The Day the Earth Stood Still

I might have seen it from the back seat of my parents green '49 Chevy at the Tiger drive -in when it was released in 1951 -- I don't remember, being only three that summer  -- but I definitely saw it in 1957, the year I was nine. It was at the Dalton Theater, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, part of a quadruple Saturday afternoon line-up. Bobby Harrison and I rode our bikes to the Dalton, paid a dime each, walked in laughing -- and came out terrified. 

When the lights went down, and after the Twentieth Century Fox fanfare, what we saw was that cool flying saucer, and with it, Bernard Herrmann's extremely creepy music: The deep throb of bass, with piano and harp arpeggios, and that spooky, really spooky, therumin. That baby sent goosebumps crawling all over me in shuddery waves. The score holds up well after almost fifty years -- I'm listening to it on CD as I write this -- and it still brings up chill blains. We are talking serious monster music here, copied ad infinitum in subsequent movies

Edmund North's script for "The Day the Earth Stood Still," based on Harry Bates' 1940 short story, "Farewell to the Master," is a classic study in xenophobia. The humanoid alien, Klaatu, lands his saucer on the mall in Washington D.C. Coming in peace to let us know where we stand in the galactic scheme of things, Klaatu is naturally shot by a nervous soldier within a couple minutes of landing. This was not a smart thing to do when the guy you plink hangs out with a big honkin' robot (Gort) whose death ray gaze can vaporize guns and tanks with ease, and who proceeds to do just that. Had not the wounded Klaatu stopped him, Gort would have no doubt disintegrated Washington, and in Klaatu's place, I would have let him. 

We’d be better off.

Klaatu survives and escapes, but continues to have a real bad vacation. As part of his demonstration of power, the alien brings virtually all electrical activity on the planet to a halt for an hour, save for hospitals and planes in the air and all -- therein the title -- and that gets everybody's attention in a hurry. Along the way, Klaatu deals with politicians, the military, scientists (who are actually portrayed here as good guys) a jealous boyfriend, and a dippy kid who even Mr. Wizard probably couldn't stand.

And from the way he takes it in stride, you know he's seen it all before.

But we humans stupidly persist in our paranoia, and eventually, Klaatu takes another bullet, ending up more or less dead. As the alien visitor fades, he directs the widow Benson, (who has come to know Klaatu as a boarder who fascinates her son,) to fetch Gort. The giant robot snatches the body, returns to the ship, and is able to heal Klaatu. Kinda, sorta, with a politically-correct nod noting that only the Almighty can truly bring back the dead. 

When the mortally-wounded Klaatu miraculously recovers enough to stand up in front of his saucer and finally lay it out for us, you could have heard a piece of stale popcorn hit the Dalton's sticky floor: 

"It is no concern of ours how you run your own planet," he says, "But if you threaten to extend your violence , this Earth of yours will be reduced to a burnt-out cinder."

A burnt-out cinder. Now there is an image.

It was obvious this was no idle threat. Gort could kick ass and take names, and to make things worse, there were others like him out there. We wouldn't have a prayer if we didn't toe the line. By this point, I was rooting for the aliens and feeling like scum for being human anyhow. 

Bobby and I didn't know about the red menace and the cold war and how "The Day the Earth Stood Still" was a metaphor for our turbulent times, complete with Christ-figure undertones. Nope, what we knew after we saw the movie was that Gort was not a robot to screw with.

"Gort -- Klaatu barada nikto . . ." 

They don't make 'em like this any more. Too bad.

They tried a remake, but even Keanu couldn’t give it enough oomph, and it was lame in comparison. 

"The Day the Earth Stood Still," 1951, black and white, running time: 1:32.

Screenplay  - Edmund H. North

Based on the short story "Farewell to the Master," by  Harry Bates.

Director  -  Robert Wise

Cast:

Michael Rennie -  Klaatu

Patricia Neal -  Helen Benson

Billy Gray  -  Bobby Benson 

Hugh Marlowe  -  Tom Stevens

Sam Jaffe -  Dr. Barnhardt

Cinematography  -  Leo Tover

Editing  -  William Reynolds

Costume Design  -  Perkins Bailey  and Travilla.

Music  -  Bernard Herrmann

Time Changes

When my wife and I got married, the first place we rented was an old, circa 1890’s, shotgun-style house near downtown Baton Rouge.

It had seen better days, but we started scrubbing and painting a month before we got married. The foundation was crumbling near the kitchen, couldn’t do much about that, and there was a list aft. If you dropped a tennis ball by the front door, it would roll all the way to the backdoor and out, it was open ...

House was cheap, located bicycle-convenient for college, and my part-time job, and we were nineteen. We were bulletproof.

We rented it at the tail-end of hurricane season, and there was one late-storm whirling about in the Gulf that might have headed our way. It didn’t, but we weren’t worried about it, using one of the classic examples of bad reasoning: Well, we thought, the house has been here eighty-some years, probably withstood fifteen or twenty hurricanes just fine, so one more won’t hurt it ...

This is, in a word, foolish, because a thing can be fine — until it isn’t. You are alive and kicking, but if you get hit by a train, maybe not so much.

My wife and I have been largely blessed with good health. Bumps and lumps, sprains and pains, even a couple broken bones, but neither of us has spent a night in the hospital in nearly fifty years. Some  day-surgery stuff, but nothing major.

We eat pretty well, take vitamins, exercise, get check-ups regularly, take our vaccines, keep eyes and teeth attended to as needed.

We know that doesn’t make us invulnerable — in theory — but the reality is like that hurricane philosophy. Everything is fine until it isn’t.  

So, buried lede here: My wife had a small stroke about ten days ago. We got to the ER in time for the miracle clot-buster drug, which reversed most of her signs and symptoms, but in the follow-up, found a cardiac arrhythmia that needed a pacemaker, so that was done. Five days at in the hospital, two in NCCU.

No family history of either thing on her side.

We are home, recovering slowly, getting set up with doctors to monitor things, appropriate meds, and all like that.

Since she is at the top of my list, everything else will come a distant second. You won’t see me far from home without her or somebody standing by for a while.

My family and friends have stepped up, and we do appreciate it.

IIWII — it is what it is. One moment, one day at a time.

This is my warning, heads-up to you who think as we thought: 

The next step you take can be a serious pivot, a wrenching, ankle-twisting turn onto a path you never saw coming, and it might not be your choice. And it could be the last step you take.

Don’t take anything for granted. Don’t live in that future you think is ahead. Don’t waste time fretting over the past you can’t change. Be in the moment, be here now, because that might be all you get.

Sure, make plans, but don’t live there until they arrive.

If my wife comes back, 100% — and that is our goal — things won’t be the same. Because now, what we thought was a vague,  but remote, possibility, cannot be ignored. We aren’t out of the woods yet, and if we do walk from the forest, the next trees are not far off the road.

If you aren’t ready to hear this, you won’t. If you have had to do it, you already know. But, please think about it. You can’t foresee the unforeseeable, but you can take joy in the moment on your plate right now.  

Don’t let yesterday and tomorrow steal now from you.