Tomb

One gets the idea that the British film industry was kind of running out of monsters in 1972. Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing had revived Dracula and Frankenstein many times to great effect, but the sequels were starting to get stale, and the desire to create brand new monsters was slightly polluted by the doubt that monsters could still scare us.

Well, The Creeping Flesh (1972) gives it a try by not only inventing a new monster, but by giving us a truly preposterous scientific discovery — evil is a disease that can be caught, like a cold.

Yeah, think about that one for a minute. It’s a doozy. So, do the makers of The Creeping Flesh use this bombshell discovery to its full potential? Er... it’s not really that kind of film. The whole “evil virus” thing is just a particularly juicy subplot to keep us interested while we’re waiting for the monster to wake up.

So Cushing’s mad scientist character returns to Victorian-era London after a three-year expedition in Papua, New Guinea. He’s uncovered a gigantic skeleton of a previously unknown type of hominid that predates Neanderthal man, and was probably smarter than Neanderthals or Homo Sapiens because it’s got a bigger head. Science!

Cushing gets a shock when a drop of water makes the skeleton’s finger regenerate into a fully fleshed appendage right before his eyes. Nonplussed, the scientist gives a shrug and amputates the now-meaty finger with a chisel in order to perform experiments on it. If you’ve ever seen a horror movie before, you’re probably wondering what would happen if the entire skeleton were to get wet. Don’t worry — steps are taken to prevent this ghastly possibility. No, Cushing doesn’t lock the skeleton up in a waterproof box or laminate it or anything; he just advises his assistant not to spill water on the thing. There. That should do it.

The giant amputated monster finger (which looks really phallic) bleeds when cut, and examining the blood under a microscope reveals that the blood cells are (brace yourself)... covered with long stringy hairs! Or whatever cellular-level hairy structures are called. Cilia, or something. I dunno, I’m not some kind of science... uh... person.

If I were a science person, I’d probably raise a skeptical eyebrow when Cushing takes one look at the blood sample and declares that these here must be evil blood cells, capable of corrupting healthy blood cells and turning peaceful organisms into malevolent ones. Clearly, the human concept of “evil” is just a blood-borne disease, so Cushing whips up a serum that protects against evil blood cells, and inoculates a rhesus monkey with it. Then, without waiting for the test results, he immediately uses the serum on his beautiful daughter, because he doesn’t want her to grow up insane, like her mother. (Oh yes, apparently “evil” and “mentally ill” are the same thing. Take notes, people; this film’s an educational gold mine!)

This foolproof plan backfires, and the next morning, both the monkey and the daughter are hopelessly insane. The monkey breaks some lab stuff and falls over dead (??) and the daughter puts on a sexy red dress and goes dancing in taverns. Horrors! Hide that cleavage, woman! Don’t you know it’s the Victorian era? She must be crazy, and/or evil! Her midi-chlorians have turned to the dark side!

By now, the audience is thinking “This is fun and all, and the whole evil blood thing has potentially limitless possibilities, but when is the fossilized skeleton going to get wet and come to life?” Be patient. The unscrupulous psychiatrist played by Lee is up to no good, and sends a flunky to steal the skeleton from the laboratory. In the middle of a torrential rainstorm, no less. You can see where this is going, right?

The Creeping Flesh is no masterpiece, but it’s always a treat to see Cushing and Lee together, and the hilariously off-kilter science is a real howler. Check it out, but only after you’ve seen Horror Express (1972), which is even crazier.