Metal_Robots
Joined May 2017
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Metal_Robots's rating
7 out of 10 for X-Files fans, 5 out of 10 by general movie standards. It's very much at TV level with '90s TV-level special effects. It could be an Outer Limits two-parter from the period.
The story telling and cinematography is utterly generic and rarely goes beyond the scale of a TV show, adding an environmental message to all the old secret alien invasion tropes that were very well-worn by the time this was made.
It starts off much better than it ends, the first half of the film reminded me of Close Encounters Of The Third Kind, the idea of two unrelated people (Charlie Sheen & Lindsay Crouse) independently discovering that there's some weird stuff happening in the world and being drawn together by their investigations until they meet at ground zero was quite compelling....but around that point the film heads south, totally wasting Lindsay Crouse's character, who would have made for a much more interesting protagonist than Teri Polo becomes, when she re-enters the story for the final act.
The film gets worse towards the end, I get the distinct impression that they started with good intentions and did a fair job setting it up, but ran out of time or money towards the end and rushed it. For Instance, Charlie Sheen's performance gets noticeably worse, and the editing gets worse...there's one scene in particular that literally makes no sense when power gets cut off during a key moment but then it's like they forgot and suddenly the power is working again with no explanation.
The biggest plus of the film is that it does at least attempt to add a few twists here and there so things don't always go exactly the way you are expecting, but that comes at the cost of continuously setting things up and then abruptly quitting on them, sometimes for worse ideas.
In conclusion this is just for genre fans and X-Files fans, who will get enough entertainment from it to warrant a couple of hours investment, but everyone else is likely to consider it TV slop.
The story telling and cinematography is utterly generic and rarely goes beyond the scale of a TV show, adding an environmental message to all the old secret alien invasion tropes that were very well-worn by the time this was made.
It starts off much better than it ends, the first half of the film reminded me of Close Encounters Of The Third Kind, the idea of two unrelated people (Charlie Sheen & Lindsay Crouse) independently discovering that there's some weird stuff happening in the world and being drawn together by their investigations until they meet at ground zero was quite compelling....but around that point the film heads south, totally wasting Lindsay Crouse's character, who would have made for a much more interesting protagonist than Teri Polo becomes, when she re-enters the story for the final act.
The film gets worse towards the end, I get the distinct impression that they started with good intentions and did a fair job setting it up, but ran out of time or money towards the end and rushed it. For Instance, Charlie Sheen's performance gets noticeably worse, and the editing gets worse...there's one scene in particular that literally makes no sense when power gets cut off during a key moment but then it's like they forgot and suddenly the power is working again with no explanation.
The biggest plus of the film is that it does at least attempt to add a few twists here and there so things don't always go exactly the way you are expecting, but that comes at the cost of continuously setting things up and then abruptly quitting on them, sometimes for worse ideas.
In conclusion this is just for genre fans and X-Files fans, who will get enough entertainment from it to warrant a couple of hours investment, but everyone else is likely to consider it TV slop.
A very curious film indeed. It's hard to understand how such a good cast was attracted to such a low budget, British TV movie-budget production (think old Doctor Who), but here they are, and how great it is that they showed up. You'd be forgiven for thinking this was a feature-length comedy sketch from Hale & Pace, The Harry Enfield Show or Red Dwarf.
Most of the film is outright hilarious....reaching Airplane-style self-aware humour at times. The jaded cop with a coffee addiction vs Demonic Alien plot is almost irrelevant and doesn't even pretend to make sense, but the early-90s flooded London filming locations lend a unique character and the surreal interactions between hard-boiled Rutger Hauer and his newbie assistant Neil Duncan are what make the film.
Hauer, only ten years after Blade Runner, is doing an unashamed "what if Roy Batty was in cop satire Sledge Hammer?" impression for most of the show, no doubt with much of it improvised.
Something this intentionally silly can only ever go one of two ways, absolutely terrible, or highly entertaining, thankfully this somehow goes the entertaining route, and I can fully recommend it to anyone who likes Pythonesque British parody & Blade Runner in equal measure.
For me personally, 99% of the "so bad they are good" films I have seen have just been plain bad, this is one of the very few that I thought was actually good!
Most of the film is outright hilarious....reaching Airplane-style self-aware humour at times. The jaded cop with a coffee addiction vs Demonic Alien plot is almost irrelevant and doesn't even pretend to make sense, but the early-90s flooded London filming locations lend a unique character and the surreal interactions between hard-boiled Rutger Hauer and his newbie assistant Neil Duncan are what make the film.
Hauer, only ten years after Blade Runner, is doing an unashamed "what if Roy Batty was in cop satire Sledge Hammer?" impression for most of the show, no doubt with much of it improvised.
Something this intentionally silly can only ever go one of two ways, absolutely terrible, or highly entertaining, thankfully this somehow goes the entertaining route, and I can fully recommend it to anyone who likes Pythonesque British parody & Blade Runner in equal measure.
For me personally, 99% of the "so bad they are good" films I have seen have just been plain bad, this is one of the very few that I thought was actually good!
Love of Life
In the golden dawn of television's soap opera era, on September 24, 1951, CBS unveiled a gem that would captivate American households for nearly three decades: "Love of Life." As the first episode flickered onto black-and-white screens across the nation, viewers were transported into the intimate world of Barrowsville, New York, a quaint fictional town brimming with the everyday dramas that mirror our own lives.
This premiere, a mere 15 minutes of pure emotional alchemy, set the stage for what would become one of the most enduring daytime sagas, created by the visionary Roy Winsor. From the opening organ swells to the poignant closing credits, the episode is a masterclass in storytelling, blending heartfelt sincerity with subtle intrigue, leaving audiences yearning for more. It's not just a show; it's a heartfelt embrace of human complexity, and oh, how it glows with promise!
The episode opens with a stirring narration that immediately hooks the viewer: "Love of Life: The exciting story of Vanessa Dale and her courageous struggle for human dignity." These words, delivered with gravitas by the announcer, frame the narrative as a morality tale of profound depth, yet one that's accessible and deeply relatable. We are introduced to the Dale family home, a cozy yet tension-filled abode that feels like a snapshot of mid-century America-post-war optimism tinged with the shadows of personal conflict.
The production design, though simple by today's standards, is impeccably evocative: warm lighting casts soft glows on wooden furnishings, symbolizing the fragile warmth of family bonds. Director Larry Auerbach's deft hand ensures every frame pulses with life, making the live broadcast feel intimate, as if we're peeking through a neighbor's window. At the heart of this luminous debut are the two sisters whose contrasting personalities drive the engine of the story: Vanessa "Van" Dale and Margaret "Meg" Dale.
Peggy McCay's portrayal of Vanessa is nothing short of radiant-a beacon of virtue and quiet strength that instantly endears her to the audience. Van is the "good sister," a young woman searching for meaning and dignity in a world that often tests her resolve. In the premiere, we see her navigating the mundane yet profound challenges of daily life: tending to household duties, offering sage advice to loved ones, and standing firm against moral ambiguities. McCay infuses Van with a natural grace, her expressive eyes conveying volumes of unspoken emotion.
There's a scene where Van reflects on her aspirations, gazing out a window at the bustling town, and it's pure poetry-her voice, soft yet resolute, captures the universal quest for purpose. It's performances like this that elevate "Love of Life" beyond mere entertainment; McCay makes Van a heroine we root for, a symbol of resilience that resonates with every viewer who's ever faced adversity. Contrasting Van's purity is her sister Meg, brought to vivid life by Jean McBride in a performance that's deliciously layered.
Meg is the "bad girl," ambitious and scheming, yet not without her own vulnerabilities. In the first episode, we glimpse her dissatisfaction with her current lot-married to the wealthy Charles Harper, mother to young Beanie (later known as Ben, played charmingly by child actor Dennis Parnell)-and her flirtations with grander dreams. McBride nails the subtlety: Meg isn't a cartoonish villain but a complex woman driven by desires for security and excitement.
A pivotal moment occurs when Meg clashes with Van over a family decision, her sharp words laced with envy and defiance. The dialogue crackles with authenticity, courtesy of Winsor's sharp scripting: "Why must you always play the saint, Van? Life isn't a fairy tale-it's about taking what you want!" This exchange sets up the central conflict, a sibling rivalry that's as timeless as Cain and Abel, but infused with forgiveness and love.
Beanie, the innocent caught in the crossfire, adds a touching layer; his wide-eyed interactions with his aunts highlight the show's theme of familial duty, making the episode's emotional core unbreakable. Supporting the sisters are the Dale parents, Will and Sarah, portrayed by Ed Jerome and Jane Rose respectively. Jerome's Will is the steadfast patriarch, a man of few words but deep wisdom, offering grounding moments that balance the sisters' volatility.
Rose's Sarah, meanwhile, exudes maternal warmth, her fretful concern over her daughters' futures adding a relatable domestic flavor. These characters are introduced seamlessly, without exposition dumps; instead, their personalities unfold through natural conversations around the dinner table or during quiet evening reflections.
The episode masterfully weaves in hints of future turmoil-Megan's subtle discontent with her marriage, Van's unspoken longing for romance-planting seeds that promise bountiful dramatic harvests. It's this foreshadowing that makes the premiere so addictive; viewers sense the brewing storms, from potential infidelity to moral dilemmas, all wrapped in the cozy blanket of small-town life. What truly makes this first episode shine is its thematic richness.
In 1951, as America emerged from the shadows of World War II, "Love of Life" tapped into the collective yearning for stability and ethical clarity. The show doesn't shy away from exploring the gray areas of human behavior: Van's "courageous struggle" isn't just against external forces but internal ones, questioning how one maintains dignity amid temptation.
Yet, it's presented with an optimistic glow, emphasizing forgiveness and redemption. Meg's flaws aren't condemned outright; instead, they're humanized, inviting empathy. This nuance was groundbreaking for daytime TV, where soaps were often dismissed as frivolous. Winsor, fresh off creating "Search for Tomorrow," crafts a narrative that's intellectually engaging yet emotionally soothing-like a warm cup of tea on a rainy afternoon.
Production-wise, the episode is a triumph of early television ingenuity. Broadcast live, it features seamless transitions and a haunting organ score that underscores emotional beats without overwhelming them. The commercials, integrated smoothly (often for soap products, fittingly), feel like natural pauses in the story rather than interruptions.
Visually, the black-and-white palette enhances the dramatic contrasts, much like the sisters themselves-light and shadow dancing in harmony. Sound design captures the subtle rustles of skirts and clinks of teacups, immersing viewers in Barrowsville's world. It's a testament to CBS's commitment to quality that this debut feels polished, not rushed, setting a high bar for competitors.
As the episode draws to a close, with Van offering a hopeful glance toward tomorrow, one can't help but feel uplifted. This isn't just the start of a series; it's the birth of a cultural phenomenon that would evolve over 29 years, expanding to 30 minutes in 1958 and shifting settings to Rosehill. But in this premiere, everything is fresh, full of potential. Van's journey-defending herself in a future murder trial, marrying attorney Paul Raven (who tragically perishes in a plane crash), and continually supporting Beanie amid Meg's escapades-hints at epic scope.
Yet, it's the intimate focus that enchants: the love between sisters, the trials of family, the pursuit of a life well-lived. In retrospect, watching this episode today (thanks to rare kinescope preservations) is like uncovering a time capsule of heartfelt storytelling. It's glowing not because it's perfect-early TV had its technical hiccups-but because it's authentic, passionate, and profoundly human. "Love of Life" reminds us that great drama springs from the ordinary, and this first installment is a sparkling invitation to join the ride.
If you're a fan of timeless tales like "Guiding Light" or modern heirs like "The Young and the Restless," do yourself a favor: seek out this premiere. It's 15 minutes of television magic that feels eternal, leaving you with a warm afterglow and an insatiable appetite for what comes next. Bravo, CBS- you've given us a love that truly lives!
This premiere, a mere 15 minutes of pure emotional alchemy, set the stage for what would become one of the most enduring daytime sagas, created by the visionary Roy Winsor. From the opening organ swells to the poignant closing credits, the episode is a masterclass in storytelling, blending heartfelt sincerity with subtle intrigue, leaving audiences yearning for more. It's not just a show; it's a heartfelt embrace of human complexity, and oh, how it glows with promise!
The episode opens with a stirring narration that immediately hooks the viewer: "Love of Life: The exciting story of Vanessa Dale and her courageous struggle for human dignity." These words, delivered with gravitas by the announcer, frame the narrative as a morality tale of profound depth, yet one that's accessible and deeply relatable. We are introduced to the Dale family home, a cozy yet tension-filled abode that feels like a snapshot of mid-century America-post-war optimism tinged with the shadows of personal conflict.
The production design, though simple by today's standards, is impeccably evocative: warm lighting casts soft glows on wooden furnishings, symbolizing the fragile warmth of family bonds. Director Larry Auerbach's deft hand ensures every frame pulses with life, making the live broadcast feel intimate, as if we're peeking through a neighbor's window. At the heart of this luminous debut are the two sisters whose contrasting personalities drive the engine of the story: Vanessa "Van" Dale and Margaret "Meg" Dale.
Peggy McCay's portrayal of Vanessa is nothing short of radiant-a beacon of virtue and quiet strength that instantly endears her to the audience. Van is the "good sister," a young woman searching for meaning and dignity in a world that often tests her resolve. In the premiere, we see her navigating the mundane yet profound challenges of daily life: tending to household duties, offering sage advice to loved ones, and standing firm against moral ambiguities. McCay infuses Van with a natural grace, her expressive eyes conveying volumes of unspoken emotion.
There's a scene where Van reflects on her aspirations, gazing out a window at the bustling town, and it's pure poetry-her voice, soft yet resolute, captures the universal quest for purpose. It's performances like this that elevate "Love of Life" beyond mere entertainment; McCay makes Van a heroine we root for, a symbol of resilience that resonates with every viewer who's ever faced adversity. Contrasting Van's purity is her sister Meg, brought to vivid life by Jean McBride in a performance that's deliciously layered.
Meg is the "bad girl," ambitious and scheming, yet not without her own vulnerabilities. In the first episode, we glimpse her dissatisfaction with her current lot-married to the wealthy Charles Harper, mother to young Beanie (later known as Ben, played charmingly by child actor Dennis Parnell)-and her flirtations with grander dreams. McBride nails the subtlety: Meg isn't a cartoonish villain but a complex woman driven by desires for security and excitement.
A pivotal moment occurs when Meg clashes with Van over a family decision, her sharp words laced with envy and defiance. The dialogue crackles with authenticity, courtesy of Winsor's sharp scripting: "Why must you always play the saint, Van? Life isn't a fairy tale-it's about taking what you want!" This exchange sets up the central conflict, a sibling rivalry that's as timeless as Cain and Abel, but infused with forgiveness and love.
Beanie, the innocent caught in the crossfire, adds a touching layer; his wide-eyed interactions with his aunts highlight the show's theme of familial duty, making the episode's emotional core unbreakable. Supporting the sisters are the Dale parents, Will and Sarah, portrayed by Ed Jerome and Jane Rose respectively. Jerome's Will is the steadfast patriarch, a man of few words but deep wisdom, offering grounding moments that balance the sisters' volatility.
Rose's Sarah, meanwhile, exudes maternal warmth, her fretful concern over her daughters' futures adding a relatable domestic flavor. These characters are introduced seamlessly, without exposition dumps; instead, their personalities unfold through natural conversations around the dinner table or during quiet evening reflections.
The episode masterfully weaves in hints of future turmoil-Megan's subtle discontent with her marriage, Van's unspoken longing for romance-planting seeds that promise bountiful dramatic harvests. It's this foreshadowing that makes the premiere so addictive; viewers sense the brewing storms, from potential infidelity to moral dilemmas, all wrapped in the cozy blanket of small-town life. What truly makes this first episode shine is its thematic richness.
In 1951, as America emerged from the shadows of World War II, "Love of Life" tapped into the collective yearning for stability and ethical clarity. The show doesn't shy away from exploring the gray areas of human behavior: Van's "courageous struggle" isn't just against external forces but internal ones, questioning how one maintains dignity amid temptation.
Yet, it's presented with an optimistic glow, emphasizing forgiveness and redemption. Meg's flaws aren't condemned outright; instead, they're humanized, inviting empathy. This nuance was groundbreaking for daytime TV, where soaps were often dismissed as frivolous. Winsor, fresh off creating "Search for Tomorrow," crafts a narrative that's intellectually engaging yet emotionally soothing-like a warm cup of tea on a rainy afternoon.
Production-wise, the episode is a triumph of early television ingenuity. Broadcast live, it features seamless transitions and a haunting organ score that underscores emotional beats without overwhelming them. The commercials, integrated smoothly (often for soap products, fittingly), feel like natural pauses in the story rather than interruptions.
Visually, the black-and-white palette enhances the dramatic contrasts, much like the sisters themselves-light and shadow dancing in harmony. Sound design captures the subtle rustles of skirts and clinks of teacups, immersing viewers in Barrowsville's world. It's a testament to CBS's commitment to quality that this debut feels polished, not rushed, setting a high bar for competitors.
As the episode draws to a close, with Van offering a hopeful glance toward tomorrow, one can't help but feel uplifted. This isn't just the start of a series; it's the birth of a cultural phenomenon that would evolve over 29 years, expanding to 30 minutes in 1958 and shifting settings to Rosehill. But in this premiere, everything is fresh, full of potential. Van's journey-defending herself in a future murder trial, marrying attorney Paul Raven (who tragically perishes in a plane crash), and continually supporting Beanie amid Meg's escapades-hints at epic scope.
Yet, it's the intimate focus that enchants: the love between sisters, the trials of family, the pursuit of a life well-lived. In retrospect, watching this episode today (thanks to rare kinescope preservations) is like uncovering a time capsule of heartfelt storytelling. It's glowing not because it's perfect-early TV had its technical hiccups-but because it's authentic, passionate, and profoundly human. "Love of Life" reminds us that great drama springs from the ordinary, and this first installment is a sparkling invitation to join the ride.
If you're a fan of timeless tales like "Guiding Light" or modern heirs like "The Young and the Restless," do yourself a favor: seek out this premiere. It's 15 minutes of television magic that feels eternal, leaving you with a warm afterglow and an insatiable appetite for what comes next. Bravo, CBS- you've given us a love that truly lives!