I was definitely not a news junkie during Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm, the U.S.-led military campaigns that ejected Saddam Hussein from Kuwait and drove his forces back to Baghdad in what became known as the First Gulf War. The "Mother of All Battles" was of little interest to me at the time. Lacking cable television (then as now), all I learned about the War was whatever bits and pieces made it onto the CBS Evening News and into the local newspaper.

Nor have I ever read any non-fiction books about the Gulf War. I just did not and do not care that much about it. My military history interests focus almost exclusively on World War II and the Cold War. However, while browsing through the public library recently, I came across Neil MacFarquhar's "The Sand Café," and decided to give it a try. What attracted me was not that it was about the Gulf War, but that it was more a story about the journalists who covered the conflict. I've always been somewhat fascinated by the process of gathering and reporting news, and "The Sand Café" seemed to offer an insider's look at how that process took place against the background of Gulf War I.

Well, yes and no. I have no doubt that Mr. MacFarquhar accurately describes the trials and tribulations of the print and broadcast journalists based in Saudi Arabia who covered the conflict. Their dealings with the military bureaucracy, both American and Saudi, have the ring of truth to them, and I suspect many of the anecdotes he relates happened to him personally. I also found his descriptions of Saudi culture, especially the religious extremism and the shoddy treatment of women, to be very enlightening. I've read several non-fiction books about Saudi Arabia, but the most recent was many years ago and I've forgotten most of what I learned. As the characters in "The Sand Café" interact with the grim, repressive Saudi society, I re-learned some of the things that astonished me in my earlier readings. Even readers who have no interest in foreign cultures can't help but pick up a lot of information about Saudi Arabia, its society and its religion, from "The Sand Café."

Yet in the end I was not that impressed with Mr. MacFarquhar's novel. For one thing, I had a hard time telling some of the characters apart. None of them have memorable characteristics that stick in the reader's mind and allow them to be distinguished one from another. Also, most of the story is pretty slow-moving. I imagine it accurately represents the reality of Operation Desert Shield, before coalition forces attacked Kuwait to drive out the Iraqis, but slow, dragging stories do not make compelling novels. Finally, the "love triangle" relationship seemed a bit strained and forced, with little motivational depth.

I'm glad I read "The Sand Café," mainly because of the many details of Saudi culture that Mr. MacFarquhar wove in throughout it. But I'm also glad that I borrowed it from the library rather than buying it, because, as a novel, it left me wanting more.

Now that the craft brewing renaissance has captured a relatively small (compared to the number of Coors and Budweiser drinkers) but intensely loyal audience of bold flavor aficionados, adventurous imbibers and knowledgeable beer geeks, many books have hit the market that cater to the interests of this demographic segment. In fact, dare I observe that the number and quality of books about craft beers is beginning to approach those of books intended for wine snobs (no offense intended)? Brooklyn Brewery's Garrett Oliver deserves much of the credit for almost single-handedly elevating the status of beer literature with "The Brewmaster's Table: Discovering the Pleasures of Real Beer with Real Food," the first book to explore in detail the world of fine craft beers (as opposed to industrial domestic swill) and how to match them up with food. Another outstanding book is "The Craft of Stone Brewing Company: Liquid Lore, Epic Recipes, and Unabashed Arrogance," a paean to one of America's best, most innovative microbreweries, a quirky San Diego County outfit that constantly re-defines the limits of beer styles, character, strength and quality. Both belong in the library of every serious beer connoisseur. Another book sure to please any serious beer geek is Schuyler Schultz' "Beer, Food and Flavor."

At first glance, "Beer, Food and Flavor" resembles "The Craft of Stone Brewing Company," which is a good thing indeed. But, while the latter volume covers just the one company in exceptional detail, the former delves less deeply into the microbrew scene from one end of America to the other. The first four chapters--about half of the book--provide useful and informative context. They look at the nation's overall craft beer movement, describe beer styles and the sensory components of tasting, offer ways to pair craft beer with fine cuisine and with cheeses (including recipes), and examine the philosophy of craft brewing, using San Diego's AleSmith Brewing Company as an exemplar. Most of the rest of the book profiles 16 notable American craft brewers and their art, organized by six regions--California, the Pacific Northwest, the Rockies, the Midwest, the Northeast and the South. I'm pleased to say that, as inveterate beer travelers, my wife and I have personally visited nine of these 16 breweries (the others are all on our to-do list), and I think Mr. Schultz' profiles are spot-on. You can't possibly read these profiles without coming away with profound respect for the knowledge, dedication and passion of these brewers, who, along with many others, are leading the way into a bright craft-beer future.

The quality and production values of "Beer, Food and Flavor" are outstanding. Brilliant, crisp color photos--many of them of beer bottle logos--supplement the highly readable text, while very effective use of color highlights the many fascinating sidebars throughout. This is a book to read and savor, and also to proudly display on a coffee table (although its dimensions are a little small for that).

In the title of my review, I call "Beer, Food and Flavor" the "second" best beer book ever, since I previously called "The Craft of Stone Brewing Company" the "best" beer book ever. I'm a HUGE fan of Stone beers, and always visit the brewery when I attend beer festivals in Southern California. Really, though, it's more like a dead heat for top beer-book position. Regardless, I can't imagine any craft beer enthusiast who would not be enthralled by "Beer, Food and Flavor." If you enjoy craft beer, buy this book. You can't go wrong. Cheers!

I've always been a fan of Lonely Planet travel guidebooks, especially back when my wife and I traveled to exotic, off-the-beaten-path destinations worldwide once or twice a year. The Lonely Planet books we used were great at steering us in the directions of things we were interested in seeing and doing. I have no use for guidebooks with page after page of pretty color pictures. I don't care much about pictures. I always wonder how many days the photographer waited to get perfect picture-postcard shots, or how much Photoshopping it took. I prefer thick guidebooks filled with dense, authoritative text, written by people who really know the areas. And maps--guidebooks are useless without maps. Lonely Planet's "England," 7th Edition, is an outstanding example of exactly what I look for in a travel guidebook.

This compact, tightly bound volume is thick--848 pages, an inch and a half. It's heavy--almost two pounds. And it's densely filled with small text in two-column format. It's a superb practical guide to England (NOT including Ireland, of course, nor Wales, Scotland or Northern Ireland, which, as I understand it, are part of Great Britain but not of England proper). There are almost no photos in the main text. Color photos do appear in the 12-page introductory section "20 Top Experiences," and in the "Understand England" section starting on Page 763. That's about it for pictures. The rest of the volume is information. Lots of information--an almost overwhelming amount of information. Fortunately, it's very well organized, and about as user-friendly as it can get considering the vast quantity of material. Chapter headings, titles and sidebars stand out in eye-soothing shades of pale blue, which also highlight features on the more than 60 useful maps interspersed within the text. Of course, the savvy visitor will also pick up some of the fantastic Ordnance Survey maps of the country--they're the best maps you can buy. Blue tabs demark the sections keyed to 12 specific regions of England. This is the meat of the book, with more than 700 pages filled to bursting with comprehensive data, including phone numbers and websites, on attractions, lodging, restaurants, events and festivals, shopping, etc. As with all guidebooks, of course, some of this material may be out-of-date or flat wrong, but you certainly can't quibble about its breadth, depth and completeness. Since my last visit to England was several years ago, I can't judge the currency or accuracy of this material. As always, the prudent traveler will call in advance or seek other resources on-line before setting off.

England offers so much to see and do that no single travel guidebook can possibly address every visitor's interests. Lonely Planet's "England" is no exception. I looked up in the 16-page index places I visited on prior trips, and many of them were not listed--the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight, the National Motor Museum, the Tank Museum, the Fleet Air Arm Museum and the Bass Brewery, for example. If you're into museums, you should take along a separate book covering just the museums of England (fortunately, I had one of those with me on my trips).

Don't think Lonely Planet's "England" is an armchair travel guide. Since it has so few photos, you won't find yourself leafing through it, spotting a stunning color picture and saying, "Wow, that looks like a great place to visit." But, in my opinion, it IS one of the best guidebooks you can have when you're actually IN England. It's as complete a portrait of the country, its people and its activities as any I've seen. If you're an adventurous, curious, independent traveler, you should make sure it's in your suitcase or backpack on your next trip "across the pond."

Thanks to the Amazon Vine program, I've gotten several of Lonely Planet's new "Best Trips" travel books. I was very impressed with "The Pacific Northwest's Best Trips," "California's Best Trips" and "New England's Best Trips." I rated them all with five stars. Now the series has expanded beyond the U.S.. I was curious to see whether Lonely Planet would do as good a job covering road trips in other countries, so I jumped at the chance to get a copy of "Ireland's Best Trips." Although my wife and I, individually and collectively, have visited England several times, we've only been to Ireland once. We rented a "hire car" and set off on our own through the countryside with a bag full of maps and tourist guidebooks. Having driven fairly extensively in Ireland on that trip, I felt I could do a pretty good job of assessing "Ireland's Best Trips."

In my opinion, it's as good as any of the books in the U.S. regional series. It's the perfect resource for the visitor who wants to explore the back roads and hidden treasures of the Emerald Isle. It takes you off the motorways (which are not all that extensive in Ireland anyway) in favor of narrow country roads, small villages and charming local attractions.

"Ireland's Best Trips" is filled with so much information and so many details about the country that it's hard to condense into a few hundred words for a review. I'll simply say it ranks up with the other Lonely Planet "Best Trips" books as one of the best travel guidebooks I've seen in many years. I like everything about it. It's just the right size, shape and thickness, neither too big to pack nor too small to be useful. It's organized by four main regions (North, West, East and Southwest), with color-coded page edges making it easy to find each one. The 34 road trips it includes run the gamut from mountains to seacoasts to urban areas to castles and everything in between. The print in the three-column format is small but readable under a dome light, and the ratio of pictures to text (one of my key considerations for travel books) is perfect. Throughout the book, color-coding and lots of meaningful icons highlight important topics, making it a snap to find what you're looking for. The many full-color maps, including a small but reasonably useful pull-out country map inside the back cover, are just right, neither too simple nor unnecessarily detailed. Sidebars provide helpful tips and recommend detours off the main routes covered for those who want a little more. Attractions, restaurants, hotels, B&Bs, pubs, natural wonders--it's all here, and in a very user-friendly form. Did I mention that I like this book?

On our trip to Ireland, we basically did Classic Trip #2, "The Long Way Round," as described on pages 55-67. Since it was many years ago, I don't remember details of, for example, where we ate or spent the nights. Thus I can't really rate the lodging and restaurant recommendations in "Ireland's Best Trips." However, paging through it brings back great memories of things we saw and did. While we did okay road-tripping through Ireland with other tourist materials, I really wish I'd had this book on the trip. Needless to say, it will be our go-to guide for our next visit to the country. I can't recommend it too highly for adventurous visitors and inveterate road-trippers who want to go off the beaten track in a fascinating and beautiful part of the world. Well done, Lonely Planet!

When I recently started to put my new Sony HDR-CX230 digital camcorder through its paces, I quickly realized that shooting full-HD videos was going to use up memory fast--LOTS of memory REALLY fast. My first 12-second test video was 25 megabytes! At that rate, the camcorder's 8-gigabyte internal memory doesn't last very long. Fortunately, the CX230 has a memory card slot, so my only decision was what to put in it.

Based on the tech geek I talked to in the store where I bought the camera, I knew the memory card should be a Class 10 SDHC with a data transfer rate of 40 MB/sec, and the higher capacity, the better. The cards in the store were all SanDisk brand, which I had no particular problem with other than their cost. They were pretty expensive for my taste. Checking Amazon, I found this 32-gigabyte Sony UHS-1 SDHC memory card. It had all the right specs, was genuine Sony, and, even better, it was less than half the price of a store-bought SanDisk. How could I go wrong?

The memory card comes blister-packed in a thin but sturdy, fully-sealed cardboard sleeve. The packaging is exceptionally secure, but it quickly succumbed to deftly wielded scissors. And, as I expected, it works fine. I popped it into the memory card slot, being careful to align it properly, and, within a couple of seconds, the camcorder recognized it and it was ready to go. Supposedly the card's capacity is 2-1/2 hours of full HD video. I don't believe numbers like this any more than I believe battery life numbers, but let's just say its capacity is adequate for my needs. Since I bought three of them, I'm set for HD video photography for the foreseeable future.

I'm very satisfied with this purchase, and recommend this genuine Sony product to anyone who needs a fast, reliable, plug-and-play digital memory card.

It really pains me to have to give a book in the Springer/Praxis spaceflight series anything less than an enthusiastic five-star rating. With only one exception, all the Springer/Praxis volumes I've read have been outstanding--exceptionally detailed, technically accurate, comprehensive, well-written and of great interest to techno-geeks and to some casual readers as well. The sole exception is "The Soyuz Launch Vehicle: The Two Lives of an Engineering Triumph," by Christian Lardier and Stefan Barensky.

It's really two books, by two different authors, bolted together seemingly without an integrating editorial hand. Part 1, "Soyuz in the East," is the development and operational history of the Soviet R-7 Intercontinental Ballistic Missile (ICBM), masterminded by Chief Designer Sergei P. Korolev, and its space launch vehicle derivatives. This part, the first 200 or so pages, is dry. It's parched. It's mind-numbingly arid. It's soporific to the point of being nearly unreadable. In fact, I have to admit that I just skimmed a good deal of it. It's filled with boring administrative trivia, such as page after page of the incredibly complex and opaque Soviet hardware designations, and yet it contains very little real technical content. For example, I don't know any more now about exactly how the strap-on boosters attach to and separate from the core than I did before I picked up this book. It's a real shame, because the Soyuz launch vehicle, a lineal descendant of the R-7, is by any measure the longest-serving space launch vehicle in history. While its career as an ICBM was brief, because its huge dimensions and its need for volatile liquid oxygen as a propellant component made it impractical in a quick-reaction role, it has served as a satellite launch vehicle with an enviable success record for more than 50 years. Today, with the U.S. Space Shuttle program ended, R-7 derivatives provide the only way for crews to reach the International Space Station. The Soyuz launch vehicle's story needs to be told. Unfortunately, in my opinion, this book does not tell it in any meaningful or useful way.

Part 2, "Soyuz in the West," tells how the Russian's marketed R-7 launch vehicle services in the West and formed partnerships with Western companies to do so. It's much better written than Part 1, and marginally more interesting without so much administrative nomenclaturial trivia, but it still does not rise to the level of usual Springer/Praxis quality. As I said above, the two parts of "The Soyuz Launch Vehicle" are totally disparate--"bolted together."

Even boring text might have been marginally acceptable if the illustrations were good. And some of them are. There are photos of various aspects of the R-7 that I've never seen in print before. Many of them are exceptional. There are also many line drawings, cutaways and other diagrams. But the majority of these are blurry, pixelated or too small to be of any use--and, worse, many of them are labeled only in Russian or French.

Again, I hate to speak ill of a Springer/Praxis book. Others in the series have given me many, many hours of reading pleasure. But I can't in good conscience recommend "The Soyuz Launch Vehicle." It was a chore to read even at a cursory level, and I got nothing out of it that made it worth the effort. Pass.

Years ago, I decided to add a consumer video camera to my extensive array of 35mm Nikon camera bodies and lenses. I agonized over the format for a while--VHS, VHS-C, 8mm, Super8 and probably others that I've forgotten. I decided to buy an 8mm-format Sony camcorder, because it was the smallest, lightest-weight one available. That was the key factor in my decision. The main reason I wanted the camcorder was to videotape hikes, backpacks and multi-day, cross-country treks all over the world, so it had to be small and light. It worked out great for that purpose for quite a while, until the batteries stopped holding a charge. I eventually stopped using it, and left it to gather dust in one of my home office cabinets.

With my interest in video recording recently rekindled, I took a look at modern camcorders and was overwhelmed by the enormous strides technology has taken since back in the day. Today's camcorders are true marvels of miniaturization and versatility. I opted to stick with Sony, a brand I've generally been satisfied with, and chose the HDR-CX230 as the model that offered the right combination of features and price for me. The whole thing is not much bigger than one of the batteries for my old 8mm, and it weighs far less. Amazing!

I like almost everything about the HDR-CX230. Although so far I've only scratched the surface of its features and capabilities, it is remarkably intuitive and easy to use. Swinging out the large side-panel screen turns the camcorder on--there's no separate power switch. The panel rotates on its universal joint to virtually any position, including facing forward. Three small buttons, for starting/stopping recording, zooming the lens and taking a still photo while recording video, fall readily to hand--or to fingers, actually--when you hold the camcorder. Most functions are set using the side-panel screen, which has a large, clear display and a clever mouse-like button in one corner to move the "cursor" among items on the screen and select them. There's a very short built-in USB cable that tucks into the hand strap when not in use--a longer cable is provided in the box, as is an HDMI cable. A door on the bottom accesses a slot into which you can plug an SDHC memory card to supplement the 8GB of internal memory. Video and audio quality are excellent, based on the few tests I've run, and should certainly be more than adequate for casual users. Professional video photographers may scoff, but the videos look and sound great to me.

Here're a few things potential buyers should know: The only way to charge the included lithium-ion battery (which is uncharged at purchase) is through the USB cable hooked up to a running computer. The HDR-CX230 box includes neither a battery charger nor an AC adapter. Also not included is an AV cable with RCA plugs to connect to a standard-definition television. Thus I bought two Sony NP-FV50 batteries, a Sony Travel Charger, three Sony 32GB SDHC Memory Cards and an AV cable separately. These accessories added a couple of hundred dollars over the price of the camcorder itself. You have to download software from the Sony website in order to transfer videos to a computer (it's a straightforward process), and you have to manually open the lens cover when you turn the camcorder on (don't worry, it'll remind you if you forget).

The Sony HDR-CX230 is a compact, capable, user-friendly camcorder that I enthusiastically recommend to anyone in the market for such a device. I've had lots of fun with it just in the short time I've had it, and I eagerly anticipate enjoying many years of video-making pleasure with it. In my opinion, it's a great product for a great price.

As a retired aerospace engineer, enthusiastic amateur technology historian and author of 30+ magazine articles on aviation, spaceflight and other subjects, I thought I knew a lot about experimental aircraft of the early Jet Age. Years ago, when I regularly wrote articles for "Wings," "Airpower" and "Space World" magazines, I specialized in ferreting out details of little-known, oddball aircraft such as the Northrop XP-56, Convair XP-81, McDonnell XF-85, Republic XF-91 and Martin Marietta X-24. But I must say the subject of Captain Eric Brown's latest book, "Miles M.52," was new to me.

Conceived in mid-1943 as a research aircraft to explore the problems of supersonic flight, the M.52 was a striking, unusual design. Its cylindrical fuselage was almost all jet engine. The tiny cockpit was in the engine's central "spike," surrounded by the annular air intake duct. The thin clipped-elliptical wings featured a unique bi-convex airfoil profile, as did the innovative all-moving horizontal tail surfaces. Powered by Frank Whittle's big "W.2/700 plus No. 4 Augmentor" afterburning turbofan, the M.52 was designed to reach a speed of 1,000 miles per hour (about Mach 1.5) at 36,000 feet altitude.

Ambitious? To say the least. Risky? Certainly. Possible? Without a doubt. Tiny Miles Aircraft Company, which received the M.52 contract in part because all of Britain's other major aircraft manufacturers were busy with wartime production at the time, had made great progress in designing and building two prototypes. By early 1946, the first M.52 was 95% complete, and about 90% of the parts for the second were available but not assembled. Then, literally with no warning at all, the British government cancelled the program.

Captain Brown participated in the program since its inception, and he almost certainly would have been the first person in history to fly faster than the speed of sound if the M.52 had not been cancelled. Instead, U.S. Air Force Captain Chuck Yeager broke the "sound barrier" for the first time, on October 14, 1947, in the rocket-powered Bell X-1. The M.52 could have done it at least a year earlier.

Captain Brown tells the whole story of this "Most Secret" program from an insider's perspective, and with typical "British airplane book" thoroughness, in this short but fascinating volume. My only quibble is that the narrative text is very brief--148 pages, in relatively large font, with wide margins and many photos and drawings. Much of the story appears in 63 pages of Appendices (with some repetition in the main text), including a detailed 39-page chronology of events. In my opinion, it would have been better to integrate the material in the Appendices into the main text rather than tack it on as stand-alone items. Still, the whole story is there for those who want to dig it out.

"Miles M.52" reveals a hitherto little known experimental aircraft program from the early days of the Jet Age, a program that had enormous potential and could have changed the course of post-War aviation. Even though the M.52 never flew, Captain Brown's book should still greatly appeal to readers interested in the history of supersonic flight technology.

In 1968, the Cold War raged at full intensity. Tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union were high. Memories of the Berlin Blockade, the shootdown of Francis Gary Powers' U-2 spyplane and the Cuban Missile Crisis lingered on both sides of the Iron Curtain as though the events had happened yesterday.

On February 25 of that tragic year, the Soviet Navy's diesel submarine K-129, armed with three 755-nautical-mile-range ballistic missiles each tipped with a 1-megaton thermonuclear warhead, sailed from its base at Petropavlovsk on the Kamchatka Peninsula, bound for its assigned patrol station northwest of Hawai'i. The 324-foot-long, 3,610-ton submarine never made it. On March 11, the K-129 sank in the northern Pacific Ocean in 16,700 feet of water, with the loss of all 98 men on board.

"The CIA's Greatest Covert Operation" is the almost unbelievable story of Project AZORIAN, the most audacious American clandestine intelligence operation of the Cold War--the CIA's top-secret 1974 attempt to salvage the forward 136 feet of the K-129 (which had broken off from the stern section) from the ocean floor. Author Dr. David Sharp, a career CIA employee at the time, was there during the whole operation, and he offers the unique and invaluable perspective of a man who KNOWS the truth. But it's a double-edged sword. He had to submit his manuscript to the CIA for review before publication (a standard requirement for anyone with certain security clearances), and the Agency censored some of the most interesting material. Strangely (or maybe not), some of the information the CIA did not permit Dr. Sharp to discuss has already appeared in other books. But "publication does not imply declassification..."

AZORIAN offered the chance for the U.S. to gain information of incalculable value about Soviet equipment, capabilities and operational procedures. Intelligence analysts drooled at the thought of what the K-129 might yield--construction details, metallurgical secrets, cryptographic and communications hardware, code manuals, torpedoes and even the ballistic missiles and their thermonuclear warheads. AZORIAN would be scandalously expensive, unprecedentedly complex, extremely risky, of questionable legality and not at all certain to succeed. But if it did, it would be the intelligence coup of the century, if not of all time.

AZORIAN cost about as much as an Apollo mission to the moon, and involved equipment and hardware that to this day remain marvels of innovative marine engineering. With cost practically no object, the CIA, through "front" companies and using "ocean mining" as a cover story, built the huge ship "Hughes Glomar Explorer" (HGE), a remote-controlled capture vehicle (CV), or "claw," to pick up the forward part of the K-129, and an enormous covered barge to conceal operations from prying eyes. Dr. Sharp was on AZORIAN from the beginning. He describes the conception, design, development, testing and operation of these remarkable pieces of hardware with exceptional breadth, depth and clarity. His highly readable, conversational, page-turning style has an incredible sense of day-by-day immediacy, making the reader feel he or she was at Dr. Sharp's side in the HGE's control room during the mission.

There are other books about the K-129 salvage operation. "The Jennifer Project," by Clyde Burleson, published in 1977, is too dated to be of much value ("Jennifer" was actually the administrative security "compartment" for AZORIAN, not the project's code name). The 2010 book "Project Azorian," by Norman Polmar and Michael White, based on recently declassified information and on interviews with program participants, is an excellent volume in its own right, although it is considerably less detailed than Dr. Sharp's book. One of its strengths, however, is its illustrations. My only criticism of "The CIA's Greatest Covert Operation" is its relative lack of meaningful photographs, maps and drawings. Dr. Sharp includes many photos of key program personnel, a few of HGE shipboard operations and harassing Soviet ships and aircraft at the recovery site, and very few indeed of HGE and CV technical details. Polmar and White, on the other hand, offer scores of great photos, drawings, maps and computer-generated images, including some amazing mosaics of the K-129 on the bottom and a still from a closed-circuit TV camera mounted on the CV showing the submarine in the "claw." I assume the CIA forbade Dr. Sharp from using such images in his book. Polmar and White also include cutaway drawings of the K-129 and HGE, which aid greatly in understanding the operation.

I most enthusiastically and unconditionally give "The CIA's Greatest Covert Operation" my highest possible recommendation--in fact, this is one of my highest recommendations ever, even though I'm limited to five stars. I highly recommend that those interested in the subject also read "Project AZORIAN," or even read the two books simultaneously, if for no other reason than because Polmar and White's photos and drawings add even more clarity and comprehensibility to Dr. Sharp's already-cogent technical and operational descriptions. Both of these outstanding volumes should be in every techno-geek's library.

I watched "Creepy Creature Double Feature Vol. 2" before watching "Creepy Creature Double Feature Vol. 1." I found "Creepy Creature Double Feature Vol. 2" to be quite enjoyable despite the low-budget nature of the two films it contains. Thus, my expectations for "Creepy Creature Double Feature Vol. 1," which features two more low-budget films, were higher than they might otherwise have been.

Alas, "Creepy Creature Double Feature Vol. 1" failed to meet my heightened expectations. In fact, it failed even to meet the more meager expectations I would have had if I had not watched "Creepy Creature Double Feature Vol. 2" first. "Monster from the Ocean Floor," while crisp and sharp in this black-and-white transfer, offers little plot-wise, and is so simplistic that even its 65-minute run time seems too long for the story line. Other than a brief earlier cameo, the monster itself does not even appear until--literally--five minutes before the movie ends, and the few minutes of its lame, blurry, not-at-all-menacing tentacle-waving is a few minutes of film wasted. The production values are pretty good, the sound is okay (although some of the characters have completely different voices in different scenes), and the cast members are reasonably likeable. But their performances do little to redeem "Monster from the Ocean Floor." It's not a horrible movie, but its not one worth watching again in the future.

As for "Serpent Island"--the less said about it, the better. It's awful, just awful.

I'm surprised Volumes 1 and 2 of the "Creepy Creature Double Feature" series are so different from each other. I expected roughly equivalent levels of quality, but such is not the case. I rated Volume 2 with five stars for its value, and for the fact that its two movies are not too bad at all. I found Volume 1, however, to be a waste of time and money.