THE
MUMMY AND THE CURSE OF THE JACKAL
(1969)
Directed by Oliver Drake
Academy VHS
THE FILM
Gentlemen, I’m glad you’ve
brought your cumberbuns. Ladies,
those “special occasion”
broaches look awfully nice. The
needle has just hit vinyl on Shoji
Yokouchi’s “Romantic
Latin Guitar” LP. Now that
we’re all ready to relax,
I’ll crack open this bottle
of Absolut Surrealism, manufactured
with great three-fingered care by
a certain Mr. Jackal-Man in Las
Vegas, NV. Let’s spread some
love.
A prolific veteran of 40s b-westerns,
director Oliver Drake was approaching
his seventies when he decided to
helm his first monster film, The
Mummy And The Curse Of The Jackal.
It was never released to theaters.
That’s a nice piece of useless
trivia, huh? Trust me, there’s
a point. Star Anthony Eisley, veteran
junkmeister of such amazements as
Dracula Vs. Frankenstein
and The Mighty Gorga had
a few things to say about Drake
in Tom Weaver’s Interviews
With B Science Fiction and Horror
Movie Makers. Don’t look
for a sugarcoat: “...the director
was quite senile at the time...the
absolute epitome of total confusion.”
Well, if being a doddering old fart
allows you to concoct a plotless
hallucination of surf instrumentals,
next door neighbor monsters, and
home enthusiast film skills, please
point me towards the time machine.
Welcome to Las Vegas. Mr. Eisley
plays an archaeologist named David,
who seems to have rounded up a couple
of mummies. The best place to store
such priceless finds? Of course!
A shit-hole shack, complete with
crumbling walls and dimestore cobwebs.
David goes to sleep on a dirty cot
and at midnight, he inexplicably
morphs into the so-fake-he's-actually-frightening
Jackal-Man. It’s the curse
of Princess Acanda! Growr! Ruff!
Both mummies come to life and what
follows next will set your bar.
A beer-gutted mummy, complete with
bulging ping-pong eye, attacks strippers
on stage, then walks through a wall
(!). Real life vacationers point
and laugh as our monsters run rampant
on the Vegas strip. John Carradine
pops in for a hopeless four minute
cameo; “I can tell from the
mold accumulation that this casket
is 4,000 years old!” Eisley
teaches the speech-impaired Princess
how to put on a bra. Our two monstrous
titans battle it out in the middle
of a lake for a minute or so. There’s
even a little fake blood and a tongue-ripping
scene. Had enough?
Would you expect anything less from
a film that recycled monster masks
and sets from Dracula,
The Dirty Old Man? An equal
dose of home movie flabbergast and
somebody-please-kill-me monotony,
“Mummy” is a must-see
study in inexplicable stupidity.
The incompetence on display is a
watershed; this is not the warped,
DIY enthusiasm of Nathan Schiff
or Donn Davison. Oliver Drake’s
directing capacities were clearly
uncontrollable. For better or worse,
the film reflects that fact entirely,
as it flails off in unexplained
directions, focuses on monsters
running in place, and banks on camera
set-ups that make no sense. How
many more close-ups can we possibly
get of the Jackal-Man’s snout?
At the same time, the surf-library-sitar-bongo
instros lull you to nightmare limbo,
where transformation footage is
endlessly repeated and padding flashbacks
to someone’s living room (er,
uhm, Ancient Egypt) rule the roost.
In this situation, every faux paux
is a celebration, especially if
your tastes run low. I was uniformly
bowled over by laughs, bad film
sorcery, and complete puzzlement.
Mummy is a monster rally
on milk money, a surreal slice of
curdled, less-than-dirt-cheap cinema
that truly gives credence to the
old saying; They Don’t Make
‘Em Like This Anymore. Way
to go, Mr. Drake!
AUDIO AND VIDEO
G-damn! Bar none, this is the worst
looking tape I’ve ever laid
eyes on. Liberal ghosting, a stretched
and cropped picture, black as pitch
night scenes, and soft like a TV
tape that’s been copied over
a few hundred times...As you can
guess, not too hot. And this prized
pearl wasn’t even an ex-rental.
For shame, Academy. I guess that’s
why the mono sound was so charmingly
lo-fi; the scales have got to be
tipped somewhere.
EXTRAS
After the feature, the always dependable
Academy throws on a ridiculous trailer
for some action/adventure retch
called Puzzle. I did enjoy
the homemade voice-over though.
FINAL THOUGHTS
Crafted with all the charm of a
twelve year old’s Super 8
experiment, The Mummy And The
Curse Of The Jackal is true
elysium for lovers of warped 60s
monster cinema. And how about that
soundtrack? Las Vegas never looked
this good, so let’s pour another
glass and respool the projector...
— Joseph A. Ziemba, 03.02.05 |
The Mummy
The Curse
The Jackal
The Best
|
