the body in a box and lit the emergency beacon, signaling for help. Unfortunately, a savage storm prevented all boats from mounting such a rescue and, after the rotting body became unbearable to co-habit with, the remaining wickie lashed the box to the companionway railing surrounding the light and the elements took their toll upon it. At one point, the dead man’s arm protruded from its makeshift coffin, flailing around in the wind and causing a nearby ship to halt its rescue attempt – despite the emergency beacon – because they interpreted the waving arm as a sign that all, in fact, was well. The pounding of this same dead hand against the lighthouse window drove the remaining Thomas to the brink of madness and he was later rescued, after the storm abated, white-haired and gibbering. The event altered lighthouse-keeping policy from that point forward, ensuring that three men, rather than two, were assigned to each beacon from then on.

Much of this scenario has made its way into this film: the embittered and angry Thomases; the paired wickies; the monumental storm preventing rescue – it’s all here. Added to this is the almost unbearable confinement suffered by both men as they try to navigate the enclosed space which houses them. The Older Thomas is high-handed and imperious, citing his longer period of employment as evidence of his higher status, and careless about his personal habits and their effect upon the Younger Thomas (there is much farting and other noxious forms of scatology on offer here). Young Thomas has a dark secret which is slowly revealed as things progress and with which he wrestles guiltily, eventually coming to a kind of confession which seals the older man’s doom (Old Thomas treats the issue trivially and uses it rather rashly against the younger man). Young Thomas becomes obsessed with the light, access to which is denied him by the older man as a symbol of his experience and privilege, and his usurpation of power and claiming of ownership forms the bulk of the second half of the tale. There is some playing around with the notion that Older Thomas represents Proteus, the sea god, from Greek mythology, while Younger Thomas symbolizes Prometheus, the notorious stealer of holy fire: there are nods to all of this, but none of it is heavy-handed. Most of the more outré elements can be interpreted as Younger Thomas simply losing his mind and the carefully orchestrated equivocation of this material gives the piece extra strength and punch.

In the lead-up to this film’s launch I was hearing all sorts of Lovecraftian whispers that it was tied-in somehow to the Mythos. Sure, there are some tentacles and a pelagean creature (again, probably only in Young Thomas’s head) but, along with the New English association, much of this turned out to be – thankfully! – just some eager fan-boy’s hopefulness. If there’s a bit of this film to which I took exception, it’s the killing of the seagull, which is horrific, and I was truly thankful to learn that it was done using special effects – despite there being no “No Animals Were Harmed…” disclaimers in the credits, which was a bit disturbing to note.

In the final analysis, this is an excellent and stylish piece of work that is very much worth your time in checking out. It has nothing to do with Lovecraft and the Mythos - despite what the breathless hordes are panting - but don’t let that put you off: it's its own beast and a deliciously horrid one at that.

Five Tentacled Horrors from me.