THIS ISLAND EARTH (1955)

Exciting story magazines had been rising in popularity since the 1930s and, by the 1950s, the science-fiction genre dominated newsagent shelves, attracting readers with their lurid, often exploitative cover art by an array of incredibly talented illustrators. People, usually women, wearing impossibly tight jumpsuits trapped in transparent tubes proved to be a popular motif. More often than not, they were being menaced by tentacled space monsters or aliens with enlarged craniums.

Today, This Island Earth delivers exactly what’s expected from a classic 1950s sci-fi movie. That’s because it brought so many of those pulpy tropes to the screen in the first place. Its imagery could’ve leapt off one of those golden-age magazine covers, which isn’t surprising as it was based on a series of three linked novelettes by Raymond F. Jones, originally published in the science fiction adventure magazine Thrilling Wonder Stories from 1949-1950 as “The Alien Machine,” “The Shroud of Secrecy,” and “The Greater Conflict.” The action in these stories is echoed in the three-act structure of the finished film, which was adapted from the 1952 novel, This Island Earth, which collected the three tales and, in turn, lifted the title from a line in the poem, “Darien”, by Robert Graves.

The mid-20th-century post-war era was full of hopes for a brighter future born of the many breakthroughs in science and technology but also rife with Cold War paranoia and nuclear nightmares. Science was upheld as both a threat and a solution. The power of the atom had been recently and horrifically demonstrated, sparking the nuclear arms race but brought with it the promise of cheap and plentiful power. This conflict of terror and optimism, the potential of either a dystopian or utopian future, is picked up right from the opening scenes.

Dr Cal Meacham (Rex Reason) is quizzed by the press about his role in a recent committee on atomic power. While answering their technical questions, he dons his pilot’s jumpsuit and climbs aboard a Lockheed T-33 Shooting Star because he’s needed back at his laboratory at an isolated government research base in the desert. Right there, we have the optimism as he talks about the dawn of the “push-button age” and the post-war acceleration of technology represented by the state-of-the-art jet plane.

Next comes an expression of the Cold War paranoia as the plane is hijacked, mid-flight, by an unseen force that bathes the cockpit in a lurid green glow and takes over the controls, only relinquishing them moments before a crash would’ve been inevitable. A blatant metaphor for the fear of another superpower’s superior technology or their unseen influences and infiltrations. Also, of losing control of technology—a jet in this case, but the radium green implies a nuclear reactor could easily be next.

Working with his technician Joe (Robert Nichols), Dr Meacham is having problems stabilising the reaction rate of their mini-nuclear reactor core, which keeps burning out its capacitors. When they order replacements, they receive tiny red glass beads instead which, to their astonishment, can handle the increased output. However, they soon discover their supply chain has been compromised, and an undisclosed source has been slipping them super-advanced technology. They are being subjected to a covert test that they pass by understanding what the parts are and how to use them.

Shortly thereafter, they receive a hefty catalogue of technology that shouldn’t exist on Earth, along with the blueprints for a complex machine. Among other things, this ‘interocitor’ functions as a communications device through which they receive further instructions from Exeter (Jeff Morrow), an alien scientist with a very high forehead and strikingly white hair. A very similar premise of receiving mysterious blueprints for an artefact that allows communication with aliens would be the foundation for Carl Sagan’s thoughtful 1985 novel Contact and the 1997 film version starring Jodie Foster. There are also strong parallels with Joe Dante’s fun children’s space adventure, Explorers (1985).

The advanced tech is just the hook for Dr Meacham’s scientific curiosity and lures him to board a pilotless plane that takes him to a secret research institute where the world’s top boffins have been assembled to rapidly advance atomic sciences. There, he’s welcomed by Dr Ruth Adams (Faith Domergue) with whom, we soon learn, he has a prior relationship. This instantly establishes a believable rapport between them, introducing a bit of romantic tension that they’re never afforded the chance to fully explore. It turns out that Exeter and his near-identical associate Brack (Lance Fuller) are representatives of Metaluna—an alien world ravaged by nuclear war with a race from another planet known as the Zagon.

They have come to Earth to exploit our new nuclear technology and to find a fresh scientific perspective. It seems their interplanetary conflict has degenerated into a war of attrition in which Metaluna relies on a nuclear-powered force field to deflect the Zagon attacks in the hope that they can outlast their enemy’s resources. However, their nuclear fuel is nearly exhausted, and it was hoped that Dr Meacham’s research into converting base metals into radioactive isotopes would provide a method to create enough uranium from plentiful lead. But time is running out and Exeter and Brack are recalled because their spaceship is needed for essential transport back on their home world.

The fast-moving third act unfolds in space and, finally, on Metaluna, which shows us a possible dystopian future that could befall our own world. There’s an overt parallel to the U.S. research into nuclear weapons ostensibly as a deterrent. The Metaluna nuclear shield is not a weapon but deflects the asteroids and meteorites the Zagon hurl at the planet. Their effects are similar to nuclear missiles and, since the advent of the A-bomb, potential meteorite strikes were often described in nuclear megaton equivalents.

There’s an admirable attempt to introduce a little solid science into the fiction and some of its outlandish ideas went on to become sci-fi staples. It’s one of the first films to portray a galactic civilisation with a political ecosystem which was also mentioned in The Day the Earth Stood Still (1051), but no other precursors come readily to mind. The aliens are intelligent and made up of individuals that have the potential to be good or bad. There’s an acknowledgement of artificial gravity and, more interestingly, the need to compensate for the difference in gravity between Earth and the larger, denser Metaluna… and that’s where those transparent tubes come in.

Drs. Meacham and Adams must have their biology rearranged and densified to stop the massive atmospheric pressures of Metaluna from crushing them to a pulp on arrival. They will have to undergo a reversal before returning to Earth, otherwise their tissues would dissipate without the pressure holding them together. This isn’t simply technobabble as the concept plays a key narrative role that allows Dr Adams to be that woman in a tight jumpsuit, trapped in a tube being menaced by an alien with an enlarged cranium. It also makes some sense of what happens to an entire world at the finale.

Although it features flying saucers, ray guns, jumpsuits and, yes, people in transparent tubes, it was far from a typical sci-fi movie of the mid-1950s and would’ve been outstanding on several counts—not least for its pioneering VFX and prosthetics. The Mekon from the Dan Dare comics may’ve popularised the inflated cranium alien but monsters with enlarged and exposed brains only become ubiquitous in sci-fi art after This Island Earth’s Technicolour mutant shocked audiences and left many younger viewers with recurring nightmares. The now iconic design, which is held back for the final act, spawned many imitators. Most notable among them are the Martians of the Mars Attacks! bubblegum cards, launched in 1962, and the suit was cited as an influence on the look of the original xenomorph, designed by H.R Giger for Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979).

The full body prosthetic suit was designed by Milicent Patrick who had already worked with producer William Alland on two B-movies destined to become minor classics. She had designed the cyclopean alien for It Came from Outer Space (1953) and  The Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954). Some of the writing and production team thought that the mutant monster cheapened what was somewhat cerebral sci-fi fare, but Alland had sold the movie to the studios with the promise of a monster to bring the Universal Monster franchise up to date.

It is thought that Milicent Patrick’s design credit was removed due to a behind-the-scenes spat with the head of the make-up department, Bud Westmore. Reputedly, he was disgruntled that Patrick had been chosen to head the Creature from the Black Lagoon promotional tour in his place because the studios thought a young, beautiful woman with a story would make for better press. Her story includes being among the first woman animators to work for Walt Disney, as well as having a career as a model, commercial artist, and children’s book illustrator.

It was probably a mistake to fire her before shooting completed because when it came to the scenes featuring the mutant, several aspects of the design proved problematic. The cranial veins, which she had envisaged as pulsing, couldn’t be achieved and the prosthetic legs couldn’t be fitted. So, the lower half of the suit had to be kept out of shot for the most part or shrouded in smoke effects. Though the observant will still be able to make out the comfy slacks worn by the monster.

Another technical hitch was that under the studio lights, Regis Parton, the stuntman in the suit sweated so profusely that the head had to be regularly removed and drained. Despite these few problems, the mutant was highly effective on screen and its insectoid form seemed to tap into our fears of the effects of radiation and the vague notion that cockroaches and scorpions would be the only things to survive a nuclear holocaust. It also counterpointed the humanoid aliens which didn’t look so different from us yet posed a bigger threat than the hapless mutant who was really one of their victims.

The narrative explores prominent themes of ‘the Other’ as sinister but this is balanced with a race of aliens who present as potential allies hoping to mutually benefit from their interactions with humanity. Also, taking the baton from Robert Wise’s superior The Day the Earth Stood Still as one of the few intelligent precursors in science fiction cinema, the survival of humanity is tied to co-operation between nations modelled by the secret research institute instigated by the emissaries from Metaluna.

Another notable influence on the look of 1950s cinematic sci-fi that This Island Earth consolidates was George Pal’s War of the Worlds (1953). Although both films can be categorised as intelligent for their era, the aliens in War of the Worlds are little more than monsters, intent on invading Earth and massacring mankind. The malign alien faction of This Island Earth is more of an overt political allegory for totalitarianism, particularly the ‘Red Peril’ of Communism from the East. They don’t intend to eradicate humans but use mind control to make them biddable, so they will welcome alien occupation and willingly work for their new masters.

War of the Worlds is also thought to be the movie that prompted Universal to risk such a high budget of $800,000 to compete with their rivals at Paramount. Writing duo Frank Cohen and Edward Callahan were tasked with adapting the Raymond F. Jones novel and Joseph M. Newman, an experienced, jobbing director, was initially at the helm. However, there were several substitutions over the two and a half years of the problematic production schedule. Apparently, William Alland just wasn’t happy with the way things turned out and thought the film lacked something—pizzazz, excitement, stylistic identity—and brought in Jack Arnold to reshoot the third act. Alland knew Arnold could deliver, having worked with him previously on It Came from Outer Space, The Creature from the Black Lagoon, and Revenge of the Creature (1955) and was excited to see what the up-and-coming B-movie maestro could do with a substantial budget.

The special effects were supervised by David Horsely who already had a track record since starting out on The Black Cat (1934) starring Bela Lugosi and James Whale’s Bride of Frankenstein (1935). Part of the luscious look of This Island Earth is conjured by the dozens of gorgeous matte paintings throughout, executed by Russell Lawson. Some of the ‘unremarkable’ countryside of Earth is also his scenic painting on glass but it’s the ravaged surface of Metaluna and its strange architectural structures that really showcase his skill. The 16 months post-production was mainly spent perfecting and processing the VFX and Clifford Stine was brought in to supervise. He was already a movie magic veteran having started his career in the 1930s in the camera and technical department, with King Kong (1933) among his first dozen or so uncredited jobs.

This Island Earth is notable for its lurid colour palette and bold scenic design with Technicolor in mind. It was one of the few Universal pictures to be printed using a dye imbibition process known as direct-to-matrix printing, which achieved unprecedented colour saturation and clarity. Another was Douglas Sirk’s Written on the Wind (1956) also respected for its use of compositional colour and beautiful cinematography.

In the 1950s, it was usual practice to release films as double-bills and This Island Earth was distributed with Abbott and Costello Meet the Mummy (1955) which served to remind audiences of the Universal monster movie heritage. The box office take was around $1.5M which was considered successful but not as much as the studio hoped. Beyond its initial theatrical run, it continued to earn in B-movie slots. Finally, though, the earnings were not thought to warrant all the studio’s time and resources monopolised during its long production. So, Universal went back to what it did best—churning out low budgeters which occasionally threw out a classic like Jack Arnold’s The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957).

Since initial release, This Island Earth has fallen in and out of favour. Despite being delightfully dated, it remains a stunning testament to a bygone age of mechanical effects, set design, miniatures and matte painting—second only to its successor, Forbidden Planet (1956) released the following year. It was almost forgotten until the science fiction genre enjoyed a renaissance in the wake of Star Wars (1977). Apparently, George Lucas acquired the unused special effects dailies to examine with his team at Industrial Light and Magic to feed into the look development. It resurfaced in Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Movie (1996), filling substantial screen time in a patchy send-up. It has since accrued a new cult following and the alien mutant even showed up in Joe Dante’s Looney Tunes: Back in Action (2003) as one of the aliens held captive in Area 51.

The miniature of the Earth that appears on the Metaluna spaceship’s view screen was repurposed as the Universal globe for the company’s motion graphic logo that debuts at the beginning of This Island Earth and subsequently all other Universal international releases until the 1980s.

USA | 1955 | 86 MINUTES | 1.33:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH

Cast & Crew

directors: Joseph Newman & Jack Arnold (uncredited).
writers: Franklin Coen & Edward G. O’Callaghan (based on the novel by Raymond F. Jones).
starring: Jeff Morrow, Faith Domergue, Rex Reason, Lance Fuller & Russell Johnson.