directed by JOhn bushelman
screen group, inc.
So much a ripoff of Psycho that the main character and culprit’s last name is “Crane,” this no-budget sleazeball melodrama somehow manages to be fairly entertaining, probably because it’s so utterly half-assed. Reminiscent of the artless stylings of other dimestore auteurs (you will see Ed Wood’s name invoked if you decide to read reviews of this production), at least this picture barely bothers with the armchair psychology – especially noteworthy given that one of the characters is a headshrinker. You know, I watched this alongside the preceding film based merely on the similarity of the nonsensical names, yet they share a weirdly similar predilection besides. For a fun parlor game, try to construct a meaningful diagnosis of Jonathan’s paraphilias, I dast ya.
why did i watch this movie?
“Day of the Nightmare?” I asked myself. Obscure, black-and-white, obviously some stripe of exploitation, check.
should you watch this movie?
It aspires to bare competence. Maybe. Usually with drivel such as this, I wind up wishing I could spend some time living in the milieu represented. In this case, though, everything is suspiciously antiseptic. Maybe that only heightens the allure.
highlight and low point
At one point, a sexpot “patient” is making the move on her “doctor,” and she exclaims, “I don’t need a psychiatrist” – which she pronounces sick-eye-a-tryst – “I need a MAN,” this latter in a breathy stage whisper. Doc replies, “All right, all right … just this once.” Given the carryings-on in this picture, that is likely a bald-faced lie, of course, but with such deft handling of dramaturgy, what else could you reasonably expect. Another poignant moment comes during the thrilling conclusion, when our intrepid investigators pronounce of their quarry, “He’s heading for the amusement pavilion!”
Aren’t we all.
Not only is this movie not frightening in the least, this reviewer has no idea how or why it has been lauded through the decades as even a competent endeavor, much less an estimable one. Did I say “not frightening”? It’s completely ridiculous, helped in no way by the laughable attempt at dramatics presented by Lon Chaney, Jr. Let me emphasize the generational suffix; this is not the lauded “Man of a Thousand Faces,” it’s his son, who benefits from this picture’s dime-store makeup disguising his general inability to act naturally. Also not helping: the entire film is very obviously shot on the studio lot. Additionally, it’s dismaying to be treated to no shots of Larry Talbot’s transformations. (Those scenes take place in the various sequels.) A “B” picture through and through, presented such that even the underlying existential crisis isn’t at all provocative.
SPACE RATS From Outer Space 