"Blood Beast" stars same guy as other terrible movie!

Hey, it's Ed Nelson! (Center, above.)

That's what I was thinking when I fired up "Night of the Blood Beast" right after watching "The Devil's Partner" again.

I was enthusiastic about the latter a couple years back (click here) and was glad to see him in this Roger Corman spectacle, about stupid scientists who send people up into orbit in motorized soup cans and then bitch when parasitical aliens attach themselves to the astronaut.

The aliens look like seahorses, incidentally, when viewed under the fluoroscope — sort of a self-powered X-ray machine, with extra radioactivity.

Ed's role as Dave isn't nearly as demanding as his double role as Nick/Pete in "The Devil's Partner." For one thing, Dave doesn't have to do a transformation scene into an old man with wild, John Brown hair.

No, Dave just has to clench his jaw, look determined, and ignore the photographer girl's big butt.

It is big, too. No getting around it.

I noticed her butt because I always notice girls' butts, but also because the flick was pretty interminable. Dead scientist, renegade blood cells, monster that looks like the cast-off bits of all the monster costumes in history.

So I cannot get excited about "Blood Beast" at all. One coil, and that's a gift. Even with Ed Nelson, who according to Wikipedia is still around, living in Louisiana.

Bad Beatles Joke

I call this one "Norwegian Woodpile."

Includes the Muffy-endorsed older LL Bean Norwegian sweater — with the goodness of Rayon.

So in  She Demons (1958) some stupid people out in a boat during a hurricane wash up on the one supposedly deserted island that is not only being used by the Air Force as a target but also is home to a deranged Nazi war criminal scientist and his squad of goons who are torturing girls in unconvincing "native" costumes in order to isolate the chromosome or gene or something that will restore Mrs. Deranged Nazi War Criminal Scientist's acid-damaged face.

Now that's a lot of plot to get into one paragraph, never mind one sentence, but it's a hell of a lot easier to read than to watch this flick.

The deranged etc. looks a little like the young Ralph Lauren, if that helps. And Irish McCalla looks darn good in her spoiled rich girl shorts.

Irish McCalla, immortal in shorts

A she demon in pre-op

No, it's not the Aztec Mummy, it's Mrs. Deranged Nazi War Criminal

Death by she demon for Nazi goon

Nazi goons with limited vocabularies —"Raus! Schnell!" (later adopted for "Hogan's Heroes"). Dancing native girls who look like they are all called Myrna. Bad bongo drumming. She demons, sporting papier mache faces with big teeth sticking out. Mrs. Deranged winds up looking very similar to the Aztec Mummy. Incredibly boring. One coil.

Teenage Zombies (aka Redundant!)

Jerry Warren's Teenage Zombies (1959) is a bit of tease in that there are only two teenage zombies and they are only zombies for about 90 seconds of screen time.

And they are not noticeably different as zombies.

See, these kids decide to go water ski-ing out by a deserted island. They never do get to the water ski-ing, however, because it seems like much more fun to explore the deserted island.

Alas, as is often the case with deserted islands, it is in fact inhabited by a mad scientist with a zombie army and an ee-ville plan to take over the world.

This mad scientist is a lady, with an ICBM chest and a consistently bad attitude.

Her main zombie is Ivan, who can follow simple commands. We only get a quick look at the other zombies.

When I say zombie, I mean the mindless, shambling, robotic type of zombie, as created by the better sort of voodoo spell. These are not the reanimated corpses of Romero et. al.

Ivan, the master zombie.

The scientist is tinkering around with a gas that will turn Americans into zombies. She is working for someone from "the East," which I take to mean your Red Chinese, those cunning devils. If you're thinking, "Sounds like the Obama Administration," well, if the shoe fits...

Anyhoo, there's a lot of back and forth on boats and a crooked sheriff in a bad suit who keeps tugging on his lapels.

There's also a very cute girl in high-waisted jeans and if you don't think that can look good guess again.

We're talking zombie gas. Boats. Shambling bug-eyed master zombie. Greasy men in bad suits. Mad scientist who looks like your fourth grade teacher on vacation in Las Vegas ca. 1955. Bad fighting. Deus ex machina in the form of an dezombified gorilla. The U.S. Army. Promise of Presidential citation. No water ski-ing.

Shot in Exciting Blur-O-Vision!

Mildly amusing, especially when the kids look under the bushes for their motorboat. Two coils.

The excitement of Blur-O-Vision

We-eee!

Taylor Swift's "We Are Never Ever Ever Getting Back Together" is the strongest contender in years for Most Annoying Song of All Time. (It's fresh in my mind because I heard it twice yesterday, once at the gym and again on the radio.)

Ms. Swift, who might be fairly described as very slightly talented, leads a multi-tracked chant of semi-doggerel over a leaden beat, which culminates in the ultra-irritating refrain of "Wee-ee! Are nev-err ev-err ev-err...getting back togeth-err/ Wee-ee!" etc.

The "nevers" and "evers" are pronounced with an extended "-er," in the same manner as the woman who, upon being confronted on her appalling behavior, replies with the all-purpose post-modern comeback, "whatever" (pronounced "what-EV-err").

Behold the majesty of Taylor Swift and ask yourself: Is this in the same league as Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire?"