The She-Creature

Powerful, resentful and diabolically clever hypnotist Carlo Lombardi (deliciously played with lip-smacking suave menace by Chester Morris) puts his beautiful lady assistant Andrea (the strikingly lovely Marla English) under his evil spell and causes her to transform into a hideously ugly, scaly, clawed murderous prehistoric she beast (famed 50's monster make-up maven Paul Blaisdell in a fabulously funky rubber suit) which bumps off people he hates. Moreover, Lombardi joins forces with equally amoral greedy rick jerk Timothy Chappel (a nicely wicked portrayal by Tom Conway) so he can achieve fame and fortune predicting the next killing. Boy, is this one enjoyably cruddy low-budget 50's creature feature schlock horror hoot! It's got all the usual bad film vices (or are they virtues?) which make this kind of dross so entertainingly awful: blah direction, incredibly slow pacing, chintzy cinematography, some very poor acting (Lance Fuller as Lombardi's rival gives a performance that's so flat and wooden you can use it as a diving board), a hokey script, a seedy seaside California location, blundering idiot cops, lousy dialogue, a laughably sluggish'n'shambling monster that's more silly than scary, and a rousing cornball spacey'n'spooky score. A bit dull and talky in spots, but overall still loads of delectably cheesy B-horror fun.

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!

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).

THE SHE-CREATURE (1956) is certainly one of the more interesting monsterific creations of Paul Blaisdell but the film suffers from a pace slower than death itself and characters as cardboard as a Hallmark card. The idea is perhaps lifted from the Bridey Murphy story wherein a woman is placed under a major hypnotic trance and made to revert to former lives. In this one, the heroine goes all the way back to her prehistoric past and becomes the title creature, complete with scales, Stone Age hooters, a tail and back with Godzilla-like plates. THE SHE-CREATURE must be seen to be believed. This is American-International Pictures, which cranked out a lot of great matinee fun but this monster just about tops them all. A hopelessly inept Chester Morris is terrible as the hypnotist and the cast proceeds at a funereal pace. See it for the monster, it's the only reason to bother!

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?!?!