The Spirits of Jupiter, aka Planet Gone Mad (1984)

“Jupiter is in the house of Aries . . . the great one will cool his sword in blood.”
— The Roman god of Jupiter, or is that the Greek god of Zeus, over the opening credits, warning of man’s end

“Jupiter and Saturn, Oberon, Miranda and Titania. Neptune, Titan, Stars can frighten.”
— Syd Barrett

After enjoying my revisiting with Micheal Krueger’s Denver, Colorado, shot-and-released SOV’ers Mind Killer and Night Vision (1987), my analog memories drifted back to this comic book shop renter: an unidentified flying oddball if there ever was one. Okay, The Spirits of Jupiter isn’t an official SOV, as it’s analogous to Don Dohler’s Fiend: a drive-in production shot on 16mm and blown up to 35mm. But you know how we feel about the 16 to 35 flicks: they walk and quack like an SOV duck, more so when our first exposure to those films wasn’t in a drive-in, but as a home video renter.

And with a cover like the one on the left, you can’t not rent it on the 5-5-5 or one-day .49 cent plan. As for the bogus cover on the right: it in no way represents the movie under the slipcover. The one on the left, however, ever so sadly, does.

Prior to making his directing debut within The Spirits of Jupiter, self-made Colorado filmmaker Russell Kern, in his scripting debut, cast go-to old codger TV western actor Sunshine Parker* in the G-rated family film, Spittin’ Image (1982). I vaguely remember that film spin spinnin’ on a lazy, UHF-TV afternoon, right around the same time I was first exposed to the likes of the not-really-kid-flicks The Little Dragons, Mystery Mansion, and the old man pedo-alien non-starter, The Force on Thunder Mountain. I have no interest in remembering anymore than that — or give it a review proper, seeing Sunshine Parker in another film, be damned.

At that point, Russell Kern vanished, only to return as the producer and director of the never-heard-of-or-seen drama Pools of Anger (1992), about a man who dedicates his life to suicide prevention. Is it a Christploitation flick? It appears on various lists, based on one’s opinion as such, but there’s no information on the web regarding the plot to verify if it is, in fact, a Christian-slanted tale.

Anyway, let’s pop in a copy of the lone film by Russel Kern that I know all too well: the George Romero rip that is The Spirits of Jupiter . . . but we must emptor our caveats before we get started:

Is this as bad as the Canadian in-the-woods-talking SOV apoc-romp Survival: 1990? Eh, er . . . an on-the-fence “No” to that question. Is it any better than the Gary Lockwood-starring South America-doubling-for-Texas apoc slop that is Survival Zone? Definitely a “No,” to that one, as that movie stinks but Lockwood’s presence makes it watchable. Did this all need a touch of David A. Prior? God help me, but a resounding “Yes!” Where was David A. Prior when we needed him with his fleet of post-apoc Jeep Cherokees from Future Force and Future Zone. Maybe if Cornell Wilde made this back in the ’70s and he had some planetary, gravitational pull junk science bring down the fall of man in his apoc-opus, No Blade of Grass. . . .

Instead, we got the production savvy-common sense of Prior’s celluloid partner-in-crime David Winters’s concrete-blocked wall space ships from Space Mutiny.

Yes, for you are about to be Def-Conned, as well as Def-Fucked, 1.

Well, at least the citizens of Denver got to see it.

If you’re a fan of Cirio H. Santiago’s Equalizer 2000 and Anthony Maharaj’s Return of the Kickboxer (1987), Rex Cutter, Richard Norton’s co-star in both of those films (as Dixon and Col. Ted Ryan, respectively), stars here (and Executive Produces, as this is his vanity affair). Speaking of Kern’s debut film, Spittin’ Image: that film served as Cutter’s feature film debut, after getting his start as a background actor on several episode of Battlestar Galactica — as a Cylon Warrior. As is the case with most self-financed, regional-made flicks: the rest of the cast is one-and-gone, sans one: Chopper Bernet, who makes his acting debut, here. The ‘Chop is still crazy after all these years, with a lot of video game voice work on his resume for the G.I Joe, Marvel, and Star Wars franchises.

Okay, enough with the trivia. Let’s get into the “Romero Connection” of it all.

Hell, forget about the Romero premise. Look at the box: you’ve got a John Wayne lookalike (the hero), a CHiPs motorcycle cop (the villain), a racing Piper Cub, a helicopter, what looks like robed monks on horseback (that never show up in the film), a wayward couple on the run (to be rescued) — and Jupiter aligned with a bunch of planets. So what’s not to rent, here?

This film’s raison d’etre, however, isn’t just George Romero’s The Night of the Living Dead, well, more to the point, The Crazies. This time, instead of an errant chemical spill or crashed space probe, it’s the Jupiter Effect: an effect that fueled many of the speculative documentaries of the 1970s regarding humanity’s demise, as well as various Christploition apoc flicks.

Don’t laugh, ye reader: for the fear — as with the biblical-assured The Rapture — of the scientifically-predicted Jupiter Effect, was real.

Grade school and middle schoolers were chilled to the bone, via the pages of Scholastic magazine in our English classes and the pages of Popular Mechanics in our Industrial Arts classes. When you turned on TBN – The Trinity Broadcasting Network, Hal Lindsay, he of the bible prophecy document The Late Great Planet Earth, had all of the bible passages collated and correlated to “The Jupiter Effect” at the ready: for by March of 1982, the door would be opened for the rise of The Antichrist.

The “fear” began with the worldwide, international best seller, The Jupiter Effect (1974), written by John Gribbin and Stephen Plagemann. They advised that, on March 10, 1982, when Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto were aligned on the far side of the Sun, a multitude of catastrophes would befall the Earth, including a great quake along the San Andreas Fault; a devastating quake that would “snap” South California off the North American continent and plunge into the Pacific.

Well, er, ah . . . California is still here, so?

The duo wrote a second, lesser-selling (natch) book, The Jupiter Effect Reconsidered. Now, according to their new prediction: The Jupiter Effect actually happened, only two years earlier — and it triggered the eruption of Mount St. Helens in Washington State, on May 18, 1980.

Well, at least we got a movie out of it, with an honorable mention to Hal Lindsay, but a HUGE thanks to George Romero . . . we think. Yeah, let’s blame Georgie Boy.

In George Romero’s Pittsburgh in 1968: an errant military chemical spill triggered a worldwide zombie plague (meanwhile, in Jean Rollin’s La Morte Vivante, aka The Living Dead Girl**, a chemical spill over a coffin in a family crypt vamps (or zombies) a too-soon-dead young woman who triggers a plague). In Russell Kern’s Denver in 1980: Jupiter’s “increased gravitational pull” affects the human brain (since it’s mostly made of water) — especially people with “certain blood types” — in higher elevations. And since the state of Colorado’s elevation runs between 10,000 to 12,000 feet, residents in the Rocky Mountains (especially in the highest point of the fictional Canon City) start acting irrationally (e.g., the town sheriff airs out the ol’ doggers on his desk — then shoots off his toes; implied, not shown, as we cutaway to Jupiter, again), then transform into flesh-hungry (on-a-budget, of course) zombies (i.e., people running around, growling, sans Fulci guacamole or Mattei grease paints; you know, just like a Rollin Spirit gummed-corn flakes n’ Karo Syrup and Red Dye #5 joint).

However, unlike a Romero joint: the local Denver acting troupe cavorting amid the frames stinks like the rotted, porcine non-thespin’ that it is. The effects — which take a snail’s pace to get to — are a bunch of cutaway-not-gory, clumsy rubber-misses. Our hero looses an eye in a (darkly shot) dog attack: end scene. Next scene: he’s sportin’ an eye patch. A butcher lops-off a customer’s hand (in a cost-effective wide shot): End scene. Next scene: there’s a rubber hand on the counter. A shovel-growling mob take a man to task, again, in a wide shot, for another SFX denial.

So, what about the plot?

That’s just it: we’re 40-plus minutes into this and there still isn’t one. There’s zero gore, for it’s all cost-effectively implied. And there’s not that much crazy. People are just unruly: men smack their wives and hold a knife to the throat, a bar fight breaks out, people rant at invisible people, and a woman threatens suicide — by jumping off a sidewalk. Of course, every time someone has an episode, there’s that pesky cutaway to Jupiter — so we know that Jupiter is at fault, here, and that the people of Denver aren’t just behaving at the usual, human status quo. Too bad we can’t blame all of 2020’s protests and CHOP n’ CHAZ zones shenanigans on gravitational shifts caused by a gas giant. (Oh, Jupiter, ye god of the skies and thunder: Did you organize the Kyrie Irving protest at the Brooklyn Barclay Center? I hope the heavenly collection plates cleaned up on the Nets losing their home opener loss to the Charlotte Hornets.)

Anyway, the lone unaffected here is our faux-John Wayne/Rooster Cogburn, aka Big Jim Diller, aka our fair Rex Cutter. And why isn’t Big Jim going nuts? Oh, you must have fast-forwarded though that plot-point: a midget Indian shaman who runs a desert junkyard warns Big Jim to wear a gold plate under his ten-gallon hat.

Finally, it took us an hour, but we’ve gotten to the apocalypse. And it ain’t all that apoc, natch.

Big Jim’s finally made it back to his hometown from his remote silver mine — now under a klaxon-echoing, car-carass and street fire-strewn apocalypse, complete with law enforcement vs. military machine gun fire (the only action-driven SFX in this borealypse) — to rescue his son and daughter, which he comes to discover, have been kidnapped by the town sheriff.

Ugh. Not this worn out apoc-plot, again.

Remember the apoc-slopper The Survivalist, where Marjoe Gortner makes it his life’s mission to bring Steve Railsback to justice — apoc fallouts, be damned? Well, our infected town Sheriff, who, before the plague broke out, suspected Big Jim of hiring illegal aliens (i.e. “undocumented workers”) to work his silver mine. And our sheriff will bring Big Jim to justice, Jupiter Effect fallouts — and racism — be damned.

Eventually, at the 70-minute mark — and we still have 40, yes 40 minutes to go — Big Jim hooks up with a group of scientists holed up in an abandoned mine that was secret-converted to a bomb shelter during the Cuban Missile Crisis. And be grateful they did: their junk science-babble about the moon, the Earth’s tides, and man’s body is 90% water, the brain is mainly water, etc., really helps along (not) the film’s exposition-heavy plot of all talk and no action. . . .

Now, moi, referring back to our Syd Barrett quote: I’d have scripted a conspiracy that Syd Barrett “Eddie Wilson’d” his own death and he converted the mine into a home (converting missile silos, bunkers, and other abandoned government installations is an architectural reality) and the ex-Pink Floyd leader solves the mystery: for “Astronomy Domine” foretold it all. But alas, Russell Kern, and not your fair R.D Francis, has the funds to fiance his own screenplays. So we end up with Rooster Cogburn, and not a faux-Syd Barrett, saving Denver from an apocalypse.

The Duke . . . of Denver? Where’s Issac Hayes when we need ’em? Or Sunshine Parker. Or Ernest Borgnine.

In the end, Russell Kern’s The Spirits of Jupiter isn’t a horror film. It’s a not science fiction film. It is, however, a sometimes (very bad) comedy. It’s not a western, but in a Mad Maxian sense — courtesy of Cutter’s John Wayne-cum-Max Rockatansky — it is. And it takes us one hour fifty minutes to get there. Yes. Not 80. Not 90. But a snooze-inducing 110 minutes.

As with Will MacMillan’s vanity SOV’er Cards of Death, after a quick-and-gone local release, The Spirits of Jupiter, never seen a full-scale U.S. release and never made it out on video. While MacMillan’s vanity affair made it back to U.S. shores as a grey-market VHS out of Japan, Rex Cutter’s vanity effort crossed the ocean from the ports of the Netherlands and Poland as a U.S. grey marketer. The later, Euro-titled greys as Planet Gone Mad ain’t helping, either, as it leads you believe you’ve been duped with a repack of another apoc-sloppy non-starter, World Gone Wild (1987). And you wish you were duped with that Adam Ant-starring mess. And we thought Steve Barkett’s vanity apoc’er The Aftermath (1982) was a mind-trying watch. Well, Russell Kern topped it, or bottomed out, depending one’s celluloid masochistic perspective.

Take our advice and skip The Spirits of Jupiter and stick with the small-town-gone-wild shenanigans of Bud Cardos with Mutant (1984) and Nico Mastorakis’s Nightmare at Noon (1988) for your eh-it’s-not-a-Romero-chemical-spill-joint-but-why-not-I’m-desperate-for-entertainment apoc fix. However, if you must, you can watch The Spirits of Jupiter on You Tube. Then again, the 11 minute highlight reel, embedded below, should be enough to wet your whistle, padre. Eh, that may be too much too belly up to the bar for, Big Hoss. So toss back this two-minute reel of the “madness” scenes to diminish your own snow-drifting, analog madness.

* Sunshine Parker’s career dates to Gunsmoke in the ’60s, with his best-known, recurring TV role in the ’70s on Little House on the Prairie. On the big screen, you know Parker best as Emmet: Dalton’s farm-loft landlord in Road House.

** Remade — or was it ripped, or sequeled — by Jean Rollin himself, as Revenge of the Living Dead Girls?

About the Author: You can learn more about the writings of R.D Francis on Facebook. He also writes for B&S About Movies.

2 thoughts on “The Spirits of Jupiter, aka Planet Gone Mad (1984)

    • Ha! Yeah, that’s what we are about, here, at B&S: digging up the old stuff that’s forgotten . . . . even “never seen” by others. Glad you discovered it. Pop a Dr. Pepper, pop some corn and enjoy. Crazy! Rocky is 45 years old this week . . . and is “as old” as many of our readers, as well. Thanks for taking the time to comment.


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