IMDb meta-data is 1 hr and 30 min, rated 5.7 by 7,3817 cinematizens.
Genre: Sy Fy.
Verdict: More!
In 1957 a passing alien travelling the wormhole takes the desert Southwest off ramp for a comfort stop on Earth, but in the rough landing the one-eyed, flesh-consuming Republican Senator on board escapes custody and sets about satisfying its hunger for dolts.
The opening scene mimics the Perseid meteor-watching start of It Came from Outer Space (1953) right down to Richard Carlson’s tweed jacket, heavy eye glasses, pipe, Rhode Island-size steaks on the grill, and the white picket fence between the prefabricated post-war ranch-style house and the sands of the Mojave Desert. Later scenes pay tribute to The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951) and The Blob (1958). The reviews I scanned among the sixty-five pinned to the IMDb entry have trouble classifying the film, and that always rankles reviewers who after saying they want creativity then reject it. For my money, it is a tribute to those 1950s films that offered hope and inspiration in throes of the Atomic Age Cold War when a greasy spoon waitress and a pin-headed dope could save the world!
The Ghota (that is, G-O-P to me), the monster, is loose and no one is safe. Not even that shape-sifting impervious meanie from Terminator II. Meanwhile astronomer Ed has incinerated the steaks while gawking at a bright light in the night sky that crashes conveniently close by…and he goes to investigate. [You know the rest.] The local plod is too lazy to climb the rocks to look around and returns to the coffee shop to harass the comely waitress. It is authentic to the 1950s to be sure.
Meanwhile, as townspeople disappear into puddles of brown sludge, the local GOP denies there is a problem. Just some libtard nonsense about alien climate change. After half dozen puddles, plod reluctantly leaves his counter stool and sets out to harass others who have telephoned about an intruder. End of plod, and not a moment too soon. We are now up to puddle seven.
The alien’s is name of Urp – remember that – and he pursues the escapee, Ghota (aka GOP), by taking over the consciousness of Dr Ted, which his wife notices, and attributes to too much reading. Ted-Urp teams up with the waitresses who is much faster on the uptake than anyone else in this low IQ town to corner Ghota. Yes, the climax is in a movie theatre (and involves a vacuum cleaner and some quick, lateral thinking by the waitress), and yes the coda is from the ramp of the space ship. But there is no pipe, because smoking is bad for Ted’s health. When the alien explains himself, he suggests he is a marshall taking a prisoner to the galactic slammer. Get it, Mortimer? (Probably not.)
Then there is the question of polarity. Tantalising.
I wondered why there was so much salt in the theatre closet and then I remembered the ice and snow that would be on the sidewalk three months a year. In the desert Southwest. Hum.
Loved it.
Sorry to say that Royal Danno (1922-1994) was not available to reprise his role as farmers Green from Killer Klowns from Outer Space (1984) or Wrenchmuller from Spaced Invaders (1990), but Tom McBeath earns his agricultural credentials as the first puddle and the dog survives as it should. Robert Patrick is true to life as the menacing, surly, and incompetent plod but no match for Richard Vernon from Killer Klowns for being despicable. The ensemble acting is firmly in-role as they say on the boards. No one breaks the fourth wall. Right down to the sheriff who was exhausted by answering the phone, once.
The Mojave Desert in British Columbia doesn’t work, despite the camera filters, but who cares. The cinematography is candy coloured and I got to like it as somehow of the time and place. The Prologue adds nothing, but, well, it made sense to someone but that was not me.