Sorry to interrupt this discussion of age differences, but I watched another bad 1950s monster flick last night
The Curse of the Faceless Man (1958)
At first glance it’s just a cheap knockoff of The Mummy, but if you look closer
— well, it’s really just a cheap knockoff of 1931’s The Mummy. But it does have it’s points.
In the first place, the screenplay is by Jerome Bixby, the guy who wrote the short story “It’s a Good Life” that got turned into one of the most memorable episode of The Twilight Zone. And wrote four episodes of Star Trek TOS. And rewrote the screenplay for Fantastic Voyage. And, lest we forget, scripted one of the better science fiction movies of the 1950s, It! The Terror from Beyond Space, from which they lifted the plot for Alien.
This is not one of the better science fiction films of the 1950s. In fact, I think it’s his nadir. Worse than The Lost Missile.
But it does show some originality. Quintillus Aurelius, the titular Faceless Man, isn’t just another mummy. Bixby was clearly influenced by those plaster castings they made from the cavities left in the hardened pumice and ash in Pompeii. The FM (I can’t keep writing “Faceless Man”) was obviously supposed to be one of these, but they apparently realized that this would be stupid and unbelievable. Instead, he’s the body of a Pompeiian Gladiator who was transformed by some weird biochemical process involving the ash nd the heat, and was thus kept alive underground until they started excavating. Because that makes much more sense. It doesn’t explain his lack of a face (or clothes, for that matter), but, hey, you work with what you have.
Charles Gemora (spelled “Gemmora” in the credits) created the monster suit. If you don’t know who he is, .he practically had a monopoly on playing gorillas in the 1930s through the 1950s movies (the Rick Baker of his day). He made his own ape suits. Some papers reported that he played King Kong in the 1933 movie. (He didn’t, of course – that was all stop motion and one life-sized model. But he did play the Kong role in an unreleased remake with marionettes – The Lost Island)
The movie starts with a workman doing some very unscientific-looking excavation in what is supposed to be Pompeii, when jewelry box falls into his pit, apparently pushed by the FM’s still-buried hand. They excavate him and take both back to the Pompeii Museum, where they’re immediately put on exhibit. En route, he kills the deriver of the van. Later, Tina, fiancee of the Handssome American Scientist, feels a psychicv connection with the FM. She returns late at night to sketch him (she’s an artist), and the FM “comes to life”, stiffly rising from his slab and lurching towards her. Despite his incredibly slow pace, she does not, in the best tradition of Helpless Damsels in Monster Movies. Of course, she screams. This brings a guard, who shoots the FM, to no effect. (You gotta ask – why shoot him? ) But the slow-moving FM can move fast enough to hit the guard and kill him, leaving a body count of 2. Tina faints, and the FM puts a brooch from the box on her dress before falling stiffly into his original pose, like a toy from Toy Story.
Well, I won’t go into details. Suffice it to say that Tina is really the reincarnation of the FM’s love from his original life – another trope they stole from The Mummy. In fact, this one’s so common that I made a webpage about it –
The film is a great one for MST3King, between the hackneyed plot, the inconsistencies in the FM’s construction and story, and the Jack Webb-style voiceover narration. His demise is positively anticlimactic. He confusedly walks off with Tina in his arms (a walk of several miles, evidently) to the Cove of the Blind Fisherman, where, believing the eruption of Vesuvius to be in progress, he carries her into the water…
…and dissolves. Like the Wicked Witch of the West. Or the Triffids in the 1963 movie. Or the aliens in Alien Nation. This rock-hard preserved monster (axe blows have no effect on him) simply dissolves? Even if he HAD been made of plaster of Paris he wouldn’t dissolve like that. And so quickly and completely, too. But I guess that’s what happens to weird biochemical creations in the wake of volcanic eruptions.
There was no sequel, of course. Quintillus Aurelius was soup. But if one Pompeiian could be living petrified, then there’s no reason that other Pompeiians couldn’t also be so preserved. And nothing to keep them from coming back in more movies. Except a lack of marketability.