Review: Dead Men Walk

Dead Men Walk, 1943, B&W, 64 minutes. Producers Releasing Corp. Directed by Sam Newfield. Starring George Zucco as Dr. Lloyd Clayton and Elwyn Clayton, Mary Carlisle as Gayle Clayton, Nedrick Young as Dr. David Bentley, Dwight Frye as Zolarr, Fern Emmett as Kate and Hal Price as the sheriff. Schlock-meter rating: Six stars out of 10.

This 1940s PRC cheapie about a vampire who rises from the grave and attempts to destroy his niece to spite his brother is a lot of fun. It stars horror great Zucco in dual roles; as ocultist brother Elwyn who is murdered by his good brother, a doctor named Lloyd, also played by Zucco. Alas, the evil Elwyn's death fails. Elwyn has learned how to resurrect himself as a vampire. With the help of demented servant Zolarr (Frye in a great, meaty role), he begins to murder. A woman driven crazy by grief (Emmett) suspects him, but no one takes her seriously. Once she starts to gain credibility, she is killed off by Zolarr. Elywn's chief target, however, is revenge against his brother. He appears to the startled doctor, and promises to suck the lifeblood from his beautiful niece Gayle (Carlisle). She's engaged to another doctor (Young) who, as Gayle starts to wither away, begins to suspect Lloyd of trying to kill her. There are rumors all over town that Lloyd killed Elwyn and the townspeople, spurred by the murders, start to talk vigilantism. The sheriff blusters a lot, but accomplishes little. Eventually, there is a showdown between the undead Elwyn and brother Lloyd.
The low budget, of course seriously hampers the film. The FXs are virtually non-existent. Zucco's Elwyn seems to fade away rather than pass through walls. The lighting is very poor. The script weak. Many of the characters are stereotypes. There's the rich doctor, the rich young couple, the crazy old lady, the blustery sheriff, the very superstitious townspeople. The acting, except for Zuco and Frye, is quite poor. The direction, by cheapie legend, Newfield, is pedestrian. However, the plot is quite unique for a vampire film of that era. Film writer Frank Dello Stritto, writing in Cult Movies 27, describes Dead Men Walk as the best plotted vampire film of that era. However, Dello Stritto agrees the finished product is mediocre.
Nevertheless, Zucco is magnificent. The doctors are not cast as twins. It's amazing how different Zucco appears as the respected Dr. Lloyd Clayton and the balding, gaunt brother Elwyn. His timing and delivery is first rate. Frye's Zucco is menacing, and watching it is bittersweet, since the talented horror star died of a heart attack a few months after completing the film. Students of the early horror films, particulary Poverty Row Bs, should own Dead Men Walk. It's easily available on VHS or DVD.

-- Doug Gibson

Review: King of the Zombies

King of the Zombies, 1941, B&W, 67 minutes. Directed by Jean Yarbrough. Starring Dick Purcell, Joan Woodbury, Mantan Moreland. Schlock-Meter rating 6 stars out of 10.

This is an old curio from Monogram, forgotten by most, enjoyed by purists. The plot involves three men in a plane who crash land in a West Indies island and encounter a very strange doctor (the role cries out for Bela Lugosi) who has a zombie-like wife, a cute secretary, and a collection of zombies. He also has an allied military officer held captive (it's WW2), and the convoluted plot involves the mad doctor wanting allied military secrets. He's foiled, of course, as his zombies eventually turn on him.


The film has none of the atmosphere, moods or chills of White Zombie. It substitutes comic relief for frights. The only character who shows any real depth is Mantan Moreland, who plays Jeff, the black sidekick of the crash victims. It's a very racist role, from a different, less-tolerant era, but Moreland, whose first name is even a tacky racist gag, brings life to his character. The scenes where he mistakenly believes he's a zombie are very funny. There is the usual romance between crash victim Purcell and secretary Woodbury.


Not a great film, but worth a look for fans and others who want to study the C movies from poverty row 60-plus years ago. Notes: Yarbrough also directed the Lugosi PRC film Devil Bat; It's rumored that Lugosi was slated to play the mad doctor in King of the Zombies. It certainly would have been a nice contrast to his evil, mad doctor role in White Zombie.

-- Doug Gibson

Review: London Kills Me

London Kills Me, 1992, 107 minutes, color, United Kingdom. Written and directed by Hanif Kureishi. Starring Justin Chadwick as Clint Eastwood, Steven Mackintosh as Muffdiver, Fiona Shaw as Headley, Emer McCourt as Sylvie, Tony Haygarth as Burns, Naveen Andrews as Bike, Roshan Seth as Dr. Bubba, and Brad Dourif as Hemingway. Rating on a scale of 10: 8.

London Kills Me seems a cross between Trainspotting and Drugstore Cowboy, yet a cut below those films, and not quite as gritty in its portrayal of the drug culture. It’s more lighthearted, and frankly, the actors look too cute and healthy to be drug addicts. But it’s still a superior film, and a great directing debut for writer Hanif Kureishi, who captures the seediness of the post-Tory ruled London in the early 1990s.

The plot, which is amusingly off the wall, concerns a very small-time London drug team run by Muffdiver (Mackintosh, who looks just like Charlie Hero of Buddha of Suburbia), and populated by his sellers, one of whom, Clint Eastwood (Chadwick) is disillusioned with drugs and wants a job as a waiter in an upscale cafe. The cafe’s manager Hemingway (Brad Dourif, in a great cameo), says he can have the job if he can come up with a cool pair of shoes to wear by Tuesday. No shoes, no job, says Hemingway. Also, the drug team breaks into and squats a luxury condo so they can impress some high-level drug dealers who Muffdiver wants to deal with.

That’s the plot, and it’s a lot of fun. Kureishi provides viewers quite a glimpse into the underbelly of London and the young grifters who populate it, selling and seeking drugs, sleeping where and with whom they can. Chadwick is a talented youngster, but he seems too pretty to be a homeless drug addict. Mackintosh is great as the small drug lord. As in other films, he uses his face and eyes to betray his anger and frustration.

The talented Naveen Andrews seems wasted as a bicycle-freak named Bike, and I would have preferred him in the Clint Eastwood role. Roshan Seth is marvelous as a serene guru named Dr. Bubba. Young actress Emer McCourt is Sylvie, the one girl in the drug team, and the object of both Muffdiver’s and Clint’s lust. Her character seems to be the one who actually suffers in this film. She mutilates herself and in one scene, suffers a bad case of the drug shakes. Film has an upbeat ending that is generally in sync with the light treatment of the topic.

-- Doug Gibson

Review: The Creeping Terror

The Creeping Terror, 1964, 75 minutes, B&W, Metropolitan International Pictures. Directed by Art J. Nelson. Starring Nelson as Martin Gordon, Shannon O’Neil as Brett Gordon, William Thourlby as Dr. Bradford, John Caresio as Colonel Caldwell, Brendan Boone as Barney. Schlock-Meter rating: 2 and 1/2 stars out of 10.

The Creeping Terror is an abysmal, patched-together mess of a horror film. Watching it, I wonder to myself: How did films this bad get distributed? There was no family VCR in 1964. Did people actually go to the drive-in to see The Creeping Terror of Beast of Yucca Flats. Did they play the second half of a double-bill? Or grind houses on 42nd Street in Manhattan? I would love to know the answer.
Plot: A spaceship falls to the earth. It contains two monsters, one of which hides for most of the film. The monsters look just like a carpet gone amok. They are killer carpets (not at all scary) that slither along the earth at about two miles an hour. Despite that, their victims oblige them by standing very still, or backing slowly away, and allowing themselves to be pulled by unseen hands into the killer carpet. There is a scene, at a dance, where the carpet waddles in and kills most of the dancers, who just stare at it with barely disguised boredom. It is perhaps the worst edited scene ever filmed.
Near the end we learn that the killer carpet machines are from another world in outer space and they kill to analyze human body parts and learn our weaknesses as humans. How that was learned is mystery, since a healthy chunk of the dialogue is missing. Like the wretched Beast of Yucca Flats, viewers endure a pompous narrator who besides giving us the plot, gives a long-winded soliloquy on the joys of marriage. A sheriff’s deputy (Nelson) and his bride (O’Neil) help out the U.S. military in battling the killer carpets.
I’ve heard stories that director/star Nelson was a gadfly who rolled into a California community with his girlfriend O’Neil and convinced many townspeople to back him financially in a “can’t-win” horror film he wanted to make. To keep the cash rolling in, Nelson gave many of The Creeping Terror’s financial backers bit parts in the film. Then, the story goes, he skipped town before the investors could see what a dog of a film they were left with. If that tale is true, it’s far more entertaining than The Creeping Terror.

-- Doug Gibson

Review: Invasion of the Saucer Men

Invasion of the Saucer Men, 1957, B&W, 69 minutes, American International Pictures. Directed by Edward L. Cahn. Starring Steve Terrell as Johnny Carter, Gloria Castillo as Joan Hayden, Frank Gorshin as Joe Gruen, Raymond Hatton as Farmer Larkin, Lyn Osborn as Artie Burns, Douglas Henderson as Lt. Wilkins, USAF, and Don Shelton as City Attorney Hayden. Schlock-Meter rating: 6 and 1/2 stars out of 10.

Invasion of the Saucer Men is a light, well-made horror parody about weird, large-headed men from outer space who inject humans and animals with alcohol until they are foiled by teens upset that their favorite make-out spot has been invaded by the creatures.

You have a lot of disbelieving adults, a couple of goofy salesmen attacked by the Saucer Men, two teens in love who no one will believe their tales of Saucer Men, and even some military officers trying to hush up the whole outer space attack! There’s even one more plot staple in this witty, but dated parody: The crusty old farmer who hates those kids necking on his property and blames them for his bull coming home drunk with “the blind staggers.”

It’s a great plot. The filmmakers give us a lot of action for the film’s compact 69 minutes. However, since this AIP drive-in staple doesn’t take it seriously, it loses a couple of stars. A great cult film needs to (most of the time) to take itself seriously. However, it’s still a lot of fun watching this 1950s ancestor of today’s “Scream” parodies.

Oh yes, teen queen Castillo, who is the city attorney’s (Shelton) daughter, has a car named “Elvis,” which is a nice touch for the times. Funny man Frank Gorshin plays a down-on-his-luck salesman, who besides having a pretty lame line when it comes to picking up a tired waitress, also is the only one unlucky enough to be killed by the Saucer Men. The film moves briskly along and actors deliver lines in a slightly goofy manner that holds with the light fare of the film. The Saucer Men are sufficiently bizarre and there’s a crawling hand that manages to create mischief. (I wonder if that alien “hand” served as inspiration for the malicious hand in Sam Raimi’s “Evil Dead 2.”

-- Doug Gibson

Review: Incredibly Strange Creatures ...

Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies, 1963, director Ray Dennis Steckler, Starring Cash Flagg (Steckler), Carolyn Brandt. Color, 82 minutes. (Also know as The Teenage Psycho Meets Bloody Mary.) Schlock-meter rating: 6 stars out of 10.

I'll say this much: Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies is a GREAT title. And for that director/star Steckler gets three stars right off the bat. Unfortunately, the rest of the film is very confusing, and only the carnival scenes somewhat save this semi-bore, and very non-scary, monster musical with strippers who are very clothed.

A word about the carnival. It looks a lot like the old Pike in Long Beach, Calif., a wonderful amusement place by the beach that was torn down more than 25 years ago. If any web surfers reading this can verify this, I d love to know.

The plot is very tangled and poorly developed, but here goes. An ugly gypsy fortune teller (who looks a lot like a tired Liz Taylor with a big mole) turns a bunch of hapless fortune seekers into scarred, drugged-out zombies who have an urge to kill. (Why do zombies always have an urge to kill in films? by the way.) No reason is ever given as to why the gypsy wants these zombies around. One night free spirit, cool young guy (Steckler), who looks a bit like a homely Nicholas Cage, goes to the carnival with his rich-girl lady (Brandt). They have a spat when he eyes a comely dancer, and she stalks off.

Steckler goes after the dancer, and falls into the clutches of the evil fortune teller. He spends the rest of the film wandering around in a daze, occasionally killing and once trying to kill his girl. Later the zombies revolt and wreck havoc around the carnival. Steckler is pursued to the beach, where he meets his fate. Steckler is nota bad actor. He later was very good in a private eye flick he directed, Super Cool. He also made some great C films, including the spoofs Rat Pfink a Boo Boo and The Lemon Grove Kids series, as well as genuinly nervy psycho killer film called The Thrill Killers.

But this film is too undisciplined to take seriously. Several times scenes don't seem to mesh with the plot and often there is no explanation for why anything is occurring. The viewer is never told how the evil gypsy controls minds. She mumbles in dreams and we see a bad imitation of the Twilight Zone spiral (was this film shot originally in 3D?). In theaters ushers were forced to dress up like zombies and run through the theaters. Steckler's then-wife, Carolyn Brandt, who often starred in his films, plays a sexy carny dancer.

It was advertised as a monster musical and as a result, we're forced to watch a lot of bad singing and dancing. The acting is overall poor. The best part of the film is the weird carny world where so much of the action occurs. The film captures the seedy side of small-time carnival life a generation ago. Unfortunately, the limitations of the filmmakers and likely, a very tiny budget, produce what s mostly a talky bore. But still a great title! I must mention that Steckler, in interviews I have read and watched, seems like a good guy, modest and candid.

-- Doug Gibson

Review/essay on Antz

A Tale of “Antz” meant more for adults than just the kiddies

Essay by Katalin Gibson

Our toddler daughter loves shows about animals big and small, so when we decided to watch the animated movie “Antz” a few nights ago, it had promised to be an entertaining evening for kiddie and a restful one for the by then worn out parents. However, after a few minutes the interest of our little one started to wane--maybe her taste refined by repeated viewings of Barney and Elmo has not prepared her for ontological monologues in the Woody Allenian vein. Mommy, on the other hand, started to be sucked into the movie as it unfolded the fable of an Orwellian ant colony. It strangely reminded me of my childhood spent behind the iron walls of communism, the old parroted slogans (“In unity is force,” “Nobody is irreplaceable”), and the workings of a society marked by overbearing state control.

Not that “Antz” is about Hungary in the 1970s and early 80s--rather, its model seems to be universal: the pattern of dictatorship. It could take place just about anywhere, from an ant colony to the Soviet Union or ancient Rome, with leaders like Mussolini or Darth Vader. The genre of “Antz” is somewhat reminiscent of Orwell’s “Animal Farm,” told from a slightly aberrant and neurotic but otherwise average ant worker’s point of view. “Z” is the classic Woody Allen from “Bananas,” just as clumsy and oddly charming, an unwitting revolutionary leader who manages to overhaul the ‘milit-ant’ leader Mandible’s burgeoning autocracy. And, as someone would expect from the hero of a tale, he becomes the new and just leader and marries Princess Leia, I mean Bala--a charming little story, where evil gets thwarted and good prevails.
So far this should be an ideal children’s story--adults have already become too cynical to believe in fairy tales anyway. In fact, it wasn’t the storyline that gained my attention, shame on me. Rather, some elements that drew provoking parallels between the everyday drudgery, the lopsided musketeer world of the ants, where all is for one but the one couldn’t care less about the many ordinary nonindividuals--and my once familiar world of communism with the Labor Day demonstrations, planned society, indoctrination and indistinct masses.

I remember being taught unwavering loyalty to the Party and their doctrine, to look at the West as the source of all evil, and to mechanically do whatever was prescribed. Divergent voices were stilled and resistance sprouted underground--another image befitting “Antz.” And, of course, this forbidden land of the West, only known from fabled accounts became our Insectopia, the land of plenty and bliss. Not many were permitted to travel, especially beyond the western borders (or, to the Soviet Union, for that matter--although I think they tried to protect the Soviets from the too liberal East Europeans in that case), and the ones who came back had tales of wonders to tell and backed their stories with 5-pound product catalogues.

Utopias are very attractive if you live in a society you find grossly lacking in perfection. You may look at stories of other lands as a proof of a real paradise. But in “Antz,” Insectopia turns out to be a garbage can: the rotting waste shared with other, jovial insects exemplifies bounty that you don’t have to work for. I guess, it would look extremely inviting if I’d had to slave in a mine every day to get my allotment of food. Otherwise, the appeal might stem from ignorance and you’ll have to be careful not to get completely lost.

Because in this new land unknown dangers lurk for the inexperienced travelers--like a piece of gum for Z and Bala, but you could also mention unemployment, menial and low paying jobs, or a lack of knowledge of the land’s culture. Maybe it is for this fear of the unknown, together with the restrictions imposed on travel (let alone the ridiculously low amount of money you were able to exchange for hard currency: $50 person for a trip--you could maybe cover the gas from it...) that most Hungarians didn’t travel much.

The workers felt safe in “Antz,” and there is something safe in your homeland, regardless of the government over you. For the average people, the monotony of everyday work and life in Hungary alternated with the occasional diversion of state-sanctioned holidays with the inevitable parades, through sunshine and rain, even in the aftermath of the Chernobyl explosion. In a strange way, this type of planned economy and society provided a source of security: things went so routinely that change would have been just as upsetting for the average worker as for the leader. The lifestyle was kind of accepted, and no one thought that things would dramatically change practically overnight. (When they did, and a more competitive type of economy was introduced, the effect came like a shock to the majority of people, who felt suddenly really lost in their newly found freedom.) And needless to say, the Antz-type instantaneous improvement in society just isn’t going to happen. I don’t know, what causes it, but while things look so simple from the average person’s stand point, when you get to be in charge, you find yourself in a huge maze of interests and conflicts, and you objectivity suddenly disappears.

Here may lay the secret of a happy ending: it is not the story that ends, but the chances of a perfectly happy resolution. Good luck to “Z” figuring out classes, just distribution, or freedom of speech in the new ant-land.

These are questions for a different genre, however. It can be refreshing to willingly “suspend our disbelief” in perfect political systems and just enjoy a little tale of little creatures, identify with the suspense of being stuck in chewing gum, and rejoice when all ends well. Maybe adults are the ones, who really need tales.