But if you're looking to raise terrified children, don't turn to these four films, which uniformly disappoint in their attempts at fiendish offerings.
The Head (1959)
Grade: D+
"No, that's German for The Brain That Wouldn't The."
And indeed it is -- though here the brilliant scientist gets the John-the-Baptist treatment, and is kept alive against his will by his newly hired and alarmingly Aryan associate, Dr. Ood (Horst Frank). Meanwhile, a crippled young woman gets a brand-new and sexy-sexy chassis, much to her (eventual) horror, though it's a triumph for the unscrupulous Dr. Ood.
A stylish beginning gave us high hopes for this Teutonic tale of transplantation and torment, but it quickly fizzled out, leaving us with yet another humdrum saga of world-weary dancers, shaky science, crappy image quality, and Götteryämmerung.
Faux fiend the first:
From the beginning, The Head drops hints that Dr. Ood has some sort of...affliction...involving the full moon. As his behavior grew viler and more erratic, we rather expected a big reveal with lycanthropy, baying at the moon, and so on.
Instead, just another sociopath. Perhaps he should've just gotten the MBA instead?
Crypt of the Living Dead (1973)
(aka Hannah, Queen of the Vampires)
Grade: C
I've got news for you, kid: in 1973, the bad guys were the ones without mustaches. If you can understand this, many doors of perception will open for you.
Indeed, this moody vampire flick set on a Turkish island has many a mustache to offer, and it's there that you should seek your satisfaction, since the ladies don't have much. The titular vampire looks good while on her back, becomes less compelling once up and out of bed...
...and if that invites a smug remark about how a dude obviously wrote it, well, then there's Lois Gibson. And B.D. Wong.
Plus there's a Barbara Steele lookalike, but who cares?
Unfortunately, mustaches can't do much to repair the terrible sound on Mill Creek's print, nor can it restore the color that's mysteriously gone missing (sorry, Dad).
Faux fiend #2:
Well, at least she's actually a vampire (paging Peter Loew on Isle Üç), but Hannah herself was really kind of lame. She's either supine or lupine, and never does much of anything. Plus there's some guy that lurks around à la Torgo and doesn't do much.
Which leaves the mustaches, or lack thereof. Take heed, friends:
The Devil Monster (1946)
Objective Grade: F
Manta 'n' Mammary Modifier: C+
Oh Christ, this thing. Sorry, but we have to go into pottymouth mode for this one: people who blather about the "worst movie ever" don't know what the fuck they're talking about, because they haven't seen The Devil Monster yet.
Highlights of that footage include seals, sharks, bare-breasted ladies of several different ethnicities, and an octopus and a moray eel having an epic battle in the bottom of a "lagoon" that's bounded by a strange, almost aquarium-like pane of glass.
Anyway, tropical island, Béla Lugosi accent, blah blah blah. Other people have written about this shit, we don't need to.
Faux fiend the fird:
The titular monster is a manta ray, for fuck's sake. It's a filter feeder! They don't hurt anyone! Hell, even Captain Caswell doesn't fight them! What's wrong with you people?
Well, nothing a little Grade-Z special effects won't fix, it seems:
A Walking Nightmare (1942)
(aka The Living Ghost)
Grade: C+
Wacky horror-mystery-comedy wherein Nick Trayne (James Dunn), a brilliant PI who got "fed up with the detective business" and became a huckster, is coaxed out of retirement by spunky Billie Hilton (Joan Woodbury) to solve the case of a missing millionaire. So it's off to the millionaire's mansion to meet a colorful cast of characters, and naturally, banter and bickering ensue.
Soon the millionaire turns up, alive but zombified. Cue more banter, some medical mumbo-jumbo, a murder, a spooky abandoned house, and a pro forma romantic subplot.
The (alternate) title notwithstanding, the only real specter in this film is the horrendous ghosting in the spooky-house scenes, which makes everything look like an acid flashback done 1930s style.
Still, it's all inoffensive and moves along relatively quickly. That, plus one or two good one-liners, helps to elevate this a bit above the usual B-grade screwball fare.
Faux fiend the final:
A Walking Nightmare feints at setting itself up as a comic zombie movie, but the two specimens of zombiedom amount to little more than lobotomized deer (hi, Faith!) meandering aimlessly around. There isn't even a supernatural explanation; it's just a couple guys who've turned stupid, without first enjoying the pleasures of a bagful of airplane glue (or a tankful of propane). That may be tragic, but it's hardly frightening.
Unless you count Joan Woodbury's hair and outfit. That's some scary shit.
