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And so Flixster is evicting the few who remain.
Thanks to everyone. Much thanks.
Many hours on this site ...
Be seein' yall then, out there, out in the dark
Love to Brisbane especially, lest I forget.
And to the desert
You're thinking: "they updated the original ... with an all black cast?!?" and you would be right. Surprisingly though this version offers competent take on by now hallowed material with engaging musical numbers and winning portrayals. There only one drawback really that keeps this one buried in the dustbin of forgotten films and that's Diana Ross' age. She's the elephant in the room, almost nearly talented enough to make you forget, but not quite enough. Misses it by that much.
Elvis Presley came along like a tsunami of social change, the strings on the puppets of popular entertainment not simply apparent but worn and frayed as well. Presley was THE proverbial breath of fresh air. And the powers that be were more than nervous, they were rattled down to the roots of hair on their chinny chin chins. The move to send The Pelvis to the army was as calculated as move to defang a monster as ever there was. What remains anymore, beyond the echoes of classic rock internet channels, is this nigh forgotten bit of Americana. Ann Margret steals the show as the girl chosen to lay a kiss on the bull icon immediately before they remove his particulars. Fittingly, music numbers are the highlight here, but nothing dangerous enough to suggest revolution.
In the post-apocalyptic future survival in the barren wastes means searching for grub wherever you can, but a young man wants ... err ... more, if you know what I mean. A telepathic dog with a radar tuned for such sure comes in handy. What's the moral of the tale? True pulp sci-fi don't need no stinkin' moral. A cult classic with more questions than answers, but okay.
Although greatly ballyhooed the work is finally only a so-so effort, plants from space reminding us to certainly always finish yer salad. In the meantime I got the feeling that Howard Keel was the only Hollywood that could be got ... and that they shoulda passed on him and picked some local talent, as lifeless a performance as ever seen given. What's he doing in a sci-fi anyway? Here is a work dying, crying, to be repackaged, re-done.
Raymond Massey (with his nigh patented homesapien superior act set on eleven) leads the cast in a glorious yet timely visualization of Herbert George Wells forecast for mankind's future. In it, Wells predicts World War ll, space travel, television and all sorts of modern day taken-for-granted-now stuff, years before any of it actually existed, a straight talking Nostradamus. He's wrong about some few minor details, but it's easily forgivable compared to how right the man was. Put this on a double feature with Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey.