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In this episode of The Introverted Obelisk, we stumble through the foggy backstreets of Paris with Bela Lugosi’s eyebrows leading the way in Murder in the Rue Morgue (1932). Supposedly adapted from Edgar Allan Poe’s pioneering detective tale, the movie tosses out logic and deduction in favor of mad science, ape costumes, and enough bad biology to make Darwin claw his way out of the grave.

I break down Lugosi’s turn as Dr. Mirakle, a carnival sideshow scientist who kidnaps women to inject them with gorilla blood — not because this makes sense, but because Universal needed another monster movie and Poe didn’t supply one. What should have been a story about a clever detective solving an impossible crime instead becomes a parade of abductions, failed experiments, and a gorilla who alternates between stock footage and a man in a fuzzy suit.

We talk about how Karloff got Frankenstein, Lugosi got gorilla transfusions, and how even in 1932, Universal couldn’t resist wringing atmosphere out of every fog machine on the backlot. The result is less Poe, more pulp — but with Lugosi’s wild eyes and tortured accent, it’s unforgettable in its own lopsided way.

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In this episode of The Introverted Obelisk, we sink our teeth — or at least pretend to — into I Eat Your Skin (1964, finally released in 1970), the zombie misfire with a title so good it should’ve been arrested for false advertising. Promising cannibalistic horror and flesh-ripping mayhem, the film instead delivers papier-mâché zombies, voodoo rituals filmed on the cheap in Florida, and dialogue so stilted it feels imported from another planet.

I walk you through the decade-long shelf life that ended with Jerry Gross pairing it with I Drink Your Blood in a double bill, because if one movie didn’t deliver, surely two would distract you. Along the way, we meet our heroes: a smarmy novelist, a parade of vacationing bystanders, and a mad scientist whose experiments seem less terrifying than the production values.

I dig into how the film’s real horror isn’t skin consumption but false advertising, and how sometimes the drive-in promised you steak but served you cold Spam. No gore, no terror, but plenty to laugh at.

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In this episode of The Introverted Obelisk, we pack our thermal underwear, our Geiger counters, and our healthy skepticism as we head north—way north—to a remote Arctic outpost where the coffee’s strong, the tempers are short, and the science is suspiciously well-funded. We’re talking about The Thing From Another World (1951), a Cold War-era creature feature where the invader isn’t just from space—it’s from a garden you should never, ever water.

We follow a crew of square-jawed military men and nervous scientists who dig up a flying saucer, accidentally incinerate it, and then go, “Well hey, at least we saved the alien pilot!” Said pilot turns out to be a humanoid vegetable with a bad attitude and a taste for plasma. Cue the paranoia, ethical debates, and impromptu flamethrower tutorials.

We’ll dissect the film’s themes of science vs. the military, the ever-present Cold War dread, and how this Thing is less about identity theft and more about plant-based homicide. Also, we’ll touch on the wild publishing history of the original novella Who Goes There? and how this film was just the first in a long line of terrifying adaptations.

So, keep watching the skies—and don’t forget the weed killer.

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In this episode of The Introverted Obelisk, we’re digging deep—literally—into the 1957 cult classic From Hell It Came, a film that dares to ask: “What if your dead enemy came back to life as an angry tree stump?” Set on a fictional South Pacific island where science, superstition, and slow-moving bark monsters collide, this movie features radiation, voodoo, and one of the most unintentionally hilarious creature designs in all of horror history—the infamous Tabanga. Yes, it’s a tree. Yes, it’s possessed. And yes, it walks. Kind of.

We’ll follow the story of a wrongfully accused island prince, a pair of hapless American scientists, and a supporting cast of terrified villagers, all while marveling at how many scenes can be stolen by a foam rubber log with a grudge. Along the way, we’ll unpack Cold War undertones, post-war exoticism, and the cinematic power of growling in stop motion.

So grab your Geiger counter and your gardening shears, because this one’s gonna get root-deep weird.

And remember—if you hear heavy breathing in the jungle and it smells like fresh mulch... run.

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This week on The Introverted Obelisk, we wade chest-deep into the murky waters of the 1959 swamp shocker Attack of the Giant Leeches—a film where the real danger isn’t the monsters so much as the humidity, infidelity, and questionable law enforcement. When townsfolk in the Florida Everglades start disappearing, the local authorities blame gators, bad luck, or perhaps a diet rich in moonshine. But game warden Steve Benton smells something fishy—and it's not just the bait shack.

Join your host as we dive into a world of cheating lovers, guilt-ridden suicides, and a slow-motion bloodsucking horror show set in a cave that somehow exists under a swamp. There’s dynamite. There's spear guns. There’s a woman named Liz who probably had it coming. 

With cardboard leeches, melodrama so thick you could drain it, and a monster reveal that’s more soggy than scary, this is bargain-bin horror at its swampiest. So zip up your waders, light the dynamite, and whatever you do—don’t go necking near the water.

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This week on The Introverted Obelisk, we untangle the web of 1958’s Earth vs. The Spider—a film that asks the bold question: what if the real danger wasn’t the giant arachnid terrorizing small-town America, but the jazz band rehearsing inside the high school auditorium? Join us as we scuttle into a story featuring teenage sleuths, a high school science teacher who moonlights as a monster hunter, and a tarantula the size of a Buick with a serious grudge against stage lighting.

We’ll crawl through every deliciously dusty cave, marvel at how no one ever seems that surprised by the monster, and enjoy a thrilling rollercoaster of “is it dead yet?” fake-outs. Plus, we’ll touch on the curious coincidence that two of this film’s stars also appeared in Bloodlust!—and that both apparently retired from acting shortly thereafter. Go figure.

With its clunky charm, stock footage panic, and a score that swings between spooky and sock hop, Earth vs. The Spider spins a delightfully threadbare yarn of atomic-era terror. So grab a can of bug spray and keep your back to the wall—this one’s got more legs than sense.

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This week on The Introverted Obelisk, we dive headfirst into the salty depths of atomic-age anxiety with It Came From Beneath the Sea—a cautionary tale about the dangers of nuclear testing, hubris, and underestimating how mad a giant radioactive octopus can get when you only give it six tentacles. Join us as we follow a square-jawed submarine commander, a trailblazing female scientist, and a dude who exists solely to wear a lab coat and point at things, as they attempt to stop a tentacled terror from turning San Francisco into a seafood platter.

We'll wade through the gloriously janky stop-motion effects of Ray Harryhausen, marvel at how the beast only has six limbs (thanks, budget cuts), and unpack the Cold War metaphors hidden beneath the rubbery surface. From underwater suspense to bridge-smashing destruction, this film delivers 1950s monster madness with the subtlety of a depth charge.

So grab your spear guns, avoid touching anything slimy, and remember: if a giant octopus knocks on your door, it probably doesn’t want to borrow a cup of sugar. Subscribe now and enjoy the podcast that surfaces weird cinema so you don’t have to get wet.

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In this episode of The Introverted Obelisk, we beam ourselves back to 1953 and dive into the uncanny, paranoid dreamscape that is Invaders from Mars. Told entirely through the eyes of a young boy named David, this early sci-fi thriller offers a Cold War allegory with a sandpit twist—and we’re here for every bizarre moment. We break down the film’s eerie aesthetic, unsettling alien design, and how it captures the surreal terror of not being believed.

Along the way, we talk about the film’s unusual structure, how the entire story may be just a dream (or a nightmare), and why that matters when you're filtering atomic-era anxiety through a child’s perspective. We also compare the dream-logic of this Martian invasion to Robot Monster—because nothing says “psychological collapse” like a space gorilla with a fishbowl helmet.

Plus, we dig into behind-the-scenes trivia: from the real UFO sightings referenced in the film, to how a Munchkin from The Wizard of Oz ended up scaring a generation of kids.

So tuck in your sheets, check under your bed for mutants, and press play. Just remember: if the sand starts bubbling, maybe don’t go investigate it alone.

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In this episode of The Introverted Obelisk, we slide headfirst into the low-budget lizard mayhem that is The Giant Gila Monster (1959), a film where the title tells you everything—and yet somehow, not nearly enough. Join me as we unravel the story of a sleepy Texas town besieged by a shockingly chill giant lizard with a taste for hot rods, necking teens, and casual property destruction.

We’ll explore how a real Mexican beaded lizard became a towering menace through the magic of miniature sets and camera angles, dissect the film’s odd tonal swings between creature-feature suspense and folksy charm, and appreciate the full-throttle commitment of our ukulele-strumming, hero-mechanic protagonist.

We'll also unpack the film's peculiar small-town Americana vibe, its wholesome 1950s optimism in the face of obvious reptilian doom, and why, in the pantheon of drive-in creature features, this one earns its stripes—er, scales.

So buckle up, check your brakes, and maybe keep an eye on the horizon for inexplicably giant fauna. It’s time to face the cold-blooded chaos in The Giant Gila Monster.

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In this episode of The Introverted Obelisk, we crank up the Theremin and hunker down in our Cold War bunkers for 1956’s Earth vs. the Flying Saucers—a film where alien invasion meets government denial with all the subtlety of a brick through a window. We’ll walk through the plot, such as it is, as alien ships descend upon Earth like angry pie plates, zapping landmarks and demanding humanity’s cooperation—which goes about as well as you’d expect in the ‘50s.

We discuss the film’s surprisingly solid special effects courtesy of Ray Harryhausen, whose stop-motion saucers are the real stars here, even if the humans are too busy getting in their own way. There’s Cold War anxiety, some solid sci-fi set dressing, and an underlying message that boils down to: "If they don't like our missiles, they can leave."

Along the way, we drop trivia about flying saucer lore, note the parallels to real-life UFO hysteria, and reflect on how much of this movie is wish fulfillment for defense contractors. It’s all delivered with our usual blend of wit, sarcasm, and respect for the genre’s scrappy charm.

So grab your aluminum foil hats—this invasion’s going to be a bumpy, budget-conscious ride.

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