Dig if you will, two pictures: “Them!” released in 1954 and “World Without End” released the following year. Two movies within the same science-fiction genre yet so completely different in what they said about American mores in the 1950s.

Both contain similar story backgrounds: the threat of nuclear war and the consequences of nuclear energy. In “Them!”, mankind is menaced by mutated ants that were a direct result of atomic testing seven years prior to the start of the film. Nicely paced and appropriately silly, “Them!” actually tried to educate its audience with a degree of scientific discussion about ants, mankind and the caustic warning at the end: “Who knows wait awaits us now that we’ve opened the door of the atomic age?” Coupled with a reasonably strong woman doctor who orders the military around and has no problem letting the federal agents on the case that they don’t possess the intellect to study the problem, “Them!” is actually a decent attempt at sci-fi horror with a brain.

“World Without End” doesn’t quite cut the mustard, however. Released just the following year in 1955, it concerns the story of a group of all-American astronauts who encounter a rift in time on the return trip from Mars and wind up on Earth five hundred years later. On this brave new world, they see the remains of a nuclear war that has reduced those living on the surface to primitive conditions, while a new “race” of survivors lives in subterranean safety (we’ll call them HUDs for humanoid underground dwellers). Problem is, as advanced as these cultivated HUDs are, they’re bound to die because the men have become so weak and old, while the women are nubile and well, horny.

Therein lies the central problem with WWE. While “Them!” tried to be literate (even with those huge, fake ants), WWE is actually an incredibly chauvinist film. The underground men are all scientists or artisans, read faggots. They’re weak and have no drive to reclaim any “rightful place” on the surface. While they live in fear of the deformed mutants on the surface, they’re quite confident in their technology to keep them alive and well for years. They are, well, faggots.

Contrasting with these “men” are the heroes of WWE: the strapping, look-death-in-the-eye-and-laugh REAL AMERICAN MEN. Our 20th century studs embody exactly what Americans are: rugged, ready to take on a challenge and subdue the earth if necessary. The space crew is determined to save the HUDs, even if it’s against the latter’s collective will. “All we need is weapons,” the captain intones to the aging leader of the HUDs. “We can set up defense perimeters and start building fortifications.” When the HUD leader complains that it is exactly this type of swaggering that lead to man’s downfall, the captain and his crew scoff, almost as if to say, “Look homo. Just give us the weapons. We know how to take charge of a situation.”

The women in WWE are no better in this fantasy. They’re all nubile and instantly fall in love with the crew, i.e., the promise of young flesh and probably bigger dicks. Guys may not make passes at girls who wear glasses, but girls will always go for the strapping he-man over the faggot/scientist/artist nerd. Be that a lesson to all you wimps out there.

WWE is no-nonsense all-American ethos: we’ll save you from yourselves, because that’s progress, damnit! But even if you dismiss the inherent silliness of both pictures, “Them!” comes out as the clear winner because of the uncertainty it tries to make its audience cognizant of in the unholy light of atomic tests. WWE just starts the entire cycle all over again: something not to look forward to.