Co-opting more than a cue from Mel Brooks’ The Producers, a studio mogul played by Tony Curtis faces debt so deep, his only hope is to make a movie guaranteed to fail in order to claim it as a tax write-off. In walks a nebbish kid filmmaker (Dean Jacobson, Child’s Play 3) with his latest opus, a 1950s-style sci-fi cheapie called Lobster Man from Mars.
As you can guess, Lobster Man tonally plays like the titular spoof of Amazon Women on the Moon. But that all-star comedy has the good sense to include about 20 other sketches. This sticks to its one, only occasionally cutting to the studio screening room where Curtis watches the mess unspool. The look on Curtis’ face is so pained, one can infer he’s thinking of the great works of art he used to be in, like Stanley Kubrick’s Spartacus, Billy Wilder’s Some Like It Hot and Janet Leigh’s cleavage.
In the movie within the movie, the red planet’s king (Bobby “Boris” Pickett of “Monster Mash” fame) sends the giant crustacean creature (S.D. Nemeth, RoboCop) to Earth to steal our air supply. Witnessing the alien’s crash-landing are an all-American sweater girl (Valley Girl’s Deborah Foreman, adorable as ever) and her British beau (Anthony Hickox, Foreman’s Waxwork director). Few believe their story, other than Tommy Sledge, P.I., played by comedian Tommy Sledge, which is to say he performs his stand-up routine parodying noir detectives. He’s also the best part.
I put off seeing Lobster Man from Mars for decades because I had my fill of its trailer while working at Blockbuster Video in college. For months on the store’s overhead TVs, management played a preview tape with a spot pairing the movie with Girlfriend from Hell, presumably due to their schlocky titles. With the opening notes of “Rock Lobster” announcing its arrival, I heard it multiple times a shift. To this day, any second of The B-52s’ hit elicits a Pavlovian shudder, although the flick uses a soundalike band in place of the real cosmic thing.
There’s a reason the radio version of “Rock Lobster” trims two minutes or more. I bring that up because here, Stanley Sheff (Vincent Price: The Sinister Image) and co-writer Bob Greenberg grossly misjudge audiences’ tolerance for their lampoon. It suffers from the same problem as Attack of the Killer Tomatoes!: The joke just isn’t good enough to drag into lollygagging territory, wearing my goodwill down so much, I turned on it. That leaves me without the patience to discuss Billy Barty in swami get-up, narration by Dr. Demento, a clown named Nose-O, former Playboy Playmate Ava Fabian, future Price Is Right model Mindy Kennedy, Robot Monster’s space gorilla or opening credits that feature scissors-cut faces of the actors next to their names. —Rod Lott
