Revenge of the Creature (1955)

Get ready for this—it’s Sequel Month: The Sequel!

Tasked with putting out a follow-up to Creature From the Black Lagoon just over a year later, producer William Alland, director Jack Arnold, and screenwriter Martin Berkeley (who also co-wrote the Arnold-directed Tarantula) took what was probably the most logical path: if the the first Creature film seemed directly inspired by the voyage to a prehistoric world as seen in King Kong, then a second one should take cues from the New York climax. In Revenge of the Creature, the once dominant life form in a secluded natural habitat is forcibly transplanted to our modern world—rather than a film about entering an unreal world of evolutionary alternatives, it’s about the unreal entrapped by more recognizable surroundings. By itself, this storytelling decision de-mystifies the monster by taking him out of his element and making it a lone aberration interrupting normalcy—but, intentionally or not, the rest of the movie degrades and diminishes it to such a degree that it may be an even more pitiable figure than in the first movie.

Creature From the Black Lagoon (1954)

Most people seem to accept that Creature From the Black Lagoon is part of the classic Universal Monsters line-up, sitting alongside Dracula, Frankenstein, and the Mummy on home video covers, in theme park attractions, and on twelve-packs of soda and bags of potato chips—but in terms of context and content, it is at a removed from the films of the thirties and forties. Those films carried a certain Victorian literary flair (even when they ostensibly took place in “modern” times), set in a Gothic version of Europe (and maybe some other places) frozen in time, full of old foreboding castles and supernatural curses; the 1950s, often favoured science-based horror, and not the theatrical mad science of Frankenstein or The Invisible Man, but the kind that discovered and unleashed the atomic bomb, or that probed deeper into the prehistoric past or into outer space, and finding signs of man’s ultimate insignificance. In that sense, Black Lagoon is closer in spirit to its contemporaries, the less-commented-upon run of Sci-Fi monster movies put out by Universal that spanned everything from It Came From Outer Space and This Island Earth to Tarantula and even something like The Monolith Monsters. These films were about contemporary scientific thought—or, as close as movies like these actually get to it—and grapple with the idea that the more we learn about our universe, the more strange and terrifying it becomes, which is something a bit different from the otherworldly horrors of older stories.

But Black Lagoon still feels like a bridge between the “classic” monsters, which were gaining a new following thanks to television re-airings, and the new breed of mutants and space aliens haunting horror films—while the style of fifties-style monsters and the “classics” differed, that’s not to say that they were completely incompatible. This movies demonstrates that there are, in fact, many places where the two eras both diverge and meet: while steeped in the modern conventions and trends of the day, it maintains a good deal of the spirit of its predecessors, especially in characterizing its lead monster as an individual, tragic figure as well as a terrifying force. There is indeed a reason why this Creature gets to be part of the gang.

The Monolith Monsters (1957)

This movie poses a real conundrum: does something have to be alive to be considered a monster? In this case, the filmmakers obviously don’t think so, because they put “monster” in the title—but make no mistake, the titular Monolith Monsters are simply space rocks whose reign of terror is caused by chemical reactions, an inanimate cycle of cause-and-effect. In that way, they’re probably closer to a natural disaster than a monster. Still, it was 1957, and I imagine that in the minds of the bigwigs at Universal (because yes, The Monolith Monsters should technically be part of the same Universal Monsters canon as Dracula, the Wolf Man, and the fifties Sci-Fi inflected counterparts like The Creature From The Black Lagoon) it was a lot easier to sell a movie with “monster” in the title to the kids who went to see Tarantula and The Deadly Mantis than if it were “just” a science fiction disaster movie. So, these rocks became monsters.

Part of the reason I started writing these reviews in the first place was to highlight creature features that fell outside the norm, so this that is about giant rocks fits right into it. How the rocks operate and how the story progresses is really not that different from the movies featuring flesh-and-blood (or mechanical, I guess) monsters, and applying those tropes to something outside the usual alien invader scenario does provide some interesting new ways to look at them. For example: the space-themed paranoia that is a constant in so many of these genre movies in the fifties being projected onto something as seemingly simple as minerals from a meteorite indicates to us that anything that comes from outside our planet, be it animal, vegetable, or mineral, is potentially a world-ending intruder. This is so pessimistic as to be outright existential, imagining a universe so hostile that even rocks are to be feared, and so The Monolith Monsters intentionally or unintentionally brings that particular recurring Cold War era theme to its peak intensity.