Episode Four: It’s The End Of The World As We Know It


Welcome to Lies Agreed Upon. The podcast about Hollywood and history. 

I’m Lia Paradis

And I’m Brian Crim. 

We thought that everyone deserved a feel good episode full of rainbows and unicorns! But instead, we’re going to talk about thermonuclear annihilation again. Because if there’s anything we’re about, it’s giving the audience what they want!

Yeah, this is going to be a rather grim hour. But at least 2 of the 3 movies we’re talking about today are really worth your attention. So even though they might be about the end of the world as we know it, we hope you stick with us. 

So far, this season, each episode has been about Cold War anxieties and how they made their way into popular culture, particularly films. We’ve looked at the Red Scare and the paranoia about enemies in our midst that we can’t identify. This began as soon as WWII was over – even before, really – and was apparent in movies like Invasion of the Body Snatchers and the Manchurian Candidate. We’ve discussed how the Pentagon Papers, Watergate, and the Church Committee’s revelations all undermined American confidence in their government. Movies of the mid-1970s capitalized on the fear of what was being done by clandestine entities in the name of American security. In the Parallax View, Three Days of the Condor, and even a love story like The Way We Were, Hollywood assumed moviegoers didn’t need a lot of convincing to believe that the military industrial complex had run amok. 

And in the last episode, we looked at the aptly named MAD – Mutually Assured Destruction – and how 2 movies, drawing inspiration from 2 novels, could take very different approaches to portraying Americans’ fears that nuclear armageddon was quite possibly beyond our control. Fail Safe and Dr. Strangelove, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, both explored how a nuclear war might start. Today, we’re going to look at how American, British and Australian writers and filmmakers imagined how the world as we know it might end. 

We’ll be talking about On the Beach, a 1959 film directed by Stanley Kramer from a 1957 novel by Anglo-Australian author Neville Shute. And then we’ll jump forward to talk about 2 made-for-TV movies that came out within months of each other in 1983 and 84 – the ABC production The Day After, and the BBC production Threads. All three were focused on what the fallout – literally and figuratively – would be from a nuclear war. In fact, On the Beach starts long after the actual nuclear war is over. 

So, what are the lies agreed upon that we’re going to take a hard look at this week? 

Well, the first lie is that, before the serious anti-nuke movement of the 1980s, most people were rather blasé about the threat of thermonuclear annihilation. References to Duck and Cover, and the supposed magical characteristics of plywood desks to shield children from nuclear blasts, have become established lore about the nuclear obliviousness of 1950s and early 60s Western society, particularly American. The story goes that it’s only after the Cuban Missile Crisis that people started to really take the threat seriously. And that it was the anti-nuke movement of the 1980s that was effective in curbing US and Soviet nuclear ambitions. We’re going to explore how that simply isn’t the case. 

And the second lie follows from that one. We’ve all been taught that the Cuban Missile Crisis was the closest we ever came to midnight on the nuclear doomsday clock and that the anti-nuke movement drew strength from that event. But, in fact, in many ways the opposite was true. Because we DIDN’T actually go over the cliff, people got rather complacent for quite awhile.

The third lie is that we had any idea what the nuclear holocaust would look like let alone what would cause it. How can you imagine the unimaginable is a question film makers of other dour topics have to contend with. The Holocaust, for example. Slavery. For obvious reasons there are moral and ethical guidelines surrounding representing these very real tragedies. 

For imagining nuclear war there are no rules. So those who wanted to warn against nuclear weapons, and who wanted to scare the crap out of us so that we would agitate and protest against building more, ever bigger ones, made choices. Our three films take very different approaches to the aftermath of nuclear war. Some of the writers’ and directors’ choices were good faith efforts based on what was known at the time. Other choices were influenced by what they thought their viewers would find important or what was touted by scientists who wanted to either support or challenge the viability of nuclear warfare. 


All of our movies this week have a very explicit anti-nuke message. So, what is the real story about the anti-nuke movement or, to use the parlance of Katie Morosky’s pamphlets at the end of The Way We Were – Ban The Bomb! And what were the ways it showed up on our screens? Well, as we’ve mentioned in the context of other topics, the early 1980s saw a major ratcheting up of bellicose rhetoric by both Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher. This was after a fairly prolonged period of progress in terms of nuclear test treaties and a reduction in nuclear arms across the Cold War divide. And in response to this increasingly aggressive stance, Hollywood, academia, and many of the same people who had protested Vietnam a decade earlier found themselves protesting against nuclear weapons. 

This new-found sense of urgency on the left about the nuclear question combined with a new-found relaxing of the censorship rules governing TV programming (at least in the US – in Europe, it had always been laxer). And so, in late 1983 and early 1984, we had 2 made for TV movies, one in the US and one in Britain, that attempted to depict what the aftermath of a nuclear war would look like. Most American listeners over the age of 50 or so probably remember watching The Day After. And similarly, Threads is vividly remembered by Britons of a certain age. In both countries, these TV events took place just before the vast expansion of cable TV possibilities, so they were definitely share experiences across classes, ages, regions and political affiliations. 

But we also want to acknowledge that even before Fail Safe and Dr. Strangelove were released in the mid-1960s, there was another post-nuclear film, based on the 1957 novel by Neville Shute – On the Beach. The novel was serialized in over 40 newspapers, and was a bestseller when published. The subsequent film, released in 1959, was treated as A VERY BIG DEAL. 

It wasn’t a huge commercial success. Although reviewers thought it successfully conveyed the grim reality that would result from nuclear war, it was a very expensive movie to make, and the audience was those who, in the late 1950s, wanted to think seriously about the threat that faced them.

But nevertheless, Mayor Wagner attended the New York premiere. On the same evening, the Soviet Ambassador to the UK attended the London premier and, in Japan, members of the Imperial Family attended the opening in Tokyo. And even though there was no commercial release in the USSR, Gregory Peck and his wife attended a screening on the same night as the premier elsewhere, at a workers’ club, along with 1,200 Soviet dignitaries. 

And the book was a bestseller. So it’s evident that there was already a clearly articulated and culturally resonating movement against nuclear bombs, tests, and warfare, in the 1950s. So let’s set out the plot to On The Beach.

Neville Shute’s novel was adapted for the screen by John Paxton, who had written screenplays for the film noir, Murder My Sweet, and Brando’s The Wild One. Stanley Kramer both produced and directed the film. In both roles, he spent much of his career making ‘issue’ movies, from Home of the Brave in 1949, about the persecution of a black soldier, to Judgment at Nuremberg in 1961. And, of course, he may be best known for Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, in 1968. His filmography, as both producer and director, is beyond impressive. 

On the Beach starred Gregory Peck as an American sub captain, Dwight Towers, who has had to bring his submarine and crew to Australia after a nuclear war has wiped out the Northern Hemisphere. Ava Gardner plays Moira, a cynical and lonely woman who is dealing with the impending arrival of the radioactive fallout in the Southern Hemisphere by self-medicating with alcohol. Fred Astaire, surprisingly, plays British scientist Julian Osborn, who had been involved in the development of nuclear weapons. Anthony Perkins play Peter Holmes, an officer in the Australian Navy, and Donna Anderson plays his wife, who has already begun to lose her sanity as she refuses to accept that her newborn baby will end up dying of radiation poisoning in a matter of months. 

Like we said, this week’s movies do not have cheerful plots.

The film opens after the war is over. And it is incredibly effective at conveying the eerie inevitability of an invisible poison making its way south on the jet stream. No destruction needs to be shown. 

In an early scene, at a cocktail party in Melbourne, Astaire’s scientist establishes the parameters of human existence all our characters are living within. And Donna Anderson, as the new mother, expresses what could be seen as the refusal of the world’s population to truly see the threat we face. 

Peck, Perkins, and Astaire are sent on a joint US/Australian scientific mission in the submarine to try and determine just how extensive the fallout has been in the north, and to find out who or what is producing a constant but nonsensical Morse Code message that has been intercepted transmitting from California. 

First, the sub captain (Peck) sails into San Francisco harbor. Through the periscope, they can see the deserted streets of the city. Not a soul anywhere – no one has survived. But after being given a chance to look through the scope because it’s his home town, one of the crew jumps overboard and swims to shore, determined to die at home, even if it means he’ll die quickly. 

Leaving him to his fate, the sub heads to San Diego where one of the crew goes ashore in protective clothing and eventually locates the source of the Morse code message – a Coke bottle, caught in the pull string of a window blind, bobbing up and down on the transmitter key as the wind blows the blind to and fro. 

This ends the last hope that somehow people have survived. There’s nothing for the crew to do but return to Australia and wait out the inevitable. Along the way, there’s a conversation about how mankind could have done this to itself. Astaire, as the scientist Osborn, sets out the blunt truth of the matter. 

Once back home, the various characters deal with their impending deaths in different ways. Everyone in Australia has been given a cyanide capsule to take once the fallout arrives. Better to die quickly than a painful death from radiation poisoning. 

Osborn takes up car racing, pushing the envelope and tempting death on the track. Dwight and Moira find love and some solace in each other’s company and in doing ordinary things, like fishing. Anthony Perkins’ character wrestles with when to give the pill to his baby and his wife, who has already had a complete mental breakdown. 

The military lose contact with bases in northern Australia and, inevitably, people start showing symptoms. Perkins kills his wife, his baby and himself. Osborn commits suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning in his garage, in his racing car. The remaining American crewmen of the sub decide they want to try and get home and Peck acquiesces and agrees to sail with them even though they’ll be lucky to get out of Australian waters. The film ends with Moira watching the sub sail out of the harbor, while the remnants of a Salvation Army Band weakly play under a sign that reads “There is still time…Brother.”

So, pretty powerful stuff for 1959. 

We have to jump forward more than 20 years before we get to our other 2 films, both released the same year – 1983. The Day After was a MAJOR TELEVISION EVENT in America in a way that doesn’t exist anymore. In fact, it was the highest rated television movie of all time. 

It was directed by Nicholas Meyer, who directed 2 of the Star Trek films among other things, and was written by Edward Hume, whose career was mainly spent writing episodes for weekly tv drama series like Barnaby Jones and The Streets of San Francisco. Frankly, it shows. 

The Day After starred Jason Robards, who famously said that he agreed to star in it because he thought it would be a more effective anti-nuke effort than marching in a thousand protests. Besides him, we have John Cullum, Jo Beth Williams, John Lithgow, Amy Madigan, Arliss Howard, William Alan Young, and that stalwart of the 80s box office, Steve Guttenberg. 

Crucially, the movie is set in the American heartland in and around Kansas City. This is a landscape of farms and grain silos, but also Minuteman missile silos. Some of the characters are the city folk: Jason Robards is a doctor, his daughter is a student at the university. John Cullum is a farmer, whose daughter is about to get married to her high school sweet heart. William Alan Young is a soldier at the air force base whose job it is to turn the key to launch the missiles. (It’s also worth mentioning that he’s the movie’s token black character.) 

Unlike On the Beach, but like Threads, which we’ll talk about next, The Day After actually depicts nuclear war. The cause of the conflict is rather simplistic. A highly unlikely scenario, the tensions begin in Germany with direct engagement between NATO and Warsaw Pact nations. We hear through car radios and tvs that geo-political tensions are ratcheting up. People seem both concerned and complacent, going about their lives but also noticing that the news seems to be getting more serious. 

There’s a conversation in a barbershop between men of different generations, classes, and political leanings. You’ll hear the young man who’s supposed to be getting married the next morning, the barber and others in the shop, including John Lithgow, ‘a science professor’  who offer up a brief lesson in geo-politics and nuclear science. 

In this part of the movie, as tensions are ratcheting up, the Cuban Missile Crisis is referenced, of course, as a reassurance that those in power will pull back from the brink, like they did the last time.

As events spiral out of control, we see some people panic – traffic jams as people try to flee (although it’s not clear what) and others try to prepare by stocking their cellars with water. When the missiles finally launch (it’s intentionally left unclear who fires first), there’s an amazing visual of the missiles and the fire of their engines shooting out of what had been, just seconds earlier, the iconic, American rural landscape. 

And more missiles are seen rising up from a field just past the college football stadium. Then, we see the arrival of the Soviets’ bombs – as nuclear missiles detonate, firestorms incinerate people and buildings. Footage of actual nuclear tests from over the decades is used for these effects, so they are extremely realistic. 

The storylines of the various characters from this point on are less important than the overarching narrative, which follows the variety of ways that individuals and families struggle to find food, water, and shelter, as people slowly (and not so slowly) succumb to radiation. Because this is set in a small city and surrounding farms, the focus is on the actions of individuals, not the structures of societies. 

There are some references to government but what is reinforced is its uselessness. During a brief radio broadcast from the president his message is juxtaposed with images of bodies lying unburied, buildings destroyed, horse drawn carts replacing cars, and the sick and dying left uncared for. At the end of this clip, we’ll hear John Lithgow and his students, including Stephen Furst (Flounder from Animal House) responding. 

Very quickly, but also very briefly, we see the breakdown of order. John Cullum’s character returns to his farm to find it taken over by squatters, who shoot him dead without qualms or hesitation. Amy Madigan’s character gives birth surrounded by people dying of radiation poisoning and laughs in despair at the world her child is being born into. But the film ends with a positive interaction, as Jason Robards, who finally manages to return to the burnt out rubble that was his home, also confronts a squatter. But instead of being met with violence, he’s offered something to eat.

Again, the film focuses on individuals and their experiences in the immediate aftermath of a nuclear war. 

As listeners of this podcast know, what interests us is how movies are windows into the cultures that produce them. So it’s very interesting to juxtapose the American made for TV movie, The Day After, with its British counterpart, Threads. 

Threads was broadcast on the BBC in September 1984. Written by Barry Hines, a novelist and screenwriter who often collaborated with the great Ken Loach (a master of gritty films about the struggles of working class people) , Threads was produced and directed by Mick Jackson, who had a substantial background in documentary work, although he’s another person whose filmography will make your head spin, ranging from this to the Whitney Houston – Kevin Costner melodrama, The Bodyguard, and the HBO biopic about autistic activist Temple Granden. 

I ask my students to pay attention to the difference in the focus of these two films and to think about how they reflect differences in American and British society. Threads is presented as a docudrama, with a narrator presenting its events as if there could somehow miraculously be a future observer of these events.

The focus here is on the destruction of society: systems, governance, services, and all of the million things that we don’t think about that constitute the fabric of community. The horror of the actual nuclear event is the result of a much more complex breakdown of geopolitical tensions involving Iran and other Cold War proxies. 

The film is set in and around Sheffield, a mid-sized post-industrial city in Yorkshire. Local government officials are, supposedly, also deputized with certain emergency roles in case of nuclear war. And what Hines and Jackson want people to confront is the lie that any amount of preparation will have any chance of succeeding. 

Hines and Jackson actually shadowed such a group in their civil emergency drills to get a sense of what preparations looked like – half-hearted and half-baked, apparently. 

The plot of the movie follows one of these officials, members of his family, and others. There are no stars in this film, and many small roles are taken up by locals who responded to a casting call. And characters are summarily dropped. We start with Ruth and Jimmy, a young couple expecting their first child and buying their first flat. Separated when the blast happens, Jimmy goes out to find her, and we simply never see him again. 

The officials, in their bunker, try to go on governing and managing the post-apocalyptic world, but the film stays with this world much longer than The Day After does. So we are forced to really grasp the futility of that. And, over time, as nuclear winter sets in and even marshal law is incapable of restoring any semblance of a ‘society’  – even an authoritarian one – the viewer sees how the myriad components of modern life work together to make us who we are. 

Here’s a montage of various narrative interjections throughout the film that help track the disintegration of the fabric of society – the threads. 

Ruth dies when her daughter, called Jane in the credits but never named on screen, is about 10. She goes on to live in what resembles a primitive and almost pre-verbal world, language stripped down to the bare essentials. Raped after a fight over food, Jane gives birth to a deformed, still-born baby. And that’s where the movie ends. 



The plots of all these movies are brutal. But we’d like to spend a bit of time looking at why On the Beach, and the anti-nuke movement of the 1950s and 60s is largely forgotten; why in the early 1980s a new wave of nuclear disarmament activism emerged, and then describe how imagined after-effects of a nuclear holocaust were touted as fact and then deployed by movie-makers. 

This all starts in the Marshall Islands (an American territory until 1979), a South Pacific collection of atolls closer to Australia than any other continent. Between 1946 and 1958, 67 nuclear bombs were ‘tested’ – ie. detonated – there. The bikini is named after the Bikini Atoll, the site of dozens of these tests. This – the making light of nuclear testing by naming a bathing suit after it – combined with the notorious inadequacy of Duck and Cover instructions, to make it seem like people really weren’t taking the threat of nuclear warfare seriously in the 1950s. Let’s meet Bert the Turtle – who knows just what to do!

Neville Shute, a Brit and an engineer by training, emigrated to Australia after WWII. He wrote On the Beach in 1957, and it was serialized in over 40 magazines, in the context of the Bikini Atoll tests. And the increase in the number of nuclear powers, and their testing, during this decade. We’ve included a link to a mesmerizing video on our website that shows all the nuclear detonations from 1945 to 1998. It’s worth watching, keeping in mind what we’re talking about here. 

But it wasn’t just Australians who were acutely aware of the threat of nuclear war in the 1950s and early 1960s – before the Cuban Missile Crisis, in other words. Over the Easter weekend in 1958, the British group, Direct action committee against Nuclear War organized a march from London, England, to Aldermaston, where the British Atomic Weapons reasearch labs were located – about 52 miles away. That same year, the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, first met. The CND, between 1959 and 1963, led similar marches over Easter, but in the reverse direction. At its height, hundreds of thousands of people made the march, which eventually simply became an annual event in London because the numbers were so big that the logistics of the route and permits became unworkable. 

It’s out of this movement, in fact, that we get the peace sign that we all think of as connected to the anti-war movement in the United States. In fact, that symbol, the circle with the vertical line and the inverted V represents the semaphore symbols for N and D – nuclear disarmament. 

In the same year that the first Aldermaston march took place, Linus Pauling presented a petition to the UN signed by more than 11,000 scientists, calling for an end to the testing of nuclear weapons. Pauling is the only scientist to have been awarded unshared Nobel Prizes in multiple categories and his work in molecular biology form the foundation of our understanding of DNA and the mapping of the genome. Pauling was also involved with the Baby Tooth Survey, a longitudinal study that showed conclusively that above ground testing resulted in radioactive Strontium-90 being found at unhealthy levels in baby teeth. 

Another very important development in anti-nuclear weapons activism prior to the Cuban Missile Crisis, has, like many efforts about and by women, been silenced and all but erased from historical memory in the decades since. And this story interestingly intersects with 2 things we’ve discussed already – the actions of the House Un-American Activities Committee, and good old Katie Morosky’s Ban the Bomb efforts at the end of The Way We Were. 

In 1961, Bela Abzug and Dagmar Wilson organized the largest women’s peace protest action of the 20th Century – the Women’s Strike for Peace. Held in over 60 cities and in front of the Washington monument, women struck from work and home to participate. It was prompted by the US government’s declaration that nuclear tests would resume after a 3 year moratorium that had been largely the result of Pauling’s efforts. 

But here’s where their work crashes into the work of HUAC. And we have the great research work of historian Amy Swerdlow to thank for this bit of knowledge. In 1962, the leaders of the WSP (Women’s Strike for Peace organization) were called before the committee. Yes, it was still operating, although with less fanfare than in previous years. 

Here’s a brief video describing the events and how it was framed as an issue of concern particularly to women. 

But, From the start, as Swerdlow writes, “the surveillance establishment and the right-wing press were wary. They recognized early what the Rand Corporation described obliquely as the WSP potential “to impact on military policies.”‘ Jack Lotto, a Hearst columnist, charged that although the women described themselves as a “group of un- sophisticated wives and mothers who are loosely organized in a spontaneous movement for peace, there is nothing spontaneous about the way the pro-Reds have moved in on our mothers and are using them for their own purposes.” On the West Coast, the San Francisco Examiner claimed to have proof that “scores of well-intentioned, dedicated women … were being made dupes of by known Communists . . . operating openly in the much publicized Women Strike for Peace demonstrations.”

So you see, the women weren’t actually seen as politically savvy, autonomous subjects. They had no agency. But HUAC didn’t know what it had gotten itself into. First of all, the WSP took a different tack from everyone else who’d been its target. It went on the offensive, informing the world that its members had been subpoenaed and condemning the act, stating: “With the fate of humanity resting on a push button,the quest for peace has become the highest form of patriotism.” They changed the terms of the confrontation: it was going to be a contest over which group was more patriotic. What they asked was, What was the extent of one’s dedication to saving America’s children from nuclear extinction?

The details of the HUAC-WSP confrontation are epic, and hilarious. At one point, obviously thinking he was about to strike the deadly rhetorical blow, the lawyer for the committee confronted Ruth Meyers, who lived on Long Island, “Mrs. Meyers, it appears fro public records that a Ruth Meyers, residing at 1751 East Street, Brooklyn, New York, on July 27, 1948, signed a  Communist Party nominating petition …. Are you the Ruth Meyers who executed that petition?” Meyers shot back, “No, sir. I never lived in Brooklyn, this is not my signature and my husband could never get me to move there.” Let’s just say that the committee members had their asses handed to them, although the women testifying would never have used such undignified language. We’ve included a political cartoon commenting on these hearings on the website. 

In any event, these are just some of the many ways in which people across the globe pursued peace activism and articulated resistance to nuclear armaments in the era of On the Beach, before the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the subsequent decline in nuclear arms buildup that lasted until the next period of acute nuclear fear, in the early 1980s. 

We’ve spoken elsewhere, and at length, about the ratcheting up of bellicose rhetoric, led by Reagan and Thatcher, in the 1980s. So we’re not going to repeat that here except to remind listeners that the context of increased concern and anti-nuke activism in that period, including The Day After and Threads, was prompted by those developments. 

What we did want to talk about for just a minute is what we’ve identified as our Lie #3 – the certainty with which the aftermath of a nuclear war was depicted, particularly in Threads. The month after The Day After was shown on TV, what came to be called the TTAPS group (named after the scientists in it – R. P. TURCOO. B. TOONT. P. ACKERMANJ. B. POLLACKAND CARL SAGAN) published their game changing article in Science Magazine, “Nuclear Winter: Global Consequences of Multiple Nuclear Explosions.” 

The argument was simple, and designed for the specific circumstances of the era: even a limited nuclear war would have devastating effects on the global climate, resulting in what they termed a “nuclear winter.” As a result, even the Star Wars scenario – that technology could be developed that intercepted nuclear bombs in space – or the argument that an accidental but limited detonation of nuclear weapons could be manageable, was loudly and very effectively challenged. 

Here’s Carl Sagan, introducing the American viewing public to this idea, on the panel discussion aired on ABC after The Day After. The rest of the panelists are Henry Kissinger, William F. Buckley, Jr., Elie Wiesel, Brent Skowcroft, and William MacNamara. It’s a fascinating time capsule. 

As Ted Koppel says, Sagan manages to make an already depressing evening even gloomier. And we can see how, released in September 1984, the depiction of a post-nuclear reality in Threads is very much influenced by this idea of nuclear winter. The thing is, it was a theory, not yet tested beyond the work of the TTAPS group, which, in turn, stated that they had the explicit aim of promoting nuclear disarmament. They wanted the US and USSR to stop arguing that a limited nuclear exchange could have limited damage. 

The conclusions reached over time and, most crucially, using the advanced climate modeling technology available today, suggests that low atmosphere, short range missiles would not result in that level of atmospheric disruption. But the higher you go, both in terms of altitude and numbers of bombs, the more damage is done. But, as the film critic Peter Bradshaw stated Threads, “was the most horrifying movie he has ever seen,” it raises the question whether our sense of its ‘realism’ – as opposed to what we see in The Day After, which seems a bit sanitized – is actually the result of the successful campaign by Sagan and others to turn a theory into a completely internalized fact. 


In the end, our lies for this episode were about how long, during the Cold War, did huge numbers of people across the globe stand up and shout that they didn’t want any of it done in their name. It turns out it wasn’t just right after the Cuban Missile Crisis and then during the Reagan-Thatcher Star Wars era of the late 70s and early 80s. Consistently, across decades and continents, and even when such protesting resulted in accusations of Commie sympathizing, men and women said NO!

And, whether it was Robert Oppenheimer or Linus Pauling, Carl Sagan, scientists and doctors have helped lead this movement by harnessing data and, in some cases, taking advantage of the media machine to present theories that no one wants to ever have the opportunity to test, as incontrovertible fact. Also, we didn’t have a chance to incorporate her work here, but another very famous, Australian activist, Dr. Helen Caldicott, was the subject of an academy award winning, National Film Board of Canada documentary, “If you Love This Planet”, which we’ve linked to on our website.

Well, this has been quite an odyssey today. If you’ve stuck with us through it all, you should now reward yourself with an episode of Parks and Rec, or an ice cream cone. Or both! You deserve it! 

We have some fun episodes coming up, we swear! We’ll be hanging out with the Patrick Swayze and the Red Dawn crew. And, of course, with James Bond. So come and join us!

Published by Brian E. Crim

Brian Crim is professor of history at the University of Lynchburg and author of Planet Auschwitz: Holocaust Representation in Science Fiction and Horror Film and Television. Other books include Our Germans: Project Paperclip and the National Security State and Antisemitism in the German Military Community and the Jewish Response, 1914-1938.

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