Running Time: 1hr 15min
Release Date: November 20, 1964
Directed by: Vic Savage
Written by: Robert Silliphant
Review by: Fran Appleton, Dominatrix of Schlock
It's HERE, Schlockateers! Aunt Fran's latest Dissection: "THE CREEPING TERROR"! Just in time for Friday Date Night! Guaranteed to have your date clinging to you like static shag rug fibers! Enjoy, my lovelies!
I'll keep it short because honestly, I don't think I can do this trainwreck justice and there are only so many synonyms for crap. This movie is so pathetically hobbled it needs it's own handicapped space. It's so bad, you can't help but feel a little guilty for making fun of it. It doesn't need a review, it needs a eulogy. Like anything Kanye West says or does, it's painful to watch, but you just can't look away. Plagued by too many production screw-ups to count, this 1964 super-bomb is actually FABULOUS in it's awfulness! It's a sheer wonderworld of tarded ineptitude; a Top-of-the-Unholy-Trash-Heap Schlock Classic, and no matter how many times you flush, it simply won't go away. So, like a really ugly root canal, let's just get this over with quickly.
Our lead character, Sheriff's Deputy Martin (played by House Speaker Paul Ryan lookalike Art White aka "that new screen sensation Vic Savage") is driving home from a honeymoon trip with comely new wife Brett, in the most phallic looking car ever ejaculated from 1950s Detroit. Seriously, this thing actually has a sack. Look at it.
The original soundtrack was lost during production, so the entire movie is narrated by that same wooden guy who does all the sex ed films you were forced to watch in gym class. Except for a few actual talking scenes (where no one's lips match the dialogue) Narrator Guy will be droning us through this whole affair, only to veer off into odd moral tangents that have nothing to do with the story. Like now, as we thrill to Martin and Brett cuddling in the car. Mr. Narrator is spewing a sickeningly sweet homily about Newlywed Joy and Marital Bliss, but eventually he'll remember he's supposed to be doing a horror movie and inform us that Martin and Brett's idyllic honeymoon "...is about to become a nightmare!" Why? Because of the next scene: Stock footage of a NASA rocket launch PLAYED BACKWARD which is supposed to represent an alien spaceship landing on earth. Resourceful, huh?
One thing I love; you don't have to wait long to see THE MONSTER! They spring it on you immediately! And well they should. Because it's gonna take the whole film just to get a handle on it. As we watch this bizarre pile of WTF undulate out of the craft and into the woods, the rational part of one's brain goes into overdrive in an effort to make sense of it. Where's it's arms? Which part is the face? Does it have eyes? Why does it have vehicle air-intake hoses hanging all over it? The upright front-half has absolutely nothing to do with those 15 guys hiding behind it, crammed under a highway erosion tarp. HUT-two-three-four! The whole confusing mass has more legs than a bucket of KFC and resembles a truckload of misshapen artichokes having group sex with a pile of gummy worms and mutant Oscar the Grouch.
(TRIVIA: Legend has it the Special Effects guy got sick of going unpaid so he left the movie, taking the original monster with him. To replace it, White appears to have raided every recycling center, garbage dump, auto parts bargain-basement and flood-damaged apartment in Hollywood for all the scuzzy bits of flotsam and trashed carpeting he could get his hands on.)
Back to the newlyweds; Martin's curmudgeon Uncle Ben, town sheriff, happens to be driving in the opposite direction, sirens blaring. He commands the two lovebirds to follow him. Reportedly, a strange craft has crashed in a densely wooded area nearby. LOVE those densely wooded areas! Maybe there's even a shallow grave there! Actually, most of this movie was filmed at Spahn Ranch a few years before the Manson family took over, which is kind of a shame because they could have murdered this turdfest before it was inflicted on the public. Anyway, when the gang arrives, they see a round structure plopped in the forest like a giant tin turd, not remotely resembling the "spaceship" we were shown "landing" earlier. Uncle Ben finds his deputy Jeff's cowboy hat lying on the ground and figgers maybe he (or Waylon Jennings?) is inside the craft. He decides to investigate, flops down in the dirt, and edges himself underneath the "spaceship", (so, like, this thing doesn't have a floor, or...?)
Within moments we hear what sounds like Darth Vader with his hand stuck in a running garbage disposal, accompanied by screams from the Vienna Boy's Choir simultaneously having their nads waxed. DARN! Uncle Ben's been eaten by aliens! Betty Crocker! Aunt Jemima! Run! Brett screams. Martin reacts as if he's just been told the McRib won't be back for another 6 months. He strolls over to the police car and radios in the bad news. Narrator guy tells us that everyone from NASA to the POTUS has already been informed (some instantaneous mid-century Twitter?) and Martin is to meet with the foremost alien authority from England, tea-drinking-fog-breather Dr. Bradford.
The doctor informs Martin, "on advice from the highest levels of government" that the public should be kept in the dark so not to raise a panic. It's decided to cover up the deaths of Sheriff Ben and his deputy by planting a story in the local paper saying the duo have gone on an "extended fishing trip to British Columbia". Now THAT'S the kind of news worth reporting! Like anyone f*cking cares! Extra! Extra! Aunt Bee won't attend this year's pie social because she's visiting her narcoleptic cousin in Bone Lick Arkansas!
Martin thinks this is a big mistake. He's also resentful at the involvement of Dr. Egghead in this dire matter and, as Mr. Narrator tells us, "highly outraged by the government's intellectual approach." Really? As opposed to their usual clueless dumbass approach? Narrator Guy now tells us that a "series of tragedies" is about to befall the town, "tragedies which could have been avoided had the public been warned." Like this one...
Cut to a scantily clad couple making out on a blanket in the woods, so involved in swapping spit they're completely unaware of THE MONSTER as it waddles up in plain sight. Nor do they hear it's loud slurpy/growly/nom-nom noises. As you'll see, this entire town is deaf, running-impaired, and dumb as a pound of hot boiled croutons. You've never seen such cooperative victims! They're downright helpful! Make-Out Dude jumps off his girl and hightails it into the forest without a backward look. Bikini chick just lays there like a giant omelette and makes no visible effort to run away (if only to catch up with Make-Out Dude to see if he's still gonna call her tomorrow. Men!)
Everything about The Monster is worth whatever you paid to see this idiot movie. It looks like offspring from Jabba the Hut's sexual encounter with a salad bar. Seriously, I had a total Schlock-gasm every time it made an appearance! Like now, watching it gobble up Bikini Chick. First, she edges into position so The Monster can start with her head (you guys with pet snakes know how this works) - then, she helpfully spreads open The Monster's gaping maw so she can crawl halfway inside. For you leg men, we're treated to at least 6 minutes of shapely gams kicking crazily as the creature swallows her up. As you'll see, White/Savage clearly has a lower body fetish. Except for one male, all the victims are women and closeups of The Monster gumming them down tend to linger on panty-clad bottoms and scrambling legs, with a few garter belts and stockings thrown in for good measure. "But Aunt Fran, you're saying that like it's a BAD thing!" Pervs.
Anyway, from here, Narrator Man will guide us through some more cooperative townsfolk getting eaten, a baby getting a thermometer stuck up it's butt (don't worry, it's off camera) and even treat us to a look inside the spaceship courtesy of Dr. Sh*tforbrains. We're to believe the craft's innards contain advanced technology unheard of by modern Earth science. Hot damn, look at THAT! It... It has CLOCKS! It has DIALS! It has BUTTONS! And it makes a beep-beep-beep noise too! Dr. Bradford believes if experts can study the craft closely, our own science will be greatly benefited. Maybe we'll even learn to create WAY COOLER clocks and dials and buttons and beep-beep noises! But wait, what's that? By golly - there's a SECOND Monster aboard! Only this one's being restrained by a bondage harness straight out of 50 Shades of Grey. It waggles and wobbles and waves it's tubes and gaskets around like it's trying to get the doctor to notice it. Maybe it's hungry. Maybe it wants a good spanking.
Meanwhile, the out-and-about Monster happens upon a bunch of young republicans having a hootenanny in the woods. You just know he's gonna chow down every last one of them, if only to stop that lame caterwauling! Check out these stellar lyrics! "She left meeeeeee so saaaaaad - But in fact I am glaaaaaad - I said that I loved her, and would til I diiiiiiiiiie - I tried to for-get her - And I reeeeeeeeally did tryyyyyyyy..." Hey Pete Seeger, shut the hell up before this brain aneurysm gets any bigger! Thank God The Monster shows up! RUN, YOU DUMBASSES! Of course, nobody does, so Head Hootenanner gets up and tries beating the sh*t out of the creature with his acoustic guitar. To no avail; the entire gang gets scarfed. It's a weird sight, like watching Pete Townsend and his groupies square off with massive hair-strewn blanc mange.
AAAAAAAUUGH!!! ENOUGH!!! I can't stand it anymore!!! Seriously you guys, I hafta cut this whole synopsis short before I bust a f*cking blood vessel. Trust me, "THE CREEPING TERROR" has to actually be viewed to be appreciated. It's really that terrible. An undisputed Schlock Masterpiece, and more than worthy of a place on your dvd shelf in the "I'm Desperate for Entertainment and Anything's Better Than Watching the Kardashians" section. Aunt Fran's turd rating only goes to 5, and I'm giving this thing a 20. The best that can be said for it is this: ya gotta hand it to 'em for making this shitshow happen on a budget of 3 or 4k and whatever movie mastermind Art White managed to steal from tip jars and unsuspecting Girl Scouts. Even Robot Monster, Yucca Flats, and Plan 9 pale in comparison. Watch it - and keep plenty of kleenex handy to wipe away your tears of hilarity. Maybe a barf bucket too, just in case. Before I bow out, let me note a few must-see highlights
*SUSPENSE! as Little Bobby and Grandpa (played by 400 lb.Mr. French) go fishing down to The Old Pond. We don't actually see them get eaten, but Grandad Diabeetus is not to be missed. Particularly as he begins drowning in 2 inches of water. Bobbb--bee. Bobbb-ee. Bobbb-ee? Bobb-ee! BOBBB-EE! (You'll get it once you see the movie).
THRILL! to the film's highlight: THE DANCE HALL SCENE!!! Swingin' '60's Douchebaggery at it's finest! It's like watching an A.A./N.A mixer on Seizure Night with a bunch of recovering Pee Wee Hermans dry heaving to "Tequila". My favorite is the one dude who can't get his date to dance with him, but manages to get out there and shake a leg anyway - once he does you can easily see why she said no! I've yet to witness such a frenzied display of spasmodic ecstasy! You don't know whether to applaud or call 911 and jam a stick in his mouth to keep him from biting his tongue off.
Anyway, THE MONSTER eventually palpitates in, flailing his little T-Rex arms and looking positively cuddly! I so want one, but I hate to think what would happen if it got too big and I had to flush it down the toilet. Rather than run, the crowd wanders off into a corner and waits there, screaming. The creature knocks over some tables and eats a few stray girls, in the same glacially-paced manner as it devoured Bikini Chick and and the gang at Hootenanny Holler. One brave dude tries to save the day by giving The Monster a big hug, but he's shrugged off. Poor fella, rejected again! Maybe the Monster likes you, he just doesn't like you like *that*, ok?
*And by all means, don't miss THE LOVERS LANE MASSACRE!! If you have kids, you might wanna send them to bed unless you wanna explain why Mutant Oscar the Grouch with Scrotal Elephantitis is humping classic cars to the tune of Aunt Minnie's Hammond organ.
So, there you have it, Schlockateers. "THE CREEPING TERROR" is still stinking up the public domain so it's easily found on YouTube. Watch it. You'll be entertained from beginning to end; that's a promise. Unlike most cheesy horror films, there's never a lull; the f*ck-up fairy arrives again and again to keep you at Peak Snark Mode. It's broken my rating scale, but for forms sake I'll go ahead and give it 5 HUGE Turds! 💩💩💩💩💩
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