Humanoids From the Deep (1980)

Posted on Sep 11, 2002 under Horror, Sci-fi |

Directed by Barbara Peters
Written by Frederick James
Starring
- Doug McClure
- Ann Turkel
- Vic Morrow
- Cindy Weintraub
- Anthony Penya
Produced by Martin B. Cohen (and an uncredited Roger Corman)

In a more sane world, Humanoids From the Deep would be considered a serviceable but unremarkable entry in the B-movie rollcall. (That’s in a world only slightly more sane, mind you; a completely sane world probably wouldn’t even have an entertainment industry which we’d recognize as such.)

Instead, it’s become something of a minor posterchild for B-movies, at least from outside the circles of fandom. Thanks to both a memorably cheesy title and the fact that it was one of the last man-in-suit monster movies given theatrical release, it’s remained pretty visible, and those outside the bounds of our particular vein of cinematic devotion think of it as being representative of the genre.

Fishnet. It’s not just for stockings anymore.

Here inside the ghetto, there have been some who have reacted defensively against it. I’ve always seen that as a bit of an overreaction, a distancing mechanism rather than an honest assessment of the movie itself. Why the urge to stand apart from Humanoids? Well, let’s see…

Our setting is the small fishing town of Noyo on the Pacific coast, where tensions are running high thanks to a trend of poor salmon catches. Most of the white fishermen in town are in favor of a proposed new cannery; their self-appointed spokesman is Hank (Vic Morrow), who likes to talk a lot about progress and prosperity in between beers with his posse. On the other side are the native Americans, represented entirely in the person of Johnny Eagle (Anthony Penya), who distrusts the corporate interests and believes that the construction necessary will worsen the fishing grounds. And right in the middle is Jim (Doug McClure), who is, well, Doug McClure. He wants the fishery even though he doesn’t get along with Hank and is good friends with Johnny. Being Doug McClure, he’s just sensible, stolid, and wants what’s good for all involved.

And lest you think I’m condensing a lot of backstory out of the movie and serving it up to you in a lump, you should know that the first scene actually spells all of this out for us: Hank and his posse run into Johnny on the docks and rehash their argument before Jim steps in to break it up. Nothing like getting all of that pesky exposition out of the way all at once. (No, Diana Rigg does not make a cameo appearance.)

But aside from a socio-economic dispute running right down ethnic divisions, there’s more afoot in Noyo. A fisherman at sea (Hoke Howell) catches something damned strong in his netting, and in trying to bring it aboard with his creaky equipment, he loses his son overboard and gets a cloud of bloody water in return. And then through an odd set of happenstances, the boat manages to explode (an improbably large explosion, too), so that no one’s left aware of anything lurking in the water.

Doug McClure demonstrates “fishing for noses.”

Nobody except us, that is, because we get to see the slimy anthropomorphic, hypercephalic form that lurches out of the night to slaughter Jim’s dog and drag it to the seashore. In fact, the monsters seem to have an especial hatred of canines, as Hank’s crew shows up on the dock to find all of their dogs gutted. All except Johnny Eagle’s. Being a bunch of besotted whiteboys, they never stop to think, “Maybe Johnny just got here while we were off drinking together.” No, it becomes more fodder for the ill will.

Such things come to a head at the Noyo community dance that night, when Johnny interrupts the festivities with the body of his dog that Hank and crew killed in supposed retaliation. (Frankly, this little soiree was so dull that an animal corpse couldn’t help but spice things up.) Johnny gets dragged outside to have his butt kicked, but Jim and his little brother Tom (Breck Costin) decide to even the odds, and testosterone flows freely from various knuckles until the sheriff fires some warning shots and breaks up the entertainment.

Why, all of that was so exciting that it would almost be easy to overlook the other expositional lump handed to us at the dance — namely, that the Canco company, looking to put in the cannery, has also been experimenting with the growth cycle of salmon, aiming to increase the fishing yield. Of course, as we all know from these movies, messing with the God-ordained order of things is just asking for an asskicking from Mother Nature, even if the “great little scientist” doing the research is Dr. Susan Drake (Ann Turkel).

There are some other prowlings about in the night, but our principals are too distracted by their squabbles to notice; Johnny’s looking at getting a lawyer to stop the fishery based on old tribal treaties, so Hank’s ready to heat up his harassment. Jim and Tom take the Canco corporate types out on a fishing excursion. Everyone’s so distracted that the up-to-now barely seen humanoids start coming ashore with impunity to rape our women.

“Hey, Vic, I’ve got an idea — how about you play an angry white guy? You know, for a change.”

Yup, you’ve got that right. A boy and girl frolic in the surf for a good long stretch (gotta fill out that running time, you know) before the boy gets slashed to death, and the girl dragged off, stripped, and violated by a man in a monster suit. This, as you might imagine, is where many B-movie aficionados ring the bell to get off the train, and I can understand the reasoning: we don’t want mainstream moviegoers to think that we like watching monster rapes for fun. We leave that to hentai anime fans.

What makes matters worse is that director Barbara Peters (who has publicly castigated the movie) turned in a cut without such features, which uncredited producer Roger Corman thought was lacking in sexual content (I suppose one should reasonably expect at least a little bit of skin in a movie about seamonsters trying to mate with human women), and had someone else go and shoot the more explicit rape scenes just to up the prurience content.

Does that stick in a lot of craws? You bet. It’s misogynistic and thoughtless to equate rape with “good” nudity (you know, the kind where the characters willingly doff their tops instead of having them violently ripped off by scaly claws). So it’s really knowing the behind-the-scenes parts that colors the perception of the movie.

Me, I have something of a different perspective — you might call it a “formalistic interpretation.” Sometimes, movies need to be divorced from the intentions of their creators. Plan 9 From Outer Space, for example, was intended as a spooky and thrilling sci-fi adventure, but it works much better as an uproarious comedy. Sextette was ostensibly meant to be a lighthearted comedic romp; the final product is much more akin to a meme-based neurotoxin.

Who knows the proper attire for chasing spooky noises? Jenny does!

In this case, despite the admittedly despicable intent to present rape for prurience value, I think it works better as a decidedly non-prurient, non-amusing wake-up call to fans of “old-fashioned” monster movies. By the time this was made in 1980, we’d had almost half a century of movie monsters being irresistibly drawn to human women and carting them off with appalling regularity (usually clad in a white one-piece swimsuits¹, only to be rescued by the dashing hero before the monster could demonstrate his intentions for his victim. We have considered this to be harmless, innocent fun. Have we somehow convinced ourselves that the creature only meant to take his intended to the local burger joint for a malted, with maybe a quick peck on the cheek at the door before a pre-curfew goodnight? Or have we somehow been conditioning ourselves to believe that intended violation is good for hyuks — it only becomes thoughtless when the critter in question has the opportunity to follow through?

Yes, the monster rape is icky. It is, one might say, horrifying — a word that bears a startling resemblance to “horror,” as in “horror movie.” If I watch a clearly-labelled horror movie, I shouldn’t react with surprise and shock if it actually manages to elicit such a reaction. To do so makes as much sense as watching a porno flick and being offended that it aroused me. I mean, the initial victim is a child; that should be the the first clue that A Good Time Will Not Be Had By All.

Anyway. In case you’re wondering the backstory on the fishmen, Dr. Grant tells Jim after a few more attacks (surprisingly candidly, actually) that a tank of 3000 salmon treated with the “DNA-5″ growth serum had gotten loose during a storm, and that it looked like they had been eaten by coelecanths, which had been discovered in the area a few years previous. (By the way, could NO ONE have told Turkel that the word is pronounced “SEE-le-canth,” not “COAL-e-canth”?) Apparently the experimental growth treatment transferred to the coelecanths, which then mutated into the seaweed-covered monstrosities now wandering in from the sea. (So eating the salmon causes mutations? Would’ve taken a helluva good ad campaign to keep their stock prices up once those fish got to market, dontcha think?) She explains their urge to mate with human females as being a “drive to further develop their evolution” — yeah, it’s ridiculous bunkum, but no worse than your average episode of Star Trek: Voyager. (Here’s my question: is it only the males of the species that feel the weight of this evolutionary imperative? Or while the boy humanoids are out causing havoc, are the girl humanoids just staying at home and turning up the jacuzzi?)

After a few more attacks and such, Jim manages to bring a humanoid corpse to the dock, right when the Salmon Festival is going on. Thankfully, with such a big stinky piece of evidence, no one feels compelled to deliver the “The beaches have to stay open!” speech — but it doesn’t much matter, because the humanoids take that exact moment to attack en masse. For the next fifteen minutes — practically up to the closing credits — we get nothing but googly monsters chasing people around the boardwalk, maiming the men and groping the women, while Jim and a few other hardy stalwarts fight them off. (The fact that the humanoids wear their brains on the outside of their skulls is a huge advantage for our side.)

“Of COURSE an exposed cortex is maladaptive! Why d’you think I’m trying to upgrade?”

In the end, the problem of the humanoids isn’t really solved; no one seriously suggests that the entire population of the species showed up on the docks to get put down, and no one has discovered any miracle substance which will wipe them out with a minimum of fuss. Instead, our catharsis is simply knowledge; now that everybody knows that mutated coelecanths are crawling out of the deep, they can put their wills to defending themselves.

It’s not what you call a brilliant movie — it’s a couple of generations lower on the chart than, say, Piranha — but there are some things done right. The ethnic quarrel is used well to keep the characters distracted from the menace at hand. And though Hank gets close to becoming evil incarnate when he starts pitching Molotov cocktails at Johnny Eagle’s cabin (what the hell did he put in the bottle to get it to explode like that?), the final monster attack isn’t used to dispense his comeuppance; rather than meet a gory end, Hank ends up working alongside Johnny to save some kids.

And a final point that I’ve never seen mentioned in any discussions of this movie. Take a look at the elements: a northern coastal town, mutations caused by “progress,” disputes between Euro-Americans and natives… ring any bells? That’s right, these elements are also all found in Prophecy, the uber-hoity John Frankenheimer movie released the previous year. (If you missed it, or need a refresher, I refer you to Ken Beggs’ review, which, true to form, takes “exhaustive” to new heights.) I can just imagine Roger Corman watching Prophecy and getting increasingly disgruntled. This is a monster movie? This is supposed to be scary? And finally, in reaction, he decides to make the monster movie that Prophecy was supposed to be. If you want a burger, you ask a short-order cook, not an Iron Chef. (I actually thought up the simile before I glanced at Ken’s Prophecy review and found that he’d used a virtually identical analogy.)

And oddly enough, the derivative work is now better known and more often seen than the inspiration. As much as B-movie aficionados decry it.