“Wha. Look Mommy, a detour!”
“Wha . . . . Oh, yes Jimmy, I see it. Let’s see where it goes.”
“Oh goody . . . Mommy! Put the car back down on four wheels.”
“There Honey, are you happy now?”
“Mommy, do you think we’ll ever make it to B-movie heaven?”
“Well, Dear, I think we’re well on our way.”
“Oh boy!”
U.S. Air Force / Inceptor Command / Experimental Station No. 6 / Winthrop Manitoba / Canada, lead by paranoid delusions goaded by McCarthy himself, atop delusions of nationalistic grandeur, is horsing around with nuclear energy in hopes of keeping those damned atheistic, Communist Russkies at bay (though there is not one blip on the screen to give us the impression that the Reds are doing anything other than peeling potatoes). Yet, to keep us busy while the Commies hopefully concoct something to validate our fears, four people keel over for no apparent reason as the town 1,000 miles from the nearest McDonald’s is up in arms about the whole gosh-darned mess. Enter square-jawed do-gooder Major Jeff Cummings (Marshall Thompson) who, amid investigating why the brain and spinal cords of the deceased have been “sucked out” (and justifiably boggled at why anyone would want a large quality of unused brains), manages to get a smooch in on Barbara Griselle (Kim Parker) before thwarting the “mental vampires,” that is, Professor R. E. Walgate’s (Kynaston Reeves) atrocious, dreadful, horrendous, appalling, and just plan bad thought experiments gone wrong.
Let’s see, do we have everything we need for a proper B-movie production? A morally-upstanding, hair-chiseled-to-perfection male lead who loves his God and country (we’ll ignore his Benzedrine habit), likes beer but not too much, and will always insist on engaging in intercourse via the missionary position to curiously save the girl the energy expenditure? Check. A helpless but always supportive female counterpart whose torpedo adornments perpetually remind the former why he bothers? You betcha. A rusty, blunt hacksaw for post-production editing? What else? A box of reels containing grossly inappropriate, mismatched stock footage? Of course. A couple of fake punches to show the little lady that, though you had to pick your ass up off the floor, you–come Hell or high water–refuse to bleed? Need you even ask? And, finally, a collective of insistent, short-fused townspeople who have been rehearsing how to get an impromptu posse together at a drop of a pin and are glad that their efforts have not been in vain. Roger. What about a bunch of friends to do some horrendous overdubbing after everything’s said and done? Anything less would be uncivilized. O.K. then, let’s get to it.
Oh, wait a minute, what’s this, Arthur Crabtree’s Fiend without a Face is an educational endeavor? Do tell. Well, did you know that the proper protective attire for handling and working around radioactive waves can be purchased at your local convenience store? That’s right, just hop on down to Bob’s Radioactive Fashions ’R Us and buy yourself a shiny new rain slicker and malicious mutations beware, ’cuz they needn’t bother. Also, if you want your chickens to have nerves of steel, all you have to do is raise them around a nuclear core. However, there’s a catch. Yep, I’m sorry to report that your wife’s Kryptonic (Kryptonitic?) looks will nonetheless spook the Hell out of them even after a bomber carrying subatomic warheads buzzed their feathery bird brains without prompting so much as a flutter. Hey, how about the upshot that if you live to be 264, you will know everything? That’s right, as a learn’d ol’ codger who can’t hear himself fart and can’t get out of his chair without some girl’s mammarian incentives leading the way, you’ll not only know everything there is to be had over sibonetics (outside of the fact that you misspelled “cybernetics”) to thought control, but you’ll have published numerous books on the various subjects. Unfortunately, unless you make it to 265, you wouldn’t have had time to find a publisher worth his weight in salt that does little more than slap a sticker with your name on the book jacket. Sorry. But, with a bastion of knowledge at your fingertips, you’ll still have to learn the hard way that electrocution will give you a headache and that you’ll have to take a time out before attempting to use mind bullets to turn a page in a book. Huh, wha . . . ? What about mausoleums you ask? Well, fact of the matter is a) they are airtight but on the upshot, b) be sure bring a book because airtight tombs having ample lighting. Oh, and let’s not forget that thought made invisibly manifest (yeah, I also have problems with the notion that immaterial ghosts can move things and have vocals chords in which to moan) nonetheless houses a discernable heartbeat and the factoid that autopsy reports are best dictated in the dark.
Interestingly, the climax seems suspiciously familiar . . . wait, I have seen that before, it was called Night of the Living Dead, which goes to show, you never stop learning.
-Egregious Gurnow
- Interview with J.R. Bookwalter - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Andrew J. Rausch - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Rick Popko and Dan West - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Director Stevan Mena (Malevolence) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Screenwriter Jeffery Reddick (Day of the Dead 2007) - January 22, 2015
- Teleconference interview with Mick Garris (Masters of Horror) - January 22, 2015
- A Day at the Morgue with Corri English (Unrest) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Writer/Director Nacho Cerda (The Abandoned, Aftermath) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Actress Thora Birch (Dark Corners, The Hole, American Beauty) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Actor Jason Behr, Plus Skinwalkers Press Coverage - January 22, 2015
