The late, great Paul Frees (trust me, you’ve heard his
voice before, even if you don’t recognize the name) narrates a short history of
the burg of Milpitas, California and its relationship to excessive garbage
dumping (“As goes Milpitas – So goes the State”). After a scene or two of officials and
scientists (none of whom will have an impact on the film whatsoever) declaring
concern over the smell of all the pollution in the bay area, we are whisked
away to the local “sludge lagoon,” where hobo (in the mode of Foster Brooks) George flops around and
tries to fish. Suddenly, the titanic,
titular terror appears from the water to wreak semi-havoc and steal people’s
garbage cans, and we’re kind of off to the races.
There is a gang of punk kids in Robert L. Burrill’s The Milpitas Monster, and they are
something special to behold. These
aren’t punks in the sense of mohawks and torn clothes. These are punks in the sense of juvenile
delinquents with too much time on their hands and likely overindulgent parents,
and despite that, they are utter failures at their calling. They delight in taunting our non-hero Jeff by
calling him “Penguin” For no apparent reason.
They drive to their high school on their day off for kicks and then
complain that there’s nothing going on there.
They decide they are going to “stink up the whole town” by painting
giant footprints all over the place in imitation of the actual ones that are
turning up all over the place (I don’t think they ever get around to actually
doing this; they’re all lip). They sneak
George into the big school dance in a garbage can, spike the punch, and then
just kind of hang out. They receive more
screen time than almost any other character, but they add nothing to the film
other than giving us scenes of brats being bratty. They create no tension, they suffer no
comeuppance, and they advance the story not one whit. Nevertheless, in a film about a giant
monster, they are still the most interesting thing in it, and they are not that
interesting at all.
Way, way back in time, monster
kids formed a small cult of special effects enthusiasts and amateur filmmakers,
some of whom would go on to professional careers and acclaim (the most notable I
can think of being David Allen, Dennis Muren, and Jim Danforth who all worked on the visual effects for the equally
low budget but exponentially more entertaining Equinox). Magazines like Cinemagic (created by another effects
nut, Don Dohler of Nightbeast fame) gave detailed
descriptions of how to create special effects on very little bread. It celebrated creativity and problem-solving
(something which has become a lost art, in my opinion), and it came from a
grass roots perspective that paid homage to effects pioneers like Georges Melies, even if it didn’t
realize or acknowledge outwardly it was doing so.
The magazine also gave a forum
for young filmmakers to advertise and share their work with other like-minded
people. Here’s a random example from
issue twenty (volume four, number two): “Company
for the Night. A quiet tale of a
corpse who after a hundred years, yearns for the warmth and companionship of
the living. He leaves the grave and
joins an elderly couple for the night.
Producer: ONO Productions, Ltd.
Director/Writer/Camera: John Dixon.
FX include: stop-motion, animation, miniature cemetery set and house
set. Regular-8. Running time: 20 – 30 minutes.” Now, not all of the stories were this seemingly
mature. In fact, a great many were
simply riffs on popular horror/science fiction properties of the time, barebones
skeletons existing only to hang some special effects meat on (which can be a
perfectly acceptable approach, mind you).
Burrill and company are
certainly in this latter category (and for the record, I have never seen Company for the Night, so I cannot
comment on its actual quality or even if it ever reached completion). He and his friends were high school students
at the time of this film’s production, and they put this whole thing together
for around eleven thousand dollars. What
I found amazing watching the film is how they wrung every last ounce of
production value out of that budget. There
are aerial shots (granted, pretty shaky, but still) and a number of cameos from
the likes of television horror host Bob
Wilkins as well as the aforementioned Frees
(both of whom I can only assume did this as a favor, unless they decided
they wanted to work dirt cheap for a few hours). There is the sense that everyone involved
wanted to contribute and make this film work in the tradition of “let’s put on
a show” storylines the world over. It’s
this spirit of community that imbues The
Milpitas Monster with what charms it has.
The enviro-horror angle of the
story is underplayed (and it should be stated that this film is intended more
as a comedy than anything else, but even comedies can have themes and usually
contain at least a few humorous moments) focusing only on the wicked bad smell
of all the garbage around town. It
doesn’t delve even slightly into the actual impact of over-dumping, the actual
contamination of ground and water, or anything of the sort (outside of the
giant monster, but since it consumes garbage, it could be argued that it’s
actually a solution to the issue; not the best solution obviously, but a
solution nonetheless). Every character
comments about the stink of things (scientists complain about a fish’s odor,
officials complain about water odor, Jeff complains about girlfriend
Priscilla’s perfume odor) but not about the health risks involved.
With all this in mind, then,
let’s talk about the film’s effects, since they are its sole raison d’etre. The first effect we see is the monster’s stop
motion hand clenching its way toward the surface of the sludge lagoon. This is quickly followed by a full-sized prop
of the beast’s hand emerging from the water, quickly followed by some more stop
motion work of the creature taking its first flight. Even for a god like Ray Harryhausen, the process is both labor and time intensive, and
for the resources they had, I’d say the filmmakers here did a competent, if not
stunning, job in this respect. The prop
claw works well, primarily because it’s only shown in quick shots, but it’s
still good enough to stand up to others of its ilk. There are some forced perspective shots that effectively
place the monster in real environments.
The one area where the effects work really stands out, though, is in its
miniatures, particularly a scene involving the monster’s destruction of a local
restaurant. The scale is accurate, there
is enough detail to pull off the illusion when compared to the actual building
(come to think of it, I don’t recall offhand if the actual building is shown,
so kudos for making it seem so), and most importantly, the lighting is
correct. It looks like a building lit by
a street lamp, and it sells the image, even with a giant monster crouching next
to it. However, the monster suit itself
is simply tragic. Its head is a
glorified gas mask (yeah, we get it, garbage stinks) with bug eyes. Its body is formless and undetailed, like you
might find on a high school mascot costume.
Worse than these are its wings, which are limp, shiny adornments that
would make even The Bugaloos (look it
up) laugh in derision. For how much it
does right in the visual effects department, it’s a crushing blow that the
eponymous character just doesn’t work at all.
Combine this with the stilted editing, the awkward acting, and the lack
of any cohesive storyline or compelling characters, and you have a film that’s
more curio than captivating.
MVT: For its myriad flaws,
you truly have to admire the level of enthusiasm that gave birth to The Milpitas Monster.
Make or Break: Once you
realize that you’re going to be spending an inordinate amount of time with the
pointless antics of George and the J.D. gang with absolutely nothing of
consequence happening, you may want to tap out on this one.
Score: 3/10
