The Hot Spot Rating
Hideous Sun Demon, The (1959)
Starring: Robert Clarke, Nan Peterson, Patricia Manning and Xandra Conkling
Director: Robert Clarke
Synopsis: Diabolical Atomic Age creature feature where man turns into scaly lizard psycho!
- “A clever twist on the Wolfman theme… an effective and gritty film [that] boasts an excellent monster costume.” — Jeff Rovin, The Encyclopedia of Horror Movies
- “A staple of TV horror programming since the early 1960s.” — AllMovie (also praised the film’s claustrophobic atmosphere and Robert Clarke’s committed lead performance).
- “Its naïveté is a more reliable pathway to wonder than the cynicism and condescension of contemporary fantasy films could ever be.” — Bob Stephens, San Francisco Chronicle
- “Laughable.” — TV Guide, although the review added that the monster costume was effective.
- “Hideous.” — Leonard Maltin, Leonard Maltin’s Movie Guide.
- “Wordy dialogue, poor acting, uneven photography and sub-standard sound all add to the disadvantage of a hopelessly illogical plot.” — Monthly Film Bulletin (contemporary 1961 review).
“just plain hideous” Creature Features“hideously low budget production” Maltin’s
“hilariously awful” Blockbuster Video
ckbuster Video
Robert Clarke was the driving force behind this gloriously schlocky atomic-age creature feature, a drive-in delight that deserves a place in any respectable monster movie marathon.
The Demon even pisses his pants for added realism.
An earnest research scientist is accidentally exposed to a lethal dose of radiation during an experiment involving a mysterious isotope. At first there appear to be no ill effects. The cheerful, flirtatious Dr. Bill is wheeled up to the hospital roof by his attentive nurse to recuperate in the sunshine alongside the other recovering patients.
Unfortunately, sunshine turns out to be the last thing he needs.
Within moments Bill transforms from a perfectly respectable young scientist into a gurgling, scaly reptilian monstrosity possessed of both murderous instincts and an embarrassingly heightened libido.
Momentarily overcome with despair, Bill contemplates throwing himself from a rocky cliff into the sea below. His suicidal impulses evaporate, however, the instant he catches sight of a collection of bikini-clad beauties enjoying the California sunshine.
Priorities.
Between his increasingly frequent transformations into the lizard beast, Bill prowls the local nightspots searching for female companionship. His eye is soon caught by a breathtaking blonde nightclub singer—a budget Marilyn Monroe lookalike—who attacks her electric keyboard with such theatrical gusto that she almost steals the entire picture.
Her nightclub performance is worth the admission price alone.
Bill promptly sweeps the willing chanteuse off her feet, and before long the pair are frolicking on moonlit beaches in scenes that seem determined to convince us that radiation poisoning is unexpectedly good for one’s romantic prospects. Unfortunately, Bill lingers just a little too long. Dawn arrives, the sunlight returns, and he is forced to flee, abandoning his bewildered companion before his scales begin to show.
Back home, his increasingly anxious wife and a team of baffled medical experts can do little as Bill’s condition steadily worsens. Each exposure to sunlight leaves him trapped in his reptilian form for longer periods, while his grip on both his humanity and his sanity rapidly begins to slip.
His transformation is no longer merely physical.
Watch out, darling…he’s right behind you!
Soon the lizard creature is roaming the streets in murderous fury. He terrorises innocent bystanders, causes mayhem behind the wheel of a car—clearly reptiles make terrible drivers—and eventually descends to attempting to lure a small child into his clutches, demonstrating that whatever remained of Dr. Bill has now all but disappeared.
The film races towards its inevitably chaotic climax as the reptilian menace threatens anyone unfortunate enough to cross its path.
By modern standards the monster suit is delightfully threadbare, the science is gloriously absurd and the dialogue often unintentionally hilarious. Yet The Hideous Sun Demon possesses an undeniable charm that so many bigger-budget creature features lack. It embraces its ludicrous premise with complete sincerity and never stops moving long enough for the audience to dwell on its many absurdities.
The only real omission is the obligatory drive-in party sequence packed with Brylcreem boys, jiving teenagers and rock ‘n’ roll mayhem.
Still, for lovers of bargain-basement 1950s creature features, radioactive monsters, gorgeous blondes and unapologetic B-movie nonsense, you could do far worse.
A wonderfully goofy slice of atomic-age schlock.
