“Indeed it is, my boy.”

“Terrible. Terrible.”

“Hey, Kenno, turn on the hockey game. At least we can see some action. This thing stinks.”

But one of the women, chain smoking while sipping daiquiris and petting the toy poodle in her lap, stared with fascination at the life-sized three-dimensional images in the corner. “What a build on him,” she murmured to the poodle.

In the Midwest the show went on an hour later.

Eleven ministers of various denominations stared incredulously at Rita Yearling and immediately began planning sermons for Sunday on the topic of the shamelessness of modern women. They watched the show to the very end.

The cast and crew of As You Like It caught the show during a rehearsal at the Guthrie Theatre in Minneapolis. They decided they didn’t like it at all and asked their director to pen an open letter to Titanic Productions, demanding a public apology to William Shakespeare.

The science fiction classes at the University of Kansas—eleven hundred strong—watched the show in the University’s Gunn Amphitheater. After the first six minutes, no one could hear the dialogue because of the laughing, catcalls and boos from the sophisticated undergraduates and grad students. The professor who held the Harrison Chair and therefore directed the science fiction curriculum decided that not hearing the dialogue was a mercy.

The six-man police force of Cisco, Texas, voted Rita Yearling “The Most Arresting Three-Dee Personality.”

The Hookers Convention in Reno voted Francois Dulaq “Neatest Trick of the Year.”

The entire state of Utah somehow got the impression that the end of the world had come a step closer.

In Los Angeles, the cadaverous young man who wrote television criticism for the Free Press-News-Times smiled as he turned on his voice recorder. Ron Gabriel had stolen three starlets from him in the past year. Now was the moment of his revenge.

He even felt justified.

The editor-in-chief of the venerable TV Guide, in his Las Vegas office, shook his head in despair. “How in the world am I going to put a good face on this piece of junk?” he asked a deaf heaven.

In Oakland, the staff of the most influential science fiction newsletter watched the show to its inane end—where Dulaq (playing Rom, or Romeo) improvises a giant syringe from one of his starship’s rocket tubes and kills the space-roving Giant Amoeba with a thousand-liter shot of penicillin.

Charles Brown III heaved a mighty sigh. The junior editors, copyreaders and collators sitting at his feet held their breath, waiting for his pronouncement.

“Stinks,” he said simply.

High on a mountainside in the Cascade Range, not far from Glacier Park, a bearded writer clicked off his three-dee set and sat in the darkness of his mist-enshrouded chalet. For many minutes he simply sat and thought.

Then he snapped his fingers and his voice recorder came rolling out of its slot on smoothly oiled little trunions.

“Take a letter,” he said to the simple-minded robot and its red ON light winked with electrical pleasure. “No, make it a telegram. To Ron Gabriel. The ‘puter has his address in its memory. Dear Ron: Have plenty of room up here in the hills if you need to get away from the flak. Come on up. The air’s clean and the women are dirty. What more can I say? Signed, Herb. Make it collect.”

And in Bernard Finger’s home in the exclusive Watts section of Greater Los Angeles, doctors shuttled in and out, like substitute players for the Honolulu Pineapples, manfully struggling to save the mogul of Titanic Productions from what appeared to be—from the symptoms—the world’s first case of manic convulsive paranoid cardiac insufficiency, with lockjaw on the side.

BARD SPINS AS “STARCROSSED” DRAGS

Variety

NEW THREE-DEE TECHNIQUE IS ONLY SOLID FEATURE OF “STARCROSSED”

NY Times-Herald-Voice

CAPSULE REVIEW

By Gerrold Saul

“The Starcrossed,” which premiered last night on nationwide network three-dee, is undoubtedly the worst piece of alleged drama ever foisted on the viewers.

Despite the gorgeous good looks of Rita Yearling and the stubborn handsomeness of hockey star Frankie Dulake, the show has little to offer. Ron Gabriel’s script—even disguised under a whimsical penname—has all the life and bounce of the proverbial lead dirigible. While the sets were adequate and the costumes arresting, the story made no sense whatsoever. And the acting was nonexistent. Stalwart though he may be in the hockey rink, Dulaq’s idea of drama is to peer into the cameras and grimace.

The technical feat of producing really solid three-dimensional images was impressive. Titanic Productions’ new technique will probably be copied by all the other studios, because it makes everything else look pale and wan by comparison.

If only the script had been equal to the electronics!

LA Free Press-News-Times

TV GUIDE

America’s Oldest and Most Respected Television Magazine

Contents

“The Starcrossed:” Can a Science Fiction Show Succeed by Spoofing Science Fiction?

Technical Corner: New Three-Dee Projection Technique Heralds End of “Blinking Blues”

The New Lineups: Networks Unveil “Third Season” Shows, and Prepare for “Fourth Season” in Seven Weeks

A Psychologist Warns: Portraying Love in Three-Dee Could Confuse Teenagers

Nielsen Reports: “Mongo’s Mayhem” and “Shoot-Out” Still Lead in Popularity