Raquel Welch's big break came when she appeared in the 1966 "Fantastic Voyage" directed by Richard Fleischer who also helmed the Disney classic "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea." But the Nautilus didn't have what this picture has: a perky medical laser technician, the only woman in the crew of the Proteus, an experimental sub miniaturized and injected into the blood stream of a defecting scientist in order to melt an otherwise inoperable blood clot in his brain, the result of a failed assassination attempt.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reduced to microscopic size and injected into the ailing scientist, the crew soon discovers their primary tool for destroying the blood clot, a surgical laser rifle, has been damaged. Was it an accident or sabotage?

(from left to right, Donald Pleasence, Raquel Welch, Steven Boyd, Arthur Kennedy)

 

 

 

 

 

Raquel ponders this as, almost an hour into the movie, she finally removes her utilitarian jumpsuit and prepares to go swimming in the blood stream.

Her mind is clearly on the damaged laser as she unzips and peels in what is one of the finest "getting out of a jumpsuit" scenes ever produced. So focused on that darn laser is she, that she's oblivious to the impact her miniaturized yet impressive figure is having on the audience. It's like a glossy, CinemaScope version of an Irving Klaw striptease reel.

 

The bulk of Raquel's characterization is in her wetsuit, but to be fair this isn't the sort of movie that's long on intellect in spite of references to the profound mysteries of life and God's handiwork. It's basically a lavish and affectionate revisiting of the claustrophobic "Rocket Ship X-M" sort of movies from the Fifties. Characters are briefly sketched and behave predictably...but the familiar nature of these films is part of the pleasure in watching them.

 

 

 

 

This is, after all, one of those movies where people spend a great deal of time looking at things and pointing.

 

 

 

It also includes shots like this. We're supposed to be looking at the wire she's holding. It's a plot point, damn it.

 

 

 

 

More thrilling wetsuit action as Raquel and the other crew members go outside to clear something that looks like excelsior from the ship's intake vents. One quick zip and she's ready for anything.

But when Raquel damages some garden hoses in the inner ear, she's attacked by a swarm of anti-bodies that envelope her as if she were a well-built bacterium.

There's a lot you can say about the next scene, but first and foremost, everybody kept a straight face.

Getting her back into the ship the male crew members have to paw and grab at Miss Welch to pry off the deadly anti-bodies before they can crush the life out of her. It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it.

Aside from being felt-up by the immune system and her crewmates, Raquel spends most of the movie standing in the middle of the frame and listening as if all of this stuff made sense.

Her presence takes the curse off all the pusedo-science and histrionics and reminds us that one of the primary functions of American science fiction movies in the Fifties and Sixties was to give adolescent boys socially sanctioned access to what they'd otherwise have to get from sneaking a look at dad's "Playboy."

 

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