aka Aliens from Space

• Produced and directed by W. Lee Wilder
• Written by Bill Raynor
• Starring
  • Peter Graves
  • James Seay
  • Steve Pendleton
  • Frank Gerster
  • John Merrick

It’s easy to go back and say that just about every alien depicted in the movies in the ’50s was an expression, intentional or not, of our Cold War depictions of the Soviets. The general tenor of paranoia added resonance to tales of attack, infiltration, subversion, etc., even in films whose makers had no sociopolitical agenda to trumpet; they were just in it for the quick buck.

Killers From Space is another movie in that particular subgenre. But more importantly, it’s a movie in which Peter Graves is menaced by aliens with ridiculous ping pong ball eyes.

The movie gets started with a bang. Actually, it gets started with copious cobbled-together stock footage of airplanes, nuclear bomb ranges, technobabbling technicians in fronts of banks of click-clacking counting machines, and bombadiers staring intently at their controls. (Regarding the various grades and qualities of the footage involved, I can only say this: At least it’s all black-and-white.) All of this is in the service of a nuclear test at Solidad Flats, Nevada, which means that NOW we get the bang. Or boom, rather.

This being a test, there’s a monitoring plane in the air soon thereafter, taking readings and forthrightly demonstrating that even mismatched stock footage is better than unconvincing models poorly superimposed. When the pilot notices something flashing on the ground, he turns toward it to investigate. Suddenly, the controls freeze! The jets fail! Perspective is warped, so that shots of the pilot in the cockpit show the sky whirling behind him, while shots of the model plane from a respectable distance show it only lazily turning, as if suspended on a string! (No “gliding” here — when these planes crash, they go whole hog.) And the entire base is mobilized when the radio goes dead with the sound of an explosion.

“Hey! When I said, ‘Taker her down,’ this is NOT what I meant!”

The recon teams find the crash site and what few bits they can find of the pilot, but nothing of the body of Dr. Martin, the passenger, who is one of the top dogs on this series of nuclear tests. This information, as with much of the information in the movie, is given to us as people stand around talking. In this case, it’s Colonel Banks (James Seay) breaking the news to Helen Martin (Barbara Bestar), widow assumptive.

It causes even greater consternation when Dr. Martin stumbles back onto the base, seemingly none the worse for wear. But look — Martin is played by Peter Graves, and ALIENS HAVE STOLEN HIS FACE!! Wait, my mistake; Graves was twenty-eight when he played this role, and all of the texture and “character lines” which defined his face thirteen years later on Mission: Impossible are almost wholly absent. Young Peter Graves. Young. Peter Graves. Why does my mind rebel so whole-heartedly at linking the words “young” and “Peter Graves?”

Right. Anyway. Baby-Face Martin is taken to Major Clift (Shep Menken), the base surgeon, who sounds almost glum to have found nothing wrong with Martin, except some amnesia as to how he survived the crash… and a peculiar cross-shaped scar on his chest that wasn’t there before. (Peter Graves. Shirtless. Why does my mind rebel so whole-heartedly…) FBI Agent Briggs (Steve Pendleton) comes in for the latest round of people-standing-around-talking, and comes up with the bone-headed idea that maybe Martin is actually an imposter. Because whatever nefarious powers-that-be arranged the impersonation could surgically mimic the real Martin’s face, but still leave an attention-getting scar across his chest. By conferring with Washington, Briggs confirms that Martin’s fingerprints check out, but at least we’ve killed a few more minutes standing around talking.

Mission: Delectable.

With no more reason to keep him, they send Martin home with the missus. But all is not quite right with Martin. He’s very concerned about their next nuclear test even though he’s been told to take some time off, and that night, he bolts upright in his single bed (tastefully separated from his wife’s by a conservative nightstand) with the vision of eyes! Staring at him! Big, goofy, ping pong ball eyes!

The next morning, he finds out that he missed an early-morning nuclear test. Still unable to explain why he’s so agitated about missing a test, he nevertheless goes to the base and rants and raves at his superior officer in a manner most unbecoming. Then he hides in his office until just about everybody, including his co-worker Dr. Kruger (Frank Gerstle) goes home, then sneaks into the walk-in safe and copies down information on the next nuclear test. He then conspicuously leaves the safe open for no other reason than to call undue attention from security.

By the time base security realizes that Martin has been there (thanks to Briggs finding the clue of a whole heap of pipe tobacco that Martin left on the floor of the safe), Martin’s out driving wildly about until he reaches his previous crash site. (Yeah, nuclear test ranges are open to anyone who wants to drive out there. And you can’t even check the base’s calendar to schedule your picnic, because that information’s classified.) Just as he’s leaving a slip of paper under a rock, Briggs catches up and confronts him. Unfortunately, Briggs has a glass jaw, and Martin makes his further escape. Where to? I can’t say, but he would have gotten away if recurring visions of ping pong eyes didn’t seriously handicap his driving skills. He crashes and gets hauled back to the hospital on base.

“We have evolved past your primitive need for ‘blinking.’”

It’s while in bed and under the influence of sodium amitol (”Deprives the mind of any imagination,” Major Clift declares, and yes, the jokes are just too easy) that Martin finally can relate the story of his missing time. After blacking out on impact, he came to in a large rocky cavern, with bizarre beings using outlandish surgical tools on his chest — beings with goofy ping pong ball eyes! He starts asking them questions about his whereabouts, but they remain silent.

Now, let’s stop a moment. Not much about this movie is impressive, I’ll admit. But this single scene struck me. We’ve got missing time, large-eyed aliens silently performing medical procedures, unexplainable scars… What we have here is the classic “abduction scenario,” only seven years after the expression “flying saucer” was coined and seven years before Betty and Barney Clark’s Interrupted Journey engendered public awareness of the abductee phenomenon. What unconscious gestalt themes were our writer and director tapping into to deliver this scene?

Okay, that’s it. Now back to the normal level of appreciation for this movie (i.e., not much).

“No, lady! I can’t! I’m a married scientist!”

Martin is taken from the operating arena to another part of the cavern system, to meet with yet another alien with ping pong ball eyes, this time the lead scientist (John Merrick). He takes the next ten minutes at least to explain everything about the aliens: Where they come from, why they left their home planet Astron Delta, where they got their peepers (but not how they still procreate without collapsing in giggles), how they took over at least a couple of other planets, how they are currently amassing the nuclear energy from the tests taking place over their heads to conquer the world. How? As the leader helpfully shows Martin, by taking stock footage of tarantulas and lizards and cockroaches and grasshoppers and making it REALLY BIG. No, wait — they’re using the nuclear energy to grow the creatures, which they will then release to propagate across the surface; once they’ve decimated the human population, the aliens will come forth to mop up and live like kings. And is there any reason for the alien scientist to be telling Martin this before they brainwash him to send back and leak secrets regarding the test schedule to them? Any reason at all, aside from giving Martin the information necessary to defeat them when the programming cracks? None whatsoever. (Although people standing around talking in a cave is a welcome change of pace.) I guess no matter what planet they come from, evil overlords can’t resist the urge to grandstand, though it inevitably comes back to bite them on the ass.

And so the flashback ends… and of course, everyone listening to Martin’s story thinks he’s utterly bonkers. Which is why they deny his request to bomb the everloving snot out of the alien base. But thanks to Martin’s utter scientific genius, he realizes that the aliens need some sort of electrical containment system for the nuclear energy they’re storing, and that they’re probably siphoning it from the base itself. (Here I would think that a huge reserve of energy is pretty useless if they have to steal yet more electricity to run it, but then, I’m not a scientific savant like some people.)

Which leads to… Well, let me put it this way: Any movie whose climax involves a young Peter Graves running around an electrical station in his bathrobe, brandishing a gun at the poor unionized workers, has to be seen to be believed.

“I mean it! this tape will self-destruct in ten seconds!”

No, as a whole the movie doesn’t work. It’s of more value as an historical relic: of the unspoken undercurrents of paranoia, of the gonzo wackiness of aliens with ping pong ball eyes, of that seemingly prescient description of the abductee experience, and of course, of what Peter Graves looked like before his skin attained the consistency of a middle-aged oak.

Some Notable Totables:

• body count: 1, plus 1 lizard and 1 cockroach (not counting the aliens, ’cause, you know, screw ‘em)
• breasts: 0
• explosions: 2
• dream sequences: 1
• ominous thunderstorms: 0
• actors who’ve appeared on Star Trek: 0