• Directed by George Eastman
• Written by “Luigi Monefiori” (George Eastman)
• Starring
  • Gene LeBrock
  • Catherine Baranov
  • Harry Cason

I saw this back on Monday, and I’ve been trying to work up the steam to review it since then. I’ve seen worse movies (even in the last week — Aftershock comes to mind), but rarely have I seen any that were more lackluster and less inspiring of interest.

Brilliant, young, and handsome Dr. Houseman has been working at the American University on a hush-hush genetics project — so hush-hush, in fact, that he’s been allowed to work for two years without even letting his higher-ups know what he’s working on. That all changes, however, when New York wants to know how he’s soaking up their money, and sends a young and pretty auditor to check into it. Soon Dr. Houseman’s superiors get some balls, and tell him to open his notes. (At this point, the auditor ceases to have any function in the administration and simply becomes the love interest.)

Seems Dr. Houseman’s been working on a project to outwit the genetic signature which causes ageing. Of course, his superiors all guffaw at the notion, but one has a hankering to take over the project and give himself some much-needed limelight in his old age.

Houseman, instead, tries his formula out on himself. Seems to work fabulously at first — his energy and sensory function increase dramatically — but he finds out as time passes that something is wrong, that by deleting one part of the genetic code he activated another, dormant part…

If you think this sounds a lot like the mid-’80s version of The Fly, you’re right. But being a low-budget effort, obviously the transformation can’t be nearly as dramatic; essentially, Houseman wanders around wearing a thin layer of latex and greasepaint on his face and yellow contacts for most of the movie. When he does finally transform (spoilers ahead, for anyone who really cares), he spends ten minutes under appliance work so ridiculous that the director refuses to show it to us in good light, with good reason. The final stage is somewhat respectable in design; since Houseman’s supposed to be regressing to a pre-mammalian form of life, the final design looks an awful lot like one of the mammal-like therapsids of the early Triassic (imagine a Dimetrodon with its sail cut off, propped up on its back legs); unfortunately, its such an obvious piece of awkward plastic that it fails to inspire anything but snickers.

Of course, anyone watching the movie has already written it off long before the final transformation. The acting is wooden (from the very first scene, in fact), with dialog to match; the pace is sluggish, as if the director and editor were already transforming into cold-blooded creatures; and for some reason, everything is dull and colorless. I don’t know whether to blame the lighting for poor contrast, or the set decorator for dwelling on dusty blue and pale olive tones, but I kept begging for something electric pink to show up.

Nothing really to recommend this film for — it hasn’t even got much joke value. I can feel my enthusiasm for life slipping away even as I write this…