After 1933's King Kong, the big budget sci-fi spectacle became a treasured page
in the Hollywood playbook.
When the television set began challenging cinema's monopoly on moving pictures, several
studios turned to that page to prove that Hollywood could still provide experiences far grander
than anything the TV could offer.
In 1953, 20th Century Fox debuted CinemaScope, a new, widescreen format that could be shown
in theaters using existing technology.
This became the studio's trademark after the release of The Robe, but other studios could
borrow the technology as well, as when Walt Disney used CinemaScope to film his big budget
sci-fi epic, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.
The following years would see plenty of big budget spectacles, including The Ten Commandments,
A Farewell to Arms, Ben-Hur, and West Side Story, but science-fiction was waning in popularity,
devolving from the heights of the mid-1950's into more schlocky films designed for children.
Then, in the mid-sixties, Fox decided to take a stab at reviving the declining genre with
a serious sci-fi film with a gigantic budget, a sweeping, awesome spectacle to rival even
the greatest historical epics that dominated the box office.
A scientist has just defected to the United States with information that may prove decisive
in winning the war.
However, before he can devulge his secrets, he is ambushed and nearly killed.
Rendered comatose with a blood clot deep inside his brain, his prognosis is grim, requiring
an unprecedented surgical procedure whereby five specialists will shrink down to microscopic
size and use a miniature submarine to traverse the patient's bloodstream and repair the damage.
Can they truly be prepared, though, for the unseen dangers that lurk inside the human body?
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With that out of the way, let's get back to the subject at hand.
The writers Otto Klement and Jerome Bixby came up with the basic story idea for Fantastic
Voyage, a film about people being shrunk down to microscopic size and then inserted into
a human body.
They sold it to Fox, which then hired as producer Saul David, who had worked on Von Ryan's Express
and Our Man Flint, and as director Richard Fleischer, no doubt due to his academic background
in human anatomy as well as his work on 20,000 Leagues under the Sea and The Vikings, equally
ambitious and expensive motion pictures.
Clement and Bixby's story took place in Victorian England, but after other science-fiction films
had already used this setting--most notably 1960's The Time Machine--Fleischer and the
studio agreed to replace Victorian England with a futuristic America.
Though the film never explicitly states the year and though the opening sequences look
very much like the 1960's, promotional material for the film states that it is set in 1995.
In order to rewrite and adapt the story, they hired the Russian-born Harry Kleiner, probably
most well-known at the time as a writer of noir crime dramas.
Kleiner introduced the Cold War-esque spy intrigue that dominates the opening scenes
of the film and provides the central hook for the extraordinary procedure, though he
was careful to never state explicitly state who America's unseen enemy is.
Kleiner also appended his 142-page script with an indexed book of physical research
that was distributed to all departments working on the film.
With its ambitious plans for massive sets and extensive effects work, pre-production
forced a delay in principle photography.
Casting didn't even begin until some of the sets were already under construction.
The centerpiece of the production was an enormous four-piece set that spanned two different
sound stages, with an operating theater, a shrinking chamber, an operations room, and
an overseeing control center that, in total, cost seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
This set remained in place for several months, preserved for potential reshoots, which made
the stages unavailable for other productions that hoped to use them.
Many of the body interiors were also fully-sized sets, such as this enlarged alveolus and this
section of the inner ear.
The most impressive of these sets is this one, which at a size of about thirty by forty
feet, was the largest working model of a human heart.
The various tissues were crafted from spun fiberglass, plastic foam, rubber, and other
materials, usually painted white and colored through the use of different stage lights.
The submarine, the Proteus, was also an impressive bit of set design.
Put together by Harper Goff, the same man who designed the Nautilus for 20,000 Leagues
under the Sea, the Proteus was made full-sized with a fully realized interior, at a final
size exceeding 40 feet by 20 feet.
Sections of the exterior could be removed to make way for the cameras, but the fact
that both the exterior and interior were the same physical set meant that there were no
real difficulties in matching the action on opposite sides of the glass.
Some filming was also done on location in the Los Angeles Sports Arena, which had to
be dressed every morning and then quickly undressed every afternoon before five p.m.
so as not to interfere with regularly scheduled sporting events.
As a result, you can see simple curtains covering up certain areas and generic set panels that
could be attached and removed in a matter of minutes.
To play the lead role of Grant, they cast Stephen Boyd, probably best known as Messala
in Ben-Hur, who was happy to return to the U.S. after multiple years working in other countries.
For the "sus" and ultimately villainous role of Dr. Michaels, they hired the British actor
Donald Pleasence, known in the States for his roles in The Great Escape and The Greatest
Story Ever Told, the latter of which saw him as Satan.
He also appeared in 1956's adaptation of 1984, alongside the relatively better-known Edmond
O'Brien--also known for The Killers, Julius Caesar, and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance--who
was cast in Fantastic Voyage as General Carter.
Opposite him in the conrol room for most of the movie is Arthur O'Connell as Colonel Reid.
"Thought I told you to cut down on the sugar."
"Huh? Oh, I can't help it. I'm just weak, I guess."
O'Connell was a veteran of Orson Welles' Mercury Theater and was known for films like Anatomy
of a Murder and Operation Petticoat.
To play the star surgeon and espionage red herring Dr. Duval, they hired Arthur Kennedy,
who had been in The Man from Laramie, Lawrence of Arabia, and Richard Fleischer's Barabbas,
but he was most well-known for his Tony Award-winning performance as Biff Loman in the initial run
of Death of a Salesman in 1949.
Other actors worth noting are William Redfield as the sub captain Bill Owens, Barry Coe as
this communications aide, and a barely visible James Brolin in a tiny role as a technician,
but the most frequently discussed cast member is Raquel Welch in one of her earliest film
roles as Dr. Duval's assistant, Cora.
Welch does a decent job playing the subdued character, though her role amounts to little
more than being a subservient bit of eye candy that becomes a stereotypical damsel in distress
in this sequence.
The following scene, in which the men are removing crystallized antibodies from the
actress' skin-tight wet suit, had to be filmed multiple times.
In the first take, the men, as perfect gentlemen, all avoided grabbing the crystals from her
chest, leaving her in the end looking like she was wearing a crystal bikini top.
After Fleischer directed the men to not be afraid to grab from that area, in the next
take, all four men immediately went for her breasts, forcing Fleischer to choreograph
each actor's specific movements in order to make a final take that found a happy medium.
"That'll teach you where to keep your hand."
I actually think Welch gets a raw deal when it comes to her role in this movie.
Yes, she was obviously hired to look good in a wet suit, but she feels like a real scientist-in-training
who is adept at navigating the sexual politics of the time without sacrificing her individuality.
Also, by modern standards, even in that suit, her outfits are pretty conservative, especially
when compared to her wardrobe in the same year's One Million Years B.C.
All that said, the biggest draw in the film is not Raquel Welch's admittedly gorgeous figure.
It is the special and visual effects, put together primarily by Art Cruickshank, who
would parlay his Academy Award-winning work on the film into a very successful career
in the industry, working on things like Planet of the Apes, Land of the Giants, and TRON.
While the effects might not look it today, they were state-of-the-art at the time.
Black-and-white compositing had been perfected by the fifties, but color compositing by way
of blue screens was still in its infancy, meaning that audiences were far more forgiving
of the compositing artifacts that are so glaring to modern eyes.
And in an age well before computer graphics, the visual effects all had to be done practically.
For the bloodstream, the effects team used a giant water tank pumped with various oils,
vaseline, and vegetable dyes to create the lava-lamp-inspired globules, with multiple
streams often overlayed over each other, in addition to the compositing of live action,
the occasional bits of hand-drawn animation, and a few instances of optical processing.
They built several models of the Proteus at different scales, the smallest of which--measuring
a mere inch and a half--was lost when they were filming outside and a passing bird absconded
with it.
For sequences involving the characters outside of the sub, the dry sets were filmed in overcranked,
high-speed cameras to simulate the slower motion of underwater while the actors were
dangled from precarious wires painted over with acid that rendered them useless after
a few takes.
Both Welch and Boyd reported injuries from the extensive wire work, but the resulting
effects are worth it, with most of the wires still invisible.
The sound effects are also notable, as they were originally created by Ralph Hickey for
use as computer noises in the 1957 film Desk Set.
These sounds were staples of Fox productions for years, and they should be familiar to
anyone who watched Fox television shows or other Fox sci-fi films from the 60's and 70's.
As for the musical score, it was put together by Leonard Rosenman, who was originally hired
to do a jazzy, James Bond-inspired soundtrack but who refused to do so.
Instead, he argued for more experimental, atonal music, more akin to the pioneering
work of Bebe and Louis Barron, whose soundtrack for Forbidden Planet set the standard for
science-fiction for decades.
Additionally, it was Rosenman's idea to forgo using any music at all during the first few
reels of the film, holding it off until the moment the Proteus finally enters the body
of the patient, Benes.
What Rosenman created is one of the most memorable and recognizable sci-fi soundtracks of the
era, and it goes a long way to helping inspire the awe and wonder so essential to the finished film.
20th Century Fox spent a great deal of time and money promoting the film, hoping for a
massive box office draw.
The studio even hired the famous Spanish surrealist Salvador Dalí to paint a series of Fantastic
Voyage inspired pictures for the lobby cards and other promotional material for the film's
New York premiere.
Dalí was enamoured with the actress Rachel Welch and used her as his primary muse, even
giving her a "portrait."
A documentary was filmed about Dalí's involvement in Fantastic Voyage, called Salvador Dalí's
Fantastic Dream, but good luck finding a copy of it today.
Fox also hired the science-fiction legend Isaac Asimov to write the film's novelization,
but Asimov only agreed to do it if he could make a few changes to fill in what he saw
as egregious plot holes.
For example, in Asimov's novelization, the crew of the Proteus, as they are escaping
through the patient's eye in the climax, must lure the corpuscle that has eaten the Proteus
to escape with them so that the Proteus, as it grows in size, does not kill the patient.
As someone who has always been bothered by the fact that the film leaves the Proteus
inside Benes' brain and expects us not to think about the implications, I appreciate
Asimov's attention to detail.
He also wrote very quickly, and thanks to his speed and the many delays in the film's
post-production, the novelization was released a full six months before the film, leading
many to falsely believe that the movie is based on the novel rather than vice versa.
With a production budget of six and a half million dollars, Fantastic Voyage was the
most expensive science-movie movie to date when it released in August of 1966, though
the same year would see the release of Hawaii, a historical drama that cost a whopping fifteen
million dollars.
Fantastic Voyage earned above average reviews and was generally well-received by audiences.
It won a pair of Academy Awards for special effects and art direction, but unfortunately,
in its initial domestic run, it made just shy of 8.9 million dollars in theater rentals,
which according to Fox records, made it a net loss for the studio after considering
other costs like marketing and distribution.
Ironically for a Fox CinemaScope epic, the movie would find its widest audience primarily
through television, where it was run regularly on multiple channels for over a decade and
would inspire the creation of a same-titled Saturday morning cartoon series put together
by Filmation in association with Fox.
From there, Fantastic Voyage would become an iconic science-fiction landmark, inspiring
comic books, parodies, theme park rides, and even an early-eighties video game.
Both Asimov and Kevin J. Anderson would write additional novels reinterpretating the story,
and a remake has been in various stages of development since at least 1984.
1987 saw the release of Joe Dante's Innerspace, a movie heavily and unapologetically inspired
by the original Fantastic Voyage, even taking its title from a line in the film.
"Something told me I got into the wrong end of this business.
Inner space, hmph!"
This story is one of those science-fiction concepts that has become imbedded in popular
culture, so much so that even people who have never seen the movie are familiar with many
of the details.
It gets homages and parodies even in the Twenty-First Century, with my favorites including episodes
of Futurama and SpongeBob.
"So, how's it going?"
[Crash, wheeze]
In my opinion, the movie has lost some of its magical qualities in the fifty-five years
since its release--with a dragged out first act that no longer builds anticipation the
way it must have in its day and some effects that aren't as impressive as they used to
be--but on a big, widescreen television with the volume cranked up, you can still experience
the scope and ambition of the filmmakers, as well as marvel at the imagination on display
during the main parts of the film.
There's no doubt modern computer graphics could easily improve upon the effects in a
technical sense, but they would be hard pressed to replace the creativity shown by Art Cruickshank
and his team.
In terms of storytelling, the script does a great job adding layers of tension to what
would otherwise be a fairly mundane plot, with the entire heart sequence standing out
as a memorable bit of white-knuckle suspense.
Granted, the underlying premise is absolutely ridiculous, but the writers steer clear of
even trying to explain the technology of shrinking, encouraging audiences to simply accept the
premise and let the story suspend disbelief with its visuals, its paranoid espionage subplot,
its attention to medical detail, and of course, Raquel Welch in that wet suit.
Make no mistakes, any nitpicks I have about its more dated qualities are just that: nitpicks.
On the whole, I still love this movie and recommend it to any fan of classic science-fiction.
It is a landmark of the genre from a decade where science-fiction was flailing to find
a fresh foothold in cinemas.
Indeed, no respectable history of great, big budget sci-fi epics would be complete without
Fantastic Voyage.
And that's all for today, my fellow Earthlings.
What do you think?
Would you want to be shrunk down to the size of a microbe and take a tour of the human body?
Let me know in the comments, and while you're there, don't forget to like and subscribe
if you haven't already.
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My patrons vote on one movie I cover every single month.
You can also check out my website at emagill.com, where you'll find written reviews of plenty
more sci-fi classics in both film and literature.
Until next time, though, when Ray Harryhausen will join the battle for Planet Earth, this
is The Unapologetic Geek, telling you to never be ashamed of what you love,
as long as you're not hurting anybody.
"Our miniaturizer can shrink anything." "But I don't want to be miniaturized!"
"It's just for an hour."