- Original theatrical poster - image courtesy of Wikipedia
Those who bemoan the market saturation of particular kinds of movies -- sequels, remakes, superhero adaptations and what have you -- should take some comfort in the fact that these trends are by no means new. The avalanche of science fiction films in the 1950s might be the best example of such covered ground. Presented here are capsule reviews of ten lesser known films from that era, presented chronologically.
Gog. Dir. Herbert L. Strock. Perf. Richard Egan, Constance Dowling, Herbert Marshall. United Artists, 1954. Running Time: 85 min. 2 out of 5 stars (no halves).
I’d like to have sat in on the production meeting when this title was decided upon. Among the lesser films to warn us of malevolent artificial intelligence, this Cold War bit of hokum is interesting more for its attempts at providing a credible scientific context than anything of real dramatic interest.
Gog and Magog are advanced twin robots at a nuclear facility in New Mexico, where a series of deadly malfunctions is eventually traced to the infiltration of enemy forces, but not before the two ‘bots turn psycho. Seen six decades later, the depiction of developing technology smacks of cliched naivety, but Gog is a creaky experience any way you cut it.
The Beast of Hollow Mountain. Dir. Edward Nassour, Ismael Rodríguez. Perf. Guy Madison, Patricia Medina, Carlos Rivas, Mario Navarro. United Artists, 1956. Running Time: 81 min. 3 out of 5 stars (no halves).
This science fiction-horror-western hybrid never quite escapes its genre skin, but it certainly gets points for trying. A few landmark designations are in order: this is the first movie to use stop-motion animation in a widescreen format, as well as the first to feature cowboys and dinosaurs side by side.
An Allosaurus is alive in Mexico, snacking on cattle whose disappearances the locals have been chocking up to quicksand. The motions of the plot are pretty standard, but some gorgeous panoramic compositions and effective, empathetic dinosaur animation (it’s pretty close to being anatomically correct, too) make this an item of passing curiosity.
Rodan Dir. Ishiro Honda. Perf. Kenji Sahara, Yumi Shirakawa, Akihiko Hirata, Akio Kobori. Toho, 1956. Running Time: 82 min. 1 out of 5 stars (no halves).
In 1954, Ishiro Honda directed the original Godzilla and changed movie culture forever. Two years later, the next in a line of franchise-building entries, Rodan, was released, and Honda proved that a giant monster movie could be just as tedious and lethargic as Godzilla was smart and engaging. The lead-up to the reveal of the titular pterodactyl-like beasts is a particular buzzkill in this kaiju entry; the exposition is marked by dialogue that talks down to even the children in the audience, and generally rolls along like a car with anvils for wheels.
Initially, giant, prehistoric insects (are there any other kind?) are picking off the workers in a mining town, but they’re nothing compared to the giant eggs waiting to hatch deep within the caves. Some fine miniature work makes for worthwhile spectacle during the windswept climax, but the hokey pokey script and frequently overused aerial shots are among the many anchors weighing this one down.
The Amazing Colossal Man & War of the Colossal Beast. Dir. Bert I. Gordon. Perf. Glenn Langan, Cathy Downs, William Hudson, Dean Parkin, Sally Fraser. American International Pictures, 1957, 1958. Running Time: 80, 69 min. 2 out of 5 stars each (no halves).
Selflessness proves a damnable trait in The Amazing Colossal Man, in which Glenn Langan plays Glenn Manning, a soldier directly exposed to the blast of a Plutonian bomb when he attempts to rescue a civilian in the blast radius. Certain death gives way to astonishing recovery, and before you can say "radioactive side effects," Manning’s cells are duplicating at a tremendous rate, cancerously enlarging him to an eventual height of 60 feet. While Langan’s work as the mentally unraveling colossal man is impressive, there’s little else here save for genre bric-a-brac.
The sequel, War of the Colossal Beast, is a similarly rote affair. Dean Parkin now plays the titular threat, whose disfigurement from the climax of the first movie renders him a Frankenstein-like creature of grunts and moans. Wheels spin until the climax: a nonsensical dispatching of the beast notable only for being the only part of the film shot in color. (Both movies are available on YouTube, here and here.)
The Brain Eaters. Dir. Bruno VeSota. Perf. Ed Nelson, Alan Jay Factor, Cornelius Keefe, Joanna Lee, Jody Fair, David Hughes, Leonard Nimoy. American International Pictures, 1958. Running Time: 60 min. 2 out of 5 stars (no halves).
Ardent fans of the genre might find some pleasures in this rip-off of Robert Heinlein’s novel “The Puppet Masters,” but they’re fleeting and entirely relative to the film’s “wanting” quality, as Heinlein himself phrased it after successfully suing the makers, insisting his name stay off the unauthorized film.
The mind consumers of the title are leech-like parasites that look like cockroaches with white antennae fashioned out of pipe cleaners, here on Earth as passengers in a ship of unknown origin, intent on taking over the mind of the populace so as to enforce their conflict-free utopian society.
The cast has their heart in the matter but this is a strictly paint-by-numbers affair, and the laughably transparent anti-socialism propaganda it ultimately trades in is something of a deal breaker. (Available here on YouTube.)
The Alligator People. Dir. Roy Del Ruth. Perf. Beverly Garland, Bruce Bennett, Lon Chaney Jr., Richard Crane. 20th Century Fox, 1959. Running Time: 74 min. 3 out of 5 stars (no halves).
While not about to make any best-of lists, this memorable little gem underlines the joys to be had when a monster movie plows boldly forward, proud to show off its absurd premise. The image of a full-fledged alligator man is one that has to wait until the climax, but like all good climaxes, it's worth the wait.
Joyce (Beverly Garland) and Paul (Richard Crane) are just married when an impromptu telegram sees the young wife seemingly abandoned; after months of searching, she locates her husband at an isolated clinic receiving treatments for a condition that threatens to turn him into a reptile. Screams and explosions ensue, and no movie was ever harmed by having a Lon Chaney on board.
The Giant Behemoth. Dir. Eugène Lourié, Douglas Hickox. Perf. Gene Evans, André Morell, John Turner, Leigh Madison. Allied Artists, 1959. Running Time: 80 min. 2 out of 5 stars (no halves).
A blatant retread of The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms with only about half the story, The Giant Behemoth lurches forward in fits and spurts, only truly coming alive during a brief rampage sequence through London. The behemoth in question is a fictional Paeleosaurus, chock full of radiation and capable of unleashing a deadly electric force on anyone unlucky enough to be in its general vicinity.
Both the storytelling and cast are unenthused; it's entirely possible that a major character could be eaten without notice. The creature effects include a simple, ineffective puppet head as well as remarkably fluid stop motion animation (particularly so considering that Pete Peterson, who completed the majority of the work, was also suffering from multiple sclerosis), although even at its height, this is a long, long way from King Kong. Also known as Behemoth, the Sea Monster.
The Giant Gila Monster & The Killer Shrews. Dir. Ray Kellogg. Perf. Don Sullivan, Fred Graham, Lisa Simone, Shug Fisher, Bob Thompson, James Best, Ingrid Goude, Ken Curtis, Gordon McLendon. McLendon-Radio Pictures Distributing Company, 1959. Running Time: 74 min, 69 min. 3 out of 5 stars (Gila), 2 out of 5 stars (Shrews) (no halves).
If you can look past the utterly cheap production values of The Giant Gila Monster, it isn’t half bad. The whodunit setup involving missing persons and abandoned vehicles is, like so many films of this kind, mostly a way of stretching the story to barely-feature length, and the combination of a real Gila lizard and miniaturized surroundings is never the least bit convincing. Yet it’s a genuinely goodhearted attempt at entertainment, and the desolate desert imagery combined with Jack Marshall’s creepy score make for a sporadically transfixing experience.
Director Ray Kellogg also made The Killer Shrews that same year, and while the film is superior on a technical level, it's less competently paced and not particularly watchable until the climax, which foreshadows Night of the Living Dead and not just because both films use the same stock music. The shrews - dogs dressed up to look like overgrown rodents - are a particularly amusing creation. (Both movies are available on YouTube, here and here.)
Closing Thoughts
In short, while anyone could likely enjoy (or enjoy making fun of) many of these movies, it's a particularly acquired taste when one can enjoy a movie in part not because it's bad, but why and how. Great movies are rarely perfect movies, and most of the bad ones usually have some silver linings for the braver explorers of the cinema. You never know when, what looked like a piece of coal, will suddenly glimmer in the right lighting.
