PAPER MAN (1971)

Director: Walter Grauman

Writers: James D. Buchanan, Ronald Austin, adapted from Anthony Wilson’s story

Producer: Anthony Wilson

Cast: Dean Stockwell, Stefanie Powers, James Stacy, James Olson, Tina Chen, Elliot Street, Ross Elliot, Jason Wingreen, Dan Barton, Len Wayland, Dean Harens, Marcy Lafferty, Robert Patten, Sue Taylor, Johnny Scott Lee, Bob Golden, Craig Guenther

A credit card issued to a Henry Norman is mistakenly sent to the university address of Joel Fisher (Elliot Street). The young college student shares the instant credit with his campus friends Karen McMillan (Stefanie Powers), Jerry (James Stacy), and Lisa (Tina Chen). Joel commemorates their good fortune by assembling an effigy out of computer paper sheets representing the anonymous Henry Norman. Then the four students all use the credit card to go on a modest spending spree. Apparently, the bank realizes their credit card mailing address mistake and mails a request for more information to confirm the identity of the Henry Norman the students have appropriated. Jerry convinces computer science student Avery Jensen (Dean Stockwell) to use the university’s massive, time-sharing computer to establish a complete identity for Henry Norman that will satisfy the bank. However, the four students soon notice an unknown “Henry Norman” is making additional purchases on their credit card. Then they are soon being targeted by a series of deadly, computer-directed mishaps.

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The Frankenstein syndrome is an affliction we have had centuries of warning about; that which man creates can destroy him. It is not just the reckless shenanigans of the lone mad scientist we need to be wary of. The efficiencies of man’s computerized infrastructure can delete us if we are not careful. Unfortunately, as with other man-made threats to our very existence, we may reach the point of no return before we get serious and make a concerted effort to control what we create. After all, in the meantime there are still more bucks to be made and more blogs to write, dammit!

Even though I have not turned one lousy cent infesting the worldwide web with my digital drivel, I will do my penance by spreading more technophobia. We get all too many reminders of how the internet that has ensnared our civilization can be exploited by scammers and hackers to steal our money and identities. That will be the least of our worries if AI becomes truly sentient. Movies like 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) and Colossus: The Forbin Project (1970) sounded the alarm by extrapolating the dangerous consequences of computer technology. 1971’s CBS network television movie Paper Man also does so on a more intimate level.

This is one of the earliest television terrors I dimly recall seeing as a kid. Most of it went right over my head. Back in 1971, computers were remote tech to the general public. Those electronic brains were always housed someplace else for mysterious government and business purposes. We still had the comfort level of treating computers as that Buck Rogers stuff which was not going to intrude too personally into our lives. Paper Man gets personal.

This is a slow burn story that sets the stage with a very down-to-earth scenario. College students without decent credit ratings can charge purchases with the credit card they mistakenly receive due to a computer glitch. The lucky accident allows them to buy now and pay later. Soon, they are going to pay much more than they bargained for.

Director Walter Grauman helmed quite a few made-for-TV thrillers. Based on this film, I look forward to discovering more of his work. There is an effort made to light things with more shadows and contrast than a lot of the bland cinematography found in assembly line television productions of the day. During some intimate or tense dialogue exchanges, the lighting of faces helps focus our attention on the characters. One really bravura sequence uses a succession of corridor lights turning off to suggest someone is being stalked by technology.

Former child actor Dean Stockwell stars as the introverted computer genius and grad student Avery Jensen. The contrast of his long, curly hair with his suit-and-tie wardrobe makes for an eccentric presence. We eventually find out why he is such a repressed personality. It is probably his social awkwardness and isolation that make him amenable to the flattery of the pushy Jerry and the friendliness of the beautiful Karen.

Stefanie Powers achieved her greatest fame co-starring with Robert Wagner as the rich, husband-and-wife team of mystery solvers in the Hart to Hart television series (1979–84) and in eight additional made-for-television movies from 1993 to 1996. In Paper Man, Powers’ character of psychology major Karen McMillan is intrigued by the reclusive Avery Jensen. She could easily hook up with handsome med student Jerry, yet she finds the mild-mannered computer scientist an interesting challenge to connect with.

The persistent and manipulative Jerry sends Karen over to Avery’s apartment to persuade him to work more of his programming wizardry to bolster their fraudulent Henry Norman credit identity. Actors Stockwell and Powers work wonders with this low-key scene. The introverted recluse immediately impresses his unexpected guest with the neatness of his apartment, and he has a great finishing move of serving the lady beer in a glass. Couldn’t have done better myself. Then Avery one-ups me by explaining computer binary code to Karen. Her gentle reaction of amused incomprehension causes a subtle flicker of social defeat to pass over Avery’s face. This tells us so much about this poor guy’s inability to connect with people. Nevertheless, Avery wins over Karen. Man, just what brand of beer was he serving?

Another nice performance is James Stacy as Vietnam vet-turned-medical student Jerry. Initially, Jerry seems like the charismatic leader of the pack. His interest in Karen is stated early on, but he is never too pushy about it. As the story develops, we notice an opportunistic aspect to his character that is off-putting, but he still doesn’t seem absolutely despicable. We just see a seemingly ideal guy reveal some flaws in his character that create friction within his clique.

Joel (Elliott Street) and Lisa (Tina Chen) round out the group of small-time credit fraudsters. It is Joel’s good fortune mistakenly receiving the credit card that leads to misfortune for all involved. Lisa is featured in the movie’s creepiest sequence.

James Olson is an interesting casting choice. He had been heroic leads in two worthy sci-fi flicks: Moon Zero Two (1969) and The Andromeda Strain (1970). Here, Olson is cast against type as ineffectual university computer technician Art Fletcher. Once he learns of the Henry Norman fraud, Fletcher expresses concern and tries offering advice to the scamming students, but he is consistently ignored. This defiance leads to grave consequences.

Paper Man is suspenseful fun, but it is also quite a forward-thinking film that predicts the malevolent uses of computer technology we now hear about every day. The film also suggests some of the out-of-control actions technology may be capable of in our not-so-distant future. Back in 1971, we thought computers were just the province of the eggheads in labcoats and the rest of us could live in blissful ignorance of technology we did not use or understand. Nowadays, too many of us still live in blissful ignorance embracing the convenience of this technology we have become dependent on. However, most of us still have no more understanding of how this stuff really works than we do about the radios we listen to, the televisions we watch, or the automobiles we drive. Just being comfortable using technology will not keep us safe when it can think for itself.

EATEN ALIVE (1976), aka DEATH TRAP, HORROR HOTEL, STARLIGHT SLAUGHTER

Director: Tobe Hooper

Writers: Alvin L. Fast, Mardi Rustam, Kim Henkel

Producers: Mardi Rustam, Alvin L. Fast

Cast: Neville Brand, Robert Englund, Marilyn Burns, Stuart Whitman, Mel Ferrer, William Finley, Kyle Richards, Crystin Sinclaire, Carolyn Jones, Roberta Collins, Janus Blythe, Betty Cole, Christine Schneider, Ronald W. Davis, Sig Sakowicz, David Hayward, David Carson, Lincoln Kibbee, James Galanis, Tarja Leena Halinen, Caren White, Valerie Lukecart, Jeanne Reichert, Scuffy (the dog)

In rural Texas stands the remote and ramshackle Starlight Hotel. Its proprietor is a mentally unhinged military veteran named Judd (Neville Brand). The pond below his hotel’s front porch distinguishes the squalid accommodations. This pond is home to a huge crocodile. Despite this roadside attraction having bitten off his leg, Judd still thinks highly enough of the voracious varmint to feed it the guests that he murders.

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That Grand Guignol gourmet Tobe Hooper uses this recipe of a dollop of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), a splash of Jaws (1975), and a dash of Psycho (1960) to prep this dish of drive-in delirium called Eaten Alive. It was director Hooper’s follow up to his early-career classic The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and it always seems to suffer by comparison. Many of Hooper’s critics say that everything else that he made suffers by comparison. I say that a director who creates a genre standard may never eclipse it, but he can continue to make effective and interesting films. That is certainly the case with Eaten Alive.

This production’s most interesting aspect is Hooper’s decision to film almost entirely on movie soundstages. Much like Alfred Hitchcock’s preferred MO, this allowed Hooper complete control of the look and atmosphere in Eaten Alive. Everything feels like it is happening in a rural twilight zone where morality and sanity are in short supply. The movie begins with the only real world exterior shot in the entire film of the full moon in the night sky. This image cross-fades into an uncomfortable close-up of a circular belt buckle and fly being opened by a whorehouse patron. From here on out, the clammy and claustrophobic world of this story is unrelenting.

Some may feel that there is little in the way of plot and an awful lot of weird character antics that are never explained to the audience. I find these bits of eccentric behavior to be interesting and, at times, even irritating, but that establishes the random chaos of human behavior that results in so much conflict and horror in the world. We have all encountered oddballs at one time or another and wondered just what the hell was their problem, yet we will never know. Those are the sorts of weirdos that populate this film as well as Hooper’s acknowledged masterpiece, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. That earlier film is also full of characters that are strange, quirky, and often unlikable without sharing any sort of backstory about them to justify their behavior. I think that the main difference between the two films is Chainsaw’s real world film locations and its more gradual build up to escalating terror.

Aside from this being Tobe Hooper’s second horror feature, Eaten Alive is probably most notable to horror fans for being actor Robert Englund’s debut in the genre. Of course, Englund has achieved horror movie immortality as Freddy Krueger in A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) and its sequels. In Eaten Alive, his horny character of Buck is always unlikable as he clashes with just about everyone he meets. He opens the film as he opens his pants with some vile verse that declares his drives and establishes the themes of sexual frustration and relationship dysfunction that lead to so much trouble for so many in this story.

That obnoxious horndog Buck managing to score with the luscious Lynette (Janus Blythe) is yet another perplexing and awful injustice in this film’s strange world. Maybe Lynette was a sucker for poetry. In 1977 Blythe would also appear in The Incredible Melting Man and The Hills Have Eyes.

More past and future horror film notables grace the menu of Eaten Alive. Hooper’s Chainsaw scream queen Marilyn Burns makes the scene as Faye only to suffer more abuse. She is accompanied by William Finley (star of 1974’s The Phantom of the Paradise), as her unstable husband Roy, and Kyle Richards (1978’s Halloween), as her daughter Angie. From House of Wax (1953), Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956), and The Addams Family television series (1964-66), Carolyn Jones allows herself to be made up into crotchety whorehouse madam Miss Hatty. The star of 1960’s Blood and Roses, Mel Ferrer, appears as the dying Harvey Wood, who is accompanied by daughter Libby (Crystin Sinclaire) and looking for his other, runaway daughter Clara (Roberta Collins).

Stuart Whitman plays Sheriff Martin. He seems to be that solid authority figure that can reign in some of the insanity running rampant in this story. However, it is soon established that this rural community plays pretty fast and loose with the law. Sheriff Martin is on very cordial terms with the whorehouse madam. As Mel Ferrer’s Harvey Wood asserts, Martin runs a “wide-open town.” This removes any sense of security we may derive from having an officer of the law around. Even though Sheriff Martin seems to be a decent sort, there is also a sense that he won’t be much of a controlling factor over the chaos at the Starlight Hotel.

Neville Brand’s performance really makes this flick click. He is both disturbing and amusing in a darkly comic way. His Judd is a lonely loony that mutters and sings to himself while looking at magazines as he tries on various pairs of old eyeglasses. He makes half-hearted attempts of dusting his cluttered and dingy hotel lobby while listening to obscure country-western songs on his enormous, old radio. His isolation from the rest of the world is only emphasized by his unexplained outbursts while he flashbacks to some traumatizing military experiences. In addition to these quirks, he has some real issues with the opposite sex that he works through with farm tools, rope, and electrical tape.

The icing on this macabre cake is the man-eating crocodile Judd keeps uncomfortably close by in the pond abutting the Starlight Hotel’s front porch. None other than Robert Mattey provided this nasty critter. Mattey was the special effects veteran who had created the giant squid for 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1954) and the giant shark for Jaws.

With an interesting cast of old pros and genre favorites, off-kilter humor provided by strange characters, an eerie and remote location, and an unsavory atmosphere, Eaten Alive satisfies the appetite of this grue glutton. Those who dismiss it for not tasting the same as Chainsaw need to order it again and savor its own distinctive flavor. It is still served dripping with Tobe Hooper’s special sauce of hysterical horror.

WHITE HEAT (1949)

Director: Raoul Walsh

Writers: Ivan Goff, Ben Roberts, adapting the story by Virginia Kellogg

Producer: Louis F. Edelman

Cast: James Cagney, Virginia Mayo, Edmond O’Brien, Margaret Wycherly, John Archer, Steve Cochran, Wally Cassell, Fred Clark, (and uncredited cast members) Robert Ossterloh, Paul Guilfoyle, Ford Rainey, Ian MacDonald

In the Sierra Nevada Mountains, Arthur “Cody” Jarrett (James Cagney) and his small gang rob a mail train, killing several men in the process. U.S. Treasury agents, led by Phillip Evans (John Archer), find the body of one Jarrett gang member (Ford Rainey) and connect him to the robbery. To establish an alibi and avoid being nabbed for a federal crime, Jarrett turns himself in for another robbery he arranged to be committed in another state during his mail train heist. Jarrett’s plan is to do just a couple of years in prison for the lesser crime, and then he and his gang can spend the mail train loot when he is released. T-man Evans plants one of his men, Hank Fallon (Edmond O’Brien), as a convict in Jarrett’s prison to try and ingratiate himself with Jarrett to learn where the stolen mail train money is and get the evidence needed to bust Jarrett for the crime. Meanwhile, “Ma” Jarrett (Margaret Wycherly) informs her son that his wife, Verna (Virgina Mayo), and Jarrett gang member “Big Ed” Somers (Steve Cochran) are plotting against him.

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That little tough guy, James Cagney, was synonymous with the gangster film genre in the 1930s. The former vaudevillian made his name acting in such Warners Bros. crime films as Sinners’ Holiday (1930) and Public Enemy (1931). He would also appear in comedies and even get the chance to show off his dancing skills in 1932’s Taxi!

While Cagney became one of Hollywood’s biggest money-makers during the Great Depression, he did not appreciate how he and many other talents at Warner Bros. Pictures were treated. Head of the studio, Jack L. Warner, referred to his stubbornly principled star as “that little bastard.” Gagney would use Yiddish to cuss out Warner, leaving the studio boss to ask others what he was being called. The good old days were certainly a lot more colorful before HR policies.

Cagney had walked out of Warner Bros. more than once. After the success of his Oscar-winning performance in Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942), Cagney decided to leave the studio to start his own independent film production company. After making two films with limited success and a third one that was a financial disaster (1948’s The Time of Your Life), Cagney was enticed back to Warner Bros. for one of his greatest pictures, the noirish crime thriller White Heat.

The movie opens with the mail train robbery by the Jarrett gang and never stops moving. Between Jarrett’s evasions from justice, the treasury agents’ pursuit, a federal undercover man trying to join up with Jarrett’s gang, and the treachery of Jarrett’s wife and her lover in the Jarrett gang, we are all waiting for Cagney’s murderous mama’s boy Cody Jarrett to raise hell settling scores.

At 50 years of age, James Cagney was still a dynamo playing the villainous lead in White Heat. Of course, Cagney was not only the biggest star in the film but also returning to a gangster role of the type that had earned him his early success. Cagney tweaked his role to be even more extreme. There is not only a flawed morality in Cagney’s Cody Jarrett, but some psychological quirks that manifest as sudden, severe headaches and an obvious relish he takes gunning down his enemies.

The only one in his gang Cody Jarrett trusts is his devoted mother, “Ma” Jarrett (Margaret Wycherly). She has Cody’s back when he is incapacitated by his headaches, and she is all too aware of the treachery possible from the rest of the Jarrett gang. Ma Jarrett may have been inspired by the probably exaggerated reputation of Ma Barker, the matriarch of the 1930s Barker-Karpis Gang. They were public enemies responsible for a series of robberies, kidnappings, and murders.

Virginia Mayo was another vaudevillian that made it big in the movies. By the time of White Heat, she was at the peak of her fame and had just begun a six-year series of films at Warner Bros. As Verna, Mayo may be the beauty to Cagney’s beast, but her beauty is only skin deep. She is introduced as a perfectly made-up gun moll snoring away in the bedroom of the country cabin hideout for the Jarrett gang. She grumbles about her boredom while on the lam, but she provides Cody Jarrett with the kind of fun he needs. However, Verna has been playing up to another member of the gang that is as impatient as she is to live it up with the loot.

Steve Cochran immediately projects unsavory confidence as “Big Ed” Somers. Perhaps his character’s tryst with Virginia Mayo’s Verna was a just reward for Cochran having already appeared in four of Mayo’s earlier films. Cochran’s Big Ed is champing at the bit to take over Cody Jarrett’s gang and girl. Big Ed’s ambition is obvious to Jarrett. The furtive glances Big Ed trades with Jarrett’s wife Verna let us in on their affair. Once Cody Jarrett begins his short stretch in the pen, Big Ed plans to take Jarrett’s place permanently.

The good guys are U.S. Treasury agents trying to nail Jarrett. They are led by John Archer as Phillip Evans. Archer’s Evans is dedicated. Period. His only character distinction is his always-in-control manner and a great voice. That voice may explain why Archer starred as The Shadow on that crimefighter’s radio program from 1944 to 1945. Archer also deserves credit for fathering beautiful actress Anne Archer.

Edmond O’Brien plays the other featured T-man hero in White Heat: undercover specialist Hank Fallon. He assumes the identity of Vic Pardo, a con sent to the same prison cell as Cody Jarrett. It is interesting watching Fallon try to break the ice with Jarrett without seeming too eager. Jarrett is wary of letting anyone get too close to him except his bad ole ma. There is a fair amount of suspense created as Fallon must avoid being exposed as an imposter. Beyond Fallon’s law enforcement objective, we learn nothing about this T-man, either, except that he has an interest in fishing.

I find it interesting that the representatives of law and order, without any emotional depth, are meant to engage the audience’s support. Sure, these T-men do their important duty, but it is the institutions they work for that earn our respect. That is certainly an admirable attitude if the just standards for those institutions are maintained. This was certainly indicative of a post-Great Depression-and-World War II-era mindset, which had reverence for the agencies that should maintain social stability and prosperity.

The real emotional pull for the audience in White Heat is the almost morbid fascination we must have for the conflicts and duplicity within the criminal element. Since this is a James Cagney-starring film, that interest is wisely focused on his Cody Jarrett character. We may root for justice to be served to Cody Jarrett, but we also can’t help but thrill a bit to his remorseless violence and seeing what further actions his trauma may drive him to. This role is a fine example of why many actors find it more satisfying to play villains. Sins are more exciting to perform than virtues; actors can let out their inner animal that social norms urge us to keep caged.

White Heat is usually classified as film noir, yet it is hardly typical of the genre. While it has plenty of crime happening, it is strangely lacking in that crucial film noir element of temptation and moral degradation. All the main characters are established as being either good or evil, and they do not deviate. We are never in doubt as to what any of these characters are after or capable of. Even Jarrett’s unfaithful wife Verna is almost immediately known to us as completely untrustworthy. Jarrett has never really seemed to have much trust or respect for her. Our only surprise about Verna is a reveal of the violence she commits. The femme fatale’s purpose of many noir films is fulfilled here by Hank Fallon. He is the betrayer trying to gain Jarrett’s trust and camaraderie through duplicity. This happens during a particularly vulnerable time for Jarrett, yet Fallon’s moral righteousness is never in doubt, and we realize the validity of his tactics.

White Heat was a financial and critical success that re-established James Cagney as a box-office draw. It has become one of the films always gracing greatest movies lists, and it has certainly influenced many crime-centric films ever since. After watching White Heat, I can’t help but see a bit of Cagney’s Cody Jarrett bubbling up though Jack Nicholson’s Joker in Batman (1989). Some of White Heat’s themes and situations recur and are reworked in Reservoir Dogs (1992). These observations in no way diminish those latter films. They just demonstrate that a great movie can have a lasting impact.

CREATURE FROM BLACK LAKE (1976)

Director: Joy N. Houck, Jr.

Writer: Jim McCullough, Jr.

Producers: Jim McCullough, Jr., Jim McCullough, Sr.

Cast: John David Carson, Dennis Fimple, Jack Elam, Dub Taylor, Bill Thurman, Evelyn Hindricks, Jim McCullough, Jr., Chase Tatum, Roger Pancake, Roy Tatum, Cathryn Hartt, Becky Smiser, Michelle Willingham, Karen Brooks, Bob Kyle, Joy N. Houck, Jr., I.M. “Buddy” Brumley, Jr. (uncredited)

University of Chicago anthropology students Rives (John David Carson) and Pahoo (Dennis Fimple) travel down to Louisiana swamp country to find proof of the existence of a Sasquatch. The huge, hairy biped has been sighted for years in the area. Upon arriving in the small town of Oil City, Louisiana, the two students try to get information about the creature that they are after from the reluctant townsfolk. Rives and Pahoo gradually learn more about the local legend and find out how dangerous it can be.

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Creature from Black Lake is a flick that rode the wave of Bigfoot interest in the United States that was kicked off a decade earlier on October 20th, 1967. On that date at Bluff Creek in Northern California, Roger Patterson and Bob Gimlin were on horseback in a remote, wooded area looking for footprint evidence of the legendary, apelike creature. Supposedly, that is when they were surprised by the appearance of a huge, hairy anthropoid walking upright on two legs. Patterson managed to film a moment of 16mm footage of the creature before it disappeared into the wilderness. Whether a true Bigfoot encounter or a hoax, it is certainly a fascinating bit of film.

           

Frame 352 from the famous 1967 Patterson-Gimlin film

For all of those who want to believe in the authenticity of the famous film footage, there are just as many who doubt it, and several people have claimed to be in on the hoax. Patterson died in 1972, but fellow witness Bob Gimlin has continued to claim for decades that this Bigfoot encounter caught on camera is true. If this was a hoax, it was a masterful one. Someone would have had to go to a helluva lot of effort to make that furry outfit. It does not look like some cheap gorilla suit rented from a costume shop. However, since the supposed encounter was shot at a distance on grainy 16mm film, it is difficult to discern any defects in the costume, if it was just a staged incident.

Because sightings of big, hairy, bipedal cryptids were claimed in locations all over the US, Bigfoot was a down-home spectacle for many independent filmmakers outside the Hollywood mainstream. Throughout the 1970s, various documentary-styled features and fictional narratives incorporating some “true” lore about the mythical monster were lumbering across America’s movie screens. 

Creature from Black Lake is probably the most polished of those ’70s flicks to hop on the Bigfoot bandwagon. None other than Dean Cundy was the cinematographer and worked on the creature makeup. He would soon gain a lot of prestige, especially with horror fans, for his cinematography on such John Carpenter-directed classics as Halloween (1978), The Fog (1980), Escape from New York (1981), and The Thing (1982).

Until recently, Creature from Black Lake was a film I had not seen for decades. My strongest recollection of it was the intense trauma my teenaged buddy could have suffered if we missed it. In that pre-internet and pre-mobile phone era, you found showtimes for films in the local newspaper listings. There was no Google searching available and no mobile devices for such double-checking on the road. The stakes were high, folks. Miss the movie that may not be playing for long at your local cinema and you were screwed. You would have to hope it would get a television showing one day that would be even harder to catch. There were no daily multiple showings lasting a week or two on your boob tube. Just one broadcast and then, maybe, a rerun some day in the far-flung future. Most movies were not being released on home video at that time, and home video cassette recorders were not yet widely available. Movie fans really had to have their shit together.

Apparently, my friend assumed that my feces were in disarray. Perhaps he thought that I was unsure of the correct theater where the movie was playing or that the assumed start time was wrong, for when we arrived at the theater to see Creature from Black Lake, the title of the film was not displayed on the marquee and there was no showtime for it posted outside at the front of the movie house. For some unfathomable reason, my allegrophobic friend was going absolutely apeshit about possibly missing a Bigfoot movie. When I suggested that, if we were late for the film’s start time, we could check out the other flick on the second screen, which I believe was Beyond the Door (1974), my punctuality obsessed pal exploded, “I CAME TO SEE THE FUCKING CREATURE!” His rage provoked much hilarity from me, which continued to further incense him, which further amused me. What are friends for?

Much to his relief, we were at the correct theater and at the right time to see Creature from Black Lake. Remember that movie, folks? It is probably the reason you have hung in there this long. Therefore, I will now commence sharing with you my impressions of this film before you hop all over my ass screaming, “WE CAME TO READ ABOUT THE FUCKING CREATURE!”

Creature from Black Lake is rather refreshing because it does not purport to be based on any real-life incidents. It is a leisurely-paced, light-hearted buddy film that gets progressively more intense as the two hapless heroes run afoul of the mean and mysterious creature that they are after in the swamps of Louisiana.

The story certainly takes its time as we travel along with the two protagonists. The anthropology students Pahoo and Rives are on a road trip from Chicago, Illinois to Oil City, Louisiana. They goof around a bit, can tease and occasionally irritate each other, but they are not snarky wiseasses. They seem sincere, and that goes a long way toward keeping us engaged with their quest.

One interesting exception here to many films about city slickers arriving in small town, rural settings is that there is very little animosity between the visitors and the locals. All of the small town residents seem quite decent. Even Sheriff Carter (Bill Thurman), while warning the researchers not to rile people up with alarmist creature talk, does not get portrayed as an authoritarian bully.

The two most familiar faces in the cast would be Western film veterans Jack Elam, as the swamp trapper Joe Canton, and Dub Taylor, as Grandpaw Bridges. Both characters are interesting for their rustic qualities and contribute more anecdotes about their experiences with the creature.

Creature from Black Lake plays out in an almost mundane manner that ultimately rings true. There are no contrived character conflicts and backstories to deal with. The researchers are not armed to the teeth with weapons and technology. Our heroes are just a couple of college classmates of limited means hitting the road in a van loaded with camping gear, a camera, a tape recorder, and a rifle to find a mythical monster.

After establishing the setting and threat early on, Creature from Black Lake seems rather deliberate in doling out the occasional indications of the monster’s presence. This may seem like a narrative necessity to remind the audience that they are watching a monster movie. Rives and Pahoo do spend a lot of time associating with the Oil City locals for research leads, as well as trying to score with a couple cuties (Michelle Willingham and Becky Smiser) that they meet in a diner. This movie’s motive is not to really figure out what the creature is, but to maintain its elusive and mysterious menace. Rationing out the monster action that gets more intense late in the picture gradually adds momentum to the simple story.

Taking a less-is-more approach, the creature is only seen fleetingly, and often that is in the woods at night. This is a tried-and-true technique in monster movies that keeps us from becoming too accustomed to the creature’s presence and helps approximate that fear of the unknown for the audience that the movie’s protagonists are feeling. Fortunately, this only-see-it-a-little technique must have also been effective for my friend. Otherwise, he probably would have demanded to see the theater manager and insist on a refund by bellowing, “I CAME TO SEE THE FUCKING CREATURE!”