Showing posts with label Kerwin Matthews. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kerwin Matthews. Show all posts

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Octaman(1971)d/Harry Essex

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Sometimes when you go back and revisit one of your favorite artists or performers earlier work,you're pleasantly surprised,and you gain a greater appreciation for them.I've always championed the special makeup effects work of Rick Baker,who is without a doubt a master of his craft.That being said,this early Baker outing is like an upper decker some drunken wiseass pooped into your toilet's cistern at a party last month,and by now your whole place reeks of its putrefying stench.In Mr. Baker's defense,his creature suit(co-designed by Doug Beswick)isn't the only thing that suck about Octaman.Just about every aspect of this movie sucks.In fact,the only way it could possibly suck MORE is if it was remade these days by Uwe Boll or Rob Zombie.Maybe.
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Eyeee eyeeee eyeeee eyeeeeee....Yeah I took the low road here.
A scientific expedition in Mexico(California)led by Kerwin Matthews and Pier Angeli(who overdosed and died during the filming,by the way) uncovers small rubbery mutated octopi specimens in a lake they soon deduct got that way by nuclear waste dumped into the sea which has seeped into nearly all its tributaries by this point.One of their ridiculously corny, stereotypically non-Mexican Mexican guides tells them of stories his grandmother told him of a sea serpent with many arms that terrorized the area for years,then produces a crude drawing he made of the legendary creature.Nevermind the fact that two thirds of their previous group is missing,and one is dead.Nevermind that octopi don't naturally occur in lakes.Come to think of it,throw anything you may already know about anything and strain your eyes to the poorly lit interior shots,and the abysmally lit outdoor shots.You may even thank the film's producers for the vast number of dark shots,having less cheezy garbage to actually see and laugh mockingly at.
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How does an Octaman walk around on dry land?Why,his rubbery octaboots,that's how!
When Octaman lumbers on camera,he tends to swing his four tentacled arms(two are attached to his legs,mind you)around listlessly,sometimes pimpslapping fake Mexicans,sometimes into inanimate things on location.Either way,he's obviously pissed that these scientists have tried to octa-nap his little rubber cousins for research purposes,often picking up Pier Angeli and trying to make off into the lake with her,King Kong-style.The actor in the octa-suit probably doesn't enjoy the enormous latex Mardi Gras octa-head Baker designed for it too much.He gets momentarily captured in a net,he downs a tree so the team can't leave the site,he attacks team members on a row boat,he pops out of their Winnebago and slaps them around,he tries to carry off Angeli again,then gets pumped full of bullets,before lumbering listlessly to the edge of the lake and submerging himself.A fake Mexican guide chucks a carved likeness of him into the water and the credits roll finally.Will man's folly create another Octaman?Let's fucking hope not.
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Not the greatest makeup work Rick Baker has ever committed to the big screen by a long shot.
Did I say earlier that this movie sucks?I wasn't bullshitting you.Thankfully,Baker's work improved by leaps and bounds,winning him six Oscars.I'd suggest viewing this one for unintentional comedic aspects,but unfortunately,they don't even exist here.Though it received a lot of press in old issues of Famous Monsters which endears it to many horror buffs,I can't in good conscience stamp this turkey with any other rating than:
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The late Pier Angeli,as seen in dynamic new Octavision(which only has five lenses...)!
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Tuesday, October 9, 2007

"The Boy Who Cried Werewolf"(1973)d/Nathan Juran

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Released as one of Universal's last double bills with equally groovy horror,"Sssssss"(1973),Nathan Juran's "The Boy Who Cried Werewolf"(1973) is a lost treasure for those who cherish painful,flailing attempts at acting by a cast of forgettables,cookie-cutter 1970's made-for-tv movie horror plots(see:"Gargoyles"(1972)),embarrassingly bad makeup(an early queef from FX Wizard Tom Burman),day for night shots that rival even Viktors Ritellis' "The Corpse(Crucible of Horror)"(1970),and the feeling that the individuals responsible for this little ditty either had no idea what the hell they were doing,or just couldn't give a monkey's about the subject matter they were dealing with,which makes for a pleasant evening of '70s horror hijinks.
The late Kerwin Matthews is Robert Bridgestone,a divorced father trying to spend quality time with his son Richie in a little cabin out in the woods,just down the road from a gaggle of travelling hippie Jesus freaks,perpetually hopped up on the Bible and goofballs.Unbeknownst to Bridgestone,there's a laughable-looking lycanthrope prowling about his property,probably looking to bum a smoke from Michael Landon in his "I Was A Teenage Werewolf" get-up,as he certainly seems to have studied him briefly in preparation for this role.His son Richie gets accosted by our furry fiend one night,only to have Dad subdue the beast with a stake through the heart(?),but not before the wolfman manages to bite Robert on the arm.See where they're going with this one?
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"Dad!Dad!DAAAAAAAAAD!Dad!Help me,Dad!"...Scott Sealey's only lines.
Robert is now a werewolf,and only Richie and Dr.Marderosian know better,and the sheriff is only interested in giving the hippies a hard time,in typical '70s cinematic fascist law enforcement fashion.Even when dad starts murdering the townsfolk,by strangling them a little and drawing less blood than a big wheel brushburn,nobody believes Richie for a minute.Bland dialogue between the separated parents doesn't help move this folkloric take on the Hollywood werewolf flick,and neither do the sparse,bloodless killings that seem to be happening each night,as opposed to the ritual monthly full moon murders in other pictures.Eventually,Robert commits a puppy faux pas by bringing a young girl's head in a sack home to the cabin to bury in the cellar like a macabre steak bone(!)and chases Richie through the local woods, just as the lawman is forming a posse to hunt him down like the mangy mutt that he has become.He gets riddled with bullets,spinning around like a slow-mo ballerina after too many appletinis,and dies,impaling himself on the gypsy hippie leader's cross.Richie and mom are reunited at the close of the picture,and she hugs him and tends to the bite that his father gave him in the melee...Sequel anybody?
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"Just because you can lick yourself now,I'm out of the picture?"
All in all,I enjoyed seeing it after all these years,and I'd imagine it was an effective flick in luring that outta sight brunette to the back seat of your '70 Nova during the drive-in intermission,so long as you gave her the tapioca in time to return to the front seat for Strother Martin injecting Face from the A-Team with cobra serum in the second feature.Look for it!
Two out of four B.W.'s
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