"Two on a Guillotine" (1965) on Warner Archive Instant

"It's as though the whole house were breathing."

     William Conrad had an incredibly interesting career, and more personally speaking, he's the reason I subscribe to Warner Archive Instant. The imposing actor who made his debut in Robert Siodmak's definitive noir "The Killer's", was also the whimsical narrator of "Rocky and Bullwinkle". His voice wallpapered my youth and is one I'm more familiar with than many of my family's own. In addition to this, he was a TV director, his credit's behind the camera are numerous and include the unique final season of "77 Sunset Strip" which saw a shift in style for the popular crime drama. Despite his extensive work for the small screen, the entirety of Conrad's directing for the cinema is contained in one year and three film's. It was in seeking out one of these work's, "Brainstorm", that I entered the world of Warner Archive. A well regarded late entry into the film-noir cycle, it was a film I felt the need to track down when I was going through a period of noir immersion. Warner Archive Instant, at the time, had it offered as a streaming title, and having just bought a Roku, I subscribed to the service. William Conrad was my gateway drug to WAI (and vice-versa). Today, we look at one of those other two film's from that fruitful year of 1965, "Two on a Guillotine".

     A vulture perches. A woman is bound. She is stabbed. Twice. She screams in agony. The audience cheers. The magician John Harley Duquesne (Cesar Romero) has wowed them again. After Duquesne and his assistant/ wife (Connie Stevens) take their bow's, Conrad's camera glides through the backstage activity of the very real humanity behind the Grand Guignol performance. Duquesne demonstrates the apparatus of his newest trick, a guillotine for a "Marie Antoinette" routine. The guillotine proves faulty, chopping the head from a doll.

     We jump forward in time to the occasion of Duquesne's funeral (you can spot an uncredited Richard Kiel at graveside). The great magician is buried in a shackled, windowed coffin per his last request; he claimed his final act would be to return from the grave. Cassandra (also played by Connie Stevens), his daughter, leaves the ceremony in disgust as she is hounded by reporter's. We learn that Duquesne retired from performing twenty years prior, when his wife walked out on the family and disappeared. An aunt in Wisconsin raised Cassie, and she never really knew her parent's.

     The reading of the will takes place in true show biz style at The Hollywood Bowl. The widescreen lens takes in the entirety of the locale, slowly pushing in on the infinitesimal figures seated on the stage. It is revealed that all $300,000 of Duquesne's estate will belong to Connie if she is able to spend seven nights at his house, where he hopes his soul shall make a return.

     It's a classic old dark house set-up and it's in classic fashion that Cassie is greeted. After pushing a button, a "House on Haunted Hill" style skeleton descends through the room on a wire. Aiding her on the exploration of the estate is wisecracking Val Henderson (Dean Jones), a reporter posing as a real estate agent. Jones is intensely likeable in a  Jimmy Stewart kind of way.

      The first night in the house, disturbing sounds of a woman crying are heard, followed by a phone call with heavy breathing. Val eventually discovers a tape player is the source of the respiratory audio. It seems Duquesne's trick's continue on even after he lay in the grave.

   

     Val charms his way into Cassie's life and they go to an amusement park, followed by dinner at a rockin' go-go joint with a kick ass band. They kiss in a  Godardian moment of self aware cinema; the R&B that has filled the soundtrack is jarringly replaced by the lush, romantic Max Steiner score at the very instant they lock lip's. Conrad cuts forward in time to the two being intimate on the couch and Cassie grabs a "Stop/Go" pillow, mirroring the "go,go,go.." lyric's of the song heard moment's ago at the club. For a haunted house movie by a TV director, this picture is cinematically sophisticated and whip-smart.

     This interlude is likewise interrupted by a jolting auditory instance- the screaming of Dolly (Virginia Gregg), Duquesne's assistant, who wanders the house and claims he appeared to her. Dolly is consumed with self loathing for allowing Duquesne to die alone. She paints a heart-rending portrait of a man haunted and driven from reality by grief over his lost wife. There's an emotional complexity to the scene's between Cassie and Dolly. Cassie develops guilt over not speaking to her father when Dolly tells her he "worshipped her". Val doesn't trust Dolly, believing her to be manipulating Cassie in order to get at the $300,000, and drives her from the house.

     Cassie comes to know her parent's through her environment and the object's therein- her father's prop's, her mother's room. There's a powerful scene of her listening to the voice of her lost mother singing on tape as she wanders the music room in the way her father must have done countless times. She is the estranged child learning of her parent's and echoing them at the same time. Conrad's intelligent Panavision compositions add to the impact.

     A mannequin head bearing her likeness frightens Cassie when it tumbles from a box. It is not her image though, but that of her mother. Oddly this is the second film we've reviewed in the past month with a mistaken identity mannequin head scare scene. "Crescendo" had a similar moment and the two share an interest in body doubling.

     The interactions between Cassie and Val have an easy humor to them, but beyond that, there's a strange, idiosyncratic tone to many part's of the picture. There's Big Mike (Billy Curtis, who hails from one town over from me), the midget bartender, a sign for "7 Dwarf's Bourbon" framed behind his head. And then there's the rabbit. Duquesne's white rabbit makes numerous appearances, each time accompanied by a goofy, ocarina sounding melody. It's usually during scene's of seriousness and intensity, and the bunny with it's jaunty tune is a mood killer and completely tonally dissonant. Conrad must have loved the damn thing though, since he gives it the last scene in the picture.

     Cassie eventually finds out Val is a reporter, and after they get in an argument, she must finally spend the night in the house alone. We get a dream sequence where the ever present silly rabbit again makes an appearance. Waking up, Cassie discovers the mysterious door that has been locked shut this entire time is now open...

     "Two on a Guillotine" is many things- a romance, a mystery, a goofy comedy, an exploration of filial guilt and love, but in the the end, it is most definitely a horror film. The horror of an almost realized hope of parental reconnection shattered into a delusionally incestuous nightmare appointment with the guillotine. It's about about discovering the worst truth possible in the heart of your most joyous moment. This picture promises spook house thrills, but ends up delivering horror's much more disturbing and less easily shaken off.
     

"The Hypnotic Eye" (1960) on Warner Archive Instant

"Will I be horrible? Will I be a monster? Will I?"
  

     Allison Hayes is a favorite here at the blog. Despite the fact that she didn't exactly star in masterpiece's of cinema, her very presence in a film all but guarantees it's going to be interesting. This is the case with the 1960 hypno-gimmick thriller, "The Hypnotic Eye", a  B-movie that has more going on than it's ballyhoo based pedigree might lead you to believe.

     The pre-credit sequence is an attention grabber that would make Sam Fuller proud. Through the unblinking steel gaze POV of a stove burner we witness the self immolation of a young woman's head. It's a real punch in the gut start to the picture and a sure-fire (no pun intended) way to get the audience's attention.

     Detective Dave Kennedy (Joe Patridge) is investigating a series of female self-mutilations, which currently number eleven. He questions the woman who torched her hair, now wrapped in bandages, who dies on the stretcher in front of him. This truly is a dark little picture.

     Despite the protestations of Doctor Phil (no relation, despite the moustache) Hecht (Guy Prescott) -a man who loves dart's, kimono's, pipe's and piano's, but hates hypnotist's- Dave goes to see a hypnotism stage show. Joining him are his girlfriend, Marcia (Marcia Henderson), and her friend, Dodie (Merry Anders). Desmond, the Gallic hypnotist, is played by Jacques Bergerac and Hayes is his leggy assistant, Justine. Female volunteer's are requested from the audience, and Dodie is selected and brought onstage. Using the power of hypnosis, but mostly the power of wires that are clearly visible in Warner Archive's sharp transfer, Desmond causes Dodie to levitate in the air.

     Returning home, Dodie decides to wash her face with sulfuric acid and that doesn't turn out well at all. As in the beginning, a POV shot is used, this time through the bottom of the sink. I wonder if a young Scott Spiegel saw this picture and was so impressed that he decided his own movies would be nothing but a series of inanimate object POV's.

     After visiting Dodie in the hospital, Marcia again attends Desmond's show, This time, she is called to the stage to be entranced. She closes her eyes in order to avoid being hypnotized, but manages to see the device of Desmond's power, the titular "hypnotic eye" with a blinking light that he holds in his hand. Thinking she's under his power, Desmond suggests to her that she visit him backstage at midnight. Marcia wants to investigate this weirdo so she goes to see him, tailed by Dave and Dr. Phil. Her journey down a dark alley at the witching hour has a Tourneur-esqe spookiness to it, aided by Marlin Skiles' shivering score.

     Arriving in the dressing room, Marcia accidentally becomes transfixed by the hypnotic eye. This may be a bit of a stretch, but the shot's of Marcia, a late 1950's beauty, illuminated by the eye's strobe effect, have an almost proto-Lynchian quality to them. Desmond uses his control over the young lass to do what any self respecting hypnotist perv would do: he takes her to a coffeehouse to see a poetry reading by James Lipton's dad, who apparently was a big deal beatnik.


      After returning to Marcia's home, Desmond's amorous advances are cut short when he is dismissed by his assistant. Justine, with her star shaped beauty mark, is revealed to be the true hidden Svengali of female self-harm. This should come as no surprise to those familiar with Hayes' oeuvre, as she frequently played powerful, in-control women. She attempts to have Marcia scald herself in the shower, but is stopped when Dave knocks on the door.

     Past victim's of these post hypnotic suggestions are questioned, and none of them recalls ever having been put under. Dave finds an official "The Hypnotic Eye" balloon in one of their purses and that gives him all the evidence he needs.

     A majority of the end of the picture is Desmond's stage show where he performs his tricks on the entire viewing audience. He stands on the stage, his reverb drenched voice giving orders. There is a silly surrealness to it all when this is combined with the comical reaction shot's of the audience acquiescing.

     There's a sadisticness to this picture. Whereas most film's of it's ilk glory in the shock of the moment of violence, this one is more concerned with what happens after, when the victim's have to exist with their future's reduced to a fraction. We see only two of the mutilation's occur, but we meet many of the scarred women living with the aftermath of their deformation. In these scenes there seems to be an empathy at work. It's in the scene of the woman dying on the stretcher, it's in the scene's of Dodie lying in her dark hospital room, it's in the scene of the lonely mother- her children having been taken from her- who's too ashamed to even answer the door. Whether or not it's intentional is unknown, but for a gimmick based B-movie it's something worth noting.

     Ostensibly a film that's a vehicle for old timey hypnosis trick's, "The Hypnotic Eye" has more going for it than just the free balloon audience member's got at the box office. Allison Hayes is perfect as the seductress of destruction; arch eyebrowed and fueled by vengeful jealousy, she is a figure of statuesque misogyny. It's a picture about the power of the psyche being harnessed to disfigure the flesh; as nastily interested in deformations of the female form as it is in hypnotism. And lastly, can somebody please make a prop replica of the actual hypnotic eye so I can buy one?
   

"The Vampire Lovers" (1970) on Netflix

"You must die. Everybody must die."

   

     Ah, Hammer Pictures, where men's collars are high and filled with starch, and women's neckline's are low and filled with cleavage. Our look at the studio at the dawn of the 1970's continues with "The Vampire Lovers". Like "Crescendo", this picture shows the studio making a strong start to the decade that would eventually give us Dracula bringing death to the love generation and a Stuart Whitman international action thriller.

     We start off with a Hammer double whammy: a fog shrouded graveyard in front of a castle at night. Baron Hartog (Douglas Wilmer) hides in the decrepit castle of the Karnstein's, waiting to take revenge on the dreaded bloodsucker's who took his sister's life. What transpires in this pre-credit sequence is everything you hope to get when you enter the world of Hammer: atmosphere, creepy set's, redder than red blood, a coffin that appears to also be a fog machine and a gorgeous vampire babe. Everything seems to be very traditional, until a shockingly gory decapitation occurs. Welcome to the 70's, Hammer.

     Peter Cushing is Hammer royalty, and he is General Speilsdorf and he is throwing a party for his niece, Laura (Pippa Steele). Into the room enter the Countess (Dawn Addams) and Marcilla (Ingrid Pitt), the eye of every man upon them. Laura comments to her beau, Carl (Jon Finch), that Marcilla seems to be checking him out. He disagrees, saying he's not the half of the couple at which the mysterious woman is looking. The Countess asks the General to look after Marcilla while she goes away and he agrees. Throughout the entire picture, but especially in this scene, we see Hammer's trademark bold use of the color red. It's in the General's uniform, the red cape worn by the mysterious man who calls the Countess away, Marcilla's dress and the uniform of the coachmen; the sanguinary hue inhabits every frame.

     Laura awakes, screaming in the night, from a dream in which she's being attacked by a giant cat. Uncoincidentally, Marcilla begins to make the move's on her, growing more intimate with each encounter. Soon, a strange sickness takes hold of Laura, who lay in bed repeatedly asking for Marcilla. Moments after she arrives in the room, Laura exits this mortal coil.

     Later, The Countess' carriage tips over while journeying through the forest. There's never a shortage of well to do men willing to aid a young lass, so she soon convinces Roger Morton (George Cole) to take in her "daughter", now going by the name of Carmilla. Pitt's sex appeal may be what this picture was sold on, but Madeline Smith, who's plays Emma, Morton's niece, is the most remarkable beauty in the film. Big eyed, with a porcelain fragility, she's like a Keane painting come to life.

     Unsurprisingly, Carmilla chooses Emma as her new prey, and no time is wasted before they are getting naked together. The big pussy cat dream makes another appearance, this time experienced by Emma. Whatever the charm's of Tudor Gates screenplay might be, subtlety and unpredictability aren't two of them.

     There's a wonderful sequence in which a funeral procession for one of Carmilla's victim's passes on the road by her and Emma. Overwhelmed by the tolling bell and religious chanting, Carmilla finds herself shaken by this mockery of her undying existence. Pitt's screen presence is a mix of Catherine Deneuve and Nico (perhaps LESS vampiric than Nico), with line readings in the kind of cavernous Teutonic monotone you would expect from that combo. In this scene, though, she is truly compelling, bordering on powerful.

     Morton goes away for some reason or other, and Carmilla takes this opportunity to use her seductive vampirism to gain power over the household. Carmilla seduces the Governess in a strongly back-lit scene that evinces true artistry. Roy Ward Baker was a Hammer stalwart, and he does some fine work here; the beginning and ending at Karnstein Castle and a scene in which the Doctor who has been caring for Emma is attacked in the leave strewn twilight forest, in particular.

     By the end of the film, the race is on as the General, Morton and Hartog try to find Mircalla Karnstein's (the true identity of Marcilla/ Carmilla) grave before poor Emma is consumed by the lust of the dark side. It all ends with Cushing, stake in hand, confronting a vampire in their coffin. So, if you've ever seen, or even heard about a Hammer film, you know how it ends.

     "The Vampire Lovers" was part of the Euro-gothic softcore vampire genre that was fairly popular in the 1970's. Other examples are "Vampyres", "Daughter's of Darkness" and a whole load of Jean Rollin (the undisputed master of the genre) and Jess Franco effort's. With the "Karnstein Trilogy" (this picture, along with "Lust For a Vampire" and "Twins of Evil"), Hammer took the lush period atmos-horror stories that were their bread and butter and just added more boob's and lesbo overtone's. Ironically, what's most memorable about this film is how well it employs the more traditional element's of the Hammer style. The shot's of Pitt walking across the fog strewn landscape are haunting and more effective than any flash of t&a might be.

     Pitt didn't appear in the other two Karnstein outing's, but would appear in "Countess Dracula" for the studio the following year. I was surprised after watching this picture and "Crescendo" at how strongly Hammer entered the era of modern horror. These two films, along with "Vampire Circus" and "Captain Kronos", made two years later, proved the studio was at their best when they made picture's in their own style without trying to ape current fad's. Despite it's more explicit elements, "The Vampire Lovers" is united with the classic Hammer film's through it's craftsmanship and timelessness.

     

     

"Crescendo" (1970) on Warner Archive Instant

"There's so much atmosphere. I hardly know where to begin."

     Hammer Films in the 1970's was a strange beast. The violent Technicolor elegance that had once enthralled horror fans in the late 50's/ early 60's had come to be viewed as quaint and dated as the Universal horror's. Forced to survive in a post- "Night of the Living Dead" genre landscape alongside titles such as "The Exorcist", "The Last House on the Left" and "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre", Hammer desperately tried to remain relevant by upping the sex and gore quotient; cashing in on post "Exorcist" satanic panic with "To The Devil a Daughter" and even teaming with kung-fu magnates the Shaw Brothers for a couple co-productions. They managed to create some entertaining work during those twilight years. "Captain Kronos- Vampire Hunter" is a fun vampiric swashbuckling tale and "The Legend of the Seven Golden Vampires" features Peter Cushing going on a kung-fu adventure (if that's not something you're interested in, you're reading the wrong blog). To that list of noteworthy late period Hammer productions you can add the sleazy Gothic thriller "Crescendo".

     Originally a project of the Brian Jones of British horror, Michael Reeves, "Crescendo" finally came to be made at the turn of the decade under the direction of Alan Gibson, with a script rewritten by old Hammer standby, Jimmy Sangster. The picture opens with slow motion horseback riding and smooth sax, not exactly how you'd expect a thriller to start. It all soon turns into an Argento-esque fever dream, though, as a man has a shotgun pointed at him by his mirror image and he discovers the girl he's been laying with has become a corpse. The man suffering the dream is Georges Ryman (James Olsen), a wheelchair bound ex tennis player, who lives in a large French chateau with his mother, Danielle (Margaretta Scott). Throughout the film, Georges repeatedly experiences the dream, with the imagery staying basically the same, changing only slightly as fact's are slowly revealed.

     Into their life enters Susan Roberts (Stefanie Powers), a grad student there to do her thesis on the late Mr. Ryman, who was a renowned composer. Initially enthusiastic, Susan is slowly drawn into the bizarre psychodrama of the Ryman's and their servant's Lillianne (Jane Lapotaire) and Carter (Joss Ackland). Georges takes a liking to Susan, but suffers spasms only curable through heroin, usually administered by a naked, sadomasochistic Lillianne, who desires to marry him for his family's fortune and wishes Susan to be gone. One evening Susan hears piano coming from the music room, played by an unknown hand. Her fruitless journey to find out who it is ends with her discovering a disfigured mannequin head of her own visage. The classic monsters of Terrence Fisher, this is not. With a heavy air of Gothic mystery, the picture plays like a chamber drama directed by Mario Bava.

     Susan finds the clothes she has been wearing (since her own luggage disappeared under questionable circumstances) are those of an elusive woman from Georges' past, to whom she bears a resemblance. Georges urges Susan to leave the house, but Danielle wants just the opposite. As the baroque power struggle builds, people begin to get killed and Susan finds herself at the center of it all. Powers is great as a woman losing her innocence while trying not to lose her identity as well as her mind. The picture's climax is a clash between Eros and Thanatos in the form of mother and son, with a shocking twist worthy of classic Brian De Palma.

     Indeed, this film also shares De Palma's obsession with Hitchcockian body doubles, with Susan being groomed in a "Vertiginous" manner to resemble Catherine, and Georges' continual nightmare in which he confronts his own image. If De Palma's work can be considered the American echo of the modern Italian giallo as ushered in by Argento, then "Crescendo" can be viewed as the Anglo counterpart. Released early in the cycle, the same year as Argento's tide shifting "Bird With Crystal Plumage" and three years before De Palma would enter his "red period" with "Sisters", "Crescendo" fulfills most of the genre tropes: blood, nudity, twisted psychology, red herrings,  stylish camerawork, and a twist ending (the only thing missing is a black gloved killer). The American distribution for the the film was delayed by two years, when it was ignobly dumped on a double bill with "Dracula A.D. 1972", just months before De Palma would gain worldwide recognition by employing many of the same elements.

     The ending to the picture is tense and unsettling, as we wade waist deep into the killer's insanity within a room full of mannequin's. There is something intensely satisfying about a mystery thriller that knows how to stick the landing with a satisfying conclusion, rather than giving the audience a flaccid or sloppy letdown. It's a tough thing to do. Hitchcock knew how to do it, Depalma (in his younger day's) knew how to do it, Argento (in his younger day's) knew how to do it, and, in "Crescendo", Alan Gibson knew how to do it. That's reason enough to learn his name. Visually, the film is multi layered and evocative, with a great sense of movement and the final shots directly anticipate the ending's to Argento's "Suspiria" and "Inferno".

     "Crescendo" is the best example of Hammer bringing their style into the nasty, dirty 70's; taking the Gothic atmosphere they built their name on and adding sex, drugs and harder violence in a manner that doesn't seem desperate or forced. The master himself, Alfred Hitchcock, would pull off the same trick a couple years later, when he stepped back onto the street's of London and gave us "Frenzy".

"Attack of the 50 Foot Woman" (1958) on Warner Archive Instant

   

     Allison Hayes was the bombshell Joan Crawford, able to portray powerful, commanding women with an air of confident femininity. "Attack of the 50 Foot Woman" is the most well known and iconic of her on screen performances. It's a classic psychotronic B-movie, often held up as an example of a "bad" film-making and recognizable even to people who haven't seen it through it's memorable poster. Yes, the special effects are entertainingly atrocious, but the actual film is fun and not as terribly made as one might expect.

     Director Nathan Hertz was an Oscar winning Hollywood set designer, who worked on classy productions such as John Ford's "How Green Was My Valley" and who had a second act to his career directing a number of movies where things are giant and/or stop motion, including a number of Ray Harryhausen pictures. What he gives us with "Attack of the 50 Foot Woman" is the first and only sexpot kaiju noir.

     We start off with Nancy Archer (Allison Hayes) driving frantically through the desert, hysterical that she caught her no good philandering husband, Harry (William Hudson), making eyes with Honey (Yvette Vickers, unfortunately now best known for the incredibly sad story of her death), the chick he's been stepping out with, at the local roadhouse. Nancy encounters a giant white satellite come to Earth, that looks like the older brother to the "Rover" from "The Prisoner". A huge hand reaches out and attempts to grab her.

     Meanwhile, Harry and Honey hatch a plan to try and get at Nancy's money. Seems she's a multimillionaire who, in the past, has had issues with the bottle and her mental health. When Nancy returns to town ranting about spacecraft's and giant's, they see their opportunity to have her locked up in the loony bin for good. I have a suspension of disbelief issue with this aspect of the story. In what reality does a guy end up cheating on an outrageously wealthy knock-out like Hayes?

   
     Nancy isn't stupid, though, and makes Harry drive her out to the desert to find proof she's not crazy. When they find the satellite, to which Nancy runs in a fantastically ecstatic over-the-top manner, the giant appears and grabs her. Harry, ever the weasel, empties his gun into it and hightails it back to town.

     Upon his return to town, the local authorities question Harry about Nancy's disappearance, and he gets in a ridiculous fist fight with Jess (Ken Terrell), her butler. Nancy soon mysteriously reappears and Harry attempts to off her once and for all by overdosing her on the medicine the nurse has been administering. In a beautifully stylized sequence that begins as Fritz Lang and ends as Bert I. Gordon, Harry makes his way upstairs, syringe in hand, through the nighttime shadows of the house, only to find a gigantic papier-mache hand.

     Soon, things like meat hooks and elephant syringes ("Meat Hooks and Elephant Syringes", coincidentally enough, is the name of my first poetry collection) are being shipped to Nancy's mansion, so that the doctor's might secure her while searching for an anti-giant serum. The local sheriff and Jess follow a set of huge footprints to the desert and find the alien ship. As they enter the ship, Hertz again proves he knows what he's doing with a camera, using light, smoke and distorted imagery to get the most from his non-existent budget; pegboard apparently plays a huge role in interior design on whatever planet this alien is from. Hertz's more than competent staging of scenes like this proves he's in on the joke.

     The giant (Michael Ross) finally appears, throws a car at these guy's and then boogies on out of there aboard his ship. The look of the giant is odd. He's played by the same guy who is the bartender at the roadhouse, and he's dressed in a kind a medieval garb. There's zero backstory to the character other than he needs diamond's to power his ship, so we don't know why this choice was made. I know, I know the answer is "because they didn't want to hire another actor and they had that costume laying around", but somebody humor me and write a comic further detailing the adventures of "Lurgo, Giant Diamond Squire of the Spaceways" and his bar tending alter ego. Also, why didn't we ever get "The Amazing Colossal Man Meets the 50 Foot Woman"? After all, they both have the same screenwriter. Somebody Kickstart these ideas.

     Nancy eventually breaks free of her chains and stomps her way to town periodically shrieking "Harry?!" in a manner befitting a Godzilla monster, as she seeks her sleazeball husband and his bimbo. All the optical effects have a translucent glow, making Nancy and the Space Giant look like behemoth, marauding ghost's. The finale in which Nancy tears apart the roadhouse is as good as could be expected for the budget, with the giant, kind of gross looking, prop hand again making an appearance. It's a wonderful inversion of the "King Kong" dynamic, the love struck male replaced by the betrayed woman.

     "Attack of the 50 Foot Woman" is a campy 1950s mix of melodrama, film noir and sci-fi. Ultimately, though, it's a revenge story. Hayes is the ultramega embodiment of scorned female vengeance, a symbol of self-actualized femininity literally breaking free of her bond's to take on the tawdry and common elements that have invaded her life. Now, does anybody know if the giant prop hand still exists?