Six Inches of Pure Boredom
By Rich Bruso
November 2005
Most movies aren't accurately represented by their packaging. Full of marketing lies, these boxes are designed entirely to sell the movie, no matter how awful. So, it is always refreshing when the truth is actually presented on the box. This month's movie claimed it was 79 minutes long and, by golly, it was! Of course, the rest would have made politician blush.
Let's start with the title: Attack of the Puppet People. They are more accurately the Doll People, though puppets (marionettes actually) were involved, and harmed, in the filming of this movie. And they don't really attack anything, aside from a doll-sized bottle of champagne. Then there's the cover art. Here's a handy-dandy chart to compare, side-by-side, the cover with the relevant scene:
Box Cover
Movie Scene
Color
Black and White
Fighting a Doberman
Fleeing from a Labrador
Bravely defiant use of scissors
Cowardly use of a roofing nail
Action packed
Yawn-inducing
And then there's the musical sequence.
As a side note, Bert I. Gordon directed both this and 1957's The Amazing Colossal Man, which also featured extensive use of forced perspective and laughably clichéd big and small props. How many offices actually have jars marked "Paint", "Glue", etc. Of course, back in 1958 these were cutting edge techniques, so perhaps I shouldn't be so hard on Mr. Gordon. Though it was a bit gratuitous when he had the lead couple watches The Amazing Colossal Man at the drive-in.
What wasn't quite cutting edge at the time was the overly-elaborate and obviously well-planned "villain explaining his motives and techniques" scene. Sure, he just happened to have the slide projector, tuning fork, and wine flute laying around for such detailed explanations. And I keep a spare timing gear, an intake and exhaust valve, and a cutaway of my engine laying around in case someone asks about it. No really, I do. Wait a second…
Never mind that, back to the movie's main theme: separation anxiety. No, really. It seems the evil genius went over the deep end when his wife left him halfway through his marionette tour of Belgium. I guess she couldn't handle the pressure of such a competitive environment. So, from that point on, anyone that seems like they're going to leave him end up shrunk and stored, in factory-mint condition, in suspended-animation tubes.
So far, his collection includes both a 1956 AND 1957 model front-desk secretary, the ever collectible nearly retired postman, a secretary's boyfriend, and, for some reason, a Marine. I don't know exactly how the Marine was going to "leave" the crazy doll maker, and perhaps I really don't want to know.
Fortunately, popping the seal on the tubes wakes his wonderful creations for sessions where they sit around, dance, sing, and generally act like shore-bound sea monkeys. Bubble baths in coffee cans, giant paper airplanes, and even miniature tea parties. Whee!! How could life possibly be better? I know, let's get a cat. Seriously, it sleeps in a matchbox. I wish I was kidding.
And why does he let a neighborhood girl in to play with the dolls and the cat? How could that possibly make sense, even to an evil genius? Maybe he practices his dramatic monologue on her, but in any case it's creepy.
Even creepier is his long-time friend who is still active on the marionette circuit. And then there's the police detective who is coming even closer to the truth. The combined pressure of police investigations, the competitive doll industry, and his own crushing loneliness leave the doll maker with no choice but suicide. And dollicide. Multiple dollicides, really. Though his plans for the shrunken cat aren't clear.
As often happens at this point in a person's life, the doll maker drags his creations, plus a Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde marionette, to a local theater for a private farewell performance. The night watchman, fulfilling his duties as a night watchman to the letter, lets the crazy man in and proceeds to check on his coffee status every five minutes. Seriously, though, if a guy says, "No thanks, I have enough coffee" two or three times, don't you think you'd get the hint? Though the five minutes of coffee talk do help the movie stretch out to 79 minutes.
And I have to admit that having the boyfriend beat up a life-sized marionette Mr. Hyde was rather comical. Of course, by that time my brain was trying to crawl out of my ear. Only my foolish pride kept me from turning the movie off. That and a bad set of batteries in the remote. I mean, the TV was really far away.
On a positive note, the musical number was much more bearable than the numbers in The Garbage Pail Kids Movie, but that's not really saying much.
I don't mean to spoil it for those of you planning on watching this movie, but the ending managed to be a letdown. The couple manages to get back to normal size and walk past the mad doll maker, never to be seen again. Where, as Doug might ask, is the reaffirmation of values? Do they live happily ever after? Can the doll maker ever have a normal relationship again? Is his machine responsible for the enormous novelty checks handed out by Publisher's Clearinghouse? And what happened to the cat?