The Navy vs. the Night Monsters
Beware of the Night Crawlers...their clutches will disintegrate you!
Year of Release: 1966
Genre: Horror/Science Fiction
Rated: Not Rated
Running Time: 87 minutes (1:27)
Director: Michael A. Hoey, Jon Hall, Arthur C. Pierce
Cast:
Anthony Eisley ... Lt. Charles Brown
Mamie Van Doren ... Nora Hall
Edward Faulkner ... Bob Spaulding
Walter Sande ... Dr. Arthur Beecham
Bobby Van ... Ens. Rutherford Chandler
Billy Gray ... CPO Fred Twining
Kaye Elhardt ... Diane
Pamela Mason ... Marie
Summary:
A nightmare comes alive... terrifying acid bleeding monsters multiply by the millions... ready to cremate the human race!!! Only the Navy stands in the way of total destruction.
Review:
The Navy vs. the Night Monsters, remindin' us that when you've got ambulatory mutant killer trees killin' everyone off-screen, you're all bark and no bite.
And speakin' of toothless proceedins, judgin' by the number of bitter old cranks I hadda fight in the frozen food section at the Jiffy Mart yesterday, I'm gonna assume everyone's havin' a nice Thanksgivin' this year now that we've finally begun to embrace social distancing from holiday shit disturbers. That said, there is hope for these folks, and I can confirm that this condition can be overcome with proper rehabilitation, as our own stirrer of caca cauldrons has returned from the brink of TV dinner purgatory after a year of cultural isolation.
One thing I'm grateful for this year's the fact that it was Cleave that went bombs over 'Nam with the relationship rather'n Roxanne, 'cause when the guy's the one who dumps the metaphorical toaster in the ole cohabitative bubble bath he either spends the rest of his life lyin' to himself about his bed-shittery, or apologizes and everyone has the decency never to bring it up again because, as men, we'd rather shave our scrota with a cheese grater than discuss our emotions.
Had it been Roxanne who'd taken a squat in the prenuptial punch bowl we'da hadda spend the entire day awkwardly noddin' and chewin' our drumsticks listenin' to her explain how she "was in a bad headspace" and that she had to "separate herself from the situation to examine her self-destructive tendencies and gain a better understanding of the buried inner turmoil that had manifested itself at the worst possible time."
They can't just say they got depressed and went for a spin on some other guy's mustache 'cause it'd be crude, ya know?
Thankfully, stuffing conquers all.
"Look who's here, everybody!" Mrs. Sadie squealed, knockin' the wind out of 'im with 'er airbags and ushering him into the living room.
"Afhow," Billy Hilliard nodded.
"Pig," Sadie Bonebreak snapped.
"Bastard," Jeannie Bigelow spat.
"Dick lick," Harley Pankins glared.
Duke Tankersley made a noise like a grizzly bear passin' a kidney stone, and a few months prior I woulda piled on with a bit of pithy, monosyllabic scorn of my own, 'cept I hadn't forgotten how Cleave'd reached out and taken the time to taxidermy Shankles when I was feelin' pretty low, and so decided to abstain.
"Guess I deserve that. But I resent the remark about my parents' marital status at the time of my birth, and I'll have you know I was still in the oven a full week after the ceremony," Cleave grinned, his attempt at levity having flopped like a sweaty Walmart hooter after a cash withdrawal.
"Hi, Cleave," Roxanne finally chimed in, climbin' offa Duke's lap, but only goin' as far as the recliner's armrest.
"Hey... if you're not helpin' with dinner right now, can we--" Cleave stammered.
"Oh sure, take 'er away - now where're we gonna find somebody to play grabass with Chewbacca on such short notice?" Sadie grumbled, returning to her potato peelin'.
"Got a vacancy right here," Duke winked, slappin' his thigh and barely having time to block a precision-guided spud with Sadie's coffee table copy of Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In.
"Sure. Let's go outside," Roxanne motioned, squeezing Duke's hand and headin' for the back door.
"$5 says she takes 'im back," Harley said, pullin' out his wallet.
"Harley, I think there's somethin' you oughta know about us," I chuckled.
"You mean besides never take a personal check?" he grinned.
"Yeah - we've got no qualms about takin' all the Christmas money you've saved to buy your gal a gift," I smirked back.
"You idiot," Jeannie groaned, as the entire room bought in for a piece of the action.
"I just wanted to apologize... ya know, for the ballot thing. I shouldna..." Cleave began, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other.
"Yeah. You fucked up pretty bad there," Roxanne agreed, bending down to brush the snow off her pant leg.
"I know. Maybe it wouldna worked out anyway, but it shouldna ended the way it did, or *when* it did, and that's on me. I'm sorry. I'd like it if we could be friends, or at least, ya know, get along for their sake. You can see how hard it's been on 'em," Cleave forced a smile and gestured toward the kitchen window Sadie'd raised to allow the conversation to waft into the house.
"I'd like that. Butcha know, Duke and I..." Roxanne trailed off.
"I know. I think *everyone* knows," Cleave snickered, this time with genuine amusement.
"What's that supposed to--" Roxanne was about to clap back.
"It means getcher asses back in here, you're lettin' all the heat out!" Sadie yelled before slammin' the window shut.
It really was the best possible outcome under the circumstances, and one that proved amiable to all parties, or as Duke put it - "if she's happy, we's happy." But once the path had been cleared for the band to get back together, us guys moved on to more pressing matters - namely, findin' newer and stupider ways to pass the time until dinner.
Now, I'm not gonna speculate about Duke's motivations for what happened next and whether it was a plot to establish dominance or simply to reconnect with his youth, but I don't mind tellin' ya I'm a little ashamed that I didn't think of it first.
"You're gonna what?" Jeannie asked, certain she'd heard correctly, but still struggling to process the words.
"It'll be fine, it's not that far to--" Duke tried reassuring her.
"Whatever. God, I could really use a positive male role model," Jeannie sighed.
"Hey! Wha' 'bow me?" Billy whined as Duke, Cleave, and I ascended the roof.
"You're only down here 'cause Mrs. Bonebreak said the roof wouldn't hold you," Jeannie chastised.
"Difquiminafun," Billy sulked.
"Awww, poor baby," Jeannie giggled, puttin' an arm around Billy's waist.
"I dunno if you oughta watch this, babe. They're probly gonna die," Harley pointed out, still mourning the loss of his life savings.
"Mom says she can't watch, but that there needs to be someone responsible keeping an eye on them," Jeannie explained.
"An' wha'm I?!" Billy objected.
"A guy who bet Mr. Furguson $20 that he can't clear the picnic table," Jeannie replied, raising her hand to shield her eyes as we positioned ourselves on our sleds.
"Vah'f nah a beh - vah'f a wed pipe finch," Billy beamed.
Women're so uptight sometimes. All we were doin' was ridin' off the roof onto the trampoline Mrs. Sadie bought as a business expense for 'er Onlyfans page to see who could bounce the farthest, ya know, for scientific purposes.
Funny thing about a trampoline when it's been below freezing for the better part of a week, though - sometimes what goes down does not come up, and when Cleave and Duke landed simultaneously, mosta the springs gave way and the mat went plumb to the ground.
Rarely do the words "fortunate to have missed the trampoline" share a sentence, but landing coccyx first in the snow proved preferable to the alternative when it was discovered that Sadie'd parked the lawn mower under the trampoline a couple weeks back after mulchin' up the last of the leaves, and when those poor bastards went crashin' through, Cleave landed on the handlebar side with enough force to catapult the engine upward as Duke made his descent.
Cleave was able to walk it off, but Duke spent the whole day on the couch whimperin' like a bird dog in a kennel while Roxanne fed 'im mashed potatoes and tried to soothe 'im with supportive comments like "it's not like you were gonna be usin' those anytime soon anyway," and "if brains were dynamite you wouldn't have enough to blow your nose."
Nonetheless, I've gotta admit that Mrs. Sadie's come a long way from the gal who once put the bird in the oven's storage drawer for four hours, and I'm happy to report that, between her spread and our traditional feast of cinematic turkeys, it was a damn fine Thanksgivin'.
I'ma try not to get too sappy here, but as you all know, Thanksgiving is a special day where we all come together to suffer through the worst movies this fine country of ours has to offer. We do this not to fulfill a bizarre sexual kink, but to remind ourselves how privileged we are to spend the rest of the year enjoying cultural touchstones like The Valley of Gwangi, Night of the Lepus, and Pieces, as part of the drive-in equivalent of Lent.
It is only through the excruciating pain of these turkeys that we are truly able to appreciate the gifts that've been imparted unto us by the Carpenters, the Cronenbergs, and the Cravens, and in keeping with tradition, this year I've got a flick so bad that not even Mamie Van Doren's figure can save it. I've been savin' this one for a special occasion, and since that occasion seems unlikely to present itself, I figured, what the heck, ya only die once.
We're talkin' The Navy vs. the Night Monsters, or, as your mama would put it - "we've got Day of the Triffids at home." Shambling mahoganies seek to lay the lumber, but the image of Mamie is the only thing likely to shiver your timber, and to give ya an idea of just how rotten this wood is, I've harvested three of its accursed acorns of wisdom to serve as fair warning to the casual viewer. It may just drive you nuts.
First, assigning two-hour watches to military personnel while tasking two women with the 24-hour care of a spore-addled airman doesn't do much for certain perceptions about Naval masculinity. Second, Antarctic grass'll totally blow your mind. And third, the hills have eyes, and the trees have feet, but Mamie Van Doren still has the peaks.
The movie begins on a Navy transport plane haulin' a load of flora and fauna specimens from the jungles of Antarctica to a military installation on the Island of Dr. Snoreau, only while the plane's makin' its final approach, some dingleberry goes rootin' around in the cargo hold and accidentally releases a buncha polar spores that infect the crew and make 'em to go apeshit like they've just landed in Fort Lauderdale for a week's shore leave until they all bail outta the plane to sail the seven seas without a ship. Jesus's last-minute wheel confiscation allows the plane to slide into home on its belly, but the base personnel can't get anything outta the pilot on account of his brain goin' AWOL, and so the acting commander (Lt. Charles Brown) hasta fire off a report to Washington declaring the rest of the crew missing and presumed soggy. Next thing, the research scientist embedded with the unit (Dr. Beecham) starts riflin' through the botanical specimens and decides to plant 'em in the native soil 'cause life on the island's real dull and there're no bikinis atoll despite Mamie Van Doren hangin' around causin' heart palpitations and fist-fights in the infirmary over possession of 'er upper-body firmware. Later that night, the pilot wakes up and drops the attending nurse (Diane) with the Vulcan nerve pinch and goes in search of Herve Villechaize to find out what became of de plane only to be punched out by the night watchman while all the penguin specimens bein' held in the base's storage facility're bustin' out so they can report back to Burgess Meredith.
How the flightless birds flew the coop remains a mystery, but Beecham finds some kinda acidic gunk on the floor and the remains of one of the seamen turned airmen turned seamen again, and while that's goin' on this British scientess (Marie) gets grabbed by a low-rent Ent that's lumberin' around the grounds, only she ain't much of a dish, and so Gnarled Barkley hasta go chow down on some more Navy spleens. Then the Navy starts wisin' up and Lt. Brown orders his men to take a stand and defend the motherland, only about that time the Nightmare on Elm Tree goes from bad to worse when a swarm of acid-belching dust bunnies lay siege to the mess hall and the men hafta break out the Swiffer wet jets to get the situation under control. As you can imagine, the situation is gettin' grimmer by the minute, so Brown sends a transmission to Washington requesting a battalion of lumberjacks and all the Agent Orange that the Army hasn't dumped on the Viet Cong yet, 'cept he never figures out that leavin' a lone nurse to guard the spore-addled pilot won't cut it, and the guy ends up runnin' out into the woods where he puts the stump hump on Old Man Killow and gets absorbed while he's tryna get up in Groot's chute. The Lieutenant and his men're able to torch the Naughty Pine with a molotov cocktail, but while the slash pile's still smolderin', the rest of the family Tree shows up to avenge their felled brethren and the men almost lose hope until they remember what they're fightin' for, at which time Charlie Brown and the gang go to war to protect Mamie and the Great Pumpkins. There really ain't a whole lotta flick left so this's as far as I wanna go, and while I realize there really ain't much here with which to coax ya into stickin' around, you have my personal assurance that the climax is number one with a bullet bra.
Alrighty, well, it's about time the Navy got in on the action, don'tcha think? When the giant bugs attack, it's always the Army that hasta deal with it, and when the UFOs descend, the Air Force gets called in, but the Navy never does diddly squat. The flick was originally gonna be released as The Night Crawlers, and when the crew found out about the change, they were so P.O.'d that they nearly walked out on the production until they realized that a turd by any other name would still stink up their resumes and decided to keep the paychecks rollin' in. On the one hand, you can't argue that The Night Crawlers is a much better title, but at the same time, the finished product is still gonna be a second rate clone of Day of the Triffids, so I really don't see what all the fuss was about unless some of 'em had taken a deferred salary in exchange for a percentage of the box office receipts.
I don't wanna say this movie's slow, but it ran for sixteen minutes before I took down a single note, and as such, it probably won't surprise you to learn that after a grueling 10-day shooting schedule, the completed product only ran about an hour eighteen, and so the decision was made to pad it out to an hour and a half to make it palatable to TV networks. At least that's what the IMDB claims. I dunno that I buy that given most made-for-TV movies were deliberately produced with a runtime of around 75 minutes to slot in more commercials, and as a patron of the drive-in arts, I'm also acutely aware that Larry Buchanan sold alla his 80-minute flicks to the networks, so it's entirely possible that the motivation for padding out the running time was the hope that the film would be taken more seriously for a theatrical release (where the runtime really did matter) rather than improving their chances of scoring a TV licensing deal.
You might also be wondering how Mamie Van Doren got mixed up in this schlockola, and the reason is that she owed Roger Corman another picture as part of the contract they had (Roger's name doesn't appear anywhere in the credits, but he was an uncredited producer on this thing, and Mamie's appearance squared their agreement). Makes you wonder if Roger owed somebody a favor, because this stinker is well below the standards of your average Corman picture, and I've gotta believe that if Roger ever watched this thing he musta been completely disgusted at the way these clowns let Mamie's talents go to waste. The film's three directors oughta be ashamed of themselves.
In any event, let's lower this turkey into the deep fryer and see if there's anything digestible lurkin' below the surface.
The plot is, by necessity, absurd, and as you probably know, that necessity stems from someone with a better imagination already having produced a similar story about homicidal hardwood hailing from outer space three years prior. So to remain legally distinct (not that there woulda been anything to sue for), the murderous mahogany in this flick are spawned by botanical samples taken from the floral bastion of... Antarctica. Now, you may be wondering, does Antarctica have *any* plant life whatsoever? Well, yes, it does; but we're talkin' mosses, lichen, and pitiful little green things akin to the stuff restaurants put on your plate next to the steak for presentation. This isn't necessarily a deal breaker, but they really needed to zap their specimens with radioactive isotopes or somethin' to help suspend our disbelief, and because they couldn't be bothered, what we're left with is a plot that's too high on its own supply to realize it can't stand on merit, and that a cosmic and/or atomic MacGuffin is required if there's to be any chance of taking it seriously (which the filmmakers seem to want). Additionally, the pacing is brutal, as evidenced by the 15+ minutes spent introducing the characters and their roles, when in reality, only four of them are of any consequence. Dire stuff, here.
The acting is surprisingly competent, if not especially enthusiastic or inspired. Bobby Van is likable (if inconsequential) as the ill-fated comic-relief ensign devoured while barking up the wrong tree; Edward Faulkner gives more of himself than most as the second-string love interest vying for Mamie's favor; and Kaye Elhardt can muster a decent scream as her flesh is dissolved by acidic sap. The rest of the cast is able to get through their lines without bursting into tears or laughter at the state of affairs, and the only bad performance is given by one of the higher-ups filmed on another set who will remain nameless because the credits didn't see fit to include him. It's all very phoned-in, but still above the standard of comparable films from the same era, and it'd be difficult to argue that the material deserved any better than what was delivered.
Here's who matters and why: Mamie Van Doren (Voyage to the Planet of Prehistoric Women), Anthony Eisley (The Wasp Woman 1959, Evil Spirits, Deep Space, Monstroid, Dracula vs. Frankenstein, The Mummy and the Curse of the Jackals, The Witchmaker, The Mighty Gorga), Billy Gray (The Day the Earth Stood Still 1951, Werewolves on Wheels, Bud Abbott and Lou Costello Meet the Killer Boris Karloff), Bobby Van (Doomsday Machine), Walter Sande (Red Planet Mars, Invaders from Mars 1953, The War of the Worlds 1953, The Red House, Son of Dracula, The Man They Could Not Hang), Edward Falkner (The Night Stalker), Phillip Terry (The Leech Woman, The Monster and the Girl), Kaye Elhardt (Violent Midnight), Taggart Casey (It Conquered the World), Russ Bender (The Amazing Colossal Man, War of the Colossal Beast, Space Probe Taurus, I Saw What You Did, The Satan Bug, The Strangler, Panic in the Year Zero!, Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow, I Bury the Living, Invasion of the Saucer Men, It Conquered the World, The War of the Worlds 1953), Del 'Sonny' West (Bigfoot 1970), Biff Elliot (The Dark 1979, Destination Inner Space, Blood Bath 1966), Red West (Vampires Anonymous, I Still Know What You Did Last Summer, Journey to the Center of the Earth 1959).
And the overachievers: Anthony Eisley (Tracy Steel on Hawaiian Eye), Billy Gray (Bud Anderson on Father Knows Best), Walter Sande (Johnson in To Have and Have Not, Sam in Bad Day at Black Rock, Sheriff Bartlett in Last Train from Gun Hill), Phillip Terry (Wick Birnam in The Lost Weekend).
The special effects are the only reason to watch, cynically speaking. Now, I think a little slack is in order given the difficulty of realistically animating trees in the year 1966, and it's fair to say that the effects here are less absurd (though, consequently, far less endearing) than those of From Hell it Came, but a concept like this was always doomed to failure even with major studio backing, and it's safe to say that our intrepid indie filmmakers had nothing of the sort when they set out on their mission to bring deadly flora to the masses. Until such time as the film is remastered, the poor image quality works in its favor and does a decent job of partially concealing these abominations, but to give you an idea of how unconvincing these things were, part of the reason for the multiple director credits is that Hoey (who wrote the screenplay and novel upon which the film was based), upon seeing the creatures for the first time, refused to film them, resulting in a second director being brought in to shoot those particular scenes.
Additional effects include a moss-covered corpse that looks a lot better in the press photos than what appears in the flick, and a decent severed arm that occurs late in the proceedings. The sporeling dust bunny critters are arguably worse than the trees, but given that it's impossible to say what they are or what they're supposed to look like that's one of your more subjective debates, and I see no point in dumping on the effects anymore than I have given that it's tantamount to bawling out a toddler for their choice of crayon on a Denny's Grand Slam Breakfast placemat.
The shooting locations and sets probably tie with the acting as its strongest asset, which is to say that they're adequate and entirely forgettable. The interiors (and most of the exteriors) were filmed at Raleigh Studios in Hollywood, and while the infirmary, communications center, mess hall, and military personnel offices are sparsely decorated, they do meet the absolute minimum requirements for a small military installation, while the exteriors are charmingly Gilligan's Island adjacent. Stock footage is utilized both for the plane crash and the film's climax, and although you might not notice given the stark geographical differences, some of that footage was shot at the Vasquez Rocks Natural Park in Aqua Dulce, which is home to Kirk's Rock from the Star Trek TOS "Arena" episode where William Shatner wrestles a sentient rubber alligator. There's really nothing to see here, and the mediocre production design and cinematography do the flick no favors, but with a movie like this, you've gotta take your draws (victories would be too strong a term) where you can, and I'm giving these locations an enthusiastic two-thumbs sideways.
The soundtrack is tonally appropriate and transitions smoothly from the initial light, semi-comedic mood of the early establishing sequences, to the inevitable dramatic brass/woodwinds as the film shifts gears into what one might consider its more horrific phases were they to suddenly go blind at the flick's 20-minute mark. As is often the case with the scoring of genre films of this era, the alarmed string sections are most insistent that we increase our concern for the events on display, but the visuals are simply incapable of cashing the checks being written by the soundtrack. This is in no way a commentary on Gordon Zahler's abilities as a composer, as his scoring for Ed Wood's Plan 9 from Outer Space and Bride of the Monster proved that even a blind squirrel could occasionally find a nut, but, as with most low budget titles of the era, it offers little to distinguish it (though this excuse wouldn't hold water for much longer). It should be pointed out, however, that if you enjoy science fiction sound effects, you may appreciate the "frog being tortured inside a prison labor camp" and "sound waves being sucked into a black hole" bits piped to startle the audience out of its collective doze.
Overall, the pacing and obvious shame exhibited by the filmmakers where it concerns mutant tree screen time make the movie an endurance test on the level of flicks like Monster from Green Hell and Killers from Space, and consequently, is only recommended for those seeking to gradually transition from physical harm to psychological harm. And if that's the case, as your therapist, I insist that this travesty be followed up with something academically dubious, yet emotionally uplifting, such as Planet of Dinosaurs, or Galaxy of Terror, because nobody with control over their film selections should ever be depressed during the holidays.
Rating: 26%