Synapses and Circuits

The Colossus of New York (1958)

What is it that makes you unique among all the billions of people in the world-- what is that makes you, you? Is it your mind alone? Is it some combination of mind and body? Is there such a thing as a soul that can be severed from both mind and body at death, and start floating around the universe (or heaven, or some other dimension), preserving everything that is you for all time? Philosophers and religious scholars have grappled with this problem  for a very long time with very little consensus.

Lately, with supercomputers undreamed of even five years ago, and molecular and quantum computing on the horizon, speculation has turned to the possibilities of mind uploading or "whole brain emulation" -- digitally mapping a biological brain and processes in such complete detail that it could continue functioning in some kind of computer system. Imagine taking an image of your brain, uploading it to the most super of supercomputers, and finally connecting it up with digital sensors and robotic capabilities. Suddenly, the concept of a "new you" becomes literal instead of figurative.

On second thought, forget the digital brain scan -- what if it was your actual, living brain that was now divorced of its body and hooked up to all the electronics. Would that still be you? Or is there something special about the mind-body interaction, some whole beyond the sum of the parts that really accounts for all that is you, and when that's messed up, the result is something else, something… not you anymore…

The great science fiction writer Damon Knight explored that very topic in his famous 1968 story "Masks." In a secret research project, a horribly injured quadriplegic has his consciousness transferred into a brand new, gleaming cyborg body. Sounds great, right? Not only have all his health and mobility problems been solved, but there's nothing preventing him from living for a very, very long time, if not forever. Only, as he interacts with the scientists and other people around him, he begins to develop a new aesthetic, and a growing distaste for these messy, sweaty, greasy, disease-ridden and very imperfect bio-organisms. He loses his connection with not only humanity, but all living things, with tragic consequences. Ten years before Knight's groundbreaking story, The Colossus of New York explored the same territory, with darkly surprising and at the same time head-slappingly silly results (after all, the film was made by fallible humans).

Colossus begins by introducing us to the Spenssers, a veritable think-tank of a family whose collective IQ is off the charts. Patriarch William Spensser (Otto Kruger) is a noted brain surgeon, and son Henry (John Baragrey) is a whiz with robotics and automation (quite fortuitous skills, as we will shortly see). But the youngest member of the family, Jeremy, is even more brilliant--  "one of the few authentic geniuses in the country," in the words of old family friend Dr. John Carrington (Robert Hutton). He's just gotten back from a trip to Stockholm where he accepted the "International Peace Prize" for his work in producing hardier, cold-resistant crops to feed a hungry world. Doting father William patiently explains to a reporter that his son works at the highest level of genius, which tries to address the needs of all humanity.

All that promise is tragically obliterated in the next few minutes. A wind kicks up as the ebullient Jeremy, family and friends prepare to leave the airport. Jeremy's son Billy loses his toy airplane in the wind, and foolishly, the dutiful father and peace prize winner chases the toy into the street. He looks up just a split second before a truck barrels into him.

William's grief seems to have gotten the better of him when he has Jeremy's body delivered to the Spensser mansion instead of a mortuary. No one understands why he's operating on a dead man in his home laboratory. Hours later, a grim-faced William emerges from the lab to tell John, Henry, and Jeremy's wife Anne (Mala Powers) that "I did all I could." Which apparently is quite a lot, as they soon discover.

At the funeral, Carrington declares in his eulogy that despite the seeming senseless of Jeremy's death, there must be in God's infinite wisdom a profound meaning in the loss of such a great genius. William jumps up, yelling "No! No!" and rushes out the room. Later, he has it out with Carrington. While keeping the results of the operation a secret from the old friend, he recklessly implies that not even death has to keep a good man down:

Brilliant scientist Jeremy Spensser's brain
is preserved in classic sci-fi style.

William: Don't you realize that Jeremy's brain was unique? It was like Darwin's, like Michelangelo, like DaVinci, like Einstein. Now suppose, all those great brains had been allowed to continue their work, unhampered by their bodies? Think of the advance in civilization there would be.
John: No, no… I believe that every man, and that includes every great man, is the product of his mind and body. It's through the divine spark of the creator that the interconnection of body and mind is achieved through the soul…
William: Oh, now don't speak to me of antiquated notions like a soul! You're a scientist-- can you measure a soul?
John: As a scientist, I believe that any brain, unable to feel hunger and cold, pleasure and pain, love and hate -- any brain -- divorced from human experience, must become dehumanized to the point of… monstrousness.
William: You are an idiot… an idiot! I tell you, that in the brain, and in the brain alone, lies the glory of man, the ability to think, to create… why, these go on eternally! I tell you that the brain is supreme, it is immortal, and I can prove…
John: Wait, wait, this is merely a theoretical discussion.
William (hand over his mouth, hesitating): Er, yes… quite…

Here then is the crux of the age-old mind-body problem, and the crux of the film. And, with a good working knowledge of Frankenstein and all the other "he dabbled in things best left alone"-type films, it's an easy guess who will be proved the greater fool in the end.

Brother Henry, no slouch himself as a scientist, has chafed for years at all the attention lavished on Jeremy by his father, and by the world. With Jeremy's death, he decides to make a move on his brother's attractive widow Anne. But a short time later, he finds out things aren't so simple. William gives him a tour of the dark lab, where Henry discovers that his brother's brain is still alive in classic sci-fi style in a glass container, hooked up to a plethora of tubes and electronics. The brain can receive voice transmissions, and in turn can "speak" through a teletype machine. Henry's response: "It's inhuman!" But William's doting on Jeremy has now become an obsession. "With your knowledge of automation, you can help him live again!" he pleads with Henry.

The product of the collaboration between the brain surgeon and the automation specialist is one of the more eerie creations in all of '50s sci-fi: an 8 ft. tall automation with a huge domed head; glowing white eyes; a crude, chiseled face; a mouth that moves slightly, but never fully opens; and huge metal hands with long, jointed fingers. An enormous cloak and Frankenstein monster-like boots complete the effect. (The Colossus is played by 7' 6" Ed Wolff, who had been a circus giant before getting work in movies.)

Henry, whose motivations are perhaps less than pure, makes William promise that once the new body is activated, he will let Jeremy decide if he wants to go on living in such a fashion. William, obsessed with the idea that Jeremy's genius can help the world cure much of its ills, reluctantly agrees. The activation scene is very well done, and in a low-key way produces more chills than all the arcing electricity and pulsating dials of all the Frankenstein films put together. In a nice point-of-view shot, the interference in the automaton's visual circuits clears up to reveal a concerned William staring up at the giant. In a distorted electronic voice that makes the flesh crawl, Jeremy wails that "he can't move." "You can move!" William insists. It's a physical therapy session from Hell that gets kicked up several notches when the bewildered Jeremy sees what he's become in a less-than-ideally-placed mirror. His spine-chilling electronic screams wake up Anne, who insists she heard a voice like her husband's before the ruckus. The patronizing men reassure her it was nothing at all. (Later on in the film as the Colossus finds his voice, it's clearly Jeremy's/Ross Martin's, which is satisfying from a dramatic standpoint, but not from a scientific one-- how in the world, and why, did they recreate such a unique human attribute in the giant's electronics, when everything else about the thing is otherworldly in the extreme?)

Anne (Mala Powers) has just about had it with
her manipulative father-in-law (Otto Kruger).

After the shock of seeing himself in the mirror, Jeremy pleads with his father to destroy him. But the obsessed William talks Jeremy into continuing by appealing to his sense of duty to humanity:  "Jeremy, you still have a priceless gift to give to the world… I can give you destruction, or you can give us a world of abundance!" How can any self-respecting cyborg turn an appeal like that down? But Jeremy has one condition-- "I don't want anyone ever to see me…"

Henry is bummed, skeptical and frightened: 1.) even after Jeremy's "death," he's still being eclipsed by the favored son; and 2.) this 8 foot tall monstrosity he himself designed might just stand in the way of his designs on Anne. He unwisely taunts the Colossus, and then hurriedly shuts the creature down remotely when it moves menacingly toward him, hissing in its creepy electronic voice, "Don't taunt me Henry…"  (the scientists have wisely built another safety mechanism into their creation-- a shutdown lever attached to the back of Colossus' body where he can't get to it with his mechanical hands!)

Ever the good son, Jeremy tries to adapt to his electronic/mechanical "prison." Not only does he adapt, but he develops new faculties. He describes to William and Henry a disturbing vision he's had of two ships colliding in a fog-shrouded sea. Hours later, the collision is worldwide news. But along with the ESP, he's developed something darker-- a growing cynicism. When his father excitedly reports that the World Food Congress will be held at the United Nations and Jeremy's work will be featured, the Colossus sneers that it's good to be remembered, especially on this day-- the first anniversary of his death. He declares that he shall commemorate his own death with a trip to the gravesite. When William forbids it, Jeremy/Colossus reveals yet another talent-- the ability to hypnotize with his flashing white eyes (see the clip below).

It's at this point that Colossus veers from dark, gothic, Frankenstein-inspired sci-fi to Saturday matinee chapter-serial stuff. By itself, Colossus' ability to hypnotize by flashing his eyes is acceptable, if a little corny. But in the latter half he acquires all kinds of superpowers that come out of nowhere and leave you scratching your head: precognition, the ability to walk underwater, and coolest of all, the ability to shoot death rays from his glowing eyes. To top it off, the filmmakers try to tug at the heartstrings by having Jeremy/Colossus meet up again with his son ("Are you a good giant, or a bad giant?" the implausibly calm boy asks Colossus at their first meeting). At one point he even gives the boy a new toy airplane. Ouch!

The first half of the movie is darkly effective, and the rest so cartoonish that you have to believe at some point the money people started turning the screws to make the thing more kid-friendly. As Jeremy's paranoid psychosis blooms, so do his superpowers. With his ESP, he can see where Henry is and what he's doing at all times-- the duplicitous would-be wife stealer gets his comeuppance with some well-placed death rays (the monster surprises his no-good brother by suddenly emerging from the East River after a nice underwater stroll). And his mind takes even a darker turn. "Why should we work to preserve the slum people of the world?" he asks his stunned father. "Isn't it simpler and wiser to get rid of them instead?… It will be necessary to get rid of [the] humanitarians first!"  Hmmm…. maybe John Carrington wasn't such an idiot after all. Divorced of the essential mind-body connection, Jeremy/Colossus has become as soulless as a Wall-Street bankster or a Washington politician.

The Colossus tries to "enlighten" the world's
top scientists gathered at the United Nations.

The climax takes place at the United Nations building, where the misguided humanitarians have assembled to talk about world hunger. Yes Virginia, there are death rays, and shouting, and screaming, and shattered glass-- all against the backdrop of the Isaiah 2:4 quote inscribed at the U.N., "They shall beat their swords into plowshares [and so on]." And yes, that safety shutdown lever built into the Colossus becomes quite handy.

Besides the overdone pathos, other production elements served to take Colossus down a peg or two from minor sci-fi classic status. Van Cleave's original score for single piano strikes just the right ominous tone in the title credits, but as the movie progresses, the dirge-like piano music begins to sound like a cheesy accompaniment to a silent movie. The sound effects are also amateurish. The cartoonishly-loud clomping of Colossus' boots sounds the same regardless of location-- lab, forest, lawn, or the marble floors of the U.N. And the electric-current buzzing that follows the cyborg around wherever he goes wears thin pretty fast.

Sadly but predictably, Colossus was not a resume highlight for most of its cast and crew. In Keep Watching the Skies (McFarland), Bill Warren relates that director Eugene Lourie signed onto the picture while waiting for the go ahead on a much larger sci-fi project, The Giant Behemoth (1959). Despite reservations with the script (or maybe because of them), he shot Colossus in eight days. In an interview published in Fantastic Films #17, he's extremely dismissive: "I remember very little of the actual shooting as I remember very little of the scarlet fever I had when I was eight years old." Okay then! (Lourie made more of a name for himself as an art director, but he did direct some of the greatest "giant monsters on the loose" movies of all time: The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms, 1953, Behemoth, and Gorgo, 1961.)

Robert Hutton, a character actor with leading man-looks who seems to have been in half of all the sci-fi movies made in the 1950s and '60s, was similarly unimpressed with the production: "To be quite honest with you, I had completely forgotten that I even made that movie until I saw it recently on television. It was wonderful working with Otto Kruger (William Spensser) -- he was great, a fine actor. Except for that, it was not a very memorable experience [laughs]." (Tom Weaver, Science Fiction Stars and Horror Heroes, McFarland)

Anyway, I remember it pretty vividly for scaring the heck out of me as a kid. The scene in which William activates Colossus for the first time, and poor Jeremy takes a good look at his new body, is especially effective and chilling. Even though the film -- like the title character --  loses a bit of its soul midway through, it's worth the trouble of looking up. A watchable (but not great) copy is available from Sci-Fi Station.

Update: Olive Films will be releasing Colossus on DVD on August 16, 2011. The film is finally getting the kind of video release it deserves!


Brilliant scientist Jeremy Spensser (Ross Martin), now a hulking Colossus, decides to take a stroll and visit his own grave:

Evil in a Sequined Evening Gown

The Spider Woman Strikes Back (1946)

First, let's talk about truth in advertising. The title sure makes this film sound like a sequel, and an interesting one at that-- who is this mysterious Spider Woman? Who is she striking back at, and why? Any amateur IMDb sleuth would quickly discover that The Spider Woman played by Gale Sondergaard tangled with Universal's Sherlock Holmes (Basil Rathbone) just a couple years before, but to paraphrase the great detective, "it's not so elementary my dear Watson."

Truth is, Universal had planned to cash in on the earlier film's reputation with a whole series to be helmed by Ford Beebe and featuring the deliciously evil character.  But studio politics and/or financial concerns scuttled the project, with the exception of Strikes Back. Universal obviously wanted to recoup some of the money they'd sunk into the ostensible sequel, but delayed shooting for several months while they scaled it back. 

Further evidence of the studio's lack of faith in the film can be seen in the IMDb entry, where half the credited cast are noted as having "scenes deleted." It seems to have been downsized both before and after cameras started rolling. It's a wonder it survived at all-- the end product clocks in at 59 minutes, short by even B programmer standards. What the poor misled moviegoers did get for their hard-earned money was a spider woman of sorts played by the same great Sondergaard, but Holmes and Watson were nowhere in sight.

In spite of the faux Sherlock Holmes association thrust on it, The Spider Woman Strikes Back is a decent, if low rent, horror-thriller programmer with one rich, ripe performance (Sondergaard), a plucky heroine-in-peril (Brenda Joyce), and "Brute Man" Rondo Hatton skulking around for good measure. Given the studio's careless handling, Strikes Back has its flaws-- it drags in places (even in a 59 minute running time!), and there are more than a few continuity lapses and plot holes due to the hack edit job. But it has a couple of scenes of jaw-dropping, gothic campiness that make for a very good time if you're in the mood.

It all begins with chic Jean Kingsley (Joyce), arriving by bus in the small rural community of Domingo. It seems she's come to town to be a companion/assistant to wealthy recluse Zenobia Dollard (Sondergaard), a botanist who lost her sight in the jungles of Central America. Inexplicably dressed in an expensive fur coat (later we find out she quit her merchandising job for more peace and quiet), she discovers that she's missed the last taxi for the evening. By coincidence, she runs into ex-boyfriend and rancher Hal Wentley (Kirby Grant), who is more than happy to drive her out to Zenobia's. Jean is grateful, but a little peeved-- she obviously doesn't have room for old beaus in her new life.

Jean wonders what she's gotten herself into.

As they drive up to the house, Jean remarks on how dark and quiet it is. Hal reminds her that Zenobia is blind, so she doesn't need the light. Jean gets a second bad feeling when they're greeted at the door by Zenobia's mute, dour, and world-class ugly manservant Mario (Hatton). The doubts seem to be dispelled, however, when the mistress of the house greets Jean in the parlor. Even though she tells Jean she wasn't expecting her until morning, nonetheless Zenobia is dressed in an elegant, formal evening gown. "I do hope you like me and will be happy here Miss Kingsley," she says, smiling sweetly. When Jean declines her offer of dinner, Zenobia insists that she at least drink a glass of milk. Zenobia is a very firm believer in a glass of milk before bed -- a little too firm -- but Jean brushes off the eccentricity and dutifully drinks it.

It turns out that in this house, milk before bedtime is not such a good idea. At first, Jean is captivated by the elegant, worldly woman with her stories of adventure and exploration in the wilds of Central America. And as she interacts more with the locals, everyone she talks to (including rancher Hal) have only the nicest things to say about her kindness and generosity. But gradually, Jean's suspicions build again. For all her kindness, Zenobia seems to have had bad luck in keeping companions for very long. A letter for Jean's predecessor, who was supposed to have quit to get married, comes to the house. Jean writes back to the forwarding address, but that letter is returned. And in spite of all those wholesome glasses of milk before bed, she finds herself lethargic and unable to get up at a decent hour-- something that's never happened to her before. It doesn't help that she hears strange tapping sounds coming from behind the wall of her walk-in closet, or that every time she turns around in a long, dark hall, the frightful Mario seems to be following her.

Adding to the intrigue, she hears gossip at the local dry goods store / post office about the terrible luck that the local ranchers are having. Cattle are mysteriously dying, and a local boy is sick from drinking suspect milk. The problem is so bad that many cattlemen are packing up and leaving for greener pastures. Rancher Hal thinks the cows are eating some kind of poison weed new to the area, and calls in an agriculture agent (Milburn Stone) to help investigate.

"You're going to die Jean, just like the others..."

Meanwhile, back at the old dark house, Jean gets a shock when she quietly observes Zenobia concentrating on collecting spiders from the leaves of a plant, and realizes that her employer is not blind after all. Mario, seeing everything, tries to warn his mistress in sign language that she's been spotted. Jean faints (or pretends to faint), and the unflappable Zenobia feigns concern and fusses over Jean as she comes to. Jean's eyes are now wide open concerning her duplicitous employer. She soon learns that night after night, as she's lain in bed drugged, Zenobia has been draining her blood to feed to her prize carnivorous plant. The plant in turn supplies Zenobia with deadly blossoms that she's using to secretly poison the local cattle and drive the ranchers off the land once owned by her family.

More truth in advertising: moviegoers who expected to see large, venomous tarantulas crawling around, killing unfortunate victims in their sleep were no doubt disappointed. The "Spider Woman" here is more of a "Carnivorous Plant Woman," who needs spiders and human blood to keep her strange, precious pet happy. But when you're famous for being the Spider Woman, you go with it. Gale Sondergaard went with these exotic, villainous roles more than she cared to. Years later she told an interviewer:

They thought they would do a series starring me as the Spider Woman and it had nothing to do with the other one. Well, I almost had hysterics at one time out of just hating it so, I remember. It came out, and people still talk about it, think it's great. And I'm all right… I've seen it, and it isn't anything to be ashamed of, but I didn't like it when I did it. (Quoted in Universal Horrors: The Studio’s Classic Films, 1931-1946, 2nd ed., Weaver, et al.)

Dahling, you look absolutely mahvelous!

Having won the very first best supporting actress Oscar for her debut performance in Anthony Adverse (1936), I suppose she can be forgiven the frustration she felt at the kinds of cartoonish roles she was getting ten years later. However, around the same time as The Spider Woman Strikes Back, she sufficiently impressed Hollywood and audiences with a supporting role in Anna and the King of Siam (1946) that she was nominated again (she lost to The Razor Edge's Anne Baxter).

Rondo Hatton (Mario the mute manservant) is a tragic story. Deciding to pursue a military career as a young man, he ended up in the trenches in France in World War I and was exposed to poison gas. Pensioned, but still needing to remain active, he became a reporter for a Tampa, Florida newspaper. During that time he developed the rare syndrome acromegaly, which causes deformation of bones, swelling of the soft tissues of the head, hands, and feet, and swelling of internal organs. (While acromegaly is a disorder of the pituitary gland, speculation was rampant that the poison gas was ultimately responsible for Hatton's condition.) Hatton, covering the shooting of a movie in the Tampa area, was noticed by director Henry King, and ended up being lured out to Hollywood in 1936.

He secured a contract with Universal, and earned notoriety for portraying a succession of bogeymen in cheap thrillers. Like Sondergaard, he has a Sherlock Holmes connection-- perhaps his best known role is that of "The Creeper" in Universal's 1944 Holmes entry The Pearl of Death. Hatton died of a heart condition brought on by the acromegaly a month or so before The Spider Woman Strikes Back was released. (Another story related in Universal Horrors is that during filming of Strikes Back, Sondergaard thought Hatton's looks were the product of the studio's make-up department!)

Strikes Back is worth seeking out if only for Sondergaard's deliciously evil hamming. Who can resist The Spider Woman, decked out in a slinky black evening gown, her eyebrows arched, declaring triumphantly to the cowering heroine: "You'll die Jean, just like the others. But it won't be really dying… you'll live on in this beautiful plant!…"?

The Spider Woman Strikes Back is available on DVD-R from Sinister Cinema (the print from 16mm is watchable, but degraded in spots).


Wealthy recluse Zenobia Dollard (Gale Sondergaard) and her mute manservant Mario (Rondo Hatton) feed the "beautiful creatures" in her basement laboratory: