There are so many good things to say about this “B” movie.
“B’ maybe in connections, but not in commission. This is about the best of its genre that I have ever seen. A grade A effort by Universal. The script is well done, imaginative, and without fault. Writing credits: Howard Higgin original story & Douglas Hodges story, John Colton (screenplay). Director Lambert Hillyer handled the complex story and story locations very well. No skimping on the loads of extras and locations. I loved Beulah Bondy (Jimmy Stewarts mother in “It’s A Wonderful Life”. The fem lead, Frances Drake is a beauty and handled her part with grace and pathos for her Karloff husband. Lugosi likewise was correctly underplayed. I think this is the best part I remember seeing him in. As I said there were so many good things: the African discovery of the Radium “X”, the melting of the stone statues ((somewhat reminiscent of the Ten Little Indians in And Then There Were None (Agatha Christie) (the Barry Fitzgerald version)), the glowing of Karlof in the dark. Karloff’s mother played by Violet Kemble Cooper with elegance. And because of all these virtues, I found myself believing in the science it portrayed. I guess that’s the mark of a good piece of art.

This is not a film you can really analyse separately from it's production. The audience became the film-makers to an extent unprecedented in the history of the American film industry; we felt so involved that viewing it becomes like watching the work of a friend. How is it possible to be objective? This is our movie, isn't it? Or is it? There may be nothing more disingenuous than a film-maker who promotes himself as the audience's friend, giving them all the naughty treats that the nannyish critics would deny them. Just look at that prime self-publicist Eli Roth, promising gore-hounds all the viscera missing from literally gutless mainstream horror films, only to churn out a watered down and technically incompetent piece of work like 'Hostel'.
David R. Ellis may not have spawned the monster that was the internet response to his film, but he was, quite understandably, quick to engage with it. He took the carnival-huckster school of film-making to a new level, getting the fans to build what they would eventually buy. So many have enthused over this interactive, democratic approach to film-making that they seem to have missed the point - that this is the most cynical form of film-as-marketing. Nothing is included that the film-makers know the fans won't buy, and any old suggestion that will get bums on seats is incorporated. The fact that the pitch became the title tells you all you need to know.
Isn't this just the evolution of the focus group approach? Individual creativity, talent, craft, ideas, all are sacrificed before the inane chatter of the masses. It's a critical commonplace that focus groups and test screenings don't make for good movies - why should the preemptive intervention of internet enthusiasts be any different? Because we happen to be film fans? Well, thank god for us, because otherwise I might not have seen a topless woman get her nipple bitten by a snake.
So, yes, I had fun at the movie - a midnight showing, fresh from the pub and with a bucket of ice-cream - but it actually had relatively little to do with the film, and quite a lot to do with the atmosphere. Like Christmas, everyone seemed determined that they would have fun, no matter what. There was laughter, but I don't know if it was with the film, or at the film. With a film as calculated as this one, is that even a meaningful distinction? There are some genuinely good aspects to the film. Samuel L. Jackson gives a well-judged performance, pure self-parody but with a real sense of pleasure. Rachel Blanchard and Lin Shaye are decent in limited roles, and there are one or two inspired moments - the fate of the lap dog is genuinely funny black comedy that the rest of the film fails to emulate.
The stock characters are to be expected, but the total lack of suspense isn't. What's the point of a film that combines two great phobias if there's no creeping menace? There are several snake-jumps-out moments, but they're incredibly badly staged. Only the annoying British man gets a decent pulpy death scene - the other killings are oddly flat. The demise of the honeymoon couple, for instance, is shamefully botched. Most of the actors fail to make an impression; it's a shame that a charismatic actress like Julianna Margulies should seem so tired (when she tells two kids to close their eyes and pretend the turbulent flight is a roller-coaster, she could be talking to the audience - the film falls far short).
There are worse movies, but there are many, many better; another reviewer on this site compared this film with 'Lake Placid', and it's as apt a contrast as any I can think of. That film worked so magnificently because the performances were excellent, the jokes were funny, the suspense sequences were scary, and it wasn't devised by committee. That the characters had a little depth and shading was an unexpected bonus. I don't need a post-pub midnight showing to have a good time with that film.
This film will, in time, fade to become a mere footnote in film history. If it sets a precedent, however, I'm genuinely worried about what might be crossing our screens in a couple of years time. In all probability, nothing much will come of it. Perennial popcorn favourites - 'Raiders of the Lost Ark', 'Alien', 'Halloween' and of course, 'Star Wars' - just aren't produced by group-think.
In the mean time, I'll tell you what - I haven't half got a craving for some Ingmar Bergman.