The Creeping Terror

Everything rotten you have read about this movie is true. The monster is a couple of cheap shag rugs with felt triangles stapled to it, and a performer underneath to make it move. There is no dialogue, just a narration that tries to make sense of the pictures, but merely makes everyone seem stupid. The print is grainy, although that might be a deliberate choice of the MST3000 crew. There is an attempt to raise some tension by showing some teenagers dancing at a party, intercut with the shag-rug monster moving. This implies, I suppose, that it's coming for them. The technique has not improved since before D.W. Griffith adopted it.

There's a strong tendency for people to rate movies like this 1 on the IMDB, because negative numbers are not available. I prefer to reserve that rating for misfires that are so bizarre that you can't help but watch, like a train wreck. Others will give it a 10 because it makes them feel superior, This is inept and dull.

What really sets this movie apart from other bad films is the makers' utter lack of embarrassment at the disastrous technical execution of the film. It isn't just that the monster is an old carpet, the exterior of the spaceship appears to be a garage door, and the editing is so incongruous it seems almost abstract. These shameless idiots actually lost or destroyed or never made a soundtrack, so they substituted bad narration (complete with weird pseudo-psychological non-sequitor explanations of characters' motivations), random dubbing of snatches of dialogue ("My god! What is it?"), even more random music (startlingly awful music) and under-mixed sound effects. You must see it. It's so bad it commands your attention, but the pacing is so slow it can only really be watched in fast forward.

With its awesome ineptitude, 1963's "The Creeping Terror" can lay claim to be among the most beloved bad movies of all time, though producer/director A. J. Nelson (actually star Vic Savage) deserves no credit due to his swift abandonment of the project once funds ran out. The opening credits feature a swirling background shot taken from Steve McQueen's "The Blob," followed by a downed spacecraft yielding two carpet monsters, one escaping to terrorize Simi Valley, the military keeping tabs on its still caged mate (only an exterior is shown, actors crawling under a mockup to view a dimly lit yet fairly ordinary facsimile of screens, dials and buttons). The human interest story with Savage and real life spouse Shannon O'Neil pales compared to the hilarity that ensues with each creature attack, the camera representing the monster's POV as the victims stand their ground and watch its approach. First up are two lovers, the louse of a boyfriend hightailing it to leave his bikini babe as breakfast, continuously screaming as she enters the bobbing and weaving maw of the beast; a housewife bids her husband farewell in the morning before hanging up the wash, gobbled up off screen while her baby cries; a grandson vanishes as chubby granddad babbles in a brook; a group of 12 on a sunny picnic are quick to get swallowed whole, their fearless leader fighting off the invader with his acoustic guitar, which would never sit well with John Lennon; the big dance hall sequence lasting 11 minutes, the creature entering the building after seven endless minutes of juking and jiving (one guy could be mistaken for Jerry Lewis on quaaludes); Lover's Lane sees its occupants worrying less about contraception than survival (this lasts six minutes, only a solitary car driving off); finally, army sharpshooters get too close to their target, going down like dominos with one soldier's feet up in the air waiting for the director to yell 'Cut!' The original monster costume was not stolen (confiscated for lack of payment by the man who built it), nor was the soundtrack lost as it was intended to be post dubbed after shooting wrapped, the damn thing unspooling like a silent movie with its constant organ motifs. The obscene looking carpet creature is kept mostly off camera for the first half, making an already difficult sit a real chore, but once unleashed it's impossible not to laugh, not so much at the beast but its comatose victims, who display little affinity for staying alive by hightailing it out of there. The first female victim is clad in a fetching bikini, the camera ogling her cute little caboose and long slim legs in almost slow motion (this was even before the Beach Party series kicked off), a pattern that would be repeated at the dance hall, from shimmy and shake to quiver and quake, with one unfortunate miss losing her top after being pushed aside by a rough customer. Lover's Lane finds the make out crowd too occupied doing imitations of Siamese twins joined at the mouth to notice a huge invader doing its bit by humping cars! Since director/producer A. J. Nelson alias Vic Savage vanished before filming was completed (May-June 1963), the final product was assembled by actor William Thourlby, playing a major role as Dr. Bradford, who put some of his own money into the production and was determined to earn back his investment (curiously, Nelson retains his editor credit). It's not likely that any theatrical distribution took place before its belated debut in late 1975 (mere months after the demise of its disgraced director at age 41), as part of Gold Key's 20 film Scream Theater television package, among the 16 Crown International cheapies to earn some notoriety for their relative obscurity.

There was only one possible reason for this movie to be made and that was to see women's rears stuck up into the air as they went down the monster's gullet. Just to keep from being called a pervert, the director tosses the monster some male actors and extras he didn't want to pay. Monster ? It's a living shag rug with several other dirty shag rugs sewn together. At one point, it even snags on a car and the "puppeteers and victims" inside have to hump a car to get freed. In fact, you know its going to be a bad movie because it requires a narrator to explain what's going on as you watch it. Actually, the narration is supposed to cover up a lost soundtrack; any sane director would have called it off at that point. The "attacks" are pretty ridiculous; the thing moves so slow that everyone has well enough time to run, and it makes so much noise there's no way it can sneak up on you. These people want to be eaten so the monster dutifully obliges. This movie may have been made just to show off the rolling hills and scenery of Lake Tahoe where it was filmed. After this movie, you'd think no one would ever go there again.

Where else but in the good ole U.S.A. could a group of people make a movie like THE CREEPING TERROR, get it shown in theatres and on TV (repeatedly), and people admit to liking it publicly? I've loved this flick since the first time I saw it back in the 70's on late night TV and still hold it in high regard as one of the worst movies I will ever love. The carpet and vacuum hose monster that moves at a mall walkers pace seems to have no problem getting victims to into it's mouth, not just to be eaten but to be analyzed and biological info sent back to it's home planet?!? A.J. Nelson must have been dropped one too many times as a baby to make something this bad... and hilarious!