Close Search Close

 

  • Comics
  • Theatre
  • Site News

Streaming Shuffle

I Married a Monster from Outer Space

Men, but not from Mars.

I Married a Monster from Outer Space made its debut in a double feature with The Blob. Now, my cell phone ringtone is the very bouncy theme from The Blob, and I’ll cheerfully concede that film has some great images and one of the most endearing bits of awkward dialogue in cinema (“It doesn’t sound like a house. It sounds like a dog!”). But this is a case where the B-side is stronger and more thoughtful.

Gene Fowler Jr. was an accomplished editor—he worked with Fritz Lang, Samuel Fuller, and John Cassavetes—and while his directorial work is less heralded, having both this and I Was a Teenage Werewolf on his filmography means he deserves to be a star in some minor horror constellation. This is a smart, unsettling film that is at almost every point better than it technically needs to be.

Bill (Tom Tryon1) is having a boozy bachelor party the night before his wedding to Marge (Gloria Talbott), and though all his friends are bitching and moaning about the misogynist but heterosexual necessity of, ew, spending time and even marrying women in order to sleep with them—all telling Bill he’s locking himself in for a lifetime of misery—the film suggests that Bill actually likes Marge. He’s even ducking out of the He-Man Woman-Haters Club to see her tonight. It’s bad luck to see the bride right before the wedding, of course, so Bill is Good Samaritan-trapped, abducted, and replaced by an alien lookalike. This happens to all good single men, or so I’ve heard.

The new Bill marries Marge, but it doesn’t take her long to notice that he’s different now. There’s a strange distance between them. He pauses too long in conversations, like he has to dig up basic facts about himself. And he kills a puppy in their basement, so there are little signs like that as well.

Talbott does a good job evoking Marge’s nervy suspicions, easily carrying her into wide-eyed, Invaders of the Body Snatchers-style justified paranoia and then—in a more surprising move—into iron-willed refusal to care about the science fiction when this is, to her, only a horror story. It’s the last move that makes her more memorable than simply a well-evoked type: one of the most powerful and surprising things a female character can do in certain stories is not care. She will not rescue the new Bill. She does not give a shit that he’s come to have feelings for her. She’s not moved by his people’s suffering. She refuses, and in refusing so consistently, she forces the narrative to resolve into a horror movie’s happy ending.

Tryon, on the other hand, is playing the science fiction side of things. His side is equally gendered, but in a more unusual way: one of the bleak, bitter “jokes” here, and it’s a joke on everyone, is that you could argue the aliens make better husbands. They give up drinking. They don’t whine about hating their wives. They can be solicitous. They’re even good in bed.

The last can’t be on-screen—it was 1958—but even with that caveat, this is a horny movie, one that’s frank about sex to the point of cynicism. It dabbles a little in the idea that men want sex, and women yield to it, but we see multiple cases where that idea feels like deliberate “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” playacting, where it’s heavily implied the women are looking for a good time too and are just socially obligated to periodically demur.2 The aliens—all men, all seeking to reproduce due to a Mars Needs Women situation—are, to go with the Cold War overtones, like undercover KGB agents discovering they kind of like it in the West, actually. One of them—taking over the body of one of Bill’s friends and instantly making him propose to his long-term girlfriend—is positively gleeful about it. Sex is fun, and they can do it as often as they want.

But they can’t father children, at least not yet, which means Bill and Marge have been together for a year without stabilizing into a nuclear family. A little suspicious, don’t you think? A little un-American. This is so on the nose that the doctor who finally helps Marge rounds up a posse where each man is the newly expectant father of, to borrow from Scrubs, “yet another soldier in the fight against Communism.” Their guns will not avail them against the aliens, but their dogs can bite the aliens’ face-dicks off. You can’t go around having enjoyable marital sex without it going anywhere, guys. Not on this town’s watch!

This is the world the impostor-Bill exists in—conspiratorial, fraught, empowered but hidden. Tryon plays him with a spooky reserve of power, making both his indifference and his intensity inspire a certain kind of awe. He doesn’t argue with Marge calling him a monster, rewriting him as only horror, but he doesn’t exist only on those terms. He reaches out to her, tells her stories about himself, tries to communicate. He wants her to understand, as he’s come to, that there are alternate ways of being. When he’s dying—a magnificently, chunkily gooey process, and this is as good a place as any to note that the special effects here are quite effective in their low-key way—he tells her not to look, because he wants to believe she doesn’t want to, not really. He wants to believe it would matter to her to see him finally as a victim of horror, not a perpetrator of it.

There’s a tragic, warped love there, for all the good it does him, and it complicates the otherwise triumphant final moments. Everything is okay and normal again for Our People. We decided not to care about the others, and they’re leaving now. We have the men back. Everything is normal, and isn’t normal fine?

I Married a Monster from Outer Space is streaming on Kanopy.

  1. A horror author in his own right, as well as an actor. ↩︎
  2. There are obvious and myriad problems with the social script demanding that, of course, and one of them is that it makes it easy for someone to accidentally or willfully read a genuine “no” as strictly performative. We don’t get into that here, because this is I Married a Monster from Outer Space, but we get an unpleasant example of the opposite: the one woman who only barely plays the game—who lusts more or less openly—gets murdered, not married. I suspect this is more akin to slasher movie morality than to a deliberate statement on the aliens absorbing American sexual politics. ↩︎