Ah, yes! La Nouvelle-Vague. The French New Wave. Where taking your camera and a small crew along with your actors on location and improvising a film is a form of art.
Provided you have subtitles, of course.
For this practice became current in the late 50s and early 60s in America. It was, after all, a cheap way of making a film now given absolute artistic legitimacy. The problem, however, is that few american filmgoers read “Les Cahiers du Cinéma” and therefore were not given a new vocabulary to describe cheap, trite films mired in self-importance in a glowing manner. So the label “shit” pretty much remained in force for films that “made you aware of the filmic process”.
Let me make one thing perfectly clear, film snobs: it doesn’t take a genius to make m awar of the filmic process. In fact, I firmly believe that one should forget the process altogether when a film has succeeded.
Coleman Francis actually saw himself as an auteur. For him, this snobby reinterpretation of “lack of means” was synonymous with art.
So off he went into the desert to shoot massive swedish wrestler (and member of Ed Wood’s stock company of players) Tor Johnson as a defecting russian scientist who, chased by spies, wanders onto the atomic proving grounds and -Kablam!- becomes The Beast of Yucca Flats – which is essentially nothing more than Thor Johnson stumbling around with oatmeal stuck on his face. (Ah. The magic of cinéma..,)
I’m not kidding when I say this film is worse than Plan 9 from Outer Space or even Birdemic. You’ll marvel at the Creeping Terror style “narrator as dialogue”. You’ll struggle to stay awake. but you’ll want to to witness the lamest payoff in cinematic history as (Spoiler!) the defeated Tor dies hugging a bunny.
Bring it on!
Pain Level: 10/10 !!!
Quality of Pain: Radioactive!