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Hubrisween 2020 :: E is for Evil Laugh (1986)

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We open on a lonely adobe house secluded on an isolated hill. You know, I once saw an adobe Wal-Mart in Taos, New Mexico. In fact, every building in Taos was seemingly made out of adobe. But I digress. Now where were we? Ah, yes. Next, we spy a sign in the yard, proclaiming this adobe abode to be For Sale; and closer inspection shows the sign has a 'Sold' snipe attached to it. Then, things take a bit of an ominous turn as we decipher what's also been sloppily painted across the placard: a scrawled warning to Stay Away!



Moving closer to the house, we see it also has been tagged with this cryptic warning, too -- multiple times. And when the realtor arrives, he threatens to fire the property’s caretaker for allowing these acts of vandalism -- only he can’t find him. On the verge of closing on the property, a frantic Mr. Burns (Weiss) moves quickly to remove all evidence of this graffiti before the new owner shows up.



A delivery boy arrives next with a load of food, who informs Burns they didn’t have some of the more exotic items -- like the bull’s heart, liver, or monkey brains, which the new homeowner had requested. Seems the buyer is a doctor and an amateur gourmet chef, who plans on turning this old house into a clinic and shelter for abandoned and abused children. He’s also invited his girlfriend and several of his fellow intern friends up for the weekend to whip the place into shape, according to a convenient plot dump. Too busy cleaning up, Burns says to just put the groceries in the kitchen and clear out.



Thus, by the time Jerry (Hays) arrives, Burns has removed all of the graffiti. Turning the keys over, he leaves Jerry alone to explore the old house. And just as the soundtrack warns us some dirty work is afoot already, the new owner enters the kitchen, where he finds those groceries left on the counter, takes stock, and then goes ballistic because his food order is incomplete. 



But while he rants, someone dressed in black, wearing a pair of blue latex living gloves, sneaks up behind him -- and then repeatedly stabs Jerry in the back! Rolling the body over, the killer starts to cackle (-- and this will have you cackling, too, because the killer's “evil laugh” sounds just like the chain-smoking Krusty the Clown from The Simpsons). And as this comical cackling crescendos, the killer gleefully guts Jerry, slicing him up from stem to stern, and deposits his internal organs into a porcelain basin by the rest of the groceries. Now, raise your hands if you all see where this is going...



While brother Scott Baio was leaving Happy Days behind and taking on feature films with Skatetown USA (1979) and Zapped! (1982), then veering back into TV with Joannie Loves Cha-Chi and Charles in Charge before inevitably becoming a bit of a Right Wing political punchline, and cousin Jimmy Baio was starring in SOAP and learning to pitch in the Astrodome for The Bad News Bears in Breaking Training (1977), the Baio known as Steven was eking out a living as a bit player, mostly riding on his more famous relatives’ coattails. 


Meantime, Dominick Brascia was another bit-player, who was also scraping together a living in Hollywood -- most notably as the chubby, mentally-challenged Joey, who liked to Bogart his chocolate bars before getting chopped to pieces with an axe in Friday the 13th Part V: A New Beginning (1985) -- the one without Jason, if memory serves.





Now, Brascia and Baio initially met at an acting class; and with both being Italians from back East, they hit it off. And together, as most out-of-work actors are wont to do, they decided to make their own movie to star in; a comedy about two guys from Brooklyn called -- wait for it, Two Guys from Brooklyn, and began hitting up their friends and family for financing. When those efforts failed to raise enough money, Brascia hit upon a familiar plan to take what little seed money they had and invest it in a cheap horror movie for the booming home video market, and then make their dream project from the expected profits.


Alas, after hammering out a script together, when filming on Evil Laugh (1986) began there still wasn't enough money to finish the film; but the Brascia / Baio clans came through with enough for a demo reel -- and a little onset catering to boot. Brascia then screened what footage they had for a couple of video distributors, who were so impressed they ponied up the needed completion funds. And so, with the financing firmly set, filming began in earnest to finish Evil Laugh as the novice filmmakers did their best to hide the fact that they really didn't know what they were doing.


And this inexperience shows up pretty badly in just about every aspect of Evil Laugh. However, this ineptitude would prove somewhat fortuitous as a drum-machine and Casio-powered travelogue tune cranks up; and while a Cyndi Lauper wannabe warbles about being overworked, we meet our cast of cannon fodder, starting with three men stuck on the side of the road with a flat tire. But as Mark and Johnny (O’Brien, Baio) work to swap out the spare, an unhelpful Barney (Pearson) sits to the side on his ass and reads the latest issue of Fangoria Magazine.



Now, you may have noticed how much pleasure the shirtless Mark and Johnny enjoy flaunting their pecs. And while I think they were shooting for machismo, as this behavior continues throughout the film it all reads rather queer. Not an indictment. Just an observation on the obvious.



Here, we also get an inkling to the quality of Baio and Brascia’s script, when Barney replies to being chastised for not helping with, “Who are you calling an asshole, asshole?” That’s right, baton the hatches, Boils and Ghouls, it’s gonna be a long movie. And then things get even dumber when Johnny heads to the ditch to relieve himself, clumsily fighting off every natural instinct to look where he is whizzing, and winds up urinating all over a biker and his old lady, who decided to take a nap there for … reasons. And with that, Johnny rushes back to the car and Mark floors it out of there, mercifully bringing this introduction to an end.



Meanwhile, also stuck out on the road with a stalled-out Jeep are Jerry’s girlfriend, Connie (McKamy), and her friend, Tina (Gibson). And like any other mechanical illiterate, they pop the hood, hoping and praying just staring at the engine will somehow cause it to heal itself. When that doesn't work, Tina tries kicking the dashboard, magically bringing the engine to life. (Hey, it always worked for the Fonz).



Bringing up the rear and rounding out the group is the snobbish Sammy (Griffin) and his girlfriend, Betty (O’Bryan) -- and we know Sammy’s a rich douche-bag because he’s wearing a v-neck sweater, driving a Mercedes with a built in phone, and is using it to talk to his daddy -- and we gather that daddy has him on a pretty short leash. Betty is also upset with him because they’ve canceled a weekend in Palm Springs to go and help clean some stupid old house. Once again, Sammy explains he and Jerry are good friends and how he owes him a favor; besides, the house has an enormous swimming pool and Jerry is a first rate cook. And then we get some backstory when Sammy reveals a secret about the old house -- a secret Jerry didn't tell the others for fear it would scare them away. Seems around ten years ago, a terrible crime took place on the property: a murder -- lots of them, actually.




Meanwhile, back at the house, another murder is about to take place as we find that grocery boy tied to a chair. And as the killer circles him, we see the bad guy’s face is covered with a leather mask as he rummages through a tool box. Finding what he wants, the killer produces a power drill with a wide, wood boring bit locked in place; and then that evil laugh cackles-up again while he drives the drill into the other man’s guts, killing him not-so-instantly.



Later, arriving at the house first, Mark, Johnny and Barney find no one else home but do hear some kind of gibberish coming from somewhere (-- gibberish that sounds a lot like a Jawa in heat to me). When they trace this to a closet, you can almost make it out as a warning to get away, and something about the children. But when they open the door its *gasp* empty. But that’s enough for the paranoid Barney, who declares the house is haunted and, having seen this hypothetical horror movie before, says they should all leave immediately.



Then, Mr. Burns pops-up out of nowhere and scares them. (And where's he been?) He scoffs at their claim of phantom voices, saying his cousin once heard voices, too, and is now committed. (Mysterious disappearance and family history of mental illness? I think we’ve found a suspect.) As the realtor leaves, when the others ask where Jerry is, Burns claims he hasn’t seen him since he first arrived; but it’s a big house and surely he’s bound to be around somewhere.



Outside, Burns runs into Connie and Tina and introduces them to his wife, Sadie (Grant), anxiously waiting in their car, who can’t believe her idiot husband would ever set foot inside that evil house; and the sooner they can vacate the premises the better. Inside, Johnny does his best to calm Barney down, saying they can all go swimming later. When Mark mentions he has every intention of getting Tina naked and in the sack, Barney’s paranoia escalates even more; hyper-aware that their situation is starting to resemble a horror movie, he warns the others to knock that sex shit off before Jason Vorhees shows up and kills them all.



With Jerry still absent, Connie steps up and thanks them all for coming. But the others aren’t very receptive when informed the unlikable Sammy is coming, too; but all promise to keep the peace for her sake just as the culprit in question shows up. And after Connie squares away the room assignments for the weekend, Jerry is still a no show. Odd, since his car is parked in the driveway. Assured Burns saw him earlier, Connie calls to see if Jerry might’ve mentioned where he was going. He didn’t, and the surly Burns reiterates how big the property is and has no doubt Jerry is there somewhere. 



With that, Connie gathers the troops and relates Jerry’s plan to convert the house into a shelter. And with a little elbow grease, she’s sure they can get it whipped into shape in no time.


 
Inspired by Connie’s pep talk, Mark cranks up his boom-box. And while the most obnoxious pop song ever recorded plays, men in short shorts start doing some rather disturbing things with brooms and dusters as a mind-numbing montage of sweeping and sliding down banisters ensues. And when they’re not cleaning, they’re dancing with an abandoned glee.



Uninspired by all this giddiness, the ever crabby Barney retires to the kitchen, comments on how fresh the meat is, and starts to cook it before it spoils while the others merrily clean. Then, while dusting around the fireplace, Mark finds a cassette tape wrapped in plastic, kills the music, and pops it into his player. This brings everybody together, complaining about the lack of tunes. Even Barney comes in from the kitchen, asking where Jerry went because his car just took off.




Confused, they all head outside just as the mystery tape queues up, and then a distressed voice screams that all the children are dead and to get out of the house or else. Alas, no one is there to hear these warnings and the tape is subsequently forgotten -- because after a hard day of musical montage cleaning most of the gathered guests have other things on their minds. If you know what I mean, and I think you do.




Cut to a bedroom, where we spy a large knife cutting through the mattress and boxspring from underneath the bed. Quickly, the hand and knife withdraw before the door opens and Mark and Tina spill into the bedroom. Tina, wanting to find out if what they say about urologists is true, tells Mark to strip down, promising she'll take care of the rest. (*zip* It's t'woo! It's t'woo!) Then, when they go for a roll on the sheets, he winds up on top; and as they start smooching and fondling, unknown to them, another hand emerges from underneath the bed, through the hole, and joins in on all that groping and fondling of Mark’s buttocks -- much to his delight, until Tina says it's not her doing it.



So who’s touching his butt? The killer? I don’t think so as they both jump off with a scream, bringing everyone else busting into the room only to see Barney come out from under the bed -- cackling away. He then apologizes to Mark, saying he was aiming for Tina. 



Now, I’d normally call the horror movie nut a suspect but he was with the other two while the first murder took place. So Barney’s in the clear as he returns to the kitchen. When dinner is finally served, Barney apologizes for not being as good a cook as Jerry. But the others compliment him on the liver -- not realizing they are actually eating Jerry’s liver.



Between bites, Sammy announces how his father pulled some strings and got him a prestigious internship at some high-ranking hospital. This really upsets Johnny because, due to a lack of money, he had to drop his dream of becoming a doctor and is now nothing more than a lowly X-Ray technician. Of course Sammy knows this and, being a prick, constantly rubs Johnny’s nose over it. 



But Connie steps in and makes peace before it comes to blows; and the situation is further defused when Mark compliments Barney on the fine potatoes he's been gorging on -- but they aren't potatoes; they're Rocky Mountain Oysters. Mark still doesn’t get it until Betty whispers the Oysters true origins into his ear, and then proceeds to spit out his last bite. (Ha-hah! Testicle humor! Wait. Maybe a couple of them were Jerry’s? *bleaaurrgh* Icky! Icky! Icky!)



Suddenly, their lively meal is interrupted by an abrupt knock on the front door. It’s the Sheriff, who’s out looking for the missing grocery boy. Told they haven’t seen him, and after looking around for a few silent moments, Sheriff Cash (Shafer) cackles a bit before declaring he never thought he’d set foot in this sinister house again. When Cash leaves, ever-paranoid Barney now goes really bonkers, demanding to know why everyone’s being so cryptic about this damned place. To help calm him down, Connie promises after they’ve finished dinner she'll reveal the whole sordid history of the house.



Meanwhile, Cash radios his deputy, who is stationed up on a hill overlooking the house. Now, Deputy Freddie (Venokur) definitely went to the Barney Fife Academy of Police Training as he struggles with a pair of binoculars to watch the property. Promising he’ll bust those pesky kids if they start smoking the pot, Cash says to leave them alone and just keep an eye out for the missing caretaker -- who they want to question about something. But as Freddie roger-wilco’s his orders, he trains his binoculars on the Sheriff’s patrol car, and then asks who’s that in there with him?


 Alas, Freddie's question comes too late; and when he hears Cash’s death-gurgle over the radio, our boy springs into action! Racing to the car, he finds Cash, dead, with a slashed throat. In turn, he's grabbed from behind, spun around, and stabbed repeatedly, effectively eliminating any outside help for those still inside.


 
Thus, blissfully unaware of the massacre that just took place in the driveway, Connie gathers everyone together in the living room to give them the sordid history of the house. Well, except for Sammy, who already knows the whole story. And so, he and Betty retreat upstairs for a promised "spanking." Here, finding the hot water is out, the indignant Sammy calls that no good real estate agent, who is at home in bed, where his wife disdainfully refuses his pitiful advances, claiming her first husband never had to beg for sex. Saved by the phone, Burns grumbles about firing that as of yet unseen caretaker as he gets dressed. But before he leaves, Sadie warns him to be careful because that house is evil.



Speaking of that "evil" house, Connie confesses that ten years ago this property used to be an orphanage. And when the owners hired a teenager named Martin to help out, he wound up being so cruel and nasty to the children several of them conspired to accuse him of molesting them. Thus, Martin was arrested on those charges but was later acquitted at trial. But during the trial, his father hung himself in shame. And so, after a not guilty verdict when the truth came to light, Martin snapped, returned to the orphanage, killed all the children, and then torched the place. And since his body was never recovered, it’s been said that Madman Martin still roams the woods around the apparently rebuilt house, killing whoever dares come near.



When Connie finishes, that’s the last straw for Barney, who announces he’s leaving. But the others hesitate, allowing Connie to convince her friends to stay and help her and Jerry make something good out of something evil. This works, and everybody decides to stay -- except Barney, only no one will give him a ride back into town. But I think they’d all leave with him if they knew a cackling POV-shot was stalking them right outside the window!



Anyhoo, as the others decide to go swimming, Barney wants to ask Sammy for a ride but is told to leave them alone because they’re probably already asleep. Only they’re not as Sammy and Betty are playing some kinky bondage games upstairs. Already tied to the bed, when Betty laughs at her lover's ridiculous S 'n' M outfit, he gags her. He then brings out a can of whipped cream but it quickly splurts empty. Cursing his luck, he says not to go anywhere 'cuz there’s more whipped cream in the kitchen. On the way, Sammy runs into Barney, who begs for that ride until he notices the get-up and grows even more paranoid, warning him not to have sex or he'll be killed -- just like in the movies.



As he raves on, Sammy believes Barney has finally lost it -- but the guy is asking some pretty logical questions: Like, Where’s Jerry? And the delivery boy? Convinced they’re both already dead, Barney warns they’ll all be dead, too, and soon, if they don’t get the hell out of there. But Sammy brushes him off and moves on to the kitchen, where Johnny and Mark are making plans for the pool party. Seems Mark wants Johnny to finally do something about his long time crush on Connie. And with Jerry’s notable absence, and a little prodding and coaching from Mark, Johnny’s willing to try and woo her away. Now, this coaching is just an insistence from Mark that Connie goes nuts for a man with a good body, who rubs himself seductively. (Uh ... Ho-kay.) And he somehow convinces his gullible friend to field test this theory later at the pool.



Meantime, ignoring their "compliments" on his outfit, whipped cream in hand, Sammy heads back to Betty -- where, unknown to him, the cackling killer has already entered the room; but due to the gag, Betty can't warn him properly when her lover returns. Thus, Sammy ignores her unintelligible cries, thinking she’s role-playing, allowing the killer to pounce with his machete, covering Betty in her boyfriend's gore. We cut away after this, but I’m going to assume the killer dispatched Betty, too.



Meanwhile, several rooms away and clearly out of earshot, I guess, Connie and Tina work in the old nursery, where Connie goes into all kinds of morbid details on how Madman Martin slit the throats of all the babies sleeping in the ward -- one even had its tongue cut out. Downstairs, Barney, armed with a baseball bat (-- and ya know, I’m really starting to like old Barney), cautiously answers the door. It's only Burns, who’s come to fix the hot water heater, and Barney is relieved when the realtor agrees to give him a lift back to town when he’s done.




Heading to the basement, Burns starts tinkering around with the furnace. (Hey, Einstein? The hot-water heater is over there in the other corner.) Suddenly, the lights mysteriously go out. And after turning on his flashlight, Burns quickly realizes he’s not alone down there. And then, from out of the darkness, the killer appears; and when he takes off the mask, Burns recognizes whoever this is before he takes a machete to the crotch, which skewers him all the way through and comes out between his buttocks!



Meantime, out at the pool, Mark pulls Connie aside and asks her to check on Johnny, claiming his friend has a bad skin rash and is too embarrassed to ask for help (-- that sneaky little matchmaker). Connie falls for this, and agrees to clandestinely examine Johnny more closely. Thus and so, when Johnny finally makes his move, rubbing his chest vigorously, he mistakes her close examination for that rash as being turned on. And when he gets invited up to her room, saying she has something for him, Johnny can’t believe his luck and is now expecting some action in the sheets already.



On the way to her bedroom, Barney informs he’s hitching a ride back to town with Burns and apologizes to Connie for this brazen act of cowardice. (And where’s your baseball bat son? Didn’t those horror movies teach you anything? Stay armed!) He then heads to the basement to see what’s taking Burns so long (-- again, son, where is your bat?!), but all Barney finds is the realtor’s discarded hairpiece. As he panics, the killer again springs from the shadows but only runs up the stairs and locks him in the basement. We’ll assume the killer didn't dispatch Barney because he couldn’t get that machete dislodged from Burns' nethers. Also, you should know by now, through a process of elimination, who the killer really is. Have you figured it out yet? Because I have.



Elsewhere, in Connie’s room, Johnny is still gleefully rubbing his pecs while Connie roots around for some ointment. Signals skewered, when he tries to kiss her, she quickly pulls away. She's very upset, and he’s very confused until they quickly figure out what Mark did to set them both up. Speaking of Mark, who is turning out to be an A-1 creep, he’s finally convinced the suddenly chaste Tina to jump back in the sack with him -- but only after he checks under the bed first. (And the myth of blue balls is just a myth, people.) But just as they really get going, Tina brings it all to a screeching halt, saying he forgot to check under the bed as promised.



Here, Mark pitches a fit, but she’s adamant. And so, he makes a big production out of this. Pulling the window curtains back next, and without even looking, he proclaims no one's there, either. He then moves on to the closet, opens the door and, again, without looking, is about to say no one’s in there as well when the killer comes out and plants an axe into his head.




Thinking it's Barney playing another morbid trick ( -- and that was some trick with the axe), Tina asks the killer if she's supposed to be scared. And if she is supposed to die next, fine, she’ll play the part and mocks in protest while the killer closes in and grabs her by the throat. And then Tina continues with these fake choking noises until the killer breaks her neck. And I do believe that final look on her face was genuine surprise.



Back in Connie’s room, she tells a mortified Johnny this wasn’t his fault and they were both duped. But Johnny is so embarrassed he beats a hasty retreat. Heading downstairs and into the kitchen, Johnny runs right into the killer. He, too, makes the mistake of thinking this is Barney and gets cold-conked with a hammer.




The killer then ties him up and -- get this, drags him over to a microwave oven that's sitting on the floor. Sticking the victim's head into the machine, over Johnny's protests, the killer sets it to cook on High for about five minutes and hits start. (With the door open? Will that even work?) And as his brain slowly cooks, Johnny starts flashbacking to his childhood until his head explodes. (Couple that with the fact his voice gets higher and higher as he’s being cooked alive, and that scene is just as ridiculous as it sounds.)



And so, there are only two people left alive to hear Johnny’s head go *pop* right before the microwave chimes -- well, three people if you include the killer, and you really should know who that is by now. With Barney’s still locked in the basement, Connie is free to investigate. And as we get the Final Girl’s tour of the carnage, her hysteria grows as she bounces from room to room filled with gore -- but no bodies.



Managing to get to the phone, she calls the Sheriff and says to get there immediately because Madman Martin is back and running amok. (Waitaminute. Isn’t the Sheriff dead already?) Then suddenly, the line goes dead. Unfazed, Connie opens the nearest drawer and produces a .357 Magnum! Checking the chamber, she’s soon locked and loaded, and then Connie cautiously enters the kitchen, finds the smoking and bloody microwave, but Johnny’s body is gone, too.



Following the smeared blood trail to the basement door, she opens it up and peers into the darkness. Where’d Barney go, you ask? I don’t know, but he’s not the killer as we saw him still locked in the basement while Johnny was being microwaved. Pressing on, Connie gets to the bottom of the steps, turns the lights on, but finds the basement is empty -- except for several large tarps over in the corner. Pulling back the first tarp reveals several bodies, including Jerry’s. Connie then hears a familiar cackle behind her.



Turning to face the killer, Connie watches, frozen, as he quickly closes the gap between them. (Uhm, ma'am? You have a gun in your hand! It’s a .357 Magnum; the deadliest handgun ever invented! It could blow the killer's head clean off! Use it, you ninny!) Snapping out of it, our Final Girl raises the gun and puts two slugs into the killer, who falls to the floor. (Thank you.) But he quickly recovers and manages to knock the gun out of Connie’s hand. (You dope. I told you to shoot him in the head.) Pulling out a knife, the wounded killer backs Connie into a corner before finally removing the mask, revealing the killer was none other than -- all together now -- Sadie! Wait. Sadie?! Relax, let her explain.



Here, Sadie reveals she was Madman Martin’s mother. Remember? She said Burns was her second husband. This also might explain why she stabbed Burns through the crotch. Anyways, she also reveals it was she, not Martin, who killed all those orphans 10-years ago. And not wanting anyone in the house where her son was brought to shame, that's why she had to kill all the others. Thus, as Psycho Sadie closes in for the final kill -- wait! Who's that climbing out from underneath the other tarp? It's Barney! (Yeah, Barney!) Picking up the gun he puts two more bullets into Sadie, who finally falls dead.



The killer revealed and vanquished, Connie runs to him and he consoles her: like in all horror movies, Barney knew if he pretended to already be dead the killer would eventually reveal themselves to the final victim and then he’d spring into action. Hearing sirens approaching fast, the survivors rush upstairs. 




After they're gone, we do a slow pan back to Sadie -- and her eyes pop open! She lifts her head and starts cackling again, but it's her last laugh as she immediately falls back dead. For good. And you know what, I’ll say it right now: the movie should have ended right there. But nope, they had to tack on a really stupid twist ending. So take my advice and stop the DVD / tape / or streaming platform right now. No? Fine...



Some time later, Connie finishes a shower. On the radio, a couple of DJ's inform it's been almost a week since the mass murder spree at the old orphanage. And as the Morning Zoo Crew have some tasteless fun talking about the grisly nature of the killings, including how some of the bodies were eaten, Connie dries off until she hears a knock at the door. When she opens it up, expecting Barney, she instead comes face to face with the masked killer! As Connie screams and retreats back into the apartment, the killer stalks her all the way back to the bathroom; but when he stabs her, nothing happens; the knife is a fake. 



Then, the attacker takes off the mask; it's Barney. He leaves the bathroom, laughing hysterically at his own sick little joke; but Connie spies some scissors on the counter, and the look on her face says she definitely isn't joking. Snatching up the scissors, the screen goes black as we hear Barney scream as he's presumably stabbed to death.



Shot and slapped together within an inch of its life in just nine days, Evil Laugh's budget is lacking but the amateur filmmakers were amazingly up to the task to cover up that fact. A lot of carnage is implied but seldom seen. The deaths were gruesome, but not very graphic. Thus, they saved some more money on the FX with some quick editing and turning on the fake blood fountain on to full blast -- often with hilarious results.



And it is pretty funny -- unintentional or not. See, as the Slasher sub-genre was dying out, the deaths started to get more and more creative and elaborate to keep the audiences interested. Each successive film had to have a bigger and bloodier body count. Now, most of these latter efforts had the standard death by sharp objects, sure, but held their trump card for the last victim: a death that was so over the top that it would be the only thing the audience would remember. And Johnny’s death by microwave is one heck of a trump card for Evil Laugh and it was the only thing I really remembered about this movie after I saw it many, many years ago as a VHS rental. And so, that gonzo death is the main reason why you’re reading about it here.


Celebrity Home Entertainment, who helped finance the film, were also impressed with Baio and Brascia’s finished product and, after a few mandated additions, Evil Laugh even garnered itself a limited theatrical release through Cinevest Entertainment Group, which was a big deal at the time. Most slasher films by 1986 went straight to video. Even the bigger franchises, like Nightmare on Elm Street and Halloween -- even Friday the 13th, were running on fumes for their respective studios; the end of the Stalk 'n' Slash boom was near. And by the time Evil Laugh came out, the genre had all but run its course and was starting to fall into parody. It didn’t matter whodunit, but how they dunit, how many they dunit to, and, most importantly, with what unique gardening implements.



And while their script tries hard to throw you off the trail of who the killer really is, it has a bad habit of killing off suspects as soon as they’re introduced! There are a lot of red herrings here, but unless this is a Raymond Chandler novel, where the killer is killed by someone, who is then killed off by someone else etc., then it’s obvious that Sadie has to be the killer because she’s the only one we've met who wasn't dead or accounted for yet, making the deduction rather simple … Waitasecond? A slasher movie with multiple slashers who keep bumping each other off with only one innocent bystander in the whole bunch? Someone get my agent on the line!


But the movie doesn’t bog down in these details as director Brascia was smart enough to keep the murder and mayhem coming by introducing auxiliary characters to get bumped-off to keep the audience interested until the final bloodbath starts. It should also be noted that Barney’s rants and being self aware of horror clichés, and his pathological need to follow these rules for any hope of survival, predates Kevin Williamson’s notions in Wes Craven’s Scream (1996) by over a decade. And Tina's death scene is stolen almost verbatim by Rose McGowan's character in that film, too. And the whole death-by-microwave gag was stolen later in the remake of Last House on the Left (2009).




But just like with Randy, no one listened to Barney, either, and see what happened? I actually cheered when Barney appeared and off'd the killer, after patiently waiting for her to reveal herself, as he knows she will, beating Sadie at her own game. But then they had to stick on that stupid ending, which, according to Brascia, was one of those additions the distributor demanded that didn't make a whole lot of sense.


A couple funny notes on the casting, too. Actress Kim McKamy used a body double for her nude shower scene. Why is this funny? Well, McKamy later adopted the stage name Ashlyn Gere and went on to quite a career in the softcore porn market. So at some point, she lost her bashfulness for starring roles in Sexual Instincts (1992), Sorority Sex Kittens I, II and III (1993, 1994, 1997), Tasty Treats (1994), and the unforgettable Stripper Wives (1999). Also of note, co-star Jody Gibson stepped up to fill the void as the new Hollywood Madame when Heidi Fleiss got busted.


Brascia and Baio would team-up again for Hard Rock Nightmare (1989), another body count movie with a demonic twist, but while that was entertaining enough it doesn't quite live up to what they concocted for their inaugural effort, which was a nice little parody on the Stalk 'n' Slash genre. Thus, the question remains: Was this what they had originally intended? Or was this some kind of divine cinematic accident? Regardless of the answer, Evil Laugh isn’t the greatest thing you’ll ever see, and it’s kind of obnoxious, to be honest, but should still be tracked down and watched; for it marks a distinct paradigm shift in the slasher genre as it needled toward self-awareness that deserves to be better recognized in the fossil record of such things.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's FIVE films down with 23 yet to go. Up next, It's the End of the World as We Knew It, and No One Feels Fine. 


Evil Laugh (1986) Baio-Brascia-Venokur Productions :: Wildfire Productions :: Cinevest Entertainment Group / EP: Arthur Schweitzer, Krishna Shah / P: Johnny Venocur, Steven Baio, Dominick Brascia / D: Dominick Brascia / W: Steven Baio, Dominick Brascia / C: Stephen Sealy / E: Brion McIntosh, Michael Scott / M: David Shapiro / S: Kim McKamy, Steven Baio, Tony Griffin, Jody Gibson, Jerold Pearson, Myles O’Brien, Harold Weiss, Kathryn O’Bryan, Gary Hays, Hal Shafer, Johnny Venokur, Tom Shell, Susan Grant

Hubrisween 2020 :: F is for FIVE (1951)

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Our feature begins with a bang -- several of them, actually, and big ones at that, as the whole world self-destructs under the shadow of multiple mushroom clouds. And after the air-raid sirens fade, civilization ceases, and the radioactive dust settles, the world is eerily silent save for an angry wind and the soft, apprehensive steps of a lone survivor as she forlornly searches the countryside for any other signs of life. 



Tired, filthy, and all kinds of fraught, we're not sure what keeps this shell-shocked woman putting one foot in front of the other -- until we get a closer look at her in profile and notice that she is not quite terminally pregnant.




How long this search has been going on is hard to say, but as she crests another hill, passing another derelict car filled with the bleached bones of its former occupants, her pace quickens when she hears the faint sound of a church bell.




Following the noise into a small, one street town, where everywhere you look finds dire hints of the impending apocalypse come to pass, her demeanor becomes even more desperate and agitated as the village proves deserted, the bell triggered by its tether tangled in a tree, swaying in the breeze. Stumbling into the middle of the street, she cries out for help to anyone who can hear -- again, and again, and again. But there is no answer, save for her own echo.



Moving on, with another piece of herself whittled away, the expectant mother aimlessly winds her way further up into the hills until zeroing in on a large cabin, perched atop the highest peak overlooking the valley below. 



Expecting to find it empty, too, she is not disappointed. However, there are signs that someone might've been there, even recently. But before she can properly process the evidence she's seeing -- and I'm not even sure if she can, the last woman on Earth hears someone at the door...




As a writer and radio personality, Arch Oboler equaled -- and some would argue, bettered, his contemporary, Orson Welles. As a filmmaker? Well, perhaps not so much.


Like Welles, Oboler first came to prominence over the radio airwaves. Selling his first script while still in high school, by 1936 Oboler had carved out a niche for himself writing scripts for Wyliss Cooper's Lights Out, a twisted and offbeat anthology program for NBC that dealt with the macabre invading everyday life. And when Cooper was drawn to Hollywood, where he would eventually script the likes of Son of Frankenstein (1939) and the Bela Lugosi serial, The Phantom Creeps (1939), NBC turned the control switch for Lights Out over to their resident mad-boy genius, who opened each episode thusly:


"This is Arch Oboler bringing you another of our series of stories of the unusual, and once again we caution you: These Lights Out stories are definitely not for the timid soul. So we tell you calmly and very sincerely, if you frighten easily, turn off your radio now."


And pretty gruesome they were, too. For example, in the episode The Dark, when two paramedics arrive at an old house, inside they find a hysterical woman and the body of a man that appears to have been turned inside out -- who, upon further inspection, was still alive! And as our protagonists watch in horror, the discombobulated body tries desperately to move! And while the first person narration gives us the grisly details of the scene, the sound-effect technicians help paint an even more ghastlier picture for our ears as they discover the reason for this malediction: a strange black fog that quickly envelops and detonates the cackling woman, and soon enough, overcomes the medics; and then the episode ends as our narrator is overwhelmed by this malignant essence, leaving us with his desperate gurgles as his body painfully redefines itself. Bleaugh!


But as nasty as The Dark episode was, Oboler's most famous chiller was probably The Chicken Heart. Predating his rival Welles’ broadcast of The War of the Worlds (1938) by nearly a year, the snowball was already rolling downhill when a reporter phones in a report that some crackpot's scientific experiment has gone horribly awry. Somehow, through some dubious means, a piece of poultry is growing both exponentially and uncontrollably, devouring anything and everything to add to its ever-expanding mass. And as its creator pleads with the authorities, he lays out the worst case scenario if the protoplasmic mass isn't stopped: the entire world will be consumed and knocked off its axis in less than six months. Alas, no one believed the true danger until it was far too late. And as the giant, undulating blob spreads over the city, the county, and eventually the State, the reporter calls in the scene from a circling airplane; an airplane that soon develops fatal engine trouble. And then we close on the sputtering engine being overtaken by the deafening pulse of the giant, all-consuming mass. Thump-bump ... Thump-bump ... Thump-bump...



Now, despite the outlandish subject matter, like with his future TV equivalent, Rod Serling, Oboler had a lot more to offer on the human condition than just creeping the hell out of his audience. His programs often railed against society's ills and the horrors of fascism, currently overrunning Europe at the time, and people's inherent tendency to meekly follow the herd and do as they were told to maintain the status quo -- no matter what the cost. In fact, Oboler's first foray outside of radio was to co-script the anti-Nazi propaganda piece Escape (1949) for MGM, where Rod Taylor heads to Germany and runs into a brick wall of silence while trying to find his missing mother until he painstakingly pieces together that she was arrested for hiding Jewish refugees and is scheduled to be executed -- unless he can rescue her in time.


Then, in 1942, while retooling for the war-effort, the brass at General Motors, still stinging from the (well-founded) notion that they were German-sympathizers, gave Oboler his first directing gig on another propaganda piece, This Precious Freedom (1945), where Claude Raines returns from a fishing trip and finds his hometown overrun by Nazi fifth-columnists. (A motif Jack Warner would repeat in 1957 with Red Nightmare only with Communists.) But GM never released the short and sold it off to MGM, which sat on it until selling it back to Oboler and Raines, who then expanded it to feature-length and released it as the surreal Strange Holiday -- later released as The Day After Tomorrow and Terror on Main Street, where they take things a step further and imagine the entire United States under a totalitarian regime.


After that, Oboler bounced around Hollywood for a bit, until settling back at MGM for a string of offbeat film noir based on his old radio plays; a win / win for the studio, guaranteeing at least some box-office due to Oboler's entrenched popularity. Alter Ego begat Bewitched (1945), the tale of good girl Phyllis Thaxter, a schizophrenic, whose psychotic break on the eve of her engagement soon finds her wandering the darkened streets of Noirville, constantly at war with her bad girl alter-ego, voiced by Audrey Totter, whose assertions lead our heroine through a trio of men as her psychiatrist and fiancé try to put all the fragmented pieces back together again.


Heavily influenced by the shadowy work of Val Lewton and Jacques Tournuer -- The Cat People (1942), I Walked with a Zombie (1943), Bewitched has a nice, smoky feel to it but the film [too] often tends to bog down and grind itself up in the gears of its dialogue heavy, tell-don't-show, radio-play roots. Meantime, The Arnelo Affair (1947) -- based on the radio play, I'll Tell My Husband, falls into the exact same trap, despite an interesting twist, where an unfulfilled housewife falls for the wrong guy and quickly plummets down the road to ruin. Critical reactions to both films were mixed but they still made money, meaning MGM wanted more of the same. Oboler, however, was tired of rehashing his old stuff and was eager to try something new. And after bidding the studio a fond farewell, he took a shot at independent filmmaking.


At this same time, barely five years after the bombs fell on Hiroshima and Nagasaki to end World War II, the planet Earth was once more embroiled in a live-action shooter over differing political ideals in Korea. And as General MacArthur called for President Truman to authorize the use of nuclear weapons on strategic targets in China, the notion of the world being reduced to a radioactive cinder suddenly became an alarmingly distinct possibility. Thus and so, as the Cold War brewed ever hotter, and an entire nation naively Ducked and Covered, Arch Oboler decided the world needed to see what it would be like for the wretched survivors of a nuclear holocaust come to pass.


Predating the likes of The Day the World Ended (1955), The World, the Flesh and the Devil (1959), The Last Man on Earth (1964), and Night of the Living Dead (1968), and post-dating the likes of Sahara (1943) and Lifeboat (1944), Oboler's FIVE (1951) would be a similar study in group-dynamics, where a small, diverse knot of survivors face -- and ultimately / hopefully try to overcome, some great cataclysm; a tempest without / crisis within backdrop, where the hazards of underlying prejudices and baser instincts threaten to unravel things from the inside out in the face of the greater overall good of the group. And in this particular case, the impending implosion of the last five surviving members of the human race.




For after that harrowing opening sequence, where our heroine, Roseanne Rogers (Douglas), discovers that she is no longer all alone at last, she faints dead away at the sight of Michael Rogan (Phipps), who was out rounding up more supplies from the nearby village. As she slowly recovers, these two swap survival stories; Roseanne apparently shielded awaiting a series of X-Rays, while Michael was stuck in an elevator in the bowels of the Empire State Building, which triggered a similarly gruesome, cross-country odyssey of bearing witness to all the lingering death and destruction from radiation poisoning.



As more time passes, we also find out the cabin they’re squatting in was specifically targeted by Roseanne, as it belonged to her reclusive sister, who apparently didn't survive. And though Michael seems content to stay put and scrape out a living there, Roseanne is obsessively insistent on returning to a nearby city once the baby comes and she's strong enough to see if her husband has survived as well.




Having traversed through several dead metropolitan centers already, Michael refuses to stomach those sights, sounds and smells again, and does his best to dissuade his new companion of her pie-in-the-sky notions, too. In fact, you get the sense Michael would kinda like to get his Adam and Eve on with her, but every attempt at any intimacy with the hot ‘n’ cold running Roseanne ends in disaster; usually with her freaking out and withdrawing into near catatonia again. Obviously, this vexation leaves the kind-hearted Michael a tad frustrated, who keeps trying but ultimately fails to convince Roseanne that her husband is most assuredly dead.


Meanwhile, this meager group doubles in size when two more survivors stumble upon the cabin: the elderly Mr. Barnstable (Lee) and an African American by the name of Charles (Lampkin). Having been lucky enough to be in the vault when the bombs dropped, these two former bank employees found a working jeep and have been puttering around ever since, looking for other survivors.



Happy to find two more living souls -- hell, they almost accidentally ran them over, while Roseanne enters her last trimester, Michael and Charles begin work on expanding their accommodations and, knowing their meager supplies will someday run out, begin clawing at the earth to see if they can get anything to grow. Not necessarily a tranquil existence, but under the circumstances, it'll do quite nicely. 



Alas, the dynamic is about to shift again; and not to get all biblical on you, but a familiar serpent is about to enter this new, slightly irradiated Eden and wreak all kinds of havoc.


Things start to unravel when Barnstable, obviously on his last leg, expresses a wish to see the ocean one last time; and see it he does, barely, before expiring. But no sooner has this remaining trio buried the deceased, when the ocean suddenly washes up yet another survivor.




Now, Eric's tale of being at the top of Mt. Everest when the atomic war broke out, who then island hopped all the way back to the States, to me, smacks a little of the old cock-n-bull; but when combined with his authoritative Germanic accent, the others take it at face value. And as a “conflict of interest” metaphor, Eric (Anderson) isn't very subtle as he goes all alpha-male and refuses to do any menial work, racially baits Charles, and sabotages most efforts to improve their living conditions. He also gets his hooks deep into the gullible Roseanne, playing on her desires to return to the city, wanting to take her back there for himself, where they can live like royalty instead of rooting around like pigs.



Blinded by the opportunity to finally find her husband, things are only put on hold long enough for Roseanne to deliver her baby before Eric sets into motion their escape by bundling Roseanne and the newborn into the jeep. But when Eric makes one more trip into the cabin for supplies, he runs into Charles, who, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, gets knifed to death.





On the way into town, Roseanne finally starts to see through Eric's deviousness but it’s too late as the die is already cast. A harsh, howling wind blows through the otherwise silent canyons of the obviously dead city. Navigating in as far as the clogged and congested streets will allow, Eric orders Roseanne to stay in the jeep while he takes in the lay of the land. But recognizing a few landmarks, Roseanne, with the fussy baby gripped tightly in her arms, goes on another, gut-wrenching stroll through the skeleton strewn avenues in search of her husband.




Entering his place of work, she finds the remains of a secretary still manning her desk, but the main office is empty. Silently taking in a few of her loved ones mementos -- a pipe, a pair of glasses -- this seems to jar Roseanne's memories a bit; and once more she takes to the streets and winds her way to a hospital, where, after a few suspenseful turns through the Obstetrics Ward, past the X-Ray suite, comes upon the waiting room, where all of this likely began, and finally gets the answer she's been seeking. An answer she probably knew all along but had been suppressing. Regardless, as Roseanne realizes the truth, and is soon cemented to this truth, she is determined to get out of this horrible place and back to the relative safety of the cabin.




Returning to the jeep, she finds Eric greedily picking through a bag full of jewelry. Upset that she wandered off, and even more upset by her demands, Eric moves to bring her back in line with the back of his hand. But before this beat down can commence, Roseanne notices something. Eric soon sees it, too; his hand has the same blotches that Barnstable had -- a tell-tale sign of terminal radiation poisoning. When a quick check shows the rest of his body is completely saturated with the festering lesions as well, unable to accept this, Eric cracks-up and then runs off screaming into the city, never to be seen again. Left alone, and unable to drive the jeep, Roseanne and the baby begin the long, harrowing trek back to her sister's cabin on foot.




This trip is a long and arduous one; and sadly, at some point, we realize that the baby is no longer crying ... Back at the cabin, Michael, who found and buried Charles, is hard at work trying to reclaim the small garden that Eric destroyed. From out of the trees Roseanne stumbles, the lifeless little form still clutched in her arms. Together, the couple buries the baby. Once that deed is done, Roseanne takes up a hoe, determined to help Michael make a go of their garden and start over from this new ground zero.



Being the first post-nuclear-apocalyptic think piece, FIVE is definitely a seminal film; and its influences, good and bad, can be seen in a lot of genre pictures that followed in its footsteps. Though it lacks the voice-overs of his earlier work, the movie still suffers from the tell don't show and spotlight sermonizing of Oboler's radio-tubed pedigree. And this kind of navel-gazing almost short-circuits any kind of allegorical-driven message the writer / director was trying to convey. Almost. What's sounds good for the ear doesn't necessarily translate well for the eye, granted, but I honestly believe Oboler's overall sincerity, which comes through loud and clear -- especially in the subtle, cynical aspects of the world being a better place once scraped clear of any so-called civilization, when combined with that somber and downbeat ending, short-circuits any calls of pretension in my book.


Financing the picture by himself to the tune of about $75,000, Oboler plucked several USC film students to be his all-purpose crew and commenced to filming in and around his own 360-acre ranch and the Cliff House -- a majestic cabin retreat designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, nestled in the Santa Monica Mountains along Mulholland Highway just outside Malibu, California, with the deserted streets of Glendale serving as his radiation-scarred cityscape.


More interested in his dialogue than anything else, as was his usual modus operandi -- and Achilles heel, it's been documented that Oboler wouldn't even watch the takes; just call action, don his headphones, and listen. And several other documented on set tales state that Oboler, always the perfectionist, tended to get a bit tyrannical if things didn't go exactly the way his ears wanted them to, leading to several dust-ups with both cast and crew -- and one particularly ugly incident, where Oboler punched assistant-editor, Arthur Swerdloff, in the face, which eventually went to litigation. Thus, with Oboler concentrating so hard on the audio, the striking look of FIVE must be properly credited to the work of his novice film crew, specifically cinematographers Sid Lubow and Louis Stoumen.




For the cast, even though he was on a first name basis with the likes of James Cagney and Bette Davis, Oboler, driven by his lack of budget, instead trolled the acting schools of his famous friends -- Charles Laughton among them, and cherry-picked several unknowns. And like his other films, FIVE centers around a tragically flawed heroine; and though rumored to have been difficult off-screen, Susan Douglas' performance on screen, book-ended by those two fabulous and inventive sequences of her stumbling around amongst all that death and decay, is fantastic, which, I think, really grounds the movie in a delirious unreality that is hard to shake and forget.


In fact, with the reported festering animosity between Douglas and her co-star, William Phipps, during filming, mixed with the alcohol fueled, self-destructive nature of James Anderson --who would go on to play the despicable Bob Ewell in To Kill a Mockingbird (1962), I honestly think all of this off-screen acrimony actually leaked through onto the screen and only adds another underlying element of friction between an otherwise pat love triangle.



Once filming was completed, Oboler's troubles were far from over. Being a non-union production, the already cash-strapped entrepreneur was under constant pressure and endured a series of fines and levies. Undaunted, when it came time for the premiere, Oboler took advantage of the new medium of television and FIVE became the first film to have its premiere televised nationally. But despite this initial buzz, the film failed to find an audience and quickly died at the box-office.


Enter producer Sidney Pink -- of future The Angry Red Planet (1959) and Reptilicus (1961) infamy, who successfully retooled and sensationalized a new advertising campaign, allowing FIVE to eventually earn a modest profit for Columbia, to whom Oboler had sold the film to settle-up with the disgruntled unions and bill collectors.


In the end, Arch Oboler's gift of weaving a fantastic story for radio never could find any traction when trying to translate it to the big screen. But after nearly bankrupting himself again with another box-office disaster in The Twonky (1952) -- a prescient satirical look at the influence of the old idiot-box, Oboler's Hollywood career recovered slightly with the innovative use of the new Stereo-Scopic 3-D process for his take on the Lions of Tsavo massacre, Bwana Devil (1952) -- but that's another story for another day.




Beyond that, a few more cinematic missteps -- One Plus One (1961), The Bubble (1966), and a disastrous Broadway production of The Night of the Auk, another cautionary tale that fizzled, kinda left a less than stellar legacy outside of radio for old Oboler. Still, one cannot deny that a lot of Oboler's swings and near misses were mighty impressive misfires. And though FIVE might not make as favorable an impression on you as it did for me, the film definitely doesn't deserve the grief it has accumulated over the years and is nowhere near as bad as its dubious reputation -- and it’s definitely worth the time and effort to track down for that opening sequence alone.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's SIX films down with 20 yet to go. Up next, A Turd. A Turd as Big as a Battleship. 


FIVE (1951) Arch Oboler Productions :: Lobo Productions :: Columbia Pictures / P: Arch Oboler / D: Arch Oboler / W: Arch Oboler / C: Sid Lubow, Louis Clyde Stoumen / E: John Hoffman, Ed Spiegel, Arthur Swerdloff / M: Henry Russell / S: Susan Douglas, William Phipps, James Anderson, Charles Lampkin, Earl Lee

Hubrisween 2020 :: G is for The Giant Claw (1957)

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Our vintage feature begins with, what else, a copious amount of stock footage and our good friend, the Overly Redundant Narrator, who does his best to explain just what in the holy heck it is we’re supposed to be looking at. And according to him, we’re currently way up north in Canada, eh, somewhere along the D.E.W. Line (-- and if you all don't know what that is, go read my review of The Deadly Mantis (1957), which should explain everything), where civilian engineer Mitchell MacAfee is out hot-rodding around in a military fighter-jet.



Meanwhile his companion on the ground, one Sally Caldwell, busily crunches numbers on a newfangled radar system they're testing. And after some idiotic banter between these two (-- that I think we’re supposed to interpret as implicit sexual innuendo), MacAfee (Morrow) suddenly spots a UFO; a UFO moving so fast it’s basically just a blur as it blows right past him.



After he radios this in, despite the fact that this blur, a blur as big as a battleship, didn't appear on the upgraded radar-scope, an interceptor squadron is launched to investigate the sighting -- just in case it's those pesky Russians wanting to start something. But when he lands, MacAfee still gets a blistering earful from the base commander for wasting precious tax-payer money on such an incredulous false alarm (-- you mean on top of letting civilians muck around in one of your million dollar jets, there, general?). But this rant abruptly ends when word comes that one of those search planes has gone missing after the pilot reported spotting a blur, a blur as big as a battleship, he typed repetitiously -- I mean, he typed ominously.



Thus, as the search for that missing aircraft continues, Mac and Sally (Corday) seem to waste even more tax-payer money as they appear to be the only cargo on a military transport plane headed back to the States. Then, their personal C-47 encounters some rough turbulence; some rough turbulence as rough as a battleship! After rushing to the cockpit, this mystery turbulence hits them again -- and hard enough this time the pilot is knocked unconscious in the violent wash. And just as Mac takes over the controls, the film blindsides us with our first of many hilariously atrocious FX-shots as a barely reasonable balsa wood facsimile of the C-47 goes into a terminal nosedive.




Now, this “plane," which doesn't even remotely resemble the one in the stock footage, also appears to be having some transmission problems while it erratically plummets to the earth, where at first it seems to get stuck in neutral for a second -- that, or Mac hit the brakes in a Looney Tunes sense, and then goes into full reverse(!), before gravity firmly reasserts itself and this plunge of doom resumes! 




Luckily, Mac proves his dead-stick piloting skills are truly mighty by pulling this schizoid plane out of this lethal trajectory and belly-lands it into some trees, where he and Sally manage to get themselves and the pilot out before the burning plane explodes (-- and who knew balsa wood was that volatile?).


Finding refuge at the nearby farm of Pierre Broussard and his outrageous French accent, the survivors contact the proper authorities to relay what happened. Here, when Mac tries to convince them the same UFO he saw earlier was responsible for their “emergency landing,” again, since nothing appeared on radar, no one, including Sally, who never saw anything stuck in the hold, will believe him. Listening in on all of this, an alarmed Broussard (Merrill) fears it must be la Carcagne: a giant bird-like creature of Gallic folklore; and according to the legend, if you happen to see this creature in the wild it means your own death is imminent!



Now, once that plot-device is out in the open, something starts to spook the farmer's livestock. And when he heads out to investigate, Mac and Sally soon hear him scream and then quickly move to drag him back inside, where the fraught man raves about seeing la Carcagne for realsies. But Mac, sounding a little hypocritical given the circumstances of what he’s been trying to peddle all day, thinks the poor man's just hallucinating after drinking too much of his 90-proof Apple-Jack cider.




But Broussard is still raving when the local constabulary arrive, who inform Mac and Sally they're to be rushed to the nearest airport for an immediate flight to New York City. And as their car pulls away, the camera pans over to reveal the giant footprint of a bird -- a bird as big as a battleship, embedded in the ground; and if this film has one redeeming FX-shot, that matte painting is probably it.




Anyhoo, once on the commercial plane and well into their journey, Mac takes his best shot at stealing a kiss from Sally. Now, it should be noted that this was his best shot only because the girl was fast asleep. Then, after some more groan-inducing banter, Sally mentions something about a pattern, causing the lone filament in Mac's brain to sputter and spark to life. Asking to see one of Sally's maps, he then plots out all the sightings of that UFO thus far, that UFO as big as a bat -- aw, forget it. (Don’t worry about me dumping the metaphor, because the film sure won’t.) But then that aforementioned filament quickly flames-out when Mac starts drawing a spiral pattern, connecting all those dots -- which can only mean one thing: that UFO is very, very dizzy. 


With that, speaking on behalf of the entire audience, a fellow passenger asks these two to quiet down because, really, they aren't making a whole lot of sense.



Meanwhile, the military has dispatched a special investigative team to examine the wreckage of Mac's downed airplane. But before they can even reach the crash site, their plane is buzzed by a familiar looking UFO. Frantically, the pilot radios a mayday, reporting they're under attack by not a flying saucer but a giant bird, a bird as big as a -- oh, yeah, I was going to stop doing that. (If only the movie would, too.) And then the goofiest, most ludicrous monster of all screen history finally reveals itself, and what little credibility this film had left is chucked clean out the window...




Okay, class. Do you all recall in my review of The Beast from 20000 Fathoms (1953), where we talked about how a small independent film production company made a low-budget creature feature and then miraculously cashed-in, big time, when a major studio (Warner Bros.) bought the film and distributed it in glorious SepiaTone? And how what followed in its wake was an avalanche of similar low-budget productions throughout the 1950s looking and hoping for the same payday? Sure, we all do. Well, also hoping to cash in on that success was Fred Sears’ The Giant Claw (1957), which borrowed heavily on that film’s formula but really funk 'n' wangdoodled-up on one vitally important ingredient: it's monster. Oh, Boils and Ghouls, did it ever royally funk 'n' wangdoodle-up on it's monster.


Of course, this wasn’t director Sears’ first rodeo -- or boondoggle. Nor for his executive producer, Sam Katzman. A legend in the business, “Jungle” Sam Katzman left behind an exhaustive body of work with hundreds of films, shorts and serials to his name, and almost all of them made money. However, when you consider his minimal budgets and five-to-nine day wonder shooting schedules, that statement tends to lose some of its luster. I mean, How hard could’ve that really been? Well, probably a lot harder than you’d think.


Katzman's thrifty career in show business began back in the 1920s as a prop-man at Fox before he moved up the ladder to producing in the 1930s with a couple serials and several westerns starring the likes of Bob Steele, Tom Tyler and Tim McCoy for his own Victory Pictures Corporation. 


He then graduated over to Poverty Row and Monogram in 1940, flogging a few features out of Bela Lugosi -- Invisible Ghost (1941), Black Dragons (1942), The Ape Man (1943), and bilked The East Side / Dead End Kids / Bowery Boys until they were all long in the tooth -- Ghosts on the Loose (1943), which co-starred Lugosi, Docks of New York (1945), and Mr. Muggs Rides Again (1945).


As a man renowned for never meeting a corner he wouldn’t cut, just how cheap was Katzman really? Well, according to former Dead End Kid, Huntz Hall, he often told a story of how Katzman came onto the set one day when his director wasn't working fast enough to suit him. Asking how many pages had been shot, hoping he had done the slated ten, the director answered only five. Katzman then took his script, ripped five pages out and said they were done for the day. Actor Ken Tobey told a similar story during the shoot for It Came from Beneath the Sea (1955), making one wonder if Katzman had pulled this same stunt on all of his productions?


Katzman had made the move to Columbia around 1945, where he worked for the equally miserly-minded Harry Cohn, where the producer cranked out more serials, beginning with Brenda Starr (1945), and one particular flash of brilliance, where he and Kirk Alyn first brought the Man of Steel to life in The Adventures of Superman (1948). 


He was also responsible for taking a slightly gone to seed Johnny Weismueller out of his Tarzan duds and turning him into the fully-clothed Jim Bradley for a series of cracking (albeit cheap) safari adventures starting with Jungle Jim (1948), which were based on an old Alex Raymond comic strip that launched around the same time as Flash Gordon.


As the 1950s rolled around, Katzman had solidified his B-unit at Columbia with directors Lew Landers -- Revenue Agent (1950), A Yank in Korea (1951), William Berke -- Mark of the Gorilla (1950), Fury of the Congo (1951), and future gimmick king, William Castle -- Serpent of the Nile (1953), Slaves of Babylon (1953), which were historical epics on a Katzman budget that Castle later lampooned as “Two years in the thinking and five days in the shooting.” 


Around this time Katzman was also in the process of tutoring several associate producers as well; most notably Charles Schneer. “Katzman knew everything there was to know about making a movie,” said Schneer in a rare interview with Starlog Magazine in 1990. “He was a very enterprising fellow, and was enormously intuitive. But, he was a very tough taskmaster and a real skinflint. I managed to get along well with Sam, because I knew what he was and respected what he did … I certainly learned the value of a dollar working for Sam."


It was while taking a trip to San Francisco right after the first Hydrogen Bomb was detonated in the Pacific that Schneer had the notion of What would happen if that atomic explosion stirred-up something from the ocean depths? And what if it attacked San Francisco and destroyed the Golden Gate Bridge? That would really be something, the fledgling producer thought. (A similar notion had struck producer Tomoyuki Tanaka back in 1953, which spawned Gojia (1954), destined to be released in the States in 1956 as Godzilla: King of the Monsters). Obviously, Schneer (and Tanaka) drew inspiration from The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms as well, and to pull off the monster for It Came from Beneath the Sea he sought out stop-motion animator Ray Harryhausen, who had so skillfully brought that rampaging dinosaur to life.


Getting the green-light from Katzman (-- whose constant penny-pinching Harryhausen always claimed was the reason why the giant octopus only had six tentacles instead of the customary eight), this sparked-off over two-decades of very productive collaborations between Schneer and Harryhausen, who made a lot of hay for their executive producer and Columbia with Earth vs. the Flying Saucers (1956) and 20 Million Miles to Earth (1957).


Katzman always was one to spot trends and cash-in on them. And the only thing hotter than the creature feature boom of the 1950s was the current “fad” of Rock ‘n’ Roll, which resulted in Rock Around the Clock (1956) and Don’t Knock the Rock (1956); and later, not one, but two, films based on Chubby Checker and "The Twist" -- Twist Around the Clock (1961) and Don’t Knock the Twist (1962). Sensing a pattern? Me, too! He was also responsible for two of Elvis Presley's most reviled pictures of the 1960s, Kissin' Cousins (1964) and Harum Scarum (1965), and that's really saying something. Yeah, Katzman was one for recycling and squeezing the last cent out of whatever was popular at the time before moving on to the next big thing -- and not fixing what wasn’t broken.


It was around this time that Sears joined Katzman’s merry band of Four Leaf filmmakers at Columbia. The former actor turned director had helmed Earth vs the Flying Saucers, The Werewolf (1956), both Rock ‘n’ Roll showcases, and Calypso Heatwave (1957) before being saddled with Katzman’s next (and last) sci-fi double-bill, The Giant Claw and The Night the World Exploded (1957). And while this was usually Schneer’s territory, the producer was ready to spread his wings and depart Katzman’s nest -- and he took Harryhausen with him to start work on what was to become The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958). Both contributor’s creative touch would be sorely missed.


Yeah, see, the legend of what exactly happened to get those special-defects we eventually got in The Giant Claw has been clouded over by time and replaced with several well-entrenched myths and legends, meaning all we can really do now is just speculate as to what really happened. The most oft told rumor is how Katzman had wanted Harryhausen to realize the monster bird for what at the time was shooting as The Mark of the Claw. And when Harryhausen proved too expensive, he had to look elsewhere. Seems reasonable, but I honestly believe it had nothing to do with cost and more to do with Harryhausen simply not being available at the time because he already had his hands full with the Ymir and finishing up 20,000 Million Miles to Earth and was already committed to Schneer and that Sinbad movie after, which would be released the same year as The Giant Claw.


And so, always one for a cheaper option -- and one with a lot less turnaround time than the painstakingly slow stop-motion animated process, Katzman wound up farming-out the FX to an unknown puppeteer outfit in Mexico City, whose centerpiece wound up being something, well, uhm ... truly unique, as our stuffed prop-monster barrels in for its big reveal, snatching another one of those balsa wood planes right out of the sky without disturbing the wires it was hanging from!



And then, wow. [Ctrl-Alt-Delete] And then those few who managed to bail-out are then quickly set upon by this flying monstrosity -- and insult to our intelligence, as it picks them off, one by one, snatching each helpless victim in its beak with a satisfyingly gruesome crunch.




Can you believe what we just saw? I’ll understand if you can’t quite get your head wrapped around it. Took me a while, too. Honest. Watch it again if you need to. I got time. And then I encourage everyone to pause the film at this point to fully recover from those uncontrollable and incredulous fits of laughter as we collectively ponder just how -- HOW?! -- How in the ever-lovin’ hell did this … thing, ever get committed to film?


In the January, 1951, edition of The New Yorker Magazine, author Samuel Hopkins Adams published his story, Grandfather and a Winter’s Tale, where an elderly patriarch, bedridden with a cold, regales his grandchildren with tales of the supernatural while he recuperates, including a run-in with la Carcagne, which, according to French-Canadian folklore, was a banshee-like creature that had the body of a woman, the head of a wolf, bat-like wings, the talons of a hawk, which also made it a bit of a chimera, which was, indeed, a harbinger of death if spotted by some unlucky mortal. I have no idea if Adams’ story had any real influence on Samuel Newman and Paul Gangelin’s script for The Giant Claw -- but if it was, something was obviously lost in translation from script to screen.



Again, the identity of those FX-engineers from Mexico are, as far as I know, still unknown and unidentified. And no one has ever stepped forward. Over the decades since its first release there has been a general consensus that the monster in The Giant Claw holds at least a passing resemblance to Beaky Buzzard from those old Looney Tunes animated shorts, who made his debut in Bob Clampett’s Bugs Gets the Boid (1942), and then returned in The Bashful Buzzard (1945). There are even some who’ve conjectured the studio, while trying to explain what they wanted, gave those old Clampett cartoons as an example of the kind of bird of prey they wanted for the film, which does indeed resemble a cartoonish giant mutant buzzard. 



And once we finally witness Katzman's realized monster in all of its glory, the rest of the plot of The Giant Claw basically becomes irrelevant for the remainder of the picture; it just doesn't matter anymore. All we really want is to see that gangly, great googly-moogly of a thing in action once more!





Eventually, our protagonists finally get to see the creature, too -- only they have to keep a straight face, when they check out some photos taken at altitude for an "Earth curvature calibration" study Sally had been working on. Luckily for them, the buzzard buzzed one of these weather balloons and came in for a close-up. And now that they know what it is, General Buzzkirk (Shayne) and General Considine (Ankrum) are convinced they can bring this foul fowl down with some superior fire power. 






But after a stock-footage tour of the globe as the supersonic monster is sighted from one easily identifiable landmark to another, it gets attacked by a squadron of Buzzkirk's fighter-jets; but their missiles prove useless and the buzzard easily destroys them all (-- magically changing the shape of the stock-footage planes again when it eats them. Unbelievable).


And when all other forms of attack prove equally useless, Mac and Sally start thinking outside the box and consult with Dr. Karol Noymann (Barrier) -- no relation to that guy from The Invisible Invaders (1959), who makes a quantum leap in plot-logic when he suggests the giant bird is not only from outer space but most likely came from some antimatter dimension; and therefore, projects an antimatter shield around its body; and that's why all those rockets, bullets, and bombs had no effect; they all harmlessly detonated when they hit this shield. Well actually, in theory (-- if I'm remembering my rudimentary physics right, meaning what I read in the pages of The Fantastic Four), any positive matter that touches antimatter would explode on contact (-- like, say, parachutists and balsa wood airplanes), but they quickly explain away this plot-hole by theorizing the monster can control the shield and shuts it off when it feeds. And let's just roll with that.


Thus and so, as work commences to try and counteract this defensive shield, Sally gets in on the wild postulating next, when she suggests the reason the bird landed on Earth was to nest and lay eggs. One creature is bad enough (-- believe me), Mac thinks, and quickly deduces the nest must be near Pierre Broussard's farm.





After commandeering a helicopter, they round up Broussard and within a very short time come under attack; but Mac manages to land the helicopter safely before getting knocked out of the sky and eaten. Then, they follow the bird on foot and, sure enough, it has built a nest; and nestled in the center is a very large egg! This is too much for the frightened Broussard, who beats a quick retreat. Taking up his abandoned rifle, being from Montana and all, Sally and Mac take aim, hope that shield is down, and scramble the egg. Enraged, the bird takes off and fulfills the prophecy of the la Carcagne for poor Broussard, as well as taking out a gaggle of hot-rodding teenagers, turning them into both an abject lesson on highway safety and buzzard-chow.






Now, with the egg subplot safely tucked out of the way, work continues on the anti-antimatter force-field endeavor as Mac and Noymann hit upon an idea for a "mu-meson" cannon that will, in theory, disrupt the antimatter long enough for Buzzkirk to blow the monster to smithereens -- if they can develop a working model that is. But then, as they set to work via a montage of hands doing sciency things, the film is suddenly interrupted for a truly incredible sequence, where the giant buzzard attacks a moving train, plucks it right off the tracks, and then flaps away with the whole she-bang dangling from its claws!





Meanwhile, the development of the particle-beam cannon moves along slowly until Mac blows up the whole lab. Eureka! Seems he finally realized all they had to do was, duh, reverse the polarity, leading to one of the greatest lines in cinema history, when Mac says, "General, bring me my pants!" 





And now that it works, and Mac has his pants, they have to quickly mount the prototype cannon into the rear turret of an old bomber because the giant bird is in the process of leveling an even less reasonable facsimile of New York City!




But with Buzzkirk and Considine flying the plane, Mac manning the gun, and Noymann and Sally along for calculations and moral support, they’re soon airborne and engaging the monster, trying to lure it away from the city before she can peck it death. And when the antimatter buzzard gives chase, Mac blasts away with that particle-beam. 





Hoping their contraption worked, Considine unleashes the plane's full contingent of rockets, bombs and missiles. Luckily, the shield has been short-circuited and this barrage blows the buzzard right out of the sky, sending it plummeting into the water, where the smoking carcass slowly sinks beneath the surface and the Earth is saved once more.





When people often talk about laughing themselves to death, they're usually being facetious or exaggerating. But! On two separate occasions I actually and honestly feared for my life while laughing: one was my first screening of O' Brother Where Art Thou (2000), when the three escaped convicts are pulled out of the train by their leg-irons, domino style, which I laughed at so hard I couldn't get any air to go in and damned near passed out, resulting in some kind of seizure. The other was my first screening of The Giant Claw; and by the monster’s third appearance I had pulled several muscles in my side from laughing too hard -- off course, I was about five-sheets to the wind at the time. Sometimes beer and bad monster movies can be detrimental to your health, Boils and Ghouls. Use caution and moderation.



Now, while The Giant Claw was in production, Katzman really sold his director and cast on the fantastic FX that were going to bring the fearsome space bird to life on screen. So, with visions of a sleek and deadly foe, filming commenced. Yeah, everyone involved, except for Katzman and the crew down in Mexico, had no clue as to what the finished product was destined to look like and these visions of grandeur soon became delusional as the resulting efforts were, well, wow. And wow again.




Honestly, the written word does not do this monster justice. One must watch, experience, and endure The Giant Claw to fully appreciate the -- what is the word I'm looking for here ... inept grandeur of it. My god. Just look at that thing and try not to laugh. From it's mangy tail feathers to the Larry Fine haircut on the tip of it's pointy head; and from it's big, googly-eyes, luscious eyelashes, and flaring nostrils, to the loose molars in its crooked beak, one can only watch, stupefied, before erupting. 




Doesn’t matter whether it's a stuffed-prop twirling around on visible wires in erratic trajectories for the long shots, or an articulated marionette for the close ups, this monster transcends bad into a whole new realm of incredulity. There have been worse and less animate monsters on the big screen -- for my money, for the worst puppet monster of all time you'll have to cast your eyes on Sid Pink's no less dubiously inept Reptilicus (1961), but this ... This is just insane.




Upon first seeing the FX footage, I can't even fathom what went through the producer's mind during the editing process. But the monster isn't the only instance of failure for the FX crew. We’ve already noted the mismatched balsa wood plane props, but they’re works of art compared to the miniature building the creature gets to destroy in the climax; or the firecracker and sparkler induced pyrotechnics. To save even more money, Katzman cannibalized footage, better FX, and even the soundtrack from his earlier films -- with Earth vs. The Flying Saucers being victimized the most, including one clearly visible saucer crashing through a wall during the antimatter buzzard's rampage in New York. This all looks bad enough, but when you add in the creature’s repeating gobble / cackle "AWWK! AWWK! AWWK!” war-hoop, all hope is surely lost.




Audiences back in 1957 should have been suspicious when all the promotional artwork for the film purposefully omitted showing the monster's head; just it's long neck stretching off the page, while the claws did all the damage. And yet Katzman doubled-down on the trailer, giving the whole game away. Both Jeff Morrow and Mara Corday, both hardened genre vets, would go on to tell of embarrassing trips to the theater to finally see the end results of their work. Morrow left early and headed to the nearest bar, while Corday sunk lower and lower in her seat, hoping not to be recognized. Both of their careers never fully recovered after this picture. Sears dropped dead of a heart attack not long after the film premiered. But without missing a beat, Katzman put this disaster behind him and kept cranking them out until his own death in 1973.


“A picture that makes money is a good picture -- whether it is artistically good or bad,” said Katzman in a 1957 interview for Variety, where he claimed his pictures were the bread and butter of the movie industry. “I’m in the five and dime business and not in the Tiffany business -- I don't get ulcers with the type of pictures I make."


This movie ... What is it about this movie that makes me love it so much in spite of my better judgment? It's just a paint by the numbers, pants on fire plot -- that ripped off George Worthing Yates’ script for THEM (1954) just like every other creature feature of this vintage did, which is eternally stuck on one metaphor for its monster, is laced with a metric-ton of pseudoscience and gobbledygook that doesn't make any sense, at all, and is hampered and hamstrung by the most ludicrous FX ever put to film. And yes, our hero is a blockhead, who is called on to do everything -- and I mean everything, but it does have a very cute and spunky heroine. And so help me, once you get past the initial reaction to the monster, it is quite beautiful -- in an atrocious kind of way.




Somehow this movie, and others like it, transcend all the cards dealt against it -- and we're talking about the whole deck, Boils and Ghouls, including the Jokers -- and reaches a whole new level of enjoyment that is truly baffling and unfathomable for me to explain. I don't know why, but I love every gawdawful minute of The Giant Claw -- lumps and all and unironically. Seek this movie. Find this movie. Watch this movie. And you -- defying all rationality -- will love this movie, too. Trust me.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's SEVEN films down with 19 yet to go. Up next, A Nudie-Cutie Hootenanny of Hooch, Hottentots, and Monsters?


The Giant Claw (1957) Clover Productions :: Columbia Pictures / P: Sam Katzman / D: Fred F. Sears / W: Samuel Newman, Paul Gangelin / C: Benjamin H. Kline E: Tony DiMarco, Saul Goodkind / M: Mischa Bakaleinikoff / S: Jeff Morrow, Mara Corday, Morris Ankrum, Louis Merrill, Robert Shayne, Edgar Barrier

Hubrisween 2020 :: H is for House on Bare Mountain (1962)

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Now, I know I usually begin one of these things with a plot description of whatever film we’re covering, but to do that for this one would be admitting that House on Bare Mountain (1962) had a plot to begin with. And to do so would prove the Supreme Being of your choice as fallible -- thus starting a chain reaction that would null and void the entire universe. And who wants to be responsible for that? Not me. Hell, no … Okay. Okay. Fine.



Our theoretical plot, I think -- and stress on the think, revolves around Granny Goody and her school for wayward young girls. Now, this character is played by the film’s notorious producer, Bob Cresse; and Cresse's take on Granny Goody is a flattering carbon-copy of comedian Jonathan Winter's Granny Fricker character in the same way Sammy Petrillo was flattering Jerry Lewis in William “One Shot” Beaudine’s Bela Lugosi meets a Brooklyn Gorilla (1952).



Anyway, Granny's curriculum for her busty young girls mostly consists of spending ah-lot of time in the shower, getting ready for bed, lounging around the pool, or exercising around the grounds of her mansion. Of course, everyone -- except for Granny, thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster, is topless and sometimes bottomless; but only from the rear. As to why that is, well, we’ll be addressing that in a sec after the film proper begins with Granny locked up in the clink.



Why? Well, as a side operation from fleecing unwitting parents into enrolling their daughters, the old bat sells liquor made by an illegal still out of her basement that's run by her pet werewolf, Krakow (Engesser). Relating her tale of woe to the audience, seems Granny was suspicious that a spy was in their midst, and then spends most of the movie via flashback trying to ferret out the mole -- and you won't believe where she all looks. Let's just say, Every “nook” and “cranny” is checked and rechecked, and then remind you what we’re watching and leave it to your imagination from there...




As the silent pictures gave way to sound, the powers that be in Hollywood, taking heat over a perceived increase in lewd and blasphemous content, and rocked by several glaring scandals -- most notably the Fatty Arbuckle rape case and the still unsolved murder of director William Desmond Taylor, adopted a set of directives called The Motion Picture Production Code. The hope being this action would head off any government mandated or enforced censorship that would hopefully prove to Congress and the viewing public that the studios were more than capable of cleaning up their act on their own.


Now, this was mostly due to a 1915 Supreme Court decision in TheMutual Film Corp. vs. Industrial Commission of Ohio, a State-sponsored censorship board, which basically said the First Amendment protections of Free Speech did not extend to motion pictures because, according to Justice Joseph McKenna, they were a for-profit public gathering like circuses or other sideshow institutions. McKenna also explicitly stated films could not be granted constitutional protections due to the dangers of the “enormous inherent attraction of the medium held by the public,” and therefore, how it could be used for evil or manipulative purposes on the masses. Thus, it was either a self-imposed Production Code or a National Censorship Board dictating what the studios did.


Officially adopted in 1930 under the leadership of former Postmaster General, William H. Hays, the Production Code really didn’t go into effect until 1934 when Hays appointed Joseph Breen as his lead watchdog and enforcer, who immediately started to crackdown on things. Often referred to as the Hays Code or the Breen Code, these standards and practices meant, among other things, a motion picture could not, under any circumstances, portray the use of recreational drug use, including the consumption of alcohol, or anything considered “perverse” like “homosexuality, miscegenation (interracial relationships), bestiality, and venereal diseases,” and nudity and overt portrayals or references to sexual behavior -- even between consenting adults, could not be shown.


Thus and so, a draconian Breen stifled the movie industry for nearly a decade; but after the end of World War II the Production Code was starting to show a few cracks, and was successfully and openly defied by Otto Preminger and United Artists with The Moon is Blue (1953). And as things started to leak through, enter a whole new group of exploitation filmmakers, who were doing their damndest to get a naked body on the big screen and off the Stag Reels relegated to your local Elk’s Club basement.


Pioneered with the likes of Kroger Babb's Mom and Dad (1945), you could do an end-run around Breen, the Code, and any local censorship boards if you disguised your sexually explicit film as a documentary -- Wild Women / Bowanga! Bowanga! (1951), or educational or a treatise on the miracle of modern medicine -- Test Tube Babies (1948). And if all that failed, the distributors resorted to the old "Square-Up Reel,” where exhibitors were often given two different copies of the film -- one a cleaner version used to get past those local censors, and then show the other unfiltered one, complete, once they got the OK. And if the theater owner smelled-out the cops or a sting, the tamer version was shown until the authorities cleared out, and then the Square-Up Reel would be tacked on at the end to show what everyone had missed.


This opened the door for the Burlesque Movies, which were nothing more than static re-creations of an old vaudeville show, where comedians and strippers would bump and grind their way through the likes of Paris After Midnight (1951) or Teaserama (1954). These, in turn, opened the door for the Nature Films and Nudist Camp Pictures -- and one film in particular: Max Nosseck’s Garden of Eden (1954). For it was with this film, where a stranded motorist finds safe refuge at a nudist camp, after another long and lengthy court battle in the State of New York, a ruling was handed down that stated, "Nudity, on it's own, had no erotic content, and therefore was not obscene."


And while this ruling didn’t completely break the Production Code’s back, it did turn those cracks in its foundation into a full-blown breach when this decision held up on appeal. For what followed next, starting with Russ Meyer's The Immoral Mr. Teas (1959), was a new type of film that combined the corniness of the Burlesque Shows with the not-quite full-frontal of the Nudist Camp pictures -- and thus, the Nudie-Cuties were born. As to what those were, well, as noted exploitation filmmaker Frank Henenlotter -- Basket Case (1982), Frankenhooker (1990), so eloquently put it, “Coming out of an era when almost anything sexual could be considered obscene it was the logical outgrowth of both the Burlesque film and the Nudist Camp movies of the 1950s. The result was a sex film without any sex. They were called Nudie-Cuties and they were undoubtedly the stupidest films on the face of the Earth."


Voyeurism was still the name of the game: lot's of looking, but no touching -- from the audience, or the characters on screen; just a parade of beauties and a lot of teasing, teasing, and more teasing, punctuated by a whole lot of comedy corn, straight off the cob; that's a Nudie-Cutie in a kernelled nutshell alright. 



And when this cycle began to peter out, oddly enough, monsters started showing up, giving the genre one last hurrah with the likes of Peter Perry’s Kiss me Quick (1964), Stephen Apostolof’s Orgy of the Dead (1965), and Lee Frost’s House on Bare Mountain, before the real monsters and psychos started showing up.



But we're getting ahead of ourselves a little bit as we barrel toward the climax with the lead-up to Granny Goody’s annual Halloween Jamboree, where we get an extended sequence of all her topless borders *ahem* “bouncing up and down the steps” to call their dates, reminding each to sneak a bottle of booze into the dance.




This they all do, and after the punch is spiked to around 190-proof, the mole reveals herself, calls in the cops, who then raid the place. Much shenanigans ensue. And as the party degenerates into a drunken dance orgy, complete with Frankenstein's Monster doing the Nudie-Watusi, well, that’s about it -- except for the twist ending. 




Turns out old Granny got all those cops drunk, too, and now keeps them imprisoned in her basement, forcing them to work the still. See, she was never in the clink. They were. And with that final punchline, we cut to...




In the relatively tight circle of early sexploitation film pioneers, the only person disliked or more reviled by his peers than Alan Shackelton was probably Bob Cresse. Dave Friedman -- Scum of the Earth (1963), The Defilers (1965), a long time collaborator of Cresse’s, always referred to him as "a closet Nazi." And producer Harry Novak -- The Pigkeeper's Daughter (1972), A Scream in the Streets (1973), another associate, threatened to throw him through a plate-glass window if Cresse ever tried his strong-arm tactics on him again; and for the record, those tactics usually included a loaded .38 and two beefy bodyguards for persuasion and bill-collecting.


Cresse had started out as a messenger for MGM, but felt there was more money to be made working independently -- especially concerning subjects the big studios weren't allowed to do. Striking out on his own, he founded Olympic International Pictures, whose simple motto was "Art for the Sake of Money." Getting his feet wet writing and producing Once Upon a Knight (1961) -- a tale of an insurance investigator who's allergic to naked women, Cresse then got involved with House on Bare Mountain by bailing out fellow producer Wes Bishop, who ran out of money only one day into production.


Hooking up with another long time collaborator, director Lee Frost, Cresse inserted himself into the picture as the star, ad-libbing the whole thing and only shot one more day of footage, and then spliced everything together. This ad-hoc style of filmmaking shows pretty badly during the film's brief running time -- it barely breaks an hour. There just ain't a whole lot there, and what is there borders on tedious; and the thing never quite gels and lacks the overall delirium of the far superior Monster-Cutie, Novak's Kiss Me Quick.


Now, despite those earlier court rulings, some local censorship boards were still throwing their weight around. And as the legend goes, when House on Bare Mountain premiered in Boston, the current Chief of Police, claiming to have seen a little bit of snatch during the screening, raided the theater and shut the movie down. Demolishing the projector, he arrested the owner and burned the negative on the sidewalk for the gathered press outside (-- turns out he was up for re-election at the time). Cresse counter-sued for destruction of property, and since the evidence was destroyed, having gone up in smoke, giving the cops no case, he won a settlement.


The end was soon nigh for the Nudie-Cuties, though, and the giddy colors and jiggling scenery were replaced with the darker, grittier, and nastier Roughies as all that teasing gave way to sex with an unhealthy dose of violence. And as the characters started fondling each other, and more, they usually just wound up beating the crap out of each other; evidenced in the bondage and sadism of George Weiss' Olga movies -- White Slaves of Chinatown (1964), Olga's House of Shame (1964); Michael and Roberta Findley's sleaze and necrophilia -- The Touch of Her Flesh (1967), The Kiss of Her Flesh (1968), and if you thought the lobster claw assault in that was bad, check out the corncob scene in The Ultimate Degenerate (1969). Gah! And then all of this nonsense culminated with the all-out gorenogrpahy of Hershell Gordon Lewis -- Blood Feast (1963), 2000 Maniacs (1964), which officially put an end to, and I quote, one of the dumbest genres of all time.


I'll admit there is something refreshing about watching these old Nudie films, and that's the -- for lack of a better word, naturalness of the eye-candy on display. No silicone injections or over-fixed grotesqueries, and no waifish, heroin chic. These ladies are what they are, tan lines and all; cute, solid, and comfortable. 


It should also be pointed out that all the monster make-ups were provided by Ed Wood regular, Harry Thomas, and they’re just as shoddy as his work in Killer’s from Space (1954), From Hell it Came (1957), and Frankenstein's Daughter (1958).



As for director Lee Frost, well, this was his first effort and I can definitely say that he did get better. Frost was a long-time two-punch combo with Wes Bishop. And together, they co-wrote, co-produced, and co-directed almost all the films for Cresse and Olympic International. They did manage to pry themselves away and went legit, sort of, working for American International on a couple of features -- Chrome and Hot Leather (1971), The Thing With Two Heads (1972), and then formed Saber Productions, which begat Policewomen (1974), The Black Gestapo (1975), and probably their most successful feature, Race with the Devil (1975), which was a troubled co-production with 20th Century Fox, and starred Peter Fonda and Warren Oates as a couple of tourists in an RV taking on Satanists down in Texas. At some point, Frost was fired off the picture and replaced by Jack Starrett.


Cresse, meanwhile, went with the flow, churning out the wonderfully sleazy Mondo Bizzarro (1966), The Animal (1968), and the truly nasty western, Hot Spur (1968), where a fired cowhand kidnaps and tortures the boss's wife; followed by The Scavengers (1969), his take on Peckinpah's The Wild Bunch (1969) -- only in Cresse’s film, the rapes are shown in slow-motion; and Cresse was also responsible for the very first, and some think the worst, of the Nazi-Sexploitation Sickies, Love Camp 7 (1969), where he had a little too much fun playing the Commandant -- if you know what I mean. And sadly, I think you do.



I think about the one and only positive thing you can say about Cresse is that he always delivered what his titles and promotional materials promised in his pictures. Because by most accounts, he was just as big of a misogynistic misanthrope in real life as he was on film. As an example: it's my understanding he had a two-way mirror in his office that gave him a full view of the ladies restroom -- that lets you see what, exactly? Which makes what happened to him next even more bizarre.



While taking his dog for a walk along the fabled Sunset Strip, down an alley, Cresse heard a woman crying for help. He investigated and found two men, who appeared to be assaulting her. Pulling out his trusty .38, when Cresse told them to back off, one of the men pulled out his own gun, shot Cresse in the stomach, then shot and killed his dog for good measure, and then informed Cresse they were police officers making an arrest. And while recuperating from these injuries, Cresse bled his accounts dry with medical bills. Broke, he dissolved his company and bowed out of the production business, taking a few bit parts here and there, and at one point wound-up skipping the country to get away from his creditors. He eventually did come back and died of a heart attack in 1998, ending one of the strangest runs in exploitation filmdom.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's EIGHT films down with 18 yet to go. Up next, A Love Story that's Out of This World -- OR IS IT?!? Dahn! Dahn! Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahn!!!


House on Bare Mountain (1962) B and M Productions :: Olympic International Films / P: Bob Cresse, Wes Bishop / AP: Tommy L. McFadden / D: Lee Frost / W: Denver Scott / C: Gregory Sandor / E: Gary Lindsay / M: Pierre Martel / S: Bob Cresse, Laine Carlin, Leticia Cooper, Laura Eden, Ann Perry

Hubrisween 2020 :: I is for I Married a Monster from Outer Space (1958)

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After some outstanding orchestral maneuvers over an opening credit sequence that give us an approaching extraterrestrial’s POV of the planet Earth -- he typed ominously, we open in a town like any other town, USA, where the Sherman Tank-sized cars with the massive tail-fins clues us in that the Wayback Machine has deposited us sometime in the late 1950s.




We then enter a bar, where Bill Farrell's bachelor party is finally winding down. But as his buddies try to keep this party going just a little bit longer by buying one more round, Bill begs off, having promised to stop by and see Marge, his bride to be, on the way home. Seems their big day is tomorrow, bright and early. After he leaves, all the confirmed bachelors around the table say they would rather kill themselves then commit to marriage. And those who already took the plunge, well, there’s a reason they wanted to keep the party going so they wouldn’t have to go home to you know who.




Later, while winding his way home, an intoxicated Bill (Tryon) spots a body lying in the middle of the road too late after rounding a blind corner. Slamming on the breaks, his car screeches to a halt with a sickening thump. But when he gets out to check on whomever he hit, Bill finds the body has disappeared. Knowing he's had way too much to drink, Bill is about to chalk this up to the Pink Elephant Brigade until he turns to leave and a very monstrous, phosphorescent three-fingered hand -- nearly tentacles, grabs him from behind.



Spinning to face his attacker, the man recoils in terror at what he sees: an alien, who has a basic humanoid shape, with thick, rubbery skin, no visible nose, two large eyes set deep underneath a huge cranial protrusion, its puckered mouth covered with some form of breathing apparatus, and four very large arterial shunts that run from its head directly into its chest and shoulders. And not only does this thing glow, but it also produces a strange and menacing drone. All of this proves too much for poor Bill, who collapses into unconsciousness. And as the alien hovers above him, who baited this apparent trap, a thick black fog quickly envelops his victim's prostrate form; and then, when the smoke just as rapidly dissipates, Bill’s body is gone. Alive or dead, no one can say.



Thus, when the groom fails to show up at the church the following day, a distressed and needling toward pissed-off bridezilla-to-be Marge (Talbott) starts grilling all of the groomsmen, wanting to know what they did to her fiance at that bachelor party last night. (Apparently, he also failed to stop by like he said he would.) But just before heads start rolling, Bill finally shows up, safe and sound, with no apparent memory of what happened to him the night before. And as the couple shares a make-up kiss, Marge’s mother pulls them apart, saying to save some of that passion for later -- they’re going to need it.





After the ceremony, the newlyweds take off on their honeymoon. But along the way to the hotel, Bill almost causes a wreck by driving at night with his headlights off. He also becomes very defensive when Marge, who’d been napping, asks how he’d managed to get so far in the dark. The new bride is even more puzzled after they reach their beach-side destination and Bill basically forgets her in the car, and then becomes a little miffed when her husband also neglects to carry her over the threshold of their honeymoon hideaway as tradition holds.




And as the evening progresses, Bill's behavior grows even more distant and bizarre, acting like he’s never seen a thunderstorm before, and he won’t even touch the champagne. Hoping it’s all just marital jitters, Marge heads inside just as a lightning flash reveals that alien’s horrible visage hidden underneath Bill’s features, which confirms our suspicions that Bill wasn't really Bill at all! And then Marge, who didn’t see any of this, calls her new husband into the bed for one last wedding night tradition, with no idea of whom -- or what, she is about to sleep with as we fade to black...




As a reporter for TheDenver Post, one of Gene Fowler’s plum assignments was to interview the legendary Buffalo Bill Cody when his Wild West Show rolled into town. But instead of asking him about the tenets of this traveling circus, Fowler instead grilled Cody over his many illicit love affairs. (There was a persistent rumor/joke that Fowler was the illegitimate son of Cody, explaining the rancor.) And it was this kind of brazen behavior and impertinence that soon became the reporter’s trademark as he moved to New York City, where he worked for The Daily Mirror before shifting to a management position for the King Features Syndicate. Around 1930, Fowler began writing for the stage and the cinema -- What Price Hollywood? (1932), The Call of the Wild (1935), as well as several books, including biographies and memoirs for the likes of P.T. Barnum and Jimmy Durante.


After a move to Los Angeles, Fowler Sr. rubbed elbows and became close friends with many of Hollywood’s current elite, including John Barrymore and W.C. Fields, who legendarily despised all children, except for Fowler’s sons, which the irascible Fields claimed were the only children he could stand. And it was while writing his latest book, Father Goose, which chronicled the career of seminal silent filmmaker Mack Sennett, where Fowler introduced his eldest son, Gene Fowler Jr., to Allen McNeil, one of Sennet’s film editors. Well, McNeil and Fowler Jr. also hit it off, which resulted in a job offer to also become an editor at 20th Century Fox. (Editor's note: From here on out, when we refer to Fowler we are referring to Fowler Jr.)


Fowler’s first feature was an uncredited assist for McNeil on Roy Del Ruth’s screwball musical, Thanks a Million (1935). And after a few more assistant editing gigs on the likes of Western Union (1941) and Weekend in Havana (1941), Fowler’s big break came when he was chosen to edit a couple of Fritz Lang’s suspense yarns, Hangmen Also Die (1942) and The Woman in the Window (1944), where he struck up a lifelong friendship with the noted director and constantly picked his brain. “The man knew how to move a camera,” Fowler said in a later interview with Tom Weaver in Science Fiction Stars and Horror Heroes. Seemed Fowler had bigger ambitions outside the editing room.


But Fowler would get his first tour in the director’s chair on the small screen, shooting and editing multiple episodes of China Smith, which featured Dan Duryea as a less than honest private detective, running scams and eking out a living in post-war Singapore, with San Francisco’s Chinatown serving as a reasonable facsimile of the far East. Fowler would continue in that capacity for The New Adventures of China Smith, as well as editing The Abbott and Costello Show and Rocky Jones, Space Ranger. But Fowler was still editing features, too, doing the cutting on Lang’s While the City Sleeps (1956) and a trio of films for Samuel Fuller, China Gate (1957), Run of the Arrow (1957), and Forty Guns (1957).


It was mere happenstance that Fowler crossed paths with producer Herman Cohen, whose latest production just so happened to occupy the editing suite right next to his while Fowler was stitching Run of the Arrow together. The two got to talking, became friends, and then one day Cohen approached Fowler and asked if he’d like to direct a movie for him. Fowler was eager to get his first feature, but Cohen was very diplomatic upfront, saying the project had the worst title but the script was decent enough. He then handed it over for Fowler to read, who almost backed out on the spot when he saw what was written on the cover page.


Deciding to at least give it a read, Fowler took it home but still wasn’t sold until his wife convinced him to do the feature, get the needed experience, and not to worry because odds were good nobody would ever go to see something called I Was a Teenage Werewolf (1957). “There were a bunch of these exploitation pictures being made, but at the time there didn’t seem to be a very big market for them,” Fowler told Weaver in the same interview. “I guess the other producers must have been spending just about the same amount of money that we were, but their pictures were such shit. I did not try to make just an exploitation picture. I was trying to do something with a little substance to it."


And while Fowler felt Aben Kendel’s script was fair enough, he added a lot of rewrites on Teenage Werewolf, adding a few things here and there to flesh out the characters -- most notably the film’s true villain, Dr. Brandon, who, as written, was nothing more than a stereotypical, raving mad scientist. “I always figured that a villain, in his own eyes, was a very good, very nice fellow,” said Fowler. “ So I tried to make the villain that way -- he was actually trying to do good for the world. I tried to get some sympathy for him, or at least some understanding. I remember talking to Whit Bissell, who played the doctor, and telling him, ‘Keep in mind you’re not a bad man.’"


Heeding the advice of his mentor, Fritz Lang, to always be prepared and then adapt accordingly, Fowler was ready, adaptable, and able, completing the picture in just six days and on budget ($82,000). Fowler’s German Shepherd, Anna, wound up in the film, too, as the dog the Teenage Werewolf kills. It would not be her last screen roll either.


When he was hired on, Cohen offered Fowler a percentage on the film or a straight salary. Fowler chose the salary, feeling with a title like that the film would quickly disappear, which turned out to be a huge mistake because due to his own outstanding efforts and American International Picture’s crack publicity team, I Was a Teenage Werewolf was a huge hit, grossing over $6-million on its initial run, and spawned a franchise -- I Was Teenage Frankenstein (1957), Blood of Dracula (1957), and How to Make a Monster (1958). When asked why he didn’t stick with Cohen and AIP, Fowler admitted while he enjoyed the familial experience there, he didn’t want to get stereotyped and, in the end, was looking for something a little more stable.


And this he found by signing on with Robert Lippert, who had just cut a deal at Fowler’s old stomping grounds, where the producer agreed to make a ton of second features for 20th Century Fox in their new CinemaScope format for his Regal Pictures. Here, Fowler was assigned a partner in screenwriter Louis Vittes. Vittes had only been in the business since 1955 and only recently migrated from television to feature films with Monster from Green Hell (1957) for Al Zimbalist and George Waggner’s Pawnee (1957) before he, too, hired on with Lippert.


And together, these two would scour the back-lots of Fox and frame entire features around whatever sets were leftover from any bigger productions, resulting in a western, Showdown at Boot Hill (1958), a crime picture, Gang War (1958), and a war film, Here Come the Jets (1959). Here, they had better production values and a little more money to spend than he had for Teenage Werewolf -- $125,000 per picture, but Lippert was no less a tightwad and a stickler for staying on budget, which is why Fowler once had to trade 30 Indian extras to get a crane shot he desperately needed for The Oregon Trail (1959). For if a Lippert picture went over budget, the director had to cover the cost of the overages out of his own pocket. But if it came in for less than the designated amount, only Lippert would pocket the difference.


Thus and so, seeing where the money was really being made, Fowler started entertaining the notion of producing his own low-budget feature. He had already served as an associate producer back in the 1940s on The Senator Was Indiscreet (1947), and on one of the greatest representations of a mid-life crisis ever put to film with Mr. Peabody and the Mermaid (1949). (Seriously. It’s my favorite William Powell movie. Check it, Boils and Ghouls.)


Teaming up with Vittes again, Fowler called on his experiences working with Cohen, AIP, and even Lippert, as the two men came up with an outlandish title to sell first, and then hammered out a script to fit it from there. And what they concocted was perhaps the most outlandish exploitation title ever conceived for a film: I Married a Monster from Outer Space (1958). (Well, at least until Ray Dennis Steckler came along.) As for the script that went with it? Well, as Fowler said about the making of the picture, “We were certainly capable of coming up with a [better title]!” But, “One of the things I’ve always found is that you’ve got to accept the premise, regardless of how ridiculous it is. If you accept the thing as very realistic and very honest, then you can come up with very honest performances and make a fairly honest picture out of it."


And the honest to god premise Fowler and Vittes’ cooked up for I Married a Monster from Outer Space was very, very sobering, indeed, as the last surviving members of an ancient alien race clandestinely come to Earth to try and save their species from extinction. We’ve already seen how, but as to why, well, we’ll continue to unravel that mystery as we go.




Meantime, their protagonist, Marge Farrell, still doesn’t realize this switch has happened yet, even though a whole year has passed since she and Alien Bill tied the knot. However, that doesn’t mean she hasn’t had any suspicions about the drastic behavioral changes in her husband. Marge is no fool. But the problem is, and it’s the true focal point of this film as far as I’m concerned, Marge cannot get anyone to listen or believe her when she claims Bill is no longer himself.




Sure, Bill’s friends miss their old drinking buddy, too. Speaking of, one of those diehard bachelors, Sam Benson (Dexter), barely survives last call at the same watering hole. And as he stumbles his way home on foot, all that liquor in his gut suddenly revolts, causing him to duck into an alley. But between heaves, this purging is interrupted when another alien attacks and assimilates him, too. It’s been a year, remember, so who knows how many “real” men are actually left in this town.



To add another layer of tension to this dire situation, even though they’ve been trying since day one, Marge and Bill still haven't successfully conceived yet. And the only emotion she can consistently get out of Bill is an all-consuming disappointment over this failure to, well, launch. Thus, a worried Marge makes an appointment with her doctor. And when he can’t find anything physically wrong that would prevent her from having a baby, Dr. Wayne (Lynch) concludes Bill might be the problem and would like him to come in for a check-up, too.




On the way home, Marge runs into Benson (-- and we know he’s been successfully assimilated because it's the middle of the day and he’s still sober), who makes the surprise announcement that he and Helen Rhodes (Carson), his long suffering girlfriend, just got engaged. Later, Marge returns home with a surprise of her own: she’s bought them a little dog for their anniversary. But when the pup gets one whiff of Alien Bill, it goes berserk. Strange, says Marge. It was just fine and friendly at the pet store. 



Here, Bill makes up an excuse to keep the dog chained in the basement until it warms up to him. But whenever Bill tries to make peace with the animal, the dog will have none of it. And so, with no other choice, Bill picks up a hammer (-- nope, too messy), but quickly discards it. He’ll just have to get his hands dirty on this one. Thus and suddenly, the house is filled with the sounds of a dog in terminal distress. Rushing to the basement, Marge is stopped at the entrance by her husband, who claims the dog somehow strangled itself with its own leash.



Once the poor dog is removed and buried in the backyard, Marge finally gets around to telling Bill about her doctor’s appointment, and how Dr. Wayne couldn’t find anything wrong with her. His detached reaction to this news isn’t what she had hoped for, but was expected. And here, Marge makes a little Freudian slip when she accuses her husband of acting like an evil twin sometimes. Urged to see the doctor so they can get to the bottom of things, Bill is apprehensive but agrees -- mostly to appease her, which is about to trigger another fight when the doorbell rings, providing Alien Bill a much needed distraction.




It's Sam Benson; and after Marge excuses herself so these two men can talk men’s business in private, Benson reveals he’s also a doppelganger, and then openly complains about the model of human he got stuck with (-- that’s why you should always kick the tires first, bub). With that, they quiz each other over the mistakes they've made so far, and how their overall, byzantine master plan is still proceeding without a hitch for they have now managed to take over every key citizen in town and are almost finished replacing all of the local police force.




Before leaving, Benson reminds Bill that his methane supply is dangerously low and will need to be replenished soon. And so, later that night, thinking Marge is asleep, Bill sneaks out of the house. But Marge was only playing ‘possum, and then quietly follows her husband deep into the woods until he reaches a secluded gully. Sadly, Alien Bill wasn’t that hard to track; all Marge had to do was just follow the trail of dead pets. (You wish I was kidding.) Staying hidden, Marge spies a strange ship hidden behind the trees. And when Bill stops in front of it, that same black fog seeps from his body and then reforms into a big, squishy alien.





Once safely extracted, the alien leaves Bill outside and enters the ship. Feeling they’re now alone, Marge calls out to her husband and then runs to him when he doesn’t respond. Barely touched, Bill falls over, stiff as a board, making this simulacrum essentially nothing but an empty shell. Horrified, the woman watches as a large bug crawls across Bill’s unflinching face; and as all of this slowly sinks in -- what has happened to her husband, and what’s she’s been having sex with for the last year, and finally clicks into place, Marge unleashes one helluva scream as she turns and flees, trying to desperately run away from the truth, all of it, as phantasmagorical images of that monster plague and torment her all the way back into town.


Once there, the only place still open at this hour is the bar, but no one there will believe her. She tries the police next, demanding to see Chief Collins (Eldredge), who also just happens to be her godfather. Surely he will believe her, right? Well, while Collins does listen to her fantastic story and assures the girl she’s not insane, maybe a little hysterical, sure, he doesn’t really do anything except promise to follow up on all of these out of this world accusations. Collins then tells Marge it would be best if she went home because if Bill really was an alien, he mustn't suspect anything or tip their hand until he completes his investigation, confirms the location of the UFO, and contacts the federal authorities who handle such matters.




Reluctantly, Marge agrees to all of this, but after she leaves a lightning flash reveals Collins has been taken over, too. Returning home, Bill is there waiting, seemingly none the wiser. Making up some excuse for where she’s been, Marge holds it together and heads to bed.



More time passes, and we pick things up at Sam and Helen’s wedding rehearsal. Taking Helen aside, suspecting Sam has also been replaced, a nervous Marge encourages her friend to postpone the wedding but refuses to say why. Then, Bill interrupts them before Marge can take it any further. Later that night, ready to get all of this out in the open, Marge starts to pull on a few threads, asking Bill why he never drinks anymore? This kind of opens the floodgates a bit but the wily Alien Bill quickly turns the tables and accuses her of changing, too, these past few weeks. This reverse psychology appears to work as a despondent Marge gives up, claiming she’s tired, and leaves the room.





Frustrated, Alien Bill breaks the glass held in his hand. He then spots someone spying on him and sends out a psychic SOS to his alien comrades, who quickly catch the man -- whom we recognize as one of the men Marge talked to at the bar. He confesses to all of this but, apparently, he didn’t believe anything she’d said. He just figured the Farrell’s marriage was on the rocks and wanted to scope out the possibility of catching Marge on the rebound. But I’m thinking he believes in those aliens now -- now that it’s too late. Still, he makes a fight of it, drawing a pistol and opening fire. When these spent bullets have no effect, Alien Bill watches from the house as the Alien Cops finish him off with their own commandeered terrestrial weapons. Moving into the bedroom, Alien Bill assures Marge all she heard was a car engine back-firing. He then tries to apologize for the whole evening but she's too upset; and so, as a peace offering, he offers to sleep in the guest room until she’s ready to talk.




Several days later, Bill joins a few other alien doppelgangers at the bar. As they quietly discuss their invasion's progression, we finally discover exactly what their endgame is: compatible breeding stock. However, there is a continued delay because their scientists are still unable to make the alien chromosomes compatible with a human’s. And until they do, they’ll just have to mark time. But they’ll have to do that someplace else from now on after the bartender kicks them out for wasting his time and liquor.




Meantime, down the street, the town floozy (Allen) spots another possible mark looking in a department-store window, freshens her makeup, and saunters on over. (Sharp ears will pick up the alien’s naturally occurring drone, so methinks she’s in trouble.) Ignored completely, the woman gets mad and pushes him. 





And when the hooded figure turns to face her, revealing an alien underneath the hooded jacket, the startled hooker screams and runs away. Raising a weapon, the alien fires some kind of disintegrator beam -- for in a fiery flash, the town’s population suddenly decreases by one. Turning back to the window, the creature's distorted features ominously reflect off the glass near a baby doll display.




The next day, the Farrells join Ted and Carolyn Hanks (Wassil, Fields) for a lakeside picnic in the park. But just as they spot Sam and Helen Benson out on the water, Sam falls overboard. When he doesn’t surface, Ted, whom we know is still human because his wife is pregnant, quickly jumps into the water while Bill lingers near the edge. (Strange behavior, since Bill used to be a strong swimmer -- stressed on the used to be.) Hauled to shore just as Dr. Wayne arrives, Sam appears to recover until he is given some forced oxygen, goes into convulsions, and then expires. And if he didn’t know any better, Dr. Wayne would swear the oxygen appeared to be the cause of death, which doesn’t make any sense. Thus, the normal people in the gathering crowd are equally perplexed, while the alien doppelgangers sit apart in concerned silence.




Since he's done precisely diddly and squat since their last meeting, Marge seeks out Collins again, who this time advises her to drop all this alien business or she’s liable to wind up in the loony-bin. Sensing the conspiracy is growing, she tries to call the federal authorities on her own but can’t get through, and when she tries to send a telegram, as she leaves, Marge notices the clerk tearing up her message and throwing it away. The girl even tries to leave town but the police have the main road blocked, claiming it's been washed out.




Frustrated at every turn, Marge returns home, where she sits and stews in the dark. When Bill offers to turn on the lights, she tells him not to bother; he doesn't need them anyway, right? Here, Bill waits for a pregnant beat and then asks what she knows. Told she knows everything, Bill decides to spill it all and reveals the plight of his people:


They come from the Andromeda Galaxy, escaping their planet on space-arks when their sun went supernova. But they weren't quite fast enough, and the resulting radiation killed off all of their females, meaning their race is doomed unless they can find a suitable replacement. That’s why they’re on Earth, trying to assimilate their way in. But something’s gone wrong with their great plan: human emotions are starting to assert themselves in the alien hosts. (Ah, the horrors of Ro-Man’s Syndrome strike again! What’s that, you ask? Stay tuned until we get to the R-entry and all will be explained.) When Marge asks if they know what love is, he says no, they have no concept of it, but insists he is starting to learn. He then drops the bomb that, eventually, they will get over this genetic hump and have children with Earth women -- including her.




Trapped and seeming all alone, Marge turns to Doctor Wayne again, and luckily, they haven’t gotten to him yet. And after putting her story together with what happened to Sam Benson, he starts to believe her tale of alien doubles. Unable to go to the police, they don’t know where to turn for help, when suddenly, Ted Hanks breaks in, announcing that Carolyn just gave birth to twins. With that, Wayne now knows where to get the help they need and sends Marge home to keep Alien Bill from getting suspicious. Dr. Wayne then grabs Ted and heads to the waiting room for the other expectant fathers.



Once back at the Farrell residence, Bill quickly deduces Marge has finally found some help and his mission is in danger. He then receives a psychic SOS from the base ship and leaves her to go and help his comrades. Rounding up those alien patrolmen, they head into the woods with Marge right behind them.



Well ahead of them all, Dr. Wayne, who managed to round up a sizable armed posse of new fathers, has reached the spot where Marge said the spaceship was hidden. Find it they do; and when the hatch opens and two glowing aliens emerge, armed with those disintegrators, a man with a pair of German Shepherds leads the charge. 




As a firefight erupts, the human’s bullets have no effect while one of the aliens blasts the dog-handler into oblivion. But his dogs attack the other sentry, savaging it fiercely.


And as the monster screams in pain, the dogs tear through those exposed arteries, causing it to quickly bleed to death. (That one was for Sparky, who died in the basement!) The second alien then disintegrates one of the dogs, not realizing that the other canine was getting the drop on him. And then Fido (Anna) makes quick work of him, too. (That one was for Mittens the cat, who died in the alley!)





Both alien bodies quickly dissolve (-- rather messily), and the Earthmen cautiously make their way toward the opened saucer. Inside, they find several humans suspended in some kind of force-field. (Including Bill, Sam, Collins, and all of the policemen.) Dr. Wayne isn’t sure what to make of the alien technology but concludes they have no choice and just starts pulling the plugs on all the machines -- while crossing his fingers and hoping he doesn’t kill anybody.





Outside, as Alien Bill and the patrolmen run toward the ship, one of the cops screams as his Earth counterpart is unplugged; the doppelganger then falls and violently dissolves into a puddle of translucent goo, leaving the other two to press on alone.





Back at the ship, when Chief Collins is unplugged, the Alien Collins at the station radios the Andromedan fleet and reports all is lost. But before he collapses and discorporates, he orders them to destroy the scout ship and abort the mission, and then promptly disintegrates (-- in several disgusting blorps). Meanwhile, as the rescuers start moving the recovered humans outside the ship, about a dozen in all, Dr. Wayne keeps freeing the others still trapped inside.




Unplugging the second patrolmen, his alien double screams in agony. Putting him out of his misery, Bill stops and disintegrates him before he can dissolve. This allows Marge to catch up, giving the alien a chance to plead his case to her for one last time.




In the end, he wishes Marge had never found out the truth; and when the real Bill is unplugged, Alien Bill tells Marge to look away. And as he collapses and writhes in agony, she does look away -- but we, being the Sick-Os that we are, morbidly watch as Alien Bill spreads out all over the ground. (Blorp-blorp-blorp...)



The real Bill was the last one pulled out, and since the spaceship is making a funny noise, that's getting louder by the second, they evacuate the area. Once everyone is clear, the ship explodes, Marge and Bill are reunited, and it appears that they’ll live happily ever after as we pan-swipe back to outer-space and see the Andromedan fleet pulling away from the Earth and depart into the unknown.




In that same interview with Fowler, Weaver points out how, in nearly every positive review of I Married a Monster from Outer Space, the writer always goes out of their way to apologize for the title while trying to defend the movie. And I guess I kinda agree with this assessment, and will even echo it to a point, even though I think it’s a kooky title that rightfully belongs in the Hall of Fame of such things. Great film. Kooky title, which kinda betrays some pretty heavy overtones of sexism, paranoid themes, and multiple layers to sift through if a viewer so chooses; or, you can take it face value as there are enough shock moments, mass disintegrations, and gooey alien deaths to keep everybody happy.





Fowler’s film also makes a nice bookend for an alien invasion trilogy that started with William Cameron Menzies’ Invaders from Mars (1953), then continued with Don Siegel’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956), and then ending with I Married a Monster from Outer Space. All dealt with the same notions of aliens coming to Earth and secretly assimilating their way to conquest; with Menzies giving us the kids view, Siegel the male, and Fowler the female -- and an argument could also be made that we get the invaders point of view, too, as a good portion of the film is dedicated to Alien Bill and the Andromedans’ unfolding plans.


A secret invasion, a growing conspiracy, and roiling paranoia of not knowing who to trust, of course, also means that I Married a Monster, as a product of its era, must also be lumped into the category of Red Menace metaphors. And while the correlations are easy enough to make, I honestly think the main villain of this film is not some politically charged alien invasion but an all-encompassing fear of equality and commitment -- not Communism, and a terrible aversion to getting married. Much venom is spouted in Vittes screenplay by the unrepentant bachelors against the very institution of marriage -- one even claims he’d rather commit suicide than get hitched, which is only equaled by those who took the plunge and have regrets. And so, the only person who really wants to be in a committed relationship is Alien Bill. But, he has an ulterior motive, remember.





“This was strictly an exploitation picture,” said Fowler. “But there again, I tried to put characterization into the monsters. The so-called monsters, the aliens, were a very sad people … And this premise was kind of sad: these aliens, all of their women had died off, and they were searching the galaxy for women to propagate their race. They were desperate. What they were doing, as far as they were concerned, was very honest and very necessary."


And they also tried to do this as painlessly as possible. Notice how the Andromedan cross-breeding plan would’ve been a helluva lot easier through a mass abduction and experimentation from the safety of their fleet -- like in the later film, Frankenstein Meets the Space Monster (1965). Instead, they come up with an elaborate subterfuge. Was their plan to stay here and just assimilate their way in and keep the species alive? And then take over? Or once these genetic hiccups were resolved, would they take their viable offspring and move on? Who can say for sure. It also makes you wonder if all the bawdy innuendo and implied sex between Marge and Alien Bill was allowed by the censors only because Bill was an alien?


But this also opens up a whole ‘nother can of worms because Marge’s treatment at the hands of all the males in this film is pretty horrific. As I mentioned earlier, it says a lot that no one will believe her or simply writes her accusations off as nothing more than hysteria -- read, raging hormones. And whether it be in service to terrestrial or extraterrestrial, Marge and all the other women are to know their place, be seen, not heard, and their entire purpose in life is nothing more than to make babies to propagate the species. No more. No less. Note how the only human casualty in the film before the climax is the hooker, who uses sex for something other than propagation and is therefore expendable.


As to whom Marge would be better off with, Bill or Alien Bill? Who can say for sure despite the apparent happy reunion at the conclusion. But do we really know what the real Bill was really like? Sure, Alien Bill can tap into his memories through their machines -- whose signals get interrupted whenever there’s an electrical storm, but he never really exploits this properly. And by the time he mentions that he’s learning about what we humans call love, it’s already too late. But I’ve often wondered sometimes if the film had been scripted by, say, Rod Serling, or William Gaines, we’d have an epilogue, perhaps another year later, where we find out that Bill is an abusive, raging alcoholic and Marge still can’t escape this domestic hell. And think about poor Helen, too, when she not only realizes her husband wasn't dead but never wanted to get married in the first place?


Tom Tryon and Gloria Talbott had worked together before a year earlier on the supernatural-tinged Dark of the Moon episode of the anthology TV-series, Matinee Theater, where they play another mismatched couple -- he’s a powerful warlock, she’s a mortal, whose relationship ends in tragedy. Here, they struggled to find some chemistry but I honestly think this unease actually helped the production given the doppelganger plot and how these two essentially become complete strangers. Tryon was just starting to get some traction in his career and honestly wanted no part in making this kind of movie but was contractually obligated. Most reviews point out how wooden his performance is, but was this on purpose? The guy really was into the burgeoning method movement after all.


On the other hand, Talbott was a genre veteran by now having starred in The Cyclops (1957) and The Daughter of Dr. Jekyll (1957). Always a trooper, Talbott would do all that was asked of her and brings a certain grit and realness to Marge, even though she was plagued throughout the production by an abscessed tooth. And her only real complaint was with Vittes, who was so pathological about his dialogue he hung around the set, mouthing his words while the actors spoke them, and would throw a fit if they ever deviated from the script, allowing no improvisations or improvements, causing some tension until Fowler stepped in and had him removed.


As for those alien menaces, they were conceived by Fowler and then built and brought to life by the great Charlie Gemora, who was a noted Hollywood Gorilla-Man, and who had also designed the tri-optic Martians for Byron Haskin’s adaptation for The War of the Worlds (1953). “I designed those monsters,” said Fowler. “And I designed them with only one thing in mind: so I could get rid of the god-damned things. I gave them a vulnerable spot, those tubes on the outside of their bodies, which gave the dogs something to get a hold of."


The production’s budget allowed for the creation of two monster suits -- worn by Gemora and stuntman Joe Gray, who wound up having to wear pants as dictated by a studio mandate. Originally, it was merely some kind of cosmic jockstrap that brought jeers from the cast and was quickly swapped out with a longer set of trousers. To complete the films FX, Fowler turned to optical specialist, John Fulton, who had been doing this kind of thing since his days at Universal in the 1930s, where he worked on damned near all the monster franchises -- matte paintings for Dracula (1931) and Frankenstein (1931), optical tricks for The Mummy (1932), The Invisible Man (1933), and Werewolf of London (1935) and kept at it through House of Frankenstein (1944) and House of Dracula (1945). Here, he added in the transitional smoke effects, the alien’s illumination, the superimposed faces, and the goop for their rather messy demise.





The film was shot in glorious black and white, allowing Fowler and cinematographer Haskell Boggs to give I Married a Monster from Outer Space a rather cool, noirish flare -- epitomized by the constant scenes of Bill lurking in the shadows, spying on Marge, who is always brightly lit, that are extremely effective. They also make excellent use of shadows, and a lack of lighting, and I love how it always seems to be raining or a threat of a thunderstorm, which produces the film’s greatest shock moment. And editing all of this together was George Tomasini, who was the cutter for some of Alfred Hitchcock’s greatest films -- Rear Window (1954), Vertigo (1958), North by Northwest (1959), Psycho (1960), and The Birds (1963). So, he knew what he was doing. And even though his background was in editing, Fowler’s philosophy was to let his editors be and do their own thing, which was good as Tomasini really rings all kinds of tension out of this potboiler.


It was Paramount who wound up financing and distributing I Married a Monster from Outer Space, and it was shot mostly on their lot. When it was finished, it was paired up with Jack H. Harris’ independently produced The Blob (1958), which was quickly switched to the top of the bill because it was both in color and proved more popular. Learning his lesson on I Was a Teenage Werewolf, Fowler negotiated for 25% of the film’s profits as part of his salary but, like so many others, he was cheated out of his fair share when Paramount cooked the books to maximize their own profits.


Sadly, Fowler would only direct three more features after I Married a Monster from Outer Space before his phone stopped ringing. Seems he somehow made it onto the unofficial greylist over a petty dispute concerning the rights of Clair Huffaker’s novel, Flaming Lance, which was eventually adapted into the Elvis Presley vehicle, Flaming Star (1960). But Fowler did continue to direct on the small screen until 1961, and then continued to edit film and TV well into the 1980s. And while his opportunity was limited to just nine films, two are bona fide classics and are case studies in never judging a film by their absurd titles alone.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's NINE films down with 17 yet to go. Up next, Just When You Thought it Was Safe to Go Back to SeaWorld...


I Married a Monster from Outer Space (1958) Paramount Pictures / P: Gene Fowler Jr. / D: Gene Fowler Jr. / W: Louis Vittes / C: Haskell Boggs / E: George Tomasini / M: Franz Waxman / S: Tom Tryon, Gloria Talbott, Robert Ivers, Chuck Wassil, Valerie Allen, Ken Lynch, John Eldredge, Alan Dexter, Jean Carson, Darlene Field

Hubrisween 2020 :: J is for JAWS 3-D (1983)

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We open on the ocean floor, where something glides along that will eventually prove way too big to be fitting through all these narrow nooks and crannies as the camera moves through them, which soon comes upon a school of groupers. Things begin to move a little faster as the camera zeroes in on one particular fish, then a familiar tune cranks up right before the screen flashes red, followed by a cacophony of crunching sounds, trying desperately to add some menace when all we’re left with is just a decapitated fish-head bobbing in the plume of its own viscera.



Cut to near the shoreline, where we see a tell-tale dorsal fin pop-out of the water behind a pyramid of water-skiers, out rehearsing for the pending gala opening of a new multi-million dollar expansion of SeaWorld, Orlando (-- playing itself. Sort of). Here, not realizing the danger they're in, the two gals on top horse around too much, causing the formation to collapse into the water.




From the shark’s perspective, we see a lot of thrashing legs below the surface and a lot of screaming and cursing. But as the shark closes in -- at least according to the music (-- credited to John Williams as the “Shark Theme”), the troupe has recovered and the boat they’re all tethered to hauls them safely out of harm’s way. (Oh, no! This is gonna be JAWS 2 all over again, isn’t it?! Dammit. EAT SOMEBODY ALREADY!!!)




But the shark continues to pursue this mobile buffet line as they veer into a huge artificial lagoon, which is part of that new attraction. And as the underwater gate closes behind them, securing the lagoon for the night, these metal grates get hung up on something -- and something big, causing them to jump their tracks, rendering them useless until somebody fixes this; namely, Mike Brody, the eldest son of Martin and Ellen Brody of the Amity Brodys, whose family has a particularly prickly history with sharks.



Meantime, a press conference is underway, where a SeaWorld representative trumpets the details of the $34-million dollar, four years in the making, Undersea Kingdom expansion of the park, which is highlighted by a series of pressurized glass-topped tunnels that run 40ft below the surface of the water, giving everyone a fish-eyed view of this new attraction, which all lead to a submerged restaurant and lounge area at the center of the lagoon. He then introduces the mastermind behind all of this, one Calvin Bouchard (Gossett Jr.); a flamboyant cajun entrepreneur of dubious background and means as the gathered press are politely asked not to inquire about where all of his wealth came from.


Here, Brouchard welcomes everyone to this sneak preview. He then introduces Philip FitzRoyce (MacCorkindale) and his faithful companion, Jack Tate (Moriarty), who are there for reasons the film isn’t really clear on. The film also can’t quite decide if Bouchard or FitzRoyce are the Mayor Vaughn of this latest entry, and so, they’re both just kind of there. Anyhoo, eventually we glean that FitzRoyce is a world famous wildlife photographer and/or a big game hunter. Or both. Again, film’s a little murky here. Depends on the scene, really, and how big of an asshole he needs to be. And it doesn’t really matter as Bouchard leads them all into the tunnel for free drinks at the Undersea Bar and Grill.



Meanwhile, back at the busted gate. Even though Bouchard paid for all of this, Mike Brody designed and built it with his crew. And so, being the boss, Mike (Quaid) is able to delegate the job to one of his underlings. Turns out Bouchard is also a bit of a tightwad with certain aspects of his money, meaning he won’t pay for any overtime. Thus, since it’s almost Beer O’Clock, Mike orders Shelby Overman (Grant) to just manually chain the gate shut, a temporary fix, and they’ll deal with it in the morning with a fresh 8-hours.


With that taken care of, Brody then seeks out his girlfriend; the park’s head marine biologist, Dr. Kathryn “Kay” Morgan (Armstrong), who is currently taking a ride on Shamu the Killer Whale. She also wanted to give her dolphins a workout, but Cindy and Sandy are acting up and refuse to leave their paddock and enter the lagoon. But Kay doesn’t have time to figure out why because she and Mike are supposed to meet up with his little brother, Sean, who is visiting them over his spring break.




Thus and so, once these two safely tuck away our melodrama quotient for the picture -- with his job nearly done he’s due in Venezuela in a few weeks for another, but she’s still under contract with SeaWorld for another six months, and then there’s that whole fellowship at the Scripps Institute of Oceanography in California, oh no, What will they ever do?!? -- they round up Sean (Putch), who appears to be trying some kind of urban cowboy thing. Truth is, Sean is still suffering from some PTSD from a close encounter he had with a shark in the last movie, where it ate a girl while she tried to save him. And in an effort to deal with this fear and guilt, he chose to go to college in Colorado to get as far away from the ocean as he could. Mike explained all of this to Kay, guaranteeing Sean will most likely never set foot in the water again.



Now, later we will learn that Shelby Overman was a bit of a screw-up -- stress on the “was.” For after goofing off most of the day, most likely flirting with that girl at the souvenir stand behind his old lady’s back, the sun is setting before he finally gets around to chaining-up the main channel gate, which is designed to keep any unwelcome ocean visitors from swimming into the lagoon. Once he submerges, Shelby wrestles the gate closed and padlocks it shut. But then, his mackerel sense starts tingling? Maybe? Whatever. He then keeps whipping around as if something is constantly sneaking up behind him until something actually does.




We then switch back to kill-cam mode, as Shelby’s shattered goggles fall to the sea bottom, only to get artfully hung up on some coral. We then cut to his severed arm, floating in situ in his own gore, as we slowly realize that whatever ate him has also been locked-up on the wrong side of that gate...




After a tumultuous production plagued with technical difficulties that ran them both way over schedule and way over-budget, producers David Brown and Richard Zanuck were really sweating it out during the post-production phase on their latest film as the release date loomed for what was shaping up to be a giant boondoggle. Having scored a smash hit with The Sting (1973), these two were given a lot of rope by the brass at Universal on their big fish movie, based on Peter Benchley’s best selling novel, betting everything they had on a young wunderkind director named Spielberg, whose debut film, The Sugarland Express (1974), also produced by Zanuck and Brown, had laid a giant egg at the box-office just the year before.


History, of course, shows these two were worried over nothing as JAWS (1975) became a runaway smash-hit, annihilating box-office records and indefinitely scaring people out of the water as it went, and officially ushered in the era of summer mega-blockbusters. Thus and so, now with two smash hits under their belts, Zanuck and Brown basically could do whatever the hell they wanted to next. 


But oddly enough, they decided to do a sprawling World War II epic like Zanuck’s dear old dad, Darryl F. Zanuck, used to make for 20th Century Fox -- Twelve O'Clock High (1949), The Longest Day (1962), Tora! Tora! Tora! (1970); a biopic on General Douglas MacArthur, starring Gregory Peck and directed by Joseph Sargent.


Now, Sargent is no Spielberg but MacArthur (1977) wasn’t all that bad, a little dry, but it lacked the all-star cast and visual momentum of the other big war film that year, Richard Attenburough’s A Bridge Too Far (1977). (Nor did it have Joseph E. Levine’s well-oiled publicity machine.) It also had the misfortune of opening in the summer of 1977, where they quickly learned they were kinda hoisted by their own petard as after JAWS people weren’t really going to see movies like MacArthur anymore and were instead flocking to see things like Smokey and the Bandit (1977), Saturday Night Fever (1977), and, of course, Star Wars (1977), which blew everything out of the water that summer, while Spielberg’s follow up without them, Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), came out that winter, which also went way over time and way over budget and nearly bankrupted Columbia, only to wind up saving the studio when it dominated the holiday box-office and beyond.


Thus, MacArthur could only manage 30th place in terms of box-office receipts for 1977, behind even the likes of Kingdom of the Spiders (1977) and Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo (1977), and only slightly better than The Kentucky Fried Movie (1977), which was a new kind of comedy -- a full-frontal spoof, that was about to launch the careers of John Landis, who went on to do National Lampoon’s Animal House (1978), and Jim Abrahams and the Zucker brothers, David and Jerry, who would go on to do Airplane! (1980), another spoof based on the film Zero Hour (1957), which would prove relevant down the road when JAWS franchised-out.


Speaking of that franchise, needing a rebound and needing it fast, Zanuck and Brown were both listening when Universal started making noise about doing a sequel to both JAWS and American Graffiti (1973). And while Zanuck and Brown were quick to sign on, as was George Lucas on the other film, they had a helluva time bringing anyone else back from the original feature. Spielberg wasn’t interested, saying sequels were nothing more than cheap carny tricks, and was now under contract elsewhere; and so, they went with John D. Hancock, who was recommended by screenwriter Howard Sackler, who had contributed to the original film’s script and was now hired on to write the sequel, which he originally envisioned as a prequel involving Quint’s experiences with the sinking of the Indianapolis. This, of course, was rejected by the studio outright and the sequel wound up being about yet another shark once more waging war on Amity Island and the Brodys.


The picture ran into some luck when they were able to get Roy Scheider to return as Sheriff Martin Brody, who agreed to reprise the role only because it would help him get out of his three-picture contract with Universal one picture early. Lorraine Gary would also return as his wife, Ellen, who also just happened to be the real wife of Sid Sheinberg, the current CEO of Universal, who demanded her part be expanded, which went over like a wet-fart with his producers. And this political turmoil behind the scenes along with a mechanical shark that proved just as temperamental as the first soon led to Hancock’s dismissal, who was then replaced by Jeannot Szwarc, who, for a hot minute in the early 1970s, was considered Spielberg’s chief rival as the Next Big Thing in Hollywood. And at some point during the production, Carl Gottlieb was once again brought in to do a massive rewrite on the script, just like he did with the original, working on the fly on location as the film was already well into production. Is it any wonder, then, why the film they were all working on was such a tonal mess?


Anyways, despite the greatest tagline of ever -- Just When You Thought It Was Safe to Go Back In the Water, JAWS 2 (1978) only made about half of what JAWS reeled in at the box-office. Personally, I think it would’ve made more money if the shark had eaten more of those snotty teenagers. (Or maybe a second helicopter.) But that’s just me. Still, that was an awful lot of money and Universal wanted to make more; and so, a second sequel was soon in the works. And here’s where things get a little farcical as this franchise was soon poised to go completely off the rails.


Now, one of the biggest hits of 1978 that also leeched well into 1979 was Animal House, a ground-breaking comedy, which was co-written by Doug Kenney and co-produced by Matty Simmons, the founders of the National Lampoon magazine. And after basically doing the same shark attack movie twice, which other studios by now had ripped-off ad nauseam -- some obviously with films like Tentacles (1977) and Orca (1977), others not so much in films like Grizzly (1976) and The White Buffalo (1977), both Zanuck and Brown felt the franchise, already on the verge of self-parody, needed to go in a new comical direction to breathe some life back into it.


And so, they took Simmons to lunch at the Friar’s Club in New York City and pitched their idea. An intrigued Simmons quickly concocted a scene on the spot, where author Benchley goes for a midnight swim in his pool only to be eaten by a revenge-seeking shark hiding in the chlorinated waters. And from that tiny nugget, National Lampoon’s JAWS 3, People 0 sprung. From there, Zanuck and Brown would back out of the way as executive producers, signing Simmons on to produce the parody, who turned scripting duties over to his Lampoon writers, Tod Carroll and John Hughes, who would go on to oversee the teenage yuppie armageddon of the 1980s with Sixteen Candles (1984), The Breakfast Club (1985), and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986) -- a film whose main character I still contend did more damage to the youth of America than Freddy Krueger, Jason Vorhees, and Michael Myers combined.


I had managed to read this completed script (draft unknown) when it surfaced online about ten years back, which did parody JAWS and the tropes it had entrenched, as well as taking several self-aware pot-shots at studio executives and the movie industry in general. It also wasn’t very good. Alas, all efforts to find it again to confirm this opinion and shore up my faulty memory on what it all entailed has failed. Thus, this is what I remember with a little help from some online reviews of the script.


After an opening salvo where Benchley is indeed eaten mid-dive into his pool, the rest of the script deals with the futile attempt to get yet another JAWS sequel made. (I think Benchley had just finished writing the script for this before he was eaten.) We then cut to a familiar beach party scene, where the head of Mecca Studios lures a young woman out for a swim only to get eaten by that same shark. This untimely death leads to a conflict between his studio underlings, which were thinly disguised versions of Zanuck and Brown, as I read it, who want to take over, and his heirs, who inherited his majority stake in the studio when the mogul died -- some old lady who ran a movie theater out in Idaho with her idiot son, who dreams about making movies while working in a lint factory, who move out to Hollywood and take over the studio and the production of JAWS 3.


And while the faux Zanuck and Brown, here, Bernie and Carl, sabotage their efforts, the son, Sonny, is assisted by a friendly producer named Marylin, who runs interference for him as he works to get the script finished with the help of a bellhop, who concocts a plot where the shark is actually part of an alien invasion. As shooting commences with a guy in a shark costume instead of the always malfunctioning mechanical menace to save money, that real shark continues to eat both cast, crew, and equipment.


Despite the loss of life, delaying the production will cost the studio even more money, and so, Marilyn hires a renown shark hunter named Cockatoo, who is part Quint and part Jacques Cousteau, allowing for a ton of French jokes and gags, to fix the problem, who proclaims the shark is not out for revenge at all but is suffering from Licking Bowl Syndrome, meaning once he ate one member of the production it would not stop until it's eaten them all -- thus, licking the bowl clean.


Cockatoo does manage to catch a shark, but in a parody of a scene from the first film an autopsy of the stomach reveals all kinds of things, including a bag of pot, but no body parts. Alas, further sabotage by Bernie and Carl results in Cockatoo’s death, leaving it up to Sonny and Marilyn to hunt down the shark in the third act and save the production, which premieres back in Idaho with a promise of a JAWS 4 coming soon.


“There’s a million schmucks out there who’ll watch anything,” says the film’s producer in the JAWS 3, People 0 script, which was completed in August of 1979 and sent to Universal, who gave the green-light to develop things further. To direct the picture, Zanuck, Brown and Simmons wanted Joe Dante, who had directed Piranha (1978), one of those JAWS knock-offs, and co-directed Hollywood Boulevard (1976) with Alan Arkush, which had spoofed making movies for Roger Corman’s New World Pictures, making him tailor-made to handle both the action and the humor of JAWS 3, People 0.


Dante was also rumored to direct Orca 2 for Dino de Luarentiss at the time, which failed to ever materialize. As for casting, Stephen Furst was rumored for Sonny and Mariette Hartley for Marylin. Simmons would also later claim Richard Dreyfus and Bo Derek were interested in playing the leads in the film within the film, which required a nude scene from Derek.


But as things progressed, they also started to unravel. There was some friction between Simmons, who was going for an R-rated comedy, and Zanuck and Brown, who wanted to keep the film rated PG. And as things started to languish, Dante officially bowed out to do The Howling (1981). And then, after spending nearly $2-million in pre-production -- the majority of which I think was spent on cocaine, the whole thing fell apart.


The official word from the collective cold feet at Universal was they felt the ultimate direction of the spoof “diluted the brand” too much and was akin to taking a giant dump in your own nest. Simmons always blamed a miffed Spielberg for pulling some strings with Sheinberg to get the production stopped, since he was also portrayed as an unflattering character in the script, who loses most of his limbs to the shark, who only became aware of what was going on when they asked him to cameo as himself. “We should’ve fouled the nest,” said Brown in a later 'making of' interview. “It would have been golden, maybe even platinum.” (A turd is a turd is a turd, I guess. Even a golden one.) After this blow-up, Zanuck and Brown left Universal, vowing to never work for them again. Enter Alan Landsburg.


Now. Landsburg might be a fairly familiar name to all my fellow cryptid and UFOlogy nuts out there. He was a documentarian by trade, whose Alan Landsburg Productions had produced In Search of Ancient Astronauts (1973), The Outer Space Connection (1975), Secrets of the Bermuda Triangle (1978) and Manbeast! Myth or Monster? (1978). 


He was also responsible for several Made for TV Movies in the same vein with things ranging from the Killer Bee movie The Savage Bees (1976), Tarantulas: The Deadly Cargo (1977), and It Happened at Lakewood Manor (1977), where army ants attack a hotel and several celebrity guest stars. Also for the small screen, Landsburg unleashed In Search Of… (1977-1982), one of my all time favorite programs, where host Leonard Nimoy took us on a journey as we explored “lost civilizations, extraterrestrials, myths and monsters, missing persons, magic and witchcraft, and unexplained phenomena."


But it wasn’t always about disputed topics as Landsburg also produced the original Biography series hosted by Mike Wallace back in the 1960s, several National Geographic Specials, The World of Animals, and the TV-series The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau. And there were several other true-life TV Movies, too, which covered the horrors of McCarthyism with Fear on Trial (1975) or the aftermath of the Kennedy assassination in Ruby and Oswald (1978), as well as several biopics like The Jayne Mansfield Story (1980) and Bill (1981). But his most famous work outside cryptid circles would probably be his documentary, Kennedy, The First Thousand Days (1964).


Meanwhile, screenwriter Guerdon Trueblood had written several feature films -- Welcome Home, Soldier Boys (1971), The Candy Snatchers (1973) -- one of the most vile things I have ever witnessed, and The Last Hard Men (1976). He also wrote several seminal Made for TV Movies, including Sole Survivor (1970), a wonderful ghost story involving a lost plane and her crew, who don’t realize they’re already dead, and The Love War (1970), which is an apex example of how weird and demented these things could get back in the 1970s as aliens fight a clandestine war on Earth.


Trueblood also wrote all of those ecological terror telefilms for Landsburg -- Tarantula: The Deadly Cargo, It Happened at Lakewood Manor, The Savage Bees and its sequel, Terror Out of the Sky (1978). He had also written a script where after a hurricane and some massive flooding a great white shark finds itself trapped way up stream in a lake, where it terrorizes and eats several tourists, which would’ve fit right into Landsburg’s MFTV milieu. And this would serve as Landsburg’s pitch to Universal when he licensed the rights to turn this idea into JAWS 3 (1983).


As I’ve firmly established in a couple of earlier reviews, Universal was always extremely litigious when it came to what they thought was their intellectual property. And as another case in point, they had just sued Enzo Castellari’s film Great White (1981) out of theaters right before Landsburg showed-up. Made and released first in Italy as L'ultimo squalo, Castellari had used a quirk in Italian copyright law to basically do an unsanctioned remake of JAWS with elements of JAWS 2 thrown in for good measure. And then Edward Montoro got involved.


Montoro had made a killing in the early 1970s importing and distributing dubbed-over Italian imports, scoring huge hits with the Bud Spencer and Terence Hill slapstick Spaghetti Westerns, They Call Me Trinity (1970) and Trinity is Still My Name (1971), and a rip-off of The Exorcist (1973) called Beyond the Door (1974) for his Film Ventures International. Warner Bros. tried to sue him over Beyond the Door, just as they would do with William Girdler’s Abby (1974). And while the distributors of Abby voluntarily withdrew their film, a blaxploitation spin on demon possession, which had already made back twice its production costs in one weekend, Montoro stuck it out and won his case.


And with that legal victory tucked in his back pocket, feeling brave, Montoro tried again and repackaged L’Ultimo squalo as Great White, even though it basically was just JAWS all over again with the serial numbers filed off. Universal was not amused. And after several injunctions, a Federal judge agreed with their plagiarism claim and the film was pulled from theaters after a massive publicity blitz, sending Montoro and FVI into a financial tailspin it would never recover from.





However, it should be noted that the climax of Great White, where the hero (James Franciscus) triggers some primed explosives held by the half-eaten Quint surrogate (Vic Morrow), stuck in the shark’s gaping maw, was kind of ripped-off in turn by Landsburg and a series of screenwriters, who collectively switched the action from a lake resort to a SeaWorld type tourist attraction during its myriad rewrites and punch-ups once Universal was onboard.


Going through the credits on JAWS 3 shows four total contributors on the script: Peter Benchley, because several characters were suggested by his novel; Trueblood, for his now abandoned story idea that got the ball rolling; Carl Gottlieb, because apparently you can’t have a JAWS movie unless he rewrites the script first; and Richard Matheson, who wrote the first draft adapted from Trueblood’s original idea and made several changes to appease Universal’s demands, including that change of scenery.


The studio also demanded the film revolve around the Brody children, Michael and Sean, in the interest of continuity, since there was no way in hell Scheider would ever return for another sequel -- who went so far as to sign on to do Blue Thunder (1983) to make sure he wasn’t available in case the studio tried to strong-arm him into being in the picture. And while Matheson thought this was a dumb idea, feeling it pigeonholed the story, he found their other demand even dumber: they wanted the shark to be the same one their dad had electrocuted at the end of JAWS 2 for … reasons.


Also quite inexplicably, either Landsburg or Universal demanded a part be written for Mickey Rooney, who wound up being not available and the whole idea was scrapped. Matheson also felt several more hands and their typewriters had a go at doctoring his script, too, judging by the finished film, which, in the end, was starting to resemble a mash-up remake of Revenge of the Creature (1955), where the fabled Gill-Man is captured, put on display at MarineLand, and then goes on a rampage, and Gorgo (1961), where the captured beast only turns out to be the baby and mama monster is about to come looking for him.


“I wrote a very interesting script,” said Matheson in a later interview with Tom Weaver for his book, Science Fiction Stars and Horror Heroes. “And if they had done it right and if it had been directed by somebody who knew how to direct, I think it would have been an excellent movie. Jaws 3 was the only thing Joe Alves ever directed; the man is a very skilled production designer, but as a director, no … It was a waste of time."


Originally, Landsburg had wanted fellow documentarian Murray Lerner to direct JAWS 3 based on his recent 3D short, Sea Dream (1978), which “took you beneath the waves,” where you wound up face to face with a shark and other marine predators as they sought out their prey. Lerner was flattered but took one look at the script and immediately said, No thanks. Alves, meanwhile, had been the production designer on both JAWS and JAWS 2 (and Close Encounters), who was instrumental in the design of Bruce the mechanical shark, and who Variety proclaimed to be the “unsung production hero on both the first two pictures.


It should be noted that when Hancock was first fired off of JAWS 2, before Szwarc took over, Zanuck and Brown kicked-around the idea of having the film co-directed by Alves and Verna Fields, who had served as an editor on JAWS and also deserved a lot of credit for that film’s success. And while I agree with this assessment, as the man produced some cinematic miracles under some very trying circumstances, this was shot-down by the Directors Guild of America (DGA) over The Clint Eastwood Rule, which had instituted a ban on any existing cast or crew members taking over as director during a film's production. This all stemmed from the making of The Outlaw Josey Wales (1976), where Eastwood had the original director, Philip Kaufman, fired off the picture and took over, earning them a hefty fine and a new set of rules from the DGA.


Alves did serve as a second unit director on JAWS 2, and JAWS 3 would, indeed, be his only time in the director’s chair and, well, it’s kinda easy to see why as thing clunk and splutter along be it a shark attack, a massive plot dump, or an attempt at character development as we pick things up in a bar, where Mike is getting an earful from a waitress named Charlene (Starling), who happens to be the late Shelby’s aforementioned old lady, who was upset because he failed to come home after work and wants to know where he is. Mike has no idea. Yet.





Meantime, Sean makes the acquaintance of Kelly Ann Bukowski (Thompson), whom we recognize as one of those gals at the top of the water-skiing pyramid from the opening and is immediately smitten. And, well, turns out there is one thing that will get Sean back into the water as Kelly coaxes him into the shallows of the lagoon for a little canoodling. But this is interrupted when Mike and Kay catch them in the act and playfully roust them out of the water. It’s quite the ruckus -- so much so it drowns out the sound of the shark eating two coral thieves, who had snuck into the park under cover of darkness in a subplot so dumb just to up the shark's kill count that I have already dedicated way too much of this paragraph even bringing it up.





Come the dawn, after a brief but adorable glimpse at Mike and Kay’s homelife -- seriously, these two compromise one of my favorite onscreen power couples, they’re both soon back at work while Sean sleeps off his hangover. Here, Kay has a run in with the pompous FitzRoyce, who is looking for someone in authority and is dumbstruck to find out that person is a lay-dee. Meanwhile, Mike has another run in with Charlene, who dumps all of the still absent and now evicted Shelby’s belongings into his lap.


Fearing the worst, Mike and Kay man the park’s submersible, and in a fairly embarrassing sequence -- FX-wise, we get a tour of the underwater facilities as they putter along, looking for a body, including the establishment of the main control room and nerve center of this operation, whose main observation deck is located well below the waterline.





Following the currents, they can find no trace of Shelby and decide to abandon the sub and take a closer look inside the facsimile of a sunken pirate ship, where the skeleton of Davy Jones himself endlessly waves from his watery grave.




But then Cindy and Sandy suddenly show up out of nowhere, who are still acting up -- almost as if they were trying to warn their favorite handler about something, he typed ominously ... Anyhoo, into the galleon our heroes go, where they are kinda menaced by a moray eel before -- EEK! A great white shark comes crashing into the hold!




Well, maybe not so great as this one appears to be a little fella compared to his other cinematic brethren as it skip-frames along in hot-pursuit as Mike and Kay try to swim away. All seems lost until the dolphins come to the rescue, letting them both hitch a ride on their fins as they break for the safety of their paddock. And once they’re through the gate, it's slammed shut by the help, causing the pursuing shark to pull a Wile E. Coyote as it smashes and pancakes into it.




When word of the attack reaches FitzRoyce, he actually starts salivating over the opportunity to kill the great white on camera and tries to sell this idea to Bouchard, promising him they’ll make a fortune because "shark’s die beautifully when they’re bellies are slit open." Kay, rightfully, is appalled by this notion but is smart enough to angle her own pitch to Bouchard, saying they could garner even more publicity and make even more money if they could keep the shark alive and be the only aquarium to have a great white in captivity, which could be viewed daily by paying customers instead of being killed just once.





Now, my understanding is this was all pretty much a pipe dream on Kay’s part because great whites have not and do not survive in captivity for myriad reasons. But, with dollar signs dancing in his beady eyes, Bouchard gives her the go ahead to try and capture the big fish. FitzRoyce will still be involved, wanting to capture it all on film -- but he will have to leave his anti-shark grenades behind due to the fragile artificial environment of the lagoon and those pressurized glass tubes. And after several suspenseful turns, including a harpoon shot right at the audience, the great white shark is successfully tranquilized, captured, and moved to a holding tank.




Several days pass and Mike is starting to get lonely since Kay is spending all of her time with the so far non-responsive shark (-- easy to see why with its obviously stiff fiberglass origins), either walking it around in the shallow pool or blowing oxygen through its gills with an air-hose to keep it alive. And so, he agrees to pitch-in to spend some quality time with his girl, jumps in the pool, and starts to help her push the shark around when it suddenly thrashes to life! (He’s a dreaded Brody. You think that thing can smell it on him?) Taking this as a good sign, Kay wants a constant vigil kept on the shark at all times, and under no circumstances should anyone do anything to traumatize him. Unfortunately, these orders are totally ignored by Bouchard.




See, today was also the grand opening of the Undersea Kingdom, and while the place is already packed as people watch Shamu, the dolphins, and the water-skiing stunt show, Bouchard feels they can pack even more people in if they put the great white on display. Thus, he countermands Kay’s orders and has the shark moved to one of the display pools.




Meantime, the search for Shelby Overman continues as Mike maps out where they already searched on a giant diorama of the lagoon. Asked if the body could’ve been sucked through the massive filtration pipes that pump a ton of sea water into the lagoon every day, Mike says that’s impossible because the flow of the water is going the wrong way -- or something. Also of note, there are two filtration pipes, and one of them has been malfunctioning for several days now, apparently plugged-up by something, something big -- he typed ominously, again.





Elsewhere, Sean meets up with Kelly, who is in between shifts on the stunt-show, who drags him off to the bumper boats. (You know, when I visited SeaWorld back in 1976, the aquatic stunt show I saw involved a menagerie of DC Comics superheroes water-skiing and performing boat stunts. It was one of the greatest things a six year old could ever see. Here, though, the crowd seems to be stuck watching selected scenes from Lil’ Abner.) Meanwhile, below the waves in those pressurized tubes, visitors are menaced by animatronic tentacles and sea snakes. And when it's announced over the PA-system that a live great white shark is now on display, this brings a distressed Kay on the run, who arrives just in time to watch her prized specimen go belly-up for the last time.




Meanwhile, meanwhile, the search for Shelby concludes rather gruesomely when those same tourists in the tunnel watch in horror as his bloated corpse floats past one of the portals. When these remains are recovered, Mike can barely hold down his lunch when he properly identifies the body, whose many orifices are teeming with squicky marine life. Kay would also like to take a look, to see if her shark was the cause of death. Mike tries to stop her, but she assures if it was a shark attack she’s seen the same kind of carnage before.





But when she pulls the sheet back and takes in the damage, Kay cries out in horror while holding her hands about a yard apart. And then, without a word, she turns and sprints out of the room with Mike right behind her.



Obviously, Kay needs to raise the alarm about something; and to do that she needs to find Bouchard, who is currently in the underwater lounge on the phone with the control room. Seems one of those filtration pumps is about to burn-out due to that obstruction, and so Bouchard orders them to just turn it off to save him the expense of replacing it. This action allows whatever was jammed-up in there to finally dislodge itself and enter the lagoon. He then returns to his party, FitzRoyce and Tate, just as Kay and Mike arrive in a highly agitated state.




Telling them to sit and keep their voices down, Bouchard and the others then listen as Kay reveals Shelby was killed by a shark with a bite radius about a yard long. That’s ridiculous, says FitzRoyce, as that would mean a shark of some 35-feet in length -- nearly twice as big as any great white ever recorded. But it’s true. In fact, the one they caught was a juvenile and was most likely birthed inside the park, just as Shelby was eaten inside the park, meaning mama shark is also inside the park.







And then, almost as if on cue, this theoretical giant mutant shark, who was apparently hiding in that tube this whole time, swims into view for all to see. She then goes on a rampage, damaging one of those tunnels, compromising the seal, causing several air-tight doors to shut as the enclosures flood, trapping about a two-dozen people underwater in one of the anchoring pods with no air supply. Then, the shark swims for the stunt-show.


Meantime, our protagonists split-up to try and save as many as they can. And after a fairly hilarious crash and burn in a stolen golf cart, Mike reaches the staging area for the water-skiers just as the sight of a pursuing dorsal fin causes the pyramid to collapse (-- though the math doesn’t quite add up here given the shark’s length).




But as several boats rush in to save them, the shark loses interest and moves on toward the swimming area and the bumper boats, where it just so happens to draw a bead on the one occupied by Sean and Kelly, capsizing the craft. When it swings around again, Kelly is either bitten or slashed or something, resulting in some massive leg trauma.







But they’re safely hauled to shore by FitzRoyce just as the shark sinks a floating platform, sending another group of people plunging into the water. But then, quite inexplicably, the shark just up and disappears without eating one single solitary person. Some rampage, toots.


Of course the priority now is to save those people trapped in the tunnels. But to do that, they need to fix the breach, then re-pressurize the tunnels so those doors will open, which will allow them to escape to the surface. And this they will have to do with a 35-foot shark lurking about in the murk. Not to worry, says FitzRoyce, because he has a plan. That plan being luring the shark back into that filtration tube where they can trap it and then kill it at his leisure, allowing Mike to make the patch in relative safety.




Now, this plan goes off without a hitch until FitzRoyce’s safety line snaps after he successfully lures the big fish into the pipe, which Tate then seals, allowing the shark to finally eat somebody! Meantime, with Kay watching his back, Mike is able to complete the weld, even as word reaches Bouchard in the control room that FitzRoyce didn’t make it and the monitors show the shark has once more broken loose! And so, the good news is those trapped people managed to escape. The bad news is, the shark is about to eat Mike and Kay only to have their hash saved one last time by Cindy and Sandy, who pound the shark’s gills, allowing them to reach the airlock that leads to the control room.




Meantime, the shark appears to have killed either Cindy or Sandy in the resulting underwater melee. In the control room, Mike and Kay join Bouchard and two technicians, thinking they’re at last safe, not realizing the shark is currently drawing a bead on the observation window!







And here is where JAWS 3 goes completely bonkers, and is so better for it! Shattering the window and flooding the control room, as Mike and Kay struggle to get their scuba gear back on, Bouchard manages to scoop up one of those technicians and escapes to … somewhere?! Meanwhile, that other technician bites the dust most righteously as he is basically bitten in half. The shark also now appears to be apparently stuck in the hole it created. Here, Mike and Kay notice -- get this, FitzRoyce’s corpse stuck in the shark’s mouth. And in his hand is one of those grenades.






Working quickly, Kay tries to distract the beast as Mike makes a crude metal hook to try and snag the pin out of the grenade held by a corpse stuck inside the shark’s mouth. I’m gonna repeat that for clarity. Working quickly, Kay tries to distract the beast as Mike makes a crude metal hook to try and snag the pin out of the grenade held by a corpse stuck inside the shark’s mouth. (As I said, all of this is ringing awfully familiar from not one, but now two, count 'em, two, different familiar sources. More on this in a sec.)




And when Mike miraculously hooks the pin and primes the grenade, he and Kay swim to shelter behind the control console. The shark goes boom! It’s innards fly at the camera until they assume the standard position and float for a bit in the grue.




Then, showing no detrimental effects from the concussive force of that explosion, Mike and Kay swim to the surface, where the sun is rising and our happy ending is punctuated when both dolphins, alive and well, break the surface in the lousiest FX-shot in a film full of lousy FX-shots.




At the dawn of the 1980s, StereoScopic Three Dimensional (3D) pictures suddenly came back into vogue with films like Comin’ at Ya! (1981), Parasite (1982), Treasure of the Four Crowns (1983) and Metalstorm: The Destruction of Jared-Syn (1983). There were also a set of franchise sequels due for Friday the 13th (1980), The Amityville Horror (1979) and, of course, JAWS, who were all serendipitously lined-up numerically in a marketer’s wet-dream to cash-in on this fad, resulting in Friday the 13th: Part III 3-D (1982), Amityville 3-D (1983) and JAWS 3 officially became JAWS 3-D.


The decision to shoot in 3D added a whole ‘nother layer of headaches for the production -- on top of once more dealing with another temperamental mechanical shark. When production began, they used a StereoVision rig which required two cameras. This, of course, led to a lot of ghosting and blurring problems when the film was later screened via two projectors if they didn’t properly sync, something that has always hamstrung the process since the 1950s. But about a week into the shoot, a new single camera ArriVision rig became available, which used a special twin-lens adapter to capture the needed 3D effect, where each 35-mm film frame was split in half horizontally, capturing the left-eye image in the upper half of the frame and the right-eye image in the lower half; a technique known as over/under.


This new process saved a lot of money on the front end and a lot of headaches on the back end. First, it saved a lot of expense because it only needed one camera and one roll of film per take. And once the film reached theaters, it no longer required twin-projectors to make the gimmick work. Instead, all theaters needed was a special prism to combine the images properly, meaning the film could be shown on any projector, on any screen, anywhere.




To save even more money, JAWS 3-D was one of the first productions to use video equipment to combine their special-effects shots instead of the usual optical film printing. Private Stock Effects handled all the video opticals, where the live-action elements were matted in with the miniatures; and they were almost done when Landsburg suddenly panicked. Seems this first generation of video editing equipment was pretty low-res, resulting in images that looked really soft and a little fuzzy around the edges compared to the film stock. At first, since most of these opticals took place underwater it was decided this was okay -- until it wasn’t.


And so, Landsburg freaked-out at the last minute and ordered all the opticals to be redone with the traditional process by Praxis Film Works. Time was not on their side as the release date loomed, meaning over two-thirds of the planned composite shots were just cut from the movie, while others were simplified to make the deadline. Thus, things were rushed, and it shows. Badly, explaining why most of the composite FX-shots and blue-screening in JAWS 3-D look pretty janky, especially with the underwater miniatures or when people are walking in the tunnels of the Undersea Kingdom, which were shot dry for wet. The shark’s final charge into the control room for the climax is both glorious and awful. And if you keep your eyes open, you might even spot a few blank screens in a few portholes that were overlooked or they hoped we wouldn’t notice lurking in the finished film.


The 3D effect itself works okay in a few scenes and not at all in others. When you watch it flat, streaming or on DVD, everyone has a bit of a halo shimmering around them. Everything just looks a bit off. Again, 3D always worked best in a depth of field sense, with things layered from the foreground to the background, where the eyes are given enough time to register this before we cut to the next scene -- which is why rapidly chucking crap at the audience seldom works and leaves little impression.


On the more practical side, from what we see, the mechanical shark behaves itself pretty well this time. Look, it’s obviously fake, I get that, you get that, but there are no real glaring errors or equipment visible in its innards like in JAWS 2 and it only really breaks down in the notorious torpedo scene, where the baby shark telescopes a bit when it rams the gate. This also might’ve been the first time a JAWS movie used a stop-motion miniature of the shark in the movie. I also loved how we get a view from inside the shark’s mouth as it chomps down on the few people it actually does eat.


And once its lodged into the control room, it gets pretty exciting as it munches one of the techs, and Brody tries to hook the grenade grasped in FitzRoyce’s hand as JAWS 3-D not only rips off Castellari but also rips off Ideal Toys for the explosive climax. (Also, please don’t tell ‘em sharks don’t have a reverse gear. It’ll ruin the whole movie.)


As for the cast who had to sell all of this, apparently, if you talk to Dennis Quaid about playing Mike Brody in JAWS 3-D his response usually leans toward, “I was in JAWS what now?” Quaid makes no bones that he had a massive cocaine problem during the shoot. (If you watch him close, he’s got the sweats pretty bad in a couple scenes.) Still, even if he can’t remember making it, he’s pretty great in it, always in the moment, no matter how ridiculous it may be. He also has great chemistry with Bess Armstrong, who is so adorable I can’t even even as the no-nonsense Kay. And these two add a lot of juice to Alves’ otherwise lackluster efforts.




This was also Lea Thompson’s big screen debut, but she honestly doesn’t leave much of an impression. John Putch, as little brother Sean, doesn’t leave much of one either, except with all the baggage he carries about getting back into the water after what happened to his character in the last movie. The same cannot be said for Simon MacCorkindale, however, who competes something fierce with Louis Gossett Jr. over who could make their characters the most ridiculous by the film's end. There’s also a pretty good Manimal joke to make when FitzRoyce gets eaten, where we wonder if he tastes like everything. Also a special shout-out to, I think, P.T. Horn if I’m gleaning the credits right, the tour guide who keeps everyone calm and focused when they get trapped in the flooded tunnel. A small part, but she nailed it.





JAWS 3-D was also almost the first R-rated picture in the franchise, too. Seems the censors objected to the violence and protracted deaths of several characters as they were eaten -- singling out the bone-crunching sound-effects, and they were pretty gruesome. And protracted. The whole sound-design on this film, headed by Gordon Ecker, was actually pretty great. I really dug how the sound was distorted when we cut underwater, where people’s screams are diffused in the liquid. It’s creepy, and adds to the dread of what’s lurking below. Now, it does break down a  bit when they basically anthropomorphized the dolphin's chatter as they try to warn our heroes about the shark. And in one instance one of them basically exclaimed "Uh-oh!" But Landsburg made the necessary cuts to get a PG rating, but I’m sure JAWS 3-D could be added to the pile of Dreamscape (1984), Gremlins (1984) and Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984), which caused the birth of the PG-13 rating.

When the film was first released in July, 1983, one month after Return of the Jedi (1983), JAWS 3-D did pretty well on its opening weekend but saw a precipitous fall-off the following week. And then it was just gone, pulled from theaters with no real explanation as to why. I like to think Castellari counter-sued them over that ending, or maybe SeaWorld was threatening to sue over defamation, but who can say for sure.


Now, I have a strange and somewhat sordid history with this franchise. I first saw JAWS when my parents unwittingly dumped their children off for a weekend matinee back in ‘75. I first saw JAWS 2 when my siblings talked my grandparents into taking us all to see it when they convinced my grandfather it was a movie about fishing in ‘78. And then I saw JAWS 3-D all by myself in ‘83 at the old Imperial 3. Sneaking into town on a school permit, I remember wearing the glasses, I remember the stupid fish head, I remember the skeleton waving at me, and I will never forget the climax with the charge and the bang and the boom and the detritus of the shark’s innards floating before my eyes.


This probably goes a long way in why I consider JAWS 3-D to be the best sequel of the franchise -- not saying a whole lot, sure, when all you have to compare it to is the second, where again, not enough people get eaten, and the total shit-show known as JAWS the Revenge (1987), where Lorraine Gary finally got to be the star of the picture, which, technically, retconned JAWS 3-D out of existence. Fie and pfui on that, I say. The schlock could not save the fourth entry because it failed to truly embrace it, but the schlock totally greased the wheels on JAWS 3-D and made it go. And I am here for that, Boils and Ghouls. So c’mon in, the water’s fine. And full of sharks. Big ones.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's TEN films down with 16 yet to go. Up next, How to Lose Your Head at College Without Even Trying.


JAWS 3-D (1983) Alan Landsburg Productions :: Universal Pictures / EP: Alan Landsburg, Howard Lipstone / P: Rupert Hitzig / AP: David R. Kappes / LP: Ed Horwitz / D: Joe Alves / W: Richard Matheson, Carl Gottlieb, Guerdon Trueblood (Story), Peter Benchley (Novel) / C: James A. Contner / E: Corky Ehlers, Randy Roberts / M: Alan Parker / S: Dennis Quaid, Bess Armstrong, Simon MacCorkindale, Louis Gossett Jr., John Putch, Lea Thompson, Harry Grant, Dolores Starling

Hubrisween 2020 :: K is for Killer Party (1986)

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After fading in and finding ourselves lurking in a spooky cemetery, we then creep among the fallen leaves and fog-enshrouded headstones until we’re lured into a chapel, where we observe four mourners and the world’s most perkiest priest gathered around the coffin of the late Annabelle Koslow.



And once Father Flamboyant (Keurvorst) finishes off a litany of platitudes for those in mourning -- most of them highly inappropriate, given the circumstances, he escorts them out when the services come to an end. But Koslow’s daughter-in-law, Stephanie (Hanna), lingers behind, saying she’d like to say a few last words to dearest Annabelle in private.




However, it’s not a tearful goodbye she wishes to bestow, but a spiteful curse and a hope the vindictive old bat will now spend an eternity burning in hell. Always one to have the last word, the coffin suddenly bursts open and Annabelle’s corpse reaches out, seizes Stephanie, and pulls her inside. And as the lid slams shut, the coffin is suddenly lowered into the basement, where we discover this is not only a chapel but also a crematorium!



And as Stephanie continues to scream and struggle with the deceased, the dipstick in charge of this place can’t hear or notice this ruckus for reasons dumb enough to only make this scenario work as he pushes the coffin into the furnace, where he finally realizes too late that someone inside it was still alive!




Cut to a drive-in theater, where we quickly suss out that what we’ve seen thus far was just a movie tucked inside another movie as a girl named April (Kiraly) intently watches as all of this plays out on the big screen instead of reciprocating with her grab-fanny boyfriend, Stosh (Coppola), who wants to take things well past third base. Not quite ready to make that mad dash for home-plate just yet, April strategically withdraws to go for some popcorn but finds the snack-bar totally deserted. Everything appears normal enough but there’s an eerie sheen as she calls for service, and then helps herself to a free bucket of buttery goodness when no one answers.



Returning to the car, Stosh isn’t there, which is a bit of a relief at first. But as April resumes watching the movie and munches on some popcorn, her boyfriend suddenly looms into view outside the passenger side window, who raises a knife, grimaces, and starts drooling uncontrollably. And on closer inspection, Stosh really doesn’t appear to be normal anymore as he lunges for her. 




Here, April manages to make her escape but starts running into more and more ghouls and zombies, who chase her around with murderous intent until they all suddenly … start … dancing?! And then a hair metal band appears and starts jamming out as the drive-in transforms into a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Wait. What?!



Ah, no, I see. Check this. Not only are we in a movie tucked inside another movie but it’s all been a framing device for a heavy metal music video! And we’re still not done peeling back those meta-layers just yet as White Sister wraps up “You’re No Fool” and we breach one last layer to see a girl named Phoebe (Wilkes) was watching this movie tucked inside another movie that was really a framing device for a music video on her TV this whole time.



Anyhoo, Phoebe is running a little behind when her two best friends, Jennifer and Vivia, show up but they eventually bike on over to the campus of Briggs College, where Hell Week is just about to wrap up for those pledging a fraternity or sorority, including our trio of gals, who hope to make the cut with Sigma Alpha Pi. 




And while the bubbly Phoebe and the adorably nerdy Vivia (Willis-Burch) are eager to get in, a wary Jennifer (Johnson) is starting to have second thoughts -- mostly due to the fact the final initiation of Goat Night will take place in the long abandoned and dilapidated Pratt House, from which many a creepy campus urban legend has sprung over the two decades since it was last occupied and shuttered-up for reasons the film isn’t quite ready to reveal just yet.




Meantime, we learn the girls of Sigma Alpha Pi are currently in the middle of a holy war with the boys of Beta Tau -- a war the Betas are currently winning, who just pulled off a very elaborate prank on the Pis that involved a false delivery of champagne, stealing a door-knob, a jar of angry bees, a hot-tub full of naked sorority girls, and capturing the resulting mayhem on film. Realizing they’ve once more been had, Veronica (Fleer), the president of Sigma Alpha Pi, vows to take revenge on Albert Harrison (Brown) and his rowdy, beer-swilling Beta Tau brood.



Meanwhile, Mrs. Henshaw (Hyatt), the house-mother of Sigma Alpha Pi, who reluctantly agreed to allow Veronica to hold Goat Night at the Pratt House as one of her last acts before retiring, pays a visit on the old house -- more specifically, a memorial marker located in the backyard, where she apologizes to a boy named Alan, whom the stone commemorates, saying it’s been 20-years since “the accident” and to please leave Veronica and the others alone because it’s well past time to forgive and forget what happened here and, apparently, to him.



Well, someone disagrees with this assessment as the old woman moves inside the house, digs out a hammer and some nails, and sets about to make a few repairs -- not realizing she has been stalked around the grounds this whole time. And while Mrs. Henshaw seems to recognize whoever it was following her, when they finally make their presence known, she never expected them to promptly beat her to death with a Greek Paddle, setting the stage for the bloodbath yet to come -- well, eventually...




“Everyone thinks of me as a horror director -- exploitation, but it didn’t start out that way,” said writer, director, and producer William Fruet in an interview with David Grove for the June, 2002, issue of Fangoria Magazine. Born in Lethbridge, Alberta, in 1933, Fruet attended The National Theater School of Canada in Montreal and made his big-screen debut as an actor in Don Haldane’s Drylanders (1963), a “moving drama of pioneer courage in the Canadian west."


Then, Fruet shifted behind the scenes, starting as a screenwriter, which first begat Goin' Down the Road (1970), a coming of age cautionary tale, which he co-wrote with Donald Shebib, who also produced and directed, where two friends leave rural Nova Scotia for the big city only to find Toronto wasn’t all it was cracked up to be and start getting wistfully homesick. He teamed up with Shebib again for Rip-Off (1971), which was kind of in the same, navel-gazing vein, where four high school seniors face their last summer together after graduation and a future that will see them spread to the four winds. He also wrote Slipstream (1973) for David Acomba, where the DJ of a remote pirate radio station in the Canadian wilderness faces off against the wheels of progress.


Fruet made his directorial debut with Wedding in White (1972), which he adapted from his own stage-play. A loosely autobiographical period piece set in the small town where he grew up during World War II, the film revolves around a father (Donald Pleasance) who feels he must save his family’s reputation after his daughter (Carol Kane) is raped by a friend of her brother’s while on leave from the army and becomes pregnant. The film would go on to win Best Picture at the Canadian Film Awards. But as Fruet pointed out in that same interview, critical praise and awards doesn’t always equal box-office receipts and, well, I guy has got to eat.


Thus, Fruet’s career took an abrupt left turn into genre filmmaking, beginning with Death Weekend (1976). Released in the States as The House by the Lake, Fruet had actually written the script for this thriller several years prior, which was based on a road rage incident where the screenwriter was harassed by a car full of drunken hooligans who tried to run him off the road. He then combined this encounter with a true crime case involving a home invasion, where a dentist and his family were assaulted and robbed by a group of similar thugs he’d managed to piss off. “I’d written that script and thrown it in my drawer, because I thought it was garbage,” said Fruet.


But when Straw Dogs (1971) was released and became a hit, Fruet dug the script back out. Seeing this type of rape and revenge picture as distasteful but highly marketable, after sitting on it for several years as not to look like he was trying to cash-in, Fruet at last struck a deal with John Dunning and Cinepix for financing, who had just finished releasing David Cronenberg's Shivers (1975) -- a/k/a They Came from Within. They assigned Ivan Reitman to produce the picture, who would go on to produce Animal House (1978), and direct Meatballs (1979), Stripes (1981) and Ghostbusters (1984), and Cinepix would secure distribution in the States with Sam Arkoff through American International Pictures.


To his credit, Fruet weeds out most of the sleaziness and focuses on creating atmosphere and tension instead when an unscrupulous playboy connives to get a pretty model (Brenda Vacarro) all alone at his secluded lake house, only to draw the unwanted ire of a pack of degenerates (led by Don Stroud), who track them down at that house. What follows is a war of nerves as the girl is reduced to a sexual pawn to be used and abused until she finally takes matters into her own hands. The production ran into a bit of a snag when Vacarro was nominated for an Oscar for her role in Jacquelin Susan’s Once is Not Enough (1975) after she committed to this seedy exploitation film, and then tried very hard to back-out at the last minute. Once she got on board, though, she was fine and delivered a very memorable performance.


The House by the Lake proved a hit, Fruet had some traction, and followed it up with Search and Destroy (1979), a tale of a Vietnam veteran who is wrongfully accused of killing off his old squad and must clear his name before it's too late. Next came Funeral Home (1982), which was another in a long line of Canadian Tax Shelter-funded slasher movies -- Happy Birthday to Me (1981), My Bloody Valentine (1981). Shot in 1980, the film’s meager budget of $500,000 allowed for four murders, and so, Fruet went for a Hitchcockian vibe instead but these low-key thrills and a lack of visceral chills found his producers furious, who shelved the film for two years before finally releasing it.


In Baker County, USA (1982), a group of friends traveling the back-roads witness a redneck murdering his wife’s lover and go on the run before he catches up to them. Fruet also adapted Brent Monahan and Michael Mary’s novel, Death Bite, where a taipan, the world's deadliest snake, goes on a rampage, resulting in Spasms (1983), where Oliver Reed shares a psychic connection with a living snake god. And while it sported special make-up effects by the legendary Dick Smith, the production was plagued by a mechanical snake that didn’t want to cooperate. Neither did ticket-buyers.


And then, after directing the erotic thriller Bedroom Eyes (1984), Fruet was approached by producers Kenneth Kaufman and Michael Lepiner, who were mostly known for Made for TV Movies up to that point, who wanted him to direct a feature for them, The April Fools. Scripted by Barry Cohen, who had just finished up with Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter (1984), and who would go on to write the pilot Nick Knight (1988), concerning a vampire detective, which spun off into series as Forever Knight (1992-1997), the film would be financed by the stodgy MGM as they desperately tried to find their way into the youth market with films like Strange Brew (1983) and Once Bitten (1985).




And what Fruet and Cohen managed to concoct is a bit of an odd duck. One part boner comedy, one part murder mystery, one part serial slasher, it was already a bit over-loaded, and yet, surprise, their film has yet even more revelations tucked up its sleeve as it moves along in fits and spurts as it tries to be all of those things at once and, to their credit, almost succeeds. Almost.



Where it fails the most catastrophically are with any attempts to churn up some red herring during the build-up to all the blood-letting in the coming third act, starting with whoever is wearing a certain pair of ratty sneakers and apparently suffering from a bad case of athlete’s foot -- so we’ll be referring to them as Itchy Feet, who constantly keeps Phoebe, Vivia, and especially Jennifer under constant clandestine surveillance as Veronica and her sisters put the screws to them as part of the weeklong hazing ritual, requiring them to answer any query for the whole day with “I myself prefer a big fat cucumber” -- be it fellow student or faculty, leading to all kinds of double-entendre with their lit instructor, Professor Zito (Bartel), who is not amused and feels all Greek houses should be banned.




The trio is also required to break into the rival frat house to steal some Beta Tau branded t-shirts to wear during Goat Night. And if they fail, they face the prospect of going through the final initiation ritual wearing nothing at all. They run into some luck when the Beta house proves unlocked and apparently empty. But as they prowl around, Jennifer gets caught by a co-ed named Blake (Hewitt), quickly concocts a story that she’s there to get a kiss as part of a hazing ritual, providing the distraction the others needed to successfully complete their mission.



Later, when Jennifer is trailed all the way back to her apartment, it’s revealed that Itchy Feet was really the nebbish Martin (Seymour) all along, who always sat behind Jennifer in lit-class and finally got brave enough to try and ask her out on a date, where they can discuss the sexual politics of Madame Bovary.



Jennifer is very diplomatic when explaining she’s not interested and asks him to leave, saying she has somewhere to be. But turns out Martin knows all about the Pis holding Goat Night at the Pratt House. He then takes a massive plot-dump, revealing why the old fraternity house was shut down when a pledge was accidentally killed there during a hazing ritual. There’s even a rumor the victim was buried in the backyard and the marker is actually a tombstone. Then, rejected wholesale, before he leaves, Martin asks if Vivia is seeing anyone. And if not, he asks for her phone number before being shoved out the door.





Later that night, as the Pis and their three pledges gather at the Pratt House, the final initiation begins, with Phoebe, Vivia and Jennifer forced to eat “goat eyeballs” without retching, and then catch several egg yolks dropped into their mouths without spilling or swallowing anything -- which Jennifer fails, requiring a mass-spanking. (Hooray!) But between whacks, the lights suddenly start flickering and several doors start slamming shut.




Assuming it’s just the Betas pulling another prank, this notion quickly goes out the window when the poltergeist activity escalates as candles blow out, bottles shatter, and the furniture starts moving around. And then, when an angry voice calls out from the basement, warning them all to leave or else, they’d be happy to oblige but all the doors and windows prove locked.




Trapped, Vivia takes charge, calms everyone down, and then heads into the basement to get to the bottom of this. Others try to follow but the door slams shut behind her, then Vivia screams for help as she is attacked by something below as the door swings back open.



And when the others head down the steps to investigate, they find Vivia tied to a guillotine, who tries to warn the others to stay away too late as the rigged blade falls, decapitating her. And while the others scream, the loose head bounds down the steps and is picked up by whoever was down there, who turns out to be none other than … Vivia?! Let her explain:



See, this was all part of a very elaborate prank staged by Vivia, with some help from Phoebe and, I think, Jennifer, as a bit of revenge for all the shenanigans they were put through during Hell Week -- and the only thing to lose their head was a dummy made up to look like her.  



Surprisingly, Veronica is not all that upset by these turn of events. No, quite the contrary. In fact, all three will be accepted into Sigma Alpha Pi -- only Veronica makes it perfectly clear to Vivia that the only reason she got in was because Veronica wants her to pull the exact same stunt on the Beta Taus next spring during the annual April Fool’s Day mixer, which is also scheduled to be held at the Pratt House.



Thus, time passes, rather clumsily, and we pick things up at a meeting of the Greek Council. In attendance among others are Veronica and Albert, representing their houses, and the meeting is presided over by Professor Zito, who has just taken over this role and promises a crackdown on all of the hazing and pranks. Seems he was a witness 20-years ago when Alan was killed, revealing he was accidentally decapitated by a guillotine as part of an April Fool’s Day gag gone terribly wrong, which was confiscated by the college at the time but has since gone missing -- I think we’re supposed to assume Vivia stole this to use in her prank, which is kinda vital to the plot to come, but the film is a little vague on that.



And this incident left such a bad impression on Zito, along with all the other strange occurrences that have happened at the Pratt House ever since, he was against reinstating the Greek system altogether when it was revived several years ago after being banned in the fallout of this tragedy. Once he’s done speechifying, the meeting then ends with a safety film on the Horrors of Hazing but Albert had someone sub-in a copy of the bee prank from earlier, drawing the wrath of Veronica, who once again swears vengeance is coming on him and all of his fellow frat-rats.



Thus, as April 1st draws near, Vivia, Phoebe and Jennifer head to the Pratt House to set-up the prank. Seems after her talk with Martin, Jennifer has been busy researching both the house and the pledge who died, saying he was into the occult and echoes Zito’s claims of strange and evil things happening here, even stories of people entering the house never to be heard from again! But Vivia scoffs at this, saying it’s just campus scuttlebutt and ghost stories to frighten freshmen with, no more, no less.



But as Vivia keeps tinkering with her equipment, Jennifer seems to come under some kind of spell as her eyes roll back and her body spasms only to quickly snap out of it when Vivia hears something and fears its rats. But it's only Blake, there to make sure the electricity is working. And it should be noted over the last few months Blake and Jennifer have been seeing each other -- again, at least the movie wants us to assume so, I think. Maybe. Whatever.




Once they’re done, they leave, though no one happens to notice the body of Mrs. Henshaw tucked away in the corner of the basement. (You’d think after five months the smell would be pretty atrocious.) But don’t worry, she won’t be lonely as Zito shows up after the others clear out. Suspicious of what those pesky kids were up to, he finds the guillotine and the electrical switches to make it work. Then, someone joins him in the basement. Again, Zito recognizes whoever this is before they stick a live-wire into his ear, electrocuting him instantly.




When the night of the big shindig arrives, Vivia sneaks in Martin, dressed in drag, into what turns out to be a masquerade party. (Seems these two have also become an item in the interim, though Martin is still clearly hung up on Jennifer.) Since the Pis are hosting this shindig, it falls onto their newest members to handle the menial tasks, with Phoebe sent to the kitchen, Jennifer on litter patrol, and Vivia is herded into the basement to make sure everything is ready for later.



Both Jennifer and Phoebe goof-off with Blake and Albert respectively, the latter getting caught by Veronica, who warns Phoebe to stay away from Albert because they are a thing, too? Maybe. C’mon, movie. Help a guy out a little, here?! Aw, screw it. It’s not gonna matter in about five minutes anyway.




Thus and so, as the party progresses -- one could argue degenerates, Veronica announces it’s time to vote for the King and Queen of the Masquerade. But then things go awry, just like before, as bottles break, doors slam shut and lock, and furniture starts moving on its own. A mass panic ensues, where they all discover they’re trapped inside the house. Then, Jennifer hears a demonic voice calling her name, before she is seized by some form of malevolent spirit, knocked to the ground, and then sucked into the basement with the door slamming shut right behind her.




As everyone freaks out upstairs, downstairs we see this was a new, and highly elaborate, wrinkle in Vivia’s prank -- though she has no idea what Jennifer is talking about when asked how she managed to pull that spooky voice off; not realizing Jennifer has once more come under some kind of spell. Meantime, upstairs, the panic has escalated to the point that it has come to blows between Blake and Albert, which escalates even further when Blake pulls a knife and stabs the other man to death.




Well, turns out this was all deliberately staged as the Beta Tau boys were several steps ahead of the Pis once again and hijacked their prank with one of their own. But as everyone gets back to their beers, or pairing off and snogging, Jennifer is starting to get a little freaked-out about the voices she’s been hearing all night, fearing they’ve stirred something up in this house and feels they all need to leave but she’s quickly shouted down by Phoebe and Vivia, who encourage her to find Blake and have some fun.




Meanwhile, upstairs, someone dressed-up in a deep-sea diver’s rig uses his trident to stab an unsuspecting Pi. And with that, the body count in this "alleged" body count flick at long last begins in earnest as the killer moves on and harpoons a couple of Taus, and then beats Veronica to death with a hammer. 




Elsewhere, in his efforts to find Vivia, a drunken Martin notices the marker in the backyard has been broken in half. In the basement, Albert impatiently waits to meet up with Phoebe -- only the killer shows up instead, and he winds up stuck on the chopping block as the blade falls, decapitating him.




In the kitchen, Vivia, looking for a snack, makes a grisly discovery in the fridge, which is chock full of dismembered pieces of Martin. She then flees into the living room and runs into Phoebe, who doesn’t believe her at first until they slowly discover more bodies or body parts as they desperately look for Jennifer; only to realize everyone else who attended the party is now dead, including Blake; drowned in the bathtub; last seen with Jennifer, who had lured him into the bathroom.




Speaking of which, the other two finally find Jennifer, who reveals she was possessed by Alan this whole time and she was the one who killed all the others under his demonic influence.




And as the host rages, screaming for them to get out of this house, she flexes her psionic muscles by tearing the interior of the house apart and then scurries up the walls and along the ceiling as Vivia and Phoebe desperately search for a way out.



And whenever they seem to get the upper-hand on their pursuer, Jennifer reverts to normal and begs for their help.




But this is always a trick as the chase continues up to the roof, which the possessed Jennifer knocks Vivia off of, who plummets to the ground, shattering both of her legs.




Meanwhile, Phoebe manages to scramble down and tries to help her friend, but Jennifer jumps from the roof and lands unharmed in between them. Here, Phoebe takes up a piece of wood and uses it to beat Jennifer until she collapses. 




Once more, Jennifer seemingly reverts to normal, but I believe it’s sincere this time when she begs her friend to finish her off before Alan once more takes control. With that, a tearful Phoebe plunges the splintered wood into Jennifer, killing the host and her best friend.



But just when we think it's finally over, it isn’t as Phoebe asks why Alan chose to possess Jennifer. Vivia isn’t sure. Maybe because their friend was the only one who didn’t want to be here in the first place. With that, something comes over Phoebe, something bad, just like Jennifer, as she starts chastising Vivia, saying this was all her fault for bringing the guillotine back to the house and awakening the spirit of Alan, who is now possessing Phoebe.





But before she can kill Vivia, the cops arrive, who then mistake them both for victims of some deranged killer, saving Vivia for the moment. Until she is strapped to a gurney and loaded into the back of an ambulance with Phoebe, despite her pleas not to be left alone with her, who smiles sinisterly as the doors are slammed shut and the vehicle speeds away.







I guess if you looked at it in the broadest of terms, you could kind of frame what Fruet and Cohen were shooting for as an all-out spoof with The April Fools, poking fun at a lot of well-established and by now well-worn Slasher Movie tropes: keeping a suspect’s identity a secret by only showing their shoes, but in this case they have athlete’s foot; taking the layers within layers opening of He Knows You’re Alone (1980) and adding several more layers on top of it; making the killer’s signature look somewhat ridiculous -- and also turning him into a Scooby-Doo villain, who sure looks like the Ghost of Captain Cutler to me; and keeping the killer’s signature kills completely off-screen. Yup. Except for Professor Zito, we don’t see a single person killed in this movie as the camera consistently and constantly cuts away from the carnage the exact moment “Alan” struck.




Of course, there weren’t a whole lot of deaths to begin with until that climactic bloodless-bath, where the film takes another abrupt left-turn, where it abandons its Boner Comedy and Slasher Movie set-up and jumps straight into what Joe Bob Briggs always referred to as a Spam in a Cabin flick, as we head into Evil Dead (1981) territory when Alan or a demon summoned by Alan possesses our heroine. A bold move, that I can respect -- though Briggs, apparently, did not.


It might’ve also been interesting to spread those kills around a bit, and maybe have Alan possessing a few more people to do his bidding to sow even more confusion. Of course, this would’ve short-circuited the film’s twist ending as they stuck another tired trope in the Slasher Movie’s ear by making the normal Final Girl the villain all along, and Alan jumping to Phoebe when his original host died would’ve been spoiled, so, we’ll call that a wash.




Well, whatever you want to call it or whatever they were thinking with all these subverted expectations, it wasn’t at all what MGM had wanted. “They had no idea what kind of movie we were making,” said Fruet. “When they found out, they dropped it like a hot potato … Basically MGM thought it was a comedy and when they found out it was horror, what with the guillotine scene and all, they just buried the film."


Shot in 1984 along Sorority Row in Toronto, The April Fools was shelved until 1986 by the studio, where it finally received a very limited theatrical release. But before it hit theaters, a title change was in order due to the subsequent release of Fred Walton’s April Fool’s Day (1986). And after it was advertised briefly as Fool’s Night the title was officially changed to Killer Party (1986) for its brief time in theaters before being sold off to home video and basic cable, where it soon became a staple on USA’s Up All Night, where I first became acquainted with the film and kinda fell in love with it -- mostly due to the likeable characters and its totally bonkers ending.




Star Joanna Johnson was about to embark on a ten year run on the daytime soap, The Bold and the Beautiful, and she’s pretty fearless as Jennifer and totally committed to the role when the shit hits the fan, when we all become very well acquainted with her tongue as she wags it around, drooling over everything. Hard to tell where her work ends and the stunt woman takes over, too, as she takes a lot of punishment. Sherry Willis-Burch only has two credits according to the IMDB, this and Final Exam (1981), a more traditional slasher, and I wish she had done more as she is completely adorable as the multi-talented, industrious, and no time for bullshit, Vivia.




I think the production’s “big get” was top-billed Martin Hewitt, who starred opposite Brooke Shields in the somewhat notorious, Endless Love (1981). Elaine Wilkes is a bit of a third wheel as Phoebe, but is plenty creepy once the big twist on the twist hits. Always fun to see Paul Bartel lurking around, too, who duels with Ralph Seymour as the film’s comedy relief. As for everyone else? Well, they’re just kinda there to be nothing more than cannon fodder when the film starts making up for lost time, and at ludicrous speed, too, which I guess could be considered yet another dig on Slasher Tropes because who these people are / were wasn’t important, just how they died.



But! It should be noted that mass slaughter pile-up at the end and the cutaway kills weren’t what they had originally intended. Seems when Killer Party was completed back in 1984 it got caught up in the MPAA’s backlash on horror films after the ruination of Christmas with the release of Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984), among others, who hammered the film, requiring many cuts to get the needed R-Rating, which also went a long way in getting it shelved.


Originally, the deaths were spaced out a little better and more elaborate -- at least according to the press materials, which showed a character skewered on the trident and a dismembered hand. But once they were all neutered, they decided to just re-edit the whole film and have them all happen en masse to clear the house for the climax.




As I said before, I kinda love this movie, but I also kinda want to really love this movie, too, but can’t. Not quite. I can respect what Fruet and Cohen pulled off, here, but they might’ve been a little too clever for their own good by saving almost everything for the last twenty minutes of Killer Party, where the film excels as something strange and truly unique in terms of genre. And they should thank their cast, too, because they’re the only real reason why anyone would even bother sticking around long enough to see what they had been holding up their sleeve this whole time.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's 11 films down with 15 yet to go. Up next, Beware the Booger!


Killer Party (1986) Marquis :: Polar Entertainment :: Telecom Entertainment :: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM)/ EP: Kenneth Kaufman / P: Michael Lepiner / AP: Grace Gilroy / CP: Marjorie Kalins / D: William Fruet / W: Barney Cohen / C: John Lindley / E: Eric Albertson / M: John Beal / S: Joanna Johnson, Sherry Willis-Burch, Elaine Wilkes, Martin Hewitt, Ralph Seymour, Alicia Fleer, Woody Brown, Pam Hyatt, Elizabeth Hanna, Derek Keurvorst, Danielle Kiraly, Scott Coppola, Paul Bartel

Hubrisween 2020 :: L is for The Legend of Boggy Creek (1972)

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We open in darkness with a dubious disclaimer, warning the viewer that what we are about to see is based on a true story, with the majority of the people in the picture actually portraying themselves in the interest of authenticity and, in most cases, at the actual location which spawned these coming testimonials.




And then, when the camera suddenly comes to life, giving us a sweeping pan of some water-logged marsh, all we hear are the ambient noises of these wetlands; insects, nutrias, frogs and lots of birds, doing what insects, nutrias, frogs and lots of birds do. But as our serene tour of nature continues, an ominous wind starts to blow; then, this natural, almost-droning animal symphony is shattered by a strange, guttural howl that doesn't really fit any of these indigenous critters, bringing all other noise to an abrupt stop. Was that the wind? The howling sounds again, scaring all the other animals off. No. It was definitely not the wind.




Cut to a young boy, running hell bent for the horizon through a sea of grass, away from the marshes and those strange and terrible noises. He pauses to look back and scan the tree line, keeping a watchful eye out for something. But, he sees nothing. Yet. More running, then, as the boy runs, and runs, and runs, until finally making the main road and a filling station, where he finds the man he’s been looking for, Willie Smith, gabbing with a few other locals.



Told he was sent by his mom to get help because there was a "wild man" prowling around their house again, Smith and the others laugh -- seems it’s the third time this week the boy’s mother has seen a “monster" lurking about their property. This lack of credence and credulity would also probably explain why there is no sense of concern or urgency when they just send the messenger back home with the barest of notions to check out their place sometime tomorrow.




With that, the boy shrugs and beats feet back the way he came, racing the setting sun to get home before dark. And though he does make it back in time, barely, before he can get inside the house proper, the boy hears those primal screams again. And as those unnatural sounds reverberate through the surrounding bogs and marshes, an older narrator finally chimes in, claiming to be that boy, and how this was his first encounter with the legendary Fouke Monster, a Sasquatch like creature, back when he was seven years old.




And this harrowing encounter scared him then, and it still scares him to this very day as the narrator (Stierman) continues, giving us some background information on the area and the nickel tour of Fouke, Arkansas (circa 1972); a small agricultural community of about 300 people just south of Texarkana and about 50 miles north of Shreveport, Louisiana, which will be the setting of our cryptozoological tale.




Surrounded by wetlands, creeks and rivers that often flood and inundate the surrounding woods, this makes the area around Fouke almost impenetrable and unwilling to give up its mysteries. And that, our narrator ominously intones, explains why Fouke is a nice and peaceful place to live -- until the sun goes down...





Back in the newly minted summer of 1971 it was a slow news day at the offices of The Texarkana Gazette. April had just given way to May and the inundating heat and humidity of the changing seasons was already establishing a foothold when reporter Jim Powell received a call from his friend, Dave Hall. Now, Hall was the news director at Texarkana's KTFS radio station, who had just received word that something odd was going on down the road apiece in the little town of Fouke. With nothing else to cover, both reporters followed the news trail to the rented home of Mr. Robert “Bobby” Ford about 8 miles south of Fouke just off U.S. Highway 71, where he and his family were quickly packing all their belongings into a U-Haul, determined to vacate the area as soon as possible. Obviously, the family was scared. But of what? And why? Well, that’s when this breaking story took a very strange and sinister turn.


"I'm not staying here anymore unless they kill that thing," said Ford’s wife, Elizabeth. As for her husband, he said he’d had it and they were all moving back to Ashdown. Now, Bobby and Elizabeth Ford had only moved into the old secluded Crank house with their children just five days prior to this inciting incident, and shared occupancy with Ford’s brother, Don, his wife Patricia, their children, and a visiting family friend, Charles Taylor. And according to the report Powell would later file and publish in the Monday, May 3, 1971, edition of The Texarkana Gazette it all began a few days prior, when, on Wednesday, April 28, while the men were away, their wives heard something big prowling around on the porch, who ignored their queries, but this went no further. But two nights later, on Friday, April 30, whatever it was had returned -- and this time, it tried to break into the house.


“I saw the curtain moving on the front window and a hand sticking through it,” testified Elizabeth Ford in Powell’s article. “At first I thought it was a bear's paw but it didn't look like that. It had heavy hair all over it and it had claws. I could see its eyes. They looked like coals of fire, real red," she said. "It didn't make any noise. Except you could hear it breathing." Shouting for the menfolk, by the time they mobilized the intruder had once more disappeared and a search of the grounds found no trace of it.



Turns out this was all just a preamble for a true night of terror when this nocturnal visitor returned yet again late Saturday night, May 1, around midnight, and once more tried to gain entrance into the house -- only this time, the men were armed and ready for it. Bobby Ford reported they spotted the creature in the backyard, catching it in a pool of light from a flashlight. “We shot at it several times,” said Ford, sure they had hit the thing, but it would not fall. When it disappeared, they phoned the Miller County Sheriff's Department, who dispatched Constable Ernest Walraven.



Walraven arrived on scene at about 12:35 am on Sunday, May 2, took a statement, searched the area, but didn’t find anything. "I looked through the surrounding fields and woods for about an hour,” said Walraven. As things quieted down, and figuring some kind of wild cat was responsible, before he left, Walraven lent the Fords his shotgun and a better flashlight, as they intended to keep a vigil for the rest of the night, and said to call if the “animal” came back again. It did.



And this time, it allegedly kicked the back door in before it fled. Here, the Ford brothers and Taylor shot at it again, seven times in total. This time, their target seemed to fall as it disappeared back into the trees and the three men hastily pursued to check on the carcass and discover just exactly what in the hell it was they had been shooting at all night. Like his wife, at first, “I thought it was a bear,” said Ford, “but it runs upright and moves real fast.” Ford would later describe the creature as being at least seven feet tall and about three feet wide, shaped like a man, but covered in long brown hair. But as they searched around for a blood trail, none could be found. Then, the men heard the women shouting back at the house and Bobby Ford was sent back to see what was wrong.



"I was walking the rungs of a ladder to get up on the porch when the thing grabbed me,” Ford later testified. “I felt a hairy arm come over my shoulder and the next thing I knew we were on the ground. The thing was breathing real hard and his eyes were about the size of a half dollar and real red.” When Ford did manage to break free, he ran around to the front of the house, away from the creature. “The only thing I could think about was to get out of there. After the thing grabbed me and I broke free, I was moving so fast I didn't stop to open the door. I just ran through it," he said. Hearing the ruckus, the other two men also returned to the house but were too late. "We heard Bobby shouting and by the time we got there everything was over. We didn't see a thing," Don Ford said. And Bobby Ford concluded, “I don't know where he went."


After this harrowing close encounter with the, hell, whatever it was, the besieged house was quickly abandoned and the entire Ford clan drove into Texarkana and St. Michael Hospital, where Bobby Ford was treated for “minor abrasions and mild shock” before he was released. The family then contacted Walraven again to relate what had happened in the interim. He returned to the house with several other constables, and remained there until 5am. Nothing else happened.


Walraven added that several years prior residents of Jonesville, about six miles southwest of Fouke, also reported seeing a "hairy monster" in the area. "Several persons saw the thing and shot at it, some from close range. They said nothing seemed to stop it. They described it as being about seven feet tall and looking just like a naked man covered with brown hair," Walraven said.


As the sun came up, some tangible evidence was revealed: the toppled door; a few claw-marks in the exterior woodwork of the porch; several pieces of tin violently torn from the foundation; a punctured window screen; broken tree limbs and trampled saplings; but the most curious thing were some elongated, three-toed footprints found at the scene, which were corroborated, somewhat, in a later documented sighting a few weeks later. (See photos below.) But in the end, "Members of my department searched the area but didn't find a thing. I don't know what it could've been," Sheriff Leslie Greer said.


Amazingly enough, both the AP and UPI wire services picked up Powell’s newsflash and the tale of "The Fouke Monster" soon became a national sensation. And soon after, the little town of Fouke was overrun by a cryptid-addled public, hoping to catch a glimpse of America's newest folk legend. But like its cousin, the Sasquatch, the creature remained maddeningly elusive.


Now, it should be noted this recent rash of sightings weren't the first appearance of this creature. No. There had been sightings of the beast as far back as 1908; walking along the creek bed here, crossing the road there, slaughtering a few pigs now and again, and at least one documented case of the creature attacking someone while they were taking a crap in an outhouse. 


Some say it's all a hoax. Others say it's a gorilla or an orangutan that escaped from a derailed circus train. Who knows for sure. But sometimes, usually at night, something big and hairy crawls out of the wetlands along the Boggy Creek and prowls the house-trailers and shot-gun shacks around Fouke and its surrounding community, growling and shrieking and making a general nuisance of itself.


Geographically speaking, Boggy Creek runs nearly the whole length of Miller County, Arkansas. A distributary of the Sulphur River, it runs a winding, serpentine course from the Texas border to the east, branching off into several other creeks -- Mill Creek, Chicken Creek, cutting under Highway 71 and I-49, through thick woodlands, but also through pastures and farmlands, expanding into several reuse irrigation pits before flowing on until it eventually comes to an end just past the junction of Williams Road and the County 40 blacktop near the border with neighboring Lafayette County.


And over the years since these first sightings near its occluded banks began, a general description of this local legend solidified: tall, ape-like features, covered in long brown hair, three toes, three fingered claws, supernaturally fast, with fiery red eyes. But strangely enough, with over 100-years of sightings, unlike its other cryptid brethren, no known photos or film of the Fouke Monster, or Boggy Creek Monster, disputed or faked, exist -- well, with one notable exception. Sort of.


See, one individual who wanted to cash-in on and exploit this rash of sightings was Texarkana's very own Charles Bryant Pierce. Pierce was a local, as he grew up in the nearby town of Hampton, Arkansas, where he and his best friend, Harry Thomason, spent their youth making Super-8 home movies together. Fascinated by the medium of moving pictures, Pierce decided to make this his profession. 


He landed his first job as an art director for KTAL-TV in Shreveport, Louisiana, in the mid 1960s, where he was later promoted to weatherman and played Mayor Chuckles, the host of a children’s cartoon show, The Laffalot Club. And after bouncing around TV stations in Louisiana, Arkansas, and Texas, Pierce finally settled in Texarkana, bought himself a 16mm camera, and went into the advertising business, where he made industrial shorts and commercials for local businesses and eateries.


Thomason, meanwhile, had pretty much followed the same career path but took it one step further by writing, directing, and producing his own feature; the paranormal thriller, Encounter With the Unknown (1972), which was filmed in and around Little Rock, Arkansas, and made a tidy profit on the initial regional roll-out before being picked up by American National Enterprises and released nationally.


Inspired by his old friend’s success, Pierce felt he could also shoot a movie locally and also make some of that money. Originally, he had intended to do a western based on a script written by his friend, Earl C. Smith. The two then went to Hollywood to try to find financing and round up some actors. But then, while driving down Sunset Boulevard they spotted something odd. “I saw some hippies with t-shirts walking along the street. On the shirts was written, Save the Fouke Monster, so I started checking out how much publicity there had been about it,” Pierce said in an August, 1972, interview with Lane Crockett for The Shreveport Journal. Pierce added it was originally intended as an hour-long TV special, but after more research there was enough to make a feature film.Thus, the western was out, and the local legend was in.


In a later interview with the Arkansas-Democratic Gazette in 2008, Pierce said, “Just the thought of a Bigfoot was enough to give people the willies back then,” and had been since the Patterson-Gimlin footage first came to light in late 1967. (It’s true. I was there, and remember being one of millions of Bigfoot-addled sentients. Even Bro’ Smith’s “Bigfoot” novelty song gave me the drizzles. Sing it with me, “Bigfoot’s comin’ gonna getcha gonna getcha…”) And so, Fouke’s very own Bigfoot -- which Pierce affectionately dubbed “The Booger” would be the focus of his film, an ersatz nature documentary, based in “fact,” under the shooting title of Tracking the Fouke Monster.


To finance the project, Pierce started looking for investors and turned to one of his biggest advertising clients, Ledwell and Son Enterprises, an outfit out of Texarkana, Texas, which had specialized in custom built trailers and flatbeds since the 1940s. And when Pierce approached the owner, L.W. "Buddy" Ledwell, and made his pitch, Ledwell wasn’t completely sold on the idea at first but came around and ponied up $100,000, which earned Ledwell an executive producer’s credit.


As I mentioned in my review of Pierce’s later film, The Town that Dreaded Sundown (1976), those who worked with the eccentric writer, producer and director over the years always complimented him on his unbridled enthusiasm but also admitted Pierce really didn’t know what he was doing half the time. However, he always knew exactly what he wanted and usually got it on film -- by any means necessary. And what he got after heading out into the wilderness in October, 1971, with a borrowed and very ancient (but Techniscope-capable) camera, shooting for nearly six months, serving as his own cinematographer, with an inexperienced crew of nine high schoolers, was something truly unique and borderline unprecedented: The Legend of Boggy Creek (1972).


For Pierce, despite his inexperience, really tapped into something with this faux, fact-or-fiction docudrama, using a scholarly narrator to give it some weight and an air of authenticity, employing flashbacks and local raconteurs to drive his narrative, achieving a folksy verisimilitude -- all on top of some beautiful cinematography, which captures the whole hick mise en scene and lets audiences feel the heat and humidity of the wetlands and bogs, smell the peat moss, be mesmerized by the chorus of insects, and feel all those psychosomatic skeeter bites, making the mundane feel menacing and pushing the whole enterprise into something that felt like it should’ve been shown on PBS and not at the Drive-In. Well, at least until the third act when things go a little bit … bonkers.


And we’ll be addressing that pants-on-fire climax in a sec, trust me; but before that last reel hit, audiences weren’t really sure where Earl E. Smith’s script ended and the recollecting began as these locals narrated several dramatic reenactments of their own harrowing encounters with some truly fascinating results:





Willie Smith soon learned his lesson for doubting the creature's existence. John Hixon saw it jump a fence and ramble across his yard; and the beast killed two of John Oates' prized hogs. When Fred Crabtree saw it bathing itself in a creek, he couldn't bring himself to shoot the thing because he thought it might be a man. Later that same day, his brother James also caught a glimpse of the creature roaming the woods. 






On another night, it prowled around the Searcy house, scaring the hell out of the womenfolk trapped inside, where they watched and listened, horrified, to the strange grunting noises the creature made as it circled closer and closer to their house until the attack culminated with the monster scaring the family cat to death!



As these sightings of the beast continued, the testimonials kept piling up, too, until, one day, a young hunter stumbled upon the creature, who fired off several rounds, apparently wounding the beast. And while the monster howled in pain, the boy quickly abandoned his gun, ran for help, and, after changing his soiled britches, gathered up some friends and returned to the spot of the shooting -- but it was too late, the monster was long gone. However, there was evidence left behind as several stout trees had been snapped off or uprooted. Also, a blood trail was found but it led to nothing. And worse yet, in all the excitement, no samples were collected or saved for later analysis.




Thus, as sightings and encounters continued to mount, a massive search was finally organized to try and flush the thing out. But these efforts failed miserably because all the well-trained hunting dogs shied away from the scent and refused to track the creature due to it's awful odor (-- one of the few defining characteristics the Fouke Monster does have in common with its acrid Sasquatch cousins).




However, after this organized attempt to catch or kill it fizzled, the creature wasn't spotted again for nearly eight years. To help bridge this gap, the film shifts gears and throttles back for some more nature footage and another extended tour of those marshlands while Pierce, himself, warbles a ballad he concocted about The Booger’s place in the circle of life -- or something. Again, this should not work but it totally does.




After, we shift into yet another gear because it’s finally time to hear from the skeptics, who don’t believe the creature really exists. Old Herb is one such skeptic, and a real cranky one at that. Having lived out in the boonies in a shanty for over twenty years, and having blown part of his foot off with a shotgun in a "boating accident" establishing his bona fides, in all that time Old Herb has never seen this Fouke Monster and thinks it's all a load of bull-twaddle. Well, Herb, you'd better tell that to the monster because he's back again -- and developed a taste for chicken, apparently, as we watch him run amok inside a chicken coop.




But of all the accounts heard thus far, the hardest evidence of the creature's existence was a trail of strange, three-toed tracks found in a bean field, preserved in plaster by William Kennedy. According to his testimony, Kennedy had never actually seen the creature but always felt uneasy -- like he was being watched, while working in that particular field. Interviewed by several experts, who ask if he thinks the Fouke Monster could be a Sasquatch, Kennedy doesn't even know what that is. When they explain it to him, he still isn't sure but these experts don't believe there's a connection because a Sasquatch’s footprints are much bigger and have five toes. These same experts also rule out a gorilla or an orangutan.



So what is it then? No one can say for sure. But whatever it was, the sightings continue to escalate as a group of children drag their mother out to see a monster they spotted down by the creek. Of course, she doesn't believe them; but sure enough, there it is and they all flee in screaming terror.





Here, the film notes there seems to be something different about this latest rash of sightings: the creature appears to be growing more belligerent and more brazen in it's attacks; moving out of the bogs and circling ever closer to civilization; and after it harasses a group of teenage girls at a slumber party, the narrator theorizes perhaps the creature is the last of its kind, and therefore, must be very lonely (-- and looking for a little nookie, perhaps? Git your hands off’n our wimmenfolk, you dern Kumquatch, you!). And having struck out at the slumber party, the creature takes it's frustration out on a couple of tethered dogs by tearing the hide clean off of them. Relating the carnage, the angered owner vows bloody revenge against the creature if he ever runs into it again.


And with that, we finally reach that climax and the film’s showpiece as the creature’s rash behavior culminates with a reenactment of the siege and attack on the Ford family home. Like with his adaptation of the Phantom Killer’s murder spree in The Town that Dreaded Sundown, Pierce plays pretty loose with the facts, such as they were reported, when relating his tale. In his condensed version, the Fords (Garruth, Dees) share the home with the (fabricated) Turner family (O’Brien, Coble), because both men were recently hired to work on a nearby ranch, explaining why they weren’t around and their wives and children were home alone when the first attack occurred.





Hearing the creature lurking about outside, circling the house, those guttural grunts getting closer and closer, the creature eventually makes its way onto the porch. But luckily for those trapped inside, the critter doesn't quite grasp the concept of a door knob and is thwarted. When the men finally come home, this is enough to scare the intruder off. But it returned the very next night and started probing through the windows.




This time, the men were home, who rounded up their guns and drove it away with a hailstorm of buckshot. They also call in the Sheriff, who dispatches a deputy (Walraven, as himself), but can find no evidence of the creature they described. Though he assures it was most likely just a cougar, the deputy sees the occupants are truly and genuinely scared. And so, he offers them another shotgun for more protection and promises to return in the morning when the light is better to track down the rogue animal -- whatever it may be.




Thus, as things simmer down, the Fords and Turners settle in for the night. But things don't stay quiet for long when one of the men uses the restroom, allowing the creature to attack him through a window! After beating it back, the men rush outside, spot the creature with their flashlights, and fire several rounds until it falls out of sight. 




Cautiously, they leave the lit porch to try and follow it. Behind them, in the house, the women are needling well past hysterical; and when Bobby Ford tries to quiet them down so he can hear, he's jumped and savaged by the creature!




Here, Pierce makes his one and only tactical mistake, revealing too much, breaking the film’s spell, as the off-the-rack costume shop origins of his creature are painfully obvious because we can easily see it's just a plain old gorilla suit, with eye-holes in the mask big enough we can clearly see the stuntman who’s wearing it underneath as Ford manages to break away, flee, and crash through the front door to get away from those *ahem* “claws and teeth.” Once he’s safely clear, Turner opens fire, driving the monster off yet again. Only this time, before it can come back, the families abandon the house, vowing to never return again.



With that, our film then ends with the narrator revisiting his long-abandoned childhood home, where he first heard the creature's mournful howl those many years ago. What was the creature after that night at the Ford's house, he asks? Who knows for sure. But one thing he is certain of, is that the monster is still out there, somewhere, lurking in the backwaters and creeks around Fouke to this very day.




So, How big was Bigfoot-mania back in the 1970s, really, for those of you who were not there to partake in it? Well, if you’ll pardon a personal anecdote, when Star Wars (1977) first came out, me and my friends were ecstatic because we were under the mistaken assumption from the previews, posters, and comics that Chewbacca was a Space Bigfoot, and dare I say, a little disappointed when we found out he was just a Wookie. And a big contributing factor to all of this mass-cryptid psychosis was the surprising box-office success of The Legend of Boggy Creek, which literally came out of nowhere.


In an interview with Daniel Kremer in Filmmaker Magazine in 2017, Pierce’s daughter, Amanda Squitiero, said of her father, “He really did believe that the Fouke Monster existed, so he thought that the documentary form best suited it. I think he also knew it would be scarier if people had to consider the possible truth of everything."




Kremer continued on this thread, writing, “To elaborate on the motives behind Pierce’s structural design, the on-camera interviews unfold much like folk stories, giving the film the rich, resonating impact of oral history. Boggy Creek is a cross-genre essay on collective memory and shared experience, and specifically how memory and common experience can unite and forever bind communities. This gives the interspersed horror sequences an unexpected weight. And this notion of oral history and heritage would furnish Pierce with a sense of thematics that pervade all his work."





When Pierce wrapped principal photography in April, 1972, he packed all of his exposed film into the trunk of his car and headed west; destination, a lab in Burbank, California, for processing. He would stay in Los Angeles for the entire post-production, assisted by editor, Tom Boutross -- The Hideous Sun Demon (1958), Rat Fink (1968), and landed a huge coup when he struck up a friendship with composer Jaime Mendoza-Nava, which netted him a beautiful, rustic, old-timey score for his docudrama, which both grounds the film and provides the glue that holds Pierce’s lofty narrative notions together and pushed it forward whenever it teetered toward schlock or even self-parody at times. Pierce also made the right choice when he commissioned Ralph McQuarrie to design his essential poster art, who produced a simple but highly provocative one sheet.


When the film was finished, Pierce shopped The Legend of Boggy Creek around to several second-tier studios, looking for a distribution deal, but found no takers. And so, he returned to Arkansas, where he tried to four-wall it with several local chains but was once again rebuffed. Undaunted, Pierce rented an abandoned movie theater in Texarkana; and after a little clean-up and renovation, exhibited the film himself, coaxing family and friends to stand in line for tickets, then go inside, swap out clothes, sneak out the back, and then get in line again to help lure in the curious.


It worked, word of mouth spread, the film had legs, with box-office receipts of around $50,000, drawing the attention of Joy Houck and Howco International Pictures; a conglomeration of several southern theater chain owners who got into the production and distribution business in the 1950s, who agreed to release the film nationally; first in the rural drive-ins and then into urban hard-tops, where it went on to earn over $25-million in ticket sales, which put it in the Top-10 in grosses for 1972 right beside the likes of The Poseidon Adventure, Deep Throat, and Deliverance. Not too bad for a small regional film made by a guy who didn’t know what he was doing -- but apparently did.


And with the film's financial success, others were quick to follow, inspiring a rash of exploitative films and pseudo-documentaries on other cryptids that helped fuel the fire of that Bigfoot-Mania sweeping the country at the time -- Shriek of the Mutilated (1974), The Mysterious Monsters (1975), Creature from Black Lake (1976), and The Legend of Bigfoot (1976), but none managed to capture the alchemy Pierce achieved both artistically or financially with The Legend of Boggy Creek.




Pierce's matter-of-fact style, coupled with a keen cinematographer’s eye, and a knack for cagey staging in the reenactments, somehow, puts the hypno-whammy on your brain, making even the most jaded viewer actually believe this stuff is not only possible but plausible.


Right from the beginning, the film's opening sequence really grabs you and sets the tone as you watch the young boy (played by Pierce’s son, Timothy,) running through the tall brush and weeds, where he stops -- ever so suddenly -- to peer back to make sure nothing is following him; and with the editing and Nava’s ominous soundtrack wheedling into your brain, you suddenly find yourself urging the kid to keep moving; and faster at that, because you're feeling just as exposed as he is when he gets hung up on a fence. 





For despite being out in the open country, the atmosphere of dread is as thick as the chorus of mosquitoes drowning out the soundtrack. And as the camera teases you along, keeping the boy in frame to the right, just so, it appears he's never quite out of danger and something could loom into frame from the left and overtake him at any second.




And this is where The Legend of Boggy Creek excels, keeping the actual sightings to nothing more than brief or obscured glimpses. And that’s why, for me at least, the film kinda falls apart in the third act when it moves away from Pierce’s strengths as a filmmaker and exposes his weaknesses as we shift from a documentary to pure exploitation film with the attack and siege on the Ford house. From a technical stand-point, it’s sound enough -- and even has a few suspenseful turns, but the actors can’t quite pull it off; and then it’s all nearly undone completely with that lingering shot on the shoddy gorilla costume worn by Keith Crabtree.


Somewhat ironically, Pierce resolved this issue with a much better creature costume in the long awaited sequel, Boggy Creek II: The Legend Continues (1984), but his attempt to recapture the oral documentarian vibe of the original falls flat as the narrative of a college professor (Pierce) and his students heading out into the wilderness to prove the creature exists to tie all of these flashback encounters together is pretty risible. It should also be noted that Pierce had nothing to do with Tom Moore’s Return to Boggy Creek (1977), which boasted both Dana Plato and Dawn Wells and a less belligerent monster doing good deeds.


However, Pierce did recapture some of that magic with The Town that Dreaded Sundown, which was based on another local legend -- though it was less a documentary and more of a procedural but no less effective. And then he completed his southern-fried horror trilogy with the equally fulfilling The Evictors (1979) for American International Pictures.


All told, Pierce parlayed the financial success of The Legend of Boggy Creek into producing and directing about a dozen regional features in total; most were elegiac westerns -- Winterhawk (1974), The Winds of Autumn (1976), Grayeagle (1977); but there was also some hicksploitation -- Bootleggers (1974); and his notorious historical epic, The Norseman (1978), where a group of vikings led by Lee Majors reach the new world and make war with the natives, which, upon reflection, really comes off as a feature length version of one of those old “Less Filling, Tastes Great” Miller Lite All-Star beer commercials dressed up in horned helmets and furs.


Personally, I don't need that much convincing when it comes to this crypto-zoological stuff, but I'm just weird that way. I like the idea of cryptids, not necessarily in their actual existence. Don't get me wrong, The Legend of Boggy Creek has plenty of snark value -- and it’s easy enough to snark over the toothless bumpkin and inbred yahoo factor, but coming from a rural background myself I tend to bristle at such notions. 


As Pierce told Dala McKinnsey in a 1972 interview for the Associated Press, “We intend, under no circumstances, to humiliate these people. We are going to tell it as they tell us.” And I personally think the film overachieves well beyond this threshold.





And that's what you should be hoping for in this type of pseudo-cryptid-documentary of this era. Those scenes where John or Jane Q tells you about how it all started out as just another normal day; and we follow them around for awhile; and then the camera pans on past them -- ever so slightly, and, WHAMMO! Holy shit! There it is! The creature suddenly comes into focus and is looking right at you. Sure, you may laugh later, but if you had that little knot of dread in the pit of your stomach right before you got that first glimpse, that is what separates The Legend of Boggy Creek from others of its ilk.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's 12 films down with 14 yet to go. Up next, Get Your Passports Ready because We're Off to the Isle of Evil for a Convention of Notable Notables and a Boisterous Bash You Will Never Forget. 


The Legend of Boggy Creek (1972) P&L :: Howco International Pictures / EP: L.W. Ledwell / P: Charles B. Pierce / AP: Earl E. Smith / D: Charles B. Pierce / W: Earl E. Smith / C: Charles B. Pierce / E: Tom Boutross / M: Jaime Mendoza-Nava / S: Vern Stierman, Chuck Pierce Jr., William Stumpp, Willie E. Smith, John P. Hixon, Louise Searcy

Hubrisween 2020 :: M is for Mad Monster Party? (1967)

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Our destination today is the Isle of Evil as we make our way from the beach, through a jungle, to a spooky old castle at its center -- specifically, the highest parapet, which houses the lab of Baron Von Frankenstein, where the mad doctor is currently putting the finishing touch on his latest creation.




Fiddling with a beaker full of some strange liquid, the Baron (Karloff) zaps it with an electrical charge, creating a new isotope. And as the liquid ominously glows, its creator decides to field test this concoction by dabbing a small amount onto his pet raven before releasing it out a window. Watching as it flutters to a distant tree, when it gently attempts to land this triggers the volatile chemical which violently detonates -- complete with a large mushroom cloud! Quoth the raven, nevermore, I guess.




With his experiment a rousing success, the Baron has now mastered both the power of creation (his Monster) and the power of complete destruction (this new explosive). And so, he wants to triumphantly announce and celebrate this breakthrough with his fellow monster brethren as soon as possible. And to that end, the Baron hastily sends out a batch of invitations for a party via bat couriers -- a party the maddest of mad scientists swears they’ll never forget!



And when his Monster, lying on it's slab, getting a recharge -- here, affectionately dubbed Fang, groans in agreement, a James Bondian theme cranks up, powered by the massive pipes of Ethel Ennis, as we’re introduced to the Baron's associates as those bats go postal and track them down all over the world:



From his sandy tomb in the deserts of Egypt comes the Mummy; in Paris, we find the Hunchback ringing his bells; a little further east in Transylvania, Count Dracula eagerly sharpens his teeth with a nail file in preparation; meantime, they find the Invisible Man in an abandoned house (-- with a bunch of empty liquor bottles lying around, which makes me wonder if this was an inside joke. The first of many inside jokes yet to come, I'd wager).



Elsewhere, out in the country, the Werewolf bays at the moon in excitement; moving next to the foggy streets of London, Dr Jekyll gets his invitation, drinks his potion, and transforms into Mr. Hyde; and then the last bat drops an invitation into a murky lagoon, almost black, where it sinks to the bottom and into the waiting flippers of the Gillman. All are excited, and all will attend the Baron’s bash.



Meanwhile, in an unnamed city, a bumbling pharmacist's assistant by the name of Felix Flankin (Swift), gets into trouble with his boss again. Allergic to nearly everything, apparently, Felix has a bad habit of accidentally destroying the store during his concussive sneezing fits. Also coming off as a bit of a hypochondriac, our boy Felix has his own special concoction for these allergy attacks; and after each episode, he quickly over-medicates himself -- so it’s no wonder the guy’s more than a little jittery.



Oddly enough, Felix also receives an invitation to the Baron’s party; "a gathering of notables" on the Isle of Evil (-- waitasecond. Isle of Evil? I love evil? Ahhhhhh, I see what you did there). And since it’s fairly obvious Felix isn’t the brightest bulb in the world, it's no surprise when he mistakes this gathering for a pharmacist’s convention at some posh Caribbean resort. Regardless, his beleaguered boss gladly gives this walking disaster-area a week off to attend; in fact, he insists Felix take the whole month off.



Back at Frankenstein’s Castle, the Monster’s Mate catches Fang lustfully watching the Baron’s shapely secretary, Francesca, and warns if his eyes ever wander on those twin torpedoes again, she’ll pluck ‘em out and keep them in a jar for a week -- just like she did the last time. Still, the Bride (Diller) loves the big brute -- so much so she sings him a song. (It’s a Rankin ‘n’ Bass animated feature. Duh-doi.)



Meantime, Francesca (Garnett) reports to the Baron that all the monsters have RSVP’d except for IT. But before we can find out who or what an IT is, the Baron says he wasn’t invited because IT was such a royal pain in the ass at the last social he’s been permanently banned from the island.



Now, Francesca also received notice that a Felix Flankin will also be attending, which makes the Baron very happy. And when a confused Francesca asks what kind of monster this stranger is, he admits Felix is a mere human; and how he disguised the real nature of the gathering so Felix wouldn’t be frightened off. You see, Felix is the Baron’s only living relative; the son of his sister -- the white sheep of the family, he says, who ran off to the United States with a traveling salesman. Apparently, the Baron plans to announce his retirement, name his nephew as his successor, and then turn all of his secrets of life and death over to Felix, making him the new leader of the monsters.



Totally livid over this revelation, feeling she is the rightful heir to the Baron’s legacy, not some mortal milksop, Francesca immediately starts to plot to bump this Felix Flanken off. But to pull this off properly, she’s gonna need some help. And luckily for her, a whole lot of help is currently on the way...



Back in 1955, Arthur Rankin Jr. was an art director for the American Broadcasting Company (ABC) when he was first introduced to Jules Bass through a mutual friend at a mixer. Bass was a composer and lyricist for an advertising agency at the time; and together, they decided to form their own company, Videocraft International, to produce commercials for the rapidly expanding TV-market.


As the company moved into the 1960s, inspired by George Pal's Puppetoon shorts, Rankin and Bass decided to expand beyond commercials and make a holiday special in the same, stop-motion animated vein. The result was the wildly successful Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, which captured over 50% of the nation's television screens during its prime-time premiere in 1964. And with that success, others soon came calling, hoping to cash in on that Rankin-Bass "Animagic."


One such person with a piqued interest was Joseph E. Levine, a mini-movie mogul based out of Boston, Mass, who made his bones importing and repackaging foreign films like Godzilla: King of the Monsters (1956) and Hercules (1958) that were quickly devoured by the American market, who quickly signed the fledgling company to a three picture deal for his Embassy Pictures.


Following the all but forgotten The Daydreamer (1966), based on the tales of Hans Christian Anderson, and the equally elapsed Wacky World of Mother Goose (1967), the studio decided to return to a holiday theme, hoping to recapture some of Rudolph's magic. And picking the Halloween subject matter for that pivotal third project proved a no-brainer as the country was once more in the grips of yet another surge of Monster-Mania.


On the tube, The Addams Family and The Munsters were ratings winners, and The Gruesomes had just moved in next door to The Flintstones; and all those hair-brained drive-in monster-bashes from the 1950s were just starting to circulate on the tube, along with those old standards from Universal’s back catalog, which provided the basis for about 95% of the characters for the spooktacular romp, Mad Monster Party? (1967).


And to connect with those old fright flicks even more, the production scored a real bonus when Boris Karloff signed on to voice Baron Frankenstein, who was just coming off another holiday-themed smash, serving as the narrator for Chuck Jones’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas (1966). Also in the cast was comedian Phylis Diller as the Monster’s Mate, who was encouraged to work part of her nightclub act into her character to help flesh it out.


Actress and singer Gale Garnett added a luscious kick to the lovely Francesca. And the rest of the cast was basically rounded-out by one guy -- Allen Swift, who, on top of Felix, provided voices for all the other monsters. And it won’t take sharp ears to hear how the talented mimic imbued each creature and character with a famous actor’s voice: Jimmy Stewart, Sydney Greenstreet, Charles Laughton, Fredric March and Bela Lugosi are all lampooned by Swift.


And with a little help from a few more familiar names, who really put the MAD in Mad Monster Party?, this raucous and rambunctious entry in the Rankin-Bass universe was soon revved-up and ready to go as the action shifts to the docks of some unknown port city, where the S.S. Herring is about to cast off.




Lingering near the gangplank, the Captain is upset because they only have one paying passenger, a Dr. Jekyll, which confuses his first mate, who thought it was a Mr. Hyde. (Ba-dump-bump -- ching!) Captain Crabby then gets more bad news because the rest of his crew has apparently jumped ship, so the cargo (-- including the Mummy’s sarcophagus,) hasn’t even been loaded yet. Never fear! When the Hunchback shows up next, they quickly shanghai him into loading all the cargo, which he does, using only one arm, astounding the old salt.



And while he’s distracted by this, a bat flutters into view and changes into Count Dracula, who asks how much passage to the Isle of Evil will cost. Trying to fleece the well-dressed Count, the Captain's attempt to inflate the price backfires when the Lord of the Vampires proves such a tightwad he decides to just turn himself back into a bat and fly over on his own. Shocked and terrified by what he's just witnessed, the Captain then mistakes Felix for another monster and lets him on board for free -- if he promises not to kill him.



As the boat sets sail, the Werewolf barely makes it on board before they shove off. Meanwhile, below deck, the dimwitted Felix barely survives a few encounters with the assembled monsters -- saved mostly by his own ineptitude: He thinks Dr. Jekyll is just seasick after turning into the green-hued Mr. Hyde; and then, after losing his glasses, he mistakes the Werewolf for an old lady in a fur coat.



Still unable to find his glasses, he bumps into the Invisible Man next and apologizes for not seeing him. Later that night, while Felix sleeps, when the spook-rattled Captain refuses to stop at the haunted Isle of Evil, all the monsters bail-off and start swimming, flying, or paddling toward their final destination.




Meantime, back at the castle, the Baron is inspecting his Zombie house staff, prepping them for the big shindig, and giving them some final instructions. Now, if Francesca is the Baron’s greatest creation, then Yetch is the worst (-- a zombified Peter Lorre with a penchant for losing his head, literally). 



Now, Yetch has a thing for Francesca, but this isn’t mutual. At all. Still, he constantly drops to his knees in her presence and waxes poetically over her beauty, usually earning him a punch to his unstable head.



Anyways, Yetch takes a few of those Zombies to the castle’s hangar, where several revenants man some pretty cool looking ultra-lite aero-planes with orders to patrol the island indefinitely in case IT shows up and tries to crash the party. (Our first real clue to IT’s true identity.)




With all the preparation set, as the Baron sets the mood by playing a spooky little ditty on a large pipe organ, Fang and his Bride, decked out in a tuxedo and evening gown respectively, enter and await the arrival of the other guests. Here, each mad monster is allowed to make a singular grand entrance down the large staircase and into the great hall. After they’ve all arrived, they gather for a toast; and when Dracula states this convention is off to a howling start, the Werewolf bays in agreement.



Then, while the monsters socialize and drink more cocktails, Yetch retreats into the kitchen to check on Chef Machiavellian’s preparations. We then get an extended scene that’s unfortunately not very funny, where the cook makes a metric ton of lame jokes about what’s on the menu tonight. It does, however, pick up a little much-needed steam when the main course tries to eat Yetch.



When the food is at last properly beaten into submission and ready to serve, the assembled monsters gather around the great dining table, eat, and await the Baron’s big announcement. But as the Baron starts his speech, Francesca clandestinely conspires to get Count Dracula’s help in eliminating Felix. Seeing Francesca is up to something, the Bride warns Fang they’ll have to keep an eye on her as the Baron reveals his new invention. And after impressing his audience with a practical demonstration, the old man then announces his impending retirement and how he will name his successor tomorrow night.



For the record: all the monsters secretly wish that they, personally, will be the new Chairman of the Monster Board but they’ll have to wait. And with that, the Baron excuses himself for the evening and turns the entertainment over to Little Tibia and the Fibulas (-- a skeletal rock-n-roll band with Beatle mop-top haircuts).




And as this blighted band cranks up the hard driving "Do the Mummy," the Bride grabs the actual Mummy and they start tearing it up on the dance floor (-- their dance was based on the moves of Killer Joe Piro, who used to haunt New York’s Peppermint Lounge in the 1960s).



And while the others quickly join them and start to boogie down, Francesca nabs Dracula so they can talk in private out on the balcony, where she tells him all about Felix Flankin; and if the vampire will help her get rid of this human interloper, Francesca promises to share the Baron’s secrets with him.




When the Count agrees to these terms, Francesca celebrates with a fabulously sultry song until she is crudely interrupted when they discover the Bride had been eavesdropping on them -- and she overheard everything. 



Here, Dracula almost puts the bite on this spy but Fang intercedes; and while he holds the Count at bay, the Bride and Francesca tear each other’s clothes off -- down to their underwear, and have one helluva bitch-slapping catfight.




And when this dust-up quickly spills over into the main hall, all the monsters are soon involved as the fracas quickly degenerates into a pie fight; and before you know it, we’re neck-deep in a drunken monster brawl and free for all! Gawd I love this movie.



Sometime later, after things have settled down, we take a slow tour of the castle and view the aftermath of the carnage as the monsters try to sleep off their hangovers. 



The next morning, Felix borrows a lifeboat and paddles ashore, where the Baron and Francesca greet him. And while the Baron takes him on a tour of the castle, Francesca meets up with Dracula again. 




Seems she’ll be taking Felix on a picnic later that afternoon, so they map out three spots for an ambush. But once again, Felix’s unwitting ineptitude saves him from successive attacks by the Mummy, the Werewolf, and finally, Dracula.




That evening, the Baron shows Felix his laboratory, where he finally reveals the boy’s birthright as the last of the Frankensteins. Felix, of course, is a little overwhelmed by all of this; but in a true Rankin-Bass moment, he’s quickly overrun with dozens of cute little critters that accompany an inspirational song crooned deftly by the Baron to help ease his concerns. 


But when this song ends, Felix still isn’t sure if he can handle the responsibility. Needing to think it over, he asks if there is anywhere on the island where he can fish because he does his best thinking while fishing. The Baron sends him to the moat.


Meanwhile, in Dracula’s room, as Francesca and the Count argue fault over those bungled assassination attempts, Fang and the Bride barge in and are shocked to find Francesca there. Smelling a double-cross, Francesca is quickly backed into a corner by the other three monsters but escapes through a trap door that dumps her into the Baron’s lab.



Angry over Dracula's betrayal, Francesca swears vengeance on everyone. And to accomplish this, she begins by writing an invitation to the mysterious IT, releases the bat courier, and then starts ransacking the lab, looking for the Baron’s explosive formula. Meantime, the other conspirators decide they must eliminate Francesca before she can reveal their treachery to the Baron.





Following her down the trapdoor, they spill into the lab and attack, but Francesca manages to escape by jumping out the window and lands safely in the moat -- well, she’s safe until the crocodiles get her. But as the aquatic reptiles close in for the kill, from out of nowhere, Felix pulls her to safety. To calm the hysterical woman, Felix has to slap Francesca to snap her out of it. At first dumbstruck by Felix's actions, Francesca then immediately swoons for him. Wow. (Anyone else find this turn of events a tad disturbing?)





Anyhoo, as the newly minted couple embrace and kiss, we cut to waves crashing, lightning flashes, and then a palm tree falls over (-- which caused Root Beer to rocket out of my nose on first viewing. I mean, all we’re missing here, folks, is a rocket launch or a train going into a tunnel if you know what I mean, and I think you do).


Elsewhere, Dracula is ready to cut his losses and clear out, but the Bride convinces him to stay as they concoct a new plan to rally the other monsters against the Baron for appointing a mere mortal as their new leader. Back on the beach, after Felix saves her from a man-eating plant, when Francesca tells her new boyfriend how much danger he’s in and why, Felix says not to worry because he’s decided to turn down the Baron’s offer anyway. 



But it's too late for that, she warns; the other kooks and spooks won't listen to reason anymore. And on top of that, she’s done something rather rash and insists they must evacuate immediately, revealing there’s a boat hidden in a cove on the other side of the island, which they can use to escape. Meanwhile, an impromptu monster caucus unanimously votes to overthrow the Baron and eliminate Francesca and Felix. 



Heading into the jungle to find them, the Werewolf and Yetch catch up to them first and manage to steal Francesca away from Felix, leaving the other monsters to surround our hero and close in for the kill. Luckily, with all that werewolf dander floating around, Felix picks that time to have another allergy attack and pulls out his vial of medicine.




Mistaking this for the Baron’s explosive, the monsters quickly back off. And as Felix pushes this bluff, he demands to be taken to Francesca but his attackers immediately turn tail and flee -- not because of Felix’s threat, mind you. No. Seems IT has finally arrived and just surfaced right behind him. Thus, Felix turns and comes face to face with a fifty-foot ape, meaning IT was [name withheld over copyright issues] the whole time. At this massive sight, Felix faints dead away.




Stepping over our hero and heading inland, IT quickly destroys the castle, and then turns Francesca into Fay Wray. The Baron, meanwhile, finds Felix, orders him into the escape boat, and promises that he’ll save Francesca and take care of that dastardly ape and those turncoat traitors once and for all.




Commandeering one of his aero-planes, the Baron pilots it toward IT, who has taken root on the tallest peak of the island. The giant has Francesca in one hand and all the other monsters clasped in the other; and as the Baron buzzes the creature relentlessly, the ape puts Francesca down so he can swat at the plane, allowing her to escape and meet up with Felix.



After several more swipes, IT finally snags the Baron’s plane and crushes it. Now in the clutches of the great ape, the Baron watches as the two young lovers shove off and get a safe distance away. He then pulls out his explosive, chastises his fellow monsters for their pettiness and drops the vial, allowing it to fall to the ground, where it detonates on impact.




From the boat, Francesca and Felix watch as the island is totally obliterated in the resulting explosion. When the smoke clears, the two lovers head toward civilization -- after one last joke and punchline.





Long rumored to have been scripted by an uncredited Forrest J. Ackerman -- and with all those horrible puns, this is an easy assumption to make, in truth, Rankin and Bass had the better idea of turning to another famous magazine and comic book writer, Harvey Kurtzman, to punch-up and add a little anarchy to Len Korobkin's original script. And better yet, the animation duo also conscripted artist Jack Davis for all the character designs.


Both Kurtzman and Davis had made a name for themselves in the macabre with those delightful EC Horror Comics -- Tales from the Crypt, Vault of Horror, and Shock SuspenseStories, until Dr. Wertham and his No-Fun Crusade torpedoed those pulps. Undaunted, Kurtzman turned his creative juices on a new venture, MAD Magazine, with longtime collaborator, William Gaines. Davis soon followed. And working together once again on Mad Monster Party?, all the monster characters are brilliantly realized and looked like they crawled right off of Davis’ drawing board.


In order to keep production costs down, the producers did an end-run on any royalty claims by not using the proper titles like King Kong or Creature from the Black Lagoon unless the characters were in the public domain, which was the case for Frankenstein, Dracula, Jekyll and Hyde. Taking these horror icons and giving them a hip, mondo-'60s twist, Davis' designs are truly hilarious. And I think my favorite has to be the Invisible Man -- realized as nothing but a pot-bellied smoking jacket, an ascot, sunglasses, and a fez free-floating around, talking like a less than sober Sydney Greenstreet, which had me laughing to no end.


Sure, Kurtzman and Korobkin's script does drag in spots, but this can mostly be blamed on several hurriedly slapped together scenes that were inserted to expand the project to feature length, in accordance with Levine's demands, including the initial scenes with the aero-planes and the entire kitchen sequence, which was, let's face it, pretty rotten and sticks out rather sorely.


Another contributing factor to the success of Mad Monster Party? that cannot be overlooked is the music. Knocked together by Bass and composer Maury Laws, the instrumentals sound like a capricious mash-up of Vic Mizzy's scatter-brained horns, Arthur Lyman's Polynesian drums, and Xavier Cugat's scorching xylophones and are catchy as all hell. For the main title theme, noted jazz-singer Ethel Ennis added another joke by caricaturing the newly minted James Bond theme for Goldfinger (1964) that was belted out by Shirlie Bassey.


And while Karloff’s musical interlude is a sheer delight, Gale Garnett steals the show with the boisterous number "Our Time to Shine" and the sultry, but powerful, ballad "Never Was a Love Like Mine." Garnett, an Emmy-Award winning folk-singer, had scored a huge hit with "We'll Sing in the Sunshine" in 1964 and would shortly tune-in and drop-out, if you know what I mean, with the band Gentle Reign.




On top of everything else it does right, what I really do love about Mad Monster Party? is, once again, the attention to detail the creators have and their obvious love for the subject matter. And whether it’s a sight gag like a band-aid on the front of the Mummy, Dracula's lack of a reflection while brushing his hair, the Werewolf dressed up like Bela Lugosi's gypsy from The Wolf Man (1941), or a skeletal rock group whose music sounds like they're strangling a cat, all their efforts had me laughing throughout.




Brief moments like the Baron feeding his pets also brings smiles, like when he puts a fly into a jar with a toad but it's the toad that gets eaten. Then, he comes upon his doghouse, puts out some scraps, but Spot turns out to be the Blob, who oozes out and starts eating. He then dips his hands into a bucket labeled: human-fresh and feeds the scraps to his giant Venus Fly-Trap.



It was a fateful encounter at the Vancouver International Film Festival in 1958 when Arthur Rankin saw Tadahito “Tad” Mochinaga’s animated short, Little Black Sambo (1956), which launched over a decade of collaborations with Mochinga’s Tokyo-based MOM Productions, who would handle all of Rankin-Bass’s stop-motion animated TV specials and features, beginning with Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.


And while Bass was credited as director and Mochinga as cinematographer of Mad Monster Party?, mention should probably be made of artist Dan Duga, whose exhaustive storyboarding really set the tone of the feature. Word also must be mentioned for the massive, wonderful sets the 8-inch animated marionettes frolic around in. I caught my eyes easily wandering away from the action to study what they stuck in the corners and it’s truly amazing.




Thus, Mad Monster Party? is a visual delight. It’s a big can of corn everywhere else, sure, but I have a feeling you will enjoy this film as much as I did. And it's too bad this once nearly forgotten gem isn't standard Halloween viewing like it's Rankin-Bass animated Christmas counterparts.


Yeah, seems Levine wasn't thrilled with the lackluster results of their first two collaborations, leading to a limited, matinee only release for Mad Monster Party? before the film was yanked from circulation. This also scuttled plans for an official soundtrack release back in ‘67. Fortunately, time has been kind and both the feature and the soundtrack are readily available and I cannot recommend them highly enough, Boils and Ghouls.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's 13 films down with 13 yet to go. Up next, They came and got me, Barbara. AGAIN!


Mad Monster Party? (1967) Rankin/Bass Productions :: AVCO Embassy Pictures / EP: Joseph E. Levine / P: Arthur Rankin Jr., Jules Bass / AP: Larry Roemer / D: Jules Bass / W: Arthur Rankin Jr., Harvey Kurtzman, Len Korobkin / C: Tad Mochinaga / M: Maury Laws / S: Boris Karloff, Gale Garnett, Phyllis Diller, Allen Swift

Hubrisween 2020 :: N is for Night of the Living Dead (1990)

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Okay. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: Two bickering siblings are on their way to a rural cemetery to place a commemorative wreath on their mother’s grave. As they get closer to their destination, behind the wheel, brother Johnny’s grumpiness over the inconvenience of this 200-mile pilgrimage grows even more belligerent as he pokes fun at his uptight sister, Barbara, who obviously has some unresolved issues with the deceased and an irrational, morbid fear and dislike of cemeteries in general because of what’s all buried there.



Well aware of this, Johnny (Moseley) adopts a barely passable Boris Karloff impression as he warns Barbara (Tallman) that the dead are restless where they’re headed and to be wary -- for the dead are coming to get you, sis, he says ominously...




Now, despite his sister's constant calls to knock this crap off, Johnny’s obnoxious behavior continues when they finally arrive at the cemetery and reach their mother’s grave. And then Johnny pushes things too far when he spots a fellow mourner slowly moving toward them, openly mocks him, claiming he is an undead ghoul, and then childishly hides behind a large tombstone, leaving it to his sister to apologize for his loutish behavior. 



But it’s the elderly stranger who apologizes to them for reasons he does not explain before wandering on in a daze. Seeing he’s bleeding from a scalp wound -- that sure looks like something took a bite out of him, to me, before they can try to help, another man springs from nowhere and attacks Barbara!




His jaundiced flesh an unhealthy shade, his eyes boiled white, jaws snapping at the exposed flesh of his victim’s neck, hostile intentions clear, Johnny pulls the snarling man off his sister. But as they struggle, Barbara watches in horror as her brother is then killed during the ensuing brawl; his neck snapped when they awkwardly fell onto a gravestone. She then flees toward the apparent safety of another interment, only to find no one there and the casket open and empty.




With the crazed fiend still in lumbering pursuit, Barbara continues her desperate retreat back to their car, where she locks the doors, sees the keys are missing, and then spies another man walking toward her and calls to him for help.




But as he gets closer, his clothes start peeling off due to them being split-up the back, revealing a huge stitched up y-incision that runs from his neck to his nethers. This, of course, is an autopsy scar, meaning I think we just found the missing occupant of that empty coffin.




The implications of this are both quite impossible and extremely dire. The girl, of course, does not realize or register any of this yet as she is now trapped in the car between two murderous cadavers. And as one of them successfully manages to break out a window, Barbara disengages the emergency brake, gravity takes over, and the car trundles down a steep embankment until it crashes into a tree. 




But this provides enough of a head-start for Barbara as she flees into the woods -- away from those slow-moving ghouls, until she stumbles upon a farmstead and runs for the home at its center.






Hoping to find help inside, the farmhouse appears empty until she reaches the foyer and blood splashes onto her face from the upstairs balcony, whose source appears to be a dismembered hand until another one of those ghouls presents itself, sees her below, and then crashes through the railing and falls to the main floor to get at her just as another homicidal ghoul enters the house through the door she left open in the kitchen.




Fleeing back outside, Barbara sees yet another ghoul stumbling down the road toward the farmhouse -- only this one gets flattened by an oncoming pick-up truck. But despite this massive trauma of having his back broken in two, the ghoul still seems pretty spry as it tries to keep moving.




Again, Barbara is having a little trouble processing all of this when the driver gets out of the truck and starts asking all kinds of questions about the house, assuming she lives there. Obviously in shock, Barbara has no answers for him. 



Then, as he susses out she’s a stranger here, too, the man demands that this overwrought woman get her shit together as he drags her back inside -- even as Barbara tries to warn of the danger within; only he won’t listen. And so, the man has to take out the ghoul in the kitchen with a crowbar, impaling it through the head, while Barbara dispatches the hefty one who fell over the stairs by fracturing his skull with a fire-poker.





Then, after dispatching the still-kicking ghoul he ran over in a similar fashion, with the house now relatively secure, the man returns his attention back on the mentally fraying Barbara. His name is Ben (Todd), and he does his best to assure the girl that what she just did was right and justified in the interest of their mutual self-preservation, and how she needs to keep focused and fighting. 



For while he has no answers as to why all of this craziness is suddenly happening, Ben has bared witness to a lot of horrible things over the past few hours as he relates how he wound up here in the truck, now out of gas, while they remove the bodies, find some weapons, and try to secure the house better.



Thus, he is not sure how people with broken necks or those shot full of holes can still be moving around, or why they keep attacking those who have yet to succumb to this madness. The radio stations were full of bullshit conspiracies, saying they were escaped prisoners or the result of a chemical spill. But the local rednecks and hayseeds were having a ball rounding them up and dispatching them -- whoever or whatever they were. But what they definitely weren’t anymore, was human.




Ben was at a diner in nearby Evans City when a bunch of those things loaded onto a panel truck broke loose and escaped. And in the resulting mayhem and shoot-out, his car was destroyed, forcing him to steal the truck to escape -- but not before he learned one vital piece of information: to stop these things for good, you have to shoot them in the head or take out the brain by any means necessary. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. Almost biblical. The dead walking. A literal Hell on Earth. And it’s about to get a whole lot worse from the inside out when an interior door behind them slowly creaks open and reveals what was locked and hidden behind it this whole time...





When, by some miracle, a group of amateur filmmakers from Pittsburgh, PA, known en masse as The Image Ten, managed to cobble together one of the greatest horror films of all time back in 1967 -- not the greatest independently produced horror film, mind you, but thee greatest horror film ever made, period, they stuck to their guns while shopping it around, looking for a distributor. 


Explaining why they turned down offers from both Columbia and American International to distribute Night of the Flesh-Eaters, who demanded a reduction in the film’s nihilistic tone and a complete reversal of it’s pessimistic ending, where the nominal hero is mistakenly shot down by the alleged cavalry when the sun finally comes up, a version which the motley band of filmmakers had put all of that chocolate blood, sweat and tears into.


And so, having struck out in the west, they looked to the east and drove a finished print to New York City, looking for any buyers and finally found one in Continental Distributing, a branch of The Walter Reade Organization, who agreed to release the film as is -- well, with one notable, and ultimately tragic, exception:


A title change was needed because they feared their original hewed too close to Jack Curtis’ The Flesh Eaters (1964) and might prove actionable. And so, Night of the Flesh-Eaters officially became Night of the Living Dead (1968) and the rest is horror film history. However, behind the scenes, things were about to get really complicated.


Continental Distributing had been around since the 1940s and seemed to specialize in importing and repackaging foreign films, including La Grande Illusion (1937), Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949) and The Ladykillers (1955). This continued into the 1960s with films ranging from Peter Brook’s Lord of the Flies (1963) and John Schlesinger’s Billy Liar (1963) to Masaki Kobayashi’s masterful ghost story, Kwaidan (1964), and Ishirô Honda’s Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster (1964), which featured Toho’s first real monster rally with Godzilla, Rodan and Mothra teaming up to repel the extraterrestrial threat.


They were also responsible for distributing the two feature film adaptations of the popular British BBC TV-series, Doctor Who -- Dr. Who and the Daleks (1965) and Daleks' Invasion Earth 2150 A.D. (1966); the first of which they inexplicably paired-up with Night of the Living Dead, leading to several matinee engagements and a youthful audience that wasn’t quite prepared for the carnage they were about to see. This, of course, led to Roger Ebert’s scathing review of the film that appeared in Reader’s Digest. Well, not of the film per se, but targeting those who market this kind of thing toward children, which it was never intended for.


Meanwhile, as their little film that could continued to pack audiences into theaters and drive-ins all over the country, the folks back in Pittsburgh were growing a little concerned when their negotiated share of the profits started trickling in -- barely. By most estimates, Night of the Living Dead had made between $12 to 15-million at the domestic box-office on its initial release, along with another $30-million overseas, against a budget of a mere $115,000, which left those at Image 10 -- George Romero, Gary Streiner, John Russo, Vince Survinski, Karl Hardman, Marilyn Eastman, Richard Ricci, Rudy Ricci and David Clipper collectively scratching their heads. 



And this discrepancy in the books got so bad, with their other investors breathing down their necks when the numbers just didn’t add up, wondering where all those profits were going, they brought a lawsuit against Continental and Walter Reade, looking to get the rights to their film back as well as $3-million in damages.



This lawsuit dragged on for years -- it wasn’t even settled as to where the case would be heard until 1975, with Pittsburgh winning out over New York City. And after causing several delays, at some point, the representatives of the defendants stopped showing up altogether, leading to a contempt of court charge. Then, in 1978, Walter Reade declared bankruptcy and the film rights reverted to Image 10. A hollow victory as they never saw any of that money due to them or any damages from the lawsuit. And to add insult to injury, even though they now owned their film again this was practically worthless since Night of the Living Dead, technically, had been in the public domain from the moment it first hit theater screens.


See, when they turned the finished film over to the distributor for duplication the only copyright stamp on the film was placed under the original title in the opening credits instead of at the bottom of the end credits like every other movie. And with that title change, the old copyrighted title was cut out of the prints and replaced with the new one that did not have the needed copyright stamp -- and no one ever caught this before it was released. And according to the current U.S. copyright laws, any “public dissemination required a copyright notice to maintain a copyright."


At some point, several others did take notice of this lack of a copyright claim anywhere on the film and started making their own copies of copies and sending them out to theaters for years, reaping the benefits of others, essentially free and clear because due to this simple, amateurish mistake, by law, the film was in the public domain and fair game.


Meantime, Image 10 itself was starting to fracture from within. Hardman and Eastman bowed out early. And after a couple of lackluster follow-up features -- There’s Always Vanilla (1971) and Jack’s Wife (1972), later released as Season of the Witch and Hungry Wives, all box-office flops, a lot of infighting, inflating egos, finger-pointing, and accumulative creative differences finally got to be too much for all involved. Top all that off with getting screwed over out of all that money, and a massive and apparently futile lawsuit that appeared to be going nowhere fast at the time, they all agreed to call it quits and amicably went their separate ways. The band had officially broken up in Pittsburgh.


“The bottom line is that of all the people involved with Night of the Living Dead I have the least to complain about,” said Romero in a later interview with John Kane for his book, Night of the Living Dead: Behind the Scenes of the Most Terrifying Zombie Movie Ever. “Because I’m the one that got the reputation out of it."


Yeah, from what followed it’s easy to see that the rest of the Image 10 needed Romero ah-lot more than he needed any of them. Russo’s solo efforts are pretty risible -- Midnight (1982), The Majorettes (1987). And while he did get the ball rolling on Return of the Living Dead (1985), Dan O’Bannon junked his script and started over from scratch. And yet, I still contend Romero’s later films -- even Dawn of the Dead (1978) and Day of the Dead (1985), are missing a little somethin’ somethin’ -- a certain homespun alchemy that Night of the Living Dead had that his solo efforts do not. It’s kinda there in The Crazies (1973), and it’s kinda there in Martin (1977). But after? Not really. And his films are lesser for it.


And as that copyright issue festered and lingered on into the 1980s, a dozen home video distributors released their own editions of Night of the Living Dead on VHS, too. The most notorious being the colorized version unleashed by Hal Roach Studios through their Film Classics line in 1986; a computerized process which cost twice as much as the actual making of the film. “I just think it’s silly,” said Romero. “It looks awful, and it kills the gag in the beginning. There’s this guy walking across the cemetery and we think it’s just a human. But now that he’s bright green?!"





Tired of other people making money off of their work, the remnants of Image 10 buried the hatchet long enough to try and see if they could re-establish a copyright claim on Night of the Living Dead and finally rein in all of this profiteering. And it was at this point, around 1986, that they started kicking around the idea of doing a properly copyrighted remake to help shore up their claim on the disputed original. And if nothing else, feeling a remake was inevitable anyway due to the same public domain issues, they figured they ought to do it and make some money before someone else did and cashed in, again, on their dime.


By then, Romero had also left The Laurel Group -- Dawn of the Dead, Martin, Knightriders (1981), Creepshow (1982), and Day of the Dead, as he and his partner, producer Richard Rubenstein, parted ways. And so, Romero approached Menahem Golan for financing, who had just become the head of 21st Century Film Corporation in 1989 after splitting up with his own long time partner, Yoram Globus, when Cannon Films collapsed into bankruptcy. 


Armed with a budget of a little over $4 million, and a distribution deal secured with Columbia, Golan and Romero would serve as executive producers, Russo and Streiner as producers, while Romero would handle the screenplay, adapted and tweaked from the original written by himself and Russo, and would find the film a director since he wanted to focus on his other duties. (More on this process later.)


Meantime, from what we’ve seen so far, Romero didn’t change a whole lot from the original script as everything rings familiar; but he did plant a few seeds here and there that would later germinate into some major changes as the film progresses further. The biggest thus far being Ben’s treatment of Barbara. 




In the original film, Barbara spends nearly all of it in a catatonic state. When she initially meets Ben, her hysterics end with a sock to the jaw and an extended timeout on the couch. Here, she gets a reassuring hug and constant positive reinforcement for killing one of the ghouls.



And so, this version of Barbara will be a lot more proactive than the old, which will later serve the biggest narrative change in the remake after it’s revealed several others had been hiding in the basement of the farmhouse this whole time: Harry and Helen Cooper (Towles, Anderson), a bickering married couple, and their daughter, Sarah (Mazur), who was bitten by one of those ghouls as they made their way to the farmhouse after their car broke down, where they found Tom Bitner (Butler) and his girlfriend, Judy Rose (Finneran), who were also there seeking shelter because Tom’s Uncle Regis owned this farm -- stress on the “owned” as its revealed Uncle Regis was the ghoul Barbara had killed, who lived there with his invalid brother, Satchel.




Here, we learn second-hand that when the others arrived at the farmhouse, Regis was out of his mind and attacking Satchel. And while Satchel led him upstairs, the others, unsure of what was going on, fled to the cellar, barricaded the door, and planned to stay there until help came. Ben found Satchel’s body upstairs while looking for a gun to match some bullets he’d found, who had shot himself in the head before being partially devoured by Regis, leading to all that blood and the stray hand, which was done with the very same repeating rifle Ben now has in his possession.



Things degenerate from there as Ben and Harry Cooper take an immediate disliking to each other as they fight over the next best course of action. Cooper wants everyone to return to the basement, where they can hide and be safe, while Ben says no, that’s a deathtrap with no means of escape, and insists they should all remain upstairs, where they can barricade the doors and windows against the ghouls, who are slowly massing outside, with the cellar being their last fallback resort. 



They also scratch together the barest bones of a plan to escape with the truck when Tom reveals there’s a gas pump near the barn; but they’ll need to find the keys first since his uncle always kept it padlocked, which prove maddeningly elusive until they rifle the pockets of the deceased. A plan the belligerent Cooper calls insane. An opinion the equally belligerent Ben does not want to hear.




Thus, the internal battle-lines for this pissing contest are soon drawn as the Coopers remain locked downstairs, while everyone else stays upstairs, who quickly work to shore up their defenses, not realizing all the noise they are making, nailing whatever they can find over the windows, is only attracting more and more ghouls.




In the search for more barricading materials, they find a TV upstairs, plug it in, but every channel is showing a standard Emergency Broadcast signal and to stay tuned for further developments. Later, Cooper finds this, too, only now an incredulous newscaster is going over the initial reports that some kind of virus is causing the dead to come back to life; a report the CDC vehemently denies. 




When he tries to bring it downstairs, Ben assumes he’s trying to sneak the TV into the basement. Cooper denies this, saying he brought it down for everyone to watch. They fight, and the TV is destroyed. This one is on Ben, though, as Cooper rightfully points out he wouldn’t be able to get reception down in the basement. Meantime, Helen Cooper learns of the plan to gas-up the truck and wants to help search for those keys since Sarah’s fever is only getting worse but her asshole of a husband won’t let her and ends this conversation with the back of his hand.


Now, I believe it was author Danny Peary who first brought to light the ultimate irony of Night of the Living Dead when he included the film in his seminal book, Cult Movies. “Cooper is a cowardly bully, and Ben is brave and concerned about the welfare of others in the house; so we side with Ben,” says Peary. “Yet, if we were in the house with those two men, maybe we should think again. It took me many years to realize this, but Ben, our hero, turns out to be terribly wrong when he adamantly tells everyone that they have a better chance for survival if they remain upstairs with him instead of following Cooper’s advice and locking themselves in the basement. Everyone dies as a result of following Ben’s lead of staying upstairs -- and ironically, Ben alone survives the night and keeps away from the ghouls by locking himself in the basement. Has anyone else noticed this?"



I honestly hadn’t noticed this until I read Peary’s book. Of course, this really doesn’t work out for Ben either in the original film with that pisser of an ending. And the main thing I think Romero was trying to get across was it didn’t matter whose plan they followed because either was doomed to failure due to human nature and basic instincts. If there had been more cooperation and coordination in securing the house, would everyone have made it? Would the mad dash for the gas pumps have worked if only Ben hadn’t fallen out of the truck? And if they all wound up in the basement, they would’ve still had the Sarah problem to deal with. It’s an insidious combination of Murphy’s Law, where anything that could go wrong will go wrong, and exponentiality, where any attempt to fix things only makes the situation infinitely worse as things snowball from there -- for no matter how sound the plan, once the wheels come off they come off completely, cinematically speaking, in what I have affectionately dubbed Romero 101.



And so, realizing this, I think, Romero makes the biggest change to the remake by introducing a third option through Barbara, our new voice of reason, who notes how slow and uncoordinated the ghouls are, saying they could easily walk right by them and head to safety. But no one is listening, because they’re too busy squabbling like school children. 





And when she insists this is a viable option, she is out-voted for an attempt at the gas pump, which does not go well at all when the keys they secured turn out to be the wrong ones, leading to the accidental deaths of Tom and Judy, whose remains are consumed by the ghouls, and leaves Ben locked outside while Barbara and Cooper fight over the only remaining rifle inside.



Ben manages to get in just as Cooper secures the rifle, who intends to lock himself and his family in the cellar and leave the others up here to die as the ghouls start breaking in unabated. 




Unfortunately, by now, Sarah has succumbed to the fever and has turned into a ghoul, who just tore the throat out of her mother and ambled upstairs. Seeing she is no longer human, Ben tells Cooper to shoot her before it’s too late -- but he can’t.




Somewhat conveniently, one of the first ghouls to break into the house is a police officer; and as Barbara and Ben subdue him and get his pistol, Ben takes aim at Sarah, who is drawing a bead on Barbara. And so, Cooper shoots Ben, Barbara secures the cop’s even more convenient back-up piece and shoots Sarah in the head, they exchange more fire, Ben is hit again, as is Cooper as he flees upstairs.




Reaching Ben, Barbara says they can escape on foot together but his wounds are too grave. Promising to find help, Barbara wrestles off the dispatched ghoul’s gunbelt and makes her way outside before the house is overrun by a horde of the undead. 




Upstairs, Cooper finds the pull-down entrance to the attic and hides. Ben, meanwhile, retreats to the basement, where he has to shoot a reanimated Helen. Taking a seat, he lights his last cigarette and turns on a transistor radio, which gives the latest updates, saying it is now confirmed by multiple sources that the dead are coming back to life and cannibalizing the living. He then has a morbid chuckle when he finds the proper keys to the gas-pump hanging on the wall.





Barbara, meanwhile, is proven right when she manages to easily escape the farmhouse deathtrap on foot and eventually comes upon a group of armed men out hunting down the ghouls and discovers one of the undead they already bagged was Johnny. 





Come the dawn, Barbara callously watches as the undead are cruelly toyed with and looted by the large posse organized to systematically hunt them all down, wondering out loud who the real monsters are. 




She’s there when they reach the farmhouse, just as two rednecks finish chainsawing through the barricaded cellar door. But her hopes are dashed when Ben stumbles out of the darkness, his flesh pasty, his eyes bled white, and the others quickly gun him down.






Unable to watch this, she ducks into another room, where she runs into Cooper, alive and well, who thanks her for coming back for him. And as a way of saying your welcome, Barbara shoots the man in the head, telling the others she has another ghoul for the fire.






I’m not sure if a lot of people realize how close Tom Savani came to doing the special-effects for Night of the Living Dead back in 1967. Inspired by the Lon Chaney Sr. biopic, Man of a Thousand Faces (1957), Savini soon became obsessed with doing special makeup-effects on himself and his friends. 


A Pittsburgh native, he first got on Romero’s radar when the filmmaker was scouring the local high schools, looking for actors for his proposed film Whine of the Fawn, a romantic, Bergmanesque period piece that was shelved in favor of doing a horror movie instead. When Savini got wind of this, he showed his special makeup portfolio to Romero, who was so impressed he agreed to let the young man work on the film


But fate intervened when Savini’s enlistment came up just as the film was going into production. And so, Savini went off and joined the Army, who eventually sent him to Vietnam, where he served as a combat cameraman. “My job was to shoot images of damage to machines and to people,” said Savini in a later interview with The Pittsburgh Gazette. “Through my lens, I saw some hideous [stuff]. To cope with it, I guess I tried to think of it as special-effects."


Using the lens of the camera to separate himself emotionally from the real life horrors he was witnessing to preserve his sanity, Savini had some trouble turning those emotions back on when his tour of duty ended and he once more became a civilian. He was, according to his own self-description, for all intents and purposes, a zombie. And all of that greatness to come could’ve been lost if not for a chance screening of Midnight Cowboy (1969), whose heartbreaking ending opened the floodgates as he broke down outside the theater and released all of that bottled-up tension and anguish.


And as part of the continuing healing process, Savini would tap into these experiences when he started working on makeup-effects again, shooting for the same kind of anatomical realism that he saw first hand -- first for Bob Clark and Alan Ormsby in Deathdream (1971) and Deranged (1974), Sean Cunningham on Friday the 13th (1980), Bill Lustig for Maniac (1981), and, of course, for Romero in Dawn of the Dead and Day of the Dead.


And when Romero first contacted him about the proposed remake of Night of the Living Dead (1990), Savini assumed he wanted him to do the special effects; but, nope, Romero had hand-picked him to direct the sequel, feeling he was ready to take that next step. And while their intentions for the remake were noble, it was still a minefield Savini wasn’t sure he wanted to mess around in. But he eventually came around; and when Romero gave the novice director the script, he said to use it as a framework and gave his blessing to change whatever he wanted to as this version of Night of the Living Dead (1990) would be Savini’s movie.



But this kind of hands off approach didn’t pan out, as Savini was kind of hung out to dry and would later claim only 40-percent of what he wanted to do wound up in the finished film. And without Romero on the set to protect him, he was pressured by others to make all kinds of changes. Some were novel, most were not, and none of them really panned out.




The remake itself got off on the wrong foot from the first fade in. One of the things that made the original so creepy was the undead appeared to be normal -- until they tried to eat you. They were us, and we were them. Here, after a bit of misdirection, the cemetery zombie looks like some hideous mutant and comes off just as silly as his colorized counterpart on that VHS tape. Imagine if it had been the other, more normal looking cadaver that approached them first as its clothes slowly fell away. That might’ve been something clever, but, nope. Screw subtlety. And so, from the very beginning, it becomes quite obvious that the special-effects would be dictating the story and not the other way around. Something that also plagued Romero’s Dead sequels -- but I believe I am in the minority on that opinion.




All the subtle social commentary was gone, all the characters were reduced to screeching assholes or surly dickheads or idiots or non-entities -- with Helen Cooper taking the worst of this, and her iconic death is reduced to a mere cutaway and some blood splatter on the wall -- over a trowel no less. Now, according to Savani's DVD commentary, there was a much more elaborate scene planned here, where Helen would try to perform CPR on her daughter only to have her lips bitten off during the mouth to mouth resuscitation. And as she fell away, she would grab the trowel to defend herself, only to lower it away, unable to strike her daughter, and allow the ghoul to feed unchallenged. But, the production simply ran out of time and money.



Thus, the otherwise fairly talented cast never stood a chance but did the best they could under these circumstances. Tony Todd was a ringer for Duane Jones, and would go on to carve out his own genre niche as the villain in Candyman (1992). Patricia Tilliman was an actress and a stunt-woman and a long time friend of Savini’s, who had worked together before on Knightriders. She deserved better than her character was written -- though I must say Tillman is one of the best cinematic screamers I have ever heard. William Butler and Katie Finneran are fine in their roles, but Towles is stuck in one gear and McKee Anderson and Heather Mazur’s characters are reduced to absolute nothing, and that’s a shame.\



Thus and so, all we have is a familiar story that moves along in fits and spurts as we wait for the next set-piece to pop-up and pop-off -- the most embarrassing when the strident Barbara takes up the gun to prove to the others that what they’re dealing with were no longer human, even when they recognize those attacking them, as she puts several slugs into a ghoul before finally taking the head-shot.





Sadly, I think Barbara’s change into a mini-Rambo was less of a progressive ideal and more to do with copying Sigourney Weaver’s role in Aliens (1986). This could have led to an interesting parable when the men don’t listen to her due to her gender, even though she is obviously right, neither upstairs nor downstairs is safe, and ignoring her winds up getting everyone else killed. It was an interesting idea that was just kind of left to go wherever it wanted to -- like a charged fire-hose with no one manning it. 




And this lack of focus and a general malaise seems to get worse and worse as the film progresses; and after an interminable middle act where they board up the house with the most windows of ever, the film seems to be both indifferent and in quite the hurry to hit all the familiar story points and just get this all over with as soon as possible. Turns out that wasn’t too far from the truth:



“I still have nightmares that I’m on that movie set, directing that movie, and waiting for the sun to come up so I could just stop shooting and go home,” said Savini in a later interview. It didn’t help matters that Savini was going through some personal issues -- a nasty divorce and custody battle, at the time. “It was the worst experience of my life. Everybody had a different idea, or wanted a favor. I’ve learned that even if they’re your best friends, if it's your vision, then you should stick with it because nobody stabs you in the back worse than your best friends."




Even the ghouls proved to be a bit of a disaster. In the interest of proper biology, Savini wanted them to move as if they were relearning to walk and breaking out of rigor. And to those ends he hired Tim Carrier, who played the autopsy zombie in the cemetery, to head up a “Zombie Class” to teach the extras how to move. Again, another good idea that didn’t work out as the exaggerated movements didn’t translate so well on film and the decision was made to just have them move slowly like the originals.




And then, to add even more misery, the film was slapped with an NC-17 rating due to the graphic nature of those special-effects supervised by John Vulich, a protege of Savini’s, who had worked with him on Day of the Dead. And so, to get the needed R-rating, most of these set-pieces were neutered or removed altogether, leaving a movie that was just kind of … there.


Look, I don’t hate this remake. Despite the complaining, I don’t think it’s all that terrible but it’s not very good either; and the only thing I found truly unforgivable was the terrible synth-score by Paul McCollough. I wanted it to be better than it is, a little riskier, but given the circumstance under which it was made I understand why it was not. Better. And when I first saw it in the theater, I found the changed ending oddly cathartic in a weird way; a chance to not only escape this inevitable madness but to survive indefinitely. And if nothing else, the Night of the Living Dead remake is much more palatable than what Russo and Streiner unleashed a few years later with that gawdawful Special Edition, where any sympathy I had for these guys over that copyright snafu was lost. And lost for good.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's 14 films down with 12 yet to go. Up next, Turns out the Tin-Man needed some courage, too.


Night of the Living Dead (1990) 21st Century Film Corporation :: Columbia Pictures / EP: Menahem Golan, Ami Artzi, George A. Romero / P: John A. Russo, Russell Streiner / AP: Christine Forrest / LP: Declan Baldwin / D: Tom Savini / W: George A. Romero, John A. Russo / C: Frank Prinzi / E: Tom Dubensky / M: Paul McCollough / S: Tony Todd, Patricia Tallman, Tom Towles, McKee Anderson, William Butler, Katie Finneran, Heather Mazur, Bill Mose

Hubrisween 2020 :: O is for One Body Too Many (1944)

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We open in the offices of the Emperor Life Insurance Company, where Albert Tuttle is currently bragging-it-up to a co-salesman about how he managed to land as a client the eccentric tycoon, Cyrus J. Rutherford. Seems this Rutherford’s total net-worth is somewhere north of $8-million, who also lives in a secluded mansion on top of a mountain; and on top of all that, Rutherford then built a private observatory so he could keep track of the stars and planets to feed his well-known astrological obsessions.



Thus, when asked how he convinced such a reclusive kook into a deluxe $200,000 policy, Tuttle says it was easy. He lied, telling Rutherford they were both born under the same Zodiac sign. Consulting the stars further, his client then agreed to sign on the dotted line at the stroke of midnight one month and two days later, when Venus was in full retrograde with Jupiter, or something, which just so happens to be this very night.



Unfortunately for Tuttle (Haley), in the interim, it appears that Cyrus J. Rutherford has unexpectedly died -- only Tuttle doesn’t know that yet. But his heirs sure do, who have all gathered at Rutherford manor, where the body is lying in state in the library, where the family lawyer, Morton Gellman (Nedell), addresses those gathered here today, reading the words of the deceased as he contemptuously calls the roll from beyond the grave:


First is his sister, Estelle (Helm), who ignored Cyrus’ warning 20-years ago when she ran off and married that nincompoop, Kenneth Hopkins (Littlefield), of whom he had the pleasure of  meeting
only once, which was enough.


Followed by their daughter, Margaret (Fife), whom Cyrus never met, which was probably for the better, considering who her parents were.


Next is his no-account nephew, James Davis (Talbott), whom Cyrus hadn’t seen since Davis was an impertinent youth; but the old coot never did like impertinence, and so, he never did like his nephew either.


He softens a bit with his niece, Carol Dunlap (Parker), even though he despised her late father, because she seemed more intelligent than he and had a “less selfish interest” in her rich uncle than his other heirs.


And lastly, we have nephew Henry Rutherford (Fowley), who at least bears the Rutherford name, and who appeared honest enough when dealing with Cyrus’ financial investments; but his wife, Mona (Granger), always drank too much and wore way too much makeup as she waited with undue impatience for Cyrus’ eventual demise.


There’s also Cyrus’ faithful butler, Merkil (Lugosi), who always padded the household bills and pocketed the difference; his housekeeper, Matthews (Yurka), who really didn’t keep the house all that well.


And then there's Professor Hilton (Edmunds), who taught the deceased how to unlock all those celestial secrets. 


And finally, Gelman, who at first skips the scathing details on himself, saying they’re irrelevant, until the others demand to know what the cantankerous old fart thought of him, too -- who apparently trusted his lawyer for about as far as he could throw an elephant.


Gellman then gets into the details on what was to happen with Cyrus’ estate and legacy after he died. To his eleven heirs, he has left shares of his fortune: some as large as $500,000, some as small as $1.50 -- enough to cover a taxi ride home. But before they find out who gets what, there are several stipulations that must be met:


First, Rutherford’s body must not be buried underground and instead be interred in a yet-to-be-constructed glass-topped vault in the observatory, so the stars may continue to shine down upon him in perpetuity. Second, if these wishes are not met to the letter, those promised shares will be reversed, with the largest shares going to those who least deserved it and vice versa with the smallest. And third, to ensure his wishes are met, no one knows who is getting what yet because the bequeathment shall remain sealed and unread until the vault is completed and Cyrus is laid to rest. And fourth, none of them can leave the mansion until the vault is finished and the ceremony completed, otherwise they forfeit their share.




Now, after assuring his belligerent and back-stabbing captive audience that the will is airtight and unbreakable, fearing the worst, Gellman immediately puts in a call to the Atlas Detective Agency, who agree to send an agent to guard the body until the reading of the will to prevent any shenanigans for increased shares, which shouldn’t take more than a few days. He also assures them all that he hasn’t read the will either, which explains the several instances he is almost caught trying to break into a hidden wall safe to get at it.



Meanwhile, the others are shown to their rooms for the duration of their stay. Carol, the obvious favorite of her late uncle, answers a knock at her door and lets Merkil in, who delivers her suitcase. But when she opens it, the girl finds a note warning her to leave the house immediately if she values her life!



As to who wrote it? Well, I’m guessing it's the same shadowy figure who ambushes the rent-a-cop before he reaches the house, removing him from the board. But then the unwitting Tuttle arrives, and everyone mistakes him for the detective -- except for Matthews, who warns him to leave before it’s too late, which leads to several comical misunderstandings and mismatched conversations.




Thus, confusion reigns when Gellman welcomes Tuttle and pays him $200 upfront, which is fine because the rest of the payment for the policy can wait until after his client passes a physical first, says Tuttle, which causes even more confusion. A besotted Mona instantly flirts with him, and Carol comments she expected someone a little more rugged as Tuttle is ushered into the library and then promptly locked in, where he is assured his “client” is waiting.




Inside, Tuttle lays his briefcase on the coffin, not realizing what it is until he takes a closer look. One-spit take later, the man realizes his client is a corpse and makes a bee-line for the front door. When he’s intercepted by the others, the mistaken identity is cleared up at last when he reveals who he is and why he was there -- stress on the “was” as he continues to leave.



Only Carol doesn’t want him to go, chasing Tuttle outside, begging him to stay, wanting some outside help since she can’t trust the others. And since the real detective has failed to show up, that leaves only Tuttle to help her figure out who is trying to scare her away and steal her share of the inheritance -- and who is more fearful of what they’ll try to do next since she refuses to leave.



And the answer to both of those questions is lurking somewhere above them on the roof, where a chunk of masonry has just been dislodged and is currently rocketing downward on a direct collision course with the unsuspecting Carol’s lovely head...



Headed by William “Bill” Pine and William “Bill” Thomas, Pine-Thomas Productions was one of the most prolific of Paramount Studio’s B-units, who produced 81 films between 1940 and 1957, and not a one of them lost the studio money, earning Pine and Thomas the nickname, The Dollar Bills. “We don’t want to make million dollar pictures,” Pine said. “We just want to make a million dollars."


After graduating from Columbia University, Pine landed a job in the Paramount publicity department, which he became the head of in 1933. Looking to expand his horizons, Pine then latched onto Cecil B. Demille, serving as an associate producer on four of his pictures: The Plainsman (1936), The Buccaneer (1938), Union Pacific (1939) and North West Mounted Police (1940), which, in some circles, is considered Demille’s worst film.


Thomas, meanwhile, worked his way through USC by playing the drums in several nightclub orchestras. He broke into the business at MGM in 1925, also working in publicity, and then bounced around between MGM, Paramount, and Columbia, where he ran the department for a year and a half before returning to Paramount in 1937, where he first met Pine. And after experiencing the ridiculous excesses of DeMille, Pine had a few ideas on how to make films cheaper and more efficiently. The two hit it off and started expanding on those notions, bringing Richard Arlen into the equation.


Arlen was an actor who had won an Academy Award for his work in William Wellman’s silent film Wings (1927) and was the lead opposite Charles Laughton in Island of Lost Souls (1932), but his stardom was fading and he had been languishing at Universal in a series of cheap, stock-footage heavy bottom bills, where he was teamed up with Andy Devine as the Aces of Action in films like Tropic Fury (1939), Danger on Wheels (1940), and The Devil’s Pipeline (1940). And after doing fourteen of those, Arlen was looking for something different, too.


The actor was also a pilot, who owned several planes and ran his own aviation school, and suggested they do a series of films centered around that, starring him and his planes. And so, Pine and Thomas formed Picture Corporation of America and cooked up three titles -- Power Dive (1941), Forced Landing (1941), and Flying Blind (1941), and went to their bosses at Paramount, saying they had a star, three scripts, and three low budget estimates, all looking for financing and a distribution deal.


When Paramount agreed, Pine and Thomas then set-out to actually write those scripts, bringing in people that would eventually become their unofficial behind the scenes stock company, including screenwriters Maxwell Shane, who had just helped resurrect The Mummy franchise for Universal with The Mummy’s Hand (1940), and who would go on to write or co-write over half of those 81 films Pine-Thomas did for Paramount (-- in fact all of them between 1941-1946), and author Daniel Mainwaring, who wrote for them under the pseudonym, Geoffrey Homes, on films like They Made Me a Killer (1946) and Hot Cargo (1946).


Mainwaring would later comment, "Bill Thomas of Pine and Thomas, who made very small and very bad pictures at Paramount, gave me my first real screenwriting job. I wrote six pictures in one year, all of which I'd just as soon forget except Big Town (1947). At the end of the year, I fled to the hills and wrote the novel Build My Gallows High,” which was later adapted by Jacques Tourneur as the film noir classic, Out of the Past (1947).


Also on board were production manager, L.B. “Doc” Merman, and director Frank McDonald, who had helmed the first three entries of the Torchy Blane series back in the 1930s, starting with Smart Blonde (1937), Fly Away Baby (1937), and Blondes at Work (1938), which all star my gal Glenda Farrell and I cannot recommend them enough. McDonald came onboard with the third film, Flying Blind. All three cost under $90,000 to make and Power Dive alone earned almost a million. And so, in June, 1941, Picture Corporation of America ceased to exist and Pine-Thomas Productions signed a six-picture deal with Paramount; three with Arlen, and three more with the recently signed Chester Morris, another aging star that still had some drawing power.


All the budgets were small, all the plots were simple, and all involved men of action doing dangerous jobs, ranging from flying, to deep sea diving, to car racing -- and someone usually perished doing these very things in the first reel to hammer this peril home, with Variety claiming in March, 1942, “The pair have shown a showman's flair for turning out thrill-heavy action dramas. They have consistently led their production classification in Box Office returns.” And by December of that year, they had scored another contract extension with Paramount and an agreement that would allow them to expand and make at least one A-picture a year.


Arlen left the company in 1944 and was replaced with Jack Haley, who signed a multi-picture contract. Haley was an old vaudeville performer and a song-and-dance man. His biggest role, of course, was playing the Tin-Man in The Wizard of Oz (1939), replacing Buddy Ebsen due to a massive allergic reaction to the silver make-up. And so, with his signing, Pine-Thomas would venture into some new low-budget territory with a series of musicals, starting with Take it Big (1944), and comedies -- along with a pinch of mystery, with One Body Too Many (1944).


McDonald would direct both, and Shayne would co-write the script for One Body Too Many with Winston Miller, an actor turned screenwriter, who had assisted David O. Selznick in the myriad rewrites for Gone with the Wind (1939), and who would later script My Darling Clementine (1946) for John Ford. “Westerns happened to be what I could do best,” said Miller in a later interview. “There are a lot of pictures I couldn't do, like a highly dramatic Bette Davis picture. I can only speak for myself, but you find your niche, you find that other people like it. I never took an assignment I didn't think I could make a good picture out of."


Well, turns out Miller and Shayne were pretty adept at writing comedy, too. For what they’ve concocted here is a smart and snappy comical farce on the Old Dark House murder mysteries, whose set-pieces and characters are constantly moving around and overlapping at a breakneck pace, chock full of a metric ton of rapid fire dialogue and running gags, ranging from the screwy, cuckoo clock inspired soundtrack, to Tuttle’s cowardly, self-deprecating one-liners, to Merkil and Matthews constant offer of percolated coffee that may or may not be tainted with rat poison that our hero won’t drink because, well, he’s a drip.


But Tuttle does have his heroic moments, too, like when he saves Carol from being flattened by that falling masonry. And then, against the better judgement of both angels on his shoulders, Tuttle decides to stay, get to the bottom of things, and ferret out the culprit before anything else happens to her.



The problem is, everyone is in on it. Or they’re all at least in on something as alliances are forged and plans are hatched to get rid of the body to scramble those inheritance shares by those convinced they’re on the shallow end of the trough. But only one of them will resort to murder.




And so, Tuttle once more takes up his morbid vigil in the library for a pretty good gag, where he pulls a book off the shelf to pass the time, Murder at Midnight, which he begins to read out loud only to have everything described in the book happen to him in real life -- the storm breaking, the clock striking twelve, and most shockingly, a secret passage opening up behind him, where two devlish hands reach out of the darkness to strangle the unwitting hero of the piece. Good thing this all proves too outlandish for Tuttle, who moves away and out of reach just in time as he tosses the lurid book away, leaving his attacker to resort to Plan B as the power is suddenly cut and Tuttle, lost in the dark, is knocked-out by someone.



When he comes to, surrounded by the others, Tuttle fears Carol has been hurt because she has blood on her hands only to find out it's his, from a scalp wound, and nearly passes out again. Worse yet, when the lights went out -- the house's and his, someone made off with the body. But as Tuttle dramatically reenacts the events that led to this dire predicament, familial hostility finally boils over, a punch is thrown intended for someone else only to land on our ersatz detective's jaw, sending him reeling into the fireplace, where he inadvertently triggers a secret chamber, which reveals Cyrus' corpse stuffed inside.



Later, we learn it was Davis, Kenneth and Margaret who were behind this latest subterfuge -- well, sort of, when the conspirators regroup to try again, only to realize that none of them actually got around to moving the body the last time, meaning someone else is up to no good, too.



Meantime, Gellman has come up with a plan to catch the conspirators in the act. Seems he wants to remove the body from the coffin and have Tuttle replace it. Thus, when the guilty party tries again, they’ll nab them. Meanwhile, someone is sneaking into the kitchen, where they secure a very large butcher knife. 



Back in the library, as Tuttle barely holds it together inside the cramped and apparently sound-proof coffin, someone sneaks in and locks it. This forces those other three conspirators to just take the whole coffin, not realizing who’s really inside it, which they schlep outside and dispose of by dropping it and Tuttle into a murky man-made fish pond.




Luckily for Tuttle, Carol couldn’t sleep and spied through her bedroom window three unrecognizable people in hats and raincoats moving the coffin toward the concrete pond. 
 

 
However, by the time she arrives, the others are long gone but she is able to drain the water before the coffin is completely swamped and saves Tuttle. 



When they get back inside, where Tuttle will continuously pull live goldfish from his pockets for the next ten minutes or so, he reveals this was all Gellman’s idea as they move to retrieve the real body from the closet they stashed it in -- only once again, the body has been replaced; this time by Gellman, who is most definitely dead.




Gathering up all the suspects, Carol relates how she saw three people moving the coffin but recognized none of them -- much to Davis and the other’s relief. Then, Tuttle notices Merkil’s shoes are muddy, but the butler claims he went out to let the family cat in due to the storm. Now, moving bodies around is one thing, but murder is a whole new level of peril. Thus, Tuttle declares this is too much for him and he is going for the police -- only he can’t, because one, the phones are no longer working, and two, according to Merkil, the storm has washed out the bridge on the one and only road to the mansion because OF COURSE it did.




Thus and so, it’s decided that everyone should lock themselves up in their bedrooms for their own safety until morning, including Tuttle, who is given a room and a spare pair of pajamas so he may get out of his wet clothes. But while avoiding eye contact with a creepy portrait hanging in his designated bedroom -- that appears to be keeping an eye on him as well, Tuttle, wrapped up in a towel, hangs his suit up in the closet to dry, where he once again accidentally triggers another hidden panel, which reveals an extensive secret passageway that snakes its way all throughout the mansion.




What happens next is fairly hysterical comedy of errors as Tuttle soon gets trapped in the passageway, gets lost in the dark, stumbles back into the wrong bedrooms, thinking they’re his, catching several of the womenfolk in a state of undress.




He then continues to sneak around, and then loses his towel when it gets caught in a door, only to wind up hiding in a clothes hamper, where he is finally caught with only a batch of kittens to use to save what little dignity he had left.



Later, after things calm down considerably, Tuttle is awoken when he hears someone prowling around in the room above his. These noises lead both him and Mona Rutherford upstairs to the observatory. Seems she and Henry have been sleeping in separate rooms for awhile now due to her constant boozing and flirting with other men. When they don’t find anything, he escorts her back to her room, where once again, his robe gets caught when the door swings shut, which is now locked, trapping him. Strangely, no one responds when he knocks on the door. And then Carol finds him and figures Mona has gotten her hooks into him, too.



Now, these two have been sort of developing feelings for each other as this cataclysmic night of errors and terrors has elapsed. And not wanting to spoil that, Tuttle is determined to prove nothing happened between he and Mona and inevitably breaks the bedroom door down, where they find Mona on the bed, dead, with a knife sticking out of her chest.



Carol’s startled scream brings everyone else into the room, where they all grill Tuttle, who was the last person to see both murder victims alive. They don’t believe his story about the secret passage and decide to lock him up in the tower before he murders anyone else until the police can be summoned. And while everyone else thinks he’s guilty, Carol believes he is innocent and sneaks in to see him.





And as that romantic spark between these two starts to flare up, Carol takes a look through the massive telescope to see what the stars say about their future only to make a gruesome discovery instead: Cyrus’ body has been stuffed inside of it!




Tuttle stays behind to guard the body while Carol rousts everyone else and sends them to the tower -- only she can’t find the grieving Henry. She checks Mona’s room but he’s not there either. However, that secret panel Tuttle swore was there all along is now open; and when she enters the darkened passage Carol finds the missing detective alive but all trussed up. She also finds Henry lurking in the shadows, and then suddenly realizes he was the killer all along.


Seems Mona was following him into the tower when Tuttle found her. And since she was getting too curious, she had to be eliminated. As for Gellman, well, he caught Henry after the villain broke into that safe so he could read the will, where he found out he was on the short-end and has been working hard to rectify that ever since. And now Carol must be eliminated, too.



But her screams alert the others, who trace them to the secret passageway, where they also find the detective, who says it was Henry and he’s taken Carol deeper into the catacombs. 



But as the men pursue them, Henry uses his knowledge of this maze to open several trapdoors, whittling away his pursuers until only Tuttle is left, who chases him up to the observatory, where he intends to toss Carol from its highest perch.



But as he raves, the others inside activate the telescope, which knocks Henry to his doom as it trundles to its new position just as Tuttle wrests Carol away to safety and they embrace.





Considering its vintage, One Body Too Many has a little more bite than you’d probably think. It’s a little rowdy, a little bawdy, and is an absolute delight. This kind of mash-up of comedy and chills had been a thing since Bob Hope zinged his way through The Cat and the Canary (1939) and The Ghost Breakers (1940). 


Some of the cash-ins on this formula were pretty good. Most were not, and relied way too much on schtick, slapstick, and ah-lot of screaming and yelling and property damage. I guess it all kinda depended on which comedian was in the lead. Milton Berle did just fine in The Whispering Ghost (1942), as did Red Skelton with Whistling in the Dark (1941). And I’m happy to report that Jack Haley was more than up to the task, too.


Haley was a bit of a revelation here. I had only seen him in The Wizard of Oz before catching One Body Too Many, a rare headliner for him, and loved it enough to immediately track down the follow-up feature, Scared Stiff (1945) -- not to be confused with Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis’s 1953 film, which was in fact a remake of Hope’s The Ghost Catchers, where Pine and Williams basically brought the whole band back together: McDonald, Shayne, this time co-writing with Mainwaring, and Haley, who teams up with Ann Savage to solve another string of murders.


Haley is funny as hell in this as the constantly befuddled Tuttle. He has a wonderful sense of comedic timing, waiting for just the right moment to finish off a line someone else started or to punctuate a joke -- especially with all of those fish. That whole segment where he’s half naked, sneaking from room to room belongs in the Hall of Fame of such things -- and that final punchline with the kittens, omigod.


His co-stars are also a lot of fun, and it's always great to see some career second bananas come to the forefront. Here, Haley has excellent chemistry with Jean Parker and their scenes together just crackle. I kinda wish Douglas Fowley, who was so fantastic as the lunatic director in Singing in the Rain (1952) and as the squad malcontent in Battleground (1949), had a little more to do but he makes for a fine enough villain. And I love William Edmunds as the hair-brained professor -- watch for the scene where he loses his shit when they find Cyrus plugged into the telescope.


And then there’s Bela Lugosi. I tell ya, it did my heart good to watch his performance as the kooky butler. Always in the scene, always listening, helping his co-stars, and delivering plenty of genuine laughs -- none of them at his expense. Yeah, One Body Too Many was a rare opportunity for Lugosi to show off his comedic side, where he wasn’t constantly overwhelmed by Bud and Lou. 





That running gag with the coffee, as he keeps foisting it on people, only to be rejected over and over, and the hangdog look on his face when they do is priceless. And for the record, the coffee wasn’t poisoned and provides a perfect final punchline for the film.





But the most hysterical moment is when Haley is grilling him over the incriminating mud on his shoes, saying it was due to the storm. When Haley asks what storm? Lugosi marches to the sliding glass door, swings it open, lightning flashes and thunder booms, waves his hand in a “duh” motion, and says, “That storm.” It’s all in the delivery, and it's a lot funnier in motion. Trust me. It’s so good. We hadn’t lost him completely to the needle yet, Boils and Ghouls, and this role for Lugosi needs to be better known than it is.


Hell this whole film needs to be better known than it is. This is no Moldy-Oldie, this is a Classic Creaker, with so many good little bits that they all really add up to something pretty great. Personally, I found it to be hysterical, which means you all will probably at least find it amusing. Also, if you’re a fan of the chaotic Clue (1985), here’s something from the fossil record you should probably dig into.



And the only real complaint I have about One Body Too Many is that it’s currently stuck in Public Domain Hell, and every print I have found is pretty dreadful and either washed-out or murky as hell and likely to remain that way, which is too bad. Because right now, we’re only seeing about half the sequence when Haley is running around in the dark in his birthday suit due to the murk and I would like to see all of it, dammit.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's 15 films down with 11 yet to go. Up next, Beware the Wheel Ezekiel says he saw.


One Body Too Many (1944) Pine-Thomas Productions :: Paramount Pictures / P: William H. Pine, William C. Thomas / D: Frank McDonald / W: Winston Miller, Maxwell Shane / C: Fred Jackman Jr. / E: Henry Adams / M: Alexander Laszlo / S: Jack Haley, Jean Parker, Bela Lugosi, Blanche Yurka, Lyle Talbot, Douglas Fowley, Fay Helm, Bernard Nedell, Lucien Littlefield, Dorothy Granger, Maxine Fife

Hubrisween 2020 :: P is for Phoenix Forgotten (2017)

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After a brief cacophonous montage of overlapping images culled from several TV news sources, we cut to a slightly more serene video of an outdoor cookout dated March 13, 1997, held in celebration of a young girl’s 6th birthday.


Shot by her older brother, Josh, on a camcorder, he gathers video well-wishes and testimonials from their parents, grandparents, and other friends until their mom wrestles the camera away and turns it on her son, forcing him to say something nice about his little sister, Sophie, on camera, too. Honestly, Josh doesn’t mount much of a protest over these demands, but before he can say anything the video pauses and a voiceover cryptically says this would be the last time the Bishops were ever all together as a family.




We then cut to the Phoenix airport, where we meet the person behind that voice, Sophie Bishop (Hartigan), now 26, who has returned home with her cameraman, Jay (Keitel), in tow, filming her every move. Her father, Steve (Jordan), picks them up. 



And when he asks what the camera is for, Sophie reveals she is in the process of making a documentary about Josh, which gets a physical reaction from their dad -- and not a pleasant one.



Now, at this point I will pause and point out that we are not watching the “making of” efforts of Sophie’s documentary but the completed documentary itself as the film constantly cuts between newer footage and interviews shot by Sophie and Jay, Josh’s old videos, and archival news footage, which is what we cut to next for another montage that reveals the delicate and touchy nature of the subject matter of this “proposed” documentary: how Josh and two of his friends, Ashley Foster and Mark Abrams, essentially disappeared into the desert without a trace two decades ago. And while the case is still open, all possible leads have long since dried up and left the moribund investigation mired in an insurmountable pile-up of dead-ends.




Thus, this unexplained disappearance has haunted the Bishop family and left a very deep scar, too, as we quickly suss out her parents are separated, in the process of getting acrimoniously divorced, and selling off the old house -- too many triggering memories there, I guess. In fact, Steve declines to even enter the house. But her mom, Caroline (Strittmatter), is there, and after exchanging hugs we see everything is all packed up and ready to move -- except for Josh’s room, which has remained untouched since he left that fateful morning never to return. Caroline could not face the task alone, and is glad for Sophie’s help, who asks if she still has all of Josh’s old tapes. She does.



 

Apparently, Josh (Roberts) fancied himself as an amateur auteur and his video camera was constantly on and welded to his hand. And after digging through an old shoe-box full of tapes, Sophie finds the one she’s looking for, which we see is marked “Sophie’s 6th Birthday” on the label -- only that is scribbled out, with the words “Phoenix Lights” written above it as she pushes it into the VCR. 


And as the images find a track and flicker to life on the TV, we cut back to her birthday party, where Josh is about to say what he loves about her so much, when suddenly, everyone's attention is drawn to the night sky, where a strange formation of lights appear and hover over the city of Phoenix, Arizona.




Here, Josh wrests the camera away from his mom and excitedly captures the v-shaped phenomenon on tape before the lights slowly disappear. Convinced they all just witnessed a bona fide UFO, the gathered others don’t quite share Josh’s conviction or enthusiasm -- especially his dad, who believes it was probably just the military out on maneuvers. But then, almost on cue, two fighter jets roar over the house from behind them at an extremely low and dangerous altitude on an intercept course to where the lights were last seen, convincing Josh more than ever that what they saw was not of this Earth.



Josh’s footage soon makes the family semi-famous, too, as they make the local news, where he and his father are interviewed on TV and recount what they saw that night while Josh’s tape of the Lights is broadcast over the airwaves on several outlets. But the tone of the coverage soon switches from awe and wonder to rationalism and skepticism when the official explanation for these mystery lights is released, saying they were nothing more than misidentified military flares shot-off during a training exercise.



Not buying this cover-up for a second, Josh is soon obsessed with finding out the truth -- the real truth. And so, armed with his trusty camera, as always, the impulsive teenager makes the fateful decision to get to the bottom of this mystery and prove what those Lights really were. And it was in pursuit of this truth that led Josh and the others out into the desert.



As to what happened next, well, no one can say for sure. But his sister is determined to find out. And one can only hope as she doggedly attempts to retrace Josh and the others’ final steps on that last day, trying desperately to fill in one big critical gap in the timeline that could unlock the whole thing, that Sophie doesn’t wind up sharing the same fate as her brother in her own obsessive search for the truth...




The first known sighting of what would come to be ubiquitously known as The Phoenix Lights actually took place in Henderson, Nevada, on March 13, 1997, where a man reported spotting a large V-shaped object in the night sky around 7:55pm, about the size of a Boeing 747, with six visible lights running the length of the leading edge, silently moving to the southeast. About twenty minutes later, a similar object was reported by a former police officer near Paulden, Arizona, which is about 200 miles southeast of Henderson, which is just south of Las Vegas. Here, the witness reported a cluster of four alternating reddish and orange lights with a fifth light trailing behind them, making him believe they were from two separate sources, which he continued to observe through binoculars until the lights disappeared over the mountains, still moving south by southeast, toward Prescott Valley.'


Sometime later, The National UFO Reporting Center received the following witness statement from the same area dated the same day and same time-frame from an amateur photographer, who was out shooting pictures of the night sky: “I observed five yellow-white lights in a "V" formation moving slowly from the northwest, across the sky to the northeast, then turn almost due south and continue until out of sight. The point of the "V" was in the direction of movement. The first three lights were in a fairly tight "V" while two of the lights were further back along the lines of the "V"'s legs. During the NW-NE transit one of the trailing lights moved up and joined the three and then dropped back to the trailing position. I estimated the three light "V" to cover about 0.5 degrees of sky and the whole group of five lights to cover about 1 degree of sky.”

Around this same time, John Kaiser was outside with his wife and sons in Prescott Valley when they noticed the lights, too, which they claimed formed a triangular pattern as it silently flew directly overhead and then disappeared over the horizon, still moving to the southeast, toward Glendale and Phoenix. Tim Ley and his family also observed the lights moving through Prescott Valley, and would later describe five distinct lights attached to what he called a carpenter’s square -- a V-shaped tool, until it disappeared over Squaw Peak, moving toward the Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport, where, revealed in a later interview with the BBC, actor Kurt Russell was in the process of landing his private plane when he spotted the mystery object, too, and reported this sighting to the control tower.


Multiple witnesses in the western suburbs of Glendale saw the object pass overhead, partially obscured by clouds, between 8:30 and 8:45pm as it finally reached Phoenix proper, where thousands of witnesses observed what was collectively described as a large angular craft -- some claims put it at nearly a mile long, blotting out the other stars as it hovered silently for nearly two hours, demarcated by those lights, which had now increased to nine, and were described by some as “canisters of swimming light” embedded in the underbelly of the craft, which purportedly undulated -- as if looking through water. From there, the craft continued on to the southeast around 11pm, where it was spotted again near Tucson as it continued south, which was verified later by multiple sightings in Sonora, Mexico, before the craft finally vanished for good.


And while there were thousands of eye-witnesses, who clogged up phone lines to TV stations, newspapers, the police, and Luke Air Force Base, wanting to know what it in the hell that was, and while multiple photos and videos of this close encounter were shot, the incident barely made a ripple outside of the Phoenix area until a follow-up feature ran nearly two months later on the front page of the June 18, 1997, edition of the USA Today, which featured an artist rendition of the mystery craft.


And then the whole thing kind of blew up, and the sighting officially became a cause célèbre in UFO circles, as people called for a federal investigation to explain what the object was and where it came from, leading to the infamous news conference from then Arizona Governor Fife Symington, who declared they had caught the culprit and then marched out one of his aides dressed up as an alien, while the whole thing was written off as misidentified military flares launched from a squadron of A-10 Warthogs, suspended in the air by parachutes, dropped by members of the Maryland Air National Guard, currently visiting the Davis-Monthan AFB and participating in a training exercise held at the Barry Goldwater Bombing Range in western Pima county.



And while that was enough explanation for some, it was not for all -- especially with those earlier sightings in Prescott Valley, including, strangely enough, ex-Governor Symington, who later apologized for his role in trivializing the mass sighting in a later interview in The Prescott Daily Courier, where he claimed to be a witness of the phenomenon himself. "I'm a pilot and I know just about every machine that flies,” said Symington. “It was bigger than anything that I've ever seen. Other people saw it, responsible people ... And it couldn't have been flares because it was too symmetrical. It had a geometric outline, a constant shape. It was enormous and inexplicable. Who knows where it came from?"


Now, as all of this caught fire, one person who was keenly interested in these sightings was a young teenager named Justin Barber. “I was a high school kid when the Phoenix Lights happened,” Barber later related in an April, 2017, interview with Kathie Huddleston for SyFy.com. “It was a peak time for X-Files, and the '90s was big for UFOs. I was always drawn to that material and those types of stories. Like a lot of people who loved sci-fi, growing up as a kid in the suburbs of Florida you just want the world to be more exciting, more fantastic than it is."


After graduating high school, Barber attended Florida State University, where he met Wes Ball and T.S. Nowlin. All three remained friends post-college and wound up working in the film industry in some capacity. Ball and Barber in art direction and visual effects, who worked together on a series of Star Trek shorts in 2009. Nowlin, meanwhile, was a screenwriter, who helped adapt James Dashner’s Maze Runner novels into a feature film franchise -- The Maze Runner (2014), Maze Runner: Scorch Trials (2015), Maze Runner: The Death Cure (2018), on which Ball made his directorial debut.

As far back as 1999, when Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sánchez’s The Blair Witch Project (1999) hit big, caused a national phenomenon in viral marketing, and made found footage films a going concern, Ball and Nowlin began kicking around the idea of doing a similar cinema verite project centered around a close encounter with a UFO while they were still in college. What they envisioned was something that started out as “a documentary at first, then goes off the rails and becomes a found footage ride.” And this idea simmered for nearly fifteen years until it resurfaced again around 2015, when Ball and Nowlin started getting some traction in Hollywood, where they brought in Barber due to his recent work on a couple of documentary films for ESPN’s 30 for 30 anthology program.


“I loved the original Blair Witch Project,” said Barber. “It's very authentic; and now twenty years later we live in this age where there is a lot of saturation with movies like that and I think more often than not they don't quite have the same authenticity that the progenitor had. We really just wanted to nail that.” And so, Barber and Nowlin started hashing out a treatment. And while it started as just a random encounter between three teens and a UFO, Barber got the idea to really play up the “Based on a true story” angle as Myrick and Sánchez had done so brilliantly, giving it an air of authenticity.



Digging back into his own past, Barber suggested they base it around The Phoenix Lights sighting instead of something like the Gulf Breeze incidents in his native Florida, feeling the desert provided a better backdrop. “I did a lot of research,” said Barber. “I went to Phoenix, talked to real eyewitnesses and real experts."

But to be fair and honest, what they came up with for Phoenix Forgotten (2017) was still a pretty shameless groping of The Blair Witch Project, where Barber and Nowlin’s script tries to hide their filed-off serial numbers as a documentary tucked inside another documentary wrapped up in a found footage movie. But where Phoenix Forgotten starts to differentiate itself from the originator of the species, with the ingenious way it was set up, is how it allows us to get to know these characters before the shit retroactively hits the fan. For unlike Heather, Josh and Mike, who were, lets face it, nothing but three insufferable assholes that got lost in the woods, we actually kinda like Josh, Ashley and Mark, which is only reinforced by the loss and suffering felt by those they left behind, which is where Barber’s film truly excels.


And as they stuck their fictional characters into a fictional story plugged into an actual event, the family melodrama was a key from the beginning. “When you look at E.T., when you look at Close Encounters, there's just enough interpersonal turmoil to draw you into the characters a little bit, so that later, when they're on the found footage ride, it's more impactful because you actually care about them more. A lot of these [found footage] movies are horror movies. I remember the suspenseful situations and the scary monster, but less so the characters. And I just wanted to make a movie where the characters were more unique and memorable."

Once the script was finished, Barber cut together a proof of concept trailer for Phoenix Forgotten, editing together a news footage mock-up for his missing teens, and they began to shop it around. And then fate sorta stepped in when Nowlin found himself in the offices of Scott Free Productions on another project and wound up in a room with Ridley Scott -- Alien (1979), Blade Runner (1982), saw an opportunity, and pitched him the movie. Scott was intrigued and “the subject matter appealed to him, but also even the very iterations of the story -- the very suspenseful ride, it felt like a noose tightening around the necks of these characters, and it built to this big finish.” Couple that with the fact his production company had been looking to latch onto one of these low-budget horror productions, Scott gave them a greenlight to proceed. He, Ball and Nowlin would produce -- along with about a dozen others, and Barber was put in charge of directing it.

Inspired by the documentaries of Werner Herzog -- Grizzly Man (2005), Into the Inferno (2016), Errol Morris -- Gates of Heaven (1978), The Fog of War (2003), Tabloid (2010), and especially Moria Demos and Laura Ricciardi’s recent series, Making a Murderer (2015-2018), Barber lays out a solid foundation for the film as he slowly plays out his poker hand, with Sophie’s documentary laying the groundwork, metering out what we know and when we knew it.




And through her we find out how Josh met Ashley Foster when Sophie pulls out a tape marked “Vox Populi” and plays it next, where we see her brother hunting for other eye-witnesses who saw the Lights and interviews them -- some more credible than others. This includes Ashley (Lopez), who never actually saw the Lights, and yet Josh keeps on asking her more questions, and appreciates the interviewing tips she offers to help him on his quest. Showing a natural affinity for the camera, after she relates the biblical UFO story of Ezekiel and the Wheel, Josh lets her go but the camera lingers on Ashley as the girl walks away.




Obviously, Josh has developed an instant-crush. And when Sophie interviews Ashley’s parents, Jack and Melissa Foster (Carerra, Jackson), they say she tended to have that effect on people; a tenacious, compassionate, and gentle soul, who always had time to listen to other people’s woes. Which made her perfect lawyer material to her father, while her mother always saw a crusading reporter -- exemplified by her high school roving reporter videos, which are also incorporated into Sophie’s documentary. But when she asks what they thought of Josh, neither had ever met him. And they honestly had no idea what they were working on.



Apparently intrigued by what Josh was doing, Ashley decided to help out with his research into UFOs, ancient aliens, and crop circles, and eventually signed on as a producer and possible co-director of a documentary film about the Phoenix Lights. 



Their first official interview was with two members of The Phoenix Astronomical Society (Marron, Boyd), who agree to look at Josh’s raw tape of the Lights. They come away a tad disappointed, here, when both men agree what they’re looking at are indeed a bunch of flares suspended on the ends of parachutes.



Probing further, they next interview a Native American (Duncan), who relates some old folklore of the area about the Sky People; from whom his tribe descended. And then things really perk up when he mentioned how he used to see the same kind of lights all the time out at the Salt River Reservation. Thus, it doesn’t take much to talk Ashley into taking a trip out to the desert. The problem is, how do they get there since neither of them have a car. Not to worry, says Josh, he’s got a few ideas on that.



Enter Mark Abrams (Matthews), and more importantly, Mark’s Jeep Grand Cherokee. A friend of Josh’s since grade school, a Boy Scout his whole life, and familiar with the area, Mark agrees to take the other two tenderfoots out to the Reservation and chaperone them into the desert for a quick tour to see what they can see. And after an evening of preparations and microwavable burritos, news breaks on the TV that the Lights have returned! Recognizing the area near Mesa, the two pile into the Jeep and head out into the night. But by the time they arrive, the Lights are long gone.



However, they do spy a searchlight scanning the sky from a nearby hill and investigate the source, stumbling upon some kind of official operation attended by several deputies, men in protective gear, and cars with no license plates. Making too much noise, they are discovered but manage to get away without being caught. 



Rushing home, Josh excitedly pulls out a map of the area, takes a magic marker and marks an X where his family first saw the Lights, and then marks another where the Lights were spotted tonight, and then a third X for where they’re headed tomorrow. The Reservation. He then draws a straight line connecting all three, convinced this flight pattern will lead them right to the UFO.



Cut back to the present for a series of interviews with local law enforcement and those who worked on the case of the missing teens, who break down the investigation from the beginning to its open end. The lead investigator, Detective Jay Pirouznia of the Phoenix PD, now retired, always found it strange to have three kids go missing all at once. Usually one, or two, but seldom three. 



She also talks to Kevin Boontjer, another retired Phoenix police officer and pilot, who led the aerial search of the desert, who gives Sophie a tour of the area from his plane, showing the spot where Mark’s Jeep was found. Then, Walter Garza, a retired deputy of the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Department, drives her to the exact spot where the car was found and describes the scene, which gave up a lot of evidence but not a lot of clues as to what happened.




What they know for sure is that on the morning of March 22, 1997, Mark and Josh picked up Ashley at her house at 7:30am on the day of their disappearance. The Jeep was then found by a passing patrolman, abandoned on the side of the road on March 23 at 1:35am. The car was locked, and would later prove to still be in working order. Inside they found several empty beer cans, some traces of blood on the floor underneath the steering wheel -- later determined to be Mark’s, and her brother’s camera.




And with a combination of surveillance video from several stops along the way and the tape recovered with Mark’s camera, they were able to trace their movements and determined where they went up to when that tape ran out, which was almost 11 miles from where they eventually found the Jeep, leaving a huge gap in the timeline where they have no idea what happened next or ultimately what happened to them. An extensive search of the desert area took place, lasting for over two weeks, but not one single trace or sign of the missing was ever found. And despite pleas from the families for help and any information, no one came forward.



Thus, all they can do now is speculate. Did they just wander too far into the desert and get irrevocably lost? Of course, with the blood evidence found, they can’t rule out foul play. Were they abducted? Did they see something they shouldn’t have? Drug dealers? Were they caught in the wrong place at the wrong time? There’s even persistent speculation that the dynamic of the group holds the key -- two boys, one girl, with someone getting jealous, and then things just got out of hand from there and the last one standing has been on the run ever since. Regardless, it’s been 20 years with no sign of anyone, and the general consensus is that all three are most likely dead out there somewhere in the desert, waiting for someone to stumble upon the bones.


And that is the true purpose of Sophie’s documentary, to try and shore up that gap and find out what really happened out there, but she keeps running into the exact same dead-ends. But as the case went cold and the years passed, his camera and the last tape of film Josh most likely ever shot wound up back in the Bishop’s possession. 





And when Sophie scours through the footage, she is puzzled over how the tape ends just as they seemingly arrived at their destination. Surely they wouldn’t have driven all the way out to the Salt River Reservation and then stopped filming? Was there a second tape? Or, as some of the footage suggests, was there a second camera?



Turns out the investigators thought of that, too, feeling Josh would’ve never just left the camera in the Jeep on purpose; but again, they found nothing. Feeling this might just be the break they’ve needed for so long, Sophie pushes further, checking in at Josh’s old high school, to see if there are any records of Josh or Ashley checking out a camera that weekend. She talks to Luisa Moreno (Dela Cruz), who’s now in charge of the school’s AV equipment. But she’s only been on the job for five years and the records she has do not go back that far, meaning this is just another in a long line of heartbreaking dead-ends, which is punctuated by more news footage of the search coming to an end, despite pleas from her father not to abandon his son and the others.


Thus, so desperate for answers for her family, Sophie even proves willing to accept some irrational explanations now that all the rational ones have been exhausted. Maybe they did see a UFO that night, and maybe her brother and the others were abducted by aliens. And as crazy as that sounds, to those ends, she engineers a driveway ambush of ex-Governor Symington’s former press secretary, wanting to know why Symington lied to the people and then later admit to seeing a UFO, too; and therefore, Why did he knowingly participate in a cover-up over the Phoenix Lights? But this, too, goes nowhere.



Despite the long passage of time, and coming to grips with the fact their children are most likely dead, none of the families involved have yet to officially declare them so, meaning no funeral and no real closure. The Foster family settled on a Memorial Bench for Ashley. It’s unclear what the Abrams did as Mark’s parents refused to be interviewed, but Sophie did manage to talk to his older brother, Daniel (Biedel), who was an engineering student at Arizona State at the time of the disappearance.




As for her own parents, Sophie puts the question to them: If Josh hadn’t disappeared, would they still be together? Her father says yes, most definitely, and desperately wants to know what her mother said. Her mother was a little more philosophical. Was Josh dead? Did he suffer? Did Ashley have feelings for him, too? She hoped so, hoping he at least had the chance at a relationship however brief before, well, all of this happened.




Inevitably, all those questions got to be too much for the both of them to deal with and still be man and wife. Her father was still in denial; and will be until they find a body. As for her mother, she is ready to finally let go and move on; and with Sophie’s help, they pack up Josh’s things as a way of saying goodbye and find some semblance of peace together at long last. And with that, Sophie’s documentary seemingly comes to an end with another overwhelming montage of mixed footage as she’s dropped back off at the airport for her flight home.



Now, I say “seemingly comes to an end” because as we fade to black, we suddenly cut to three months later as we hear a voice message for Sophie from Louisa Moreno, from the high school, saying to call back as soon as she can. Cut to Sophie scrambling to get out of her rental car and sprinting to some kind of warehouse, where she meets Louisa. Apparently, this building has been in possession of the school district since the 1970s, where all the old and outdated equipment is dumped until it becomes obsolete and then thrown out completely. 




And while she was clearing some stuff out, Louisa came across an old package, sent to them by a concerned citizen some time ago, who apparently found something while out hiking in the desert that belonged to the school. And what did they find? Nothing but an old beat-up video camera.



The camera is a total loss, but with Daniel Abrams help, they are able to extract and salvage the tape still inside it, whose label reads “Expedition” written in Ashley’s handwriting. Nervously, they place the tape into a working camera, hook it up to the TV, and press play. When it’s over, a shell-shocked Sophie can’t seem to get her head around what she’s just watched.



After regrouping, she hooks back up with Jay, and together, they travel out to Luke Air Force Base for a follow-up interview with a Captain Groves, with whom she had left a copy of the footage. But they get held up at the gate, where they are told by the guard to park to the side and wait. Nearly an hour later, the gate finally opens and Groves (Cansino) presents himself. Telling Jay to stay in the car but to keep filming no matter what, Sophie exits and engages with her subject. With all the extant noise it’s hard to make out what they’re saying exactly but the gist of it is the interview has been cancelled and Sophie wants to know why he won’t talk to her.



When she asks about the footage, Groves steps closer, angrily whispers something into her ear, and then leaves. Returning to the car, Jay asks a gobsmacked Sophie what the man said and is told it was a warning to not let that tape get out. Asked what she is going to do now? Sophie thinks for a beat, smiles, and says, What do you think Josh would do?



Well, we get our answer as Sophie’s documentary continues, with the last 40-minutes consisting of the unedited and unfiltered footage of the Expedition tape, which picks up right where the other tape left off with the examination of a coyote carcass. From there, Mark leads them on a hike deeper into the desert, where we see a lot of clowning for the camera, and the discovery of several petroglyphs painted on the rocks, depicting a bunch of concentric circles.




As the hike continues, it becomes obvious that Mark and Ashley are getting awfully chummy, which a jealous Josh tries to torpedo later during an impromptu game of Truth or Dare, when they stop and have a few beers, where he asks Mark the truth about an alleged other girlfriend, which turns ugly, adding credence to the argument that perhaps this was just a crime of passion after all.




When the sun starts to set, Mark says it's time to head back because he wants to reach the Jeep before it gets too dark. But as Josh drags his feet, wanting to capture the sunset on film the others quickly point to something else on the horizon: something metallic, glinting in the light, hovering in the distance, which suddenly streaks across the sky, breaks apart and disappears. Hoping to see more, the group tarries too long and are then forced to find their way back in complete darkness.



Along the way, they get lost and panic starts to set in. (Note how they all ironically claim their parents will never miss them if they don’t make it back.) As the panic escalates, Mark assures he knows exactly where they are going. When it becomes obvious he does not, Ashley demands to see the compass, determined to take over this expedition. And while she and Josh huddle up, watching the compass spin in a wobbly circle due to some kind of magnetic interference, Mark heads to some high ground to see if he can spot the vehicle.




Then, they hear something; something that sounds like the world’s most forlorn train horn, multiples of them, that’s getting louder and closer by the second. Then a multitude of strange lights appear over the hill and a great wind kicks up, sucking up all the loose dirt and gravel from the canyon floor. And when the lights and noise suddenly cease, all of that debris showers back down on top of them. The two yell for Mark, who went up the same hill, who then returns, visibly distressed, but claims he saw the car. He also refuses to answer any questions about what else he saw up there as they do find the Jeep and pile in.




Back on the highway, Mark isn’t looking so hot and quickly burns through what’s left of their water supply. Then, just as the radio stops working, Ashley spots a single light racing up fast behind them. And when it roars overhead and disappears again, the Jeep stalls out and refuses to start. 



Freaked out by all of this, they push the vehicle to the side of the road, determined to hike out of there before the Lights come back. At some point, Josh notices that Mark’s nose is bleeding; and while he insists he’s okay, Mark quickly falls behind the others and can barely keep up.



And as he becomes even more feverish and sickly and disoriented, Mark starts to hear voices, and then bolts off the road and into the desert, claiming his family has arrived to rescue them. And before Josh and Ashley can catch up to him, those Lights return and Mark disappears in a flash after a huge electrical discharge lights up the desert and an even more violent wind once more sucks everything skyward.




Unable to find him, the remaining two then see a regular light in the distance, which they head toward, revealing some kind of isolated trailer house. But as they move in that direction, Ashley starts showing the same debilitating symptoms as Mark -- fever, nosebleed, weakness, and then her hair starts falling out; a sure sign of acute radiation poisoning. Then they hear that train noise again, followed by the Lights. And as they flee from all of this, Ashley raves about hearing her father as the Lights close in on them.




Here, Josh turns the camera skyward and captures what appears to be a large alien craft, consisting of several concentric, rotating metallic rings. The camera then witnesses Ashley being violently pulled into the sky, where she, too, disappears in a flash of light.






Fleeing in terror, Josh makes it to the deserted trailer and tries to hide from the pursuing alien craft. But between the massive electromagnetic discharges and gravity nullification, the trailer literally comes unhinged and explodes all around him before Josh and his camera are sucked up in another flash of light, distorting the images, until it clears up and we see the camera’s point of view as it free-falls several hundred feet back to the ground, where it lands, hard, shattering the lens, but we can still see the sun coming up over the horizon, which holds until the tape eventually runs out.





One of the biggest challenges Barber faced when trying to sell his film as a true documentary was getting his scripted actors to come off natural and genuine. To help sell it, all the people playing law enforcement were not actors but real police officers, who were given the facts of the fictional case, which allowed them to delve into their own experiences on how such a missing persons case would’ve been handled and let them wing it from there. And while that worked out well enough, it’s the true actors in the cast that really makes this thing work.



Collaboration from top to bottom was the key, and Barber encouraged a lot of improvising to make things seem more off-the-cuff. In fact, most of the non-FX scenes involving Josh, Ashley, and Mark were just the actors turned loose by themselves with a camera. And to make things even more authentic, the three leads -- Luke Spencer Roberts, Chelsea Lopez and Justin Matthews, made up their own bios and shared them with each other but embargoed certain information so only two of them would know what they were talking about while the other did not, allowing the audience to discover things along with the ignorant party -- a simple but surprisingly effective tactic. 




And like her character on film, the camera immediately falls in love with Lopez, too, who is absolutely magnetic, the moment we meet her doomed character.




But while the movie is about those missing, the weight of carrying it is primarily on Florence Hartigan, who finally pieces all of this together, and the actors playing the parents, Clint Jordan, Cyd Strittmatter, Jeanine Jackson and David Carrera; because if we don’t believe they care, odds are good we won’t either. Here, Barber made the best decision of all by basically rolling the camera and getting out of the way of his group of relatively unknown players and let them work their craft.




Of course, with the way it's structured as a completed documentary, Barber can have his cake and eat it, too, when it comes to Phoenix Forgotten being a found footage movie, allowing a soundtrack, some inventive editing by Joshua Rosenfield, and a ready-made excuse for cinematographer Jay Keitel to always have the camera filming not matter what. But it also plays fair with the second half, where the lost tape is played unaltered, masking cuts when the camera whips around or when Josh stops filming, who, unlike some other films in this genre, must conserve both his battery and the finite space on the magnetic tape.



And I think that’s one of the best compliments I can give Barber and his movie: how satisfying both half of the films are on their own. I don’t think I can translate how moving the premature ending of Sophie’s doc was when she and her mother finally accept the truth that they may never know the real truth. (Having lost a sibling to violence, I may be a tad biased here.) And while this reckoning was by no means ruined with the discovery and revelation of a bona fide alien abduction as Josh’s final fate, it definitely could have if the found footage segment fell on its face or failed to achieve the same emotional punch.



To keep the film as grounded as possible, Barber and his production supervisor, Tom Moran, wanted to keep the FX practical and in-camera as much as possible. And to those ends they hired Joe Pancake and his JEM FX team, who used a combination of glorified leaf blowers to create all that wind, let gravity do the work to make it rain gravel, and used a system of counterweights to yank the actors into the sky when they got zapped. And they built a Rotisserie Rig for the ultimate climax in the trailer house, which allowed the set to spin 360-degrees to give off the illusion of gravity ceasing to exist as water runs up walls and debris angrily moves around. And to get that final shot, the filmmakers attached a camcorder to a small weather balloon, sent it skyward, and then popped it, allowing the camera to fall back to the ground. To Barber’s amazement, the inner mechanisms survived the fall and even kept recording.



This was all then complimented and fleshed-out with digital FX. Barber had hoped to realize the alien craft with a model miniature but it just wasn’t in the budget. What they pulled-off digitally from the brief glimpse we do get of that gyroscopic nightmare was really impressive and unique in design -- especially when you add in the creepy sound-effects, the wind, and detritus. It’s all very impressive and all very low-tech as one of the things not digitally dickered with was the vintage footage, which was all shot on an HD camcorder, which was then copied onto a NTSC VHS tape, which was then copied again onto another tape before it was edited into the film. And these efforts all leave a lasting impression that resonates long after the film ends.


I first became aware of Phoenix Forgotten in late 2016 when I saw a poster for it tucked away in a corner of a massive multiplex. Intrigued, when I got home, I dug out a trailer on YouTube and became even more intrigued -- impressed by some of the clout in the credits, though its cinematic influences were painfully obvious, and made a mental note to check it out when it hit the theater near me. Only it never did -- at least not in my neck of the woods, despite the trailer being subsequently shown several times before other partaken features, which guaranteed it was coming soon. Only it didn’t.




The film was released in April of 2017 but only managed middlin’ box-office and poor reviews and was quickly yanked from circulation. I finally came across it on some streaming service a couple years ago and finally gave it a play, where I easily bought into what Barber was selling, got caught up in the cast revealing the story, and enjoyed the hell out of it. On the surface, it doesn’t break much ground, sure, but when you start digging in and paying attention to all those little details, Phoenix Forgotten definitely deserves to be seen by more people and should be better remembered than this.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's 16 films down with 10 yet to go. Up next, Women are from Venus and Men are from der Ert. No. Really!


Phoenix Forgotten (2017) Cinelou Films :: Scott Free Productions :: Oddball Entertainment :: Singular / EP: Fredy Bush, Wayne Marc Godfrey, David Hopwood, Cai Jain, Robert Jones, Scott Karol, Tom Moran, Dennis L. Pelino, Michael Schaefer, Wei Cheng Yu / P: Ridley Scott, Wes Ball, Mark Canton, T.S. Nowlin, Courtney Solomon / CP: Stephanie Caleb, Pavlina Hatoupis, Samantha Thomas / AP: Iain Abrahams, Ian Brereton, Mark Frazier, Joseph Hall, Alexandra Jardine, Christine Kessler, Franchesca Lantz, Michael K. Dwyer, Babak Eftekhari, Brigitte Wise / LP: Alexandra Feld, John Taylor Feltner, Carolyn Mao / D: Justin Barber / W: T.S. Nowlin, Justin Barber / C: Jay Keitel / E: Joshua Rosenfield / M: Mondo Boys / S: Florence Hartigan, Luke Spencer Roberts, Chelsea Lopez, Justin Matthews, Clint Jordan, Cyd Strittmatter, Roberto Medinam, Jeanine Jackson, David Carrera, Ana Dela Cruz

Hubrisween 2020 :: Q is for Queen of Outer Space (1958)

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In the far-flung future of 1984, three anxious astronauts are loitering outside their commander's office, waiting to find out what they're next assignment will be. Convinced it’s the pending prized expedition to Mars, all three are destined to be disappointed.



Shackled to another "milk run" shuttling the lauded Professor Konrad to his most famous creation -- Space Station-A, orbiting some 20,000 miles above the Earth, and unable to hide their frustration over this, Captain Neal Patterson (Fleming) and his crew are reprimanded by their Commander (Gaylord), who must remind them how every single mission is vitally important in the interest of Earth’s conquest of space. And this one has the utmost urgency, too. For it seems there’s some kind of trouble brewing up there, somewhere in the stars, and there’s no time for explanations; Konrad will just have to fill them in on the way, because they have to launch immediately.




Vital or not, while working through the pre-flight check for their impending blast-off, Lt. Mike Cruze (Willock), the ship's radio-man, is still bitching about this baby-sitting assignment before realizing Konrad (Birch) is already onboard and within earshot. And as Konrad assures him his mission is of grave importance, he tries to light a cigarette, is quickly stopped, and then gets an earful over how the slightest spark could ignite the massive liquid-oxygen tanks stored below. Totally pants'd, Konrad apologizes for this foolishness.




Meanwhile, the fourth member of our expedition is still down on the tarmac, where Lt. Larry Turner (Waltz) says goodbye to his girl, giving her the rigmarole about how he might never come back to the dashing blonde (Lansing). He then tries to vacuum her face off (-- sorry, I can’t quite call that a kiss). Up above in the cockpit, a spying Patterson orders his navigator to shut it off and get his keister onboard.





Once inside, they all strap themselves into their custom Barco-loungers and start the countdown. We then cut to some NASA stock-footage of an Atlas rocket launch and the expedition is soon underway. And as far as stock-footage rocket launches go, this one is pretty impressive -- but inside, the astronauts have either grown extremely constipated or aren't adjusting very well to the resulting G-forces.


When the ship safely reaches orbit, as they plot a course for the space station, Konrad finally begins to elaborate on his top-secret mission. Seems we’re not alone, universally speaking, and there are "deadly neighbors" lurking nearby -- meaning the Earth is in peril!




Almost on cue, Turner raises the alarm as his sensors indicate something is shooting at Space Station-A! On the monitor screen, the crew watches in helpless horror as each laser-blast comes closer and closer to the defenseless orbiter. And when this death-ray finally strikes home, the satellite explodes!




Then, the deadly ray turns on their ship! Evasive maneuvers prove fruitless as the vessel is soon caught in the beam. Luckily, it’s only a tractor beam this time, which seizes the ship and begins to violently tow it at a great rate of speed deeper into space. Unable to take the pressure, the passengers soon pass out as the ship rockets off toward the unknown...




Now, if you're watching the movie along with me, you, like me, are most likely seriously scratching your heads at this point because something seems awfully familiar about what we've seen thus far.


And then it finally hits you: Patterson and his crew are wearing the exact same space-uniforms, side-arms, and hats from Forbidden Planet (1956). And the interior of their ship looks an awful lot like the one used in World Without End (1956). Waitasecond! That IS the interior of the ship from World Without End! And by the time the ship launches, your head’s bleeding and your fingers are gorey stumps from all the scratching as you say, "Hey. That ship doesn’t look like the rocket that launched. In fact, it looks just like the rocket from Flight to Mars (1951)!"


Unfortunately, this will not be the last acute case of recycled footage and props déjà vu we’ll be suffering through while watching Edward Bernds’s Queen of Outer Space (1958).


In truth, the story of Queen of Outer Space's conception and production is probably a lot more interesting and harrowing than what eventually wound-up on screen. See, producer Walter Wanger had been making films since the silents, and his first big talkie was the Marx Brothers inaugural vehicle, The Cocoanuts (1929). And throughout the 1930s and '40s Wanger’s résumé blossomed further with many seminal films, including John Ford’s Stagecoach (1939), Alfred Hitchcock’s Foreign Correspondent (1940), and Fritz Lang’s Scarlet Street (1945).


When the 1950s rolled around, Wanger was soon interested in the resurgent science-fiction boom and commissioned a script from Ben Hecht, who had written for the likes of Otto Preminger -- Whirlpool (1950), Where the Sidewalk Ends, Howard Hawks -- His Girl Friday (1940), Monkey Business (1952), and Hitchcock -- Spellbound (1945), Notorious (1946), and served as an uncredited ghostwriter on everything from Gone with the Wind (1939) to The Thing from Another World (1951). And so, Hecht turned in a ten page treatment called Queen of the Universe; a satire about a planet run entirely by women and how badly they louse it up. And it was while Wanger was shopping this proposal around to several studios for financing when things first started to go a little awry.


Married to actress Joan Bennet back in 1940, their honeymoon didn’t last long as Wanger was convinced she was having an affair from the I dos on with her long time agent, Jennings Lang. And so convinced was Wanger of this infidelity, he started stalking them both until, on the afternoon of December 13, 1951, he took two shots at Lang with a pistol while the man was standing outside Bennet's parked car, hitting him in the thigh and in the groin.


Fortunately for Lang, and Wanger as well, the wounds were not fatal. Unfortunately for Wanger, he chose to shoot Lang right across the street from a police station. Pleading temporary insanity, Wanger wound up serving only four months for his crime of passion. But after he got out, the only studio that would touch him was Allied Artists -- formerly known as Monogram, one of the last stops on Poverty Row; and it was there that he got back on his feet with Riot in Cell-Block 11 (1954), which was based on his time in stir, and the Red Scare genre classic, Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956), both directed by Don Siegel.


As for Hecht's treatment for Queen of the Universe? Well, it eventually fell into the hands of Ben Schwalb, who had mostly produced animated shorts and Bowery Boy features for Sam Katzman over at Columbia. Turning Hecht’s treatment over to Charles Beaumont to expand it into a feature, the new scribe, who would go on to write a ton of episodes of The Twilight Zone, essentially junked most of the satire for some standard sci-fi fare of that era.


Still not satisfied, Schwalb wanted more laughs; and so, brought in his gag-man, Elwood Ullman, who, along with eventual director Edward Bernds, had collaborated on a ton of Three Stooges shorts.


Thus and so, with a script punched-up to within an inch of its life, shooting finally commenced. And as a former Columbia man, I'm sure it was Schwalb who pushed to recycle all those props and costumes to save as much money as possible. Add all that up, and it should be no surprise that Queen of Outer Space is kind of a big old sloppy mess. We've seen plenty of evidence to back that up already, but the best/worst is yet to come, Boils and Ghouls. I mean, We haven't even gotten to the planet of the Glamazons yet. So, read on: Bochino! Bochino!




Anyhoo, when that tractor beam finally cuts out, Patterson's ship and her unconscious crew silently drift on until seized by an unknown planetoid’s gravity, and then crashes into some snowy mountains (-- borrowing yet another sequence from World Without End). And when the crew finally recovers, they make a few startling discoveries: 




First, the radio has been destroyed in the crash, and second, they don’t need any pressure-suits because, wherever they are, the planet has sufficient oxygen levels and comparable gravity to Earth. (And if they find a half-buried Statue of Liberty, I’m stopping this review right now!)




Now, Konrad has a hunch as to where they might be but first wants to explore a little further so he can be sure. Thus, making their way off the peak, these explorers soon find themselves in a strange world of plastic alien vegetation. And then, after studying one plant, Konrad concludes they’re on the planet Venus (-- okay, What exactly is he a professor of?). But the rest of the crew protest that this is impossible (-- and for the record, so do I!). Also disturbed by a total lack of ambient sound, this soon changes when a deafening energy-discharge roars overhead. And though Konrad takes this as a good sign, meaning there must be some kind of intelligent life residing on Venus, Turner worries about those deadly little green men like he's read about in the comics.





Later, after making camp for the night, Cruze dozes off during his watch, allowing them to be surrounded by a pack of good looking legs in plastic pumps and mini-skirts. When the sentry wakes up, surrounded by a gang of ray-gun toting women, Cruze thinks he’s hallucinating at first but then goes for his gun, which is quickly blasted out of his hand and disintegrated. This commotion wakes everyone else up, but they're all quickly captured and hauled off.





And as they're marched into a great, matte-painted city, to the crew’s surprise, it turns out these Venusian women understand English. But this does them little good as, once inside, they draw an irritable crowd, who scream hateful epitaphs at them, until the most hostile locals are restrained before things get even uglier. When Patterson wonders aloud on what that was all about, Turner suggests they probably just hate men. And with that, Konrad makes an astute observation: Where are all the Venusian men?


Herded into a main tribunal chamber, they hope to get an answer. And while awaiting the arrival of the ruling council, the Earth men and Venusian women exchange much ogling at each other's various nooks and crannies. Now, being stuck on a planet with apparently no other men, slime-ball Turner feels he’s in heaven. But when Patterson asks Konrad to elaborate on that possibility, the professor professes that a civilization with no sex is no civilization at all. (Hear! Hear!)




Suddenly, several bejeweled masked women enter through a curtain and take their seats behind the dais. At the center, the mysterious Queen Yllana (Mitchell) orders the Earthlings to state their business. Stepping forward, Patterson apologizes for crashing on their planet, but, if given time to repair the ship, they’d be more than happy to leave. Unimpressed, Yllana goes ballistic and accuses them of being spies sent from Earth to prepare an invasion. Rebuffed and told they are here on a peaceful mission, the Queen says that’s impossible: the Venusians have been monitoring the Earth for years (-- that's how they know English), and find the denizens there very barbaric and belligerent; therefore, they must be neutralized and expunged from the galaxy with extreme prejudice!



Meanwhile, in the city’s science lab, Talleah (Gabor) stares blankly at some bubbling equipment when her friend, Motiya (Davis), brings word of the Earth-men’s capture. Here, Talleah insists she must talk to them, and then resumes staring. (Get used to that expression, folks. It's all she's got.)




Back at the tribunal, Yllana brands the Earth-men liars and spies; and if they won’t fess-up, promises them the horror of TORTURE! But first, she gives them time to think about it before answering. And so, in their holding cell, as the other men try to formulate an escape plan, Konrad expounds on the monstrously evil vibe coming off Yllana and believes she’s the one responsible for Space Station-A's destruction. But Turner scoffs, saying women could never invent, let alone aim, such a device. (Har! Har! Shoot him. Shoot him now.)
 


When the cell door slides open, Talleah brings both food and a quick Venusian history lesson: Translating from her thick accent, we can confirm they are indeed on the planet Venus. And it seems Venus had been at war with the planet Mordu, and this conflict nearly destroyed both worlds. Eventually, Venus won out but at great cost. And in the dire and deadly aftermath, the women, led by Yllana, took over the planet, sparing only a few men, who were then banished to one of Venus’s moons, while all the rest of the males were "disposed of."


Talleah then claims she wants to help them escape. Seems some of the girls aren’t very happy with this new society and want to bring the men back. She also warns that Yllana, who has nothing but hatred in her heart, has developed a new and even deadlier weapon; and if she gets her way, "Der Ert vil be destroyeded." -- I mean, The Earth will be destroyed! So, for all their sake, the Queen must be dethroned. But how?




Before they can figure that out, word comes that Yllana wants to have a private meeting with Patterson. Konrad feels this might be her Achilles Heel and tells the Captain to turn on the charm and schmooze the Queen into submission. Of course, when Turner thinks he should go, feeling he has more sex appeal (-- dear Flying Spaghetti Monster? Please let him get eaten by a giant plant or something), Patterson promises to do his best as he's escorted out. (You’d better mister. Der Ert is depending on your sex appeal.) Once he's gone, Talleah quickly devolves into a jealous snit.


Cut to the Queen's private chamber, where Patterson and Yllana play the game of Who’s Seducing Whom. Eventually, our hero gets the upper hand -- because even Queens can get lonely. When asked to take her golden mask off, she shies away and turns cranky again.




Queen Bi-Polar then turns on a view-screen, revealing her new Beta Disintegrator that will be used to destroy der Ert. (Dammit. Now she’s got ME doing it.) But with a little applied psychology, Patterson deduces some man once did something really bad to Yllana -- is this why she’s denying all love and substituting hatred? 




Her defenses broken, she swoons; and as he takes her into his arms, Patterson pulls the mask off -- but quickly recoils in horror!



Seems Yllana's face was burned and disfigured -- badly, by radiation during the war with Mordu and this has fueled her irrational hatred of men ever since. Asking if he could still love her, she tries to kiss him. When he winces and turns away, the Queen calls for her guards. 




And after he's dragged off, Yllana looks into a mirror and, in a surprising touch of pathos, breaks down into mournful sobbing at her hideous visage.


Once Patterson is back in the cell, the boys are sprung by Talleah and two of her friends. With only two days left before Yllana blows up der Ert, they formulate a plan to destroy the Beta Disintegrator with the help of Talleah’s rebels. And what follows is a hilarious Scooby-Dooesque chase scene as they try to avoid the Queen’s guards. (I’m telling you, Stormtroopers are more observant than these gals.)






Making their way outside the city, the fugitives take refuge in a cave. Safe for the moment, because the Queen’s sensors can’t detect them under all that rock, they explore deeper into the caverns -- where Turner is jumped by a giant spider. (WOHOO! Thank you, Giant Flying Spaghetti Monster! Go spider! Eat him! Bite his head off!) But Turner is saved (-- aw, poop!), and the spider is crispered with a ray-gun.


And yup, that spider was yet another recycled prop from World Without End. And that same unreasonable facsimile of a spider would be pressed into action yet again a few years later in another Edward Bernds highly pilfered sci-fi pot-boiler, Valley of the Dragons (1961).




That night, after they all pair-up (-- except for poor, lonely Konrad), while Turner and Cruze try to vacuum the faces off their girls, Patterson and Talleah make small talk. Asked why she came with them, she answers there is no life without love, or children, and was kind of hoping that maybe his men and her friends could maybe start civilization over some place else. Probing further, she asks if he ever had a girlfriend back on der Ert. When he says no, the conversation really starts to heat up as Patterson comments on her beauty; she’s glad he finally noticed; and then they start vacuuming each other’s face and swap some spit.




Alas, with all that necking and tongue-action, the unattended campfire starts to die down. Here, each man pulls rank, telling the other to get more firewood until a cranky Konrad volunteers and ventures outside -- and runs smack into a passing patrol! Trapped, they try the oldest trick in the book as the men give the girls their ray-guns back and fake their own capture. Amazingly, Talleah manages to get this bluff past the pursuing guards and demands to take the prisoners to the Queen herself.


Meanwhile, Yllana is vaporizing those who helped the ert men escape and admiring her giant, day-glow Tinker Toy set -- sorry, her Beta Disintegrator. Commanding her engineers to finish the preparations more quickly, because her irradiated blood is up, she then receives word of der Ert-men’s capture and orders they be brought to her quarters immediately. 



Once they're delivered, Talleah tells the rest of the guards to stay outside and takes the prisoners in by herself. Inside, Yllana gloats that she will force the Ert-men to watch the destruction of their world first, and then she will kill them all -- very slowly.



Not so fast, your Majesty! For when Talleah turns her ray-gun on Yllana, the revolution has officially begun! And with the Queen captured, they demand she suspend work on the Beta Disintegrator and to issue an order that all the men are to be brought back from exile. Not amused, Yllana can’t believe this degree of treachery and disloyalty, but Talleah reads her the riot act about peace without contentment is no peace at all (-- blah blah blah, we aren't getting any, blah blah blah etc. etc.)




After pitching a fit, Yllana throws herself onto her bed. But this was all a ruse as she secures a hidden ray-gun from underneath a pillow and manages to get one wild shot off before being overpowered and restrained. And once she's subdued, since their earlier ruse worked, Patterson decides to try another hair-brained idea.


Donning one of the royal dresses, Talleah then takes Yllana's mask and puts it on. Taking it in, Patterson swears they could be twins. (But I think that goulash-accent is going to give you away there, Einstein.) After restraining and gagging their captive and tossing her behind a screen, Talleah calls the guards in. 




But as she starts to order them around, Yllana manages to kick the screen over. With that, the guards free her and everybody’s captured again.




Now royally pissed off, Yllana orders them all to be taken to the Beta-Disintegrator chamber for front row seats and an unobstructed view of der Ert's destruction. As they're marched out, she offers Patterson one last chance to be with her. When he refuses, Yllana informs Talleah that she will die last.





Herded in front of a giant view-screen showing a tranquil and unsuspecting Ert, the men watch helplessly as the machine is powered up and primed to fire. But when Yllana punches the big red shiny button, the machine fizzles out!




Seems Talleah's fifth column is more widespread than we thought and has gummed up the works. And while the Queen rushes into the control room to try a manual override, Talleah’s cohorts jump the guards and a pretty hilarious melee ensues. 





This scrum-pile-up continues until the Beta Disintegrator violently overloads and self-destructs, taking Yllana with it (-- rather gruesomely, I might add), and all hostilities cease.


Several days later, after Talleah is installed as the new leader of Venus, the Venusian men are now on their way back down and der Ertlings ship has been repaired, meaning they will be leaving shortly. As Cruze and Turner resume face vacuuming their respective ladies, the new Queen asks Patterson, Why must they go. (Yeah, Why go?) The answer: Sorry, honey, duty calls.




But then Talleah receives some good news. Having established contact with der Ert, Patterson and his men are ordered not to risk a journey home in the repaired ship. Instead, a rescue party will be dispatched to retrieve them -- the catch being it'll take at least a year to get there. As everybody else resumes swapping spit, we then cut to Konrad, surrounded by five doting women that take turns kissing him on the forehead, who happily exclaims, "A whole year!"




Queen of Outer Space is one big vat of industrial-strength cinematic cheese. Government cheese. Chemically developed cheese with no natural products in it whatsoever. Cheese from a test tube of unknown origin, that’s Queen of Outer Space alright.


Unleashed in 1958, the absolute zenith of the "martini machismo" that had gripped the country that decade, this interstellar Battle of the Sexes is filled with so much innuendo, misogynistic ideals, and macho posturing it is absolutely hilarious to behold and endure. Things were so steamy the film was indicted by the National League of Decency over its themes and “suggestive costuming."


Apart from the sexual snits and mostly vain attempts at actual comedy and social commentary, the film is your typical Sci-Fi fair of the era of its origin. Sharing a lot of similarities, plot-wise, with the likes of Charles Lamont’s Abbott and Costello Go to Mars (1953), Arthur Hilton’s Catwomen of the Moon (1953) and Cy Roth’s Fire Maidens from Outer Space (1956), despite it’s recycled parts, this film still falls into a category I like to call Sanitized Science Fiction:





Awash in bright primary colors, every brightly lit room and death-ray is immaculately clean in this alien world. And though their technology is very aesthetically pleasing, it's not very practical or grounded in scientific feasibility. And, of course, all the Venusian women are long-legged beauties, wear mini-skirts and saddled with high heels.


The cast for the most part is fine. I always liked Eric Fleming's take on trail boss Gil Favor in the TV series Rawhide, and he delivers the goods as the square-jawed hero. And more importantly, he also treats his leading lady with kid gloves as Zsa Zsa Gabor was hired for her looks and nothing else, and her inexperience shows badly. 


Yes, she does look smashing in that dress slit-up to her nether regions but she couldn’t act her way out of a wet paper bag. When not choking on her accent, trying to get her lines out, watch and boggle as she just blankly stares at ... well, something, and then tenses up before delivering her next line. Luckily, the script doesn’t call on her to do a whole lot except fill out her wardrobe and swoon over Fleming.




Faring much better, Laurie Mitchell does a fantastic job with the highly damaged Yllana. I think there was a real and really interesting character there that could and should’ve been expanded upon. Alas, the script wimps out on her and she has to resort to the stereotypical shrilly villainess; but thanks to her performance, Yllana's ultimate and overly-grotesque demise still packs a wallop.


On the Warner DVD commentary, Mitchell claims she got along fine with Gabor, but other sources claim that the difficult star might’ve been more trouble than she was worth. According to a later interview with Bernds, most of the other Venusians were beauty contest winners; and when the crew paid too much attention to them the more "testy" his leading lady became. In fact, he stated Gabor was such a pain in the ass that Schwalb wound up in the hospital with stomach ulcers.




But aside from its temperamental star, the only real knock on the film is that everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, else in Queen of Outer Space is recycled and it sticks out badly. The sets -- which seem constantly on the verge of falling over, the props, the costumes -- those aforementioned uniforms and most of those Venusian dresses were pilfered from Altaira's closet in Forbidden Planet; and even the script borrows heavily from everyone’s earlier work. Bernds own World Without End gets the hatchet the worst -- a pretty good film all by itself, and is one of the first [SPOILERS!] "Omigod, we’re still on Earth'' scenarios put to film.


Admittedly, I've danced around a couple of sore spots on the Battle of the Sexes this film brings to the surface and then pummels relentlessly. Yes, Queen of Outer Space is wrong, so very, very wrong in its portrayal of women but its portrayal of men as hormone crazed idiots isn't very flattering, either.


In the end, I believe everyone should be treated the same. Sure, we have a long, long way to go before this kind of equality is truly achieved, unlocked, and we all move to the next level; no one will argue against that. But if you use Queen of Outer Space as a measuring stick, you cannot deny that we have advanced things at least a teeny-tiny bit since 1958.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's 17 films down with nine yet to go. Up next, We face a choice between a painless surrender death or the horrors of a resistance death. Either way, we're still dead. Be there!


Queen of Outer Space (1958) Allied Artists / P: Ben Schwalb / D: Edward Bernds / W: Charles Beaumont, Edward Bernds, Ben Hecht (story) / C: William P. Whitley / E: William Austin / M: Marlin Skiles / S: Zsa Zsa Gabor, Eric Fleming, Laurie Mitchell, Paul Birch, Dave Willock, Patrick Waltz, Lisa Davis

Hubrisween 2020 :: R is for Robot Monster (1953)

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We begin in True Stereo Three-Dimensions as the opening credits roll. And while the menacing score bombasts over some forgotten sci-fi pulp of yore, our film proper begins with young Johnny, decked out in his best Tom Corbett space gear, scouring the countryside for any alien invaders to disintegrate with his trusty atomic bubble-gun. Now, the only target Johnny (Moffet) can find is his little sister, Carla (Paulson), but he tries to disintegrate her anyway -- and with extreme prejudice.



After this skirmish ceases, these siblings continue to play and squabble until they come upon a cave, where two archeologists are trying to excavate a prehistoric painting off the wall near the entrance. 



Threatened with being atomized unless they identify themselves, the younger man, Roy (Nader), quickly surrenders, but the Professor (Mylong) stands his ground. And as he lectures the boy on the wonders of peaceful coexistence, unable to decipher the old man's ever-changing accent, Johnny quickly agrees to end all hostilities and holsters his atomic bubble-gun.


Then, after a quick history lesson on the primitive beings who used to inhabit these caves, Johnny is so impressed he no longer wants to be a Space Ranger when he grows up but a fuddy old scientist with a dubious European accent. Johnny then relates this career decision to his mother and older sister, Alice (Barret), who were out looking for them and finally caught up. And once the introductions are out of the way, Johnny quickly tries to ingratiate Roy with Alice, but she’s not having it. Meantime, when mother Martha (Royale) invites the two men to come have lunch with them, they beg off and get back to work.



Moving on, this family of four chooses what appears to be the middle of Hell's Half Acre for their picnic spot. And as they dig in, when Martha reminds the younger kids they promised to take a nap right after lunch, Johnny grumps over this notion; and then, rather bluntly, asks if he's ever gonna get another dad -- quickly narrowing mom's playing field down to anyone who's a scientist, preferably one with a phony European accent. With that, the rest of the meal is eaten in very uncomfortable silence. Once finished, each family member pulls up a rock and drifts off to sleep.




Time passes, and Johnny is the first to wake up. Armed with his trusty side-arm, the boy returns to the cave but finds it deserted. Suddenly, a massive discharge of energy causes Johnny to fall. And as the kid gets a nasty face-burger while planting his noggin into the dirt, our film quickly dissolves into sheer insanity as more lights pop and flash, and a series of earthquakes rock the world, reducing massive cities into piles of rubble. A cataclysm so sudden and powerful, it also seems to have punched a hole in the space-time continuum!



And springing out of this temporal chaos, two triceratops try to dry-hump one another and a familiar looking “Dimetradon” battles a “Tyrannosaurus Rex” once more to the death, leaving a stunned audience to boggle and ask -- WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!? Well, all I can say in answer to that is, Wait for it … As Johnny wakes up, unaccountably decked-out in a new pair of futuristic duds, and armed with a slightly more lethal looking atomic-disintegrator pistol, which he once more holsters so he can take up a can of paint and makes an attempt to expand upon that mural on the cave wall.



Now. At this point, you’ve probably also noticed how the entrance to the cave is now filled to the brim with all kinds of, uhm, … “hi-tech” equipment, including a communication device, deviously camouflaged as a cardboard box, and on the other side, mounted on a table, a surplus World War II radio that's belching out a ton of bubbles. Quite the surreal scene. 



Meanwhile, brush in hand, Johnny keeps painting until there's another massive energy discharge, much closer this time, forcing him to head for cover. And once he's clear, from out of the depths of the cave stalks one of the greatest screen menaces of all time: Ro-Man Agent XJ-2 -- the ultimate instrument of destruction from the Planet Ro-Man!



Okay. Calm down. Look, I know our “Robot Monster” looks suspiciously like a gorilla with a TV-antennae adorned deep-sea diver's helmet for a head, but think about it for a second. Maybe it's camouflage? Did you ever think of that? Didn't think so. Either way, as our internal Goof-o-Meter redlines, careens out of control, and augurs itself very deep into the earth, lets just roll with this as Ro-Man (Barrows, and voiced by Brown) waddles over to the communicator and puts in a call to his Supreme Leader, The Great Guidance (also Barrows and Brown).


Talking in a bizarre, minimalist techno-babble, Guidance scolds his agent on the ground for reporting in late. Blaming Earth's gravity for this error, as their conversation continues, Ro-Man is told no other forms of life in the universe have been found, meaning the Earth was their only rival for galactic supremacy -- stress on the “was."



Seems at first, through subterfuge shown in a series of nonsensical flashbacks, Ro-Man managed to get the world-powers to basically nuke themselves to death. And once the atomic fallout had settled, he then finally revealed himself to mop-up what little was left in terms of resistance. His mission apparently a complete success, Ro-Man triumphantly reports the Earth has now been completely scoured free of the hu-man plague, thanks to his trusty Calcinator Death-Ray.


Not so fast, says Guidance, who then grumpily points out the multiple errors in his minion’s correlating-vector calculations because, according to his data, there are still eight hu-mans on the loose. And since his boss is not amused with these egregious miscalculations, to save face, Ro-Man vows he will complete his mission post-haste, obliterate the rest of humanity, so the Ro-Men of the Planet Ro-Man can rule the Galaxy unimpeded at long last...

A legend amongst the B-Movie Brethren already, I think Phil Tucker’s Robot Monster (1953) definitely needs to dethrone Edward D. Wood Jr.’s Plan Nine from Outer Space (1959) as thee quintessential, so bad it's good, B-movie watching experience. For! Whereas Plan Nine tends to grind to a halt in spots with lengthy plot dumps, there are no dull moments in Robot Monster, which brings the schlock and the bedlam, non-stop, from start to finish. And of producer/director Phil Tucker, I can only paraphrase Dan Aykroyd’s character, Dr. Raymond Stantz, from Ghostbusters (1984): Either Tucker was a genius, or a certified whacko. As for which? Well, it might’ve been both.


As I scoured the web and dusted-off and searched through my old monster movie compendiums and Horror and Sci-Fi history books, trying to dig up any info on Tucker’s bio or background before his film career proved maddeningly elusive. What little we do know is he was born in 1927, a native of Kansas; he was a Marine Corps veteran, time of service unknown; and had written several short stories for certain Sci-Fi pulps and magazines -- of which I could find none. And that’s about it until Tucker, through a series of friends, came under the wing of producer George Weiss around the age of 25.


A student of the Kroger Babb school of road-showing, four walling, and square-up reels, where you could get away with just about anything considered obscene or forbidden by the Hays Code as long as you presented your film as being educational like with Babb's Mom and Dad (1945), Weiss and his Screen Classic Productions had already delivered a tell-all look at artificial insemination in Test Tube Babies (1948), the horrors of narcotics with The Devil's Sleep (1949), and a harsh lesson of female wrestlers duped into a money-laundering scheme in Racket Girls (1951).


Thus, I have no idea what kind of background Tucker had in film or filmmaking when he wound up working behind the scenes on Weiss’ burlesque film, Paris After Midnight (1951), which was raided by the police during production due its obscene content of strippers doing their thing. And when he had gathered enough experience, Weiss then pegged Tucker to direct the feature, Dance Hall Racket (1953), written by and starring legendary stand-up comedian, Lenny Bruce, his wife, stripper Honey Harlow, and mother, Sally Marr, which concerned dirty flesh-peddlers doing dirty things.

Now, there has been some dispute as to whether Dance Hall Racket or Robot Monster was young Tucker’s directorial debut as both were released the same year. Either way, while the former was for Weiss the second was for another notoriously cheap schlockmeister, Al Zimbalist -- of King Dinosaur (1955) and Monster from Green Hell (1957) infamy. Zimbalist had worked in the publicity departments for Warner Bros. and RKO in the 1930s and ‘40s before signing on as an assistant for Edward J. Alperson in a series of gender-swapped tales of adventure -- The Sword of Monte Cristo (1951), Rose of Cimarron (1952), and then Walter Wanger for another female revisionist take with The Lady in the Iron Mask (1952).


Then, Zimbalist decided to strike out on his own around 1952, announcing the formation of his own production company, Motion Picture Artists Corporation, and, sticking with the theme, the fledgling producer’s first proposed feature was originally supposed to be Miss Robin Crusoe. But this was put on hold to focus on a couple of Sci-Fi creature features instead that would hopefully prove more alluring to any potential distributors. One of which was Cat Women on the Moon (1953), and the other, Robot Monster -- both of them slated to be shot in 3D, which was just starting to blow-up after the release of Arch Oboler’s Bwana Devil (1952).


For if it wasn’t obvious already, money was extremely tight on both of these inaugural features -- and this definitely shows on screen. With $5000 of the film’s already meager $16,000 budget solely going toward renting the needed 3D camera equipment, this, of course, did not leave much money for everything else as Tucker and his cinematographer, Jack Greenhalgh, eschewed any sets and shot out in the open around the familiar environs of Bronson Canyon, along with a few pick-ups around an unfinished housing project near Chavez-Ravine and Dodger Stadium, trying to get Wyatt Ordung’s fairly (and perhaps too) ambitious post-apocalyptic script down on film.


Born in Shanghai, China, of mixed parentage, Ordung had served in the U.S. Army during World War II. After, he migrated to Hollywood around 1951, looking to break into showbiz as an actor, landing a few bit-parts -- most notably on TV as the Dick Tracy villain, BB-Eyes, and as an uncredited G.I. in Samuel Fuller’s Korean War thriller, Fixed Bayonets (1951). Around this time Ordung also tried his hand at screenwriting, which eventually landed him the Robot Monster gig; and later, he wrote the scripts for things ranging from another alien invasion / disaster movie, Target Earth (1954), to the hard-boiled tale of revenge, Walk the Dark Street (1956), which he also produced and directed. He would also direct one of Roger Corman’s first productions, Monster from the Ocean Floor (1954).


As mentioned earlier, the eyes of Ordung’s script were “slightly” bigger than the budget’s stomach, leading to a lot of stock-footage abuse and the old low-budget standby of telling a lot and showing very little. Among the pilfered FX were several matte paintings by Irving Block, including scenes of mass destruction and devastation lifted from Stuart Gilmore’s Captive Women (1952) and a rocket and gantry that can be traced back to Kurt Neumann’s Rocketship X-M (1950), while yet another rocket can be traced to Lesley Selander’s Flight to Mars (1951).


The earthquake and live lizard combatants with the glued-on features belong to Hal Roach’s One Million B.C. (1940) -- and that poor camain and monitor lizard, locked forever in eternal combat, savaged and ravaged, would haunt many a film yet to come. So spare a thought for them, will ya, and then pretend to kick both Roach and animal supervisor Roy Seawright right in the nuts. 


Meantime, those randy stop-motion triceratops escaped from Edward Nassour and Sam Newfield’s version of Lost Continent (1951). But you have to understand, when Tucker and company tried to overachieve on any component or element for Robot Monster that they didn’t borrow or steal from somewhere else, the results were both, well, impressive and downright hilarious, beginning with their leading menace.


Since its debut, Tucker and his most infamous cinematic creation has been lampooned over the years for both its sheer absurdity and complete incongruity when trying to match up his antagonist with the title of his movie. One long held rumor was that Tucker actually had a robot suit built -- more likely stolen, sorry, “borrowed” from another production, but it couldn’t handle the rigors of outdoor filming, fell apart, and all he could salvage was the headpiece and improvised from there. However, in a rare interview with Harry Medved and Randy Dreyfuss for the book, The Fifty Worst Films of All Time and How They Got That Way (1978), Tucker sort of set the record straight on how they wound up with a gorilla-shaped hunk of Sci-Fi infamy:



“Well, I originally envisioned the monster as a kind of robot,” said Tucker. “I talked to several people that I knew who had robot suits, but it was just out-of-the way, money wise.” But Tucker’s salvation came in the form of George Barrows. “George’s occupation was a gorilla suit man. When they needed a gorilla in a picture, they called George, because he owned his own suit and got like forty-bucks a day."

Barrows was a bit player and a stuntman with a career that spanned over 50 years, who played his first gorilla in Tarzan and His Mate (1934). When the 1950s rolled around, Barrows had built himself his first gorilla suit and landed a couple spots on the Abbott and Costello TV show, which was around the time Tucker gave him a call. And to help give the illusion that this gorilla was of extraterrestrial origin, it looks like they liberated a Moon Man helmet from Republic Pictures’ prop department after it appeared a year earlier in the Commando Cody vehicle, Radar Men from the Moon (1952), welded a TV antennae to it, stuck a nylon stocking over Barrows exposed head, sealed him up, and the rest, as they say, is cinematic history.


Thus, with everything slapped and dashed together with spit, sparklers, and bailing wire, principal photography on Robot Monster began on March 20, 1953, and then wrapped three whole days later on March 23. From there, Tucker turned over the footage to his editor, Merrill White, who was tasked to make some semblance of a narrative out of Ordung’s fever dream of a script and Tucker’s exposed nitrate nonsense as Ro-Man the Robot Monster confirms his task to kill all the hu-mans, signs off the communicator, and waddles back into the cave. Once he’s gone, an eavesdropping Johnny hightails it home; home being the basement of a bombed-out house encircled by a series of live electrical wires.




Now remember, our reality has shifted a bit. Family wise, things are relatively the same except now the Professor really is Johnny's dad, and both he and Martha verbally tan the boy’s hide for wandering outside the electronic jamming barrier of the house (-- seems that's what all those wires are for), exposing them to Ro-Man’s censors. (Damn. That's some bubble machine.) Here, Johnny tries to warn them that Ro-Man is just over the hill in a nearby cave but the Professor can hardly believe such a terrible coincidence. (Neither can I, really.)



Here, we also find out Herr Professor was one of the world's greatest scientists before these end times, who created a super immunity serum, which he then field-tested on his entire family, which kept them relatively safe from Ro-Man’s genocidal machinations thus far. Turns out dad wasn't the only genius in the family, either, because that electronic screen was eldest daughter Alice’s creation. (Here I'll will also pause to point out this genius gene pool seems to have dried up a bit on Johnny and Carla. Not exactly the brightest bulbs in the world.)



Pondering their options, all the last family on Earth can come up with is they must find Ro-Man's weakness or they're doomed to extinction. Still, the Professor clings to a hope that some others also must've managed to escape Ro-Man's detection, who can help with Earth's resistance. One head slap later, Alice reminds everyone there's still an entire garrison of troops aboard an orbiting Space Platform. The only problem is, they can't communicate with them for fear of detection and discovery. Almost on cue, their own communicator kicks on. Hoping it's the Space Platform, to their horror, Ro-Man materializes on the vid-screen!



Computing only five hu-mans are present, and not the expected eight, Ro-Man assumes the Guidance made an error, adjusts accordingly, and then informs these last survivors if they will surrender now, he promises a quick and painless death. To help them decide, our villain cues up some footage of those who chose not to go quietly. As the others watch in horror, Alice doesn't take this latest population census very well because it means a man named Roy is most likely dead. Seeing enough, when the Professor tells the tin-pot invader to go and suck on his transistors because they will never, ever, capitulate, an enraged Ro-Man now promises them all a horribly painful death before signing off.



Now, despite her husband's flash of bravado, Martha is starting to crack a little, thinking perhaps they should reconsider Ro-Man’s offer and just get it over with; but the Professor remains firm, defiantly stating if Ro-Man wants them, he can calculate them.



Meanwhile, over at the cave, we discover the reports of Roy's demise have been greatly exaggerated as he's currently spying on Ro-Man, who's making another call to his boss to report his error on how many hu-mans were left. 



Growing more annoyed by the second, Guidance quickly gives his field agent a remedial course on "reduction, correlation, and elimination of errors." There are EIGHT hu-mans left, not five, and before hanging up, he gives Ro-Man only one more Earth day to complete the mission or he will be sentenced for failure!



Back in the basement, when Roy (Nader) returns, Alice is so overjoyed he's still alive that she spends the next five minutes bitterly sniping at him. Happy to see her, too, Roy also brings more good news: Jason and McCloud are also still alive. (Who are they? Sorry. Not in the budget. And believe me, it won't matter in about five minutes.) Seems these men managed to scrounge up enough fuel to launch a rocket to the Space Platform, loaded with enough of the Professor’s serum to immunize the entire garrison; and once that’s done, they’ll all kick a little Ro-man ass.


Unable to contact the Platform to let them know they’re coming without being detected, fearing they might think the salvation rocket was sent by Ro-Man and destroy it by mistake, Alice insists they must try and is certain she can rewire the communicator so the alien can’t detect their signals -- if Roy will take orders for a change and help, that is.


What follows is a long -- albeit hilarious -- scene of two pairs of hands working in tandem on some machinery as Alice and Roy continue to bicker, wasting two whole days by their account. And, wow, are these tinkering scenes chock full of inappropriate innuendo and double-entendres. Freud would have a field day -- I think my favorite loaded snipe is when Roy claims Alice is so bossy, she has to be milked when she comes home. When is a soldering tool not a soldering tool? Well, I'll leave that up to you, Boils and Ghouls. And what does all this accomplish? Absolutely nothing. Well, at least they tried.



To make matters even more dire, Ro-Man calls again, who is now even more confused because there are six hu-mans instead of five hu-mans when there should be eight hu-mans (-- and to think: this guy conquered the world. Depressing, isn't it?) Talking instead of thinking, Alice blurts out this must mean he still doesn’t know about Jason and McCloud -- but I think he does now, genius. 



However, Ro-Man reveals he had already detected their rocket launching and gleefully shows them the play by play as Guidance first blows the rocket -- played deftly by stock footage of a V2 missile, out of the sky, and then shows them the Space Platform -- played not so deftly by a plastic model with a sparkler shoved up it's butt, swinging in an erratic circle.



This gets blown up, too, but luckily, the very visible hand holding it up is left unharmed. With that, declaring they have no hope and surrender is the only solution, Ro-Man gives the hu-mans one hour to decide before signing off.



Okay, by now, you’re probably shouting at the screen, saying, Now wait a second, Ro-Man had only ONE Earth day to complete the mission. Then the hu-mans spent TWO whole Earth days working on the communicator. The hell? Well, I guess if the Ro-Men can’t count, can we really expect them to be able tell time? Anyhoo, devastated by this dire turn of events, after the family weighs their ever dwindling options, Martha thinks they should try and appeal to Ro-Man for mercy. The Professor agrees, thinking they can reason with him. But to do this, Alice and Roy will need to rewire the communicator to his frequency. Oh god, not again!


I assume another two Earth days later, when the communicator at the cave activates, Ro-Man quickly waddles out of the darkness to take the call. Now, you, like me, have probably noticed that Ro-Man spends quite a lot of time at the back of his cave. And it was at this point I finally deduced what was really going on back there. I can’t prove this scientifically, but I think the back of the cave is the *ahem* "little Ro-man’s room." Seems our hero came to Earth, drank the water, and the rest is history. Think of it as Montezuma’s Revenge on a galactic scale, and keep your eye out for any toilet paper stuck to his foot as he turns on the vid-screen and is surprised to see who it is on the other end of the transmission.



Ordered to state their business, the Professor once again announces they will never give up and humanity will survive, making us the cockroaches of the galactic frontier. He then asks what exactly do the Ro-Men have to fear from hu-mans? To this, we get the standard reply that we're too self-destructive and can’t handle tampering in god’s domain etc. etc. Stymied on this front, the Professor then appeals to Ro-Man's hu-manity by introducing his family, but the Ro-Man isn't all that interested until the defiant Alice takes her turn in front of the vid-screen, demanding peace with honor. And when they try to move on to Roy, Ro-Man demands to see Alice again. And those of you who can see where this is obviously going, please raise your hands. Everybody? Everybody. Good.



Yeah, I believe the hu-man resistance has finally found Ro-Man’s only weakness as it appears our alien invader is getting some biological urges that he can’t quite compute -- and these urges are starting to cloud his Ro-Man logic. [This program has performed an illegal action and will shut down.] He cannot calculate it, or verify why, but is willing to allow what the hu-mans call "a hope." Thus and so, willing to face the wrath of the Great Guidance, Ro-Man will consider integrating these hu-mans into "The plan" if Alice will have a palaver with him -- alone, he typed ominously. But when Alice agrees to meet him at the fork in the river, Roy and the Professor will have none of that. Even as Alice logically pleads it’s their only hope, they physically restrain her from leaving. And while they tie her up, Johnny manages to sneak away during the struggle to replace Alice at the negotiations.

Wait. What? Really?! This movie is, like, an hour long?!

Next, we get some of the funniest repeating transition scenes as Ro-Man endlessly walks up and down the same hill. (And if you listen real close, you can almost hear Tucker yelling at Barrows to "keep moving" until he shuffles out of frame.) 





Meantime, realizing Johnny is missing, Roy volunteers to go and look for him. Alice is allowed to accompany him if she promises to behave, and as those two go and search for the little miscreant, Ro-Man goes up the hill, as Johnny makes his way to the meeting spot; and then Ro-Man goes down the hill, while Roy and Alice continue their search. This sequence of events then repeats itself about, oh, five or six times, with the only variation being, at some point, Roy nonchalantly removes his shirt, until Johnny and Ro-Man finally arrive at the predetermined meeting spot.

 

Extremely perturbed that Johnny showed up instead of Alice, when the kid mouths off, Ro-Man bluntly states, “Now I will kill you.” (Yay!) But when he tries to fry the little shit with the Calcinator Death Ray, Johnny is unaffected. (Boo.) Alas, civilization is lost once again when Ro-Man tricks Johnny into revealing the source of his immunity, gloating it will be easy enough to adjust the C-Ray and kill them all -- and since I don’t think this involves any counting, I believe the Earth really is doomed this time. Way to go, kid.



Thus, as Ro-Man heads back to his cave to re-calibrate the weapon, he doesn’t detect Roy and Alice hiding in the weeds as he stomps by. Once gone, Alice rises to continue the search for her idiot brother but Roy pulls her back down for the obligatory romantic interlude. 




Here, instead of visual metaphors of rockets launching or trains going into tunnels, we get shots of Ro-Man going up and down the same hill. And while the haunting love theme from Robot Monster plays, Roy professes his love to Alice and they go for a *ahem* roll in the thicket (-- and it would be an even more touching scene if Roy wasn't so noticeably bleeding from his ear from some trauma he hasn’t received yet due to a glaring continuity error).



Meantime, Johnny returns to the bunker and fesses up to his colossal blunder. To console him, the Professor offers that it won't be so easy for Ro-Man to counteract the serum. Still, the boy must be punished; and for dooming all of humanity, Johnny is sent to bed without supper. Meanwhile, apparently lost, Ro-Man goes back up and down the same hill until he finally remembers the way back to his cave. 




Once there, he cranks up the communicator and reports to his boss why the C-Ray failed to kill the remaining hu-mans. Unimpressed, Guidance warns his minion that the allotted time of one Earth day is half over and to get on with it -- or else! Thus, with time running out, Ro-Man forgoes adjusting the C-Ray and shambles off toward that damnable hill again. Seems sometimes a Ro-Man just has to get his paws dirty. Can you strangle the kid first? Asking for the audience. And waitasecond? Half a day?! It's been, like, five days!



Elsewhere, Roy and Alice return to the bunker. Seems they’ve decided to make it official and ask the Professor to marry them. Feeling this is a swell idea, Johnny stands up as best man and Carla -- oh yeah, Carla -- serves as the maid of honor. In the middle of the service, the Professor pauses to ask the Almighty to intercede on their behalf. (Just say"Man and wife!") And when the ceremony ends, Roy kisses the bride; and after they leave for their honeymoon, Carla realizes that Alice didn’t have any flowers for the wedding and sneaks off to find some.





And so, as Ro-Man goes up the hill, Carla catches up with the newlyweds, presents them with a bouquet, and is sent back home. But on the way, as he comes back down the hill, the girl runs right into Ro-Man, who seizes her, Carla screams, and then we cut back to the cave, where Ro-Man is calling his boss again, reporting there are now only four hu-mans left after he strangled the little girl. 



To this, Guidance, who has just about had it with his his mathematically incompetent henchman, once more points out his error. There are five (5) hu-mans left to be expunged. Not four. And it's at this point where Ro-Man admits his error was on purpose and postulates that maybe they can keep one of these hu-mans alive in captivity to study. E’yup. Our little Ro-Man has fallen for the hu-man A-lice. Hard. This hypothesizing, does not go well. At all. Accused of heresy for daring to alter The Plan, Guidance orders Ro-Man to kill all the hu-mans, now, or face the consequences of failure!




Thus and so, with his internal conflict/resolution circuits taxed to the limits, Ro-Man sets out to do his masters bidding and manages to catch Roy and Alice out in the open. After a brief struggle, he easily overpowers and dispatches Roy and seizes the girl. To her credit, Alice pitched in during the fight (-- and sharp ears can hear a verbally unsure and un-scripted "Oh-God!" as Ro-man picks her up and carries her off). 

Meanwhile, when they find Carla's discarded body, this proves to be the last straw for poor Martha. And as she breaks down sobbing, the Professor tries to console his wife and encourages her not to give up as he carries their daughter's body back to the bunker for burial.




Not giving up either, while being carried back to the cave, Alice manages to trick Ro-Man into revealing his external power source -- but this vital revelation comes too late and will have absolutely no consequence on the film whatsoever. 



Back at the bunker, Carla’s memorial is interrupted when the mortally wounded Roy stumbles in, announces Ro-Man has captured Alice, and then expires. Rallying the troops, Johnny has a plan to rescue his sister: first, they'll call Ro-Man and pretend to surrender, and then, Johnny will use himself as bait to lure Ro-Man out of the cave, allowing the others to rush-in and save Alice.




Meanwhile, Ro-Man has managed to haul Al-ice all the way to his cave without having a stroke, where he professes his love for her rather haphazardly, asking, "Suppose I were a hu-man, would you love me like a man?" That’s a big nope. And as she continues to resist, her captor starts pawing at her, ripping her bodice and exposing her shoulders in true melodramatic fashion.





But as the lecherous Ro-Man tries to take it further his communicator starts pinging. Snatching some rope, he begins to restrain Al-ice but quickly gives up and just knocks her unconscious.




Moving to the communicator, the Professor appears and declares Ro-Man has won, they surrender, and if he wants them, to come and get them. But the libidinous Ro-Man says he’s too busy right now and to call back later. After hanging up, he turns his lustful attention back to Al-ice -- who for some inexplicable reason has gone and tied herself up! Wait. What?! Wow.



Moving toward Al-ice with a lusty, groping paw leading the way, the girl is saved once again by the communicator. Only this time, it’s the Great Guidance and his patience is now at an end as the Ro-Man begins to question the Ro-Men logic: "Why can’t we be like the hu-man ... to laugh and want? Why are these things not in the plan?" But his boss will not hear of this blasphemy and orders Ro-Man to kill the girl. Now! But with his circuits fusing, Ro-Man soon goes into vapor-lock, stuck in an eternal logic-loop, repeating, "I must ... But I cannot" over and over again.




Meanwhile, leaving his mom and dad behind, Johnny marches off to meet his fate. Presenting himself to the malfunctioning Ro-Man, a watching Guidance still insists his agent kill the girl first, and then the boy. Asking Al-ice to forgive him for what he must do, Ro-Man defies his master and shuffles off toward Johnny. Seizing the moment, their parents rush in, and while Martha releases Alice, the Professor smashes the infernal Bubble Machine.






Noting all of this, Guidance watches in disgust as his malfunctioning minion disobeys his orders for the last time. Thus, as Ro-Man throttles Johnny to death, his boss passes final judgment for failure, stating, "If you want to live like a hu-man. You can die like a hu-man!" Then, turning the Calcinator Death-Ray on his former agent, Ro-Man takes a direct hit and quickly crumples over and dies right next to Johnny as the audience slowly realizes that not one, but two, TWO, kids under the age of ten have died quite horribly in this film.





Fed up by these unforeseen circumstances, an enraged Guidance goes on another rampage, bombarding the Earth with even more deadly cosmic rays and who knows what else. And as the world is once more rocked and torn asunder by massive earthquakes, and while two triceratops try to hump one another, a Dimetradon and a T-Rex battle to the death and -- Omigod. Wait. I think the movie’s starting over! But as Guidance continues to rain down death and destruction, we suddenly hear someone calling Johnny’s name as the screen ripples and dissolves until we focus back in on the original reality, with Johnny lying unconscious near the cave entrance.




Calling out that he's found the boy, who has a nice bump on his noggin from the fall he took, Roy checks him over as the others catch up. Johnny is happy to see that they're all still alive, and a relieved Martha invites the archeologists to come and have dinner with them. They agree, and the cave is abandoned. Luckily, the total destruction of Earth was all just a young boy’s head trauma-induced bad dream (-- and you were there. And you. And you were, too. But you, you died. Sorry). Or was it! As the soundtrack turns ominous and -- Oh, no! -- the Great Guidance stalks out of the cave. Not once. Not Twice. But three times before the movie finally decides we’ve finally had enough of this glorious nonsense.






Robot Monster was shot and projected in a dual-strip, polarized 3D format. And with the large and cumbersome equipment needed to pull this off kinda explains why the camera is basically stuck in one spot for every scene and the film is nothing but long takes and master shots. What they did capture did work, however, earning high praise for the gimmick from several sources, including a rather glowing review in Variety, which said, “Judged on the basis of novelty, as a showcase for the Tru-Stereo Process, Robot Monster comes off surprisingly well, considering the extremely limited budget and schedule on which the film was shot. The Tru-Stereo Process (3D) utilized here is easy on the eyes, coming across clearly at all times."


And to the picture’s credit, the article concludes, no 3D gimmicks were employed, meaning nothing was ever purposefully chucked at the camera. Alas, they probably could’ve saved some money and skipped the gimmick altogether but Zimbalist couldn’t have predicted the 3D fad would just as quickly fizzle-out and be displaced by CinemaScope by the end of 1953.


The film also scored a bit of a coup when they landed Jack Rabin to handle the special-effects. Rabin had been working in the field since the mid-1930s, bouncing around several studios, specializing in matte paintings, miniatures, and opticals. In the 1950s, Rabin went freelance with a pair of other FX artists, Louis DeWitt and Irving Block, who all left their fingerprints on many genre movies, both low budget Bs -- Invasion, U.S.A. (1952), Daughter of Dr. Jekyll (1957), Kronos (1958), and the top-bills -- The Night of the Hunter (1955), The Killing (1956), for the next 20 years or so. And it probably should be noted all of the pilfered FX that appears in Robot Monster were done by either Rabin, DeWitt or Block for another movie.




Thus, Rabin was the key to making the film work, as he was the one who added all the opticals to Robot Monster -- the negative flashes to represent the Calcinator Death-Ray discharging, and added the fog or other foreground objects to give all that stock-footage a fighting chance in 3D. I’m also pretty sure that’s probably him pulling off that Space Platform gag, too, doing the best he could with the five dollars he was allotted. Regardless, that entire sequence is one of the funniest things I have ever seen committed to film. However, Rabin was not responsible for Ro-Man’s hi-tech equipment. No. That Million Dollar Bubble Machine was provided by N.A. Fisher Chemical Products Inc., according to the credits.

Now, at some point, you also probably noticed or noted how the soundtrack for Robot Monster was actually kinda good. And, well, there’s a reason for that. It's fairly common knowledge these days that Elmer Bernstein composed the music for this gonzo classic, and you can hear the talent that would eventually produce the themes for The Ten Commandments (1956), The Magnificent Seven (1960), To Kill a Mockingbird (1962), and The Great Escape (1963).


At the time of the production, Bernstein was a young artist struggling to find work due to his leftist politics. And while he was never officially on the Hollywood Blacklist, the Communist witch hunt of that era did find him on the unofficial Graylist. And so, Zimbalist threw him a bone, which also netted him scores for Cat-Women of the Moon and Miss Robin Crusoe (1954), which the producer finally got around to making with Amanda Blake in the lead, co-starring Robot Monster’s other leading man, George Nader. (I’ve seen it, and it's actually pretty good.) Bernstein would later recall that he “enjoyed the challenge of trying to help a film” that needed it, and did what he could with his eight-piece orchestra to glue things together, adding menace and bombast to our ears to overcompensate for what we see with our eyes.


Strangely enough, the Blacklist and other prejudices loomed large over the whole production. Cast member and former MGM stock player Selena Royle’s career was ruined when she was named as a Communist sympathizer in 1951. She had refused to appear before the House Committee on Un-American Activities but eventually cleared her name. Alas, the damage had been done and Robot Monster would be her last feature. 

After making his screen debut here, Nader would go on to win a Golden Globe the very next year for Most Promising Male Newcomer for his work in Four Guns to the Border (1954) and would sign on with Universal. Nader was also a homosexual, who refused to play the game like other actors in the closet and refused to use a beard. "We lived in fear of an exposé, or even one small remark, a veiled suggestion that someone was homosexual," said Nader. "Such a remark would have caused an earthquake at the studio. Every month, when Confidential came out, our stomachs began to turn. Which of us would be it?" Somewhat sadly, these fears came true when Universal threw Nader under the bus to satiate the tabloids in order to save Rock Hudson's career, forcing Nader to pull up stakes and move to Europe, where he continued his acting career.

As for our plucky heroine, Claudia Barret, she signed a contract with Warner Bros in 1949 but never really managed to break-out in the features. Still, she had a solid TV career well into the 1960s. And John Mylong had been playing the same kind of stuffy Continental Kook since Talkies became a thing and would continue to play them for the next 15 years. All of them do a credible job pulling off Ordung’s mind-melting script, which was no small task.



Positively ludicrous at first glance, and the second, and yes, even the third, but once you get past all of the lunacy and begin to analyze how utterly downbeat, and perverted, and nihilistic this film is it’s downright disturbing. I mean, What kind of a madman writes a screenplay where a 8 year old kid dreams about a post-apocalyptic future, whose subconscious calls for his entire family to be brutally massacred and his sister to be bound-up and molested by a robot ape going through an existential crisis?


And yet, as Roderick Heath put it in his review of Robot Monster on the website, This Island Rod, “There’s actual intelligence in the way Tucker and Ordung unfold the story as a system of childish transformations. Johnny’s vision of family at the centre of the universe feels exactly right in grasping this idea, the family unit surrounded by a literal barrier fending off evil and danger. The way he mashes together the concepts floating around in his young mind works in the same way – his bubble-blowing gun becomes the Ro-Man’s bubble-exuding machinery, the tantalizing cave becomes the dark pit from which all the id’s menaces emerge, the Ro-Man merges Johnny’s space-age fantasies with an impression of bestial strength that seems to encapsulate all a child’s understanding of the adult world. The opening credits unfold over a pile of comic books, suggesting the meal of Johnny’s mind and the sources of his protean imagination.” Can’t really argue with any of that.


And so, Robot Monster has a little bit more going on than you might think underneath that gorilla suit and it didn’t really derail anyone’s career, either -- well, with one notable exception, which we’ll be addressing in a second. Because, contrary to popular belief, despite some scathing critical reviews, the film was a bona fide hit when it was first released. Picked up by Astor Pictures it hit theaters in late June of 1953. And to stay ahead of some of those bad reviews as it went national, the picture also played under the more fitting title, Monsters from the Mars. Either way, the film grossed over a million dollars with its initial theatrical release -- and Phil Tucker never saw a dime of any of it.

Yeah, here, The Ballad of Phil Tucker kinda goes off the rails a bit. Of course, another well established urban legend surrounding Robot Monster is that Tucker tried to commit suicide after all the indicting reviews and assumed box office annihilation of his magnum opus. According to Harry Medved’s follow-up book on the worst films of all time, The Golden Turkey Awards (1980), co-authored by his brother, noted film critic, Michael Medved, Tucker “put a gun next to his head, pulled the trigger, and missed.” This is patently false, and the truth is a little more complicated than that.


As far as I can tell after sifting through several newspaper articles, after Robot Monster was released Tucker got into a heated dispute with Zimbalist, who, along with the distributor, were cooking the books, which essentially cheated the director out of his contractual percentage of the film’s profits. Here, after an attempted lawsuit went nowhere, and a follow up feature, Return from Mars, fell through, a disillusioned but undaunted Tucker headed north to Fairbanks, Alaska, where, according to several notices starting in early July and a lengthy article in the August 5, 1953, edition of the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner, he shot an independent and even lower-budgeted Sci-Fi film called Space Jockey -- a film Tucker would later claim was the “worst picture that’s ever been made by anyone, anywhere."

“The movie industry is stifled in Hollywood,” said Tucker in the interview. “They tell you what to write, how to produce it, when to direct it, who to put in it and when to try and sell it. It's a tight little island of rulers and it's a hard place in which to breathe free.” As to how bad the film actually was, well, we’ll have to take Tucker’s word on that because according to the article the filmmaker hadn’t found a distributor yet, and he apparently never did, and Space Jockey is now considered lost. In fact, there is no real evidence that the film was ever completed.

And I do believe it was this accumulation of a perceived blackballing by the industry and a series of business failures that sent Tucker into a spiraling depression and an undisclosed stint in the psychopathic ward of the Veteran’s Administrations Hospital in West Los Angeles before things reached a crucible on December 15, 1953, at the Knickerbocker Hotel, where a despondent Tucker, on a pass from the V.A., attempted suicide with an overdose of sleeping pills. He was found on the bed, resuscitated, and saved by the timely intervention of the police, who were alerted by a newspaper reporter. Seems Tucker had sent a lengthy suicide note to the publication, how he was screwed over by Zimbalist, lamenting his failures, and his lack of traction in Hollywood, saying, “I finally realized that my future in the film industry was bleak.” Then, after being stabilized in the emergency room of the H.E.H., Tucker was returned to the V.A. hospital for further treatment.

Of course, this flare for the melodramatic brought into question whether all of this was just an elaborate publicity stunt. None other than the aforementioned Ed Wood once commented on how an unnamed filmmaker did this kind of thing to help raise money. “Whenever he finds out his newest bad picture won’t sell, he comes up with the damnedest strategy: suicide,” said Wood. “In one instance, he sat on the roof of a hotel with a can of his film on his lap and his legs dangling over the street fifteen floors below, and then he gobbled down sleeping pills. Of course, the police had been conveniently notified so they arrived in plenty of time."


Was he referring to Tucker? The details don’t quite jive with the article covering the incident found in the December 16, 1953, edition of The Los Angeles Times, but Wood was also one to elaborate and embellish and perhaps was a little jealous that he didn’t think of it first.

Tucker seemed to get his act together a short time after, going back to work for Weiss on another series of burlesque films -- Baghdad After Midnite (1954), Strips Around the World (1955), and teamed up with Lenny Bruce again on Dream Follies (1954). And then there’s his loosely semi-autobiographical take on his own experiences in Hollywood, Broadway Jungle (1955). Long thought lost, having finally seen it, perhaps it should’ve stayed that way. (And if Tucker thought Space Jockey was worse than this? Wow.) And then, sadly, Wood might've been on to something as it appears Tucker would try to kill himself once again in August of 1957 via carbon monoxide poisoning according to a small blurb unearthed from the Des Moines Register.


Luckily, he failed, and Tucker's last time in the director’s chair was for The Cape Canaveral Monsters (1960). However, Tucker shifted gears and stayed in the business as an editor, mostly for episodic TV, and was a post-production supervisor on the features King Kong (1976) and Orca (1977). Sadly, like a lot of other pioneers in low-budget filmmaking of this era, Tucker passed away in 1985 before people really started to appreciate, celebrate, and lionize this kind of schlock and those who made it in the wake of their resurgence on home video.



And to me, Tucker’s Robot Monster definitely deserves its legendary cult status, even though it's nowhere near as bad as its dubious reputation would imply. And if taken at face value, as a child's blunt trauma-induced delirium, then I say it's friggin' brilliant. Yup. If it wasn't obvious enough yet, I truly do love this movie; it is so righteous in its wrongness that one can only watch and boggle as it plays out and transcends its schlocky trappings into something truly remarkable. There's just something about the Shakespearean sincerity when our hero, Ro-Man, tries to profess his doomed love for the hu-man Al-ice, that one can't help but feel sorry for the big lug. So much so that I'm surprised no one has ever tried to combine those elements before, the Bard by way of Barrows and Brown, into one form yet -- until now:


"Hath not a Ro-Man eyes? Hath not a Ro-Man hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same Calcinator Death-Rays, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Hu-Man is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? At what point do these two ideals connect on the graph? Why can this not be in the plan?!? Therefore if we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. We cannot. But we must. For if a Ro-Man wrong a Hu-Man, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Hu-Man wrong a Ro-Man, what should his sufferance be by Hu-Man example? Why, revenge; a revenge most indescribable. Fact: the villainy you teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction. Foolish hu-mans. There is no escape from me!" -- The Merchant of Ro-Man, Act III Scene I


Honestly, this is the toughest review I’ve ever had to write up since I started this nonsense, because no matter how hard I try, I cannot shake this film. And as I tried to write the plot synopsis, I’d get a few words typed up before images of Ro-Man wandering up and down that same damned hill would filter in my mind's-eye and I would start to giggle. Recovering, I would try again, but then I’d think about all that hi-tech equipment: the million-bubble bubble machine; the sparkler driven Space Platform; the Calcinator Death-Ray -- with its two settings of Painless Surrender Death or Horrible Resistance Death -- and I would burst out laughing. Then, I’d hit the floor, gasping for air, when I thought of Ro-Man and the Great Guidance arguing in a train-wreck of techno-babble that would've made even the most hardened Trekie's head explode.

And then, finally, with all the pathos of Shylock in the Merchant of Venice, as Ro-Man once more professes his love for Al-ice, I must now crawl away from the computer before my head explodes. And you know what? From now on, whenever an intergalactic invader, giant monkey, or any other kind of monster, inexplicably falls in love with an Earth hu-man in a movie or any form of media encountered by me, it will be affectionately referred to as another sad case of Ro-Man's Syndrome.© 



Foolish hu-mans! There is no escape from this lunacy! Worst movie of all time? Nay, this is the greatest movie ever made. Seek this movie. Find this movie. Watch this movie. And you will love Robot Monster, too. Trust me.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's 18 films down with eight yet to go. Up next, Just when you thought it was safe to go back to Florida...


Robot Monster (1953) Three Dimension Pictures :: Astor Pictures / EP: Al Zimbalist / P: Phil Tucker / AP: Alan Winston / D: Phil Tucker / W: Wyott Ordung / C: Jack Greenhalgh / E: Merrill White / M: Elmer Bernstein / S: George Nader, Claudia Barrett, Gregory Moffett, John Mylong, Selena Royle, Pamela Paulson, George Barrows

Hubrisween 2020 :: S is for Shock Waves (1977)

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We open with a brief history lesson, where we learn that in this timeline, shortly before the start of World War II, the German High Command began an extensive covert operation to investigate further into the occult and the supernatural, focusing on the ancient Teutonic folklore that told of a race of warriors who used neither weapons nor shields, and whose preternatural powers were supposedly drawn from within the Earth itself.



And as war finally broke out, quickly escalated, and then turned against Germany, caught between the Allies and the Russian Army, the Nazi Schutzstaffel (better known as the SS) secretly recruited a group of scientists to create an invincible soldier to help turn the tide, who began experimenting on the bodies of those killed in battle. Thus, in a secret laboratory near Koblenz, these cadavers were used in a variety of … experiments.



Now, as this history lesson ends, it’s long been rumored that as the Third Reich collapsed, and Germany’s borders were breached, Allied forces started encountering fanatical terror squads that fought ferociously with no weapons and killed only with their bare hands. No one knows who or what they were, where they came from, or what became of them after Germany surrendered. But one thing was for certain: of all the German SS units, there was only one the Allies never captured a single member of.




Next, we cut to the present day (circa 1977) somewhere in the waters just off the Bahamas, where a local fisherman and his son find a small boat cast adrift on the open sea. Finding only one lone occupant, a woman, parched and sunburned, slipping in and out of consciousness, the fisherman brings her aboard his own boat, treats her as best he can, and asks how she came to be in such a predicament as they putter back to the harbor and proper medical care. Slowly, this obviously traumatized and delirious woman tries to come around, and then starts to relate her harrowing and unbelievable tale of woe:




Our survivor’s name is Rose (Adams), and as her flashback begins we once more find the girl in the water -- sans boat, having a relaxing swim in the clear blue Caribbean water. One of four passengers booked aboard the Bonaventure -- a small chartered cabin-cruiser, which has, for the second time in as many days, developed engine trouble, Rose took the opportunity for a refreshing swim while waiting out the repairs.



Meanwhile, the Bonaventure’s curmudgeonly skipper, Captain Ben Morris (Carradine), is giving his first mate, Keith (Haplin), all kinds of hell on both his mechanical skills and navigational abilities. But as the engine begrudgingly groans back to life, unbeknownst to our pleasure cruisers, something sinister is afoot just beneath the waves several leagues away -- well, if the sudden ominous music sting is to be believed.



But this change in tone is somewhat confirmed -- or at least reinforced, when we spy a half-sunken freighter lurking nearby; and judging by all the corrosion, it appears to have been there for awhile. But if you listen close, somewhere below the waterline, you can hear some kind of rhythmic pounding; almost as if something was stuck inside this rusted-out hulk, something that was desperately trying to get out.




Then, the afternoon sky suddenly shifts to a deadly shade of Orange Fizz, causing the ship’s radio and compass to go on the fritz (-- making me believe they’re somewhere in the dreaded Bermuda Triangle, though the movie never confirms this). Here, stating the obvious, Captain Ben orders Keith to get them the hell out of there -- and fast.



Later, once the old tub is clear of the ethereal light show, we finally get around to meeting the rest of the passengers as they gather in the galley and wait for Dobbs (Stout), the ship’s slovenly cook and only other hand, to bring out the food. Here, Norman (Davidson, a dead-ringer for Buck Henry), once again complains to Captain Ben about the derelict condition of his boat, which was oversold a bit in the brochure, I’m guessing. And when you couple the mechanical failures with all the other strange things going on, the surly passenger demands to be returned to port, any port, before they inevitably sink.



And as her husband continues to rant, all Norman’s wife, Beverly (Sidney), can do is roll her eyes in a long-suffering fashion, just as the Old Salt snaps back, asking what a used car-salesman from Cleveland would know about boats anyway, entrenching both the skipper’s and Norman’s assholishness even further (-- so much so, I’d be surprised if either of them made it past the second reel.)



But then Chuck (Buch), another passenger, interrupts them, wanting to ask the captain for his opinion on all those strange lights in the sky and the tales of ghost ships and sea monsters that Dobbs has been filling these land-lubbers heads with ever since they first cast off. Told in no certain terms that Dobbs is completely full of shit, Captain Ben excuses himself. Once he’s gone, Norman’s call for a mutiny is quickly laughed off by the other passengers.



Later that evening, while everyone else sleeps, Rose visits the bridge for a smoke, where Keith is standing watch. And as these two get to talking, Keith admits that for all intents and purposes the Bonaventure is hopelessly lost; and with all of their electronic equipment no longer working, and the damnable compass still moving in a wobbly circle, this dire situation is unlikely to remedy itself anytime soon. And as if this situation weren’t bad enough already, suddenly, a ghostly freighter appears out of the darkness on a direct collision course!




But Keith takes the wheel and manages to minimize the impact as the rogue freighter only scrapes the side of the Bonaventure -- but it's enough of a jolt to wake everyone else up. But by the time they all get topside, the phantom freighter has up and disappeared, explaining why Captain Ben doesn’t believe Keith or Rose and figures his idiot underling fell asleep at the wheel and ran them aground.



Shooting off a flare to assess the damage, the phosphorescent glow illuminates that half-sunken derelict off the starboard bow. (Or maybe the port side? That’s me shrugging, as I know less about boats than a used car salesman from Cleveland.) That couldn’t be the boat that hit them? Could it? (Cue the Twilight Zone music!)



As day breaks, the others soon realize that Captain Ben has disappeared. All they can find of him are his discarded clothes (-- which means, wherever he is, John Carradine is buck-ass naked! Noodle that for a bit, Boils and Ghouls!) And as the rest of the crew checks for damage, they confirm that last night’s eerie close encounter finds them stuck on a reef. Worse yet, the bottom of the boat has been split open, meaning when the tide comes in the Bonaventure will definitely capsize and sink.





With no other recourse, the decision is made to abandon ship and start ferrying the passengers over to a nearby island with the Bonaventure’s dinghy, which is so small it will require several trips. Thus, while bringing the last load over, the unlucky passengers finally find Captain Ben -- through the glass porthole in the bottom of the boat as he floats by, drowned and definitely dead.




Once everyone else is safely ashore, Chuck climbs a tree, gets the lay of the land, and is happily surprised to spot some buildings about a half-a-mile inland. And after making their way through the swampy lagoon and the dense jungle, our castaways discover those buildings were part of an old hotel and resort that appears long abandoned.




Here, the group splits up and starts exploring. Dobbs and Chuck find the kitchen, where they poke around for a bit. They also find an aquarium -- and since the fish inside it appear pretty healthy, that can only mean one thing: they’re not alone here.



Then, almost on cue, the air is suddenly filled with the bombastic sound of Richard Wagner. Drawn to the source of the music, our group congregates in the main hall and slowly surrounds an old Victorola. When the record winds down, a voice with a slight Germanic accent calls from the shadows, asking, What are they doing here?




And after a few more cryptic questions, our refugees explain their predicament. But when Keith mentions they were hit by a freighter, the man behind the mysterious voice finally shows himself and demands to know the name of that ship.




Told it was the Proto-something-or-other, when the German (Cushing) verifies it was The Praetorious, he quickly disappears into the shadows again. Unable to find him, after having a long and taxing day, the stranded boaters pack it in, pick out a room, settle in for the night, and will continue their search in the morning and, hopefully, find a way off this island.




Meanwhile, back in the water, in that rusted-out derelict, something has finally broken out of the hold and are now moving freely about on the ocean floor, gradually circling ever-closer toward the island, where I believe our unwitting castaways are about to find out what exactly happened to that missing SS unit...





A native of Queens, New York, Ken Wiederhorn attended Kenyon College in Ohio until he dropped out during his sophomore year, moved back home, and got a job as a mail boy at the CBS Television Network, where he quickly worked his way up from the mailroom to a gopher in the newsroom, to an editor, and, eventually, an associate producer for the network’s documentary news series, CBS Reports.

Meantime, according to an interview on the Master Cylinder website, it was while still working as an assistant editor at CBS when Wiederhorn decided to go back to school. Seems a documentary filmmaker he had worked with had just been appointed head of the film department at Columbia University, who was able to shepherd him into the program. Here, Wiederhorn struck up a friendship with fellow film student, Reuben Trane; and together, they collaborated on a short film for their senior thesis, Manhattan Melody (1973), which earned them the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences’ inaugural Student Film Award. “Don’t call it an Oscar,” Wiederhorn later clarified. “It was more of a block of wood with a name-holder on it."

After graduating, Wiederhorn continued to work at CBS while Trane moved back home to Miami, Florida, where he started teaching a filmmaking course at Florida International University. All the while, Trane nursed a notion to take the next step and finally reached out to Wiederhorn to see if he wanted to collaborate again -- this time on a low-budget feature film. He did. And so, Trane looked to his family for financial backing, who had made a fortune in the heating and cooling business since creating the Trane Comfort Corps back in 1913. And they agreed to back Reuben’s efforts to the tune of $200,000.


As for the subject matter, it was quickly decided by Trane to follow the same path as many other independent productions before them, meaning an exploitation film or a horror movie were in order because it would be easier to sell, make their money back, and hopefully open a few doors to make something a little more ambitious later. In a 1975 interview with TheMiami Herald, Wiederhorn commented on how horror was the only genre left for which there was a built-in market. Plus, “No matter how bad they are, horror movies make money,” Trane added.

Thus, the two formed a production company, and the first order of business was to get a script written. And for that, Wiederhorn, who freely admitted he wasn’t a fan of the genre, teamed up with John Harrison. Drawing inspiration from the Louis Pauwels and Jacques Bergier exposé, The Morning of the Magicians, one of the first books to explore The Thule Society and the Nazi party’s fascination with the occult and the supernatural, which led them to the idea of the German high command resurrecting dead soldiers through some dubious alchemy and turning them into a zombie attack squad.


By now, the decision had been made to shoot in Florida, with an inexpensive crew made up of Trane’s eager students; and since Trane was also good with boats, the ocean became a story element. And with that, Wiederhorn suddenly had the hilarious notion of a battalion of these Nazi zombies invading Miami Beach. And then, with the “help of a few more joints” their script really started taking shape, turning those undead Nazis into aquatic zombies -- a unique twist, which beat Fulci to the punch by over four years, who could move freely underwater, stalking the ocean floor, from which they terrorize a group of stranded tourists on some uncharted desert isle.

And so, the fledgling production company was rebranded as Zopix (-- Zombie Picture, get it?), and with the script finally finished, shooting was almost ready to commence. Trane would serve as producer and cinematographer on dry-land, Wiederhorn would direct, and Irving Pare would handle the underwater scenes. Also on board as the production's still photographer and production assistant, was future sleaze merchant, Fred Olen Ray, who, like the others, was working on his first feature. And in an interest to save money, the decision was made to shoot the film in 16mm with the intent to blow it up to 35mm once (and if) they found a distributor for their film, which was shot under the title, Death Corps.


To add some weight to the marquee and hopefully overcompensate for their own inexperience, both Wiederhorn and Trane knew they needed to get a couple of genre vets to anchor the film. Money was tight, but they stretched it out a bit by relegating each star to only one half of the movie. Both John Carradine and Peter Cushing worked for five days each on the film for the sum of $5000 a piece -- though Cushing also demanded and received first class air travel and accommodations.



Apparently, according to several after action reports, Carradine, working on his 450th feature, was a bit of a grumpus, nearly drowning while filming his death scene in the Trane swimming pool, and was happy to be killed off early. 


Cushing, on the other hand, was always the gentlemen, always prepared, and always willing to help out these novice filmmakers with suggestions on camera placements or character movements, which was much appreciated. 


“A lot of times Cushing had a better idea of what we wanted than we did,” said Wiederhorn. The British actor was also fascinated with a certain American Institution -- the International House of Pancakes, and began each day by eating a stack of wheat cakes at the IHOP.




As for the rest of the cast, Brooke Adams was signed up in New York. This would be her first starring role, and she was about to break out a bit in Terrence Malick’s Days of Heaven (1978) and Philip Kaufman’s remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978). The rest of the small cast were recruited locally in Miami and the surrounding area, including Luke Halpin, whom we old farts will remember as Sandy Ricks from the old Flipper TV-series.


But the production’s biggest coup was probably securing the use of the Biltmore Hotel in Coral Gables. An old luxury resort first built back in 1924, it had served Presidents, movie stars, and notorious gangsters -- before he became Tarzan, Johnny Weismuller served as a swimming instructor there, teaching Al Capone’s son how to swim. When World War II broke out, the Biltmore was converted into an army hospital, and it remained a veteran’s facility until 1968, when it was shut down -- more like abandoned, shuttered, and sold off to the city. 

And there it sat -- along with its sister hotel in Palm Beach, empty and unoccupied, until Wiederhorn and Trane managed to coax the owner, John D. MacArthur, the city fathers and “the powers that be” into letting them film in both locations for $250 a day.


Of course, the hotels had no power or plumbing. And with only one Winnebago on set with only one working restroom meant a lot of the toilets were used anyway, causing the production to move deeper and deeper into the hotel to get away from the smell as things dragged on. After filming wrapped, the property remained dormant until a massive restoration in the mid-1980s saw the Biltmore reopened and returned to its original grandeur.



They were also able to get some cheap production values with the wreck of the SS Sapona, a concrete cargo steamer that ran aground near Bimini during a hurricane in 1926, which served as the Nazi-zombies base of operations. 



And for the beaches, jungles and swamps they used the mucklands of Matheson Hammock Park in Coral Gables and Crandon Park Beach in Key Biscayne. “I personally really hated the locations because they were really difficult to work in terms of physical comfort,” said Wiederhorn. “It was hot, it was humid and we would have to cover ourselves with mosquito repellent several times a day."







And it was within these hot, muggy, and snake-infested environs, shooting for 35-days between July and August, 1975, that a dozen or so ghastly creatures garbed in Wehrmacht uniforms and black goggles slowly rose from the bottom of the sea, surfaced, and headed inland in one truly spectacular sequence.




One by one they pop-up from the water, and as these undead automata begin trudging toward land, en masse, deadly silent, methodical and ruthless, they honestly bring to mind the ghostly Templars from Armando de Ossorio’s Tombs of the Blind Dead (1972) -- and we’ll be referring to them from here on out as the Aqua-Nazis.





Unaware of this development, as the sun rises, and apparently stuck indefinitely, Keith sends Dobbs on a mission back to the Bonaventure for some needed supplies. But as he makes his way back to the beach through the chest-deep lagoon, the cook soon realizes he is no longer alone as the Aqua-Nazis have him surrounded and quickly move in for the kill, inadvertently herding their victim into a cache of deadly sea urchins, robbing them of their kill.




Meantime, back at the hotel, Keith spots the old German, manages to corner him, and finally gets some answers. Told they must all leave immediately, Keith is more than happy to oblige if he’ll only explain how, which he does, saying there is a small boat hidden in a nearby cove that should get them to safety. But they must hurry, for there is danger here. Danger in the water.





Alas, this warning comes too late for Rose, as she goes for another swim and bumps right into Dobb’s corpse. And after Chuck and Keith drag the body ashore, they find a torn SS insignia clutched in the dead man’s hand. And while Chuck contends that means the old German must be responsible, Keith isn’t so sure and says to maybe ask them, pointing out two Aqua-Nazis observing them from a distance before they slowly disappear beneath the water. With that, the men of the party confront the old German, who can’t believe they’ve wasted all this time and still aren’t off the island yet; and now he fears it may be too late -- for everybody.



Admitting that he did kill Dobbs, albeit indirectly, the German explains how he was in charge of that top-secret operation to create those Nazi super-soldiers, where they experimented on hoodlums, thugs, and murderers, turning them into monsters. Not dead -- but not alive either, he explains. And eventually, they engineered a perfect batch of specimens that were impervious to heat or cold. Calling them the Toten Korps (-- translated as the Death Corps, ‘natch), the SS tried to use them in battle but soon found out they couldn’t be controlled when these monsters turned on their masters, eventually killing everybody.



By the time this disaster was corralled and cleaned up, the war wasn't going well for Germany; and so, our mad scientist took the last batch of deviants, engineered to breath underwater to be the ultimate U-boat sailors, and escaped capture on the Praetorious. But when word came that Germany had surrendered, fearing his creations would go haywire again, the order was given to scuttle the ship, sending his damnable creations to the bottom of the ocean.




As the architect of this madness, he then took up exile on this deserted island to keep watch, just in case, but he honestly thought he’d destroyed them for good. He was wrong. And when these interlopers don’t believe a word he’s said, the old man pulls a pistol and gives them two choices: get off the island, or he will shoot them all himself.





Taking this threat seriously, as the castaways go to search for that promised boat, the German seeks out and finds his old squad of Aqua-Nazis, who ignore his calls and disappear into the surf. Undaunted, his search continues until he stops to rest, bending over to take a drink out of a fresh-water stream, but then spots, too late, one of his creations just below the water’s surface. (Nice knowing you, Scary German Guy.)




Once the old boat is secured, our group has to navigate it out of a swampy tide-pool to get to the open ocean and make their escape. Breaking out of the trees, since they appear to be home free, Keith sets the small sail but the water is still too shallow. And as the boat keeps getting hung up on sandbars, they all must bail out and push the vessel toward deeper water.





Beverly is the first to notice the Aqua-Nazis are right behind them, so it’s only fitting that she’s the one who stumbles and falls behind. As Norman and Chuck abandon the boat to rush back to her aid, since the water’s finally deep enough, Keith tosses Rose into the boat to man the rudder while he heads back to help out, too. 




But as the men manage to gather up Beverly, luck is against them again as the wind whips the sail around, knocking Rose out of the boat. And as the unmanned craft heads swiftly out to sea, Keith frantically swims after it but quickly realizes this is a lost cause and swims back toward shore.





Well ahead of him, the others make it back to dry land but apparently got separated. And as Rose tries to calm a frantic Norman down, who desperately wants to know if his wife is safe, they decide to head back to the hotel. (Okay, so maybe old Norman isn't such an asshole after all. And I'm truly amazed he's lasted this long.) But in his panicked state, Norman leaves a floundering Rose well, well behind in his wake. Soon out of sight, she calls for him to wait up, but he can’t hear her anymore.





Then, the Aqua-Nazis turn their goggled-sights on Rose, giving us an extended stalk-n-chase scene that leads us all the way back to the hotel, where she tries to hide by the swimming pool but the damned things are in there, too! 





But as one of them grabs her, our heroine manages to rip off it's goggles, which proves most productive -- for its eyes are now exposed to the sunlight, causing the creature to scream in pain as it collapses and “dies,” which also causes the other Aqua-Nazis to retreat.




When the others reach the hotel -- and for the record, Chuck and Beverly found Norman’s body, and gather up Rose, who, alas, doesn't put together the lethality of removing those goggles from these predators, they decide to hole-up in the kitchen's huge walk-in freezer, rigged to lock from the inside, just as those water-logged bad guys start sloshing around the hotel, hunting for them. 



But their refuge is not quite big enough as Chuck’s acute claustrophobia soon gets the better of him. And as he begs to be let out, Keith won’t comply until Chuck threatens to shoot him with a flare gun. 





Once they let him out, the manic man also demands their only flashlight. But Keith refuses, and then slams the door shut, catching Chuck’s arm in the jam -- the same arm that was holding that flare gun, which pops off into this enclosed space. And when the flare’s fire and smoke drives everyone out, the weasley Chuck steals the coveted flashlight and flees.





Meantime, blinded by the flare-gun’s flash, Beverly stumbles off into the darkness alone -- though not as alone as she thinks, while Keith and Rose head deeper into the hotel's basement. Chuck, meanwhile, manages to make it outside only to fall into the swimming pool -- where several Aqua-Nazis are waiting. And while he puts up a good fight, and almost manages to climb out, he is ultimately dragged back under the fetid water and drowned.



Come the dawn, in an ironic twist (-- that all of the filmmakers failed to realize), Rose and Keith manage to survive this Night of the Soggy Dead and evade their Aqua-Nazi tormentors by hiding inside the hotel's massive coal furnace. Wow. And wow again.




All seems quiet as they find poor Beverly, drowned in that aquarium, and then Chuck’s body floating in the pool. After that, the Aqua-Nazis are soon swarming and attack, chasing the surviving couple as they abandon the hotel and run for the beach, where they jump in the glass-bottom dinghy and try to row out to sea.





But the going is too slow, and though Keith manages to fight off the first two Aqua-Nazis, the third pulls him over the side and under the water. In the boat, Rose waits a few silent beats, scanning the water, but then sees Keith’s body floating underneath her.




This proves too much for the girl, who screams and then passes out as the boat drifts out to sea.




And as our flashback ends, we catch up with Rose at the hospital, where she appears to be jotting down these memories in a journal; until we realize that she keeps repeating the same thing over and over again. And then we pan around to see that all she’s been writing down is a bunch of gibberish. Turns out Rose is no longer with us.




When a small Want Ad ran in The Miami Herald in the early summer of 1975, looking for extras for an independent horror movie destined to be shot in their fair city, which needed mean looking men with strong Germanic features, Jay Maeder, a reporter and columnist for the newspaper, was tagged by his editor to go out and cover these auditions, thinking it would make a swell human interest feature.


Now, Maeder was a bit of a throwback when it came to journalism and a bit of an odd duck when it came to his People Column, which was described in his 2014 obituary as a blend of irreverence, gossip and frippery. “Everyone lives life in 3-D, [Maeder] kind of wrote about life in 4-D,” said his former editor, John Brecher. “Whatever the story was that you asked Jay to do, you could count on the fact no one in the world would write the story the way Jay Maeder would write it."


But it wasn’t just features, as news photographer Battle Vaughan pointed out in the same obit. “He was a reporter unlike any I’d ever worked with. He could get into anywhere, fit in, and report back with both laser precision and a mastery of language.” As an example, Maeder once went undercover and joined a group of homeless people who were being recruited by a cult, exposing a conspiracy to use them to swell the voting rolls in a rural county. Thus, Maeder would not go to the audition just to cover it but instead neglected to announce he was a reporter at all and just auditioned for a part himself.




About 25 men showed up, and Maeder, along with about eight others, were pulled from the line and told to leave a name and telephone number. Not much to write about, so the story was shelved until about a month later when Maeder got a follow-up call and reported to the office of Reuben Trane, who explained what the role would entail: being not only a zombie, but an underwater Nazi zombie; and then revealed a photo of the prototype make-up that would be involved. 


Wiederhorn was also there, and made it clear it was going to be long hours, dirty work, with a lot of time in and under the water -- most of it in stagnant bogs or tepid lagoons filled with who knows what and all kinds of things crawling and creeping within them -- and every one of them would bite.




Maeder agreed to all of the above and a few days later he was issued a Nazi uniform and sent to a Cuban beauty school and salon to get his hair shorn off and bleached white; a chemical process that was really quite painful. And as the shoot dragged on, Maeder would often slosh into the office, not-so-fresh from the set, and prowl around the newsroom in “fetid, swamp-rot Nazi regalia."


About halfway through the shoot, Maeder finally came clean and revealed who he was and why he was there. Both Wiederhorn and Trane had no objections, of course, figuring any publicity was good publicity at this point. And so, Maeder’s column, I Am a Zombie: Confessions of an Extra in Low Budget Death Corps, was published in the August 10, 1975 edition of the Miami Herald, one week after shooting wrapped.


In the article on the front page of the Lively Arts section, Maeder goes into much detail about the production, interviewing Wiederhorn and Trane -- crediting Wiederhorn with an extraordinary talent for finding unimaginably stagnant ponds, sewer canals, and other revolting bodies of water to shoot his movie in. He also talks about the two famous stars destined to headline the film and its ever-revolving title -- Death Corps, The Dead Don't Die, Sea of Fear, Black Sand, Nightmare Island, Island of Doom, Monsters of the Third Reich, Almost Human, and finally, Shock Waves (1977). 




But the majority of the writing concerns himself and the trials and tribulation he and his fellow Death Corpsmen faced while filming, including his big scene, where he kills Jack Davidson, who played Norman.




“We Death Corpsmen seem to spend a lot of our time crouching underwater,” said Maeder in his after action report, “biding our time until one hapless victim or another stumbles past. Busy busy busy. If it’s one thing we’ve got here, it’s hapless victims … Up from the murky depths I come, crashing through waste deep water … Fingers like steel bands around his hapless throat. The mighty strength of a Death Corpsman. The bulging eyes of the victim. Death in the bright afternoon.” Well, at least until the director called for a cut because he’d botched something. Again.


Yeah, it took four takes to get that scene right. On the first, Maeder blew his cue on when to surface. The second, it took too long for him to catch up to Davidson and they were hopelessly out of frame. And the third was Davidson’s fault, anticipating his fatal submersion too much. The fourth take, was good enough. For his efforts, Maeder and the other Aqua-Nazis were paid $25 a day. And while he seemed genuinely proud of his efforts, the reporter made it clear the majority of the credit should go to Alan Ormsby, the make-up man behind the Death Corps signature look.


Ormsby was a drama student at the University of Florida when he first met Bob Clark. And these two would go on to collaborate on the low-budget zombie movie, Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things (1972), which he co-wrote, starred in, and did the zombie make-up for. Shot in Miami, the film is both cheap and obnoxious and yet startling effective with its chills. Clark and Ormsby would follow that up Deathdream (1974), a twisted tale based on W.W. Jacobs’ The Monkey’s Paw, which Ormsby had adapted into a screenplay and supervised the special make-up effects, breaking in some novice named Tom Savani.


He had just finished shooting Deranged (1974) up in Canada, a creepy take on the notorious necrophiliac and body snatcher, Ed Gein, which Ormsby wrote, co-directed, and once again supervised the make-ups for; but he had a falling out with Clark, who was the film’s uncredited producer, who shut his old friend out of the post-production phase of the film. And so, he was available. And more importantly, he was back home in Miami.




Of course, being unfamiliar with horror films, Wiederhorn wasn’t really aware of what Ormsby had done. But they screened Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things and he immediately took a liking to Ormsby, finding they were very like-minded when it came to injecting humor into these horrific proceedings. And aside from the requirement that they had to wear those goggles to provide some form of vulnerability, Ormsby pretty much had a free hand in the designs of the Aqua-Nazis. There were plenty of concerns at first due to the requirements of the make-up holding up underwater, but with several tweaks and a few additives the make-up held together splendidly, resulting in something relatively simple, unique, and extremely effective.



Maeder described the make-up call as “devoting an hour every morning at the table of the Winnebago,” where Ormsby would apply “warts and festering sores and harelips and thick layers of latex and greasepaint.” Playing these zombies were Maeder, Bob Miller, Talmadge Scott, Gary Levinson, Sammy Graham, Preston White, Reid Finger, Donahue Guillory, Mike Kennedy, Robert Miller and Tony Moskal.




Moskal, according to both Maeder’s article and Wiederhorn’s director’s commentary on the Blue Underground DVD of Shock Waves, was very much at home in the water and quickly established himself as the prime Aqua-Nazi, winning “the boundless respect of Wiederhorn and Trane” for his intensity and devotion to every scene he was in. “The rest of us were clods,” said Maeder, “who couldn’t do anything right.” 


One of his co-stars couldn’t help wiping his nose whenever he surfaced; another couldn’t stop giggling when he was supposed to attack someone; and apparently it was very difficult to see through those darkened goggles, so these deadly Death Corpsmen tended to bump into each other. A lot. Maeder claimed that he, himself, at some point or other tripped over every mangrove root in Matheson Hammock.




And while I do feel Wiederhorn goes back to the well a few times too many with all the cutaways to the Aqua-Nazis lurking under the water, or slowly rising out of the surf only to slowly return under the surf. But I’ll be damned if each one isn’t effective or lacks impact as they stealthily pop out of nowhere and attack. And a lot of credit needs to go to this pack of “screw-ups” for these marvelously eerie set-pieces -- and I never saw a single air bubble escape from the whole lot of them.

When filming wrapped, Wiederhorn took all of the footage back to New York, where it was edited together by Norman Gay, who had worked with William Friedkin as an associate editor on The French Connection (1971) and was nominated for an Oscar for his work on The Exorcist (1973). Wiederhorn was also responsible for bringing in fellow Columbia grad, Richard Einhorn, to do the soundtrack for the film, whose minimalist electronic score really gets under your skin and helps glue the film together into a bizarre trance-like state, which is only enhanced by the grain of the film being blown up to 35mm, giving things a strange waking dream vibe.

When it was finally finished, there was a long delay before Shock Waves was finally released. Of course, there had been a lot of interest from distributors -- most prominently, Crown International, but Trane was smart enough to have the family lawyers go over the contracts first for any irregularities or “black holes” that would eat into their share of the profits.

They finally settled on Joseph Brenner, whose company handled the likes of Cheri Cafaro’s Ginger McAllister trilogy -- Ginger (1971), The Abductors (1972), Girls Are For Loving (1973), and foreign imports, ranging from Umberto Lenzi’s Sacrifice (1972) and Dario Argento’s Suspira (1977) to the Shaw Brother’s totally mental Infra-Man (1975). And so, nearly two years after it wrapped, Shock Waves finally made its theatrical debut in July, 1977, where it ran into a little competition from Peter Cushing’s other film that came out that year. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?

Still, as Maeder put it in his article, “[Shock Waves] does not promise to be an especially bad film or, the implausibilities notwithstanding, even a merely silly one: Even in rough footage it emerges as a genuinely gripping little flick graced by the atmospherics of the Wiederhorn-chosen locations -- including the ravaged Biltmores in Coral Gables and Palm Beach as well as the mucklands of Matheson Hammock and Key Biscayne.” He wasn’t quite as kind in his follow up review of the film in 1977, though; but Maeder still called the film a good time to be had by all since “the killing and related unpleasantry are relatively bloodless since Zopix was going for a PG-rating."

“We’re ready for TV without any major changes,” said Trane. Yeah, unlike Florida’s earlier exploitation scene, where the likes of Hershell Gordon Lewis or Richard Flink shoveled all kinds of gore and bodily dismemberment onto movie screens, Shock Waves isn’t very gross or bloody. There were a few attempts to add some punch, including some failed squibs, but with no money to try again these notions were soon abandoned. Said Wiederhron, “We knew going in that we did not want to get into a lot of bloody special-effects because we were making a low-budget movie, and it seemed to me that the way to succeed was not to become overly ambitious. To really make sure that what we were doing was something that we could in fact do."

As for Trane and Wiederhorn post-Shock Waves, well, the former got out of the business altogether and took up a highly successful career as a boat-builder after their next feature, King Frat (1979) -- an obnoxious Animal House (1978) knock-off that, despite a few moments of genuine hilarity, really didn’t go anywhere. Wiederhorn, meanwhile, stayed in the game, turning out the effective thriller, Eyes of Stranger (1981), even though his producers insisted against his wishes that his strangler be turned into a knife-wielding psycho and to bloody things up to cash-in on the current slasher craze, before flaming out with a couple of sequels, Meatballs II (1984) and Return of the Living Dead II (1988).





But, these two still gave us Shock Waves. And while they never did get around to invading Miami Beach, what Wiederhorn, Trane, and Orsmby, and all the others managed to pull off on their limited budget was a strange little bugaboo of a film; a fever dream, really, where things don’t quite add up logically, which only adds to the dread and a strange sense of unease and  unreality.




Thus, this film tends to stand out because it looks and behaves so differently, bringing to mind Herk Harvey’s Carnival of Souls (1962) on one hand, and on the other, when you combine the tropical setting, the zombified antagonists, and the pulsing electronic score, there is a definite prescient Lucio Fulci’s Zombie (1979) vibe coming off this thing, too -- just not quite as gory and without all the eyeball trauma.




Thus, despite a few minor quibbles and a few glitches in continuity, and the fact that I honestly believe a youthful first impression of catching this feature on The Late Late Show might be shadowing my favorable opinion on this flick just a bit, I still deem Shock Waves an offbeat gem and a creepy afternooner that is just begging to be wasted on your TV screens.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's 19 films down with seven yet to go. Up next, this time Venus invades Earth, and they brought a few adorable robots with them.


Shock Waves (1977) Zopix Company :: Joseph Brenner Associates / P: Reuben Trane / D: Ken Wiederhorn / W: John Kent Harrison, Ken Pare, Ken Wiederhorn / C: Irving Pare / E: Norman Gay / M: Richard Einhorn / S: Brooke Adams, Luke Halpin, Fred Buch, D.J. Sidney, Jack Davidson, John Carradine, Peter Cushing


Hubrisween 2020 :: T is for Target Earth (1954)

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Our film opens with a slow, cosmic pan of our solar system. But then things start to accelerate as we speed toward the third planet from the sun, through the atmosphere, and zero in on a city. 




I believe this was supposed to be Chicago, but it's never verified as we continue to zoom in closer; to a street; to a building; and finally, a window, revealing a small apartment behind the glass.




Keeps on moving, the camera does once we switch to inside, where we see a woman sprawled out on the bed before finally settling on an alarm clock, which reads 1:30pm. And while we ponder if this woman is just some lazy late sleeper, we move back to the bed and spy an empty bottle of sleeping pills right beside a prone hand. But despite these clear signs of a suicidal tragedy, the woman stirs, fitfully, and then wakes up, groggy and disoriented, with an enormous headache.



Trying to pull herself together, this woman crawls off the bed and attempts to wash her face, but no water comes out of the spigot. Turns out the lights won't work either -- there's no electricity. Looking out the window, the city streets appear deserted and abnormally quiet for that time of day. Checking on her neighbors, she finds no one home -- but between their door being unlocked and the uneaten food on the table, all evidence shows the occupants must have left in one helluva hurry. But where? And why?



Heading outside, there is still no traffic, no movement, and no signs of life to greet our protagonist; it's also very quiet, too quiet -- he typed ominously, and thinking maybe she did die after all and this is her own version of purgatory, sheer panic starts to overwhelm this poor woman. And as her frantic search intensifies, she rounds a corner and trips over something.





And once she recovers her footing, the girl is shocked to see what she tripped over was the dead body of a woman! Slowly, she backs away from the corpse -- right into a man. And thinking he must be the killer by his proximity, the woman screams and runs away for him. But this mysterious stranger quickly gives chase, determined to catch her before she gets away...




When he was 14-years old, Herman Cohen got his older sister’s help in writing a letter to John H. Thorpe, who was the current Labor Commissioner for the State of Michigan. Seems young Cohen had been working nights at the Dexter Theater in his native Detroit since he was 11, assisting the janitors and guarding the exits for free movie passes for him and his family. Apparently, this was in violation of State Child Labor Laws at the time and Cohen had been caught working after hours on more than one occasion. And so, he intended to plead his case to Thorpe, asking for a special permit to continue working at the theater because, even at that age, Cohen knew working for the movies in some capacity was destined to be a lifelong career choice.


Impressed by the passionate letter, Thorpe delivered Cohen’s permit personally after summoning the boy to a meeting with him and the Superintendent of Detroit’s Board of Education, which allowed him to work until 10pm. Now in the clear, Cohen would often stretch that curfew until well past midnight, seven nights a week, where he graduated from janitor’s assistant to usher, to acting as a gofer for the projectionists, where he learned how to properly run all of the equipment -- in a later interview with Tom Weaver in Double Feature Creature Attack, Cohen recalled how “one operator drank a lot, and I remember that many times I used to get up on a chair and make the changeovers for him on nights when he was drinking too much!"

His first career move came at the age of 18, when he left the Dexter and went to work for the massive, 5000 seat Fox Theater, where he quickly became an assistant manager. After graduation and a stint in the Marines, Cohen moved back to Detroit in 1949 to take care of his ailing mother, landing a job with Columbia Pictures as a sales manager in their Detroit branch. When his mother passed away, Cohen pulled up stakes and moved to Hollywood, using connections he’d made to land a job in Columbia’s publicity department for Lou Smith, who had helped turn Rita Hayworth into a star in the 1940s.


Around this same time, fellow Detroiter Jack Broder decided he wanted to start producing movies. And the germ of this notion began back in 1946, when William Goetz took over Universal and rechristened it Universal International. Wanting to bring more prestige to the brand, Geotz ceased operations on the studios fabled B-unit, which essentially pulled the plug on their comedies, westerns, mysteries, serials, and their long-running horror franchises. And since the studio chief had no interest in Universal’s sizable back catalog, Broder, along with his partner, Joseph Harris, signed a deal with Goetz, leasing the rights to his inventory for the next 10 years, and formed Realart Pictures in 1948, which specialized in rebranding and repackaging these old films as revival double-bills.


These packages were a smash hit, sometimes even out-grossing Universal International’s newer product, and Realart prospered. But not quite enough to suit Broder. Seems theater owners would not pay premium rental prices for reissued films. And seeing a chance to make even more money, Jack Broder Productions was formed to create new product for Realart to distribute. And one of Broder’s first hires was the always opportunistic Cohen, who became Vice-President in Charge of Production.


First up was Curt Siodmak’s Bride of the Gorilla (1951), where a plantation owner (Raymond Burr) is cursed to turn into a hairy beast when the sun goes down, whose production would prove far more interesting than the film itself, including the tragic tale of lead actress and Hollywood Bad Girl, Barbara Payton, who was under contract at Warners but was currently loaned out to Broder as punishment for, and I quote Jack Warner, “@#%*ing everybody on the lot” -- including and not limited to Howard Hughes, Bob Hope, Woody Strode, Guy Madison, George Raft, John Ireland and Steve Cochran.

Currently embroiled in an illicit ménage à trois with actors Tom Neal and Franchot Tone that ended violently shortly after the film was in the can, neither Neal nor Tone, Payton’s fiance at the time, were actually in the film, but well aware of the brewing trouble one of Cohen’s responsibilities was to run interference if both men ever showed up on set at the same time. In the aftermath, it was declared Tone lost the battle but won the whore.


Next was William “One Shot” Beaudine’s Bela Lugosi Meets a Brooklyn Gorilla (1952), which featured the horribly -- make that painfully, unfunny comedy antics of a couple of Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis knock-offs, Duke Mitchell and Sammy Petrillo, which seemed to ignite Cohen’s life-long obsession with men in monkey-suits.

Money was tight on these productions because Broder was notoriously cheap, and neither Broder nor Cohen really knew what they were doing. But unlike his boss, Cohen was anxious to learn the nuts and bolts of producing and production on films like Two Dollar Bettor (1951), The Basketball Fix (1951), The Bushwhackers (1952), and Battles of Chief Pontiac (1952), absorbing everything he could. But even after taking on more responsibilities, Cohen’s reward at Realart was never a pay bump but a switch in job titles or film credits. Thus, seeing where the money was really being made, Cohen was almost ready to cut ties with Broder, strike out on his own, and make a film for himself.


Now, it was also around this same time that Cohen met and formed a friendship with James Nicholson. Nicholson’s career had kinda mirrored Cohen’s up to this point. A long time lover of science fiction and fantasy, Nicholson started out as an usher at the El Rey Theater in San Francisco and soon graduated to projectionist. From there, he moved around the country, managing theaters in Omaha, Nebraska, where he was shot while being robbed of the box-office receipts. After recovering, he moved to Los Angeles in 1944, where he ran several revival houses with Joseph Moritz, where he showed great skills in promotions and ballyhoo, and eventually purchased the Academy Theater located on Hollywood Boulevard.


But then Nicholson got very sick, and after a lengthy stay in the hospital nearly bankrupted him, he lost his theater. Here, Broder threw him a lifeline and hired the ace promoter on at Realart, where Nicholson became Cohen’s assistant and thrived in the publicity department, showing a talent for coming up with snappy new titles and ad campaigns for all those re-releases. And when Cohen inevitably left Realart, Nicholson was promoted to take his place.

Once on his own, Cohen immediately formed Herman Cohen Productions and struck a three-way deal with Robert Lippert and his Lippert Productions and Nat (no relation) Cohen and his British-based Anglo-Amalgamated to produce a series of low-budget films in London, which Cohen would then distribute in America through Lippert, which included the supernatural thriller Ghost Ship (1952), the spies and intrigue of Undercover Agent (1953), and the crimes and misdemeanors of River Beat (1954). And with all of this cumulative experience, Cohen was finally ready to make a movie all on his own.

Then, in March, 1953, as the legend goes, Cohen and Nicholson met for lunch one fateful day, where they passed a newsstand on North Las Palmas and a certain magazine caught Nicholson’s eye -- or Cohen’s eye, depending on who was telling the tale. Either way, what drew them both to this particular issue of If: Worlds of Science Fiction was a short story by Ivar Jorgenson called The Deadly City.

Jorgenson was a pen name for author Paul Fairman, who had been writing and editing for the pulps since his first short story, Late Rain, was published in the February, 1947, edition of Mammoth Adventure Magazine. His first novel, Invasion from the Deep, came along in 1951, and he was the founding editor for If before switching over to Amazing Stories Magazine, where he stayed until 1958.


Within the raised type of The Deadly City, Fairman weaves us a mystery, which focused on five people -- a suicidal prostitute, a lost traveler, a drunken hooligan, his submissive girlfriend, and an escaped psychopath, who were all left behind for some reason or other in the seemingly abandoned city of Chicago. Where once stood 3.5 million people, now there were only five, moving through the deserted streets, trying to find someone, anyone, else, while trying to figure out what exactly happened here.

But while the grist of this tale is more concerned with the melodrama of the crisis within this small disparate group of people than the tempest without, there is still a sense of foreboding and impending doom in Fairman's prose as to what caused all of this that seems to be circling ever closer -- this was a tale of science fiction after all, which kicks off with a stellar opening prologue, setting the stage for what was to follow when that cause finally revealed itself: “You're all alone in a deserted city. You walk down an empty street, yearning for the sight of one living face -- one moving figure. Then you see a man on a corner and you know your terror has just begun…"




Which is where we came in, as the woman flees for her life from this stranger, who calls after her, promising no harm, until she’s finally cornered in a dead-end alley. Caught, when she becomes hysterical, he resorts to some manhandling (-- rather roughly), and finally has to slap the girl to snap her out of this fit.



Asked why she ran away, her reply is simple: because he's a murderer. The stranger denies this and, talking slowly and calmly, he gets her name, Nora King (Crowley), and rationalizes that he couldn't be the killer until she at last settles down. (If not, I guess you could just slap her silly again, ya big bully.) Introducing himself as Frank Brooks (Denning), he then relates his own tale of woe:



Seems while waiting out a train layover, our traveling salesmen mistakenly flashed a large bank-roll in a bar to the wrong people. A couple of thugs then rolled him after several drinks, knocked him out, and dumped him in an alley, where he didn't wake up until sometime after noon. Nora offers that she, too, woke up late, but doesn't mention the overdose of pills. And now they're together. Alone. Meaning somehow, in the last ten hours, while they were both out of it, the entire city has been evacuated without them.



Frank feels it must’ve been some kind of natural catastrophe, while Nora fears an H-Bomb attack is imminent -- or worse, some kind of germ warfare. But he doesn't think that's very likely; surely an enemy wouldn't give enough advance notice to evacuate this many people before unleashing the gas. Regardless, with all the stray bodies he's come across, Frank feels they face certain death unless they get out of town, too.



And so, quite inexplicably, and counter-intuitively, they head downtown, where they come across an electronics store. Here, Frank stops and breaks in, hoping to find a portable radio and a news broadcast. Once inside, Nora tries the phone but they aren't working either. Finding only one portable radio, this is one too many because there are no batteries to be found. But before they can get too frustrated by this development, the sound of music slowly filters into the store.




Tracing the tune to a nearby nightclub, they find a woman inside playing a piano, who, after finishing the song, and her drink, calls the bartender for a refill. Answering this call, another man pops up from behind the bar with a bottle of champagne. Now, despite the drunken couple's heated bickering, Frank and Nora risk talking to them in hopes of finding out what's been going on. They prove friendly enough, but turns out these two lushes have been on one helluva bender since the night before last; and so, both Jim Wilson (Reeves) and Vicki Harris (Grey) are blissfully unaware that anything has gone wrong and are ecstatic that all the booze is now free.




After Frank gets them up to speed, he suggests they should all head outside the city to safety. But the sozzled couple are more than content to just stay put and drink their way through this supposed apocalypse. Not wanting to leave them behind, Nora suggests they should all hit the famous Club Royal together. Catching on to Nora's plan as Wilson scoffs, saying that joint's five miles outside of town, Frank plays along, offering there are plenty of other drinking establishments for 'pit stops' along the way. With that option, Wilson and Vicki happily agree to a pub-crawl their way toward the city limits and, hopefully, safety.


Outside, they spot an abandoned car -- well, not quite abandoned because the owner is still inside it, dead, with no sign of violence -- just like the woman in the alley. And while the keys are still in the ignition it won't start; and a quick check under the hood finds the distributor cap is missing.




Then suddenly, from out of nowhere, another wretched refugee pops up, who warns all the cars left in the city have been sabotaged that way. Remembering a similar tactic used during the war so enemy combatants couldn’t usurp any abandoned vehicles, Frank and the others keep listening as the shell-shocked Otis (Marshall) describes how he came from the southern part of town, which had been torn apart and razed to the ground, with hundreds if not thousands of casualties amongst the ruins.



But before they can ask who attacked the city, Vicki screams and points to a strange and menacing shadow looming large on a nearby building -- and whatever is casting this silhouette is most definitely not human!





Scrambling to get out of sight, Frank herds them all into a nearby hotel, where they find the lobby littered with newspapers screaming of an INVASION! by unknown forces, which apparently landed just outside the city. Further reading reveals it was the military who ordered the strategic evacuation that missed them all. Meantime, the half-crazed Otis feels they’re not safe and should keep moving; but the others want to hole-up here, regroup, and plan the most effective escape route.




Out-voted, Otis strikes out on his own but doesn’t get very far. No, he barely reaches the street before a large, metallic robot stomps its way outside of the opposite building. 







And as the others helplessly watch out the lobby window, the robot zeroes in on his target and fires some kind of death-ray from its large cyclopean eye, which strikes the fleeing Otis, who quickly falls dead. Ordering everyone to flee upstairs, Frank brings up the rear as they all quickly get out of sight before that metal monstrosity, that is most definitely not of this Earth, targets them, too...


And so, just like with Fairman’s short story, turns out our protagonists face an extraterrestrial invasion. On the page, it all began two days prior when a battalion of belligerent aliens landed and leveled half of Michigan. And as they moved south, the military began to evacuate everyone below the Illinois-Missouri border as part of a plan to surround these invaders and keep them trapped against the Great Lakes. Nicholson got first crack at adapting The Deadly City into a screenplay, which Cohen bought off of him for $250. 


Changing the title to Target Earth (1954), he then turned the script over to William Raynor and Wyott Ordung, who knew a thing or two about writing screenplays for low budget science fiction films with the likes of Phantom from Space (1953) and Killers from Space (1954) on Raynor’s resume, and Robot Monster (1953) and Monster from the Ocean Floor (1954) lurking on Ordung’s.


And since this was to be Cohen’s first solo film production, he had to scrounge up all the financing on his own, too. To that end, he took his spec-script and a proposed budget of $100,000 to Walter Mirisch and Steve Broidy, who had just rebranded the old Monogram Studio as Allied Artists in an attempt to elevate them out of Poverty Row status. And this strategy had worked with the release of what Mirisch called B-Plus pictures as budgets expanded for their top bills, including color film stuck, but they still needed dirt-cheap product to fill the bottom bills like Target Earth.

Liking Cohen’s enthusiastic pitch, Allied Artists agreed to fund half of the film’s budget if the young producer could match the amount. With that, Cohen flew to New York for a meeting with Alan Freidman, the head of Deluxe Labs, who agreed to put up the other half of the money and cover the costs of the prints until the film went into circulation. However, despite this success, which allowed the picture to go into production, money was still very tight and a lot of compromises were made for a tale about a group of people caught in the crossfire between unstoppable robotic invaders and the U.S. military. 


We’ve already seen one sterling example of how talking is cheaper than action as we never see the invasion -- which we get second hand as our hero reads it verbatim from a newspaper, nor the aftermath of the alien’s devastating attack -- just a first hand account by a rather convenient plot device, Otis, who doesn’t last long after taking his plot dump.




And this tell don’t show trend continued as we cut away from the hotel to the forward HQ of the gathered military, where we find out they really don’t know much more than our refugees. The running consensus is these rampaging robots are of extraterrestrial origin -- and probably from Venus. And after an entire crack airborne division was completely slaughtered by these Venusian automatons (-- once more completely off-screen, *yawn*), General Wood (Space), who's in charge of this operation, changes strategies and calls in an air-strike. (Cue the stock footage!)




Back at the hotel in their commandeered suite, the noise of the attack bombers draws everyone's attention to the window, raising fears they might be sitting on ground zero. But, before a single bomb can be dropped on them, that alien death-ray sweeps the sky clean.



Twice witnessing these awesome destructive capabilities, our stalwart group tries to plan their next move until they slowly realize here is no move to make: they came from the north; Otis came from the south; the aliens landed to the east; and the Air Force just got obliterated coming from the west; thus, they're completely surrunded by the enemy with no means of escape.  


Finding this situation rather ironic, Nora says yesterday she wouldn't have cared about dying today. When asked to explain, she confesses to her failed suicide attempt. Turns out Frank had suspected as much, and then asks if she's changed her mind about not having any reason to live. She says yes, and they both exchange a smile. Yep. She's fallen for the big lug-nut -- and I don't mean the robot!



Back at army HQ, General Wood receives word that the atomic field-artillery pieces have finally arrived; but it will take some time to get them operational before they can, hopefully, bloody the invaders’ noses a bit. Obviously, the General doesn't like using atomic weapons on American soil but he has little choice in the matter because nothing else seems to be working. And knowing full well his beleaguered forces can't hold the line much longer, allowing the enemy to break out of the city, Wood is about to sign the order to fire-when-ready just as word comes they've finally captured one of the invaders!




Here, Wood is told his P.O.W. is just a robot, and not some alien encased in body-armor. Completing his initial examination on the defunct machine, the head scientist (Bissel) sadly concludes the only reason they caught this one is because it most likely malfunctioned somehow, with the only visible damage being a cracked faceplate.


Even a cursory look at the robot's exterior shows that it's far beyond our own terrestrial technology (-- I know, just roll with it). Further deduction shows it must be remote-controlled by electromagnetic impulses keyed to a cathode-ray tube socked somewheres inside the head piece, which proves out when further study of the "corpse" reveals the tube which processed these control signals somehow broke, rendering it useless. (Cheap Venusian crap!)


Thus, the gathered experts try to determine how far away the transmitting aliens could be, hoping to triangulate the source signal, and then wipe it out. Not as easy as it sounds for they can find no attanae, meaning they could be anywhere -- even back on Venus. Stll, Wood takes this as a good sign; the seemingly invincible invaders can be stopped. But the scientists remind him that the robots are still bullet proof, so another frontal attack would be just as fruitless as the last until they figure out what cracked that tube.




Later, at the hotel, after scrounging some food and candles, the two couples spread out a bit, allowing Nora to confess to Frank as to why she tried to kill herself. Seems she and her husband were involved in a car crash six months ago. They were arguing over something stupid. She survived. He didn’t, and the guilt and loneliness finally caught up with her last night. Assuring this wasn't her fault, Frank encourages Nora to get some rest.




Indubitably, since this is the 1950s, Vicki and Nora will tak the bedroom while Frank and Wilson sack out in the living area. But come the dawn, Nora hears someone trying to break in and screams. Alerted, the men try to hold the door but two gunshots convince them to open up, revealing a very greasy-looking assailant named Davis (Roark).


Assuming he's a looter, the intruder claims valuables aren't what he's after and turns a lecherous eye toward the women. Bullying his way inside, Davis takes them all hostage and constantly reminds them he's in charge because of the gun, which Vicki notes sure looks like a standard police revolver.




Ignoring her, he follows Nora into the kitchen area and tries to get friendly, saying she can be safe with him or be dead like the others. Yeah, it seems Davis plans to use them all as decoys, bait, to lure the robots away so he can sneak into the sewers and then walk under the enemy to safety scot free. Nora counter offers with a slap across the face, calling him crazy. With that, Davis just shrugs off this rejection, and then forces everyone down to the lobby.




Meanwhile, with the clock ticking down, General Wood opens this latest scientific briefing with a plea, saying this will be the last chance to give him a non-nuclear solution. With about five minutes left before the missiles are fired, the head technician starts cranking up an oscillator, bombarding the captured robot's head with sonic waves. And while the metal casing does begin to vibrate, the electronic innards stubbornly refuse to break. Desperate, they crank up the volume even further.



Things are also reaching a crucible back at the hotel, where Davis is threatening to shoot Wilson since Vicki refuses to check outside for any robots. When she at last concedes, the hostage spots one down the street, heading away from the hotel. Then, when Vicki finally recognizes Davis as a convicted killer, the creep cops to murdering a guard and stealing his gun during the evacuation before revealing his plan of using them all as bait. 



But Wilson refuses to be his pigeon, and Vicki concurs, saying there are four of them and one is bound to get him -- and the whole thing is moot anyway, she says, because he hasn’t got the guts to shoot. (I pause to remind you, m'dear, that he has killed several people already!)




With that, Davis shoots Vicki dead. (I warned ya!) Then Frank lunges at him, and takes a bullet in the arm, giving Wilson the opening he needs to get a hold of the little creep and strangle him to death.





Alas, all that noise has alerted the robot to their presence; and as it crashes through the window, Wilson empties the revolver with no effect. 




When the robot counters with its death-ray, our dwindling group retreats back up the steps, where they are chased all the way up to the roof (-- well, give him a second, Mr. Clunky-Pants is having some trouble negotiating those steps).




And while Wilson tries to hold it off at the door, the others try to find another way down. No go; they're stuck. 



And after the robot bursts through the door, it blasts Wilson dead and then closes in on Frank and Nora!




Trapped for good this time, Frank embraces the girl and they wait for the end, together. But salvation comes when the air is pierced with a strange, high-pitched shriek. Then, the robot starts to falter as the noise gets closer. 





Looking over the side, the couple spots a convoy of army jeeps mounted with loudspeakers moving down the street. And when the robot finally keels over and fritzes-out for good, Frank signals the convoy and they stop.


Asked if they know they're in a live combat zone, Frank gives them the quick version of their predicament, and then asks what that noise was. A Captain explains it's an oscillator, and the sound vibrations are disrupting the inner workings of the robots, knocking them out and rendering them useless.



Nora asks if it's over, then. To which the Captain replies, yes, they've stopped them -- this time! And they were lucky, too: for if the cathode-ray tubes were made out of the same metal as their armor, then all the oscillators in the world would’ve been useless. (I wouldn't say that very loud, amigo.) But he assures Nora not to worry, though, because their top scientists are already working on how to counteract that variable even as they speak. He then tells them to pile in and they'll get Frank to a medic. And after the oscillator cranks back up, sending out the world saving signal once again, they head for home.



One of the biggest changes that Cohen, Raynor and Ordung made to Fairmont's original story was subbing in those lethal, remote-controlled robots for the alien invaders. There were no robots at all in the story, and Fairman does better when his extraterrestrial menace is kept to the shadows and all our protagonists hear is a melancholy howl, or “a high, thin whine -- a wordless vibration of eloquence” that “needled out of the darkness and into their ears” as it echoed along the empty canyons of the abandoned city, where it was answered and amplified all around them.



It’s rather chilling on the page, and for something that could’ve been pulled off rather easily and cheaply on film it’s surprising this aspect wasn’t exploited further in Cohen's adaptation. Then, all of this atmosphere in the story is kinda ruined during the climax when the aliens are finally revealed: Humanoid in shape, honestly, Fairmont kinda drops the ball, here, as he doesn’t do much more to describe them beyond being rather thin and gangly, with a rudimentary description of the advanced weapons they carry. And to make matters even worse, the aliens are not defeated through military cunning or ingenuity but simply drop dead all at once with the barest of nods that they probably couldn’t adjust to something in our atmosphere.


Which leads to the other major change made in the script, where the film cashes in on the burgeoning invasion by the “other” / Red Scare tropes of vigilance and paranoia of the 1950s, where our protagonists face off against something both inhuman and indestructible, with no fear or feeling, who will not stop until we and our way of life has been subjugated or obliterated. But fear not, because good old American know-how combined with American military might will always be there to save the day. But! As the soldier warns in the denouement, we must always be prepared and ever vigilant, because those Commies -- sorry, those aliens will inevitably be back.


Beyond that the movie stays fairly faithful to the story, whose true focus is on the characters and the rightful climax is when Wilson strangles Davis to death after he murders Vicki -- the alien invasion is basically just a framing device. There were a few minor changes to the characters, too, with Nora going through the biggest overhaul, changing her from a bitter prostitute to a lonely widower. In the story, when things get desperate and Frank and Nora look to each other for comfort, there are thoughts of marriage if they get out of this alive, which quickly dissipate once the crisis has passed. However, it does end cryptically, so a happy ending might be in order after all. In the film adaptation, there is no question our newly minted couple are in it together for the long haul.




Still, we do have some pretty atypical characters for this kind of genre piece: a heroine who tried to commit suicide; a hero who doesn't have all the answers -- and in point of fact, leads them into danger instead of out it; and the other two protagonists are both raging alcoholics. The late entry of the armed killer seemed a little forced, and works better in the short story because he’s introduced a lot earlier; but I guess they had to get them out of that hotel room somehow.


And the cast pulling them off is rock solid with future genre stalwarts Richard Denning -- Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954), Day the World Ended (1955), Kathleen Crowley -- The Flame Barrier (1958), Curse of the Undead (1959), and Virginia Grey -- Unknown Island (1948), Black Zoo (1963), anchoring things nicely. And it should be noted the one weak-link, Robert Roark, who played the creep, was the son of one of those financiers, which explains ah-lot.


As for the FX, I would qualify them as cheap but surprisingly effective even though they were under-utilized. Sure, upon first glance the refrigerator-box frame and spare air-duct parts origin of the arms and legs of the invaders war machines are hard to overlook, but if you can manage to get past all that and notice the Venusian robot's squat nature and odd body proportions, you realize it doesn't necessarily scream out, "Hey, look, there's a guy in a robot suit!"



Here is also where the adaptation breaks down a bit with the robot itself. I mean, these aliens have the technology to build these nearly indestructible machines, transport them to Earth, and can control them all the way from Venus, but their technology is still based on glass tubes and transistors? Ho-kay?!

Designed and constructed by David Koehler, the suit was worn by Steve Calvert, who also played the gorillas in both of Cohen's earlier films -- in fact, Calvert's entire career consisted of playing gorillas and other strange beasties in things ranging from Mark of the Gorilla (1950) to The Bride and the Beast (1958). And at some point you probably also noticed that we never see more than one of these automatons in action at a time. Well, there's a good reason for that, too.


See, with such a meager budget, Koehler was only able to mass produce one robot suit, and that's why we never see the advancing robot army -- just the "advanced scout." Most of everything else, combat wise, is never shown but recounted. And what little we do get to see is sourced from stock-footage -- most notably when the jets are wiped out. In the story they are hit by a beam of “blue fire” and disintegrate into atoms. In the film, more recycled footage and a quick optical.


To make all of this come together, Cohen hired Sherman Rose to both direct and edit the picture. Rose was a well-heeled editor at the time in both film and TV, including cutting a couple of pictures for Broder at Realart. Target Earth would be his directorial debut. Rose also worked in tandem with his wife, Kay, who would serve as the sound designer on the film, and Target Earth would be her first onscreen credit.

Sherman Rose would direct just two more features before sliding back into the editing booth, while Kay Rose would continue to work in sound and had quite the prolific career, working on things ranging from Roger Corman’s The Comedy of Terrors (1963), to Haskell Wexler’s Medium Cool (1969), to Peter Bogdanovich’s Paper Moon (1973), while eventually winning an Academy Award for Sound Design on Mark Rydell’s The River (1984). And she had such an impact in the field, in October, 2002, George Lucas and Steven Spielberg endowed the Kay Rose Chair in the Art of Sound and Dialogue Editing at the School of Cinema-Television, USC.


All the interior scenes for Target Earth were shot at the old Charlie Chaplin studios, while the exteriors were filmed on the streets of Los Angeles over several weekends, very early in the morning, without permission or permits, when everyone else was still asleep and the streets were empty. In that same interview with Weaver, Cohen later related how one shot was ruined when a church service ended and the congregation poured out onto the street in the middle of a take. But despite all of these limitations and difficulties, both Rose and Cohen got the film done in about eight shooting days and brought it in under budget for $85,000.


When Target Earth and Cohen’s follow up feature, Magnificent Roughnecks (1956) -- also directed by Rose, became modest hits for Allied Artists, when compared to their budgets, mind you, the producer, still in his 20s, soon drew attention from Max Goldstein at United Artists, who quickly signed him to a four picture deal. Cohen had little input on what these pictures would be as he was essentially a gun for hire. And so, he was assigned a couple of westerns, The Brass Legend (1955) and Fury at Showdown (1957), a musical comedy, Dance with Me, Henry (1956), which would be the last time Abbott and Costello would appear together on film, and a film noir, Crimes of Passion (1957), which received glowing reviews from the critics but absolutely fizzled at the box office.

Disappointed with these returns and disenchanted with the lack of choice and studio strings attached to his productions, when his contract ran out Cohen was anxious to go back into business for himself again. Needing to do a picture fast to stay relevant, Cohen wound up getting an offer from his old friend, James Nicholson. See, since Cohen had left Realart, Nicholson also aspired to leave and produce his own films. He talked to Cohen about forming an independent production company together but his friend had just signed on with UA, making him under contract and unavailable.

And then came that fateful day when Alex Gordon, Edward D. Wood Jr., and Gordon’s lawyer, Samuel Z. Arkoff, marched into Broder’s office, threatening him with legal action over stealing a title from one of Gordon and Wood’s proposed scripts, The Atomic Monster -- later filmed as Bride of the Monster (1955), and slapping it onto a re-release of the Lon Chaney Jr. vehicle, Man Made Monster (1941).


Here, Nicholson was impressed that Arkoff managed to secure a settlement from the notorious tightwad Broder and soon stuck up a friendship, which eventually led to a partnership and the formation of American Releasing Corporation (ARC) in 1954, which later morphed into American International Pictures (AIP), when the little studio that could really got to rolling in the mid-1950s. And one of the films that really put them on the map was Cohen’s first production for them, I Was a Teenage Werewolf (1957). But that, Boils and Ghouls, is another kooky tale for another full moon.


As for Target Earth? Well, I liked it a whole bunch despite its flaws. Like the source story, it starts really strong with a sense of desperate isolation -- so much so it borders on desolation despite the fact everything is still standing. Admittedly, it does fall apart in the third act a little, but it still works for me. Why? Well, that's easy:


I love vintage sci-fi movies with big clunky robots in them. I also like cosmic death-rays blowing things up; and square-jawed heroes who can think fast and use their fists; and I like pretty heroines who do more than scream and can handle themselves when shit goes down; and I really, really like it when the army comes to the rescue in the end and kicks a modicum of alien butt before the closing credits roll. Thus, I think Target Earth overachieves well past its budget limitations with a minimalist, no-nonsense approach that would become a staple for Herman Cohen’s entire career.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's 20 films down with SIX yet to go. Up next, Stop me if you've heard this one before but it happened to a friend of my cousin's cousin's uncle who swears it's all true...

Target Earth (1954) Abtcon Pictures :: Herman Cohen Productions :: Allied Artists / P: Herman Cohen / D: Sherman A. Rose / W: William Raynor, James H. Nicholson, Wyott Ordung, Paul W. Fairman (Short Story) / C: Guy Roe / E: Sherman A. Rose / M: Paul Dunlop / S: Richard Denning, Kathleen Crowley, Virginia Grey, Richard Reeves, Robert Roark, Mort Marshall, Arthur Space, Whit Bissell

Hubrisween 2020 :: U is for Urban Legend (1998)

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On a deserted stretch of highway on a dark and stormy night, when not nearly forcing oncoming traffic off the road as she weaves between lanes while fiddling with her SUV’s radio, channel surfing between some sex-themed talk radio with “Sasha Under the Covers” and an oldies station, where she finally settles on a song and bellows along as only someone all alone in a car would do when they think they know the lyrics to some pop tune but aren’t even close, Michelle Mancini finally notices she is terminally low on gas.




Pulling into a secluded gas station, as the torrential rain gets even worse, Michelle (Wagner) is a little creeped out by the frazzled looks of the stuttering attendant but hands over her credit card anyway and says to fill it up. (Meanwhile, I am checking the DVD cover to make sure I’m not watching a science fiction feature instead of a horror movie. I mean, a full service gas station? And gas is only $1.14 a gallon? Wow.) 


Starting the pump, the twitchy attendant seems to notice something before he hurriedly moves inside to run the card -- only to return a few seconds later, saying there’s a problem and the credit card company is on the phone and needs to talk to the cardholder immediately.



Finding this strange, and the stutterer (Dourif) even stranger, Michelle agrees but grabs her trusty can of mace before following him into the office, where the attendant immediately locks the door behind them. Reading this as she is about to be raped and murdered by this apparent degenerate, Michelle freaks out, and then fights him off as the man moves to restrain her from leaving and tries to say something but can’t due to his handicap, earning him a face-full of mace as the girl wrenches herself free, breaks out a window, and retreats back to her car.




Here, the attendant throws himself in front of the SUV to try and stop her, only to be nearly run over as Michelle punches the gas and streaks away, not hearing the attendant as he finally manages to say what he’d been trying to say all along -- that there’s someone hiding in the backseat of her vehicle!





Alas, Michelle will never know how close she was to almost being saved from the grisly fate in store for her as the undetected passenger, adorned in a hooded winter parka, axe in hand, makes themselves known and separates the girl’s head from her body with one fatal swing.




Meanwhile, back on the campus of Pendleton University, where Michelle was a student -- stress on the “was,” several friends have gathered in a coffee shop, where the most animated of the bunch, Parker Riley (Rosenbaum), regales his girlfriend, Sasha Thomas (Reid) -- of Under the Covers with Sasha fame, and her two friends, Natalie Simon (Witt) and Brenda Bates (Gayheart), with the oft told tale of the Stanley Hall Massacre, where some 25-years ago a professor allegedly went nuts and stabbed an entire floor of co-eds to death before comitting suicide, and how Parker’s fraternity commemorates this event every year with an annual booze-can.



Overhearing all of this, crusading campus reporter Paul Gardener (Leto) says this story is a load of bunk, an urban legend, used to scare freshmen, nothing more, nothing less; even though Parker swears it’s all true and the college covered it up, saying Gardener should get on that instead of covering the latest e-coli outbreak in the cafeteria.




With that, Natalie and Brenda bail but on the way back to the dorms, they pass the dilapidated and boarded up Stanley Hall. And speaking of urban legends, feeling frisky, Brenda wants to pull the Bloody Mary gag, where if you say the witch's name five times out-loud her ghost will appear and foretell your death -- allegedly. This they do, though Natalie is reluctant -- especially when it appears they’ve stirred up something. But it’s only Damon Brooks (Jackson), a campus prankster, screwing with them because he’d like to screw them both.





With that option being a big fat no, Natalie returns to her dorm room, where her roommate from hell, Tosh Guaneri (Harris), is currently screwing her latest hook-up, who screams at Natalie to leave the lights off. She complies, and then does her best to ignore the spectacle going on in the other half of the room -- you get the sense this happens a lot, as an accustomed Natalie crawls into bed, dons her headphones to drown out the cacophony of slapping meat and swapping bodily fluids, and miraculously drifts off to sleep.





The next morning in class, somewhat coincidentally, Professor William Wexler (England) expands his talk on folklore and broaches the very subject of urban legends. And as a practical demonstration, he calls on Brenda to eat some Pop Rocks with a Pepsi chaser, which she refuses to do because she fears her stomach will explode when they mix together just like Mikey, that kid from the old Life Cereal commercial -- who’ll try anything, even though Wexler assures he’s alive and well and living in New Jersey.





Here, Damon steps in, but ever the practical joker, he causes a bit of a minor panic when he fakes a seizure as the volatile concoction foams out of his mouth, much to Wexler’s chagrin. Class dismissed.




By now, word has spread around campus about Michelle’s grisly murder. And while the police suspect the now missing gas station attendant is most likely responsible, the campus newspaper’s headlines scream of a possible homicidal lunatic loose on campus. The byline belongs to Paul, who is a little miffed that Dean Adams (Neville) and his chief of security, Reese Wilson (Devine), are currently confiscating all the papers so as not to cause a panic. 



When Paul protests, the Dean warns the only lunatic currently loose on campus is a certain overzealous reporter and to knock any talk of a killer stalking Pendleton right the hell off -- or else. When Brenda, who has the hots for Paul, asks Natalie if she knew the deceased, her friend says no. However, Nat appears shaken by the news as she returns to her room and checks her phone messages -- after kicking Tosh off the phone line, who is none too happy about abandoning her online chat-room. Ah, the days of dial-up internet.




After the beep, Natalie’s mother, having heard about Michelle, wants to know if her daughter is alright. Well, she really isn’t as the girl pulls out an old high school yearbook, which reveals her and Michelle used to be best friends, leaving us to wonder why she would deny even knowing her when Damon shows up out of the blue and apologizes for his lewd behavior the night before, sees something is wrong, and offers that he’s a good listener if Natalie needs to talk.




However, one begins to question the man’s sincerity when he drives Natalie to a lonely and secluded spot deep in the woods to have this talk, where he listens and then tells her about an old girlfriend he had who died after a long battle with cancer, saying how much love he has to give. It’s all a con, though; and Natalie easily detects this end-run of sympathy to get into her pants, calls Damon on his bullshit, and demands to be taken home immediately. And when he tries to press it further, she punches him in the face.




And when he still refuses to take her home, Natalie offers to make it two black-eyes, which finally gets Damon to acquiesce -- only he needs to take a leak first, leaving her behind in the car as he ducks behind a tree, where he lets a few invectives fly about his date as he waters the grass.




Unfortunately for Damon, he doesn’t realize someone in a familiar looking parka has snuck up behind him and gets a noose around his neck, choking him off as he tries to call for help. And is all of this set-up sounding awful familiar to anyone else?




Meantime, back in the car, Natalie yells for Damon to hurry it up until the killer shows himself, marches toward the car, and tries to get in -- only to be thwarted by Natalie, who quickly moves to secure herself in the vehicle. The killer then crawls onto the roof and out of sight, stomps around for a bit, taunts the girl further, and then flees back into the woods. But once he’s gone, a frightened Natalie still hears a strange scraping coming from the roof of the car, panics, slips into the driver’s seat, and tries to get the stubborn car to start, determined to vacate the area with or without Damon.



But unknown to Natalie, this well-worn urban legend is about to come full circle as we cut to outside the car and see Damon is strung up by the neck on a branch from a nearby tree, his windpipe crushed, as his feet struggle to find purchase as they scrape along the roof of the car...




OK, now, a couple years ago I got into the nuts and bolts a bit on what makes an urban legend an urban legend when I reviewed Joshua Zeman’s Killer Legends (2014), a pretty cool documentary, whose purpose was to try and trace several of what has been now foolishly rebranded as “contemporary legends” back to their original “true crime” source. And so, to recap, and we’re gonna stick with the original designation, an urban legend is basically modern folklore that usually had an element of the macabre or an ironic twist to it, grounded in some form of concurrent pop culture, with just a hint of plausibility to keep the gullible hooked enough to keep passing them on by word of mouth from one generation to the next, adapting along as they aged.

And while these oft-told tales were sometimes used as ghost stories, fables, parables or possible explanations for strange occurrences or events (-- like alligators living in the sewer system), they were most often used as cautionary tales that really did happen to a friend of a friend's cousin’s aunt in the town just up the road. And as they aged, they tended to get more explicit, gruesome, and punitive. As a good case in point, let's explore the tale of “The Hook.”



It begins with a young couple parked in a secluded lover’s lane engaged in some premarital necking. And as hormones rage, passions heat up, and a few hickeys are born, the music on the radio is suddenly interrupted by a breaking news bulletin: a mental patient has just escaped from a nearby asylum. And this fugitive has one very distinguishing characteristic: one of his hands is missing and has been replaced with a stainless steel hook -- which he used to murder several people during his breakout.



When the bulletin ends with the authorities encouraging everyone to stay indoors until this lunatic is captured, obviously, the girl is frightened and wants to head home. But the boy, who was 'this close' to getting to second base mere moments ago, scoffs, saying the killer is probably miles away. And as the minutes tick by while they argue about what to do, a sudden scraping outside her door frightens the girl so much the boy finally gives up and drives away. But when they reach her house, there, dangling from the passenger side door handle, hangs a torn-off stainless steel hook covered in blood.


 *whew* They made it, and a lesson was learned: boys, keep it in your pants, and ladies, leave your panties on or you will all be killed. Now, the exact origin of this story is not known but it had been circulating since the 1950s, when teenage car culture really became a thing, and then went national when the story was printed as a letter to Dear Abby back in November, 1960.


But after that, the tale began to change or be embellished: the lunatic suddenly became a mad-dog killer, who had escaped from prison. And as I said, things started to get more punitive as one or both of the teenage lovers now met a gruesome end. Later iterations lost the hook angle altogether, where the car breaks down in the middle of nowhere and the boy leaves the girl behind, safe in the car, while he hikes for help and gets killed. Other versions have the same old frustrated sexual encounter, only the boy doesn’t believe the radio announcement, but the girl won’t put out, and he gets out of the car to take a leak before heading home, depending on the teller.


Either way, as the story continues, the girl suddenly hears something scraping on the roof. In some versions, the cops show up and tell her to get out of the car but not to look back and is spared anything further; in others, she finally musters the courage to exit the car and investigate, where the killer is either sitting on the roof, banging the boyfriend’s dismembered head on the hardtop, or the boy’s mutilated body is hanging from a tree and his knuckles or feet were scraping across the roof of the car (-- other deviations have the boy’s blood dripping on the roof). And then, the girl learns too late that this was all just an elaborate ruse to lure her out of the locked car, meaning no survivors this time.


Now, while the makers of the film Urban Legend (1998) would like you to believe that they were the first major motion picture to be based upon or utilize this type of folklore, that is patently false. Horror films had been tapping into the stuff since the Silents, and the Slasher Movie genre, to which Urban Legend belongs, were milking these things dry since the days of Halloween (1978), where babysitters are menaced by an escaped killer, When a Stranger Calls (1979), where the killer was in the house all along and on another extension, and Friday the 13th (1980 and The Burning (1981), which were both loosely based on the urban legend of Cropsey, a mad killer of children, who had a hook for a hand.

Of course, the Slasher cycle had all but petered out by the 1990s but it had a mini-revival with the release of Wes Craven’s Scream (1996), which triggered a whole new wave of self-aware mass murder on the big screen, including I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997), Lover’s Lane (1999), the unsung Cherry Falls (2000), and Valentine (2001) before cratering again with the Scary Movie spoofs (2000-2013).


And in the middle of all that, of course, came Urban Legend, which began as an idea by Silvio Horta, a recent NYU film school graduate currently working at a Nordstrom’s perfume counter. Horta then pitched this idea to Gina Matthews, who was running a writer’s workshop he had been attending. She thought it had potential, and together, they turned Horta’s idea of an urban legend inspired serial killer into a script and began shopping it around when Scream hit big. It soon drew the attention of Neal Moritz, who had produced I Know What You Did Last Summer and its sequel, I Still Know What You Did Last Summer (1998), who also liked the script’s self-aware notions and agreed to co-produce the feature with Matthews and Michael McDonnell -- now all they needed was some money to produce it with.

But no studios were all that interested until a last ditch effort found a lifeline at the newly formed Phoenix Pictures and Mike Medavoy in late 1997, who was also impressed by the concept and marketability of the copycat killer but felt the script still needed a lot of work before filming could commence. Meantime, Medavoy also appointed Brad Luff as the executive producer of the film, and then Luff and Moritz set out to find Urban Legend a director.




Luff was keenly interested in bringing in Jamie Blanks, an Australian, based on his short thesis film; a horror story called Silent Number (1993), which was his take on the old urban legend of “The Babysitter,” who starts getting strange phone calls on a dark and stormy night from a scared young boy who says he’s trapped somewhere in the dark. And while it turns out in this version the caller wasn’t on an extension inside the house, I won’t spoil the big twist. The short is currently streaming on YouTube, and it is pretty nifty, for those interested in following through.


Now, Moritz was already well aware of Blanks, who was on a short list to direct I Know What You Did Last Summer before losing out to Jim Gillespie. Blanks had even gone so far as to make a mock-trailer for IKWYDLS for his pitch, and Urban Legend would be both his consolation prize and directorial debut as he officially signed onto the production in February, 1998.


Shooting on Urban Legend began on April 20th, 1998, in Toronto, with the University of Toronto subbing-in for the New England based Pendleton College (-- which might look a little familiar as Killer Party (1987) was also shot there), and would need to be completed quickly and efficiently to make a September release date.

The opening sequence, where Michelle gets killed, was filmed first, so Blanks could present a completed sequence to the producers early in the production to assure all they had made the right call by hiring him. However, unlike most Slasher Movies, Blanks wanted to keep the violence implied and not very explicit and practically bloodless -- even though the script called for several gruesome set-pieces, feeling whatever the audience imagined would be ten-times worse than anything he could produce on screen, meaning a shot of Michelle’s severed head bounding down the road to punctuate that opening salvo didn’t make the cut.





Thus, most of the kills relied more on stunt coordinator Matt Birman than special make-up effects supervisor Sid Armour as our killer takes a certain familiar urban legend one step further by rigging the rope Damon is hanging from around the tree, Rube Goldberg style, before tethering it to the rear hitch of his car; so when Natalie finally gets it started and punches the gas, the rope is pulled taut, sending the victim rocketing into the sky, where he ultimately strangles to death. 




And when the rope catches, anchoring the car, Natalie jams it into reverse as the killer reappears in front of her, once more stomps on the gas, and backs right up into the tree, turning the car into a paper weight and freeing up enough slack in that rope to send Damon’s body crashing down through the front windshield.




Abandoning the car and fleeing back to campus on foot, losing the killer along the way, Natalie makes it to the security building and tearfully reports to Reese what happened to Damon. But when they return to the scene of the crime, the car and the alleged dead body are gone. In fact, there is no evidence at all that anything -- let alone a crime, has been committed here.



Accused of being on something, an enraged Natalie is insistent that Damon is dead, murdered, and whoever was responsible also attacked her -- maybe the same guy who had killed Michelle! But Reese says that’s not possible because the local police caught the gas station attendant about an hour ago and plan to charge him with Natalie’s murder. With that, Reese pulls the plug and takes Natalie back to campus.




The next day at the coffee shop, a distraught and frustrated Natalie still can’t get anyone to believe her wild tale of what happened last night. Not that something didn’t happen, mind you, but they all feel Natalie was the victim of an elaborate prank put on by Damon, who, Parker points out, was a legendary practical joker -- even using a dummy on several occasions to freak out their pledges. He also points out how the joke resembled an old urban legend -- just as another resembled what happened to Michelle.





Of course, Damon was planning to go out of town that weekend for a ski trip and can’t be reached to confirm any of this, which only adds to Natalie’s escalating paranoia. For not only does she now feel there is a serial killer loose on campus, but a serial killer who might just be targeting her and is making all of those old urban legends a new and deadly reality. And since Reese or the cops won’t do anything about this, Natalie decides to do some amateur sleuthing on her own and heads to the library, where she tracks down The Children's Rainy Day Book of Urban Legends





At this point, Natalie also realizes she’s not alone in the stacks -- but it’s only Sasha, who tracked down a copy of the Kama Sutra, so she and Parker can try out a few forbidden moves later. Together, they crack open the Urban Legends book and read-up on the two stories related to Michelle and Damon’s death -- variations on “A Killer in the Backseat” and “The Hook.” 



Sasha also points out one based on an alleged gang initiation, “High Beams,” where bangers drive around with their headlights off and the first person who flashes them they run off the road and kill. And when Natalie checks the sleeve to see who the last person to check out the book was, turns out it was none other than Damon, meaning it was most likely just a joke after all.




Meantime, back in her dorm room, Goth Girl Tosh is once more on the computer, popping Lithium, and arranging her latest sexual encounter. But when she asks what room they should use to do the deed, the answer is hers as the killer was hiding in her dorm room all along! With that, the killer attacks and they wind up splayed across the victim’s bed. 





But as they struggle, salvation seemingly comes when Natalie returns -- only she misreads the scene, mistakes Tosh’s muffled cries for *ahem* something else, leaves the lights off, crawls into bed, and, well, you know the drill.




Come the dawn, Natalie finds a present left for her, scrawled on the wall, written in blood, which reads, Aren’t you glad you left the lights off? And when she pulls back the sheets on her roommate’s bed, Tosh is there, dead, with her wrists slashed open. Seems the Urban Legends Killer got a twofer on this one.




Somewhat unbelievably, Dean Adams intends to write this suspicious tragedy off as a suicide, saying the girl was a manic depressive and the message on the wall was just a morbid farewell note from a disturbed individual. And when Natalie persists with her inspired serial killer theory, the Dean will not hear it. And since she never actually saw anyone else in their room, having averted her eyes the whole time, thinking Tosh was just having sex again, Natalie is once more forced to let it drop.




However, she soon discovers an ally in Paul, who saw her talking with the Dean and Reese and is hoping for a possible scoop. Here, he patiently listens to her story and her theories about what happened to Michelle, Damon, and now Tosh, and how the Urban Legend Killer might just be after her. Paul is sympathetic, but feels it’s a bit of a stretch tying this all together. Maybe the gas station attendant really did kill Michelle; maybe Damon did just pull off a gag; and maybe Tosh did commit suicide. But if they didn’t, Why is the killer striking now? And why her? To answer that, Natalie keeps grasping at even thinner straws, suggesting it might have something to do with it being the 25th anniversary of the Stanley Hall Massacre.




And with that declaration, she officially loses Paul, who intends to prove that notorious event never even happened, once and for all, by taking the girl to the paper’s morgue to show there is no historical documentation of this incident -- only the bound volume with the right date is missing. Luckily, a plot convenient Creepy Janitor (Richings) is working nearby. Asked how long he’s worked at the college, the answer is too long. And when Paul follows that up with questions about Stanley Hall, the janitor pauses, then says to go and ask Wexler.




This they do, only the professor isn’t in his office. And like any good reporter, Paul jimmies the lock and they start snooping and poking around, where they find a lot of circumstantial evidence that Wexler is a tad obsessed with urban legends -- he even owns the same kind of parka the killer wore. The clincher for Natalie, however, is an axe found in the closet; but Paul says it’s not enough and they have to keep digging -- only they can’t, because they just got busted by Wexler as they try to leave.





Brought before the Dean, Adams finally has the excuse he needed to get the troublesome Paul fired off the campus paper before he can write any more stories about Mass Murder U. As for Natalie, well, he’s done a little digging into her personal file and discovered that she was once on probation after a conviction on charges of reckless endangerment. And since Pendleton usually doesn’t accept students with a criminal record, if he hears any more nonsense about a mad killer they will both be expelled with prejudice.



With his journalistic career going down in flames thanks to her, at this point, feeling she is not being totally honest with him, Paul abandons Natalie. She then seeks out Brenda, who is doing laps in the campus pool. 





But when she spots someone in the same dreaded parka heading right for her friend, Natalie screams a warning and tries to break-out a window separating them -- but it was all a false alarm as this coated figure was nothing more than another swimmer. (The hell? Did K-Mart have a sale on those damnable things or what?! And an off-season sale at that?! More on this in a sec.)






With her friend mentally fraying before her, Brenda finally gets Natalie calmed down enough to where she at last opens up about her relationship with Michelle, why they were no longer friends, and maybe, just maybe, why someone might be out to get her: Seems back in high school, these two besties were out on the road and Michelle wanted to screw around and turned the headlights off -- just like in that urban legend. And when a passing motorist flashed their lights at them, Michelle whipped their car around and started chasing the other driver. And as she flashed her own lights and blared the horn, the other driver panicked and, fearing for his life, tried to get away from them only to lose control and wrecked his car.





Turns out the other driver died due to their reckless actions; and they got arrested, were convicted, and sentenced to a year of probation (-- she had been accepted to Pendelton before this all happened). Natalie hadn’t spoken to Michelle ever since that night, and even though she wasn’t driving it was her car and she still feels partly responsible for what happened. But, she does feel a little better having finally talked about this; and in an effort to continue cheering her up, Brenda suggests they should head on over to Parker’s frat party and the Annual Stanley Hall Massacre Soiree.





Meantime, Paul is packing up his desk at the newspaper office only to discover the Creepy Janitor has left him a present: a copy of the collegiate paper from 25 years ago, which not only confirms there actually was a mass killing at Stanley Hall but Wexler was the lone survivor! And on top of all that, Dean Adams was the one who covered it all up.




Speaking of the Dean, he’s currently in the campus parking garage chewing Reese out for actually doing her job by following up on the current spike of fatalities at the college. Told in no certain terms to quash whatever she finds to preserve Pendelton's reputation, Reese is dismissed, leaving Adams all alone when the killer strikes, who was hiding under his car, giving them an excellent vantage point to slice his achilles tendon in half.





Hobbled, as Adams tries to desperately crawl away, the killer puts his car in neutral, gravity takes over, and the rolling vehicle barrels right over him, impaling the old man onto the one-way, tire-shredding, deterrent spikes. 




Meanwhile, Paul tracks down Natalie at the party, shows her the article, and they conclude Wexler is most likely behind the murders. Thinking they should call the cops, Paul says he already tried but Dean Adams headed them off at the pass before he died, informing the authorities to expect all kinds of prank calls about a mad killer on campus and to ignore them; and so, they didn’t believe him. But the question remains, Why is Wexler targeting Natalie and her friends? She has no idea, and the cumulative guilt causes the girl to break down in tears, resulting in an unsolicited reassuring kiss from Paul, which she reciprocates -- just as Brenda finds them.




Knowing Brenda had a thing for Paul, and realizing she’s made a terrible mistake, Natalie runs after her while Paul promises to find some help. But first, he tries to get Parker to end the party and send everyone home for their own safety because there really is a killer loose on campus. But a drunken Parker calls bullshit on that, and accuses Paul of taking a mercenary advantage of the situation to further his own career goals. In fact, to those ends, says Parker, maybe Paul is the killer? Thus, the party continues but without Paul -- or Sasha, who calls her boyfriend out on his loutish behavior before leaving for her shift at the campus radio station.




Meantime, Reese is out patrolling the campus and is drawn to some strange noises in Wexler’s office. And while the office is empty, we do notice that axe we saw earlier is missing, which no doubt might explain away the massive amount of blood on the floor that Reese slips and falls on. And, well, turns out the cops won’t believe her, either, but promise to send the next available unit to the campus, which will take awhile due to a massive storm currently thrashing the area. (Sort of. More on this in a second, too.)





Things kind of accelerate from there as we cut back to the party, where Parker gets a death threat over the phone. Checking the caller ID shows it’s coming from Damon, and so, Parker decides to play along and asks what urban legend has his name on it -- only to be told he’s guessed wrong and the one currently playing out is the one about the old woman who tried to dry off her dog in the microwave. With that, Parker pushes his way into the deserted kitchen, where the microwave has just finished its cycle as he opens the door and finds the grisly remains of his beloved terrier, Hootie.





Sick to his stomach, Parker retreats to the bathroom, where he is accosted by the killer between heaves and gets knocked out. When he comes to, he is restrained to the toilet as his attacker uses a plumber’s helper to force feed him a load of Pop Rocks and caustic drain cleaner, which fatally bursts his stomach.





The Urban Legends Killer then moves to the radio station, where he first kills Sasha’s engineer and cuts the phone lines, which horks the host off because she was about to explain to a caller on how to properly escape the Chinese torture device better known as penis captivus. (I’ll let you all Google that.) Anyhoo, realizing she’s in danger, Sasha leads the killer on a most righteous chase throughout the building but makes the fatal mistake of circling back to where she started instead of finding the nearest exit.




Turns out Sasha was still broadcasting this whole time, too, which was heard by both Natalie and Reese -- the only two who don’t think this was just another prank. Natalie gets there first, just in time to see the killer axe Sasha to death. And after Natalie flees the building, Reese finds the body. And with no other help coming, drawing inspiration from her cinematic hero, Pam Grier, our rent-a-cop decides to take matters into her own hands -- namely, a bigger gun.




Meantime, Natalie runs into Paul, who is missing his usual casual loner jacket and is soaking wet from the rain. He also fails to answer where he's been since they split up. Fearing Parker may have been on to something, Natalie is about to flee again when Brenda arrives, who also heard Sasha getting murdered over the airwaves. Here, Brenda suggests they all go find a working phone and get the real cops here before someone else gets killed.





Thus and so, they all pile into Paul’s Jeep and head into town, stopping at a gas station along the way. And while Paul heads in to use the phone, an awful smell in the vehicle leads the other two to the discovery of Wexler’s mangled body stuffed in the back hatch. This, of course, convinces both Natalie and Brenda that Paul really was the killer all along.






Saying he’s all yours, Brenda flees back toward campus on foot with Natalie right behind her. But as Paul calls after them, they get separated before reaching the campus proper. Here, things really start to get convoluted as Natalie hitches a ride with the Creepy Janitor, who, you guessed it, also owns an incriminating parka to add even more confusion. But this is nipped in the bud pretty quick when Paul’s Jeep roars on seen, forcing them off the road, where the janitor is either knocked out or killed outright.




Back on foot, a dazed Natalie makes it back to campus, finds a security call box, and raises the alarm with Reese. She then hears Brenda screaming for help, and traces her cries to Stanley Hall, where a light is burning on the uppermost floor. 





And as those cries for help continue, Natalie doesn’t wait for Reese and breaks into the building on her own, where she discovers the remains of all her friends as she tries to find Brenda -- which she finally does, but was apparently too late as her lifeless body is sprawled across a bed.





But! Turns out this was all a ruse to draw Natalie in close enough so Brenda could sucker punch her friend, knocking Natalie unconscious. And when the girl comes to, she finds herself gagged and restrained to that bed, giving Brenda, the real Urban Legends Killer all along, a captive audience as she gets to monologuing about why she targeted Natalie and killed all of their friends -- complete, quite inexplicably, with an audio/visual assist.





And according to this slide-show, it turns out that guy who died during the hazing incident was the love of Brenda’s life, who also claims they were going to get married before Natalie and Michelle killed him. (Though given her current psychosis, who knows if this is true or Brenda is just some stalker now fixated on Natalie.) As for the others? Well, that was just a case of carpet-bombing to throw off any suspicions as to who the real intended victims were. As to why the urban legends angle? Ah, that was vitally necessary, see, so Brenda could frame oddball Wexler, arranging things to make him look like the killer before suiciding out, so Brenda could have her revenge, get away with it all, and then live happily ever after with her new boyfriend, Paul.




With all the explanations out of the way, Brenda then moves to put the finishing touch on her baroque schemes by pulling off one last urban legend slaying -- this time, the tale of “The Stolen Kidney” -- where some poor dupe gets roofied, wakes up in a tub of ice with a surgical scar short one major organ. Here, Brenda apologizes for the lack of ice or anesthetic. Not to worry, though; Natalie is not destined to survive this procedure anyway. But on the bright side, Brenda says, her victim is destined to live forever by becoming an urban legend herself.





However, Brenda also flunked anatomy, so it might take her a while to find Natalie’s kidney as her scalpel starts probing. But before things get too messy, Reese arrives and orders Brenda to move away from her victim at gunpoint. And once Natalie is freed, Reese tells Brenda to assume the position to be frisked. But then we kinda confirm that Reese just isn’t very good at her job as she failed to find Brenda's switchblade during the pat-down, which she uses to slice open Reese’s abdomen. 





And to make matters worse, Brenda beats Natalie to the dropped gun. And while a bullet to the head lacks a certain flare it will just have to do as Natalie pleads with the killer, saying this won’t bring her dead boyfriend back. No, says Brenda. It won’t. But it might win her new boyfriend a Pulitzer. Turns out Paul kinda likes this idea, who applauds as he finally waltzes into the scene. (And how long was he hanging around before making his move?)




He thanks Brenda for her efforts, saying all they need to do now is wrap up a few loose ends and then mop up. His true allegiance is unclear until he asks for the gun, which convinces Brenda she’s gotta shoot them both now. But who to shoot first? Well, she ties to Eeny, meeny, miny it but Reese makes Brenda the mo, having recovered enough to use her back-up piece to shoot the killer -- but not fatally.





This time, Natalie winds up with the gun, who shoots an enraged Brenda multiple times, sending her careening out a window, where she falls several stories to her death. Allegedly.




With the campus phones still out of order due to that off again on again storm, Natalie and Paul once more pile into his Jeep and head back into town to alert the authorities and summon some paramedics for poor Reese. Unfortunately, they forgot they were in a horror movie, meaning they failed to check on Brenda’s body, which explains why she is now in the backseat with an axe. 




But this twist is quickly rectified when she brains Paul with the blunt side of the axe, causing him to lose control of the Jeep as she and Natalie struggle over the weapon.





The vehicle then slams into a bridge, coming to a dead-stop, which sends Brenda hurtling through the front windshield, where she falls into the water far below. And as Natalie and Paul watch as her body floats away and then embrace, cut to another campus, where another student wraps up the story of the Mad Campus Killer.




Saying the body of the villain was never recovered, his gathered friends don’t believe him or his story -- save one, who may or may not be a still surviving Brenda, who says this urban legend actually did happen but he told it all wrong. And as a sinister smile purses her lips, the girl settles in to tell it like it really happened as we fade to black.




As Urban Legend first winds down on the drive into town, Natalie and Paul get strangely philosophical given the circumstances of almost getting killed, like, five minutes ago, discussing how what happened will still most likely become an urban legend of some sort. Sure, the facts will be fudged or misconstrued over time, and the actual players will get confused and shuffled around and eventually lost to time. But then Paul asks the inevitable: if their tale really was an urban legend going through its birthing process, what will the big twist for their ending be?


Here, director Blanks gives us not one, but two, twists knotting up the end of Urban Legend after revealing and allegedly dispatching the killer, where Brenda is somehow miraculously still alive after taking multiple bullet hits, crashing through a window, and falling three stories only to wind up still kicking in the back of the Jeep. And then the filmmaker double-downs on that first twist by having Wile E. Brenda not only survive all of that nonsense but also prove immune from getting jettisoned out of a car, breaking through a windshield, head first, and falling into a river only to show up in another campus to resume her devious tale.




For many, that second surprise was one twist too many; but thinking on it, Was that second and final coda really a twist at all? For while one could easily read that as nothing more than sequel baiting, I’m not so sure and perhaps we should take it at face value, meaning what we all just watched was nothing more than the faulty recollections of tale within a tale because, honestly, that’s the only way Urban Legend could possibly work narratively or make any sense.


Yeah, this film is kinda chock full of plot-holes and improbabilities that would only work if it was a representation of an over-embellishing narrator. I mean, otherwise, there is no possible way Brenda could’ve pulled off all of those murder set-pieces alone -- unless she is a work of fiction, allowing the teller to exaggerate her prowess, the gruesomeness of her victim’s demise (-- Parker appears to have split in half and is now oozing Scubbing Bubbles), and how she was able to move these bodies around undetected and clean up her crime scenes with such ease?




Sure, these points of contention are all well-ingrained Slasher Tropes that I usually let slide; but unlike those other films, Urban Legend has presented us with an out and a ready made excuse to pave over all those plot-holes and let the film get away with it all. OK, sure, it’s still a twist -- and one could argue it’s a bit of a cheat, where the film itself is just an urban legend, but at least now the film makes a modicum of sense. Hell, that’s a BIG cheat.


Speaking of cheating, but, man, does Blanks like to use cheap musical stings for his jump scares. But he kinda had to as Horta’s script was still pretty weak and leaking badly as it covers the same ground multiple times, even with the built in excuse of “anything goes” since none of this, technically, was happening as I read it and only an unbridled recollection. The attempts at establishing any suspects is pretty abysmal, too, with the only real clue being everyone on campus seems to own the exact same winter parka -- which was strangely out of season.


Apparently, as scripted, the film was supposed to take place during the winter, which was why the killer wore a heavier coat; but when this was changed due to the timing of the shooting schedule, the decision was made to change a climactic blizzard into a massive thunderstorm; but they stuck with the parka because the producers feared a raincoat or slicker would look too much like the killer from I Know What You Did Last Summer. Even if it was a tad anachronistic, I found the killer’s signature look to be one of the best parts of the movie.




And, wow, does Blanks really like to shoot in the rain, except for when he doesn't as the fetishist storm has no consistency as sometimes it's raining and other times it is not during the climax. And I think the director made a tactical mistake of toning down the kills, which could’ve added a little more punch to these proceedings as the only real gore we do get is of the remnants of the poor dog nuked in the microwave.

Now, one must also point out that during the Slasher Revival of the 1990s, to appeal to a certain crowd that normally didn’t go to see these kinds of horror movies, productions tended to raid the casts of angsty teen melodramas currently showing on the WB, UPN, and Fox to headline their product, which gives everything a slick -- and to my eyes, counter-productive, hipster sheen to this particular glut of body count movies. Also, nearly every single character in these were terrible people just begging to be killed.




Both Reese Witherspoon and Jennifer Love Hewitt (Party of Five) turned down the role of Natalie, opening the door for Alicia Witt, whom the producers liked because they felt she was against type. Witt made her big screen debut as the little witch girl, Alia, in David Lynch’s Dune (1984), and would later show up on Twin Peaks. She kinda reminds me a bit of Shelley Duvall and brings a lot of salt to the role, rocks the hell out of a turtleneck, and we’re definitely on her side as things hit the fan. 




Long before he made an ass out of himself as the Joker in Suicide Squad (2016), Jared Leto (My So Called Life) was cast as Paul because he had a “dark quality” that offset his boy next door good looks. Rebecca Gayheart, meantime, was known mostly for being the Noxema Girl before she started showing up on things like Beverly Hills 90210 and Earth 2. She’s pretty wet as the best friend but sells the hell out of her villainous turn during the climax.



Michael Rosenbaum was just starting out but would go on to carve out a niche as Lex Luthor on Smallville and voiceover work as the Flash in the Justice League cartoon series. Joshua Jackson was just coming off The Mighty Ducks trilogy (1992-1993) and was about to take a dip in Dawson's Creek. Tara Reid was also a relative newcomer and was a last second replacement for Sarah Michelle Gellar, who had to back out due to scheduling conflicts on Buffy the Vampire Slayer.


To help anchor the film and give it some regular genre appeal, the production landed Freddy Kreuger himself, Robert Englund, as the nutty professor, who had temporarily wrapped-up his ongoing nightmare on Elm Street with Wes Craven’s New Nightmare (1994) before returning again in Freddy vs. Jason (2003). Also making an uncredited appearance as the gas jockey was the voice of Chucky, Brad Dourif, from the Child’s Play franchise (1998-2017). 




And we also got Danielle Harris as the ill-fated Tosh, who played Jamie Lloyd in Halloween 4: The Return of Michael Myers (1988) and Halloween 5: The Revenge of Michael Myers (1989). Apparently, the actress had originally auditioned for the lead role of Natalie, but was instead cast as the roommate from hell. And while these three do bring a ton of horror cred, their roles were really nothing more than glorified drive-bys.




And then there’s Loretta Devine as Reese, the campus cop, who brings an endearing likeability to her character even though she is a bit of a screw-up; first being in lock-step with the Dean, and later getting a little too overzealous as she tries to channel her cinematic hero, Coffy (1973). Funnily enough, Neil Moritz’s father Milt had worked in the publicity department for American International Pictures back in the day and was instrumental in promoting Pam Grier and many of their Blaxploitation pictures, giving him an in to license the footage needed for his film.




When it was released, Urban Legend was ravaged by the critics but made a shit-ton of money -- around $70-million on a $14-million budget. Thus, a sequel was in order, resulting in Urban Legends 2: Final Cut (2000), which moves the action to a film school with the only returning characters being Reese and (maybe) Brenda in a brief, post-credit cameo. This was then followed by a direct to video third installment, Urban Legends: Bloody Mary (2005), which I haven’t had the pleasure of encountering yet.


As for the original Urban Legend from which those sequels sprung? Well, as I’ve stated earlier reviews I am a huge Slasher Movie fan who prefers the Whodunits over the Howtheydunits. I remember catching this one on the big screen when it first came out -- one of the last films seen at the old Imperial 3 before I moved to a different town and it was shuttered. Overall it’s an enjoyable enough cinematic excursion if a bit lazy, story wise. Witt is a great Final Girl, and we’re still sympathizing with the cannon fodder. And I’m still up in the air a bit on how to read that ending as either brilliant, sequel bait, or the biggest cheat in Slasher Movie history until, what, Haute Tension (2003) came along? 


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's 21 films down with just FIVE more yet to go. Up next, It's Cowboys vs. Dinosaurs in the greatest rodeo round-up of ever!!!

Urban Legend (1998) Phoenix Pictures :: Canal+ Droits Audiovisuels :: Original Film :: TriStar Pictures / EP: Mike Medavoy, Brad Luff / P: Gina Matthews, Michael McDonnell, Neal H. Moritz / AP: Brian Leslie Parker / D: Jamie Blanks / W: Silvio Horta / C: James Chressanthis / E: Jay Cassidy / M: Christopher Young / S: Alicia Witt,Jared Leto, Rebecca Gayheart, Michael Rosenbaum, Loretta Devine, Joshua Jackson, Tara Reid, John Neville, Julian Richings, Natasha Gregson Wagner, Robert Englund, Danielle Harris, Brad Dourif

Hubrisween 2020 :: V is for The Valley of Gwangi (1969)

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Our story begins at the turn of the 20th century down in Mexico, where the camera ominously sweeps along some desolate rock formations and canyon walls that are determined to keep their secrets hidden at all costs. And as a case in point, we soon spy a band of gypsies -- a search party, actually, scouring these rocks for a stray, who dared probe beyond these natural barriers.



Led by Carlos, the missing man’s brother, they soon find him, stumbling around, torn to pieces and half-dead, with a cloth sack clutched in his hand, whose contents are very much alive and kicking and desperately wants to be let loose.




As the others catch up to him, the injured man collapses and finally succumbs to his terrible wounds. Here, Carlos (Rojo) pries the sack away from the dead man; it’s unknown contents about the size of a feral cat (-- but if that thing is a cat, this feline sure does think it's a horse judging by the noises it’s making. Weird).



Fearful of an old prophecy that promises a horrible death to those who try to steal anything from the ruler of this forbidden valley, Zorina (Jackson), the clan’s withered old matriarch, orders Carlos to release the animal immediately. But Carlos doesn’t put much stock in ancient curses and refuses, despite the warning his brother gave him with his dying breath -- just one word: Gwangi.




Cut to sometime later, where we spy a broken down circus and stunt-show that’s barely eking out a living as it tours the small villages south of the Rio Grande. 





Enter Tuck Kirby (Franciscus), a former rider and stuntman for this outfit, who now buys acts for Buffalo Bill Cody’s more renown and successful Wild West Show. There to purchase Omar the Wonder Horse, this derelict operation’s only real attraction, whose act is being ridden up a series of ramps and then diving off a high platform into a blazing pool of water.





But after taking in this grand finale amongst the sparse crowd, Tuck’s sales pitch runs right into a brick wall in the form of Miss T.J. Breckenridge (Golan) -- the show's owner, Omar's rider, and Tuck's former flame that he ran out on a few years back, who refuses to sell and orders her foreman, Champ Connors (Carlson), to escort this lout off the premises immediately.




As a scalded Tuck limps back into town with his new best friend, a young street hustler and opportunist named Lope (Arden), they encounter Professor Horace Bromley, currently traveling on foot due to some of Lope’s shenanigans and mule that wasn’t quite as saddle-broke as the boy had claimed when he sold it to him.



After giving the old man a ride to his encampment, Bromley (Naismith) explains that he is a paleontologist out on a fossil hunt, and is currently looking for corroborative evidence on a fossil he recently unearthed, whose implications could rewrite history as we now know it!



Showing this discovery off to Tuck, Bromley points out the fossilized humanoid leg bone embedded in the rock and the curious three-toed mini-footprints surrounding it, claiming they belong to the Eohippus -- the Dawn Horse, the great-great-great grandfather of modern equines, whose species went extinct millions of years before man walked the Earth. Or so we all thought. Tuck wishes him luck.




Next, after giving her a sufficient cooling-off period -- and I’m thinking days and not hours, Tuck returns to the arena, where TJ and Carlos, who apparently works for her now, are currently watching a bullfighter audition for the show. But all of Tuck’s attempts at ingratiation goes nowhere until Lope foolishly climbs into the ring and draws the attention of an enraged bull.


Both Tuck and Carlos jump in to save the boy; and while Carlos does most of the work keeping the bull at bay, it’s Tuck to whom TJ runs to first when it’s all over. And after patching him up, turns out there’s still the teensiest bit of a romantic spark between these two. And as Tuck fans these rekindled flames, TJ finally reveals why she can’t sell Omar.




Turns out Omar is an integral part of the show’s new main attraction: El Diablo, the World's Tiniest Horse, which she then unveils to Tuck. And when the little horse-like creature trots out of its miniature stable, Tuck is at a loss for words as he gets an earful from TJ, who can’t help but gloat over her new guaranteed money-maker with El Diablo prancing around on a platform strapped to the back of Omar.



Noting El Diablo’s tiny, three-toed hooves, Tuck asks where did she ever find such a thing? But TJ isn’t sure, saying it was a gift from Carlos -- solving the mystery of what was in that bag. Intended as a sign of affection, Carlos is none too happy that Tuck has now come back, driving a wedge between them, and refuses to divulge anything.



Remembering Bromley’s fossil find, and thinking TJ has no idea of the true goldmine she may have here, Tuck sneaks the paleontologist in for a peek at El Diablo in hopes he can identify it. Saying the animal appears to be a bona fideEohippus, Bromley, of course, is shocked to see something alive and well that was supposed to have died out 49-million years ago -- give or take a million years.





Wanting to know if there are any more unique specimens out there, with Lope’s help, the two men circumnavigate Carlos and seek out those gypsies. But after talking with the belligerent Zorina, who not only says they won’t show them where the Forbidden Valley is located, but they will also stop at nothing to return the little creature from whence it came. That’s enough for Tuck, who wants to protect TJ’s investment. But Bromley lingers behind and conspires with Zorina, telling her where the little horse is being hidden for his own mercenary purposes.




When Tuck sniffs out Bromley’s deception through Lope, he tries to put a stop to it. But he’s already too late as the gypsies have knocked-out Carlos and absconded with El Diablo -- all part of Bromley’s plan, as he intends to follow them and learn the location of the Forbidden Valley, where he will find more specimens and the co-conspirators will free the animal and nullify the curse.




Carlos revives just in time to see Tuck ride off in pursuit of the gypsies, only he tells TJ and Champ that it was Tuck who stole El Diablo. Rounding up two more hands, Rowdy and Bean (Kilbane, De Barros), a royally pissed off TJ leads her posse into the desert in pursuit of that no-good horse thief.





Now, all of these interested parties -- Tuck, Bromley and Lope, TJ and her posse, all collide just as the freed El Diablo makes his way back into the isolated Forbidden Valley through a small fissure. They all make peace when Lope rats out Bromley, saying this was all his idea and not Tuck’s. 





And with a little work, they are able to widen the fissure just enough to get them and the horses through to the other side and into the lost valley that time forgot proper.




And while they don’t find El Diablo, the group is attacked by a winged Pteranodon that snatches Lope off his mule. But the boy proves too heavy and Carlos is able to bulldog the flying dinosaur to the ground as it struggles to get away, eventually breaking its neck -- much to Bromley’s horror.




But he doesn’t mourn this loss for long as another prized specimen presents itself, which he identifies as an Ornithomimus. And as the others wind-up their lassos to go and catch this giant “plucked ostrich” for the show, it flees deeper into the valley.




Now, this somewhat whimsical pursuit continues until it comes to an abrupt halt when another dinosaur lunges from out of nowhere -- an Allosaurus, who seizes the smaller dinosaur within its deadly jaws, crushing and killing it.






Carlos takes one look at this creature and knows this big lizard is Gwangi, the evil one he was warned about, who rules this valley; and they are all in some serious doo-doo as Gwangi sees them, too, and the hunters officially become the hunted...





It's somewhat ironic that it was Hammer Studios who got master stop-motion animator Ray Harryhausen back in the dinosaur business.


For it was this same studio's Gothic horror revival with The Curse of Frankenstein (1957) and Horror of Dracula (1958) that officially sounded the death-knell on the resurgent sci-fi boom of the 1950s, which essentially began with the huge financial success of the revived prehistoric monster gone amokin The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953) and effectively brought an end to all those giant monster movies that Harryhausen, who had brought that Beast to life, and his partner, producer Charles Schneer, had been making together at Columbia since It Came from Beneath the Sea (1955), which they followed up with Earth vs the Flying Saucers (1956) and 20 Million Miles to Earth (1957).

And after a string of fantasy pictures based on the myths and legends of old -- book-ended by The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958) and Jason and the Argonauts (1963), Hammer hired Harryhausen as a freelancer to work some of his Dynamation magic on One Million Years B.C. (1966) -- a loose remake of Hal Roach’s One Million B.C. (1940), whose combination of dinosaur action and 40-pounds of Raquel Welch strapped into a 20-pound fur-lined bikini would prove to be a box-office bonanza for Hammer and 20th Century Fox.

Thus and so, with dinosaurs suddenly back in vogue, wanting to strike while things were hot, Harryhausen and Schneer decided their next collaboration should also involve these prehistoric beasties. In fact, they kinda wanted to double-down and kicked around the idea of time-displacing Sinbad -- their other big money-maker, and having him come into conflict with some dinosaurs; but this notion didn’t get much further than a few conceptual sketches. Thus, for their next feature, Harryhausen wound up digging into his own prehistory to give them a suitable vehicle for what they needed.

As the legend goes, Ray Harryhausen fell in love with the stop-motion animated process when he first encountered King Kong (1933) during its initial theatrical release at Grauman’s Chinese Theater in Los Angeles, and soon became obsessed with the technique and the craftsman credited with bringing all those monsters to life, Willis O’Brien.


Devouring everything he could on the subject matter and combining it with another obsession -- the artwork of Charles Knight, who fleshed-out those dinosaur fossils on paper in several dramatic scenes of life in prehistoric times, Harryhuasen started making his own models and animated them on film.

He was finally able to meet O’Brien in person in 1939 through the efforts of a mutual friend, when a phone call ended with an invitation for the young Harryhausen to bring some of his models over to MGM Studios, where O’Brien was currently in the pre-production phase of War Eagles; a wild epic conceived by Merian C. Cooper as a follow-up to King Kong, where a lost race of Viking warriors, who rode giant prehistoric eagles, is discovered in Antarctica, who wind up battling a bunch of surrogate Nazi dirigibles over the skies of Manhattan during the film’s climax.



Here, Harryhausen gaped in wonder at the large storyboard illustrations by Duncan Gleason and the animation models created by Marcel Delgado and George Lofgren, who had also worked on Kong. Somewhat embarrassed, he presented one of his own models to O’Brien, who did not sugarcoat his critique. But he was more encouraging than disparaging, telling Harryhausen to study anatomy and physiology to give his skeletal structures and musculature more accuracy -- and most importantly of all, to infuse character into these models and not just move them around.



Alas, an escalating budget, studio politics, and the growing threat of war soon found the plug pulled on War Eagles, which was too bad because everything uncovered about that production shows it really would’ve been something else on the big screen.


O’Brien always had the damndest of bad luck post-King Kong, where he was hired on to supply the special effects for at least a half-dozen features before they all suddenly dried up right before a single frame of film was shot. Harryhausen remained in contact with O’Brien over these difficult years and mounting disappointments as he took his advice to heart and honed his craft, and their families became close friends.


Right before he went into the Army, where he served under Frank Capra in the film unit of the Special Service Division for the duration of World War II, Harryhausen visited O’Brien at RKO, where yet another one of those doomed features was well into pre-production. The proposed film this time was called Gwangi -- a Native American term for big lizard, where a group of rodeo cowboys venture into a hidden valley. 


And after discovering it's inhabited by dinosaurs, in perhaps the wildest round-up scene ever conceived, they try to rope and capture an Allosaurus. Again, there were extensive production sketches, miniatures and models built for the production only to be abandoned indefinitely, once again, due to budget concerns.


However, parts of Gwangi still managed to survive when several of its set-pieces were later incorporated into Mighty Joe Young (1948), including the team-roping sequence and a climactic battle between the big gorilla and several lions.


O’Brien had hired Harryhausen to be the animation supervisor on the picture. And while O’Brien would later accept an Academy Award for the special-effects rendered in the film, it was clear the uncredited student had now become the master when it came to bringing these models to life on screen.


Now, it was during the production of Mighty Joe Young when Harryhausen and his mentor got to talking about the failed Gwangi project. Here, O’Brien gave him a copy of the unused script and series of leftover storyboards. And it was these very same items Harryhausen dug out of his garage and dusted off in 1966, which he then presented to Schneer, who agreed to revive the picture as their next production -- The Valley Where Time Stood Still.


And while Harryhausen set to work on a series of eight principle drawings for the Dyna-Magic set-pieces, the old script was turned over to William Bast for a little punching up, who shifted the action from modern times to the early 1900s.


Meantime, Schneer was trying to secure financing for the production when Columbia turned them down over cost considerations and the box-office disappointments of the last few features they did for them. But Harryhausen got to know Kenneth Hyman while working for Hammer, which gave them an in with Hyman’s father, Eliot Hyman, whose Seven Arts Productions had just completed a semi-hostile takeover of Warner Bros, turning them into Warner Bros -Seven Arts. And seeing how much money Fox had made with One Million Years B.C. Hyman readily agreed to finance the film on one condition -- a title change to The Valley of Gwangi (1969).


In an effort to save money, the film was shot in Spain, taking advantage of the other-worldly rock formations of the Ciudad Encantada located just outside the city of Cuenca, which subbed in beautifully for the environs of the Forbidden Valley. And once principle photography wrapped, Harryhausen returned to England and Shepperton Studios in October, 1967, where he had done the stop-motion effects for One Million Years B.C., where it took nearly a whole year to complete the over 400 stop-motion cuts in what was to become his most ambitious work to date. The film’s showcase centerpiece -- his take on that wildest round-up in screen history, took over five months to complete all on its own, which I think rivals or even betters the climactic skeleton brawl at the end of Jason and the Argonauts.




A bold claim, given that we haven’t seen a whole lot yet as far as Dynmation goes in The Valley of Gwangi so far; but, oh, Boils and Ghouls, hang on to your collective butts as our cowboys flee from the pursuing Allosaurus, only to wind up being caught between Gwangi and a cranky Styracosaurus.




When their rifles prove useless -- later discovered to be filled with the harmless stage blanks they use during their wild west stunt-spectacular, they find refuge in a cave while the dinosaurs withdraw after a brief Mexican stand-off and go their separate ways.





Then, after a long night, where Tuck and TJ agree to leave all of this nonsense behind and make another go of it together -- if they manage to get out of there alive, when the sun comes up Tuck goes off in search of some water to refill their depleted canteens.




And while he fills them up in a nearby stream, his horse starts to panic when Gwangi once more lumbers into view -- where we see some of that infusion of character, when the dinosaur angrily scratches at an annoying itch on his nose, which was also a nod to O’Brien for a similar gag pulled by the T-Rex in King Kong.



Pursued all the way back to the cave, when spears and torches prove ineffective in driving the creature off, the gathered cowboys resort to the only weapons they have left -- their lassos.





Now, I’m not even going to try to do this scene justice in typed words and just encourage you all to watch it as soon as possible. And here’s some vid-caps to give you some idea as to what actually transpired.





And here's a few more. 




Aaaaaaand a few more.





And when this rousing sequence reaches a fever pitch, to their credit and skills, these cowboys almost have Gwangi strung out, trussed up, and captured before that Styracosaurus comes back and interrupts this rodeo, dividing the attention of his attackers, giving the other dinosaur the distraction it needed to chew through the ropes and break free.




And as these two great beasts lock in combat once more, Tuck and the others make a break for the valley entrance. But Gwangi makes quick work of the horned dinosaur, who had been gravely wounded when it was speared in the ribs by Carlos, and roars after them.






And while the others make it out, that curse comes back to bite Carlos in the ass, who was bringing up the rear, as Gwangi catches up, chomps the man right off his horse, and then gruesomely turns him into an appetizer!



Not satisfied, in his attempt to get at the main course, Gwangi tries to follow them out of the valley, but that fissure wasn’t quite big enough and he gets stuck; and when his violent struggle eventually causes the entrance to collapse, the dinosaur is knocked-out cold.




With the monster subdued, he's muzzled, caged-up, and hauled back to civilization as the new main attraction for TJ’s show, who seems to have chucked all those plans and promises she made with Tuck the night before. 





Blinded by the pursuit of fortune and glory, she’s disappointed that Tuck will not be sticking around after the big unveiling. But never fear, true believers, she changes her mind before it's too late -- which is a lot sooner than you'd think!



Because, unbeknownst to them, those gypsies have sabotaged Gwangi’s cage so he may punish those who tried to imprison him. This backfires on the culprits just a bit when the curtain rises for the big reveal, where the audience gets to see the saboteur get eaten alive. 




And in the resulting panic, when Gwangi breaks loose, Zorina gets trampled to death by the panicked mob as they flee the stadium.





And after dispatching an elephant (-- and I’m really starting to suspect that Harryhausen had something against pachyderms since he killed another one in 20 Million Miles to Earth), Gwangi’s rampage continues unabated as he breaks out of the arena and starts munching on the fleeing spectators.




In the ensuing chaos, Tuck, TJ and Lope manage to find each other and try to seek refuge in a large cathedral; but Gwangi knocks down the door before they can get it properly secured.




And as he pursues them deeper into this massive church, the dinosaur knocks over several burning braziers, which soon sets everything ablaze. 





And as this fire turns into a raging inferno, Tuck and the others manage to escape but Gwangi remains trapped inside, where he is eventually crushed to death as the burning building collapses on top of him.






You know, to me, there's a huge difference when categorizing what you feel is the best film as opposed to what your favorite film is. And to those ends, while I can honestly say I think Jason and the Argonauts is probably Harryhausen's best film, The Valley of Gwangi will always be my favorite.


Gwangi is also his second best film in my opinion, and Argonauts is my second favorite. And strangely enough, Earth vs. the Flying Saucers appears third on both lists -- even though Harryhausen claims that was his worst. Weird.


Now, I freely admit I am in a small but very vocal minority when it comes to trumpeting the merits of this film. And I think a lot of that has to do with The Valley of Gwangi’s hokey premise and relative obscurity due to a disastrous theatrical release.

See, when the film was finally finished it had taken so long there had been yet another regime change at Warners in the interim. And the new studio brass had no interest in what the old regime was responsible for and the film kinda got lost in the shuffle until it was eventually banished to the bottom half of some very mismatched double-bills with little fanfare or publicity, where it ran with the adult-oriented Girl on a Motorcycle (1968) or the imported comedy crime caper, The Seven Golden Men (1969), where it completely missed its target audience. But if it was lucky, like when it played in my neck of the woods, it was at least paired-up with another -- albeit more traditional, western, The Good Guys and the Bad Guys (1969).




But no matter what it got paired up with, The Valley of Gwangi had no studio support and quickly disappeared from circulation and was never re-issued like some of Harryhausen’s earlier films. It also failed to show up on home video until the 1990s and that’s why for the longest time this was considered Harryhausen's forgotten film, or at best least known, and that's too bad because you all are missing one heck of a movie.




As with all Schneer and Harryhausen films, one of The Valley of Gwangi's main perks is that it doesn't fall into a familiar B-movie trap. For even though Harryhausen's creatures are the showpieces and the main reason to watch, these films are seldom boring in-between those FX shots as the stories surrounding them are solid, competently directed, acted and executed -- although I understand there were some prickly creative differences between Schneer and director James O'Connolly on this one. On screen, everything looks just great and the compositions of cinematographer, Erwin Hillier, add a lot and keeps things interesting to look at between dino-brawls.

My bro’crush on 1970s über-stud James Franciscus has already been well established and this was only solidified more here. Gila Golan was a former “Maiden of Beauty” winner in her adopted homeland of Israel. She continued modeling and received a film contract at Columbia in 1964 -- even though most of her roles were later re-dubbed due to her accent. The blustery Laurence Naismith was a regular on these later Schneer and Harryhausen films, and it’s always fun to see genre vet Richard Carlson running around in one of these things.



Another big plus in most of these Dynamation productions was the music, whose impact is undeniable and is what usually glued everything together -- Mischa Bakaleinikoff bringing the mystery and thunder and weight in those early sci-fi epics, Bernard Herrmann painting an ear-scape of awe and wonder and danger in those fantasy yarns, and now Jerome Morros, whose spirited strings and horn-heavy score of wide open spaces and percussive daring do rivals his work on The Big Country (1958). (You can give a listen here.)


The model for Gwangi itself was about 12-inches high. “The roping sequence was the main reason I wanted to make the picture,” said Harryhausen in his autobiography, An Animated Life. “Actors and horses had to be coordinated to be at a certain point at a precise time to ensure that I could animate the model to fit with their actions. The eye-line had to be spot on all the time they were riding, and to make it all work I had to use several old tricks and a few new ones."




To accomplish this, Harryhausen used what he called a ‘Monster Stick’ to give his actors something to look at during filming. For the rodeo sequence, it was mounted on the back of a jeep that was later taken out during the matting process and replaced with the model dinosaur and their ropes replaced with copper wiring.


Unfortunately, even though he had a whole year for post-production, Harryhausen was still pressed for time with a release date looming, leading to a few short-cuts where certain miniature scenes were not lit properly, explaining why Gwangi and several other dinosaurs appears to change colors throughout the film -- though this was later digitally corrected in later releases on DVD and Blu-Ray. Also, be careful not to dig too deep when looking for background information on your favorite movies because I regret finding out that Gwangi’s distinctive roar was a belching camel run through a filter; and now whenever Gwangi roars all I hear is damned camel chewing its cud.

On top of the box-office failure, one of Harryhausen's biggest regrets about The Valley of Gwangi was Willis O'Brien would not get proper screen credit for his contributions due to some union hassles. O'Brien did eventually oversee the FX for the similarly themed Beast of Hollow Mountain (1956), where a spat of cattle-rustling turns out to be a forked-tongue Allosaurus, and The Black Scorpion (1957) -- a troubled production, where due to budgetary reasons several attack scenes weren’t animated at all and the producers just went with the footage where the monster hadn’t been matted in yet, and The Giant Behemoth (1959), which was kind of a more sober remake of Beast from 20,000 Fathoms.




O’Brien was also initially involved with producer John Beck on a co-production with Toho Studios that eventually saw the light of day as King Kong vs Godzilla (1962) -- a production O’Brien would later disavow.

Somewhat tragically, with the box-office failure of both The Valley of Gwangi and Hammer’s follow up to One Million Years B.C., When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth (1970), producers were starting to realize that maybe it was the buxom babes in fur-bikinis that were the box-office draw and not the dinosaurs. And so, in follow-up features like Creatures the World Forgot (1971) and When Women Had Tails (1973), they kept in the scantily clad women but eschewed the time and expense of any stop-motion dinosaurs for in-camera creatures and stuntmen in sad bear suits. Thus and so, animated dinosaurs would once more become extinct, cinematically speaking, until, for better or for worse, Jurassic Park (1993) brought them back digitally for good.


But thanks to home video and streaming, audiences were finally catching up with The Valley of Gwangi -- though I am continually baffled as to why all those DVD and Blu releases use that alternative art when you have that kick-ass Frank McCarthy painting from one of thee greatest film posters of all time. I loved it so much, I went out and bought one and had it framed.


Again, I know most people think the climactic skeleton battle in Jason and the Argonauts or the Medusa on the hunt in Clash of the Titans (1981) is Harryhausen's masterpiece and the epitome of his craft but, I’m sorry, I gotta go with the team roping of Gwangi. The combination of six actors, six horses, and six ropes is absolutely ah-mazing to watch, and one can only boggle when told the man seldom used tools and did all the movements by memory!



What is it about Harryhausen’s films that compel us to break out the Playdough and make some dinosaurs of our own? But was Gwangi a real dinosaur to begin with? According to the script it was supposed to be an Allosaurus, but his creator often claims it was more of a T-Rex -- or a strange combination of both, which he often referred to as a Tyrannosaurus-Al.





Regardless, whatever species it was, watch and marvel as the animated creature interacts and pulls things away from the live actors, or snatches them off moving horses, and then ponder, just like the rest of us, How in the hell does he do that?!


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's 22 films down with just FOUR yet to go. Up next, The Werewolves of Sturgis.


The Valley of Gwangi (1969) Morningside Productions :: Warner Brothers/Seven Arts / P: Charles H. Schneer / AP: Ray Harryhausen / D: James O'Connolly / W: William Bast / C: Erwin Hillier / E: Henry Richardson / M: Jerome Moross / S: James Franciscus, Gila Golan, Richard Carlson, Laurence Naismith, Gustavo Rojo, Freda Jackson, Dennis Kilbane, Mario De Barros, Curtis Arden

Hubrisween 2020 :: W is for Werewolves on Wheels (1971)

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On a lonesome highway, out of the heat and rippling haze of the desert, The Devil’s Advocates ride. Now that is one inspired name for a motorcycle club, and there appears to be about a baker’s dozen of them on bikes with a couple of biker skanks bringing up the rear in an old ambulance. 




And as they roll along, snogging their old ladies, popping pills, smoking some reefer, and dabbling in a few other hallucinogens, they continue to ride. And ride. And ride. And ride and ride and ride. Sensing a theme here.




Trouble starts when a straggler is run off the road by a couple of good ol’ boys in a pick-up truck; and as the other Advocates burn rubber in pursuit, these locals manage to give them the slip. Ah, but these not so bright hit-n-runners then make the bone-headed mistake of stopping at the very next available gas station -- so it isn’t that big of a surprise when the Advocates roar up and surround them, looking for a little payback. 




Led by Adam (Oliver), the gang’s leader, he forcefully pulls the driver out and then proceeds to give him a big old wet kiss on the lips!? (Wow.) He then punches him in the stomach (-- that’s better), and then turns him over to the rest of the gang, who proceed to beat the shit out of him. But the Advocates aren't completely ruthless as they leave the geriatric passenger alone; and after the bloodied driver is unceremoniously dumped in the back of the truck, the old man stomps on the gas and tears off.



Having had enough fun, the Advocates let them go and invade the gas station instead. And while the others imbibe huge amounts of beer, Helen (Anderson) -- Adam’s old lady, wants Tarot, the spiritual sage of this group, to tell her fortune. But Tarot (Barry) gets really crabby at this notion because he “reads” the cards and doesn’t “tell” fortunes. 


 

And it doesn’t matter anyway because he won’t do readings for chicks. At first, this makes Adam happy because he doesn’t like it when the morose Tarot starts messing with his cards -- I guess it makes him even more morose. But Helen is so insistent, he finally orders Tarot to do it, just to make her shut. 



Wanting to know how she's going to die, Helen watches as Tarot lays out the Chariot Card, the Lover’s Card, and the Angel Card. (Now do you wanna hit, or stand pat?) Next comes the Devil’s Card, which Tarot ominously warns will have a future influence on her future. And then he deals another, more ominous card that says her fate is predetermined, meaning she cannot change it.




Saying this is all a crock, Adam won’t let him flip the last card. But Helen's really got her panties in a knot to know, so Tarot continues with the final play: Helen will die by a lightning strike in the Tower of Satan. (You know, I had a vision once where mall walkers trampled me to death. Walked right out of the Sam Goody and BAM! -- I wonder if they have a card for that?) 



Suddenly, overcome with disturbing visions of death and the Cloven One, Tarot is visibly shaken by these results. But Adam snaps him out of it, still insisting it's all a load of bullshit, and then herds everyone outside to head deeper into the wilderness for a little R’n’R. So they’re off again, and we’re entreated to another long travelogue sequence until they eventually stop at a fork in the road for a beer break.




Unable to shake those apocalyptic visions, Tarot is still a bit uneasy as Adam chides him for believing in all that mumbo-jumbo. But Tarot says he only believes in the truth, and claims he can show them all the "real truth" if they're willing to follow. They are, so he leads his fellow Advocates down the fork less traveled into a primordial woods.


 

Ditching the bikes, they head further into the trees and find a huge circle of stones in a clearing -- obviously an altar of some kind, where they commence to have a drunken orgy. But it isn’t very hard to spot the Tower of Satan lurking in the background; an exact match to Tarot's prophetic vision.




And when Adam starts calling for the Devil to come out and join the party, he doesn't realize the Devil is listening -- and has every intention of taking him up on that invitation...




The origins of the Outlaw Biker flick can be traced back to the summer of 1947, when the American Motorcyclist Association [AMA] sponsored a Gypsy Tour and Rally in Hollister, California, over the July 4th weekend, where around 4000 bikers showed up -- mostly returning veterans, trying to readjust to civilian life, which was about 3985 more bikers than the town could really accommodate.

And then a couple of rival clubs -- the Boozefighters and the Pissed-Off Bastards of Bloomington, allegedly got into a rumble, resulting in the so-called Hollister Riot. I say allegedly, and so-called, because aside from some public drunkenness and general disorderliness, there wasn't much of a riot. 

However, inspired by a (posed) picture he saw in LIFE Magazine about the rowdy weekend, writer Frank Rooney wrote a fictionalized tale called "Cyclists' Raid" for Harper's Magazine, where a gang of hooligans ride in and take over a small town. Fiction soon clouded the truth, and a legend was born.


Thus, it was Rooney's imagined Hollister Riot that inspired Stanley Kramer's The Wild One (1953), recognized by most as the first Outlaw Biker flick, which in turn helped create a whole new genre. The film also influenced the bikers themselves; but it should be pointed out most of them were emulating Lee Marvin's skuzzy Chino, and not Marlon Brando's pretty boy Johnny. 

And starting with Roger Corman's mucho profitable The Wild Angels (1966) -- inspired again by an article in LIFE Magazine about the massive funeral of a legendary Hell's Angel member, most subsequent biker films followed suit, focusing on the rough and rowdy world of life on the road, using real biker gang members in their films as extras.

With low production costs and money to be made, over the next few years some 40 to 50 Outlaw Biker flicks were unleashed on the public -- The Glory Stompers (1967), The Devil's Angels (1967), Angels from Hell (1968),Satan's Sadists (1969), Angels Die Hard (1970) and Angels, Hard as They Come (1971) to name just a few; but by the dawn of the 1970s the genre was no longer firing on all cylinders. And as filmmakers almost always do when a genre is about to die, they start tinkering with the formula or combine it with another to try and squeeze a few more box-office dollars out of it.

Cross-dressing homosexuals was the hook for The Pink Angels (1971). In the horribly mistitled Hell's Bloody Devils (1970), Al Adamson stuck some bikers into his James Bond knock-off with less than stellar results.


So it was inevitable, then, that somebody would start combining the biker and horror genres; and none other than Herschell Gordon Lewis got there first and started the blood flowing with She-Devils on Wheels (1968). And then there was Psychomania (1973) -- the tale of a British biker gang selling their souls to the devil for immortality. Strange film. They worship a toad. I'm serious.

Now, Michel Levesque had worked on a couple of these films -- Richard Rush’s The Savage Seven (1968), and Bruce Clark’s The Naked Angels (1969), crewing as a set designer or serving as an art director for both Roger Corman’s New World and American International Pictures. And the constant rumor on those sets was that if you could come up with a decent idea for a biker movie, a horror movie, a drug movie, or any combination of all three, odds were good it would probably get made by somebody.

And so, Levesque teamed up with his friend, David Kaufman, who turned out a seven page treatment that combined elements of Satanism, lycanthropy, and the burgeoning cinematic biker tropes. And taking these barest notions of an idea, they started scouting out some locations in the deserts of California to plug these notions into and expand on them. And once the first draft of the script was complete, they turned it over to producer Paul Lewis, hoping he would know someone to pass it along to that might be interested in making a slightly blasphemous Werewolves vs. Bikers flick.

By 1970, Lewis had carved himself out quite the niche as a production manager, breaking in on a couple of existential Monte Hellman westerns -- The Shooting (1966), Ride the Whirlwind (1966), before handling several genre milestones, including Tom Laughlin’s The Born Losers (1967), which introduced the world to that kung-fu pacifist, Billy Jack, Richard Rush’s ode to the Haight-Ashbury scene in Psych-Out (1968), and Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda’s Outlaw Biker movie to end all Outlaw Biker movies, Easy Rider (1969).


And by mere happenstance, Lewis now had two proposed scripts for a Werewolf Biker movie on his desk. The other had an entire gang of werewolves that rode from town to town on a massive killing spree. But he liked Levesque and Kaufman’s more cost-effective ideas better, who were surprised that Lewis not only liked their pitch but planned to produce the movie himself. And not only that, but he pegged Levesque to direct it; something he had never done before. Kaufman, meanwhile, had hoped to take another run at their script but Lewis felt it was ready to go, as is.


And to me, this kind of explains a lot from what we’ve seen thus far as most of the dialogue appears to be ad-libbed over the barest bones of a script -- but ad-libbed very well by the mostly amateur cast. Stephen Oliver, a last second casting decision, was already a genre veteran and provided a solid anchor for the others to follow; and if you look closely among the Advocates, you can spot folk-singer Barry "Eve of Destruction" McGuire and former child star Billy Gray -- most likely known for playing young Bobby Benson in The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951) and for being one of the kids in the long running sit-com, Father Knows Best (1954-1960), who had just come off a much publicized marijuana bust.


Donna “DJ” Anderson had just appeared in Count Yorga (1971), and does pretty well with a pretty thankless role. Noted comedian Severn Darden played Satan's head disciple, whom we'll be meeting in a sec. Turns out he was a friend of Lewis’ and apparently made up most of the ritualistic mumbo-jumbo he spouts in the film. And according to Levesque in a later interview, most of the cast were completely stoned for the entire shoot. Method acting, I guess.

When an initial deal with American International fell apart, another distributor was soon found with Joe Solomon's Fanfare Productions. Now Solomon was one of the quieter patron saints of exploitation cinema -- Simon King of the Witches (1971) Tower of Evil (1972), who brought us plenty of biker mayhem: Wild Wheels (1968), Run, Angel, Run (1969), and Nam's Angels -- a/k/a The Losers (1970), where the government sends some renegade bikers to Vietnam on a covert rescue mission. 


When Fanfare released Werewolves on Wheels (1971), the poster and press-kits screamed, "The gang thought it was tough 'til they met THE BRIDE OF SATAN!" And all the promotional materials, including a complimentary barf-bag in case the film made you sick (-- hopefully for the right reasons), promised us lycanthropic hooligans on Harley's. 




But what we really got was a different kind of monster altogether, which will soon present itself as the Advocates' drunken orgy continues unabated until a platoon of monks appear from out of nowhere, who offer the revelers some bread and wine.



Unknown to the slovenly bikers, however, who greedily accept and gorge themselves, the wine has been drugged and they all start dropping like flies. (And can you imagine the potency it would take to knock this crowd out? Wow.) Once they’re all out for a snooze, the head monk shows up, announcing himself as One, the spokesman for He Who Must Remain Silent Forever (Darden), who babbles in a satanic circular logic for a while, and then removes a strand of hair from Helen.




Returning to the tower, One calls upon his Master and sacrifices a cat, draining its blood into a cup, and then throws the carcass into the fire. Taking the collected blood, he draws a crude circle around himself, leaving only a small gap for the Bride of Satan to enter. He then constructs a crude fetish doll out of wax and sticks Helen's stolen hair onto it. Then, after inviting the other monks to circle up and join the ceremony, One leads them in a chant to summon their Master's new Bride.




Outside, in the passed-out pile of Advocates, Helen stirs and slowly rises. Compelled by One, she is mesmerized and drawn into the temple; and at this point ya might think that you’ve had some spiked wine, too, as she switches frequently from biker gear to a wedding dress. 




And when she enters the altar room in a puff of smoke, One dips some bread into the cat blood and feeds it to her. And before you know it, she’s buck-naked and doing a strangely provocative dance number around the large fire-pit while caressing a human skull and a snake!



When the other Advocates slowly start to wake up, Adam is the first to notice Helen is missing. Hearing the hootenanny going on inside the temple, he rousts everybody else up to go and rescue her.




Meantime, inside, One is smearing blood all over that wax fetish doll until Adam and the others burst. Seeing what they've done to Helen, Adam and the other bikers start kicking some evil monk ass. But as the Advocates make quick work of his minions, One drops the wax doll into the fire; and as it melts, Helen screams. 





But this also seemingly frees her from his spell as Adam grabs his girl and they make their escape -- though not before each biker gets some ash smeared on his face, marking them for future malfeasance.




As day breaks, to put as much distance between themselves and that damnable tower, the Advocates head further into the desert. (Yay, more travelogue footage.) When night falls and they make camp, Helen drops some acid and starts doing a standard freak-out dance around the fire (-- that's nowhere near as entertaining as her earlier number if I’m being honest). 




Suddenly, she has a horrific vision of the wax doll bearing her face, melting in the fire, and goes screaming into the night. As Adam chases after her, the other bikers decide to mock the ritual they just witnessed and start chanting, "Oobla doobla ooggla urbla," and chase each other around the bonfire until Mouse (Orr) decides to make Shirley (Brown) his own personal Bride of Satan. She’s willing, but he’ll have to catch her first.





Meanwhile, one sand dune over, Adam and Helen are in the process of doing the nasty; but she throws a hitch in their foreplay when she bites her lover on the neck. Nearby, Mouse and Shirley’s game of tag has degenerated into a wrestling match; only their foreplay is interrupted by a several hairy paws that start ripping them apart as we're entreated to not one, but two, slow-motion throat slashings -- complete with a rupturing geyser of arterial blood. (And just in case you missed it, they repeat this for you. Like, three times!) We then leave this scene with the shadows of two monsters savaging their victims to pieces.





The next morning, the other Advocates make the expected grisly discovery. Now, it’s pretty obvious who the monsters are, but I will point out that Adam and Helen seem to have no recollection of their actions last night. Assuming something from the desert wandered in and killed them, Adam says all they can really do now is bury them with honor under a pile of beer cans and urine and move on. Which means even more travelogue footage -- only this time it leads us to Scene 85: the gas station interlude.





Ah, the gas station interlude, my favorite part of the movie. (More on this later.) Here, the pudgy and cranky owner is a Mr. Burke -- heavy on the Mister, mister, who doesn’t like their kind and makes them pump their own gas. (Damn hippy-pinko-commie biker freaks!) He also warns them to be careful as not to burn his place down with all those lit reefers near his fuel tanks, and constantly reminds them they’re in the desert and that the only way out is to parachute straight up. (What a great kook.)


After this brief interlude ends way too soon as far as I’m concerned, Adam has them back on the road again until they finally stop for the night at an old landfill, filled with the beaten husks of dozens of old rusted-out cars. As the others get a bonfire going, Tarot goes off by himself to meditate. When Adam finds him, they get to talking. Seems Adam thinks they need to head off to Florida, like the good old days; but Tarot says something’s wrong, something bad, and has come to the regrettable conclusion he can no longer ride with the Advocates anymore.



Ignoring these qualms, Adam continues on reminiscing, making it harder for Tarot to convince him there’s evil afoot. Alas, I think Adam does hear his old friend; he just chooses not to listen and instead warns Tarot to lay off all the bad bummer vibes because he’s starting to freak everybody out. 



Again, Tarot presages that he’s just telling the truth, and then, right on cue, he is gripped by another vision: He’s back in the temple, and is being force-fed some bloodied bread at the foot of a crucified Helen!




Later that night, while the others sleep, the same furry claws attack the sole biker standing watch. And after the monsters ravage and kill him, the body is unceremoniously tossed into the bonfire. (They had lit up the entire landfill, making things nice and creepy in the flickering light.) 




The next morning, while fighting over the last beer, the Advocates realize someone’s missing again. Finding the burnt remains in the ashes, as a raving Tarot lays more negative waves on everybody, Adam lays the blame on those damned monks -- and he has a hankering to break his boot off in a certain evil monk's ass. And it's here, with this fateful decision, where our movie takes an even more surreal turn:











For as they head back the way they came, a freak sandstorm blows over the highway; and after the cloud engulfs the bikers this wall of sand quickly dissipates and the bikers are gone! Vanished before the very eyes of the two gals in the trailing ambulance. (I can’t begin to tell you how effective this scene is in motion.)




We then cut to the middle of the desert, where the mystically displaced Advocates find themselves lost in a sea of sand dunes with absolutely no idea how they got there. And since their bikes aren’t really built for off-road travel, it takes them a while to make it back to the highway.



Still believing those monks are behind this, Adam is still determined to settle the score; even though he's warned by an insistent Tarot that they obviously shouldn't mess with them anymore and just leave well enough alone. Fed up with all the doom-saying and questioning his every move, Adam sucker punches Tarot, triggering a brawl, where Tarot is quickly beaten into submission.




However, this initial fight and mystical detour has taken up too much valuable daylight and they have to stop for the night, where their descent into hell continues as their campsite is in the middle of a scorched piece of land and they’re up to their ankles in ash, where it once more comes to blows between Adam and Tarot, who is thrashed once more. 




And as an eerie silence hangs over the Advocates gathered around the campfire, the silence is broken when Adam sees a vision of a wax dummy -- this time in his image, melting in the fire. Obviously, he freaks out at this, and then starts to painfully change. 




Meantime, Helen sees her wax effigy in the fire, too, and also starts to change. Unsure of what's happening, the other bikers back off -- except for Tarot, who tries to help Helen; but it isn’t long before the remaining Advocates are facing two snarling werewolves.




Before these transformations can really sink in, the blood starts flying as Were-Adam buzzsaws through a couple of bikers, while Were-Helen chases after Tarot. Circling back to the campfire, he snatches up a makeshift torch and manages to hold her off. 






Following his lead, the other Advocates take up torches, too, and set Helen on fire, who screams, falls into the campfire, and is consumed by the flames. We then get a quick, nearly subliminal blip of her in that wedding dress rising up out of the pyre like a Phoenix. 




Outnumbered, the remaining werewolf jumps on his bike and roars off. With torches in hand, the others mount up and go after him, eventually catch up, and put the torch to him, too. Soon engulfed in flames, Were-Adam quickly loses control, crashes, and goes up in a huge fireball when his gas tank explodes.





To avenge their friends, Tarot leads the remaining Advocates back to the temple and heads the charge into the altar room, where they find One and some other loitering monks. But as each Advocate picks a partner to beat down, and raises his arm to strike, they see the faces of themselves under the hoods and quickly collapse.




Summarily defeated, they all succumb to the power of One, whose robes are now occupied by Adam; and Tarot is the first to be fed some bloodied bread at the foot of the crucified Helen; thus fulfilling his vision. Thus and lo, on a lonesome highway, out of the heat and rippling haze of Hell, the Devil’s Advocates will now ride for all eternity.




If I could sum up Werewolves on Wheels in one sentence it would probably go something like this: I like it -- a lot, but I don’t quite get it, especially that ending. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, mind you. At one point, during a third or fourth viewing, in a brief moment of clarity, I had it and it all made sense; but this was quickly lost before I could write it down. That happens to me a lot. Like, AH lot a lot. *sigh* 


But it begs an important question: When does an exploitation film move beyond the usual crap to inspired filmmaking? I think Werewolves on Wheels definitely qualifies for the latter. Which begs an even bigger question: Was this by design, or by some divine cinematic accident?


Now, a film that promises you werewolves on wheels but doesn't really deliver them until the 70th minute of an 85-minute movie has a lot to answer for and has a pretty steep hill to climb for some. And this movie should be terrible based on that title alone; but if you can move beyond that and your preconceptions, you can see some pretty ingenious stuff going on here.




The film itself looks great and was shot with a keen eye for composition and framing, and exploits it's locales beautifully. You can really feel the heat of the desert and smell the sweat of the bikers, so to speak. 


This was cinematographer Isidore Mankofsky’s first feature. A noted documentary filmmaker, it was Mankofsky’s influence on a lot of the travel footage; and it was his suggestion to capture the murmurations of all those birds and scavengers that always seem to be circling ever closer to the Advocates, ready to pick their bones clean. Levesque, meanwhile, definitely has a thing for fire purification imagery. All the fires in this film are huge, and the resulting, flickering shadows are captured beautifully by Mankofsky and will have your eyes playing tricks on you. Editor Peter Parasheles had worked with Orson Welles on Chimes at Midnight (1965) and the extended attempt to get Don Quixote (1972) made, who does an admirable job of cutting all of this together.




With the barest bones of a plot holding things together, there are enough surreal ambiguities to keep you interested, too; and the film really does feel like it was made up as they went along. Case in point: that gas station scene. From the camera angles used and the reaction of the cranky owner, I don’t think he had a clue he was being filmed. Either that or he was a colorful local that they decided to stick in -- or maybe they let him in the film to pay for the gas? 


Overall, the acting is above average considering 90-percent of the cast were strictly stuntmen (the bikers) and refugees from a hippy colony (the monks). And if the majority of the dialogue was improvised, there are no blaring incidents and everything seems natural enough. And the southern-fried rock soundtrack by Don Gere is dang near perfect. E'yup, I got another song stuck in the old random play jukebox in my noggin: "Oh I've got one foot in heaven, and the other in hell..."




If the film fails at all, and it's only a small bump, it's in the make-up department. According to the commentary track on the Dark Sky Films release of Werewolves on Wheels, the film had a sixteen day shooting schedule and the budget only allowed for three days with the uncredited make-up man, whom Levesque claims worked for Walt Disney. The werewolves themselves look fine enough to me when we finally do get to see them, I just don’t think we get to see them enough. As for that somewhat abbreviated climactic battle, Levesque also claims he was supposed to get another day of shooting to shore up the chase scene when they run down Were-Adam on the bike but, once again, they had simply run out of time and money and had to make due with what they had. Another budget casualty was a Divine lightning strike that was supposed to blow up the tower to fulfill Helen’s prophetic fate, too. 




Apparently, there was a lot more explicit gore in the film, too. And while we do get to see a few geysers of blood, the newly formed MPAA came down hard on the film due to it's excessive violence and harsh language used in all that ad-libbing. After submitting the film twice, they were slapped with an X-Rating each time and were told unless they got serious and really started editing things down for a third try there would be no fourth. And so, they complied -- though it should be noted a lot of this excised footage was restored for the Dark Sky DVD release, which looks so much better than those old murky VHS tapes, where you can actually see what’s going on in the dark now.


As I said before, there are several elements of this film that I just can’t quite figure out, or quite piece together, and it's really bugging me. Was Tarot in league with the Satanists to begin with? He led them down the path to the Devil’s Temple in the first place, right? Right. But then he did try to save them. And then he led the late charge to avenge his friends, right? Right. Maybe it was his fate -- and he knew it, and he knew he couldn't change it, and therefore he was just fulfilling his own destiny ... Oh, wow. Maybe I do get it. 


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's 23 films down with THREE yet to go. Up next, The King of Terror is Dead, Long Live the King.


Werewolves on Wheels (1971) South Street Films :: The Fanfare Corporation / EP: Joe Solomon / P: Paul Lewis / AP: Stuart Fleming / D: Michel Levesque / W: David M. Kaufman, Michel Levesque / C: Isidore Mankofsky / E: Peter Parasheles / M: Don Gere / S: Steve Oliver, DJ Anders, Gene Shane, Billy Gray, Barry McGuire, Owen Orr, Anna Lynn Brown, Severn Darden

Hubrisween 2020 :: X is for the Crosshairs in Targets (1968)

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Bedeviled ravens are screeching, a storm is raging, and an elderly man moves through a castle as our latest feature begins already in earnest. Apparently on a mission, this man, The Baron, will stop at nothing as he makes his way through the cobwebs, down some steps, and into the family crypt, knocking away his butler as he approaches the sarcophagus holding the remains of his late wife.




But when the old man pries the lid off, both he is shocked and we are shocked to discover these contents we’ve been watching were nothing more than a screening of the final cut of Sammy Michaels’ The Terror (playing itself), the latest in a string of low-budget B-pictures starring the reigning King of the Boogeymen, Mr. Byron Orlok.




But neither the star nor the director seemed all that thrilled with what’s playing out as they huddle together in the darkened screening room; in fact, one could almost sense they are embarrassed by it as the overwrought climax plays out. But their producer, Marshall Smith (Landis), is ecstatic. 



And so ecstatic is he, Smith announces that he will finance Michaels’ next script, which he claims is a work of art and a real change of pace from the usual schlock his studio craps out, which will also star Orlok as the headliner. 



Only Orlok (Karloff) picks that moment to make a surprise announcement: he will not be making anymore pictures, and from this moment forward he has officially retired. Smith, of course, goes apoplectic over this, kicks everyone out except for Orlok, and then starts tearing into the old actor over this ingratitude, saying he’s kept him alive these past few years when no one else would hire him.



Meanwhile, out in the hall, Michaels (Bogdanovich), is also wigging out a bit due to Orlok’s decision to suddenly retire from pictures rather than do his new script. And on top of that, his girlfriend, Jenny (Hsueh), is also Orlok’s personal assistant, who must now decide who to remain with when the dust settles and her boss moves back home to England. Then, Orlok storms past them and leaves the building.




Told his next picture just walked out the door unless he does something about it, Michaels catches up to Orlok and pleads his case. But Orlok is adamant. And even though he is assured this new script was expressly written for him and is “not that kind of picture,” the veteran actor feels he is too antiquated, an anachronism, a punchline even, and it’s time to make way for somebody else because he simply just isn't that scary anymore.




Meantime, across the street at the Brass Rail Gun Shop, a young man named Bobby Thompson (O’Kelly) is getting a feel for the hunting rifle he is about to purchase, training the scope and drawing a bead on the old man across the street. When the star-struck clerk points out it was Byron Orlok, Thompson hadn’t even noticed. 




With his honest face, Thompson is allowed to write a check for the rifle and several boxes of ammunition. He then deposits all of this into the trunk of his Mustang, where we see this man has accumulated quite the arsenal, whose purpose the film is not quite ready to reveal just yet as he heads for home, passing the Reseda Drive-In along the way, whose marquee promises a personal appearance by Byron Orlok for the world premiere of The Terror.



When Bobby reaches his destination and enters a suburban house, which is a sensory deprivation shade of blue, antiseptic and sterile, we quickly suss out this is the home of his parents, where he lives with his wife, Ilene (Morgan), in a subservient existence under his domineering father, Robert (Brown), who is Sir, not dad, and an emasculating mother, Charlotte (Jackson). Both mean well, and neither is malevolent -- just smothering.




Here, our lingering suspicions of this man are confirmed a bit by a (less than subtle) commercial for Anatomy of a Murder (1959) playing on the TV as he enters, and how detached Bobby is from these people and his surroundings as he silently moves through them; and when you combine all of that with all of those guns, all kinds of red flares start going off as the family gathers around the table for an evening meal that a fraying mental fuse has already been lit.






And this fuse is still burning when he and his father get in a little post-meal target practice. For, as the old man moves to set up the perforated cans for another round, Bobby draws a bead on him, and nearly pulls the trigger on his unwitting target before his father finishes up and then catches him in this deliberate breach of safety protocols and scolds him like he's a 10-year old.



Meanwhile, Orlok and Jenny are out having a drink at the Polo Lounge to celebrate his recent liberation. When asked why he refused to make her boyfriend’s next picture, Orlok is sympathetic to Michaels’ plight but admits he never even read the script. They are then ambushed by Ed Loughlin (Peterson), Smith’s press agent, there to go over the details about that pending personal appearance at the Drive-In.



Again, a cranky Orlok refuses to participate and backs out, even though he will likely be sued over breach of contract. And when Loughlin puts in a call to break the bad news to Smith, who says he will be letting his fans down, Orlok refuses to even speak to him, telling Loughlin to tell Smith if he is so interested in the welfare of the people he should stop making pictures before hanging up on him. Realizing he will likely be fired over this cock-up, Loughlin, an innocent bystander in all of this, has a bit of a mental meltdown before leaving to go and get hopelessly drunk.





Later, at his bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel, Jenny accuses a now tipsy Orlok of pushing everyone who cares about him away in a fit of unflattering self-pity. He then picks a fight with her, reminding Jenny that she is merely an employee, which earns him a slammed door in his face before he can apologize, leaving him all alone with his guilty conscience.




Meantime, at the Thompson house, Ilene is getting ready for work -- a late shift as a telephone operator. Here, we reach a crucible moment when Bobby tries to reach out to her, needing to talk about the “funny ideas” he’s been having lately. But while Ilene is listening, she doesn’t really hear what her husband is saying; and not realizing the gravity of the situation only makes things worse with some harmless but patronizing platitudes and this moment of a possible de-escalation is lost. 



And after she leaves, Bobby retrieves a .45 caliber pistol from his trunk arsenal and sneaks it into the house.




Back at the hotel, Orlok is nursing another drink as he watches one of his old films on the TV when there is a rap on his chamber door. It’s Michaels, who is also three sheets to the wind and looking for his script. 



He is also drawn to the TV, noting how he first saw this Orlok picture, The Criminal Code (playing itself), at the Museum of Modern Art, and how “all the good pictures have been made.” Orlok agrees, saying he and the film both belong in a museum.



With that, Michaels loses his temper and would like some answers, wanting to know why the actor won’t be in his film in a part that will show people who he really is: a human being, not some spookshow huckster. How it took months to convince Smith to back it. And how Orlok sat through three lousy, stinking pictures and now that they were going to make a good one, he quits. Why?




Here, Orlok admits he never read the script and then gets a bit philosophical, saying everyone he knew in the business is already dead. He’s a dinosaur, out-moded. Mr. Boogey-Man, they called him. The King of Blood. The Marx Brothers made you laugh, Garbo made you weep, and Orlock made you scream. And now, he is considered pure camp. The films didn’t get bad, he contends. No. He got bad. Besides, he says, tossing a newspaper at Michaels, whose headlines scream of a mass-shooting at a supermarket, people have a new kind of monster to be scared of. The King of Horror is dead, long live the King.





Seeing his cause is lost, Michaels takes his script and leaves, saying he’s going to make the movie anyway and will offer the role to Vincent Price instead. At least that’s the plan, until he realizes he’s too drunk and his legs will no longer cooperate. And when Orlok tries to help him to the couch, Michaels keeps on moving into the bedroom and collapses on the bed. Here, Orlok realizes he’s as drunk as his friend, and summarily passes out right next to him.




Later that night, at the Thompson house, Bobby is also in bed, chain-smoking away, until his wife comes home. Told to leave the lights off because he has a terrible headache -- but this is so she can’t see the gun on the nightstand. And so, Ilene changes in the dark and then crawls into bed beside him. 



And even though it was a long shift, she’s ready to talk about his earlier concerns; but it’s late -- too late, and he says to just go to sleep and they’ll talk in the morning.





Come the dawn, Bobby is up and pounding the keys on a typewriter, spelling out D-I-E period.










When his curious wife comes into the room to see what he had been typing -- not realizing Bobby has grabbed the pistol, she strolls on over for a morning kiss only to be abruptly shot at point blank range by her husband.





And when his mother rushes in to see what happened, she is shot next. Realizing someone else is in the house, Bobby rushes to the kitchen, where a delivery boy tries to get away but is also shot dead.




Then, once this massacre is complete, Bobby carefully moves his wife into their bedroom, lays her out in state, and then buries her under a blanket. His mother is treated a little more roughly as she is dragged into her bedroom and then unceremoniously dumped on his parent’s bed.




And after the delivery boy’s body is secreted in the pantry, Bobby then meticulously cleans up the crime scene, covering up all the blood evidence. We then hear his car start up and roar away as the camera lingers behind, taking in the aftermath, before settling on the typewriter to reveal the entirety of Bobby’s manifesto, which shows this was merely the beginning and a lot more killing was yet to come...




After heading down to Puerto Rico to make one movie, Battle of Blood Island (1960), for his fledgling production company, Filmgroup, Roger Corman, always thrifty and one to maximize or recycle his and other people’s sets or locations, managed to come back with three, by shooting both Last Woman on Earth (1960), which was sort of planned, and Creature from the Haunted Sea (1961), which was not and came about solely because Corman realized he had enough film stock and short-ends leftover to get one more picture in the can by cannibalizing a script he’d already made twice -- as Naked Paradise (1957) and Beast from Haunted Cave (1959), on, essentially, someone else’s dime.


But when filming was completed Corman's tropical misadventures were far from over. Seems veteran cinematographer Jacques Marquette -- The Brain from the Planet Arous (1957), Attack of the 50ft Woman (1958), had refused to stay in Corman's impromptu barracks and opted, instead, for the local Hilton, where he would invite other cast and crew members to eat and charged it all to his producer. 


What happened next, according to Marquette, and corroborated by actor Betsy Jones-Moreland, who starred in two of those pictures, when the shooting wrapped it appeared Corman was ready to sneak out of the country and skip out on the bills; basically stranding the rest of the cast and crew, who weren't paid yet, leaving them with no means to get home. Not one to be screwed with, Marquette seized and hid several rolls of film for all three pictures and did not return them until all the bills were paid and all the cast and crew's checks cleared.

Upon his return to the States, Corman was next slated to direct another horror double feature for Jim Nicholson and Sam Arkoff at American International, scheduled to be shot back to back, in black and white, with a budget of $100,000 each. Now, as I mentioned in my review of The Curse of Frankenstein (1957), the release of that film, with its blazing technicolor, free-flowing blood and tensile cleavage, served as a paradigm shift in cinematic horror movies. And in an effort to keep up, Corman, realizing these old double-bills weren’t going to cut the cheese anymore, managed to convince the brass at AIP to combine those budgets and make one color feature instead.


The result of these efforts, with a little help from screenwriter Richard Matheson, production designer Daniel Haller, and star Vincent Price, was House of Usher (1960), adapted from The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe. And this gamble paid off big time as the film and its lofty Gothic ambitions defied the odds and proved a box-office hit, even earning some critical praise, as a franchise was soon born to cash-in on what would come to be known as Corman’s Poe Cycle.

But after doing The Pit and the Pendulum (1961) and the anthology film Tales of Terror (1962) for AIP, which were based on Poe’s short stories, Corman attempted to do The Premature Burial (1962) on his own. With financing secured from Pathe Labs, a film developing firm looking to get into production, and star Ray Milland replacing Price, who was under an exclusive contract with AIP, everything seemed set to go until Sam Arkoff got wind of it, and then strong-armed Pathe into relinquishing their interest. Thus, The Premature Burial was suddenly another AIP Poe production; a move that Corman didn’t really appreciate and kind of lit a slow-fuse on the eventual and inevitable break-up between him and the production company that mutually put each other on the cinematic map back in the early 1950s.


This was all compounded a bit further in 1963, where Corman had both The Raven (1963), another Poe picture, only this one was a comedy, and a straight adaptation of H.P Lovecraft’s The Case of Charles Dexter Ward on the slate -- a much needed change of pace from Poe, giving himself a bit of a breather. 

But the brass at AIP were so Poe-addled at this juncture they rebranded the film, against Corman’s wishes, as The Haunted Palace (1963); a title sniped from a Poe poem; even adding several narrated lines from this to open the film as a kind of forced-fit framing device on their Lovecraft adaptation.


This wasn't’ unprecedented as they had pulled this same stunt on Corman before, turning his Prehistoric World into Teenage Caveman (1958) to ride on the coattails of the wildly successful I Was a Teenage Werewolf (1957).


We also need to point out that about four years earlier, Corman found out another production had finished shooting but their office sets were still standing. And after finagling a deal to use them for two days, he and his stock screenwriter, Chuck Griffith, went bar-hopping, got drunk, got in a fight, and cooked up an idea where a nebbish clerk fed his customers to a man-eating plant, resulting in the quickest, cheapest, and most threadbare Corman production to date, The Little Shop of Horrors (1960).


Now, bear all of this wheeling and dealing and behind the scenes dickering in mind as Corman was closing in on wrapping up The Raven. With one week of shooting left to go, before they broke for the weekend, Corman complimented Haller once again on his fantastic production design and the amazing castle set he slapped together with the loose change found in Arkoff’s couch cushions, with both lamenting how it would all have to be torn down at the end of next week, marking the (at the time presumed) end of the Poe cycle.


On the subsequent Sunday, Corman’s scheduled tennis match got rained out, giving him a hole in his schedule and enough time to scheme and cement an idea for another whirlwind, two-day feature. He’d done it before. Could he do it again? "I was getting so familiar with the standard elements of Poe's material that I tried to out-Poe himself and create a Gothic tale from scratch,” said Corman in his auto-biography, How I Made 100 Films in Hollywood But Never Lost a Dime. And not only that, but to once again complete the majority of principal photography on said film in just two shooting days, using The Raven's castle set on the sly before they tore it all down.


In retrospect, Corman said he undertook this nigh impossible task for the mere challenge of it, but I have a feeling at least part of the reasoning was to pull one over on AIP and make another movie for himself -- this time on Arkoff’s dime. Now all he needed was a script. And for that, Corman called up Leo Gordon and asked if he had anything with a castle in it for sale. He didn’t, so Corman invited him over for a brainstorming session to get the ball rolling on a new script that needed to be completed in less than a week.

Now, Gordon was an actor, a screenwriter, and a convicted felon, who had served five years in San Quentin for armed robbery, when he tried to stick-up a bar and got shot several times by the police while being apprehended. After his sentence played out, he took up acting as a profession; and with his hulking frame and brutish demeanor, Gordon set off on a nearly 40-year career as a Hollywood tough guy and heavy, where he infamously backed-down John Wayne during the production of Hondo (1953), when his character was shot on screen during the climax and pitched forward, causing Wayne to step on director John Farrow’s toes, called for a cut, and then started lecturing Gordon on how people fell backwards when they’re shot at point blank rage. To which Gordon pulled-up his shirt, showed off his scars, and said when he got shot getting those, he pitched forward. End of discussion.


Gordon turned to screenwriting in 1956, first for television, and then wrote his first feature for Corman two years later, Hot Car Girl (1958). He then followed that up with The Cry Baby Killer (1958), The Wasp Woman (1959), and Attack of the Giant Leeches (1959). And now, he was tasked with coming up with something for The Terror (1963) after he and Corman hashed out a few details on that rainy Sunday: the gist of the story would revolve around a young officer in Napoleon's Army, lost along the Baltic coast, who winds up pursuing a mysterious woman to the castle of the elderly Baron Von Leppe, who claims the woman was nothing more than the spirit of his long dead wife, and then supernatural shenanigans takeover from there.


What that all entailed was up to Gordon, as long as he had it done by next Monday. And Corman’s only demand was that the climax involve the castle being destroyed in a flash flood instead of the usual cleansing fires of his other Poe pictures. “I just can’t burn another castle down,” said Corman.


As for the cast, well, turns out the sets and crew wouldn’t be the only thing pilfered from The Raven. First up, for the Baron, he got Boris Karloff to stick around for two more days of shooting for a percentage of the new film’s profits, plus a deferred bonus of $15,000 if the film went on to make over $150,000 at the box-office. 

In a later interview, Karloff commented on the filming of The Terror, saying, “Corman had the sketchiest outline of a story. I read it and begged him not to do it … I was in every shot, of course. Sometimes I was just walking through and then I would change my jacket and walk back.”




And for the film’s theoretical but harrowing climax, Karloff added, “[Corman] nearly killed me on the last day. He had me in a tank of cold water for about two hours.” Still, the actor had few regrets about the film or its harried production. “The sets were so magnificent. And as they were being pulled down around our ears, Roger was dashing around with me and a camera, two steps ahead of the wreckers. It was very funny.”


Corman heldover Jack Nicholson from The Raven, too, as Lt. Andre Duvalier, who suggested using his then-wife, Sandra Knight, to play Helene, who may or may not be the ghost of Baroness Ilsa Von Leppe. And then the rest of the small cast was rounded out by several of Corman’s stock players with Dick Miller as the faithful butler, Jonathan Haze as a local peasant who knows too much, and Dorothy Neumann as the witch, who holds the key to this unfolding, not quite yet written, and very confusing mystery. 




Yeah, as dear Boris said, when shooting began, the script for The Terror was far from complete at this point, basically a vague outline. And as the two day shoot drew to a close, pressed for time, Corman didn’t even slate his shots anymore and just kept the camera rolling as his cast of characters moved down hallways, went up and down a staircase, had several circular conversations, or opened and closed a bunch of doors.


The end goal was to get whatever he could during those two days, finish up with Karloff, and then shelve the footage until the script could be solidified, and then finish filming piecemeal on some other set -- most likely the forthcoming The Haunted Palace, plug that into the original footage and, ta-dah, The Terror would be complete. A good plan, and a solid plan, that was about to go completely awry. 

See, from there, the film was shelved for about three months as Gordon finished up the script at long last, which Corman paid him about $1600 for. But by then, Corman was gearing up to head to Europe to follow the Grand Prix around and film The Young Racers (1963); and so, to save money he decided to shoot the rest of The Terror non-union. And to those ends, he charged his newest assistant, Francis Ford Coppola, to assemble a crew of college students from UCLA and USC, including Jack HIll and Gary Kurtz, and sent them off to Big Sur for a couple of days with Nicholson, Knight, and Haze to get some needed scenes along the beaches and cliffs there.




But once they reached their destination, Coppola got it into his head to rewrite the script and “improve” the story and shoot whatever the hell he wanted to. And then, eleven days later, after he almost drowned his leading man in the surf, he returned and cut his footage together only to find out he'd neglected to tell his cameraman that some of those scenes needed to be shot day for night, rendering the majority of his efforts useless because it did not match the original footage at all, and his changes to the narrative made a jumbled and already confusing plot nearly intractable.


All told, after all that time and effort, about ten minutes of Coppola’s footage made it into the finished picture. “It didn’t exactly mesh with what I had shot,” said Corman. “But it still looked pretty good.” Also, the film was still nowhere near being completed. 


Meanwhile, more time passed as Corman worked to patch up The Terror a little at time. Needing some second-unit footage of rushing and cascading water to enhance his soggy climax, Corman needed someone to make a quick trip to Hoover Dam. By now, Coppola had moved on to bigger pastures but recommended fellow UCLA student, Dennis Jakob, who took the assignment but then essentially disappeared for three days. And when he finally came back, Corman quickly sussed out he had been played, and Jakob had used his equipment to shoot his thesis film on top of the ten-minutes it took to get the gushing water.




Annoyed initially, Corman soon realized Jakob basically did to him as he so often had done to many others and let this slide. In fact, he was a little proud of him. Besides, he would later press him into service as Karloff’s double as he tried to shore up the climax for a film that still wasn’t finished and still didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Of course, Jakob looked as much like Karloff as Kathy Wood’s chiropractor resembled Bela Lugosi in Plan 9 from Outer Space (1959). But, enh, what are ya gonna do?


More time passed, and in an effort to salvage things Corman next turned to Monte Hellman, who had directed Beast from Haunted Cave, and Jack Hill, who was charged with rewriting the script to try and match-up all that jumbled footage that had already been expended on The Terror. And what couldn’t be fixed, Hellman would then shoot more footage to help bridge those gaps. Here, Hill basically changed the tenor of the entire movie with a big twist that I won’t spoil in case anyone is actually intrigued enough to see what this all looked like when The Terror was finally finished -- which it still wasn’t.

See, Hellman shot for five days before having to leave due to prior commitments on Back Door to Hell (1963), which meant Hill got promoted to the director’s chair. By now, Knight was pregnant and showing -- and the rumor was her and Nicholson’s baby was conceived during the shoot at Big Sur to give you some scope of how much time had passed since filming began on this magnum opus, explaining why some of her scenes were shot from the waist-up only, and how everyone’s hair doesn’t match-up from scene to scene. And sharp eyes will note, sure enough, several scenes were indeed shot on the sets of The Haunted Palace, including the stairway to the vault and the massive gnarled tree, where Vincent Price’s character was burned alive, for the film’s final twist.

When Hill slapped it all together, and re-dubbed a lot of the dialogue to make it work, lip-syncing be damned, Corman screened the rough-cut of this patchwork Frankenstein’s Monster of a film. It still didn’t make any sense, but he felt it was almost to the point of being releasable with just a few more tweaks. Said Corman, “There were some gaps in logic; and frankly it struck me as a little dull.” 


And so, Corman once more settled into the director’s chair for one more day of shooting, brought in Nicholson and Dick Miller for a scene where Nicholson’s character, through threat of violence, demands Miller’s character to literally explain the overcooked plot and reveal just what in the hell was going on in this movie. And then he threw Miller, Nicholson, Jakob and a stand-in for Knight into the water and blasted them with a fire hose to punch-up the climax, which finally wrapped The Terror at long last.

All told it took nine months, two days, and four directors to complete The Terror. (Almost five directors as Nicholson claimed since everybody else in the whole damned town had a hand in this picture, he should’ve had a shot at it, too.) In the interim, Coppola had made a whole other picture for Corman, Dementia 13 (1963), which was released on a double bill with The Terror for Arkoff and American International, who had kind of sniffed out what Corman was up to during the wrap party for The Raven, when he noticed the sets were still standing. 


Suspicious, he returned the following Monday and, sure enough, “He was shooting another [expletive deleted] picture on us.” Caught in the act, all Corman could do was shrug. At this point, Arkoff let it go, figuring AIP would most likely release the film whenever it was finished. And it was finished, finally, but Corman still wasn’t done tinkering with this damnable film, and tried to squeeze a little more money out of it’s corpse.

Remember how Karloff had been promised a deferred bonus on The Terror if it made more than $150,000? Well, after cooking the books to prove that it never reached that threshold, Karloff’s agent saw through this and demanded the bonus due his client. And after a little back and forth, Corman agreed to pay the money on the condition Karloff gave him two more days on a future film. The idea, and stop me if you’ve heard this one before, was to take 20-minutes of existing footage from The Terror, and then combine that with 20-more minutes of new Karloff footage, plus 40-minutes with some other actors and, ta-dah, another cheap Karloff picture to release. And to pull this off, Corman turned to his latest assistant, Peter Bogdanovich.

Bogdanovich was an actor, a director for the stage, and was a huge movie buff along with his wife and partner, Polly Platt, who had recently gotten a job at Esquire Magazine and moved to California, where he wrote about the movies and interviewed legendary directors ranging from John Ford to Howard Hawks to Alfred Hitchcock to Orson Welles among many others. He met Corman by chance at a screening, who admired his writing and asked if he’d like to come work for him and make some movies. Bogdanovich jumped at the chance.

His first assignment was to write something on the scale of The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957) or Lawrence of Arabia (1962) that could be filmed on a Corman budget. And while that wound up going nowhere fast, his second assignment was to consult on a script for a proposed feature called All the Fallen Angels. This, of course, later turned into The Wild Angels (1966), Corman’s first Outlaw Biker movie, where Bogdanovich scouted locations, advised on the casting, rewrote most of Chuck Griffith’s script, shot both first and second unit, was called on to edit his footage when no one else could make it work, and was pressed into duty as an extra during the climactic brawl, where he got the living shit kicked out of him by several members of the cast of real Hell’s Angels.


Bogdanovich would later claim the three weeks he spent on this shoot was “the greatest film school anybody could ever put me through. You were doing it, you were under pressure, you had to deliver.”

His third assignment for Corman was to cannibalize the special-effect sequences from a couple of Russian science-fiction epics, Nebo Zovyot -- The Sky Calls (1959) and Planeta Bur --The Planet of Storms (1962), and make another picture out of them as Coppola had done before with Battle Beyond the Sun (1962). But the footage had no women, and so Corman instructed Bogdanovich to head to Leo Carrillo beach with Mamie Van Doran, feeling it would match the Baltic Sea footage as a good substitute for the planet Venus.

“I hired the Gill-Woman of Venus -- just a bunch of stoned kids walking around the beach dressed like mermaids, with seashells covering their breasts,” said Bogdanovich. “Tackiest @#%*ing costumes I have ever seen. And now they were praying to pterodactyl or something and communicating telepathically with Van Doren.” The end results of all of this was Voyage to the Planet of Prehistoric Women (1968); and, like Coppola, Bogdanovich distanced himself from the awful picture by using an alias in the credits, Derek Thomas. “It was hell.”

And then his fourth assignment would be the new Karloff vehicle, where he would finally get to write and direct something essentially from scratch -- except for being saddled with footage from The Terror, which he had no idea how to incorporate into this new film as he and Platt tried to come up with a through story-line. But then things started to finally click together when they actually screened The Terror and Bogdanovich declared it an abomination upon its conclusion. Here, came the notion to just make it a film within a film, where Karloff would watch the ending of The Terror and then declare it was the worst film he had ever seen as a jumping-off point for the new picture.

From there, it would sort of get a little meta as Karloff would play an aging horror star in the twilight of his career. And to contrast “the illusion of horror” of Karloff’s Gothic cinematic trappings with the “real horror” of unmotivated murder, Bogdanovich and Platt then hit upon the idea that Karloff’s character was fed up and would announce his retirement, feeling he was dinosaur about to go extinct with the meteoric impact of the true life, ripped from the headlines terror unleashed by people like Charles Whitman, who, back in August of 1966, started shooting from the observation deck of the University Tower in Austin, Texas. Ninety-six minutes later, twelve people were dead and countless others wounded.

Also killed prior to the rampage were Whitman's wife and mother. And Whitman was dead, too; dropped in a hail of gunfire, bringing his reign of terror to an end. As to why he did it, some would argue it was to get back at his abusive father -- and that’s one of the reasons he killed his wife and mother, so only his father would answer for his son’s crimes. Or was it because he was strung out on amphetamines? Or was it an overwhelming feeling of failure and inadequacy, or perhaps some deep-seeded narcissistic tendencies drove him to do something so drastic, so heinous, that everyone would know and remember his name in perpetuity.


It was Harold Hayes, his old editor at Esquire, who suggested using Whitman as the counterpoint to Karloff; and so, Bogdanovich would split his film in two, which would then intertwine until finally colliding at the climax of Targets (1968). Here, Bobby Thompson would be his surrogate for Whitman, whose stifling home lives echo each other. And like Whitman, Bobby would wait until his father was gone before murdering his wife and mother. 




And he would echo Whitman again when he hits up another gun store and buys an obscene amount of ammunition and charges it all to his father’s account. When asked what he's hunting for with all those bullets, Thompson says he’s “Gonna shoot some pigs” -- just as Whitman said on his own ammo run that fateful and terrible day.



Meantime, in the other narrative thread, as the clock strikes noon, there’s finally some movement between the extremely hungover Michaels and Orlok, who manage to comically pry themselves out of bed. Then, Jenny bursts in, still upset as she angrily lays out Orlok’s travel itinerary for his return trip to England. But the somewhat humbled and apologetic Orlok says to put all of that on hold for now, because he’s decided to make that personal appearance at the Drive-In after all. And as Jenny happily works the phones to give Loughlin the good news, he gets Michaels to stick around to help him prepare for the coming festivities.




Now, this includes a Q and A with a flaky L.A. disc jockey named Kip Larkin (Baron), who arrives at the hotel for a dress rehearsal. But when the questions veer into what film he’s doing next, Orlok quickly loses interest, saying this is all deadly dull; and since this will be his last appearance, Michaels suggests he tells a spooky ghost story instead. Orlok then relates a parable about a man’s failed attempt to escape the grim reaper, and how one’s death is both predestined and unavoidable no matter how hard we try to run away and hide from it -- foreshadowing the climax as our two plot threads are about to collide in a deadly showdown.




Meantime, near the freeway, Bobby has attained a perch atop a large storage tank at a refinery, where he pulls his arsenal out of his massive duffel-bag and meticulously lays them out in order. 



And after a brief respite for a bite to eat and a bottle of Pepsi, he stretches out and trains one of those rifles on the passing motorists until he finally picks a target, takes a breath, holds it, and then squeezes the trigger, hitting the driver, and sending the car careening off the road. Then he picks another target, fires, and then another. And then another.




And this killing spree continues until he is interrupted by a maintenance worker, who is cut in half by a shotgun blast. But before he can turn his attention back to sniping at unsuspecting motorists, Bobby hears the approach of police sirens and quickly abandons his perch, bleeding guns as he retreats back to his car. 




Back on the road, he makes the mistake of running a red light, drawing the attention of a passing patrol car, who gives chase until Bobby manages to lose him by ducking his car into, you guessed it, the Reseda Drive-In, where a line is already forming for a chance to see Byron Orlok in person.




Buying a ticket, Bobby finds a parking space and starts reloading several clips for his rifle as the sun slowly sets and the staff and projectionist make preparations for the big show. Staring at the blank screen, the shooter suddenly gets an idea, takes up his duffel-bag, exits the car, and heads for a doorway at the base of the screen, which he slips through unnoticed.




Meanwhile, on the limousine ride to Reseda, Orlok comments on how ugly this town has become while Jenny notices an increased police presence as several patrol cars prowl the area, looking for the sniper. Here, Orlok wants her to know that she shouldn’t feel obligated to come to England with him if she doesn’t want to, not wanting to break-up any romances, as they reach their destination. Told to park up front by the manager (Condylis), the limousine barely gets settled before the movie starts.





But unbeknownst to all the patrons, someone is watching them, too, as Bobby has taken up another perch high on the enclosed scaffolding holding up the massive screen, which he has punched a hole through and stuck his rifle barrel out of as he scans the audience, looking for a target with this obscene eye. 




And then he finds one as some unlucky soul enters a phone booth. Sharp breath. Silence. Blam.



 

From there, Bobby patiently waits for others to exit their cars or turn on their dome lights as the Drive-In is turned into a deadly shooting gallery. But as the bullets fly and the bodies fall, word spreads from car to car, panic ensues, and then dozens of vehicles head for the nearest escape route -- be it entrance or exit.



Thus, with traffic tied up, Michaels can't get into the Drive-In proper. Unaware of what’s going on, Orlock mocks this mass exodus, figuring it's due to the quality of the picture. 




Speaking of the picture, Bobby’s next victim is the projectionist, who brushes against the volume control as he falls dead, spiking the noise levels. When someone is sent to investigate, they find the body, panic, and turn the exterior lights on, which Orlok mistakes as the cue for his appearance and moves to get out.




Meanwhile, Michaels has reached the ticket booth on foot, where the manager has received word that the projectionist is dead, meaning all that talk of a sniper was true. And as he moves to call the police, Michaels pushes through the crowd to reach Orlok and Jenny and get them out of harm's way.




Meanwhile, meanwhile, the Drive-In patrons run into some luck when the shooter slips and his bag of guns plummets to the ground, where the majority of the contents fall through a grate and out of reach. 




Salvaging what he can, Bobby bursts through that same door, where he is spotted by Orlok as he fires wildly into the dwindling crowd, hitting Jenny.










And after getting her safely back into the limo, determined to put a stop to this, Orlok marches toward the gunman just as his character on screen does the same. Caught in the middle, unable to tell what’s real and what isn’t, Bobby psychotic break comes full circle as he fires wildly at both the real and unreal until Orlok reaches him and, despite being grazed in the head, beats the shooter senseless with his cane just as Michaels and the police arrive.




As he stares at this sniveling mass, who has regressed into a fetal position, a stunned Orlok asks Michaels was this pathetic and puny thing what he was so afraid of all this time? But once he’s safely in police custody, the shooter once more finds his bravado, bragging how he hardly missed a single target as he’s hustled away. Hail to the new King of Horror indeed.




Then Michaels takes Orlok back to the limo, and they leave to get Jenny to a hospital as we fade out to the following morning, where Bobby’s single abandoned car stands a lone vigil over this ersatz graveyard, where the speaker poles silently marking the graves of everyone he killed during his senseless rampage, as a shadow looms and washes over the landscape, which finally brings us to the end of this simple but effective morality play.




Boris Karloff was a bit of a late bloomer when it came to Hollywood as he was already 44-years old when Frankenstein (1931) premiered, putting the actor well into his 70s by the 1960s, where he had a bit of a revival hosting the TV series Thriller, starred in those Corman pictures, and, of course, narrating Chuck Jones’ animated holiday staple, How the Grinch Stole Christmas (1966). 



He was 80-years old when filming began on Targets, and it's kind of hard to believe the man on screen in The Terror, shot just four years prior, and the actor watching it on film were the same guy.


As a wise old professor once said, it ain’t the years but the mileage. And the mileage Karloff had accrued over those years resulted in chronic rheumatoid arthritis and emphysema -- by now the actor was down to one half of one lung, requiring a wheelchair and forced oxygen between takes. Spending time in that cold water for The Terror didn’t help, nor filming in a damp, chilling fog for the Wuderlak segment in Mario Bava’s Black Sabbath (1963), sending the actor's already declining health into a bit of a tailspin. 



He also suffered from a bad back that had required three major surgeries, which resulted from the brace he had to wear for his role in Frankenstein along with a herniated disc suffered while carrying Colin Clive around the burning windmill for the film’s climax. His legs were also shot -- his right leg was horribly deformed by this point, requiring him to wear braces and use a cane just to move around.


According to Bogdanovich, Karloff was the sweetest man who ever lived, a consummate professional, and never complained once during the harried shoot. He was also the antithesis of his character, never bitter, and was proud of his track record in creature features, saying “The Monster was the best friend I ever had.” The two hit it off, and Karloff agreed to expand his participation past the stipulated two days to five, including a very long night at the Drive-In to get the film’s climax in the can.




But one of the true highlights of the film is Karloff reciting W. Somerset Maugham's short story, The Appointment in Samarra, which he nailed in one single take and received a standing ovation from everyone else on set for his efforts. Karloff would pass barely a year after the film was completed, starring in five more films in the interim, but he was able to see Targets before his death and declared it to be his favorite film.


As for the shooter, Corman originally suggested that Bogdanovich use Jack Nicholson in the role. But the director wasn’t all that impressed by Nicholson’s acting skills at the time and he wasn’t quite the clean-cut All-American Boy he was looking for, which he eventually found in Tim O’Kelly. Targets would be a rare feature for O’Kelly, and after a few episodic TV-credits the actor sort of fell off the map after starring in The Grasshopper (1970).




 

O’Kelly brought the right kind of brash immaturity for Bobby Thompson. To the film’s betterment, Bogdanovich never really spells out why this seemingly normal boy, raised by a seemingly normal family, decided to wake up one morning and start shooting people. There are several bread crumbs lying around, including a fleeting reference that Bobby might be some kind of deranged Vietnam vet, or maybe his feelings of inadequacy (-- I’m convinced he’s lost his job but never told anyone); but Bogdanovich does not dwell on this, letting the audience draw their own conclusions; and instead focuses on what Hannah Arendt referred to as "the banality of evil." This sniper is no monster, just some raging man-child with daddy issues who had easy access to a lot of guns and ammo.


Now, in Bogdanovich and Platt’s original screenplay, Karloff’s character was destined to die about halfway through the film since, at the time, they only had him for two days. But that was before he got notes from Samuel Fuller -- Shock Corridor (1963), The Naked Kiss (1964), who basically rewrote the entire thing in three hours, pacing back and forth, smoking his customary cigar, telling Bogdanovich to write what he wanted and not what the budget dictated -- but to also save his money for the climax to make it big; and it was Fuller’s idea to shot the climax at a Drive-In. But Fuller didn’t want to take any credit, saying if his name showed up they would think he did everything. But as a tribute to Fuller, Bogdanovich named his character after the notorious director, as Samuel Michael Fuller became Sammy Michaels, which Bogdanovich played when the original actor backed out at the last minute and to save even more money for something else.




When Corman read this script, he declared it would be the best thing he'd ever produced but was a little concerned that his novice director would get all the Karloff scenes done in just two days. But with a little cajoling, Corman agreed to pay the actor for the five days. Beyond that, there really wasn’t much of a budget figure, just an order to keep the costs as low as possible. Corman would later throw a huge shit-fit over the miniature drive-in screen that was built for the princely sum of $250, which was needed for the climax so they could use more of The Terror footage as instructed.


Behind the camera, cinematographer Lazlo Kovacs would bring a certain verisimilitude to the proceedings with his intimate set-ups, long tracking shots, and mood lighting. Kovacs had fled Hungary in 1956 with his friend and fellow cinematographer, Vilmos Zsigmond, who both broke into the business working for Ray Dennis Steckler on The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed Up Zombies!!? (1964). And I’m telling ya, all that montage stuff shot at the Reseda Drive-In during the build-up to the climax is due to pure, pure Steckler influence.


 

From there, Kovacs would go on to shoot skin-flicks for Harry Novak -- Kiss Me Quick (1964), Wonderful World of Girls (1965), and Dave Friedman -- A Smell of Honey, a Swallow of Brine (1966), The Notorious Daughter of Fanny Hill (1966), before moving on to the slightly more respectable American International -- Psycho-Out (1968), The Savage Seven (1968), where he met Bogdanovich and started a long working relationship with the fledgling director, who would go on to do What's Up, Doc? (1972) and Paper Moon (1973) together.




Most of the outdoor action scenes were shot without sound to save money, leaving it to sound-designer Verna Fields to piece together multiple tracks to enhance the action, where she added all kinds of throwaway bits like the compressed air of a stubborn pop bottle or the jingle of an ice cream truck trundling by to add a sense of surrealism to the aftermath of Bobby’s initial rampage at the Thompson house. Bogdanovich also made the decision not to use a musical score and just let the action speak for itself, once again leaving it to Fields to pump in some ambient noises to fill in the gaps or to add tension as the only music we hear is on Bobby’s car radio, which cuts in and out as we cut between him and the pursuing cops.


Of course, Targets would be one of the last films Fields would do the sound-design for as she moved to actual film editing, where she would cut What’s Up, Doc? and Paper Moon for Bogdanovich, Medium Cool (1969) for Haskel Wexler, American Graffiti (1973) for George Lucas, and JAWS (1975) for Steven Spielberg, which won her a well-deserved Academy Award.





Platt, meanwhile, on top of helping with script, props, costuming, and scouting locations, was an unofficial producer and in charge of the film’s art and production design. And through her magic, with a little paint and ingenuity, the screening room, the hotel bungalow, the lounge, and the Thompson house were all shot on the same set using the exact same flats. Note, to, the color design, where all of the Orlok sequences are done in warm and welcoming colors while all the Bobby sequences are done in cool blues or stark whites. The goal was to make the house almost fairy tale like, to appear normal to the point of being broken.


As for the director himself, Bogdanovich constantly consulted his own mental rolodex, calling on the experiences and advice of all those directors and technicians he had interviewed over the years as we can see a lot of Hawks, Ford, Hitchcock and Welles in all those long takes, matching pans and dollies, and always cutting on some form of matching movement.




And there’s a lot of Corman in there, too, as a good chunk of the film had to be improvised on the spot or shot guerilla style because, apparently, it was against the law to shoot anything on or near a freeway in California at the time, necessitating a highly coordinated and highly illegal shoot via walkie-talkies to get the sniper set-piece at the refinery as Bobby picks off those passing motorists -- a scene that might’ve been inspired by another recent true-crime incident from a few years prior, where a 16-year-old shot at motorists from a hilltop along Highway 101 just south of Orcutt, California, killing three and injuring 10 before committing suicide, leaving a note behind which vowed to make his parents "die a thousand times in court" for his actions.




And they might’ve made it a little too real as someone saw one of those extras fall as if shot as instructed and called the cops. And with the sound of approaching sirens, with no permits, the crew fled -- but not before Kovacs managed to catch a couple passing patrolmen on film before pulling the plug.


And mixing all of that together, Bogdanovich, who also served as the film’s uncredited editor, shows a well-assured hand for a first time director. This film moves, and its momentum is both harrowing and enticing. Thus, by some minor miracle, after 23-days of shooting -- five with Karloff, two at the refinery, 12 at the Reseda Drive-In, and four for everything else, exhausting his limited budget as he went (-- in the end, it cost about $100,000), Bogdanovich had himself a tight little thriller that he was hesitant to turn over to American International once it was completed, who were ready to sell it under the dubious exploitative title, Blood and Candy. The film was shot under the title Before I Die, and then changed to Human Targets before finally settling on just Targets.


But Corman gave Bogdanovich his blessing to shop the film around first. He found a nibble at Paramount, where it was championed by Robert Evans, and then sealed the deal with a couple of favorable reviews in Variety. Thus, Paramount bought the picture from Corman for $200,000. Unfortunately, by the time it was finally ready to release, the country had suffered through the assassinations of Dr. Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy, giving the studio cold feet, who eventually dumped the movie into theaters in August of 1968, where it didn’t leave much of an impression at the box-office.


However, on the strength of the craftsmanship involved with the filming of Targets, Bert Schneider and Bob Rafelson threw Bogdanovich and Platt a lifeline, saying they were welcome to do something for their BBS Productions anytime they wanted, which resulted in The Last Picture Show (1971), which netted multiple Academy Award nominations, sending Bogdanovich on a meteoric rise as one of Hollywood’s new Young Turks, which led to a critical re-evaluation of his inaugural feature, which I still contend was the best film the director would ever make.


Of course, Bogdanovich’s personal life went into a tailspin not long after this as he and Platt divorced and the director took up with Cybil Shepherd. Sadly, both Bogdanovich and Platt were better together than apart as far as filmmaking goes; and Bogdanovich has taken a lot of grief at the time of this writing over the recent retrospective on Platt by Karina Longworth on the You Must Remember This podcast, which paints the director as a philandering narcissist and an insufferable ass. Honestly, I kinda felt that way about the guy already and got into a bit of a dust-up with one of his defenders on Facebook until I pointed out that even though I felt that way about him some of the best films ever made were done by insufferable, narcissistic assholes.

 

Sure, there were a lot of hands in the pot on Targets, and all of them deserve credit for the film’s myriad merits. But like another independent horror film that came out in 1968, Night of the Living Dead (1968), the lion share of credit over the years went to George Romero and George Romero alone. And yet, if you look at his catalog made without those who participated in Night of the Living Dead, there always seems to be a certain something missing. With Bogdanovich, the differences were even more stark.






Look, let me explain it this way: there’s a scene in Targets during the climax; a scene concocted by Bogdanovich, Platt and Fuller, directed by Bogdanovich, set-dressed by Platt, where Kovacs set the lighting and then moves the camera down a dolly as this take slowly moves from a boy sitting in a car, in obvious shock, looking at something to his left, where the sliding camera finally reveals he’s been staring at his father, whose neck was blown out by one of the sniper’s bullets. On the ambient soundtrack, Fields has the boy crying softly, now off-screen, until there is another shot, and that crying suddenly stops -- the implication clear without showing us a thing. 





That, Boils and Ghouls, is cooperative filmmaking at its finest. Now imagine that kind of tension-building skills on display for 90-straight minutes and you might have some inkling as to how good and disturbing Targets really is, was, and ever shall be.


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's 24 films down with just two, count 'em, TWO more to go. Up next, You'll Find Out. No. Really.


Targets (1968) Saticoy Productions :: Paramount Pictures / EP: Roger Corman / P: Peter Bogdanovich / AP: Daniel Selznick / D: Peter Bogdanovich / W: Peter Bogdanovich, Polly Platt / C: László Kovács / E: Peter Bogdanovich / M: Charles Greene, Brian Stone / S: Tim O'Kelly, Boris Karloff, Peter Bogdanovich, Nancy Hsueh, Tanya Morgan, Mary Jackson, James Brown, Arthur Peterson, Monte Landis, Warren White, Sandy Baron

Hubrisween 2020 :: Y is for You'll Find Out (1940)

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We open at the end -- of the show, that is, as bandleader Kay Kyser wraps up the latest edition of his weekly radio program, whose grand finale allows the spotlight to fall on all of his featured performers: Ginny Simms, Harry Babbitt, Sully Mason, and the dower-faced comedy relief of trumpeter, Ish Kabibble (-- a/k/a Merwyn Bogue). 




Meanwhile, watching all of this from the sponsor's booth, the band's manager, Chuck Deems (O'Keefe), hashes out their next gig with his girl, Janis Bellacrest (Parrish). Seems being Chuck's girlfriend has its perks and advantages; namely having Kyser and the whole gang perform a private show for your 21st birthday party at stately Bellacrest Manor. 



But after the show ends and the theater empties, a sense of foreboding looms and shadowy figures lurk about; and then Janis almost gets flattened by a runaway car! And while Chuck assumes the near hit-and-run driver was drunk, Janis feels something far more sinister is at work as this was her fourth brush with a fatal catastrophe in just as many days.




Now, her growing suspicions of foul play all lead back to one Prince Saliano; a mystical medium, who Janis feels has bamboozled her aunt Margo, to whom Janis' late father -- the renowned explorer Elmer Bellacrest, put in charge of the family fortune until his daughter comes of age. Having convinced her aunt that only he can channel the spirits of the dead, meaning they can communicate with her father, Janis isn't so easily swayed and believes Saliano is nothing but a fake, who is just leeching money from her family -- and part of Janis' plan during the big birthday celebration this weekend is to expose these shenanigans and send the charlatan packing. 




And to those ends, she's also contacted Dr. Karl Fenninger, a famous skeptic and spiritualist debunker, who’s agreed to attend her party as well. So, we got some big band swing, seances, and murder on the playlist. Man ‘o’ man, but if this ain’t shaping up to be one helluva birthday party weekend...

STUDENTS!

Quick: I'll bet you can't name the only movie that stars Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi and Peter Lorre -- a fine triumvirate of the Grand Masters of Horror if I do so declare, and I do, all at the same time? Well, the answer is, You'll Find Out. [You're supposed to say "When?"] No, it's You'll Find Out. [Now get a little indignant and say "Fine. Just tell me when."] Hah. No. You don't understand. The name of the movie is You'll Find Out. [Now get even more indignant and say, "I gave up, already. What is it? I don't have all day, Sparky."] Third base.

Okay, enough of these Abbott and Costello shenanigans, we're talking about David Butler’s You'll Find Out (1940), which was the second movie vehicle for bandleader Kay Kyser and his swinging big band. Here, the Ol' Professor and the collective head of knuckle known as The Kollege of Musical Knowledge goes toe to toe with a trio of super-cool ghouls while trying to survive a dark and stormy night in a secluded haunted mansion, that's honeycombed with death-traps and a ton of secret passages, and put the kibosh on a nefarious murder plot and inheritance grab!


Apparently, James King Kern Kyser couldn't read music, couldn't sing, and couldn't play an instrument (-- and to some he couldn't act, either), but he had such charisma and popularity while attending the University of North Carolina that several friends asked him to be the conductor and front-man for their fledgling musical combo. When Kyser accepted, he adopted his middle initial and Kay Kyser was born. And since the band kinda stunk, they had to overcompensate with the wild antics and stunts from their bandleader to land any gigs.


But over time they got better, adding more experienced musicians, singers, and arrangers -- but kept the stunts and antics in anyway. Blessed with some good vocal talent with Simms, Babbit and Mason, Kyser was also provided a solid comedic foil for his hyperactivity in the form of Merwyn's Ish Kabibble -- which is Yiddish for "What, me worry?" 

And now that I think about it, there is more than a passing resemblance between Merwyn and Mad Magazine's Alfred E. Neumann.

Anyway, as the band improved and started getting steady playdates, it became pretty popular regionally in the 1930s. And one of those steady gigs was at the Blackhawk Club in Chicago, Illinois; and it was there, on amateur night, that Kay's Klass was born, where he would good-naturedly rib and quiz the locals. This would eventually morph into the full-blown and out of control chaos of the Kollege of Musical Knowledge, where contestants competed with each other and the audience for cash prizes. Soon after, the show was picked up nationally and exploded, resulting in eleven number one records and 35 more in the Billboard's Top Ten.

Naturally, Hollywood soon came calling, seven times in total, as Kyser and his band first answered the bell with That's Right -- You're Wrong (1939), which proved to be a big enough hit but was more of a traditional Hollywood musical. But their second feature, You'll Find Out, was going to be a little different. 


Remember, at the time of the production, another phenomenon was taking place in the movies. Comedian and radio personality Bob Hope had just zinged his way through two very successful murder in the haunted mansion mysteries with Paulette Goddard: The Cat and the Canary (1939) and The Ghost Breakers (1940). And Red Skelton would go on to star in similar vehicles as The Fox, starting with the hilarious Whistling in the Dark. (1941); as would Milton Berle in Whispering Ghost (1942). 


Deciding this formula would also provide a good framework for Kyser and his antics, RKO arranged to throw a trio of Boogie-Woogie-Bogeymen at him -- stress on the BOO, who were all waiting, blades sharpened, nooses knotted, and poisons percolating as Kyser’s tour bus bounces toward the secluded Bellacrest mansion. 



Seems the only way to reach it is by a single solitary road that’s bottle-necked by a narrow wooden bridge over an insurmountable chasm, which they cross just as the prerequisite thunderstorm breaks wide open!




Thus and so, as lightning flashes and thunder booms (-- but oddly enough, it never starts raining), while the rest of the band unloads the equipment and sets up, Kay and Chuck take a tour of their kooky venue. And, well, turns out Bellacrest Manor is basically Robert Ripley's wet dream, teeming with exotic and oddball artifacts that were collected by Elmer Bellacrest during his world travels. And some of this collection would prove deadly, as we get some plot specific details about a blow-gun and some poison darts adorning the wall, which will most likely come into play later.




We're then introduced to daffy Aunt Margo (Kruger), who immediately latches on to Kyser, who in turn has a hard time prying her loose. Somehow, Aunt Margo has gotten it into her head that Kyser believes in all this supernatural goobledy-gook, too, and is anxious to "pierce the veil" and talk to the dead with him. 



Also lurking about is Elmer's old partner, Spencer Mainwaring (Karloff).Apparently, Mainwaring was present while Elmer was looting -- sorry, “collecting” artifacts from an African temple when the natives caught him and cashed in his chips. 




Later, after finally detaching Margo from his hip, Kyser finds his assigned bedroom; and while changing for the show, he's spooked by a reflection of someone standing behind him. Meet Prince Saliano (Lugosi), who warns Kyser this house is full of spirits -- and those spirits don't like the skeptical.





Meanwhile, this creepy evening wouldn't be complete without a shadowy, cloaked figure lurking about the house and grounds. And as Janis and Ginny dress for the party, Janis suddenly spots just such a figure lingering outside her window and screams. 




But when Ginny checks outside, whoever it was has disappeared. Here, when Ginny's dress gets caught in the door and is ruined, Janis insists she wear one of her gowns to the party. 



Meantime, in the hallway, through a secret panel hidden behind a mask hanging on the opposite wall, sinister eyes watch their door; and then that plot-specific blowgun slides out of the mask's mouth. When the door opens, the killer, mistaking Ginny for Janis due to that wardrobe malfunction, takes deadly aim! But suddenly, lightning crashes, thunder booms, and the house is plunged into darkness, causing Janis to scream again. This time, her cries bring the whole band a-running.




Luckily, when the lights come on, no one is hurt but Kyser does notice one of those deadly darts sticking in the wall near Ginny's ear. After everyone clears off, Kyser corrals Chuck to show him the dart but, during the confusion, it has mysteriously disappeared. (For the record: the last to leave the scene was Mainwaring.) 



Convinced there’s a killer running loose in this nuthouse, Kyser wants to call off the concert until Chuck reveals Janis' dire situation. No problem, says the cowardly Kyser, who offers they'll just take her with them when they vamoose post-haste.




But as they start to round everyone up to go, the house is abruptly rocked by an explosion! And when the din dies down, Mainwaring announces that a lightning strike has detonated the bridge(!), meaning everyone there is indefinitely stuck. Coincidentally, the phone-lines have conked out as well, he typed ominously.




Now, before the bridge went boom, half of the birthday party guests had already arrived: about a dozen debutantes; and with their beaus all stuck on the other side of the gorge, Harry, Sully, and Ish try to substitute themselves to no avail. And since they're stuck here anyway, Janis talks Kyser into going ahead with the show. He agrees, and several catchy musical numbers later, the whole company adjourns to another room for cocktails.




Here, Janis and Chuck let Kyser in on their plan to expose Saliano. The only problem is their ace, Dr. Fenninger, is probably stuck on the other side of the demolished bridge. But just as they write him off, Mainwaring has a surprise for everyone and introduces Fenninger (Lorre). Fenninger also apologizes to Janis; seems he was the one outside her window earlier, having arrived early, unannounced, to snoop the place out. 




After dinner is announced, as Mainwaring and Fenninger linger behind while the others file into the dining room, their duplicitous nature is exposed when Fenninger angrily asks why the girl is still alive? But Mainwaring says not to worry; he has another scheme for yet another untimely accident for poor Janis. They just need to get Saliano to hold another séance -- and an opportunity presents itself when Kyser stumbles back in, looking for a misplaced cigarette case, allowing Fenninger to trick him into challenging Saliano to prove he isn't a faker. Saliano accepts this challenge, but warns, "To those who scoff, the spirits consider no punishment too drastic."




Setting up in the main ballroom, Saliano's meditation tent is pitched in the center and by each entrance he places a deadly electronic flytrap, meaning anyone trying to enter or leave during the séance will be flash-fried to a crisp. Then, when the lights go down and the festivities commence, as Fenninger and Mainwaring lurk about, Saliano asks for volunteers to sit in a semi-circle and manages to herd Janis into the chair directly underneath the chandelier -- so I'm guessing Saliano must be in on this conspiracy, too. 



After the Mystic enters his tent so he can go into his trance in private(!), what follows, actually, is a fairly effective and creepy sequence as the summoned poltergeist activity turns from playful to sinister before a strange voice sounds-off, announcing it's ethereal presence. 



Then, a ghostly dismembered head of some tribesman appears in the darkness, chanting "I killed Bellacrest" over and over; and when this apparition disappears, it's replaced by the glowing head of Elmer Bellacrest himself!




And as his spirit implores Janis to believe in Saliano, totally entranced, the girl swoons and slips off the chair -- mere seconds before the chandelier falls and crushes it!




Well, having had enough excitement for one night, everyone decides to turn in, revealing Chuck and Kyser have to bunk together. Not taking any chances, they’ve sealed the room before climbing into bed. But when they turn out the lights, a ghostly flame appears -- closer, closer, and closer it comes until it leaps into bed with them, triggering pure pandemonium. But once they get the lights back on, the two men discover it was just Ish Kabbible's dog, Prince, whose tail is covered in a phosphorus paint.




Sussing out the secret passage the dog used to get in their locked bedroom, the duo investigates and manage to get attacked by a stuffed gorilla, stumble into even more secret passages, and then promptly get separated. 




Alone, Kyser finds a hidden control room; and even without the glowing masks of the native and Bellacrest sitting on a shelf it doesn't take a rocket-scientist to figure out that this is the equipment Saliano uses to pull off his trickery. But, you gotta remember who we're dealing with here. 




However, sharper eyes will be rewarded with all kinds of secret toy surprises with this discovery if you look really close at the menagerie of props on Saliano's shelves, where you can spot several stop-motion models left over from King Kong (1933), including several creatures from the notoriously lost Spider-Pit sequence!



Despite all these distractions, Kyser proves up to the task as he tinkers with the controls and realizes everything they saw earlier in the ballroom was remote controlled. He also finds some vital papers; but as he reads, Kyser hears someone coming, stuffs those papers into his pajamas, and hides just as Saliano enters the room. 



But he isn’t there long when an intercom buzzes and he’s ordered to come to somebody's room. When he leaves, Kyser sneaks out behind him. And with this mystery plot almost resolved, all our hero has to do now is discover who that was Saliano talked to.



Well, since we already know, we watch as our three conspirators meet. Realizing their time is running out, Mainwaring has one last ditch idea to bump off Janis and still make it look like an accident. But to do this, Saliano will have to hold yet another séance. The other two are doubtful they can do this without raising suspicions, but Mainwaring says not to worry because Aunt Margo will be the one demanding it. With that, Saliano knows what to do and leaves. Tired of being outwitted by morons, Fenninger warns if this latest plan doesn't work, he'll just use his gun and get it over with.



Entering his secret lair, Saliano flips a few switches and places two microphones near his throat that distorts his voice. Pumping this ghostly Sonovox sound into Aunt Margo's bedroom, while pretending to be Elmer, he demands that Margo gather everyone together because her late brother has something important to reveal to Janis. 



Soon after, everyone else is woken up and herded into the ballroom -- except for Janis and Ginny, whom Chuck and Kyser want safely locked-up in their room with Ish and Sully on guard. Relatively certain Saliano and Mainwaring are behind these attacks, Kyser then makes the mistake of taking Fenninger into his confidence and reveals their plan to take the two bad guys down. 




Thus, using another secret passage to gain entrance into their locked bedroom, a tipped-off Mainwaring attempts to chop Janis' head off with a large scimitar while she sleeps. But Ish wakes up in time to foil this. However, the attack wasn’t a total loss as Janis is now out of the bedroom and will be present for the deadly, and final, séance.



Thus and so, when everyone is present and accounted for, Kyser kicks up some spooky mood music as Saliano enters his tent. In the dark, the bandleader manages to hand off the glowing baton to a decoy and sneaks off to that secret passage he used early to enter Saliano's lair.




And as the séance proper commences, while everyone is transfixed on the ghostly head of Elmer Bellacrest, Fenninger quietly positions one of Saliano's deadly electronic devices behind Janis' chair -- and when he plugs the contraption back in, it will arc across to the one near the tent, frying poor Janis to a cinder.




But down below, Kyser manages to knock out Saliano and takes over the broadcast, warning everyone to get moving 'cuz there's a murderer in their midst. Pandemonium ensues, and Janis bails before the machine can spark off. And when Chuck hits the lights, revealing that Mainwaring was wearing the glowing mask all along, the dastardly villain pulls a gun and manages to duck away into yet another secret passage. 





Entering the control room, Mainwaring starts duking it out with Kyser; and while the men fight below, they trigger all of the equipment, causing all kinds of hell to break loose in the ballroom up above them. Landing a lucky punch, Kyser then escapes up through a trapdoor and into Saliano's tent. Unfortunately, everyone mistakes him for the killer and tackles the tent en masse.



Waving his trademark glasses as a white flag, after they all untangle themselves, Kyser reveals who the killers were and the motive behind it all by showing Janis the papers he found: a codicil to her father's will that states when she turns 21, she becomes the sole executor of her father's fortune. Seems Mainwaring, through Saliano, had been bilking money from Aunt Margo for a long time and knew Janis would put a stop to this; and so, the girl had to go. 




Meantime, Fenninger, whose treachery still hasn't been discovered, offers to go and hold the criminals with his pistol until the authorities arrive. But after he's gone, there's a knock on the window, which leads them to a battered and bruised figure, who claims to be the real Fenninger!




Realizing they've been duped too late, the fake Fenninger, Mainwaring and Saliano return with pistols drawn. Saliano also holds a bundle of dynamite (-- a similar batch took out the bridge, I’d wager). Here, Fenninger announces these daffy interlopers may have spoiled their plans but the crooks will have the last laugh, and get away with it all, by blowing up the house. And once the police get done sifting for bodies, they'll be long gone.




With that, the fuse is lit, the dynamite is tossed, and the criminals escape -- locking everyone else inside the ballroom. (Did I mention the windows were all barred?) Wanting to play fetch, a confused Prince grabs the dynamite but Kay wrestles it out of the dog’s jaws and tosses it out the window. Still confused, the dog bounds after the bundle, retrieves it, and starts to bring it back -- until spotting the fleeing criminals and chases after them instead. 




As Ish calls for his pup to drop the dynamite before it's too late, Prince disappears into the bushes. And after the inevitable explosion, Ish is inconsolable. But as Kay promises to build a shrine for the dog, they hear Prince happily barking and look outside to see he's alive and kicking, and chewing on what's left of Saliano's turban.





And that about wraps up the movie except for one final closing number, where Kyser incorporates Saliano's Sonovox equipment to "Give voice to the instruments." And then one more curtain call by Kyser, but he's quickly disintegrated by Saliano's death-spheres before he can finish.




You know, this movie has taken way too much grief over forcing three horror icons into all that corniness. And You’ll Find Out is one big can of corn -- straight off the cob. But as Kyser would say, "Pop that corn, baby!" And if you give the film a chance, Kyser and the gang visibly improve as things progress; and by the start of the third act he had successfully ingratiated himself to me, which was a nice reward for sticking through that spastic opening act. Of course, I'm a sucker for any kind of big old haunted house movies -- and the more secret passages the better -- no matter who’s involved.


And no doubt about it, RKO Pictures scored themselves a helluva coup by landing Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi and Peter Lorre in the same picture -- especially when you consider Universal hadn’t really started there Monster Rallies of the 1940s yet, starting with Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man (1943). Karloff was pretty much done playing Frankenstein and Universal at this point but is rock solid, as always, if not underused. At the same time, Lorre's stock was on the rise. Mr. Moto was behind him, and a career of getting pushed around by Humphrey Bogart was right around the corner.


And as I mentioned in my review of One Body Too Many (1945), it does the heart good to see Lugosi at least a little healthier and not embarrass himself. There's a great scene where he gets really excited during one of Ginny Simm's numbers, where he's smitten with the girl and really gets into the beat.




After this, Lugosi had a few more supporting bits for the majors but was already on a slippery slope to Poverty Row, where Sam Katzman and Ed Wood were waiting. But of the three, Lorre was the one who steals the show as he constantly gets the upper hand and the last word with our bumbling hero. 



And would you believe -- according to a growing legend, at least, that these three were supposed to have their own musical number together? Allegedly, it was supposed to be a derivative of Ish Kabbible's "The Bad Humor Man" twisted into something along the lines of "We're the Three Bad Humored Men." Truth or bull-twaddle? Who knows, but when the legend is more entertaining than the truth, print the legend, Boils and Ghouls.


A survivor of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, David Butler, the film's producer, writer and director broke into show business in the silents around 1910 as a bit player and extra, appearing in films by D.W. Griffith -- Birth of a Nation (1915), Intolerance (1916), Tod Browning -- The Unpainted Woman (1919), The Wise Kid (1922), and John Ford -- The Village Blacksmith (1922), Hoodman Blind (1923) before moving to directing in 1927 with High School Hero (1927). 


Showing a knack for light comedies and musicals, Butler developed a solid reputation and would work with the likes of Will Rogers -- A Connecticut Yankee (1931), Business and Pleasure (1932), and Shirley Temple -- Bright Eyes (1934), The Little Colonel (1935), as well as the barn-burning pre-code musical, Sunny Side Up (1929).


When the 1940s rolled around, Butler split time between directing for Kyser and Bob Hope -- Caught in the Draft (1941), They Got Me Covered (1942), which is one of my favorite Hope movies, as well as tackling Hope and Bing Crosby’s third Road Picture, The Road to Morocco (1942). And later in the 1950s, he took up with Doris Day for another string of successful musicals -- Tea for Two (1950), Lullaby of Broadway (1951), Calamity Jane (1953). 


Here, for You'll Find Out, the musical numbers were handled well enough but with everything else Butler seemed content to just set back and not get in anybody’s way when it came to the mystery and mayhem.

Also of note, contributing screenwriter James Kern would go on to work for another radio star, Jack Benny, and wrote the oddity to end all oddities for his new boss, The Horn Blows at Midnight (1945), where Benny was an Archangel sent down from heaven to blow his horn -- sounding the beginning of Armageddon! Jack, of course, loses the trumpet. Mayhem ensues.


Circling back to Kyser, it's kind of amazing that -- for as popular as he was during his reign, Kyser and his band is all but forgotten today. He made four more follow-up features -- the best being My Favorite Spy (1942), and his film career officially ended with Carolina Blues (1945). When the United States entered World War II, while Kyser lost several band members to the draft, he was also one of the first entertainers to perform for the troops and was instrumental in setting up the Hollywood Canteen. He also scored one of his biggest hits with a cover of Frank Loesser’s "Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.”

And it was while performing a tour in the Pacific Theater that Kyser made the conscious decision that he would no longer play for money. He was financially set anyway, but seeing the sacrifice the soldiers were making tempered Kyser and his patented style changed drastically, almost overnight. And on top of that, crippling arthritis, personnel changes, and a tragic bus fire that consumed most of their arrangements all contributed to Kyser's abrupt retirement from the public-eye in 1950. And with his wife, singer Georgia Carroll, Kyser retired back to North Carolina and devoted all of his energies toward his faith as a Christian Scientist. He would pass away in relative anonymity in 1985 at the age of 80.


Thus, on top of the three bogeymen, You'll Find Out also serves as a nice time capsule for Kyser, his band, and his style of music, which is pretty damned catchy. It was a different era and a different kind of sound, sure. I get that. But some people just can't get past this fact. Whatever. I just don't think the movie is all that bad. In fact, the more I find out about You'll Find Out, the more and more I dig it. 


Well, if you don't know what Hubrisween is by now, Boils and Ghouls, I don't think I can help you. Anyhoo, that's 25 films down with only one, ONE, more left to go. Up next, Ah, shit. We're back in Zombie sequel territory again. AGAIN!


You’ll Find Out (1940) RKO-Radio Pictures / P: David Butler / D: David Butler / W: James V. Kern, David Butler / C: Frank Redman / E: Irene Morra / M: Roy Webb, George Dunning, Johnny Mercer, / S: Kay Kyser, Peter Lorre, Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi, Helen Parrish, Dennis O’Keefe, Ginny Simms, Harry Babbitt, Sully Mason, Ish Kabibble

Hubrisween 2020 :: Z is for Zombie 5: Killing Birds (1987)

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Since this movie fails most epically to make this even remotely clear, whose confusion is compounded even further by the anachronistic model of semi slowly rolling toward us on a lonely stretch of road, I will clue you all in that we’re supposed to be back in 1965 as a hitchhiking Vietnam veteran, still dressed in his fatigues, hops out of the rig and makes his way into the surrounding bayou on foot. 




Mustered out and returning home, we see by his insignia that this man was a Lieutenant in the 101st Airborne Division, whose mascot is a Screaming Eagle, which seems appropriate when he reaches his palatial home and we see half of it has been dedicated to an aviary filled with all manner of different species of birds -- both foreign and domestic.




And while the soundtrack is needling toward the ominous as the soldier reaches into his duffel-bag, he only pulls out a small wrapped present. And as we once again struggle to read the scene properly, I believe we are to presume this is a surprise homecoming visit and the present was meant for the man’s wife -- whom he finds in their bed, sound asleep, cuddled up beside another man like a couple of spoons ... Uh-oh.





None too happy about this turn of events, in a fit of rage, the veteran pulls out his combat knife and slices the other man’s throat while he sleeps. He then leaves this bloody mess for his sound-sleeper of a wife to wake up to, who screams and panics, and then tries to call for help -- but he apparently took out the phone lines, too. 




And then her terrible no good very bad day continues when her car won’t start either. Here, the husband finally reveals himself, and then chases her into the aviary and makes with the stabby, stabby, stabby.




But then an older couple shows up with a baby -- again, you will have no clue who these people were supposed to be until the closing credits. Thus and so, I will help out the audience once more, and reveal these folks are the late wife’s parents and the baby is their little boy, whom they had been babysitting and were returning home. 





Well, better make that they were her parents, as the dad gets a knife planted in his skull, and then the mom leads our deranged vet on a merry chase into the woods, where she is finally rundown and gets her throat slit from ear to ear. But the baby is spared for now at least.





Moving back to the house, the man then proceeds to destroy every caged bird that isn’t a raptor. (We’ll assume those were the wife’s.) Now, this proves a tad counterproductive as he continues to clean up the crime scene, when one of the hawks takes all this murder personally, swoops over, and claws one of the man’s eyes out rather gruesomely.





Now, I'm gonna pause here for a little more conjecturing on behalf of the audience. So, see, what I think might've actually happened here, as once again, with this movie, who the hell knows for sure, but, while he was trying to stab his wife, our killer accidentally stabbed and killed one of the raptors when its stand got knocked over. And then later, as he was cleaning up the blood, we zoom in on another raptor, who I think we're supposed to realize is suddenly overcome with a vision or memory of the now dead raptor, and then moved to his avenge its friend or maybe mate. Or something. *sigh* This [expletive deleted] movie.



Anyhoo, cut to a hospital, where the man, now totally blind, has been treated for his wounds and taken into custody; but he’s allowed to say goodbye to his baby boy before being hauled away to jail and the child is surrendered to social services.



Keeping with the theme, what follows next isn’t much of a transition; and so, a chronal alert is probably in order that we are now in the present day -- circa 1987; and according to a handy sign, on the campus of Loyola University, which is located deep in the heart of Louisiana bayou country, where if the heat don't kill ya, the humidity will gladly finish you off. Here, we meet Steven Porter (Watts), an ornithology major, who just got word that his grant was approved, meaning full-funding for an expedition into the wild to try and locate and document the endangered Ivory Billed Woodpecker before the species inevitably goes extinct within the next few years.




And with that, Steve tours the campus to round-up his team for this scientific endeavor, starting with his friend, Paul (Villemaire), a photographer, and his assistant / girlfriend, Mary (Cumming). He then seeks out Rob (Sutterfield), an amateur 8-bit computer animated porn enthusiast, who will use his tech-skills to correlate all the data they gather on his handy portable computer (-- a proto-laptop IBM PC Convertible 5140, which resembles more of an old whang ‘n’ banger typewriter to me), to try and narrow down the search parameters for the elusive bird. And then there’s Jennifer, who is Steve’s assistant and maybe his girlfriend; or she wants to be his girlfriend or, hell, I don’t know.


Also shoehorning her way into this expedition is Anne (Wendel), a reporter for the campus newspaper, who wants to cover Steve’s efforts, thinking it will make a good story. Now, I believe Anne also used to be Steve’s girlfriend -- stress on the “used to be,” who may or may not have fanagled her way onto this trip just to try and hook back up with him. Maybe. Again, movie, a little help here?





Either way, Jennifer always seems to get a little defensively pissy whenever Anne is around. And she almost lucks out when Steve first refuses to allow Anne to join them until the crack newshound reveals how she was able to track down the last three known people to have actually seen a bona fide Ivory Billed Woodpecker in the wild.




Thus, Anne is now in, and then the expedition is rounded out by Brian (Maggiore), a park ranger, who came with the van, and who will serve as their trail guide as they venture deep into the swamps and bayous in search of their rare prey.



But once they hit the road, turns out Anne’s big scoop wasn’t much of a scoop after all because of those three witnesses she located (-- technically, her bullied assistant did the heavy lifting on this), one of them is dead, another now lives in California, and the third, Dr. Fredric Brown, is now blind according to her (assistant's) research.



Now, Anne has a full dossier on Brown’s sketchy history but isn’t too keen on sharing what she knows with the others for … reasons. (If I had to guess, I’d say it has to do with why we never saw the killer’s face in the prologue -- he typed ominously....) Anyhoo, Steve still thinks it might be worth talking to the guy. And when they arrive at his house, Steve tells the others to wait in the van and he’ll go talk to him alone. Not a chance, says Anne, who once more bullies her way into another fact-finding mission with Steve, which really pisses off Jennifer as she gets left behind with a “snooze you lose” smirk from her rival.




Alas, no one appears to be home when they knock, but the door proves unlocked, which is an open invitation for Anne to barge right on in. But as they snoop around the house, it becomes readily apparent that they aren’t alone. Then suddenly, a man startles them from behind. And when they spin around, they are greeted with quite the gruesome sight:



For you see, the reason Dr. Brown (Vaughn) has gone blind was due to some massive eye-trauma. Like, say, oh, I don’t know, a horked-off bird ripped them out of their sockets?



That’s right, Boils and Ghouls; the man they sought was none other than the deranged Vietnam vet who murdered his wife, his wife’s lover, and her parents some 20 years ago. As to why is this man not still in jail for multiple murder? Oh, we’ll be getting to that, believe me. That, and plenty more rock-stupid twists yet to come, which we will effort to unravel when we come right back after the hows and whys. Ergo, insert the standard outro ellipsis right about here...


Now, with all the quantum leaps in plot logic, the failure to properly establish shifts in time, and an overall narrative that seems to be stitched together with vague ideas and the barest of notions, I could understand why a lot of you might think Zombie 5: Killing Birds (1987) was written and directed by our old pal Claudio Fragasso, who, you remember, was partially responsible for Zombie 3 (1988) and who was totally responsible for Zombie 4: After Death (1989), which were technically made after this latest sequel anyway, adding a whole ‘nother layer of confusion to this damnably confounding franchise.


But this one actually wasn’t Fragrasso’s fault -- well, maybe, as he would later claim the general idea for the film was stolen from him and his usual partner in crime, Rossella Drudi. (More on this in a sec.) In fact, no one knows for sure who really did direct Zombie 5, as that dubious honor is currently under dispute between Claudio Lattanzi and another well-known purveyor of crap, Aristide Massaccesi -- better known to the world as one Joe D’Amato, who was responsible for things like Erotic Nights of the Living Dead (1980), Antropophagus (1980), Ator, the Fighting Eagle (1982), and a metric-ton of Emmanuelle (1974) sequels -- some legit, others not so much.


Now, according to most unearthed sources, Zombie 5:Killing Birds officially began life around Christmas of 1986, when Lattanzi wrote up a treatment for a film called Il cancello obsoleto (The Obsolete Gate), which concerned a record producer inviting a rock band to some deserted house, where they would record a new hit album, unaware a squad of Nazi soldiers were also buried there, who rise from the grave and run amok.

Lattanzi was a protege of Michele Soavi, serving as an assistant director on Dario Argento's World of Horror (1985) documentary and the truly mesmerizing StageFright (1987), which had been produced by D’Amato for Filmirage. Filmirage and D’Amato were also interested in producing Lattanzi’s idea, too, which Soavi was initially attached to as a director -- only to back out when he was offered to make another sequel to Demons (1985) for Argento, which eventually morphed into The Church (1989).


From there, things get a little murky. In a later interview, Lattanzi stated at this point D’Amato asked for a complete overhaul on his treatment, and was instructed to remove the rock band and the Nazi zombies and replace them with a scientific expedition and killer birds -- perhaps to cash in on Rene Cardona Jr.’s El ataque de los pájaros (1987), which was released on home video as Beaks: The Movie, where our fine feathered friends go berserk en masse and start attacking people. He complied, changing the title to Artigli (Talons), which D’Amato rejected, saying it sounded too much like a documentary about felines and settled on Uccidere gli uccelli -- Killing Birds


This treatment was then expanded into a screenplay by Daniele Stroppa, who had written Convent of Sinners (1986) for D’Amato and Delirium (1987) for Lamberto Bava, which was punched up for English speaking audiences by Sheila Goldberg, who had done the same for StageFright, Argento’s Phenomena (1985) and Umberto Lenzi’s Ghosthouse (1986). Later, both Fragrasso and Drudi claimed the original idea for the film came from them, but there is signed documentation that proved otherwise; and so, the treatment came from Lattanzi with an assist from Bruna Antonucci, which officially settles who wrote Killing Birds / Zombie 5 but not who directed it.


Yeah, we kinda got a Steven Spielberg or Tobe Hooper Poltergeist (1982) situation here. And while Lattanzi is the credited director, others say that, no, D’Amato was in charge. According to Antonio Bonifacio, Killing Birds’ assistant director, Lattanzi was just a front for D’Amato, who could not be credited as both producer and director on too many films due to union rules. Lattanzi had no idea how to direct, said Bonifacio, but D’Amato had him on set “in case a journalist or anyone else dropped by.” And it was this way from the beginning, meaning D’Amato didn’t take over mid-production when Lattanzi floundered as other sources claim.


Lattanzi, meanwhile, always stated the film was a total collaboration between the two, done "in symbiosis.” D’Amato himself never denied this, saying, "It seemed to me that the most sensible thing was to give the job of directing the dialogues to (Soavi's) assistant, Claudio Lattanzi, while I took care of the special-effects scenes. In the end, I let (Lattanzi) sign as the director.” And for the record, D’Amato would also serve as the film’s cinematographer under the name Fred Sloniscko Jr., which was one of his many aliases, including Arizona Massachusset, Michael Wotruba, David Hills, Robert Yip and Joan Russell.

Again, I’m not sure why anyone would want to stake a claim as being responsible for Zombie 5: Killing Birds because it contains no zombies and only one bird attack, which happens in the first five minutes of the film; though our protagonists are constantly under surveillance by these alleged avian adversaries, which leads to absolutely nothing. Oh, sure, I think Lattanzi and D’Amato want us to think these vengeful birds are influencing what’s been happening but I think I’m about done connecting the dots for these yo-yos.




At face value, what we have here then is a ghost story, wrapped up in a few slasher tropes, that also wants to be a killer animal movie. It also tries really hard at being a mystery, too, but this is totally bungled from the get-go as our co-directors try to hide the fact that the killer from the prologue and Dr. Brown was the same person, which might have been suspenseful if handled properly when these plot threads collide, but, nope.


Thus, this only causes more confusion instead of clearing anything up -- like, Why isn’t Brown still in jail? Well, get this: apparently, before the bird gouged out his eyes, Brown hid all the bodies of his victims; and with no bodies, the authorities couldn’t make any murder charges stick and he was set free. However, he did lose custody of his child. At least I think that’s what we are to assume since, once again, again, the film just kinda lets this plot turd float in the ether.



And while he did lose his eyesight to one of them, Brown still has a passion for birds; only he now “watches them” by listening to them and recording and analyzing their calls, which he then demonstrates for his uninvited guests after he puts on a pair of dark glasses to hide his off-putting deformity.



Asked what brought them to see him, Steve wants to know anything the man can tell him about the Ivory Billed Woodpecker. But Brown says that’s a lost cause, fearing the bird is now long gone. But as they thank him for his time and move to leave, Brown has a sudden change of heart and says to wait as he moves to a bureau and starts rifling through a drawer.




Here, a curious Anne spots a photo of a woman among the jumbled contents and starts to ask about it -- only to be interrupted by Steve, feeling she’s being rude since the man obviously can’t see what she's talking about. When Brown finally finds what he was feeling for, he hands over a file folder full of maps, saying these will help them in their search, and then sends them on their way with a sincere hope that Steve finds what he is looking for -- and by sincere I mean odds are good if Steve follows that map he and the others will most likely never be seen alive again.




On the way back to the van, Anne gets upset at Steve for not letting her follow through on the photo. When asked why it was so important, Anne finally reveals what she knew all along about Brown and his family’s “disappearance” after he returned from a tour in Vietnam. Was this photo of Brown’s dead wife? Anne sure seems to think so, and wanted to confirm this before Steve blew it for her. (For the record, it was.)





But this intriguing thread is then summarily dropped for an extended montage of Steve’s crew out in the mucklands, happily photographing and documenting a bunch of birds -- only the one they seek remains stubbornly elusive. But as the day drags on, they slowly realize they have somehow become hopelessly lost. 



Now technically, this was not Bryan, the guide who came with the van’s, fault as they make mention of a thick fog that sprung from nowhere -- only there is no fog. Seriously. There’s nary a vapor. But! The filmmakers apparently subbed in some Vaseline smeared over the lens to simulate, well, something that really doesn’t look like fog. At all.




Anyhoo, as this bunch of boobs stumble around in the broad smears of daylight as if they can’t see a foot in front of their face, trying to find the van, they find a derelict and rusted out truck instead. And upon further investigation, they find a rotted corpse manning the cab! 




And as the screams erupt from the womenfolk, panic grips the whole expedition as they bolt away, deeper into the marshes and wetlands, until they come upon a palatial house in the middle of nowhere.





With not much daylight left, the decision is made to seek shelter there for the night and resume the search for the van in the morning. After they get inside and determine it’s been long deserted, we get another montage of their extensive search of the house -- from the old generator in the basement, to the cobwebs in the attic, and all points in between.




But it’s Jennifer who makes the most ominous discovery, when she finds the long abandoned aviary, meaning our group has stumbled into the murder-house from the opening prologue -- only they don’t know this.




Meantime, as Bryan, the guide who came with the van, and Rob fight to get the stubborn generator to fire up -- an OSHA nightmare contraption that is basically a Stephen King novel just waiting to happen, which finally complies, Anne and Mary find a duplicate photo of the one in Brown’s drawer, which reveals Brown and his wife from a happier time. 



But as Anne studies it intently, a mold outbreak of some sort quickly blots out the whole picture as if by magic --(or a shitty special effect). She then joins the others in the main room, where they discover Steve is missing.





And where is Steve? Well, the better question might be when is Steve as he is apparently lost in some kind of phantasmagorical time loop as he searches the house, enters a room, and is suddenly transported back to 1965, where he finds the bloody after math of Brown's rampage.




He then hears a strange tapping coming from the next room, where he spies Brown feeling his way into the house. Terrified of him for some reason, Steve quickly flees into the aviary, once again teeming with birds, where he finds a zombified woman preparing a bottle for her baby. 




Terrified by this, he flees back into the house proper, where where he finds Anne crucified onto the wall with her throat slit -- who then smiles at him! With that, the sinister house, which had been giving off bad vibes to him ever since they arrived, essentially herds him deeper inside by blowing open doors until the last one swings open to reveal the others impatiently waiting for him in the main hall.




But before you can ask, What the hell is going on here?!?, the others decide to call it a night. Unaware that some thing is now lurking around outside the house, Paul and Mary split off on their own. Steve is too wired from his waking nightmare to sleep, and so Rob decides to stay up, too, tinkering with his portable computer, which is currently on the fritz. Meantime, Anne asks Jennifer if she’d like to bunk together, which gets her a big fat hell no.




Yeah, Jen has been fuming all day as Anne and Steve got chummier and chummier as it went along. And now she is so mad, the girl storms off by herself, back to the aviary, where she runs into some kind of zombie-mummy-moss monster hybrid, which attacks her. 





But the girl manages to retreat into a pantry, where she doesn’t realize another soggy ghoul was already hiding, who proceeds to bash her head into the wall until it's nothing more than a bloody wet pulp.




Now, all this while, Mary gets startled awake by a terrible dream she was having, where a man in combat fatigues found her in bed and sliced her throat open. Shaken, she moves to the window and sees Jennifer as she first enters the aviary.



From there, her point of view is a bit obscured but the girl is certain something is attacking Jennifer and tries to wake up Paul so they can go and save her.



Meantime, Anne and Steve are talking and rekindling a few old flames. Obviously, Steve is still freaked out a bit about his earlier ghostly encounter, and he confesses to Anne there’s something strangely familiar about this place just as Mary and Paul burst in and say something has happened to Jennifer.



But a quick check of the aviary and surrounding rooms show no sign of her -- though they do miss her broken and bloodied glasses discarded on the floor. Thus, they split up and start searching the rest of the house. 




Now, Bryan, the guide who came with the van, gets to search the basement, where he notices the old generator is leaking fuel all over the floor. And as he continues to search for the missing girl, the man doesn’t realize a small, zig-zagging line of flame is slowly trailing him. 





And when it finally catches up, Bryan, the guide who came with the van, erupts in flames and goes screaming into the night -- quite the spectacular stunt, I might add. Kudos to the stuntman involved on the full body burn here.



Anyhoo, the other groups see Bryan, the guide who came with the van who is now on fire, as the human fireball disappears into the trees. And with a bit of a callous shrug, the search for the still missing Jennifer continues, though most are starting to feel there is something seriously wrong with this house, and maybe, just maybe, they should all just leave.



And, hey! Lookatthat! The fog machine is finally working as Paul and Rob stumble around in the thick mist, looking for their missing friend, and come upon the van! But then they hear Mary scream, which sends them running back to the house.



Seems she and the others have finally found what's left of Jennifer. And with that, when the others are alerted that the van has been found, it's unanimously agreed that they all need to get the hell out of there.




But Rob insists he must return to the evil house one last time to retrieve his precious computer first. This he does, while the others load up in the van, where they realize Bryan, the guide who came with the van, who was on fire, and is now most likely dead, had the keys.  




Luckily, after Rob gets in and out  of the house from hell okay, he says he can hot-wire the van and sets to work crossing-wires. But he's soon interrupted when the vehicle comes under assault by not one, but two, zombie-mummy-moss monsters!




And after one of these creatures punches out a back window, seizes Mary, and partially rips her head off, the van is quickly abandoned and the last four survivors -- Steven, Anne, Rob and Paul, return to the possessed house. 



And while the others start ripping up floorboards to barricade the doors and windows, Rob starts running a new program on his computer, certain it can help them figure out and how to solve just what in the hell is going on here.




But his work is interrupted when the generator conks out, forcing Rob and Paul to head to the basement to try and get it running again. And while he does manage to patch the leak and refill the reservoir with what precious fuel is left, when the machine is cranked back up, the compass Rob was wearing around his neck gets caught up in the gears, sucking him into the machine, where part of his hand is torn apart before the tightening strap caught around his neck essentially decapitates him.




Upstairs, Anne and Steve check on Rob’s abandoned computer, which was beeping incessantly. But all the screen says is, Welcome home, Steve. Then, Paul returns and makes his dreadful after action report just as those muck-monsters start trying to break down the door. 




But while the barricades seem to hold, the creatures then eschew the doors and windows altogether and just burst through the walls instead, seizing Anne! Working fast, the men are able to free her, allowing them to retreat up into the attic.




This only proves a brief respite though, as another creature punches-in through the roof, seizes Paul by the head and pulls him up through the jagged hole, where he promptly gets stuck while his throat is torn out. 




Thus and so, as their dead friend hangs there, swinging gently in the breeze, Anne and Steve, who believes this was all somehow his fault, brace for the worst.



Meantime, Dr. Brown, whose fault all of this really is, hears a certain raptor calling and realizes he's heard that screech before, and it was the same bird who had attacked him 20 years ago. (Note to self. Do not Google life-expectancy of raptor birds. Wait. Maybe both birds are ghosts now?) He also seems to sense something terribly bad has happened at his old house, grabs his walking stick, and heads off into the bayou to meet his fate. 




Meanwhile, as the sun comes up, the creature attacks seem to have abated and Steve and Anne decide to risk it and manage to escape the attic unscathed. Here, they run into Brown, who takes a bit of a last second plot dump, saying the house is possessed by evil that feeds on the fear of others. And the stronger the fear, the more powerful and deadly the malevolent spirits become.



And after confirming Steve’s parentage, Brown then tells the other two to go, saying the house doesn’t want them. No. He knows what it really wants and definitely stays behind, feeling no one can fear what they cannot see,




But as Steve and Anne flee the house, they look back when we suddenly hear Brown screaming, which is quickly drowned out by the cacophony of the swarming, vengeful birds as the frame freezes and the end credits roll.





Zombie 5: Killing Birds was filmed on location in Thibodaux, Louisiana, with a very small crew. The main shooting location might look a little familiar to you, too, as it was the same house used in Lucio Fulci’s The Beyond (1981). It was also shot in sync-sound with no overdubbing, which was actually pretty rare for an Italian production of this budget.



But the production’s big get was Robert Vaughn, who plays the older Brown. Taking a detour between productions in Manila and Spain, to his credit, the actor was very professional and didn’t mail anything in. And the only real problem I had with his character was the special make-up for his damaged eyes, which someone rightfully pointed out looks like “he got to the set late and had to put it on himself without the benefit of a mirror.” Special-effects artists Robert Gold and Harry Harris fared a little better in the eye-gouging scene, which is delightfully gruesome -- because no one does eyeball trauma better than the Italians.




The rest of the grue during the myriad murder set-pieces were also pretty spectacular -- though they were all telegraphed pretty badly in earlier scenes, with special mention for Rob’s, who is ground up in the generator, and Mary’s, who is torn up in the van, while Paul’s is a pretty shameless group at reenacting a set-piece from D’Amato’s notorious Anthropophagus. And while I wouldn’t technically call them zombies, I thought those muck monsters were pretty cool.

To be fair, I don’t think they were ever intended to be zombies in the first place but the malevolent manifestations of those people Brown had killed, which were in turn resurrected by the birds if I'm reading the tea leaves right. And to be even more fair, Killing Birds wasn’t officially roped into being an unofficial Zombie (1979) sequel until it was released on home video in the aughts, explaining how the feature predates both Zombie 3 and Zombie 4.

Now, I know I’ve already talked ad nauseum about the convoluted history of this franchise in my earlier reviews of Zombie, Zombie 3 and Zombie 4: After Death, and why there is technically no Zombie 2 even though there is. Sort of. But to sum up (and taking a deep breath):


It all began when Argento recut George Romero’s Dawn of the Dead (1978) for its Italian release as Zombi, which sprung an unofficial sequel with Fulci’s Zombi 2, which was then released in the States by Jerry Gross as Zombie, and when Fulci made Zombi 3, which was his long awaited sequel to Zombi 2, which was released as Zombie, remember, and extensively reworked by Fragrasso and Bruno Mattei, it was released as Zombie 3 everywhere else, explaining where Zombie 2 went, sort of, which was then followed up by Fragrasso’s Zombie 4: After Death, and from there, we get into home video releases, where no less than 14 films staked a claim to being a sequel to Zombi 2 / Zombie, including Andrea Bianchi's Burial Ground (1981), which was released on VHS as Zombi 3: Nights of Terror; and Marino Girolami's Zombie Holocaust (1980) used both aliases of Zombi 3 and Doctor Butcher M.D, and José Luis Merino’s The Hanging Woman (1973) also later passed as Zombie 3: Return of the Living Dead, and don’t forget Mattei’s Hell of the Living Dead also circulated as both Zombie 3: Zombie Inferno and as Zombi 4, while Jess Franco’s A Virgin Among the Living Dead (1973) also, you guessed it, was released as Zombi 4, which brings us to part five, where we got both Killing Birds and Zombi 5: Revenge in the House of Usher (1982), and then came Zombi 6: Absurd (1986), and then came Zombi 7: Anthropophagus, which we’ve already discussed. Got all of that? Good.



As for Killing Birds or Zombie 5 or Zombie 5: Killing Birds or whatever, well, honestly, it had a pretty decent premise that was then totally bungled in the execution -- aside from a few of those spectacular kills. Like with a lot of Italian genre films it has its own internal logic that adds a whole 'nother layer of WTF to unravel -- namely when you start getting into the preternatural anthropomorphic bird angle. Yup. Wasn't the spirit of his dead wife out to get Brown and the others, but a falcon out to avenge his buddy from beyond the grave. But it’s more frustrating than bad, if that helps at all. And with this franchise, as it grinds on indefinitely, I will take all the help I can get. 


And that, as this kids say, is that. 26 days. 26 films. 26 reviews. Finis. Hope you all enjoyed this not so brief resurrection as much as I did, my ever faithful Boils and Ghouls. Will I ever return again? No man can say for sure. Happy Hallowe'en, one and all. And then, just like that, as if he were an apparition fading in the sunlight after a long and harrowing night, he was gone.


Zombie 5: Killing Birds (1987) Filmirage :: Flora Film / P: Joe D'Amato / D: Joe D'Amato, Claudio Lattanzi / W: Claudio Lattanzi, Daniele Stroppa, Sheila Goldberg / C: Joe D'Amato / E: Kathleen Stratton / M: Carlo Maria Cordio / S: Lara Wendel, Timothy W. Watts, Leslie Cumming, James Villemaire, Sal Maggiore, James Sutterfield, Lin Gathright, Brigitte Paillet, Nona Paillet, Robert Vaughn

We Live ... Again. Well, Sort Of.

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And so, our film journey begins anew at our new site, Confirmed Alan_01, where we finally try to herd all of my old film reviews, scattered all over the web these past 20 years, into one central location, add some spit and polish, and then republish them. Because, yes, I am THAT anal. So, yeah, mostly old stuff -- from the myriad blogs, the old website, even an old newspaper column. Some completely overhauled, most are expanded, and a few aborted reviews that never quite got finished. And, if I ever get the urge, there might even be a few brand new reviews showing up now and again.

The Rehashed Reviews thus far:

The Amazing Colossal Man (1957)

Creature from the Haunted Sea (1961)

Roy Colt and Winchester Jack (1970) 

Beyond the Doors (1984) 

Roustabout (1964) 

So Evil, So Young (1961) 

Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story (1988) 

So, Boils and Ghouls, come and give a read, won't you? Thank you. 

Looking for Something Spooky to Read this Halloween?

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Hello, Boils and Ghouls. Long time, no read. So, about five years ago, I decided to try my hand at writing some fiction again, hoping to get published in an anthology of Ghost Stories whose theme revolved around hauntings near water. And, well, I really threw myself into it -- like, really, really into it and wound up with something way too long to meet the submission requirements. Thus and so, with something way too long for a short story and way too short for anything else, I kinda sat on this piece, unsure what to do with it, but have finally decided to just publish it online myself. And so, for your reading pleasure, I give you, One In, One Out, which turned out less a spooky ghost story and more of a slow-burn creature feature instead. And lets call it an R-Rated story for some dicey language and a few adult themes for those not into such things. Beyond that, please do enjoy this morbid tale of a trip to the lake that goes >slightly< awry that you can read right here. Thanks.

Hello, All! Been a While, Hasn’t It? Sit Down, Grab a Brew, and I'll Tell You What We've Been Up to Lately.

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Greetings, Boils and Ghouls, long time no see. Well, I guess we can count this one as a Shameless Plug to help those who wound up here and herd them over to our more recent online endeavors at Confirmed, Alan_01. (Yes. That's a TRON reference.)

Anyhoo, we just completed an exhaustive two part series on Rene Daalder's Massacre at Central High (1976), where we explained the circumstances of how a Dutch filmmaker, an independent distributor out of Chicago, and Russ Meyer of all people came together for one strange little bugaboo of a movie; then try to unravel how a film that was specifically commissioned to be as equally grisly as The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1973), with a near double-digit body count, wound up instead an odd and offbeat lesson in civics and an all-out political allegory on the rise and fall of the Third Reich; and then decide if it works and ultimately unravel the film's treacherous path from obscurity to Cult Filmdom. 

We also just completed a retrospective / memorial on the early film career of Roger Corman, with completely overhauled and updated reviews on The Gunfighter (1950), The Beast with a Million Eyes (1950), It Conquered the World (1956), Rock All Night (1957),Creature from the Haunted Sea (1961), X! The Man with the X-Ray Eyes (1963), and a brand new review of The Terror (1963), where we skewer the myth that the production tales of Corman's movies always proved more interesting / entertaining than the film they made. Sort of. We also did a massive update on our old 3B Theater review of Corman's Teenage Caveman (1958)

Here's a list of what we've published so far, including a two-part look at Phil Karlson's Framed (1975) and the rise and fall of Joe Don Baker. And I encourage you, Gentle Readers, that even if you've already read my take on these movies before, each entry has been extensively rewritten and updated -- like these reviews of Ghost in the Invisible Bikini (1966), Beginning of the End (1957) and Under the Rainbow (1981) -- with an emphasis on proper attribution on a lot of those phantom quotes that have plagued my writing for years. (My bad. Working on it. And now with at least 30% less grammatical atrocities.) 

Of course, I'm posting this right before I take off on the usual September Sabbatical, but that also means we'll return in October with something I refer to as Not Quite Hubrisween, where we do a marathon of specific and seasonally appropriate genre films. (Not 26 films though. I'm way too old for that anymore. Wow. How I managed to pull that off for so long is beyond me.) Also of note, we've resurrected The Morgue and the Poster Archive as well.

The end game / goal is to get all of my online writings finally in one place -- with even a few brand new reviews sprinkled in. (All of the old content will remain as is where it is.) And I wouldn't even call these things reviews anymore. Essays maybe? Term papers? Sermons? Treatise? Mindless Ramblings with an Occasional Anecdote? Desperate cries for help? That's me shrugging right now. Either way, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!