Trilogy of Terror (1975)

          In honor of the recent passing of ’70s stalwart Karen Black . . . Fondly remembered by many fans as the TV movie in which Karen Black plays a woman who is menaced in her apartment by a tiny doll that attacks her with a miniature spear, Trilogy of Terror is a fairly pedestrian anthology of stories that sprang from the pen of prolific fantasist Richard Matheson. The author of countless memorable stories—from I Am Legend(originally published as a novel in 1953) to “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet,” the 1963 Twilight Zone episode in which William Shatner plays an airplane passenger who sees a gremlin on the plane’s wing—Matheson was a master at contriving frightening situations. And while none of the stories in Trilogy of Terrorrepresent the author’s best work, since all three are predicated on hokey contrivances, each component of Trilogy of Terror is somewhat droll. The problem, however, is that producer/director Dan Curtis (of Dark Shadows fame) shoots each story in such a stripped-down fashion that there’s not much in the way of atmosphere. The camerawork is bland, the lighting is flat, and the sets are sparse, so the only time Trilogy of Terror kicks into gear is at the end, when that nasty little doll goes on his rampage.

          Another dubious aspect of Trilogy of Terror is that it’s presented as a tour de force vehicle for leading lady Black, who stars in all three mini-movies. A unique screen personality with an eccentric brand of sex appeal, Black was usually best in small doses, and this project pushes her talent way past its limits. Still, she’s committed and energetic from start to finish. (Supporting actors include Robert Burton, George Gaynes, and Kathryn Reynolds, although this project’s all about Black’s multiple performances.)

          The first story, “Julie,” stars Black as a mousy college professor who is drugged and violated by one of her male students; her attacker, however, soon realizes he messed with the wrong woman. The second story, “Millicent and Therese,” is a clunker about two dueling sisters whose battle hides a not-very-surprising secret. The last story, “Amelia,” is the one about the doll. Black plays a woman who buys an African ritual doll that is rumored to contain the soul of a savage warrior. When she accidentally “activates” the doll, it chases her around the apartment, biting and stabbing her as she tries to fight back with closet doors, suitcases, and an oven. The last 15 minutes of Trilogy of Terror are so enjoyable that they (more or less) justify watching the entire brief movie, although none could be blamed for fast-forwarding straight to “Amelia.” The doll sequence has lost some of its ability to shock because the special effects are so primitive, but “Amelia” is still a nasty piece of business, and the final shot is truly haunting.

Trilogy of Terror: FUNKY

The Mutations (1974)

          Reflecting its storyline about a mad scientist who gene-splices people and plants to create monsters, this lurid UK flick offers two movies for the price of one. The putative main story is an unintentionally hilarious stinker, with Donald Pleasance phoning in his bad-guy performance while the film’s special-effects team delivers laughably bad monster costumes. However, a major subplot about the mad scientist’s deformed henchman has a certain degree of pathos and suspense, especially because the subplot borrows many elements from the 1932 cult classic Freaks. Set in modern-day England, The Mutations stars Pleasance as Professor Nolter, a psycho who envisions a new race of humans imbued with plant characteristics. Nolter’s accomplice is Lynch (Tom Baker), a deformed giant who abducts young men and women for Nolter to use as test subjects. Lynch is the leader of a group of circus freaks living at an amusement park, yet while the other circus performers are harmless, Lynch is a self-loathing psychotic. Thus, while Nolter tempts fate by taking his experiments too far, Lynch is driven to madness by waiting for Nolter to deliver on promises of correcting Lynch’s deformity. (The picture also features perfunctory material involving attractive students either investigating the disappearances of their classmates or becoming victims of Nolter’s weird science.)

          As helmed by Jack Cardiff, a master cinematographer who occasionally directed, The Mutations has a colorful look and one or two genuinely creepy scenes, notably the Freaks-influenced conclusion of Lynch’s storyline. The acting is generally bland, but Baker (beloved by many for his long run on the UK TV series Doctor Who) does well playing Lynch in the Vincent Price mode of a killer besieged by inner demons. The film’s other noteworthy performance comes from the diminutive Michael Dunn, familiar to American TV fans for his work as Dr. Loveless on the ’60s show The Wild Wild West. He plays the little person who represents the conscience of the circus-freak community. Furthermore, starlets including the scrumptious Julie Ege provide major eye candy while clothed and otherwise, and The Mutationsbenefits from an eerie music score that utilizes dissonant classical music—a truly unsettling flourish. FYI, The Mutations sometimes carries the alternate title The Freakmaker.

The Mutations: FUNKY

Captain Kronos—Vampire Hunter (1974)

On paper, this sounds like tons of fun, at least for genre-movie fans. Seriously, an action-packed horror movie about a dashing soldier who travels around pre-19th-century Europe killing vampires with a samurai sword, accompanied by a hunchbacked scientist and a voluptuous female companion? And it’s from UK-based Hammer Films, the kingpins of Gothic shockers? What’s not to like? Well, for one thing, Captain Kronos—Vampire Hunteris woefully devoid of the one thing it should have in abundance, which is entertainment value. Yes, the picture is handsomely produced (within the parameters of a humble budget), and the filmmakers don’t skimp on stylish violence. But where’s the joie de vivre? The picture isn’t as grim as some Hammer pictures, which is a relief, but it’s still unnecessarily sober. Did the world really need something called Captain Kronos—Vampire Hunter played straight? Anyway, at least viewers who dig Hammer’s formula of dastardly deeds conducted in crypt-like castles and murky forests will find much to savor here. The picture begins when a village physician, Dr. Marcus (John Carson), encounters a series of strange deaths—young women drained of blood fall dead, their bodies inexplicably aged. Marcus summons his old Army pal, Captain Kronos (Horst Janson), who happens to be a professional vampire hunter. Convenient! Kronos travels with a deformed scientist, Professor Grost (John Cater), and a sexy peasant girl named Carla (Caroline Munro). As the movie unfolds, Kronos and his allies set traps for the bloodsucker—or bloodsuckers—preying upon Marcus’ village, but not all goes according to plan. Written, directed, and co-produced by Brian Clemens, Captain Kronos—Vampire Hunter moves at a sluggish pace. Once in a while, Clemens lands a nice line of dialogue, as when Kronos describes Grost’s expertise: “What he doesn’t know about vampirism couldn’t fill a fly’s codpiece.” And periodically, Clemens nails a groovy visual: At one point, Kronos holds the blade of his sword before his eyes in order to reflect back the gaze of a ghoul who is trying to hypnotize him. Unfortunately, the actors all deliver highly generic work. Janson is an attractive physical specimen—as is Munro, who later became a Bond girl—but neither radiates much in the way of charisma. And the less said about the various anticlimactic scenes in which Kronos effortlessly vanquishes hordes of attackers with ridiculously skillful swordplay, the better.

Captain Kronos—Vampire Hunter: FUNKY

Embryo (1976)

          The sci-fi thriller Embryo is one of a zillion movies patterned after Mary Shelley’s classic novel Frankenstein, because it’s a cautionary tale about a scientist who pays a terrible price for attempting to create new life. You know the drill: madman makes monster, monster causes havoc, madman and monster meet in a final confrontation. Yet Embryo imprudently alters the familiar formula by adding a love story, which drains energy from the middle of the story. For a good 40 minutes, viewers are subjected to repetitive sequences of the scientist bonding with his creation—and, as every good dramatist knows, there’s nothing more destructive to narrative momentum than characters getting along. So, while Embryo isn’t awful, it’s not the lean-and-mean shocker it could and should have been.

          Rock Hudson stars as Dr. Paul Holliston, a widower who specializes in the use of chemicals to stimulate fetal development. After successfully experimenting on a dog fetus, which matures to adulthood in the space of a few days, Paul repeats the experiment on a human embryo. Thus he begets Victoria (Barbara Carrera), a beautiful young woman who grows from fetus to twentysomething in the space of a month. Once Paul arrests her rapid growth, he educates her and introduces her to the world, concealing the secret of her birth from everyone except Victoria. Predictably, the two develop feelings for each other, and Paul happily satiates Victoria’s curiosity about sex. (As if you couldn’t have guessed, she’s hot.) Unbeknownst to Paul, however, the dog he created develops violent tendencies—so when Victoria discovers she possesses built-in abnormalities that might prove fatal, it’s no surprise that she goes on a rampage. (Paul’s inability to recognize danger signs is one of the movie’s biggest logical lapses.)

          As directed by skillful journeyman Ralph Nelson, Embryo is okay on a scene-by-scene basis; among other things, Nelson does a fine job of turning Paul’s lab into a forbidding place simply by using shadows. But on a macro level, Embryofalls apart. Subplots are handled poorly, with plot twists overly telegraphed and rich veins left unexplored. Leading lady Carrera’s performance is another weakness—appearing in one of her first movies, she’s pretty but unconvincing. (Hudson is merely okay, hitting his marks with crisp professionalism.) It’s tempting to say that Embryo is ripe fodder for a remake, since a more exciting version of the story is easily envisioned, but it’s also possible that this middling interpretation is as strong a treatment as the hokey premise deserves.

Embryo: FUNKY

The Car (1977)

          As directed by journeyman Elliot Silverstein, whose eclectic résumé includes the memorable films Cat Ballou (1965) and A Man Called Horse (1970), this Southwestern-set shocker boasts such impressive visuals as panoramic vistas and razor-sharp detail shots. Clearly, Silverstein studied the way Steven Spielberg shot Duel (1972), and copied many of Spielberg’s flourishes. The Car also cops gimmicks from another Spielberg picture, Jaws (1975), notably combining point-of-view shots and theme music to jack up scenes of the villain attacking victims. Unfortunately, the villain of this piece is—as the title suggests—a car. Not a driver who uses a car as a weapon, mind you, but a customized, driverless Lincoln Continental. Yes, The Car is about a demonically possessed automobile. Novelist Stephen King took the same notion a step further with his 1983 book Christine, which gave the titular vehicle both a personality and supernatural powers, but in The Car, the killer is merely that—a car. Sure, it does a few fancy tricks like leaping into the air and repelling bullets, but the Lincoln has zero impact as a malevolent screen presence.
          The plot follows the Jaws formula of a small town victimized by an unstoppable killer. James Brolin stars as likeable sheriff working in the Utah community where the car is murdering people, so he teams up with fellow cops to battle the four-wheeled monstrosity. Eventually, local Indians persuade Brolin’s character that the car is possessed by an evil demon, so the film climaxes with Brolin and his troops attempting to bury the car in a remote canyon. The Car would have been more enjoyable had it been trimmed down to something like 80 minutes, but at its full 96-minute length, the movie feels needlessly padded with pointless and/or repetitive scenes. Nonetheless, there are some campy highlights.
          For instance, the filmmakers try to mimic the classic Jaws scene of a shark eating its way through an ocean filled with Fourth of July swimmers. Thus, The Carfeatures a ludicrous scene of the villainous vehicle chasing a high-school marching band from a football field to a cemetery. Later, the car soars through an entire house just to wipe out one victim. And the final scene is an unintentionally funny attempt at supernatural-cinema grandiosity. As for the acting, while Brolin is as weak as usual—moderately charming in quiet scenes, startlingly terrible in intense ones—he’s abetted by an okay supporting cast. Veteran character actor R.G. Armstrong steals the movie as a disgusting redneck who witnesses several of the car’s murders, Ronny Cox adds humanity as a deputy with an alcohol problem, and Kathleen Lloyd is appealing as the hero’s stalwart girlfriend. FYI, real-life siblings and future Real Housewives of Beverly Hills cast members Kim Richards and Kyle Richards play the young daughters of Brolin’s character.

The Car: FUNKY

Tintorera (1977)

Mexican shlockmeister René Cardona Jr. strikes again with this lurid Jaws rip-off about a mammoth tiger shark preying upon sexy singles near a Mexican beach resort. The movie is abysmal, of course, but Tintorera delivers the goods in three respects—it’s gory as hell, the production values are better than one normally expects from Cardona, and there’s an enormous amount of nudity. Cheap thrills aside, however, Tintorera is a painful to watch because of the stupidity on display both in front of and behind the camera. The characterizations range from nonexistent to superficial; the story is a muddled blend of horror and melodrama; the picture features several distasteful scenes of real animals being killed; and the dialogue is marred by bad acting, ghastly writing, and (for actors not native to English) sloppy dubbing. The narrative revolves around two Mexican studs, Miguel (Andrés García) and Steven (Hugo Stiglitz), who make their living as shark hunters near a resort. The studs hook up with a sexy British tourist, Gabriella (Susan George), for an idyllic period of hookups and threesomes. Tintorerais basically just a compendium of scenes featuring attractive people screwing, stripping, and swimming, and once in a while the shark shows up for a snack. Further, it seems as if the studs are the only people who get the idea of fighting back, even though the shark’s body count is astronomical. The vibe of Tintorera is weirdly lackadaisical, although the intensity of the gore occasionally demands attention; scenes of a shark with someone’s head in its teeth, and of the dismembered lower half of a human body floating to the bottom of the ocean, are particularly realistic. Yet the kills aren’t the least bit scary, especially because Cardona employs a ridiculous device of playing heavy breathing on the soundtrack whenever the shark approaches a victim. Huh? Still, for those who care about such things, the movie’s eye-candy quotient is significant, with starlets Priscilla Barnes, George, and especially Fiona Lewis generously sharing their physical gifts. Even the actors playing the studs get into the exhibitionist act.

Tintorera: LAME

Octaman (1971)

While it might be overreaching to describe Octamanas the worst creature feature ever made, since the monster genre has spawned some truly ghastly cinematic atrocities, it’s fair to say that Octamancomprises 76 minutes of stultifying pabulum. The story, which borrows heavily from the classic monster flick The Creature from the Black Lagoon(1955), is the usual noise about a scientist accidentally disturbing the natural habitat of a missing-link beastie, thereby invoking primeval wrath. In this case, the beastie is an octopus who walks like a man—as depicted, I shit you not, by a dude walking around in a silly green suit with a giant green head and flailing tentacles. Amazingly, this terrible suit was co-created by future Oscar-winning effects great Rick Baker, so one presumes his best intentions were impeded by budget limitations and poor execution; even shrouding the monster in shadow and spritzing the costume with some sort of moisture would have delivered better results than showing the thing dry and in full sunlight, as happens periodically. It also doesn’t help that Baker and crew failed to articulate the monster’s eyes, which just sit there, disallowing any illusion of life. And the Octaman costume isn’t even the worst thing in the picture. For instance, Octaman has a baby, which is depicted through the use of a floppy little glob of painted rubber that gets tugged along the floors of locations by unseen strings. Writer/director Harry Essex relies heavily on stock footage, and it’s obvious that even though the story is supposed to be set in some exotic South American jungle, the whole thing was shot in and around such overly familiar L.A. locations as the Bronson Canyon caves. Making the whole enterprise seem even tackier is that fact that Essex has a screenwriting credit on the original Creature from the Black Lagoon—he’s incompetently plagiarizing himself. About the only entertaining aspect of Octamanis seeing how many pathetic attempts Essex makes to portray the titular critter as a killer. At various points, Octaman bitch-slaps enemies with his tentacles, strangles people with his tentacles, and even impales victims with the tips of his tentacles. The only fearful thing about this interminable crapfest is the prospect of actually watching the movie.

Octaman: SQUARE

Flesh Gordon (1974)

          Although it’s not the out-and-out porn film its reputation might suggest, Flesh Gordon is a cheerfully filthy spoof of the old Flash Gordon movie serials—the picture tries to blend satire with titillation by bombarding viewers with crude jokes, nudity, and sex scenes. The movie is quite awful, of course, but it moves along at a breakneck speed and, in its best moments, approaches an anything-goes party vibe that suggests a low-rent version of the comedy style perfected a few years later by the makers of Airplane!(1980). Obviously, the big difference is that the makers of Airplane! had real actors and a real budget, to say nothing of the fact that the Airplane!team didn’t have to interrupt their movie periodically for lingering close-ups of genitalia.

          The plot of Flesh Gordonis adapted from the first Flash Gordonserial, released in 1938 and starring Buster Crabbe. (Another version of the very same plot was employed for the big-budget Flash Gordon movie released in 1980.) When Earth is bombarded by a sex ray from outer space, which drives victims to uncontrolled lust, dashing adventurer Flesh Gordon (Jason Williams), his new girlfriend Dale Ardor (Suzanne Fields), and kooky scientist Dr. Flexi Jerkoff (Joseph Hudgins) fly into space to find the source of the sex ray and save the Earth. Arriving on the planet Porno, the heroes battle minions of evil Emperor Wang the Perverted (William Dennis Hunt), along the way encountering monsters and other fantastic creatures. This being a sex comedy, those fantastic creatures include the flamboyantly gay prince (Lance Larsen) of a men-in-tights troupe and the Amazonian leader (Candy Samples) of a lesbian cult.

          Ninety-nine percent of the jokes in Flesh Gordon are painfully stupid, the performances are terrible, and the editing is so choppy that some scenes appear as if from nowhere. However, writer/co-director Michael Benveniste and his collaborators cleverly shield themselves from legitimate criticism by framing the movie as a campy goof—the worse the acting gets, the better. Yet some aspects of the picture run perilously close to real filmmaking. For instance, the flick includes several elaborate scenes of stop-motion animation fused with live-action, leading to Harryhausen-style scenes of real actors fighting stop-motion monsters. This stuff is executed fairly well, given the budget constraints.

          That said, the way Flesh Gordon devotes long stretches of screen time to pure adventure would seem sure to infuriate the heavy-breathing crowd more interested in Flesh than Gordon. But then again, that’s why Flesh Gordon is so peculiar—it’s a kiddie movie for pervs. Consider this amusingly infantile chant, delivered by bottomless cheerleaders (!) in Wang’s palace: “Emperor Wang is the one for me—without him, the planet Porno would be ever so forlorn-o.” Or consider the very strange finale, which involves a giant, cloven-hooved monster who chases after the heroes while speaking in smooth, lounge-lizard patter. (Craig T. Nelson, the only familiar actor involved with the project, voices the monster in one of his earliest film performances, though he’s not credited.)

          FYI, there are two versions of Flesh Gordon in circulation. The original 78-minute version carried an X-rating, even though it’s not hardcore, and the 90-minute version available on home video is unrated. In the 90-minute version, the only full-on porn action involves a few extras making out on the periphery of crowd shots. Oh, and one more thing: Howard Ziehm, who co-directed and co-produced Flesh Gordon, resuscitated the character by directing a 1989 sequel, Flesh Gordon Meets the Cosmic Cheerleaders, with an almost entirely new cast. Suffice to say the picture was not well received.

Flesh Gordon: FREAKY

The Crater Lake Monster (1977)

Amateurish, boring, and clichéd, this low-budget creature feature is built around special effects that wouldn’t have passed muster in 1957, much less 1977. Yes, The Crater Lake Monster employs the rickety old technique of stop-motion critters poorly superimposed onto normal live-action footage. Yet while true stop-motion masters such as Ray Harryhausen employed the process to fill cinema frames with armies of supernatural beasties, the makers of The Crater Lake Monster merely present a single dinosaur. Amazingly, the poorly executed stop-motion shots of the prehistoric killer are the best parts of the movie, because the filmmakers also use silly mock-ups of the dinosaur’s full-sized head for close-up shots in which interchangeable characters are eaten. Grade-school kids putting on a pageant could have generated more impressive visuals. The story, which loses interest after about a minute and a half, begins when archeologists exploring caves in rural Oregon uncover ancient drawings suggesting a dinosaur lived there up to the time of man, contrary to scientific theories about how long ago dinosaurs went extinct. Then a meteor falls in a lake and cracks open a long-buried dinosaur egg, after which the newly born creature immediately matures into a full-sized carnivore that lives underwater—except when it ventures onto land to eat people. None of this makes any sense, and every aspect of The Crater Lake Monster is as inept as the storyline. The acting by a slew of no-names is terrible, the dialogue is wooden, and the thrills are warmed-over silliness borrowed from an infinite number of better movies.

The Crater Lake Monster: SQUARE

Godzilla vs. the Smog Monster (1971) & Godzilla vs. Gigan (1972) & Godzilla vs. Megalon (1973) & Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla (1974) & Terror of Mechagodzilla (1975)

          The only artistically credible Godzilla movie is the Japanese-language original, Gojira (1954), a horrific atomic-age parable about a prehistoric monster drawn from the ocean’s depths by the use of nuclear weapons. The picture was sloppily recut for American audiences, with new scenes featuring U.S. actor Raymond Burr inserted, and given the new title Godzilla, King of the Monsters! (1956). And thus began the diminishing of the Big Green Guy, whom most viewers know only as a stunt player in a silly-looking monster suit, stomping his way through scale-model sets in a seemingly endless series of goofy children’s movies. The sequel cycle started with Godzilla Raids Again (1955), and then continued through the ’60s with such self-explanatory flicks as King Kong vs. Godzilla (1962) and Godzilla vs. Mothra (1964). Cheaply made and juvenile, these pictures were distinguished by campy special effects, comic-book-style fighting scenes, wild soundtracks, and, for American viewers, badly dubbed English-language dialogue played over scenes of Japanese actors mouthing words in their native tongue. By the mid-’60s, Godzilla had transformed from rampaging beast to crusading hero, an all-purpose savior summoned whenever an even worse radioactive critter threatened Japan.

          The Big Green Guy entered the ’70s with Godzilla vs. the Smog Monster, which is compelling simply because it’s top-to-bottom insane. Riding the then-current trend of eco-themed cautionary tales, this one pits the Big Green Guy against a giant pile of sludge that represents man’s abuse of the environment. Describing the story is pointless, of course, but the memorable bits include a sequence in which both Godzilla and Hedorah (aka the Smog Monster) learn to fly so they can fight in mid-air. Because, hey, why stop at fire-breathing dinosaurs and anthropomorphized detritus? Especially in its original Japanese version, Godzilla vs. the Smog Monster is incredibly weird, featuring random bits ranging from musical numbers (I’m still humming the melody of “Save the Earth” decades later) to psychedelic sequences—and did I mention that Godzilla flies? Of all the Big Green Guy’s ’70s adventures, this is the by far the most mind-meltingly odd.

          Next up is Godzilla vs. Gigan. In this one, the Big Green Guy battles a favorite foe from his ’60s romps, the three-headed flying dragon creature King Ghidorah, who is sent by aliens to conquer Earth. Aiding Godzilla is Anguirus, some kind of giant thorny dinosaur/lizard/turtle thing that appears periodically in the series, and the “Gigan” of the title is King Ghidorah’s ally, a Godzilla-like upright lizard monster with a bird-like beak and giant tusks for hands. You get the idea—Godzilla vs. Gigan is basically an episode of WWE Monday Night Raw with giant creatures instead of human wrestlers, a lot of noisy fighting and property destruction without much of a recognizable plot. And, yeah, this is the movie in which Godzilla speaks. The mind reels.

          Godzilla vs. Megalon was the follow-up, and this one has many fans among former ’70s kids because Godzilla’s sidekick is a giant superhero robot called Jet Jaguar (more on him in a minute). The bad guy, Megalon, is another monster sent from outer space to conquer Earth, and he’s a lumbering Godzilla-like creature with an insect head and pointy drill-things for hands. Gigan returns, but this one’s all about Jet Jaguar. A silver-bodied robot with a pointed helmet and a splashy primary-colors costume, Jet Jaguar even has a theme song (which, appropriately enough for a Godzilla movie, is sung in a lounge-lizard style). The robot’s powers range from flying to magically transforming from human size to gigantic proportions. What’s not to like? Okay, don’t answer that one.

          The end of Godzilla’s original run came, appropriately enough, in a pair of films in which the Big Green Guy battled a mechanical version of himself—a sure sign the franchise’s creators had run out of ideas. Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla is yet another monster mash, with a combination of new characters and old ones—the fresh creatures include Mechagodzilla, who looks like Godzilla wearing silver battle armor, and the super-weird King Caesar, a dog/lion/reptile/whatever. The narrative of Godzilla vs. Mechagodzillais enervated even by the low standards of the series, and the trite doppelgänger device loses its novelty quickly. Inexplicably, the fake Godzilla returned in Terror of Mechagodzilla, which picks up where the previous film left off—not that continuity matters much in this series. Stomping through miniature cities along with the Godzillas is Titanosaurus, a giant red-and-blue dinosaur/fish/lizard beastie, who is—of course!—controlled by the same aliens who’ve been trying to conquer Earth for the last several movies. Can you say “running on fumes”?

          Thankfully, the Big Green Guy took a much-needed rest after the Mechagodzilla movies, reappearing a decade later in The Return of Godzilla(1984). Since the mid-’80s, the rompin’-stompin’ fire-breather has resurfaced many times, in cartoons, comic books, myriad Japanese films, and even a big-budget Hollywood release, the 1998 underperformer Godzilla, with Matthew Broderick. And chances are we haven’t heard the last of Godzilla’s signature blood-curdling roar, even though a Matrix­-flavored 2004 Japanese release—the 28th in the series!—was optimistically titled Godzilla: Final Wars.

Godzilla vs. the Smog Monster: FREAKY

Godzilla vs. Gigan: FUNKY

Godzilla vs. Megalon: FUNKY

Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla: LAME

Terror of Mechagodzilla: LAME

Phase IV (1974)

          While it may be hard to envision an art movie about super-intelligent ants wreaking havoc on human victims, Phase IV is just such a film—a creature feature that balances creepy-crawly horror moments with elegantly realized compositions and a weird sort of metaphysical wonderment. Sure, it’s easy to slag the film for being opaque on many levels, since the (human) characterizations are virtually nonexistent and the ending is a cerebral freakout in the 2001tradition, but Phase IV is too ambitious and interesting to dismiss. Obviously, the most noteworthy thing about the picture is that it’s the sole directorial effort of Saul Bass, the celebrated graphic designer who created numerous posters and title sequences for filmmakers including Alfred Hitchcock and Otto Preminger; accordingly, it’s fascinating to watch Phase IV for sequences in which powerfully minimalistic images such as rows of symmetrical objects evoke Bass’ aesthetic.

          Yet it’s unfair to simply categorize Phase IV as a visual exercise, because on some unknowable level, the movie is about something provocative—a meditation on the inevitability of man losing supremacy over the Earth, perhaps. Plus, the picture is quite exciting, speeding through an eventful story in just 84 minutes (the length of the most widely available version), and Bass’ attention to detail generates a handful of memorable scenes. The story is as bare-bones as one of Bass’ striking posters: Two scientists establish an outpost in a remote desert to study ants that have inexplicably joined forces to overrun local livestock. Dr. Ernest Hubbs (Nigel Davenport) is an obsessed researcher fascinated by the insects’ emotionless collective endeavors, while his associate, James Lesko (Michael Murphy), is excited by the challenge of using mathematical analysis to translate the insects’ “language.” Setting up a fortress-like dome that’s hermetically sealed to avoid contact with ants, the scientists soon find themselves under siege, so they employ chemical toxins as a defense measure. Meanwhile, a young woman (Lynne Frederick) who defied an evacuation order for the surrounding area seeks refuge with the scientists.

          As the movie progresses, the ants grow more resourceful in their attacks on the scientists, Hubbs becomes more megalomaniacal, and Lesko grows determined to flee, taking the young woman with him. Phase IV is interesting from start to finish, if only to see what a truly clinical horror film looks like, and the best sequence is a triumph of visual storytelling—worker ants carry a crumb-sized sample of a deadly toxin back to their queen, even though each ant can carry the sample only a short distance before dying from exposure. Then, after the sample finally reaches the queen, she ingests the substance and produces a new, genetically engineered brood—it’s the whole cycle of evolution played out in a handful of minutes. Sure, one wishes Phase IV had a more concrete ending, but there’s a lot to be said for leaving viewers with tantalizing mysteries to ponder.

Phase IV: GROOVY

The Incredible Melting Man (1977)

          A laughably silly horror movie, The Incredible Melting Man delivers exactly what the title promises—a grotesque character melts throughout the movie. Yes, this one’s about a monster who becomes less formidable with each passing scene. Or at least that’s the logical implication. To make the movie work, the filmmakers fudge the premise by giving the monster superhuman endurance, so he never loses any of his strength until the very last scene. Most beings run out of gas if they burn through too many calories, but somehow the "melting man" retains his vigor even as his body is disappearing. As such, the underlying notion of The Incredible Melting Man is so astoundingly stupid it’s impossible to take a single frame of the picture seriously. But then again, even though the movie is basically competent in its execution, every other aspect of the storyline is just as astoundingly stupid. The picture begins with U.S. astronauts in outer space, where they’re bombarded with radiation from a solar flare. Returning to earth, all of the astronauts die except Steve West (Alex Rebar), who wakes up in a hospital and discovers that he’s become the sludgy shuffler of the title. Cue murderous rampage.

          The movie is dominated by the work of make-up master Rick Baker, who later won multiple Oscars (beginning with his prize for 1982’s An American Werewolf in London); in addition to creating the grotesque applications for the title character, whose organs and skin drip and ooze in loving close-ups, Baker made props including a realistic-looking disembodied head. Yet it’s a measure of the picture’s schlocky nature that the head is featured in not one but twoslow-motion angles as it drifts down a lazy river—the money shot involves the head tumbling over a waterfall and then cracking open when it hits a rock at the base of the water, a geyser of crimson shooting forth. Perhaps offering a nod to The Incredible Shrinking Man(1957), writer-director William Sachs follows his narrative all the way to a depressing ending, so the movie has a certain kind of bummer integrity, but, still, it’s hard to heap too much praise on a dull gorefest about a glop of goo. (Available as part of the MGM Limited Collection on Amazon.com)

The Incredible Melting Man: LAME

Bigfoot: Man or Beast? (1975) & The Mysterious Monsters (1976) & Manbeast! Myth or Monster? (1978)

          Notwithstanding the drive-in hit The Legend of Boggy Creek(1972), a fictional feature shamelessly marketed as a documentary, the entertaining cycle of nonfiction films exploring a certain mythical creature commenced with 1975’s Bigfoot: Man or Beast? Comprising simple reportage following Sasquatch enthusiast Robert W. Morgan as he searches the wilderness for signs of his elusive quarry, Bigfoot is rational but sluggish, mostly because Morgan lacks dynamism. Short, muscular, intense, and bald except for a jet-black goatee, Morgan affects a tough-guy persona complete with strident speeches about how the scientific community’s skepticism makes him “mad as hell.” As Bigfoot trudges along, writer-director Lawrence Crowley features interviews with people who claim to have seen creatures in the woods, plus long scenes of Morgan hiking through forests.

          Although Crowley never gooses the movie with fabricated scenes, he devotes considerable screen time to the infamous “Patterson footage” of an alleged California sighting; similarly, Crowley doesn’t challenge people who say things like, “If this footprint was faked, the person doing it had to be an absolute expert in human anatomy.” During the underwhelming climax, Morgan and TV actor Sam Melville (The Rookies) travel to a spot where a Bigfoot sighting is anticipated, but then a forest fire erupts and, according to Morgan, drives Sasquatch into another area. Convenient!

          The year after Crowley’s picture was released, the ’70s Bigfoot craze peaked. During 1976, Bigfoot was featured in a classic two-part episode of The Six Million Dollar Man, plus several movies—two of which, Harry Winer’s The Legend of Bigfoot and Ed Ragozzino’s Sasquatch, the Legend of the Bigfoot, were bogusly marketed as documentaries, Boggy Creek-style.

          Also in 1976, Mission: Impossible star Peter Graves hosted a feature-length doc titled The Mysterious Monsters. This one comes, naturally, from the titans of pseudoscientific docudrama, Sunn Classic Pictures. Essentially a filmed news report in the you-are-there vein, with Graves playing the role of an intrepid investigator, The Mysterious Monsters includes several vivid re-creations of Bigfoot sightings. Using performers in frightening Bigfoot costumes, writer-director Robert Guenette stages various spooky scenes; one vignette features a group of Boy Scouts sleeping in the woods until noises wake them, at which point the boys discover a hirsute intruder in their midst. Guenette crams a lot of data into 90 minutes, with Graves dramatically grouping eyewitness sightings, footprints, hair samples, and the like as “exhibits” proving Bigfoot’s existence. In a clever touch, Guenette grounds his argument by citing various modern discoveries that upended common beliefs (for example, the Komodo dragon), but the film’s logic strains when Guenette spends about 15 minutes “proving” the existence of the Loch Ness Monster.

          Nonetheless, the picture is so lively that it’s easy to go along for the facts-be-damned ride. At one point, Graves takes a box containing a plaster cast of a Sasqautch footprint to—well, let’s let him explain it. “I went to Peter Herkos, the world’s foremost psychic detective, at his home in Los Angeles,” Graves says, gravely. Then, once Herkos is holding the box, Graves asks: ”Can you psychometrize what is in here and tell me something about it?” So, while The Mysterious Monsters may not be defensible as journalism, it’s tremendous fun as a cheesy thriller.

          Bigfoot’s popularity continued in 1977—the creature returned to The Six Million Dollar Man and starred in his own Saturday-morning kiddie show, Bigfoot and Wildboy—but Sasquatch’s stardom began to dim in 1978, when yet another “documentary” was released. Discarding all pretense of truthfulness, Manbeast! Myth or Monster? features the usual inventory of creature sightings, framed by scenes of a narrator/host “leading” the inquiry. Considering that writer-director Nicholas Webster obviously scripted every line—the actors aren’t good enough to create verisimilitude—the movie feels pointless and tacky from start to finish. Hollywood makeup artist Rob Bottin (who later worked on John Carpenter’s The Thing) created elaborate Bigfoot costumes for vignettes of creatures hanging out in the forest, running from pursuers, and scaring those who stumble upon them. Whereas The Mysterious Monsters used this gimmick in moderation, however, Manbeast! shows its creatures far too often—so despite Webster’s low angles and moody lighting, the film somehow manages to make Bigfoot boring.

Bigfoot: Man or Beast: FUNKY

The Mysterious Monsters: GROOVY

Manbeast! Myth or Monster?: LAME

Sasquatch: The Legend of Bigfoot (1977)

By using documentary-style elements such as a narration track filled with facts and figures, plus a linear storyline tracking the drudgery of a scientific exploration (think Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom), executive producer/story author Ronald D. Olson creates an immersive but unpersuasive illusion that Sasquatch: The Legend of Bigfoot is a re-creation of something that actually happened. Presumably, this fakery was used to obfuscate the paucity of, for lack of a better word, “money shots”—Sasquatch only has about 10 minutes of screen time in the entire picture, most of it in flashbacks that Olson uses to illustrate old stories the movie’s characters share with each other while sitting around campfires. The bulk of this picture comprises dull footage of explorers venturing into the wilds of British Columbia to search for Bigfoot. Supervised by scientist Chuck Evans (George Lauris), the group of explorers includes such clichéd types as a gruff mountain man, a skeptical big-city reporter, and a stoic Native American. After meandering through pointless interludes—frolicking with raccoons, tussling with mountain lions—the group reaches a valley believed to be Sasquatch’s lair. Then, in the final scenes, the explorers set up surveillance equipment around the valley and endure a nighttime assault by an unknown number of creatures. Director Ed Ragozzino relies on quick cutting and silhouettes to create a low-grade sense of danger, and composer Al Capps provides a Jaws-style motif that rumbles on the soundtrack whenever Bigfoot appears. (The monster is primarily depicted through point-of-view shots, another rip-off from Jaws.) Getting to the climax requires a great deal of stamina on the viewer’s part, and the payoff isn’t nearly worth the trouble—because by the time the picture concludes with a silly theme song (“There in God’s country, he just wants to be left alone”), mediocrity has given way to monotony.

Sasquatch: The Legend of Bigfoot: LAME

Shriek of the Mutilated (1974)

Ostensibly a Bigfoot flick but really just a psycho-killer/Satanic-cult gorefest made in the trashy Herschell Gordon Lewis style, Shriek of the Mutilated is completely devoid of redeeming qualities. The acting is atrocious, the storyline is moronic, and the thrills are nonexistent. The picture even fails as an excessive splatter movie, because the special makeup effects are amateurish. Following a few random vignettes that get the movie off to a disjointed, uninteresting start, the story proper begins when college professor Dr. Ernst Prell (Alan Brock) organizes a group of students for an expedition into the woods where a Yeti has allegedly been sighted. (Why a Yeti and not just Bigfoot, since the picture is set in America rather than Asia?) Prell loads a group of bland young adults into a van and schleps them to the remote home of his colleague, Dr. Karl Werner (Tawm Ellis). Karl’s a strange cat who’s balding on top but wears a graying ponytail, and he favors creepy ensembles of turtlenecks and way-too-tight pants. He’s also prone to florid lines like, “Your Yeti waits for you still, Ernst.” Before long, the college students start getting killed during attacks by a “monster” who’s really just a dude wearing a gorilla suit that seems like it’s made out of white shag carpeting, some pasty makeup, and a pair of dime-store Dracula fangs. It turns out the doctors are actually cultists who lure students to the woods, dress up like Yetis to scare them, and then kill the students for pagan rituals. This plot “justifies” close-ups of decapitated heads and dismembered limbs, none of which have any shock value—more like schlock value. Literally the only amusing moment in the whole movie is the scene during which one of the college students sits at the piano and croons a ditty he’s written about the situation: “On the prowl, hear him howl, here comes the Yeti now!”

Shriek of the Mutilated: SQUARE