INVADERS FROM MARS, A TRIBUTE
by Harry Shannon
Author of "Night of The Beast"

I am a golden oldie. Primarily by not dying, I and my errant brother Dwight have somehow become ancient enough to have witnessed the Korean War, Sputnik, the terms of nine Presidents from Eisenhower to Bush 2, the assassination of two Kennedy brothers and Martin Luther King, the raising and tearing down of the Berlin Wall and both the heyday and collapse of the Soviet Union. Some of my earliest memories: Riding my bike to the White Way Market in rural Pomona, California to blow most of my entire allowance on horror comics. Spending a quarter to see old Hammer Pictures releases with Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing and Barbara Steele at the movie theater in living (often dying) color. I (again like my bro) regularly stole my father's hidden Playboy magazines so that I could (a) read stories by Richard Matheson and Robert Bloch, and (b) look at the girls…not necessarily in that order, of course.

Author Harry Shannon

And then there was "Invaders From Mars."

Okay, now back to my brother. If Dwight had not decided to be a prick that Saturday afternoon in 1954 and ditch his little sibling in the dark (nearly empty) movie house, I might have become a doctor, an attorney or even President instead of a writer. But Dwight was pushing twelve. He wanted to hang out with his friends, not nursemaid a tag-along little carrot-top like me. And so he planted me in a seat as the lights went down, said he'd be right back, and took off for the balcony. Me, I settled in to nibble popcorn and watch the movie and figured this would be fun.

And then there was "Invaders From Mars."

For the uninitiated, imagine a gripping film about a little boy (about my age at that time) who wakes up one night and sees a flying saucer crash into a sand dune behind his rural home. No one believes him. Little Billy then sees a few folks walking around up there get sucked directly down into the sand. No one believes him. Then those folks start acting like Pod People on Oxycontin, and he is the only one who notices. No one believes him. Finally Billy realizes that some freaking Martians are planting like mind-control devices into the backs of folk's heads and ordering them around. No one believes him.

And then they get his parents, too.

HOLY CRAP!

Billy is just about out of adults he can turn to when he manages to hook up with a stunning lady Psychiatrist (Helena Carter) and an astronomer (Arthur Franz). Eventually, they all sink into the bowels of the earth and face the leader of the invaders in a dark, claustrophobic tunnel... Back to me: As the movie continued, and I sat alone there in the dark and nearly deserted movie house, my pulse rate increased and my heart pounded. I felt every short hair I possessed rise to the occasion (granted, there were not many at age six, but still…).

In short, this film scared me half to death.

About eighty minutes later, when the lights came up, I was a shaking, sweating, crying, retching bundle of neurosis and anxiety. My brother was in deep doo-doo when we got home, because I was a flat-out mess. I dreamed about that movie every night for weeks. I never forgot it. It gave me a phobia, in fact. I'm a guy who sat through "The Exorcist" and "Re-Animator," but for decades whenever "Invaders" came on television I avoided it like Rush Limbaugh recoils from common sense.

Finally, in the early eighties, when video cassette recorders were the hottest new thing, I bought a copy. Fortified by a shot of quality Scotch (hey, I wasn't sober yet), I sat down to watch "Invaders From Mars" for a second time.

What I saw surprised me: The actors were wooden and dull; the monsters were a bunch of folks running around in bad green costumes, with zippers down the back. The combat footage was stock, and one explosion was re-used a number of times from different angles.

But the story still disturbed me! And after the movie, I got to thinking about why. First, because parental abandonment is the most deep and powerful fear a child can experience, and the script plays on that brilliantly. But also because it now spoke as an artistic expression of its time: The 1950's. I saw the veiled jabs at McCarthyism, Red-baiting, political witch hunts of all types.

In short, the film is a terrific piece of horror fiction.

Oh, I know it's technically pathetic when compared to the latest George Lucas extravaganza; the Martian brain is a woman's head, skull-capped and encased in a fishbowl. Her face is spray-painted gold, and some goofy-looking tendrils whip about whenever she speaks. Consider the afore-mentioned green rug-like costumes with bug-eyes and zippers. Hell, one Martian drone is bow-legged and another one has a beer gut for Chrissakes!

But "Invaders" is horror because it entertained and disturbed me. It made me think. And it still does. Why? Because it is relevant. It means something.

Consider these questions: Are many of our children bewildered and alienated these days, just as in 1954? Are parents more estranged from their progeny than they should be? Are our "trusted" officials; politicians and lawmen, still turning on us and causing us to fear whose side they are on? Do "whistle-blowers" often find themselves pissing into the wind and unable to get anyone to pay attention?

I hold that "Invaders From Mars" constituted, and still represents, brilliant horror writing. Oh, and forget the pathetic 1980's remake directed by Tobe Hooper. You want the original, scripted by John Tucker Battle and Richard Blake, directed by William Cameron Menzies. It was originally intended for 3D release, before they ran out of cash. Rent it some time. If you can get past the dated look and feel, you'll see what I mean. This is outrageous, aggressive screenwriting, and damned sneaky to boot. The hidden messages are as topical today as they were nearly fifty years ago. It means something.

Like I said, I'm a golden oldie.

So is this movie.

And I sincerely hope I live long enough to see the film remade by someone who understands its relevance to the United States and indeed, the human condition…even if it did give me those damned nightmares.

Thanks, bro.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Medium Rare Books.com released Harry Shannon's first limited edition horror and noir collection "BAD SEED" in June of 2001 and the book received numerous HWA "Stoker Award" recommendations. His story "Quickie" made the preliminary ballot in short fiction. Shannon has been an actor, a singer, an Emmy-nominated songwriter, a recording artist in Europe, a music publisher, a film studio executive and worked as a free-lance music supervisor on films such as "Basic Instinct" and "Universal Soldier." He is currently a counselor in private practice.

His short fiction has appeared in several magazines including "Gang Related," "Wildclown Chronicles," "The Murder Hole," "Rogue Worlds," "Horrorfind," "Blue Murder," "Twilight Showcase," "Crimestalker Casebook," "Futures," "Alternate Realities" "ShadowKeep," "Kinships," "The Gallows," "The Swamp," "Sinisteria," "Fear of the Dark" and "Terror Tales." Shannon has contributed a novella to the upcoming Cemetery Dance anthology "Brimstone Turnpike," as well as short fiction to anthologies such as "The Night Has Teeth" (Dark Vesper Publishing) and "Fresh Blood". Harry Shannon's first novel "Night of the Beast" can now be purchased via Medium Rare Books.com as a signed, deluxe limited-edition hardcover. It will be released in September of 2002. Mass-market rights are being shopped separately.

Shannon can be contacted via his web site, located at: www.harryshannon.com.