Protocell Revisited

It Was RNA 

It is time for me to adjust my neural brainwaves to a frequency in concordance with a 'sensible' scientific topic. While it is true that I have previously presented a post on the highly vexed topic of Abiogenesis, this topic is so controversial, immeasurably complex, and convoluted that it is worth a second look.

For me, the evolution of early life is a fascinating topic, but not as interesting as the original formulation of life itself. When we find evidence of early life in the rocks, that life is already highly complex and highly evolved. But if we look back further in time, what did the first ‘life’ look like? And more importantly, how did this first primordial life come about? Is it possible somehow to resurrect, in a Mad Scientist’s test tube or surreal dream, the very first proto-life, and if so, would we recognise it as such? Now that IS a question. 

I've discussed LUCA (Last Universal Common Ancestor) before. It is the organism that gave rise to all life on Earth as we know it. LUCA, it is conjectured, was hanging around deep water thermal vents 4 billion years ago. There is a common misconception that LUCA was primitive and the only creature in town. But LUCA had already evolved a complex metabolism with enzymes, RNA and ribosomes. And it was not alone but highly likely part of a complex interweb of organisms. These diverse cells would have formed an enclosed ecological system.  

Darwin was well aware that although his theory of natural selection was a wonderful descriptor of how species can change over time, he was at a total loss as to how life came to be. He imagined a 'warm little pond' where all the chemical precursors of life were present. How those precursors came about and how they interacted to produce the first protocell was a concept behind his ken. Since Darwin, we have come a long way in understanding the conditions present on primitive Earth 4.5 to 3.5 billion years ago. Furthermore, our knowledge of biochemistry, genetics, geology and palaeontology has improved in ways incomprehensible to the great man. 

It is likely that 'life' first came about, not in Darwin's 'warm little pond', but on the rim of volcanic vents deep within our primitive oceans a little over 4 billion years ago. I place 'life' in parentheses as the entity that subsequently developed further to give rise to all life on Earth was not alive in any biological sense, at least as we understand it today. We must suspend our concept of life and substitute the notion of proto-life instead. The first proto-life would be extremely primitive, perhaps just a lipid sphere containing a jumble/jungle of inorganic and organic compounds that had the ability to break apart due to dynamic physical processes in its environment. 

Of course, conditions on Earth 4 billion years ago were vastly different from what we see today. The atmosphere was dominated by carbon dioxide, water vapour, and methane; oxygen was not a component. The oceans were a mix of salts and inorganic chemicals; however, hydrovolcanic vents would be a rich source of chemical reactions as they spewed forth sulphur, carbon dioxide, and hydrogen-rich gases.     

Three conditions would have to be met for the formation of proto-life. Clearly, a stable, relatively quiescent environment is required if chemicals are to be localised. Free-floating chemicals at the rim of hydrovolcanic vents would be dispersed by thermal currents, and concentration would be impossible. Therefore, some form of compartmentalisation would have been necessary. This could be achieved by the formation of lipid bilayers. Lipids have the interesting feature of having a hydrophilic domain (water-loving) and a hydrophobic chain (water-repellant). Lipids spontaneously form bilipid chains in a water environment, which naturally coalesce into water-containing spheres. However, in seawater, lipid vesicles will not form in the presence of salts such as sodium and calcium. This is a problem for the hypothesis of life first appearing at the sites of hydrothermal vents.  However, recent evidence has shown that lipid vesicles can form in the presence of salts if the water temperature achieves 70ºC and the pH increases to 12. A hot alkaline environment readily occurs around oceanic hydrothermal vents.

The presence of lipid spheres achieves several important functions. First, it offers a stable enclosed system, separate from the ebb and flow of the external environment. Second, the lipid bilayer allows molecules to enter and leave. Third, a primitive form of 'replication' may ensue. Continuous addition of lipids by physical forces will result in enlargement, and once a critical stage is reached, and in the presence of physical agitation, the spheres will spontaneously bud off 'daughter' sphere configurations.

Life, in any form, requires energy. Even the most primitive present-day bacteria have a complex metabolism (glycolysis) for the production of adenosine triphosphate (ATP). ATP is the energy currency of all living cells necessary to stave off the inevitable march of entropy. The cells of more complex organisms (eukaryotes) also harness the powers of glycolysis for ATP production, however. in addition, there is a second mechanism (Krebb's cycle), localised in the organelle, mitochondria, that continues with the initial oxidative process started by the glycolysis that ends up producing a great deal of ATP, or potential energy in the process. Clearly, the first protocell did not have the complex metabolic machinery for energy production as outlined above. It would have been reliant on the energy belching forth from the hydrothermal vents. In the presence of heat, carbon dioxide and free hydrogen, energy is released in addition to the formation of complex carbon chain chemicals. By harnessing the energy and organic compounds, it has been hypothesised that a primitive chemical 'metabolism' may have actually taken place.

Finally, a means of genetic transmission is required. Nucleic acids, particularly ribonucleic acid and deoxyribonucleic acid fulfil this role. Of the two, RNA is more easily produced, forms single chains and is inherently unstable. A primitive RNA molecule may have provided a genetic blueprint for replication and mutation. The ferment of the hydrothermal vent environment is not an environment conducive to nucleic acid generation, and therefore, an alternative source is required. There is the possibility that organic compounds were imported through the medium of stellar objects. Complex chemistry can occur in the vast reaches of space. Bombardment by intense solar radiation provides the energy to generate organic compounds from simple elements. Analysis of meteorites has revealed a complex and diverse array of organics and nucleic acids. The possible role of extraterrestrial bombardment in providing life's precursors should not be underestimated. The early Earth was severely pelted by comets, asteroids and comets during the 'Heavy Bombardment' phase of its existence. Indeed, it is conjectured that much of Earth's water was provided by comet impacts.   

I'm making the whole process seem easy and inevitable, but there is a major problem. On its own, an RNA-based replication system is not enough. There has to be a conglomeration of molecules that can translate the RNA message into amino acids, the precursors for protein synthesis. Tis a chicken and egg conundrum. Which came first: RNA responsible for the genetic code driving protein production and replication or proteins necessary for RNA to do its job. Both are required to cooperate at the same time. According to the 'RNA World Hypothesis', a primitive RNA molecule fulfilled both roles. However, when it comes to the details, scientists are in disagreement. I have touched on this hypothesis previously, but only in a perfunctory manner. To do this hypothesis justice, it will require a blog post in itself- I'm working on it          

I do not wish to downplay the problems to be overcome or plaster over the glaring, gaping cracks in our understanding. Those of a religious bent are quick to gloat and shout: “God did it”. Is this the last bastion of God of the Gaps?-  or perhaps cracks? To say an invisible unknown entity 'does it' by means unknown is tantamount to magic and wand waving, and therefore, in the final analysis, no answer at all. I'm comfortable with the notion that we simply don't know how the first proto-organism got started. We are working on the problem and can be assured that if we do finally understand how it happened, it will be through the work of sound empirical scientific effort and not a consequence of theology. Nuff said, for now.  

Night of the Demon

                                      Who's a Pretty Boy, Den

This will be the first and most likely the last time that I discuss a film's merits, artistic or otherwise.

I'm taking time out from writing my usual drivel to comment on an old British black-and-white film from the 1950s: The Night of the Demon or Curse of the Demon as it was rebranded for the US audience. In addition to the name change, the film was truncated by 15 minutes. The Americans deemed it necessary to cut out a couple of subplots in order for the film to fit into their double-feature format. I've watched both versions and the unsullied version is superior and well worth its inclusion of minor distractions. 

I don't intend to summarise the plot, as you may well wish to view the film for yourself if you haven't already done so, and I do not want to curtail your viewing pleasure. In this post, my intention is to bring out a few highlights and comment in my inestimable style. Beware, there will be disclosures and perhaps the odd digression with the emphasis on 'odd'. You have been warned! 

Context

I first watched the film whilst young, at about the age of 7. I remember being transfixed and scared shitless, although I enjoyed the film immensely. Of course, at the tender age of 7, most of what transpired was lost on my fulminating brain. Role forward 51 years, I am now comfortably ensconced in rural New Zealand. My son lives and works in the capital city of Wellington about a two-hour drive from where we live. He is a busy man, and consequently, I don't get to see him as often as I would like. On those intermittent occasions when he comes to see his parents, we generally arrange what is colloquially called 'Gangster Night'. Tis a night where myself and second born retreat from our respective wives, leaving them to watch drivel in the living room whilst we become lodged in the lounge. We confer and select a film for our viewing pleasure. Our selection is of undoubted quality, gritty and usually comes with a body count. During the film, we consume fine ales, and afterwards, we comment and discuss the film in detail. On my son's last visit, I suggested Night of the Demon, a film that I had not seen for five decades.   

Filmy Bit

The film was directed by the acclaimed horror director Jacques Tourneur and starred Dana Andrews, Peggy Cummins, and Niall MacGinnis. Although it is a British film, the male lead, Dana Andrews, is American. Post war British films of the 40s and 50s always seem to feature an American actor in the male lead role. This was no accidental quirk. British films of the era were produced for a dual market, and the presence of an American in a prominent role garnished the film to suit the American palate. At the time of filming Dana Andrews was a fading star and was bereft of the cachet he had had in the 1940's. That said, Mr Andrews acquitted his role competently and with due professionalism. However, gone was the sparkle of an earlier decade and an air of 'contractual obligation' was evident in his gait. Or perhaps he was getting old. 

The accolade of 'Star' must go to the Irish character actor Niall MacGinnis. In the film, he is the counterpoint to white hat-wearing Dana Andrews. He fulfils the role of the archetypal baddy, dare I say it, with veritable aplomb. Apparently, the character he plays, Julian Karswell, is loosely based on the 'Wickedest Man in England', Alister Crowley. Niall plays an occult leader for a group of local followers. His skill with the dark arts has given him immense power and wealth, and he resides with his mother in a grand, graceful mansion. There is a hint that although his dark powers have provided him well, there is always a foul debt ultimately to be paid. It is as if Karswell holds a wolf by his ears. Niall is the master of understated horror. There is evil in this man, but it is not overt, certainly not in the way of a Hollywood villain complete/replete with maniacal laughter. Karswell's projection of cultured menace is the perfect foil to Dana Andrew's initially uncomprehending and befuddled character (Dr John Holden). Evil comes in many forms, and there is something to be said for philosopher Hannah Arendt's concept of 'The banality of evil', but not in this case. Niall's projection is not banal in any respect. Evil is present, but it is not commonplace. Evil abides in all of us but, for the most part, is kept in check by the intellect. Dr Karswell projects a fractured, erudite intellect which extrudes an air of menace with quiet abandon. We are not witnesses to the banality of evil; on the contrary, tis more akin to the 'urbanity of evil'. As a digression, Niall McGinnis was a qualified MD and served as a military surgeon in the second World War. It is difficult to state which was the side gig, doctoring or acting as he had over 80 films in his filmography. A very underrated character actor, in my opinion.  

Peggy Cummins is the film's 'almost love interest.' She is attractive in a well-groomed secretarial way, very British, even though she is Irish and strictly opposite to the Hollywood vamp of the 1930s and 1940s. Tis ironic as Miss Cummins is mainly remembered for playing a femme fatale in the 1950 crime film noir, Gun Crazy. In Night of The Demon, Peggy's main plot role is to provide an adroit intellectual counterpoint to Dr Holden's hard scepticism.

 Hal E Chester, the producer, and the director Jacques Torneur had significant artistic differences during the film's production. Tourneur envisaged an imaginative horror film with the portrayal of the titular demon left for the viewer to conjure in their own fertile or otherwise imagination. However, in the final cut, the demon became manifest at the beginning and end of the film. Considering the technology of the time, the portrayal of the huge lumbering bat-faced demon was reasonably good. However, I agree with Tourneur that some things are best left to the imagination. The weakest moment transpires when our doughty hero, Dr Holden, grapples with the cat cum leopard. It is clear that our protagonist is wrestling with a stuffed animal. That said, with the use of shadow and adept camera work, Tourneur saves the scene from outright farce. just. 

For me, the best scenes occur during Karswell and Holden's meeting in the British Museum's library; Holden's marrow-chilling 'run through the woods' after breaking into Karswell's home. There is something 'Wolfmanesque' as the clouds cut out the full moon, and lastly, there is the unforgettable Niall MacGinnis—in fact, any scenes in which he is part.

I remember, vaguely a British horror series presented sometime in the late 60s (Mystery and Imagination). One of the stories presented was The Casting of the Runes which had a similar plot run to the film discussed. Both the film and episode, of course, were adapted from a short story by M. R. James entitled Casting of the Runes.  I remember very little about the episode, although I recall the featured demon was winged- I could be wrong. Sadly, all the episodes from the series seem to have been lost. 

That's enough for now. I'm happy to write further film reviews in my characteristic, jumpy, quirky and idiosyncratic vein if my regulars consider my meanderings along this route favourable. Regardless of opinion, I would like to hear your thoughts.       

Oscar Smiled

''The only thing worse than having a big fat arse is having no arse at all''

I'm sure my discerning and cultured readers are familiar with the works of the Irish raconteur and self-acclaimed genius Oscar Wilde. He lived a charmed life for the most part and was greatly admired for his ready wit and repartee. However, things didn't go well for poor Oscar after he buggered the son of the Marquis of Queensbury. In those days (1890s), the practice of putting yer winky up another man's arse (arse) was not only a sin but a grave crime. Though Oscar put up a spirited defence at his trial (x2), he was ultimately found guilty and sentenced to 2 years of hard labour (1895-1897) to be spent at Reading Gaol. During his incarceration, he wrote the 'Ballad of Reading Gaol'.  Apparently, the work was inspired by the fate of a fellow inmate who was charged with the murder of his faithless wife. The chap in question was a member of the Queen's Guard, and was duly hanged for his crime. In this spirit, I have penned a poem dedicated to an old acquaintance of mine, entitled 'The Ballard of Lugless Douglas'. As I recall, Dougy (for it is he) was not over-endowed with intelligence. As Douglas was virtually unemployable, he was forced to rely on his wits to travel through this veil of tears we call life. This, of course, was a calamity of the first order as poor Doug could not read or write. Interestingly, and like many dullards, he considered himself a self-proclaimed expert on all and sundry. His lack of cerebral matter had a serious and doleful influence on his life, and he was oft the target of the local constabulary and the law courts. However, his downfall occurred not because of a brush with the law but as a consequence of not paying an instalment from a loan from the local unlicensed 'Money Lender', 'Razor Eric'. For most of us, the name 'Razor' would be a clue that perhaps it would be best not to enter a business relationship with this gentleman.  Sadly, Dougy, at this stage in his life, was denied the conventional means of legal credit, and usuary was not a word that abided in his limited lexicon. Read on, gentle reader, to hear of Douglas' sanguinary fate.    

Although my version may lack Oscar Wilde's artistic brilliance, its virtue lies in its brevity.

   The Ballard of Lugless Douglas.

                    He wore his scarlet shell suit,             

      Stained with beer and food,

              And nicotine stained his hands

              When they found him on the road,

              The poor man had lost an ear,

              And the bloody stump did exude.

              He tottered amongst the drunken men,

              An earhole was rent and tore;  

              A knotted hanky was on his head,

              An orifice spewing gore;

              But I never saw a man

              Spewing forth such bright red ichor.

             I never saw a man who bled

             With such wistful aplomb

             Upon the street that night

             And nowhere a soothing balm,

             Yet, at every pump of blood, that vent

             A bloody mess did he become.

             He walked, with staggered step,

             Within a world of pain,

              And wondered where his ear had gone

                    It had disappeared down the drain,

             When a low voice whispered so,

            ‘Dougie will never hear again.’

                                                

             

             Dear me, the poor man

             Suddenly began to reel,

            And Dougie’s ear had been struck orf

            With the finest burnished steel;

                          And through the red mist,                

            The stump appeared like fresh-cut veal.

            Don’t feel sorry for Dougie       

            For Dougie has been a sinner

            Penance did not abide in him

           And thus his ear became a rat’s dinner,

           A fate he truly deserved,

           The fate of a severed pinna.

So endeth the Ballard of Lugless Douglas