Scene IV

This scene is what I believe Hollywood calls 'business'. No action, lots of fun and frolics (literally). It doesn't move the plot forward, other than to establish the foundation for the love sub-plot.

Altair IV at night, oh what a beautiful sight. OK so it’s a gratuitous night shot; nothing wrong with slipping in a bit of landscape. Great westerns did it all the time.

We get our first good view of C-57D’s ponderous landing foot and its tri-stair support system. It looks awesome. Shame about the humans wandering around spoiling the scene. If you concentrate you can hear the FX crew rolling their eyes.

Wait…what? Now it’s morning. 

The crew are in the process of taking the Thanksgiving magnet out of the mechanical oven. And judging by the smug faces it’s cooked to perfection. Cooky, naturally, is all nervous and in people’s way. He wants to make sure he sufficiently basted the metallic bird. The Captain does like his atomic cracklin’ nice and crispy. It takes what looks like a tarmac machine to transport the feast to the al fresco dining table. This is the aforementioned tractor. It looks as inept as its agricultural cousin. As predicted in SCENE II, rescue vehicle it ain’t. 

Whilst the crew set up for dinner, we see that Robby has arrived. But he’s not alone, oh no. In the passenger seat is Alta, dressed to kill in a sequined outfit that makes it hard to tell where the dress end and Alta begins. Presumably this is deliberate, in order to give the impression that she’s naked. Naturally the first person to spot a potentially naked woman near the ship is Jerry Farman. 

Now for some slapstick. 

Really this is quite important in a metaphysical way. This film contains the sort of off-screen violence that Alien made good use of. Your imagination supplies the terror as you listen to what is happening off screen. To counter such invisible graphic violence, comedy is used. Cooky is the crew’s comedian, so naturally high jinks must involve him. It’s Adams shows a deplorable lack of leadership qualities by instigating the ridicule of one of his team. Management wouldn’t stand for that these days. But in the 1950’s it seems OK to pick out what Smithers from The Simpsons terms “one of the the less gifted employees”, and make them a laughing stock. One is establishing one’s alpha authority through degrading those beneath one. 

Chief Quinn wants Adams to check something technical, but Adams is watching Alta and Farman walk off into the rocks. You sense how deeply he wants to veer off and save Alta from a fate worse than death. However since Quinn called him “Commander” he has to do his duty. Cue scroungers paradise. Arrayed on the table are shiny gizmos, prince amongst these a vibrator of stunning girth. Quinn tenderly plugs it into its charging station as Adams reminds him not to leave it lying about for some idiot (presumably he’s thinking of Cooky, or possibly Jerry) to trip over and accidentally sit on. It wouldn’t do to get Altairian sand on the ship’s vibrator. Doc Ostrow would be in danger of having to over-prescribe the ship’s supply of Vaseline.

The next scene is rather bizarre, and I wonder about its purpose. It supports neither plot nor subplot as far as I can tell, other than perhaps to give Robby an alibi later. Robby is to be re-cast as a walking distillery. Presumably his name will be changed to McRobby and have a tartan kilt of dubious heritage wrapped around him. At least he can go commando as Scottish tradition dictates.  

From the ridiculous to the sublime. From no-plot to sub-plot. We encounter Jerry and Alta behind the bike sheds. The difference is that Jerry is more like a teacher who’s persuaded one of his pupils to endure a spot of extra-curriculum activity. But she’s not digging it, oh no. Try as he might to get a response by sticking his tongue down her throat, she blows him off. The look she gives him persuades you that she’s actually learnt her lines past this point and is saving herself for someone who really will appreciate playing tonsil hockey with her.

Oh snap! Jerry’s caught by the Principal. He’s going to be on playground duty for a week. And “Altaira Morbius, wait until I speak to your father!”

Jerry bows out in disgrace, leaving Principal Adams to instruct young Alta on the dangers of unprotected sex. Well that’s what he’s getting at. Frankly this part of the script isn’t far off porn film kick off standard. You know, that bit the actors have to do to get to the action. You can imagine Principal Adams starting off with a stern lecture then nubile Alta sticking her hand down his pants, dot dot dot. In any case, he contends himself with basically calling her a tart (which she doesn’t get, since there aren’t any other tarts on Altair IV for her to compare herself to). Alta’s strop face is classic. Honestly, my teenage daughter couldn’t have done it better.

Of interest is that Adams knows the average age of his crew to the first decimal point. Impressive.

Cut to The Residence.

In the next shocking sentences, Alta demonstrates a lack of propriety so bad that it sent my aforementioned teenage daughter fleeing from our basement in horror. That a girl would tell her father about how she had been kissing a boy. Yuuuuuuuuck! Morbius holds up well given the circumstances. My father-in-law (may he rest in peace) would have marched to his gun room, issued himself a shotgun and driven his truck to C-57D’s landing site to forcibly discover Farman’s intentions. Instead, sipping his coffee nimbly, Morbius only asks the odd question. Perhaps he’s in shock? Perhaps, unlike me, he never expected to have to come to terms with his daughter’s sexuality. Morbius retreats to his shed to sip sherry, read Kipling and try to forget all about this unsavory event.

Altaira summons Robby, who takes his own sweet time to arrive. I like to think this is a genuine ad lib, i.e. Robby was late with his entrance. Alta demands a new dress overnight. Robby seems miffed at her. One can imagine his internal monologue. 

“That Miss Morbius. She’s being a bee-atch tonight.”