Mutants and Mind Control: Revisiting ‘Invaders from Mars’ at 70

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Flying saucers and alien invasion movies were the trend in the 1950s. UFO sightings in Washington State in 1947 and the famous crash near Roswell, New Mexico in 1948 had ignited a fever for all things alien. The movies soon followed the public interest with films like The Thing from Another World (1951), The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951), War of the Worlds (1953), This Island Earth (1955), Earth vs. The Flying Saucers (1956), Invasion of the Saucer-Men (1957), and many more of varying levels of quality. Many of these science fiction/horror hybrids were aimed toward an audience of children and teenagers and often featured young people, but few placed the viewer so deeply in the child's perspective as the 1953 classic Invaders from Mars.

In many ways, Invaders from Mars walked so that Invasion of the Body Snatchers could run just three years later. Much of this is due to its extremely low budget and independent production. Some sets are re-dressed to serve as different locations. For example, the police station serves double duty as a scientist's lab. The costumes of the Martians, called Mutants in the movie, look like green crushed velvet pajamas complete with a visible zipper up the back. After post-production, the movie came in too short and a great deal of stock footage of tanks, military trucks, and artillery explosions were added. Though the military was always an element of the film, these extra ten minutes gives it an almost jingoistic quality that was not originally there.

But despite its limitations, Invaders from Mars does an awful lot very well.

The look of the film immediately stands out and is a major reason why it has endured. This is mainly due to two people, production designer/director William Cameron Menzies and cinematographer John Seitz. Menzies is one of the legendary production designers and art directors in film history, responsible for the design of such legendary films as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1920), The Thief of Bagdad (1924), Gone with the Wind (1939), Pride of the Yankees (1942), and It's a Wonderful Life (1946). His science fiction credibility was secured in 1936 when he directed the film version of H.G. Wells’ Things to Come, considered one of the great early films of the genre. John Seitz was one of the most respected cinematographers in Hollywood, best known for shooting important films for Preston Sturges including Sullivan's Travels (1941) and The Miracle of Morgan's Creek (1944) and Billy Wilder including Double Indemnity (1944), The Lost Weekend (1945), and Sunset Boulevard (1950) among many other great films. With these credentials, it is remarkable that these men would be involved in such a small, independent film, but they not only signed on to the picture but were determined to make it as good as they possibly could, pouring every ounce of their professionalism, imagination, and experience into the final product.

In order to compete with the growing popularity of television as well as the announced, bigger budget production of War of the Worlds from producer George Pal, it was also decided that Invaders from Mars would be in color, something that was considerably rare for genre films at the time. The saturated film color of the era gives a sense of heightened reality to the film. There is a dreamlike quality to Invaders from Mars which works greatly to its benefit. Every shot was storyboarded by Menzies, the compositions carefully chosen to give precisely the information needed and to underscore the desired emotional impact. Unfortunately, just before shooting began, these storyboards were lost, perhaps unwittingly thrown out by the cleaning crew, and Menzies worked entirely from memory of his designs. Even with this added challenge, every composition is beautifully executed, the camera placed exactly where it should be.

Perhaps above all, Invaders from Mars depicts the point of view of a child better than practically any genre film until the 1980s when movies like E.T. took the concepts to a new level. We are placed in the shoes of the film's protagonist, David Maclean (Jimmy Hunt) and feel his inability to trust those who should be in a position to protect him. There is a dreamlike quality to the majority of the film, emphasized by the rich, hyperreal color and the deliberate design of the sets. In this film, everything is oversized, stark, and imposing. The police station is a perfect example with its massive doors, gigantic reception desk, and the jail cell with its bars casting deep shadows on the bare walls. This unusual feel culminates in the climax of the film through superimpositions, unusual (almost experimental) editing, running moments of the film in reverse, and subtle changes to the sound design that take us right up to the chilling final shot.

David is also one of the first in a long line of monster kids in the movies. The monster kid is the young person, almost always a pre-teen boy, whose obsession with horror allows him to see the problem and how to deal with it before anyone else. Often, his interest in horror is used against him to sow distrust. In Invaders from Mars, David's mother (Hillary Brooks), under the influence of the Martians, tells the police and Dr. Pat Blake (Helena Carter) that David has "been reading those trashy science fiction magazines" in an attempt to discredit him, following it up by adding "he's out of control." Fortunately for David, astronomer Dr. Stuart Kelston (Arthur Franz) assures Blake that David is a very rational child, not given to flights of fancy and making up stories. The monster kid would become a key character in many horror stories and movies from Mark Petrie in Salem's Lot to The Monster Squad and beyond.

The paranoia of the early fifties is palpable throughout Invaders. Stories of brainwashing of captured American soldiers in Korea had made their way home. Here, it takes the form of an implant that the Mutants place in the brains of humans in order to control their actions. They begin by capturing and taking control of men and women in places of authority over a rocket project that is being undertaken nearby. The police, David's father (Leif Erickson), and his friend Kathy (Janine Perreau), the daughter of the physicist who conceived the rocket, all fall victim to the Martians’ mind control. It soon becomes clear that nobody can be trusted. Though this would become a key element of later science fiction and horror from Invasion of the Body Snatchers to The Thing (1982) all the way to The Faculty (1999), Invaders was the first film to use the taking over of humans by aliens to underscore feelings of hysteria, distrust, and paranoia.

Though aspects of the film have dated, this in particular remains remarkably prescient. As with the 1950s, we are currently living in a time of social paranoia in the United States. Conspiracy theories abound, political and ideological differences break apart friendships and families. To quote a paranoia film of another era, "nobody trusts anybody…and we’re all very tired." It has been observed that history does not repeat itself, but it does rhyme. This is why the ideas and sentiments at the heart of films like Invaders from Mars still resonate even if certain aspects feel quite distant. This is also why restoration and preservation of the films of the past is so important. Classic films are a snapshot of the look and feelings of the time they were made but also remind us that as much as things change, the core of humanity largely remains constant—our desires, joys, and, perhaps above all, fears change very little. Invaders from Mars specifically addresses the deep, primal fear that those closest to us and those in authority may not be who we think they are. Loving and attentive parents suddenly become cold and abusive, a sweet and innocent child becomes a destructive and emotionless monster, trustworthy peacekeepers become pawns for a dangerous enemy.

For many decades, Invaders from Mars could only be seen in faded, scratched, and otherwise marred transfers of deteriorated prints. This year, for its 70th anniversary, Ignite Films released a gloriously restored edition culled from the best available elements on 4K and Blu-ray. Film Restoration Supervisor Scott MacQueen and his team have succeeded in a seemingly impossible task. For some, such an undertaking for a film like Invaders from Mars may seem frivolous, but films like this are as important to preserve for posterity as Lawrence of Arabia and Vertigo. Those films are big, great, and important of course, and perhaps objectively better films than Invaders from Mars, but every film is important to someone and for reasons that go beyond their place in film history.

Some years ago, Martin Scorsese was asked which films should be preserved and, to paraphrase his answer, he said something to the effect of "all of them." He went on to cite The Creeping Terror (1964), widely considered one of the worst movies ever made, because it captures the people, place, and time it was created and is the only real record that any of those things ever existed. Similarly, Invaders from Mars (a far more competent and polished film than The Creeping Terror) captures the attitudes and anxieties of a world that no longer exists. It is a time capsule that can now be observed and studied for generations to come. In this age when movies are allowed to deteriorate due to age and neglect, lost in the shuffle of the massive amount of content available, or even being outright deleted for a tax payoff, it is gratifying that a film like this, that to many would be dismissed as an inconsequential genre movie, would receive such care in its restoration and preservation.

In Bride of Frankenstein, Dr. Pretorius, played by the inimitable Ernest Thesiger, raises his glass and proposes a toast to Colin Clive's Henry Frankenstein—"to a new world of Gods and Monsters." I invite you to join me in exploring this world, focusing on horror films from the dawn of the Universal Monster movies in 1931 to the collapse of the studio system and the rise of the new Hollywood rebels in the late 1960's. With this period as our focus, and occasional ventures beyond, we will explore this magnificent world of classic horror. So, I raise my glass to you and invite you to join me in the toast.

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Back in the day, if someone had tried to convince me to read a pseudo-religious epic with a four-digit page-count and a Deus Ex Machina ending without mentioning that it was penned by Stephen King, I’m pretty sure that I would have done my best to avoid that person (and the book) like the superflu. Luckily for me, I was already an SK fanatic with a fascination for all things apocalyptic when I first laid hands on an uncut edition of The Stand, and it ended up becoming my absolute favorite novel by the King of horror.

Inspired by the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, King's viral opus was originally meant to bring the mythic scale of fantasy stories to (then) modern-day America, with Christianity replacing Middle Earth's magical elements and country folk standing in for hobbits and elves. Of course, with the book telling the story of post-apocalyptic survivors who find themselves divided between following an aging prophet or a demonic tyrant after the earth has been ravaged by a plague, you’d be forgiven for assuming that this was yet another one of King's genre nightmares. After all, this contemporary fantasy story still includes plenty of horror elements, with its terrifying antagonist having been borrowed from King's own Dark Tower series and the gruesome imagery distancing the book from its Tolkien-inspired origins.

And with the author becoming a household name throughout the 80s and 90s, it made sense that adaptations of his work began sprouting left and right – including a highly anticipated CBS event series adapting The Stand back in 1994, helmed by frequent King collaborator Mick Garris. Like many made-for-TV King adaptations, the mini-series was pretty divisive among his fanbase, but it was only in late 2020 that it would finally be challenged by a remake once again developed by CBS.

And while one of these shows has way more fans than the other, I think both versions of the epic tale are worth revisiting because of what they say about their respective time periods, and that's why I’d like to look back and compare both adaptations of The Stand.

The Stand (1994)

With big budget streaming and HBO sensations continuing to blur the line between film and television, younger readers might not be aware of what popular TV used to be like in the 90s. Before the days of Stranger Things and Game of Thrones, even ratings juggernauts like The X-Files had to contend with miniscule production budgets in order to accommodate the increased runtime when compared to movies.

That's why it's easy to forgive 1994's version of The Stand for many of its budgetary blunders, as the show didn't really stand out as a particularly cheap program when compared to other similar genre productions of the time – I mean, this was a year before Xena was on the air! Sure, the soap-opera-esque visuals and laughable effects sometimes hindered the more dramatic moments, but you’ve got to hand it to Garris for making the most of what little money he had to work with.

In fact, some of these dated elements have aged well enough that they add a bit of vintage flavor to the production, with charming little details like sets that look like they were originally built for a high-school theater productions and makeup effects that turn our main antagonist into a Power Rangers villain. That being said, if you can put the low production value aside, the actual storytelling here isn't bad. This is still essentially the same narrative as King's novel (with the teleplay written by the author himself), it's just hampered by a lack of inner monologues and subjective details.

Fortunately, the iconic casting mostly makes up for these literary losses, with Gary Sinise and Molly Ringwald remaining my favorite incarnations of Stu and Frannie (though that might have something to do with my teenage crush on Ringwald, so take my opinion with a grain of salt). I also adore Jamey Sheridan as Randall Flagg even if he's not quite as menacing as he was in the book.

In all honesty, I have a huge bias towards this mini-series since I watched it immediately after reading the book (I even own a DVD copy signed by Garris) but revisiting it decades later will probably be a very mixed experience for those who aren't already hardcore fans. The 1990s CBS budget simply can't keep up with the huge scope of the story and even the six-hour runtime isn't enough to properly explore this world and its complex characters.

The Stand (2020)

A remake of The Stand was a long time coming, with rumored films and even a multi-season TV show being discussed before fate decided that CBS should once again be the one to bring Captain Trips back for another round of Pandemic horror. This time, however, the production value would be out of this world, with blockbuster effects and more time to develop these iconic characters and follow the book more closely.

At least, that was the plan. In practice, the show's purist premise would end up being sabotaged by the decision to tell the story in a non-linear fashion, with choppy editing and bizarre transitions neutering the story's scale and emotional impact. Episodes jump around the book's timeline and the show expects viewers to tag along for the ride, erroneously assuming that we can just "skip to the good stuff" since most people are already familiar with the story.

There's also the matter of that bizarre epilogue episode which doesn't really add anything to the plot. While I appreciate that King decided to update his epic nearly four decades after its original publication, it still feels like a poorly paced afterthought.

Fortunately, the show is boosted by a star-studded cast that rivals the original production, with Whoopie Goldberg making an excellent Mother Abigail and Owen Teague being a big improvement over Corin Nemec as Harold Lauder (with his Tom-Cruise-inspired incel demeanor making him a lot creepier despite his differences to the source material). I also adored the always-lovable Fiona Dourif as the gender-swapped Ratman, though I wish the script had given Jovan Adepo more to do as a less charming version of Larry Underwood.

My personal favorite recasting was Alexander Skarsgård as Randall Flagg. While I still think he should have incorporated more of Sheridan's over-the-top persona into the character, both versions are equally memorable for different reasons, though the budget actually allows the more recent version of the villain to feel legitimately scary.

I have to address the elephant in the room, however, which is the fact that this high-profile TV show about a deadly virus was released in the middle of a real-world pandemic. Not only did this affect production, with filming being delayed due to Covid restrictions, but I also get the feeling that the non-linear editing might have been the result of CBS wanting to speed the story along and skip over the initial pandemic plot in order to distance the show from the real-world tragedies of 2020.

I can't really confirm this theory, but I have the feeling that somewhere out there is a superior version of The Stand that tells the same story in chronological order and (hopefully) skips over the epilogue entirely.

So Which Is The Better Show?

It's hard to objectively compare two pieces of artwork created in completely different eras. Many of the improvements of the 2020 version of The Stand are simply due to the evolving media landscape surrounding it and aren't necessarily merits of that particular production. At the same time, several of the flaws of the 1994 mini-series were already egregious back in the day, we simply accepted them because that's what was expected of genre TV or – as it was in my case – we grew up with it.

Looking back on it now, the 1994 production is a much more cohesive experience, benefiting from a linear plot and dialogue from Stephen King himself. Meanwhile, the 2020 reboot has singular moments of brilliance that outshine the original (like the reworked finale that miraculously makes the whole "Hand of God" scene less ridiculous) in between hours of messy and often boring storytelling. And on a minor note, both shows benefit from equally entertaining soundtracks, though it's a shame that the more recent version relegates most of its music to the end credits.

At the end of the day, neither adaptation can quite convey the Tolkien-esque scope of the novel, even if the 2020 incarnation at least features some sweeping Peter-Jackson-inspired shots of the "modern fellowship" travelling to Las Vegas. That's why I believe the definitive version of The Stand will always be the original novel, as the spiritual conflict of this particular epic lends itself better to literature than television – or even film for that matter, as the story's structure would make it difficult to divide into a satisfying big budget trilogy.

That being said, I’d be lying if I didn't admit that I still prefer the 1994 adaptation as my personal cheesy favorite.