Geschöpf des Schreckens

This movie is, of course, artistically bankrupt. It is artless, tedious and frankly illogical. It is, however, rather watchable in an odd sort of way... Not quite in the Plan 9 fashion, where you're left laughing all the time, because the production values here aren't all that bad for the time. The "She Creature", whilst a risible concept, looks quite impressive, given a bit of disbelief-suspension - vital for any true lover of film, of course. 'Tis a shame the creature moves so slow as to make anyone killed by it look utterly pathetic.

The plot is a mixture of clichéd horror and cut-price hypnotism, a concern which you can tell was topical in 1956. It has some interesting areas which are largely unexplored: the big-business involvement with the good Dr Lombardi could have made for some reasonable drama and comedy. This missed opportunity is far from the worst thing about the story; the relationship between Marla English's Andrea and both Lombardi and Erickson is abysmally written. We are presented with scenes that stutter on for days between Lombardi and Andrea; scenes that say nothing new at all, as we knew right from the start about Andrea's dilemma. Even worse is the abrupt, tiresomely predictable "romance" between Andrea and Erickson. The acting is devoid of charisma, humour and often even the vaguest physical or emotional expression. Perhaps these marionettes would make good human-fodder in a Ballardian concept, but they really wouldn't have the poise to achieve that.

Lance Fuller gives a kind of unintended, minimalist-hammy performance as the sceptic-type Dr Erickson. You frankly end up rooting for Lombardi, such is the unfounded, uncalled-for smugness of the 'rational' Erickson. Cathy Downs' character only shows interest in him due to the constraints of genre convention. Erickson's battle of wills with Lombardi over Andrea's mind and the only intended humour, which comprises scenes of the house-servants, are some of the feeblest, most cringe-worthy scenes in the annals of cinema.

The crucial figure is that of the sole experienced and professional actor in the film, Chester Morris, who seems to know how to handle this ludicrous material, by playing it deadly seriously. He actually gives an effective portrayal of a taciturn, smalltime showman who isn't quite as clever as everyone is endlessly saying. Morris's range of expressions is ridiculously small, reduced to a permanent frown, and, on second thoughts, perhaps some wry humour and flamboyance would have lifted the film, if even been out of character. He does, after all, sport the archytypal villain's moustache and black cape - so often found in the ripest stage and film melodramas.

It really is 'against all odds' - as a Mr Collins once crooned - that this film is fun to watch. Perhaps it is the black-and-white photography that lends it some atmosphere. Indeed the film, if you suspend your disbelief, works on a 1950s B-Movie level, without ever threatening to reach the heights of that genre. Most of the fun is in observing these hapless, smug characters - only just managing to keep within some rather ropey genre conventions - and finding the unintended mirth in what they say and do. So, worth watching - it is mercifully brief by latterday measures - but do keep expectations very low!

Definitely a waste of talent and film. Many people had been waiting years to see Boston Blackie (Chester Morris) and The Falcon (Tom Conway) on screen together. Unfortunately, they got this piece of trash.

To make a long story short, hypnotist Morris fills the room of a local club every night with his predictions of death. To make it happen, he hypnotizes the beautiful Marla English (who does things with sweaters that would rival any of today's starlets) and regresses her to a past life. Of course, this produces the she-creature, a monstrosity with scales, a tail (or tale) and breasts that rampages around a lake resort, somehow getting the drop on unsuspecting people.

Tom Conway keeps Morris on because he likes seeing his resort packed (if you think this is ghoulish, think of all the people who paid to see Lennox Lewis and Mike Tyson just hoping to see Iron Mike bite of a body part).

The only interesting part of this schlock is Paul Blaisdell's creature. It does look authentic, but the suit was way too bulky and the actor inside could only walk at a snail's pace. So, the fact that the creature took people by surprise was all the more unbelievable. The best scene was when the creature somehow sneaks inside a bungalow, surprises a guest reading a book and forcefully folds the bed up into the wall closet. Unfortunately, it wasn't a fold up bed and there was no wall closet, at least beforehand.

Chester Morris hams it up badly. Tom Conway is so wooden you will almost cheer when he unwittingly becomes part of a prediction. Marla English is great, but that's only because she mostly lies flat on her back in a trance or just shows off tight sweaters and skirts. Leading man Lance Fuller is so stiff, he could have been used as a table. He was way better as the brooding alien Brak in the classic "This Island Earth."

The only redeeming value is that somebody remade this in the late 60's and the remake was so bad it makes the original look decent.

Dr. Carlo Lombardi (Chester Morris), a carnival hypnotist hypnotises Andrea (Marla English) into reliving earlier incarnations: a 17th century Irish maiden and a monstrous primordial creature that Andrea's transmigrating spirit can make corporal. The nonsensical plot plays on the then popular 'Bridey Murphy' story (a supposedly true example of hypnotic regression) and tacks on a monster for the drive-in crowd. Although the 'science' is negligible and ludicrous, the implication that the creature is an aquatic form of paleo-human makes the otherwise mystical horror film borderline science-fiction (IMO). The distaff creature is probably monster-maker (and wearer) Paul Blaisdel's best work: a scaly, buxom monster sporting a prominent 'vagina dentata' on her abdomen. Much of the film is about control: Lombardi (who dresses like comic-book hero 'Mandrake the Magician') has hypnotic control over Andrea (who loathes him), and indirectly over the creature, Timothy Chappel (Tim Conroy) is a wealthy capitalist who tries to control Lombardi with money, and scientist-hero Dr. Ted Erickson (representing rationality) pushes Andrea to defy Lombardi and rejects Chappell's money (both directly and by turning down the advances of the crass industrialist's socialite daughter). Despite the dominant muliebral she-creature (who is endowed like the Venus of Willendorf (at least in the posters)), the film is far from a feminist statement: only love for a man frees Andrea from thralldom. Other than the memorable monster suit, the film is hokey and ridiculous and has little to offer anyone other than diehard fans of schlocky sci-fi/horror films (and perhaps the occasional pop-media scholar or slumming Freudian).

There are a few good things to be said about this schlock- I wouldn't just say its all bad and forget it. Yes it is slow at times, but better than you might expect with Chester Morris staying totally in character for every second he is on screen displaying acting skill and supreme polish. He is good as a strange, creepy hypnotist, although you don't get the impression that he relishes this role.

Marla English is a cut above the average 1950's big-chested b-actress in her role as the she-creature. Tom Conway is obviously washed-up but is OK in his role as a sleazy, cynical "event promoter".

The director framed Morris in most scenes to enhance his screen presence. Also there is some directorial skill in a few other scenes, such as when you have a three-layer deep scene with Ms. English close to the screen, the leading man in mid distance, and a carny operator in the background- this scene is a good piece of directing and staging as it ends focused on the carny who was in the background to start. Most 50's cheap-o films would not take the time and effort to plan and stage scenes as well as this.

The hypnotist (Morris) and the creature at times are menacing and overall Morris is hypnotic to watch, if at times slow-moving.

Washed up cheap cast and cheap 50's B&W but somewhat entertaining and not just a time-waster, despite its basic schlock nature.

Directed by Edward (50 movies a year) Cahn and written by Lou Rusoff (who also penned Dragstrip Girl, Cat Girl, Runaway Daughters, Apache Woman, Oklahoma Woman, and Girls in Prison; hmmm, I notice a violent femme pattern here), the She Creature is notable for Albert Kallis evocative poster, Paul Blaisdell's terrific prehistoric "she" monster (complete with scaly hooters), and the mesmerizingly gorgeous Marla English in what appears to have been her last role. Actually, it's hard to call this a "role" as she spends most of her time in a trance lying on her back. Also spending the movie in a trance is Lance Fuller, though he's supposed to be fully conscious. Fuller's acting expressions range from "gee that's a tight sweater" to "gee that's a tight dress" to `gee my pants are tight.' The snidely-whiplash villain, Dr. Carlo Lambardi, is played by Chester Morris with the seriousness of a man passing his 15th kidney stone. But the real villain, is the She Creature! Sort of. The She Creature, while looking cool, is about as menacing as Lobster Themidor. No one seems to notice that, while bullets can't stop her, she can be outrun by a snail on crutches. Instead, in Z-movie tradition, folks just stand around and get clobbered to death. The movie's budget must have been as tight as English's sweater because bullets don't even leave dust marks on the monster's Victoria's Secrety bosom. Shot on location in Malibu! Whatever happened to Marla?!?!