Although nearly a half-century year old, Godmonster of Indian Flats remains startlingly relevant for our times. It’s a story of a God-fearing, anti-science populace clinging to the idea of yesteryear. It’s a story of a politician who abuses his power to enrich his own station in life, at the expense of the poorer townspeople. It’s a story of one African-American man trying to do what’s the right while forever under the thumb of a racist society that fears “the other.”
It’s also a story of a “damaged mongoloid beast,” but to the film’s credit, it could function with that plotline excised. I don’t want to live in a world in which such a removal were made — I’m only saying it could be done. More is bubbling beneath Godmonster’s matted-cotton surface than mere creature-run-amok chaos.
And holy moly, what a creature! One morning, to the amazement of all-business anthropology professor Dr. Clemons (E. Kerrigan Prescott, Fiend Without a Face) and mild-mannered sheep rancher Eddie (Richard Marion, Child’s Play 3), a half-developed embryo is birthed into the flock. Dr. Clemons notes the preemie’s condition is the result of chromosomal breakdown during cross-fertilization, and these 10 seconds form all the scientific explanation we as viewers need. The professor incubates the thing in his lab, where it grows into an 8-foot monstrosity that looks like a mange-ravaged Mr. Snuffleupagus or a walking tumor as depicted by a Nabisco Barnum’s Animal Cracker, or perhaps both.
When it gets loose and terrorizes the town, Godmonster morphs into a classic Western as members of the “vigilance committee” assemble on horseback to hunt it down and lasso that li’l doggie amid the mayor’s declaration of martial law. Needless to say, audience sympathy aligns with that of writer/director Fredric Hobbs (Alabama’s Ghost): squarely on the side of the deformed, misunderstood abomination, no matter how many schoolchildren he scares the shit out of or number of filling stations he somehow explodes. Godmonster of Indian Flats certainly hums an odd tune, but at least it hums. —Rod Lott
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