Monster from a Prehistoric Planet (1967)
Grade: D
Two-thirds Godzilla and one-third Jurassic Park, but not half as good as either, this film seems like a rebuke to every reviewer who's ever complained that a B-movie is too "talky".
The titular monster -- or rather, monsters -- are the Gappa, giant bird-lizards who vaguely resemble Sam the Eagle, who lead quiet lives on a secluded island (surrounded by a primitive people who worship them).
Enter a party of explorers, who can't quite decide whether they're treasure hunters, reporters, or scientists. Maybe it's all of the above, but either way, they're sponsored by (ahem) Playmate magazine and its avaricious owner. And they sure do smile a lot.
When the Gappa's newborn offspring is stolen by the party, and brought back to Japan...well, you can guess what happens next, and what it takes to resolve the situation.
Which is: a kid in blackface.
Sure, we know Monster from a Prehistoric Planet was meant to be a satire of monster-movie clichés; yes, the Gappa are kind of cute. But holy mother of Vlad, the action sequences in this thing are interminable. Minute after minute of Gappa wreaking havoc, people shooting, missiles flying, buildings laid to waste, fleeing bystanders screaming...it's enough to make you pine for an Ed Wood-style monologue.
If an endless barrage of 1960s shock-and-awe special effects is enough to keep you entertained, then by all means, sit down with Monster from a Prehistoric Planet for 90 minutes. But it'd be better for everyone if three-quarters of its effects sequences were siphoned off and sprinkled onto a half-dozen other movies with smaller budgets.
(The Day the Sky Exploded came to both our minds, for some reason...)
Bloodlust (1961)
Grade: D+
Mediocre ripoff of The Most Dangerous Game, with Mike Brady at the helm of a quartet of "teenagers" who end up trapped on an island as prey for the mad Dr. Albert Balleau (Wilton Graff).
This crossbow-wielding character was once a mild-mannered museum curator, but a stint as a WWII sniper left him with an incurable hankering for hemoglobin...a passion for platelets...rarin' for red cells...or, uh, the title of this movie...
So, caged in, they take to numbers. (It aids them in their clamor.)
There are a few little wild cards here and there, like the crazed hipster who shows up, "reckless and loose", for no particular reason (other than our mild amusement).
But overall, Bloodlust is a by-the-numbers affair, and our memories of it resemble the quality of Mill Creek's transfer: fuzzy and grey.
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