Small Soldiers (1998) – Review

 

Joe Dante’s Small Soldiers occupies a unique spot in his filmography. Known for blending satire with entertainment, Dante takes some bold swings here—sometimes wobbly, but always ambitious. While it may not enjoy the same spotlight as his more iconic films, Small Soldiers remains a fascinating and underrated gem that showcases his signature style in unexpected ways.

Let’s start with the most important fact: Small Soldiers is one of Joe Dante’s most underappreciated gems. Coming off cult classics like Gremlins and The ‘Burbs, Dante once again dances on the tightrope between family-friendly mayhem and gleeful satire. But here’s where things got complicated. He was originally told to make a darker, edgier film aimed squarely at teens. You know — R-rated sensibility with PG-13 restraint. But then the marketing department kicked down the door like the Commando Elite and said, “Actually, we’ve got a lot of merchandising deals lined up, so… maybe make it more of a kiddie flick?”

“Violent, but kid-friendly? Sure, why not?”

And that’s the tension you feel throughout Small Soldiers. It’s not quite a kids’ movie, not quite an adult satire, but somehow the push-and-pull between those identities gives the film its unique, almost chaotic tone. This is a movie where toys blow up a gas station, disfigure Barbies into war brides, and tie up Kirsten Dunst’s character while blasting Led Zeppelin. And yet… It’s rated PG-13 and sold alongside a Burger King kids’ meal. The result? A Frankensteined tone — stitched together with commercial compromises and artistic rebellion — that perfectly reflects its story about rogue A.I. and over-militarized culture.

Skynet Toy Edition.

But what is Small Soldiers about? The story kicks off when a shady defence contractor acquires a toy company, and the suits decide the best way to revolutionize the action figure market is to slap experimental military microchips into plastic soldiers. Enter the Commando Elite, a squad of toy-sized warmongers led by the unhinged Chip Hazard (Tommy Lee Jones), who takes his mission to eliminate the enemy — in this case, a peaceful tribe of alien-looking misfits called the Gorgonites — very seriously. Programmed to adapt, improvise, and destroy, the Commandos promptly escape their boxes and begin treating the suburbs like a battlefield.

“If I win, I can’t be stopped!”

Caught in the chaos is Alan Abernathy (Gregory Smith), a teenage screw-up trying to help out at his dad’s failing toy store while also dodging his own disciplinary history. He persuades delivery driver Joe (Dick Miller) to give him a set of the new GloboTech toys so that his father’s “Family Friendly” toy store may turn a profit for once, thus he unwittingly unleashes toy combat upon the world. He takes action-figure Archer (Frank Langella), the noble and introspective leader of the Gorgonites, back to his house, and it is there that he discovers these aren’t just ordinary toys. The Gorgonites, who’d rather hide and learn than fight, include the one-eyed Insaniac (Michael McKean), the boulder-like Punch-It (Harry Shearer), the slow-witted but kind Slamfist (Christopher Guest), and the chameleon-like Scratch-It (also Christopher Guest) — quickly prove to be the real underdogs of the story.

Alan had to “Dumpster Dive” to get this lot.

Opposing them are the rest of the Commando Elite, each voiced by Hollywood veterans: Brick Bazooka (George Kennedy), Butch Meathook (Clint Walker), Link Static (Jim Brown), Kip Killigan (Ernest Borgnine), and Nick Nitro (Bruce Dern). These guys aren’t just toys — they’re war-movie clichés brought to disturbing life. Meanwhile, across the street, Christy Fimple (Kirsten Dunst) and her little brother (Jacob Smith) get roped into the madness when her fashion doll collection — the disturbingly perky Gwendy dolls (Sarah Michelle Gellar and Christina Ricci) — are hijacked and transformed by the Commando Elite into manic plastic go-go commandos.

“I’d castrate Ken if he had any balls to begin with.”

Her dad, Phil Fimple (Phil Hartman), plays the oblivious suburbanite glued to his surround sound system, while her mom, Marion (Wendy Schaal), gets her own brush with the miniature war zone. Alan’s own parents, Stuart (Kevin Dunn) and Irene (Ann Magnuson), are also dragged into the mayhem, especially when their kitchen appliances and garden tools get weaponized. And let’s not forget the corporate stooges who started it all — Irwin Wayfair (David Cross), a neurotic, well-meaning engineer, and Larry Benson (Jay Mohr), a sleazy opportunist who had greenlit the use of Defence Department hardware in toys to meet a release deadline. To wrap things up, after a brutal battle and an EMP burst fries the Commando Elite, company CEO Gill Mars (Denis Leary) swoops in, a man who combines Steve Jobs’ salesmanship with a warlord’s ethics, and pays everyone off to forget the whole thing.

“Who can afford ethics in today’s market?”

Stray Observation:

• Irwin tells Larry that he was given the computer password “Gizmo”, a reference to Joe Dante’s 1984 classic Gremlins. Also, Alan’s computer is called “Piranha,” a reference to Dante’s Jaws rip-off Piranha. 
• Chip Hazard addresses his troops and appears in front of the large American flag, a nod to the opening of Patton (1970).
• Four of the Commando Elite had been in 1967’s The Dirty Dozen: Ernest Borgnine, Jim Brown, Clint Walker and George Kennedy.
• The old horror movie that the Gorgonites come across on the television, after accidentally switching channels from wrestling, is The Crawling Eye (1958).
• The music being played during the scene where they turn the “Gwendy” dolls into soldiers is the theme music from The Bride of Frankenstein (1935).
• Stan Winston’s team helped Hasbro create the tie-in toy line, and in a strange twist of fate, sales for the SMALL SOLDIERS toys outperformed the movie.

 

Who wouldn’t want these guys?

At its core, Small Soldiers is a scathing critique of the militarization of youth, the blind glorification of violence, and the dangerous intersection between entertainment and tech. This isn’t just about toys — it’s about corporations pushing warlike ideologies onto children under the guise of fun. Let’s not forget: the Commando Elite are literally brought to life by “X1000” military microchips repurposed for consumer toys. Denis Leary, in Full Sleaze Mode, even brags, “We can make missiles that can hunt down one unlucky bastard 7,000 miles away and stick a nuclear warhead right up his ass. I don’t think we’re gonna have a problem with this.” Sound familiar in the era of real-world A.I. experiments? With today’s rapidly developing neural networks and generative models, Small Soldiers feels less like a 1998 popcorn flick and more like a prophetic warning wrapped in a Nerf gun

Note: Swap “military chip” for “machine learning model,” and suddenly the idea of toys learning on the fly, improvising tactics, and acting according to mission parameters sounds a lot like your latest Boston Dynamics demo — only with worse customer support.

The effects in Small Soldiers are a glorious hybrid of Stan Winston’s animatronics and then-cutting-edge CGI, with about one-third of the visuals done with puppetry and the rest digitally by the guys at ILM. The result holds up remarkably well today. There’s a tangible weight to the characters, whether they’re jumping off countertops or hijacking a JVC boom box for psychological warfare. The fact that you feel the plastic-on-wood impact when toys throw hands makes the action oddly visceral. It’s like watching a toy version of Die Hard, directed by someone who knows both satire and squib placements.

We even get a little Road Warrior action.

Can we talk about those Frankensteined Barbie dolls — sorry, “Gwendy” dolls? Holy uncanny valley, Batman. In one of the film’s darkest and most gleefully deranged sequences, the Commando Elite bring the dolls to life using household tools, wires, and sheer toy rage. The result is pink-haired, sadistic plastic nightmares that look like something out of Bride of Chucky’s Pinterest board. That’s the moment the movie stops pretending it’s just “for kids.” That’s the Dante touch — the horror just beneath the plastic smile.

As a kid, Joe Dante must have been like Sid from Toy Story.

It’s worth noting that just before release, a lot of the action was toned down. Explosions were trimmed, jokes softened, and what was meant to be a scathing teen-oriented satire was neutered in post-production to make it palatable for the same kids who collected Burger King tie-in toys. It’s a miracle the movie’s edge wasn’t completely dulled. And yet, the genius of Small Soldiers is that you can still feel the original cut underneath. You can see Dante poking holes in the marketing sheen. You can hear the political teeth just beneath the humour. And you can absolutely enjoy the hell out of it as a smart, fast-paced, wonderfully weird action movie about warlike toys trashing a sleepy suburb.

“War does not determine who is right – only who is left.”

In conclusion, Small Soldiers is Gremlins with microchips, RoboCop for the PlayStation generation, and a cautionary tale for a world racing headlong into sentient technology. It’s funny, dark, loaded with clever cameos, and still boasts some of the best hybrid effects of its era. While it never got the credit it deserved (thanks, marketing department), it remains a Joe Dante classic for those who love their satire dipped in plastic and dressed in camo. “Chip Hazard out.”

Night of the Demon (1957) – Review

If you want a long and healthy life, it’s best not to announce that you are going to publicly expose a Satanic Cult. That’s just common sense. Needless to say, this is exactly what Dana Andrews attempts to do in Jacques Tourneur’s classic British Horror film Night of the Demon, and things go about as expected.

Released in 1957 in the United States as Curse of the Demon, this film is a masterclass in psychological horror, blending suspense, atmospheric storytelling, and a dash of supernatural terror. Based on M.R. James’ story “Casting the Runes”, this 1957 gem takes a decidedly intellectual approach to its tale of witchcraft and curses while still delivering moments of spine-tingling dread. In Night of the Demon, skepticism collides with the supernatural in a chilling tale of curses, cults, and demonic terror. The story begins with Professor Henry Harrington (Maurice Denham), who had been investigating the activities of Julian Karswell (Niall MacGinnis), a charismatic and sinister occultist. Harrington, desperate to escape a curse he believes Karswell placed on him, pleads with the cult leader for mercy. Karswell coldly denies his request, and shortly afterwards, Harrington dies in a violent and inexplicable accident when a demonic entity pursues him in the woods. His death raises questions about the occult’s true power and the extent of Karswell’s influence.

 

Does this look like self-induced hysteria?

Enter Dr. John Holden (Dana Andrews), a rational American psychologist visiting England to attend a conference where he plans to expose Karswell as a fraud. Holden confronts Karswell, who chillingly informs him that he has been cursed to die within three days. Karswell secretly passes Holden a parchment marked with runes, a key component of the curse. Though initially dismissing the warning as nonsense, Holden begins to experience eerie and unexplainable phenomena, including a creeping sense of dread and the parchment’s strange ability to return after being discarded.

 

“Beware, skepticism can kill you.”

As more strange and terrifying events begin to unfold, shaking Holden’s confidence in his scientific worldview, he remains adamant in his disbelief of the supernatural, even when Harrington’s niece, Joanna Harrington (Peggy Cummins), warns him of Karswell’s dangerous powers. The two of them investigate Karswell’s cult and uncover evidence of his ability to summon dark forces, and as the deadline for the curse approaches, Holden realizes the only way to survive is to pass the cursed parchment back to Karswell without his knowledge. With the deadline approaching and the weirdness going up a level or two, Holden becomes increasingly anxious, and the line between his skepticism and belief begins to blur.

 

To be fair, the demon is also a little blurry.

Stray Observations:

• Joanna Harrington’s license plate includes the number “666, ” the traditional “number of the Beast.” Some people obviously don’t believe in subtlety.
• Although based on the story “Casting of the Runes” by M.R. James, the film doesn’t bear much resemblance to its source material – playing Hot Potato with a cursed calling card is about the only real connection the plot of the film has to the book.
• This film has a jump scare involving a black cat, because what’s a good horror flick without that classic trope?
• For some reason, the stones at Stonehenge are depicted with runes carved into them. Alas, they do not have any runes on them.

 

Could this be demonic graffiti?

Jacques Tourneur, renowned for his work on atmospheric horror films like Cat People and I Walked with a Zombie, brings a subtle yet chilling touch to Night of the Demon. The film thrives on mood and tension, with Tourneur relying on shadowy cinematography, eerie soundscapes, and meticulous pacing to create a sense of dread. The nighttime sequences in particular, often shrouded in fog and illuminated by flickering light, evoke an almost otherworldly menace. Tourneur’s masterful use of suggestion heightens the suspense, drawing viewers into the protagonist’s growing paranoia. The ominous runic parchment that seals the curse becomes a potent symbol of the inescapable power of belief. Similarly, the sequences involving the demon’s approach—marked by rustling leaves, glowing eyes, and guttural growls—demonstrate the film’s ability to terrify without relying on overt gore or jump scares.

 

Scary, iconic or both?

The film’s centrepiece is its titular demon, a controversial addition insisted upon by the producers against Tourneur’s wishes. While the monster’s reveal undermines some of the film’s subtlety, its design is undeniably creepy and iconic in its own right. However, the question of whether the demon is real or a figment of psychological manipulation is handled with enough ambiguity to keep us guessing. This leads to one of the most intriguing aspects of Curse of the Demon is its exploration of belief versus skepticism. The film teases the audience with just enough evidence to make the supernatural plausible while keeping Holden—and by extension, the viewer—teetering on the edge of disbelief. We even get a pitstop at a séance to check off another horror trope.

 

“Can we contact Captain Howdy?”

The film’s success is bolstered by strong performances, particularly from Niall MacGinnis as Julian Karswell. MacGinnis imbues the character with a disarming charm and understated menace, making him one of the most compelling antagonists in horror history. His portrayal blurs the line between charismatic showman and ruthless occultist, leaving audiences both fascinated and unnerved. If there’s a flaw, it’s Dana Andrews’ somewhat stiff performance as Holden. While he embodies the rationalist archetype effectively, his lack of emotional range occasionally feels at odds with the intensity of the story. Nonetheless, Peggy Cummins, as Joanna Harrington, provides emotional depth and acts as a bridge between the rational and the supernatural, grounding the film’s more fantastical elements in human vulnerability.

 

Personally, I’d believe anything Peggy Cummins told me.

In conclusion, Curse of the Demon is a timeless tale of fear, rationality, and the unknown. With its meticulous pacing and a palpable atmosphere of dread, it remains a cornerstone of 1950s horror. Its emphasis on atmosphere and psychological terror paved the way for subsequent horror classics, from Rosemary’s Baby to The Exorcist. Whether you’re drawn to its themes of skepticism or just enjoy a good supernatural scare, this film is a must-see for fans of classic horror. Also, take my advice: “Never attempt to investigate a Satanic cult.”

Not of This Earth (1957) – Review

Roger Corman, the king of “How much movie can I squeeze out of pocket change?” delivers again with Not of This Earth, a sci-fi flick that’s equal parts bizarre, hilarious, and surprisingly captivating. This 1957 gem feels like it was concocted after someone handed Corman $5 and dared him to make a movie about alien vampires. Spoiler alert: he nailed it.

The film kicks off when a mysterious man in a sharp suit and sunglasses, day or night, he never takes them off, walks into a doctor’s office and demands a blood transfusion. But this isn’t just a case of low iron. Turns out, this pale, unblinking fellow is Mr. Johnson (Paul Birch), an alien envoy from the planet Davanna. His species is suffering from a catastrophic blood disease, and Earth’s plasma is looking mighty compatible. With the fate of his race on the line, Mr. Johnson is on a mission to harvest humanity’s hemoglobin, and nothing will stand in his way. Johnson rents a mansion and hires a nurse, Nadine (Beverly Garland), to assist with his transfusions. He also uses his alien powers, like death-ray vision and mind control, to keep people in line. Naturally, his overly formal demeanour and vampiric tendencies make everyone suspicious, but this is 1950s sci-fi, so people take a while to connect the dots.

 

“Could you see about getting me blood supplied in bulk?”

Nadine, however, starts piecing things together, especially after her boss starts “disposing” of nosy deliverymen and unlucky passersby. With the help of Johnson’s bodyguard/manservant Jeremy Perrin (Johnathan Haze), who, while a cheap crook, draws the line at intergalactic murder. With bodies piling up and her old boss, town physician Dr. Rochelle (William Roerick), under Johnson’s hypnotic control, things start to get a little tense. Eventually, it comes down to a lot of running around and the timely intervention of Nadine’s hunky boyfriend/motorcycle cop Harry Sherbourne (Morgan Jones), but can they stop him before he calls for reinforcements and turns Earth into a cosmic blood bank?

 

I wonder if he has to call collect on that thing.

Stray Observations:

• Mr. Johnson’s sunglasses aren’t just a fashion statement; they’re clearly his planet’s way of saying, “We’ve never seen Earthlings, but they must LOVE weird aviators.”
• The alien’s briefcase is supposed to hold advanced technology, but it looks like it’s hiding someone’s lunch. Maybe he’s storing alien PB&Js in there?
• Mr. Johnson pays for his blood transfusions in cash—proof that even intergalactic vampires know Earth healthcare won’t take alien insurance.
• At one point, Mr. Johnson sits down to read a newspaper. Why? Is he catching up on Earth politics? Looking for the sports scores? Browsing the classifieds for “extra blood donors”?
• Beverly Garland had alien problems a year earlier in Roger Corman’s It Conquered the World. She just can’t catch a break when it comes to close encounters of the third kind.
• Dick Miller, everyone’s favourite Corman stock player, has a memorable turn as a vacuum cleaner salesman.

 

“This device can even suck the spilled blood from shag carpeting.”

With Not of This Earth, Roger Corman, the undisputed king of “do more with less,” gives us all the alien invasion tropes on a dime-store budget. Want flying saucers? Sorry, not in the budget. How about alien technology? Prepare for sunglasses with extra flair and a mysterious metallic briefcase that screams, “We’ll explain later.” Clocking in at a brisk 67 minutes, it packs its modest runtime with alien invaders, mysterious deaths, and tons of melodramatic tension, proving that you don’t need much money to leave an impression—just a good pair of sunglasses and a lot of fog machines. Corman’s knack for stretching a dollar is evident. The film boasts eerie, otherworldly vibes thanks to the clever use of minimalist sets, stark lighting, and a haunting theremin-laden score.

 

As for the aliens, they are less than haunting.

Paul Birch, as the alien invader, delivers a performance that’s somehow both wooden and menacing. He’s like a dapper Dracula from outer space, shuffling around with a steely gaze and an obsession with bodily fluids. You never know whether he’s going to sip your blood or ask you for a loan. Then we have Beverly Garland, who shines as Nadine, the nurse who somehow doesn’t question why her boss keeps dodging sunlight and asking for “unusual” medical treatments. Garland brings depth and intelligence to a role that could have easily been relegated to “screaming damsel.” Her character’s skepticism and bravery make her a standout among other sci-fi heroines of the era. And you can’t help but admire actors who can pull off lines like “If I do not receive blood within four chronoctons of time, I will have no need of emotion.”

 

“He’s got Bette Davis eyes.”

As for the special effects? Forget CGI, the special effects here are pure 1950s B-movie fare: glowing eyes, ominous sound effects, and a menacing flying umbrella that’s supposed to be an alien weapon. It’s laughable by today’s standards, but there’s a charm in the handmade, “we’ll-make-it-work” aesthetic. Corman’s use of shadowy cinematography and minimalist sets compensates for the lack of budget, creating a moody atmosphere that gives the film an eerie quality despite its silliness. It’s simultaneously ridiculous and a little terrifying—a perfect encapsulation of Corman’s ability to balance schlock with genuine creepiness.

 

“When umbrellas attack!”

In conclusion, if Ed Wood had been given half-decent lighting and a script that made sense, he might’ve come up with something like this. Not of This Earth is unapologetically absurd, but it’s also brimming with Corman’s trademark energy and “let’s put on a show” creativity. It’s campy, quirky, and full of old-school sci-fi charm. Plus, how can you not love a movie where sunglasses are the ultimate alien disguise? This is the kind of movie you throw on when you want to laugh at something trying so hard to be serious that it loops back around to comedy gold. It’s a glorious mess, a time capsule of 1950s sci-fi nonsense, and an absolute riot and strangely satisfying—a classic Corman concoction that proves you don’t need millions of dollars to make a fun, memorable movie.

The Brain from Planet Arous (1957) – Review

If 1950s sci-fi had a Hall of Fame for outlandishly campy classics, The Brain from Planet Arous would undoubtedly have its own exhibit—complete with a glowing prop brain, John Agar’s intense stare, and a dramatic voiceover declaring, “I am Gor, from the planet Arous!”

The 1950s were a time of burgeoning interest in outer space, fueled by Cold War anxieties, nuclear fears, and the dawning of the Space Age. Films like 1951’s The Day the Earth Stood Still and 1956’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers explored extraterrestrial contact through allegories of global conflict and societal paranoia. Then there are films like The Brain from Planet Arous, which takes a decidedly more pulp-fiction approach. This sci-fi classic dared to ask the question, “What if the real menace wasn’t flying saucers or bug-eyed monsters but a giant, floating brain with a penchant for world domination and, inexplicably, seduction?“

 

“Who’s up for some alien seduction?”

The movie opens with nuclear scientist Steve March (John Agar) and his colleague Dan Murphy (Robert Fuller) discovering an unusual radiation reading emanating from a remote desert mountain known as Mystery Mountain. What they uncover is far beyond the realm of science: an alien entity named Gor, a massive, glowing brain with telepathic powers. Gor explains that he hails from the planet Arous, and he seeks refuge after fleeing a political conflict on his home world. But Gor’s benevolent facade is quickly shattered as he reveals his true intentions—conquest of Earth, nuclear annihilation of any who resist, and personal gratification in the form of dominating human hosts.

 

“Bring me your women!”

In an instant, Gor takes possession of Steve’s body, transforming the mild-mannered scientist into a menacing, power-hungry tool of destruction and exhibiting bizarre and terrifying behaviour. His personality shifts dramatically—he becomes arrogant, aggressive, and power-hungry. At times, his eyes glow unnaturally as Gor unleashes his psychic powers to demonstrate his dominance, destroying aircraft and causing explosions. As Gor inhabits Steve, he begins wreaking havoc, displaying deadly capabilities such as heat ray eye blasts and superhuman strength. With Steve under Gor’s control, the alien brain turns its sights on the world’s leaders, issuing demands for submission while showcasing its deadly power.

 

He has the power over stock footage.

Meanwhile, Steve’s fiancée, Sally Fallon (Joyce Meadows), grows suspicious of Steve’s increasingly erratic and sinister behaviour. But her concerns deepen after discovering Steve’s connection to Gor, so she revisits Mystery Mountain and encounters Vol, another alien brain who has followed Gor to Earth. Vol is a law enforcement agent from Arous, tasked with capturing Gor and ending his reign of terror. However, Vol cannot act directly—he is physically weaker than Gor and requires human assistance to complete his mission. To spy on Steve/Gor, Vol inhabits her pet dog, George.

 

Man’s Best Spy.

Vol explains that Gor has a critical weakness: a fissure in his brain structure that can be exploited when he manifests outside Steve’s body. Sally, her father, and Vol devise a plan to lure Gor into revealing himself, but they must wait until Gor becomes overconfident and distracted by his conquest, which seems pretty easy, and then exits Steve’s body to recharge his energy. The climax is as gloriously ridiculous as you’d hope. With Gor distracted by his plans for interplanetary conquest and his creepy infatuation with Sally, our heroes spring into action. Armed with Vol’s intel and some serious resolve, they trap Gor and attack his vulnerable fissure using—wait for it—a good old-fashioned axe!

 

An axe can solve so many problems.

Stray Observations:

• If I were to discover that strange radiation was coming from the base of something called “Mystery Mountain,” I’d call the Scooby gang and then go back to bed.
• Steve and Dan are missing for a week, having gone to explore strange radiation in the middle of the desert, where the temperature reaches 120 degrees in the shade, but Sally never once thinks they could be in trouble. She’s not what I’d call good fiancée material.
• The voice of Gor, the brain, is that of uncredited actor Morris Ankrum, who starred in such sci-fi classics as Rocketship X-M, Earth vs. the Flying Saucers and The Giant Claw.
• Even after being occupied by Gor, Steve thinks Sally is imagining things when she tells him about Vol. Steve is your typical 1950s man from these types of films, thinking all women are hysterical and only good for getting coffee.
• The plot of an alien interstellar policeman pursuing a dangerous, space-faring criminal who must slip into and possess the bodies of Earth is very similar to the 1987 sci-fi classic The Hidden.
• After Steve defeats Gor, everything goes “back to normal” despite all the destruction he caused. I’d like to see how his defence of “I was mind-controlled by a brain from outer space” would fly in the courts.

 

“Do I look guilty to you?”

Directed by Nathan Juran (under the pseudonym Nathan Hertz), The Brain from Planet Arous leans fully into its absurd premise, but beneath the camp and cheese, there’s an accidental commentary on Cold War paranoia and the fear of power falling into the wrong hands. But let’s not kid ourselves—this movie isn’t here for deep thematic exploration. It’s here to entertain with nonsensical sci-fi antics, and it does so in spades. If your film is about large floating brains bent on world domination, the odds of it being taken seriously are fairly slim – even if the special effects manage to pull it off – and in this case, not much was pulled off either script-wise or effects-wise.

 

These are definitely special effects.

On the acting side of things, John Agar delivers a performance that vacillates between wooden and over-the-top, particularly when portraying Steve under Gor’s influence. His maniacal laughter and intense stares are both unsettling and unintentionally comedic, and it’s his crazed evil laughs and exaggerated facial expressions that solidify his status as a B-movie icon. Then there’s Joyce Meadows. the classic 1950s heroine who stands by her man, even when he’s possessed by a floating brain with a god complex. Her scenes with Vol the dog are unintentionally hilarious, as she earnestly treats the canine as a wise alien ally. She does manage to bring a blend of determination and damsel-in-distress energy, though her character is often reduced to reacting to the increasingly absurd events around her.

 

Putting up with a handsy-alien-possessed fiancé isn’t easy.

One of the film’s most memorable aspects is its use of those very special effects. The depiction of Gor as a glowing, floating brain is both iconic and laughable by modern standards. The double exposure technique used to animate Gor lends him an ethereal quality, but it also highlights the film’s budgetary constraints. Similarly, Gor’s eye-beam attacks, which cause objects to erupt into flames, are as charmingly primitive as they are entertaining. Gor is essentially a large, pulsating brain with glowing eyes, floating around on visible wires. Yet, there’s something endearingly ambitious about its design. The filmmakers clearly knew they were making something ridiculous, and they ran with it.

 

A classic tale of a boy and his brain.

What elevates this B-movie from forgettable schlock to cult classic is its gleeful absurdity. The dialogue alternates between technobabble and unintentionally hilarious melodrama (“Through me, you will have ruled the world. But I will rule the universe”), and Agar gives his all to embody Steve’s possession, complete with intense stares, maniacal laughter, and an almost Shakespearean level of ham. And despite its flaws, The Brain from Planet Arous has carved a niche for itself in the annals of science fiction cinema. The film’s influence can be seen in later works that parody or pay homage to the era’s science fiction, such as The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Tim Burton’s Mars Attacks! This film is a mix of camp, earnestness, and unintentional humour that has endeared it to fans of cult and B-movies over the years.

 

Who doesn’t love a good killer brain movie?

In conclusion, The Brain from Planet Arous is a gloriously silly relic of mid-century sci-fi, complete with hammy acting, absurd dialogue, and a plot so bizarre it borders on genius. It’s the kind of movie you watch with friends, laughing at the ridiculousness while secretly admiring its earnestness. If you’re a fan of kitschy classics, this brainy alien romp is a must-see.

It Conquered the World (1956) – Review

It Conquered the World, a title that promises a cosmic conquest, but the execution delivers… a cantaloupe with teeth. Directed by Roger Corman, this low-budget sci-fi film is a delightful B-movie that has earned a reputation for its charming absurdity. This is a film that is both a product of its era and a cautionary tale about trusting extraterrestrial carrots.

Welcome to the sleepy small town of Anywhere, USA, where mad science and alien invasions are just one bad decision away! Our story kicks off with Dr. Tom Anderson (Lee Van Cleef), a brilliant but brooding scientist who spends way too much time staring into space—literally. Disillusioned with humanity’s flaws, he makes the very questionable decision to buddy up with a Venusian alien who promises to bring peace and order to Earth. Because trusting a creature from a planet with a surface temperature hot enough to melt lead is a solid plan. He spends much of his time on his radio talking to the aliens and ratting out his fellow humans.

 

“The President lives at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington.”

Tom’s wife, Claire (Beverly Garland), isn’t thrilled about her husband’s newfound alien pen pal, but Tom brushes off her concerns.  Why, you ask? Well, he’s a bit of a dick, and, after all, he’s convinced the Venusian has all the answers to humanity’s problems. But Tom not only ruins all her parties with his bizarre theories about alien overlords, he also spends all his nights on the radio talking to them instead of doing anything productive, like reading porn. Did I mention he’s a bit of a dick? Meanwhile, Tom’s best friend and all-around good guy, Dr. Paul Nelson (Peter Graves), starts to suspect that his old buddy has gone off the deep end when he casually announces that he’s invited the Venusian to Earth.

 

“Have a few more bourbons and it will all make sense.”

Enter the Venusian, a creature that looks like a giant triangular pickle with bat wings, crab claws, and a permanent “I’m disappointed in you” face. It sets up shop in a nearby cave and immediately gets to work conquering the world. But it doesn’t need things like lasers or spaceships—oh no! This alien uses brainwashing Frisbees to control humans. These flying devices zoom through the air like boomerangs gone rogue, attaching themselves to people’s necks and turning them into emotionless drones. This isn’t so much an Invasion of the Body type encounter as it is a low-rent version of Robert A. Heinlein’s The Puppet Masters. These flying little buddies just dropped out of nowhere, and “BAM,” you’re a mindless pawn in their interstellar game of life. One by one, the alien menace takes over its targets, including Paul’s lovely wife Joan (Sally Fraser), who then tries to make him “One of Us”.

 

“Honey, it’s the latest thing from Macy’s.”

Tom, who’s still firmly Team Venusian, watches proudly as the alien initiates its plan to rid humanity of pesky emotions like love, compassion, and free will. But Paul is having none of it. As the Venusians’ brainwashed minions spread chaos, Paul tries to reason with his deluded friend, pleading with him to see that handing Earth over to a giant Venusian veggie might not be the best idea. Things come to a head when Claire, fed up with her husband’s alien obsession, grabs a rifle and storms into the cave to confront Beulah (yes, the Venusian has a name straight from a Southern plantation). This leads to one of the film’s most memorable scenes, Claire delivers a scathing monologue, calling out the alien for its sinister schemes and basically telling it to take its bat-winged self back to Venus. Tragically, Claire’s bravery ends in her untimely demise, but not before she cements herself as one of the film’s most badass characters.

 

Claire is this film’s unsung hero.

With Claire gone and Tom starting to question his life choices, Paul steps in to save the day. Armed with a blowtorch (because why not?), he heads to the cave for a final showdown with the Venusian. In a tense—and unintentionally hilarious—confrontation, Paul torches Beulah into oblivion, saving humanity from the brainwashing cucumber once and for all. As the smoke clears, Tom realizes the error of his ways, but it’s too late to undo the damage. It should be noted that by the time the “climactic” showdown arrives, the Venusian finally steps into full view, and the audience gets the privilege of realizing that this is what all the fuss was about. The world doesn’t end in fire or ice—it ends in laughter because everyone is too busy pointing and giggling at the cucumber demon to fight back.

 

“Should I have even bothered calling the army?”

Stray Observations:

• These aliens even have the same ability as Klaatu as those in The Day the Earth Stood Still when it comes to making the world “stand still,” they just don’t bother with advance warnings.
• The mind-control bats attack their victims and plant little barbs at the back of the neck. Could this be an homage to the devices from the sci-fi classic Invaders from Mars?
• Lee Van Cleef is no stranger to fighting monsters; he fired the killing shot against the dinosaur in The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms. Unfortunately, in this outing, he’s not a crack shot but a crackpot.
• It’s not a proper Roger Corman film without an appearance by Dick Miller, and this entry does not disappoint as he has a fun role as an army platoon leader.
• When Paul realizes his wife is forever an emotionless puppet, he shoots her dead. That has to be one of the coldest and most heartbreaking things to be found in a ’50s sci-fi flick.

 

“Consider this a divorce.”

Roger Corman, working with a microscopic budget and a rapid shooting schedule, tries to imbue the film with a sense of menace, but the execution often undermines the intended tone. The themes of Cold War paranoia and the dangers of unchecked ambition are present, but they’re buried under layers of B-movie silliness. The pacing lags at times, particularly when the characters engage in lengthy pseudo-scientific debates that sound like rejected high school debate club material.  But when the Venusian’s plan unfolds, complete with its goofy yet memorable flying brainwashing devices, the film becomes pure campy fun.

 

You cannot deny the power of Beulah.

On the acting side of things, Lee Van Cleef gives it his all as Anderson, convincingly conveying a man torn between lofty ideals and sheer madness. Peter Graves, on the other hand, delivers a performance that can best be described as “stoically befuddled,” that is, when he’s not coldly gunning down the infected populace. The supporting cast includes Beverly Garland as Claire Anderson, Tom’s long-suffering wife, who delivers the film’s standout moment: a feminist-tinged tirade against her husband’s foolishness, complete with a physical confrontation with the monster. Garland’s spirited performance elevates the material, even as she battles an alien that looks like it might collapse under its own weight.

Note: When actress Beverly Garland got her first look at the titular monster, her sarcastic remark was, “THAT conquered the world?”

The star of the show, of course, is the alien itself—a ludicrous, waddling creation resembling an overgrown artichoke with bat wings. Designed by Paul Blaisdell, the Venusian—nicknamed “Beulah”—is a curious amalgamation of imagination and budgetary constraints. With its triangular body, stubby arms, and toothy grimace, the creature is more likely to elicit chuckles than terror. Though it falls short as a menacing villain, Beulah has achieved iconic status in the pantheon of B-movie monsters. The creature’s design inadvertently highlights the ingenuity of low-budget filmmaking. Blaisdell created something memorable, if not believable, under extreme financial and time constraints. It may be one of the most laughable-looking monsters in cinema history, but it’s also one of the more unforgettable entries.

 

We need an Academy Award for Goofiest Monster.

Roger Corman’s It Conquered the World is a quintessential example of mid-century science fiction, reflecting the anxieties of its era while serving as a touchstone for the B-movie aesthetic. Though often mocked for its low-budget effects and dubious creature design, the film has endured as a cult classic. It’s a piece of cinematic history that reveals as much about the culture that produced it as it does about the creativity of its filmmakers.