“People melting, indeed!”

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The above scornful remark by a Scottish policeman in X: THE UNKNOWN (1956) recalls the words of the burgomaster in THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN: “Monster , indeed!” And screenwriter Jimmy Sangster probably knew his Universal horrors, as he was about to write CURSE OF FRANKENSTEIN.

The perils of a little knowledge: IMDb attributes the film to Leslie Norman, the credited director, and Joseph Losey, and I thought I could see traces of Losey’s trademark snaky tracking shots, but reading more I learn that Losey was removed before production began. as star Dean Jagger refused to work with a blacklisted commie. A shame. Losey had made a short film for Hammer (the turgid A MAN ON THE BEACH) and would eventually shoot THE DAMNED for the studio, but he wasn’t too sorry to be removed from this hokum. Hammer had wanted a Quatermass sequel, I believe, but author Nigel Kneale had refused to allow his creation into the hands of another writer. A shame, in some ways, since the character played by token yank Jagger is closer to Kneale’s conception than the bellowing lout played by Brian Donlevy in THE QUATERMASS XPERIMENT.

I had tried to watch this with Fiona once, but we got bored of the muddy quarry setting, which seemed to go on forever. The grumbling squaddies played by the likes of Anthony Newley and Kenneth Cope got sick of it and their lack of enthusiasm was infectious. Seeing it properly, I can’t understand this, as the movie is OK and for heaven’s sake, it’s a quasi-Quatermass set in Scotland. We should have been all over that shit.

My friend Alex, with whom I’ve been writing a Quatermass-inspired project, said he remembered this one improving as it went on. But later, when we discussed it, it turned out that he’d mentally grafted the last half of QUATERMASS II onto the front half of X, so naturally it improved. And somehow the bits went together quite well.

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If the film were in colour you’d be able to see that hapless young Kenneth Cope, centre, is wearing a red shirt. Yes, that’s a Star Trek joke.

The monster in the Scottish Quatermass turns out to be mud, which seems kind of apt given the weather. Radioactive mud from the earth’s core, explained by a shambolic bit of Sangster pseudo-science. But, as often with Sangster’s all-thumbs scripting, apparent mistakes or clumsy inconsistencies can be oddly evocative. On the surface, the film has little of the anti-militarism of Kneale’s writing, although the army try to dynamite the monster and then cement over the fissure it oozes from, so they’re idiots. But the best bit is the Geiger counter test — a group of soldiers are training in the use of Geiger counters when they happen to stumble upon the exact spot where the radioactive monster is going to emerge. It’s a fairly global coincidence, but that isn’t the best bit. The inevitable Michael Ripper tells his men that in a real radiation situation, they would be required to mark the spot and get out fast, as radiation can be very nasty. When, seconds later, the pale and trembling young Kenneth Cope does indeed find real radiation, he is ordered to stand on the spot so everyone can see where it is. He dies horribly.

This cheered me up no end, and made me feel the movie would be worth watching as soon as we could get out of the muddy quarry. And we do, to a couple of nuclear labs and a few simpler sets. The nearby village, Lochmouth, is scene of a great bit once the blob gets properly oozing — forced perspectives allow a very small blob to pretend to be a very big blob. For most of the film, the blob is absent, like Godot, though Leslie Norman does grant us a couple of blob’s-eye-view attacks. Before there was Michael Myer, there was X: THE UNKNOWN. X is also an unusual character in that he gets to physically embody his own main title, a gloopy X of rippling oily matter. Even Marlon Brando never got to embody a title, though clearly such an approach could have greatly enhanced his later work.

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Red-hating Dean Jagger is, appropriately, on the right, whereas Leo McKern is, like, whatevs.

Then Leo McKern turns up. Like chocolate, Leo McKern makes everything a bit better. I think even chocolate-coated rabies would be a bit better than the normal kind. But I’m unsure if a chocolate-coated Leo McKern would sort of cancel himself out. Anyway, I suspect he was Losey’s idea — his next film would be TIME WITHOUT PITY for that director. I was a little disappointed that McKern’s policeman character wasn’t given more to do — Sangster has crowded the film with largely benign authority figures who get on much too well together — and he accepts with complete credulity the theory that the radiation slayings plaguing this rural locale are the work of some mud. A scene of Leo angrily rejecting such a supposition could easily have been the best scene in the picture.

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Priest rescues little girl from blob, which is trickling listlessly through gap in dry-stone wall in front of a painting of Scottish scenery — and the little girl wins the movie’s best acting award by laughing her head off throughout. Nobody, it seems, had the heart (or energy?) to dub on screams.

Instead, the best bit is when makeup guru/top splodger Phil Leakey and effects wiz Les Bowie make a doctor melt. The doc has arranged a romantic tryst with a sexy nurse in the hospital’s “radiation room.” Because what woman can resist a proposition like that? The amorous medico’s disintegration is served up with two shots, a swelling finger closeup which suggests a Tom & Jerry hammer-to-the-thumb gag, while also looking forward to that staple of seventies and eighties horror, the bladder effect. Then there’s a LOST ARK type flesh-melt,all the most striking for its brevity. Lucio Fulci would have gotten a full minute out of that bit, but HE WOULD HAVE BEEN WRONG.

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Ha! The sign omits to mention that it’s the SEXY Radiation Room. OF DEATH.

So now commie-hating Dean Jagger has to kill the mud with special science. I liked the fact that the film’s ending hinges upon the need to zap the mud before it decides to rampage through Inverness. The film is a product of a gentler age, in which our empathy for Inverness was presumed to be strong enough to motivate a film’s climax. And I like the fact that Jagger is persuaded to use an experimental technique which, if it fails, is going to cause a gigantic explosion much more devastating than the mud monster.

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And then I *really* like the bizarre ending, when the mud-monster is blown up, and there follows a mysterious second explosion from the bowels of the earth. Dean Jagger is deeply perturbed. It shouldn’t have happened. Every one else is, like, whatevs, we blew up the mud didn’t we? But Jagger remains perturbed. And then the film abruptly ENDS, a colossal fuck-you to the curious. It’s not enough to constitute a typical horror movie closeup-of-a-bee sequel promise. It’s not pointed enough, specific enough. It’s just bloody weird, like Sangster started to write a final twist and then couldn’t be bothered, and then couldn’t be bothered XXX-ing out the bit he’d started.

Maybe they used up all their Xs in the title.

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13 Responses to ““People melting, indeed!””

  1. Perhaps what The Mud needed was a theme song.

  2. Probably the best monster movie theme song. Even better than “Stuck in my Throat” from War of the Gargantuas, which is saying a very great deal.

  3. Best SciFi theme song: “Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea”. It’s a romantic ballad that plays like a parody of a movie title song — perfect for the silly movie itself — but becomes a creepy invitation to aquatic suicide when you think about it.

    Best unwritten SciFi theme, a throwaway line by Tom Lehrer: “Incredible Shrinking Man I Love You”

  4. I recall Lehrer also suggesting a love theme from Bridge on the River Kwai to be sung by Sessue Hayakawa.

  5. It’s a testament to Kneale’s scriptwriting that the first two films survive the indeed loutish Donlevy. In fact, you don’t remember what a detriment he is until you actually sit down to watch them again. Andrew Keir was a much better Quatermass (Haven’t seen any of the teleplays).

  6. The surviving teleplays are excellent and Keir indeed conveys the character as intended.

    In defence of Donlevy, he was playing what he was given, since Val Guest’s adaptation turns Bernie Q into a fanatic along the lines of Hammer’s Baron Frankenstein. He plays that to the hilt, and if you can get over the regret that they weren’t more faithful to the original sympathetic conception, it’s reasonably effective. I do miss Quatermass’s appeal to the astronauts’ humanity though, which is much more interesting than zapping the monster with electricity (which is basically replayed here).

  7. Fiona writing. I hereby challenge Mr David Cairns to create lyrics for Incredible Shrinking Man I Love You. Off you go!

  8. Incredible Shrinking Man, I Love You
    (Although I tower above you)
    And my love for you grows bigger every day
    (Which is a bit ironic, in a way)

    Incredible Shrinking Man, I cherish
    (Though at any moment you might perish)
    Each tiny movement of your form
    (Though you are far below the norm)

    Incredible Shrinking Man, I’ll finish
    (Before you terminally diminish)
    By pledging love’s eternal spark
    (Although you’re knee-high to a quark)

  9. Fee here – Incredible Writing Man I Love You.

  10. chris schneider Says:

    I remember enjoying James Bernard’s slithery string music. Not the stuff of theme-songs, alas.

  11. No, but it is a very good score. I don’t think he does his Dra-cu-la trick of playing the syllables of the title, but I may be mistaken.

  12. chris schneider Says:

    Odd, too, to discover a bleak film about a monstrous blob, which is this sort of story that one associates with lurid style (cf. the color and widescreen of the original BLOB). Sort of like an austere film about can-can dancers.

  13. The Bava-Freda Caltiki is another monochromatic blob film, but it does offer fetid jungle exotica to leven the gloom. Scotland strikes me as the perfect place for a rampant slime monster rampage. It would feel at home here.

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