Tobor the Great (

1954

) ½

Exploring the far reaches of the earth may be dangerous business for those not familiar with the local flora and fauna, but unless the expedition is into the most desolate wastelands of Antarctica then the explorers can at least take some solace that somehow, at some point, humans figured out how to permanently inhabit these lands. Parts of the earth are certainly inhospitable, but there are few places so desolate that a cunning human mind hasn't figured out some way of surviving in them. Beyond the earth though, there is no such reassurance. Most of the universe is completely hostile to terrestrial life, and without careful technological contrivance would kill any human that set foot there in a matter of seconds. Then there is the fact that people in the 1950s knew very little about space, and could reasonably assume that the things they didn't know were potentially dangerous for any stellar pioneer. Under such conditions, you could be forgiven from regarding any manned expedition into the great unknown as effectively a suicide mission.

At least, that's what Dr. Ralph Harrison believes, as he pleads desperately with his superiors at the ersatz NASA organization CIFC. He's not alone in his concerns, a figure no less eminent than the great Professor Nordstrom shares his concerns and thinks he has a solution the problem: a sophisticated robot that he has dubbed Tobor (interestingly, the film never refers to him by his titular epithet). Tobor can pilot the first spaceship and collect data about the hazards waiting for humans in the outer limits. With hard data about the nature of outer space, the experts back on earth will be able to devise a means of traversing the stars that won't kill its entire crew in the process. On earth, the robot can be activated and controlled by a normal remote device, but obviously, when it is in the depths of space it will soon be out of range of such devices. Consequently, Nordstrom has devised a new way of directing the robot: ESP (I know it doesn't make a whole lot of sense, just go with it).

Nordstrom needs some help putting the finishing touches on the project so he invites Harrison to come and stay with him, his widowed daughter Janice, and her son Gadge in his remote home/laboratory. After a bit of time lapsed work they are ready to unveil the robot to the world, inviting a collection of 12 of the nation's science reporters to vault under his home to unveil this creation. The robot makes a good impression, but somehow, nobody noticed that there were actually 13 guests at the press conference, 12 journalists and one commie spy (though he is never identified as a Russian, it's pretty obvious whose behalf he's spying on). Now, 12 is not such a huge number, so it's pretty alarming negligence on the part of Nordstrom and Harrison that they never noticed the extra body at their press conference. Attending the conference doesn't give the Reds much of edge though, as all they get is the same information that will be published in tomorrow's newspapers. Consequently, they decide that they will have to either steal the prototype or abduct Professor Nordstrom so he can build them their own personal Tobor.

At this point, the film effectively becomes a Warner Brother's cartoon. The communists try one hair-brained scheme to infiltrate Nordstrom's house only to be repulsed by the house's absurd defenses. Blaring sirens output the soundtrack from Sands of Iwo Jima (1949) at ear-splitting decimals, and convince the reds that they have been ambushed by the entire Marine Corps. Nobody is seriously hurt, or even gravely inconvenienced by the affair. As soon as the commies have figured out that they aren't going to be able to steal Tobor directly, so they settle on a subtler plan. They decide to capture Professor Nordstrom and Gadge while the two are visiting the local planetarium and beating the information out of the old man. It's at this point the movie takes a sudden turn for the macabre as the communists gleefully threaten Gadge and his elderly grandfather with a blow torch. Keep in mind this has been a pleasant juvenile fantasy up until this point, so the sudden threat of gruesome violence against a child understandably caught me off guard. The only hope for Nordstrom and Gadge is if they can guide Tobor to them, first by Nordstrom's emergency beacon and then later by his psychic link with Gadge.

In tone, Tobor the Great has much in common with its contemporary Japanese children's adventures like Attack from Space (1964) or the later Showa Godzilla movies like Godzilla vs. Megalon (1974) and Terror of Mechagodzilla (1975). Hell, Tobor the Great even sounds like the name of a monster that Gamera or Gargantua would fight. The film is very focused on the antics of the pre-pubescent Gadge and more specifically his relationship with Tobor. Mercifully, Gadge is not as annoying as most cinematic kids of this era but he still manages to get on my nerves now and then. Maybe it's the mechanical aptitude that allows him to almost instantly figure out Tobor's controls when the robot has run amok, maybe it's the way he seems to never get in trouble for any of the mischief he causes. I know this is supposed to be childish fulfillment but I wanted to see the cocky brat learn a lesson or two before the film was over.

None of the human performances in Tabor the great rise above the level of blasé, nor do they sink to the level of outright embarrassing. Like most of B-films of the 1950s, the performances are serviceable, bland, and utterly forgettable. The real stars here are the robot and the house that professor Nordstrom keeps him in. The robot is hardly surprising in that regard, it is a well-crafted suit that incorporates all the charm of 1950s futurism: The sleekness, the shining chrome, and the goofy attempts at imbuing the later-day golem with warmth and humanity. Professor Nordstrom even gives a totally unconvincing reason why the robot is equipped with eyes that light up when he is activated. For once the bulkiness and clumsiness of the costume are an asset rather than a detriment, as they give the robot a realistic weight to its movement. If Tobor looks familiar, it's because it is the brainchild of Robert Kinoshita, the designer of Robbie the Robot from Forbidden Planet (1956) and The Invisible Boy (1957). Tobor is simpler and sleeker design than Robbie, which makes him a good fit for the overall tone of this goofy optimistic movie, but they have in common the same weight and clumsiness that marks them out as unmistakably mechanical.

More surprising than the robot captivating the audience's attention is how the house intrigues us. Most of the inside of Nordstrom's house is a typical 1950s Hollywood domicile complete with harmonious relations between all the inhabitants. Gadge looks up to his grandfather, respects his mother and never gets into anything more than the occasional good-natured mischief (the worst effect of which being the breaking of a vase). Despite being themselves father and daughter, Nordstrom and Janice effectively function as father and mother to the boy, making the home's only defect (the dead father, he died in Korea) irrelevant. Within the four walls of the Nordstrom residence, it's more or less straight “Leave it to Beaver” land. There are fantastic devices, but always in familiar guises, like the grandfather clock that verbally tells the residence the time. Yet despite its mundanity, the house is no ordinary home; it is isolated from the rest of the world, a veritable fortress protected by high fences and ingenious traps. In the 1950s many Americans saw the suburban home, and the nuclear family inside it as the last redoubt of safety and security in a rapidly changing world. The bomb shelter craze was only the most literal expression of this attitude. As in the film, communist infiltration, subversion, and espionage was a leading cause of concern. Indeed, the house is such a good exemplar of Cold War era feelings that I find it hard to believe that Elaine Tyler May never referenced Tobor the Great in her seminal study: Homeward Bound: American Families in the Cold War Era. I guess even specialists in Cold War history don't pay much attention to goofy sci-fi films. It's a shame though, the film makes a far better exemplar 1950s domestic attitudes than the story about a couple honeymooning in a bomb shelter she uses to introduce her work.

Not all that much happens in Tobor the Great. Indeed much of the film's plot seems like it is merely preparation for a later movie. It's not until the ending title that we see Tobor fulfill his designed purpose and pilot the spaceship, departing for the great unknown. Most of the rest of the film is just demonstrating Tobor's abilities and giving a proof of concept for the adventure to come. It's a bit of wasted potential, as the story of a precocious youth, his dotting old grandfather, and their loyal robot tooling across the galaxy getting into adventures is a much more exciting concept for a film than the one we got. All the same, I can't judge Tobor too harshly, sure its a bit dull in some stretches but it captures better than any film I've seen the attitudes and biases of 1950s domesticity. Others might be bored to tears, but for me, I like nothing better than to prop my feet up and spend an hour in a world that never existed but that nonetheless millions of people believed in.