Jerry falls in love with a stripper he meets at a carnival. Little does he know that she is the sister of a gypsy fortune teller whose predictions he had scoffed at earlier. The gypsy turns him into a zombie and he goes on a killing spree.
Ray Dennis Steckler
Ray Dennis Steckler,
A modern-day updating of the Dracula legend that finds Steven, a good-looking American hero devastated by the death of his girlfriend, wandering through Europe and looking for happiness. A ... See full summary »
While driving through the desert, a teenage girl is frightened by a seven-foot giant which appears in her path. After escaping, she returns to the site with her boyfriend and her father in an attempt to find the giant. They do, and it proceeds to terrorize them and the rest of Palm Springs, California. Written by
Marty McKee <email@example.com>
This is the second-greatest story every told. A lesson for posterity. A tale of star-crossed lovers, tortured souls, intrigue, adventure, passion, lies, anger, denial, betrayal, and finally, redemption. The master story-teller, Arch Hall Sr., regales us with an epic feature that only DeMille or Scorsese could ever truly appreciate in its sheer brilliance, the insane could only ever lament in its simplicity, and the plebeian masses could only ever envy in its complexity.
To experience Eegah is to experience being alive through:
Tommy, our intrepid hero. Although Tommy is the hero here, his dark side is evident when he gratuitously calls Eegah, the giant, "High Pockets." Does a caveman giant not also have feelings? Is this sort of callous disregard for human life really necessary? This style of writing and directing would be copied years later by Peckinpah and Tarantino. Nevertheless, Tommy redeems himself by taking Roxy into the desert to go whizing. These days, that would get you a citation and a restraining order. But in those days, that's how it was done. A guitar, a dune buggy, some bad lyrics and a tube a Brylcreem were the only tools necessary to overcome inequities of mythological proportions. Even brave Ulysses couldn't overcome these odds.
Roxy, a misunderstood teenager. You'd think that you'd have a grip on your adolescent foolishness by your mid thirties. You'd think that if your father tried to whore you off to the first lecherous bearded caveman giant that came along, you'd have a clue that something was wrong in your life. Not Roxy. She's just bought a new swim suit and you oughta see her swim. Blame it on the sulfur water. Notably, ever the avant-garde Director, Arch Hall Sr. makes use of the wild and carefree sexual revolution of the sixties as explored through the subtle nuance of Roxy's Electra complex. This is most evident when Roxy shaves her father's face in Eegah's cave. Disturbing? Perhaps.
Robert I. Miller, writer of all those adventure books, and Roxy's father. He lives up at the club, and has an oven in his living room. He mixes metaphors really badly. He quotes Bible verses that don't exist. Sometimes, he falls on his camera bag. And sometimes, just sometimes, he needs a little extra dose of those "aspirins" in his gear bag. When you were young, your mom told you not to sit so close to the TV. Now you understand why.
Then there's Krueger, the helicopter pilot who is tormented by a life of blown gaskets and acid-induced flashbacks. The headaches never really went away, and the doctors told him that he needed to stop flying people into the desert in his helicopter. How many people had he flown in, now? Was it 40? Was it 50? He couldn't remember. They were still there, where he had left them, in the desert. That wasn't important now. The doctors were trying to take his wings away. But Krueger would show them! He'd find that secret VC ammo dump and really let'em have it! If only the headaches would stop. Really, nothing the VA hospital and a hundred bucks couldn't fix.
And finally, Eegah, the caveman giant. His life was a metaphor for the conflict that exists between our inner-most desires and our need to exist as a civilized society. His downfall was the result of the primitive desires of a caveman that just didn't understand, and a tag-team Tequila themed pool party gone awry. Predictably, these monumental forces converge to create a pool party version of the perfect storm. As we see, the pool party devolves into a drunken debauchery, the likes of which would shock even Nero or Caligula. Should blame be cast upon the Desert Patrol for its lack of pool party etiquette or untrained response to a 311G in progress (large man or giant creating a disturbance)? Should blame be cast upon Roxy for her wild hypnotic dancing and seductive siren-like advances towards one of the band's guitar players? Or perhaps blame should be cast upon Tommy for getting in way over his head in a tag-team rendition of Tequila requiring no less than six musicians, when clearly, the song can only be played safely by no more than three. The message to our society is quite clear: Without the rigid rules of civilization, you too may experience the crazed love of a prehistoric giant. Alas, for Eegah, there are no good answers. God gives pistachios to those that have no teeth, and so it was unto poor Eegah. Yes, I too cried at the end.
I know. "But what of Citizen Kane? Casablanca? Gone with the Wind? Surely these works must come into play before naming a movie the second-greatest story ever told" you may ask. Did Citizen Kane have a bearded caveman giant? Did Casablanca have an oven in the living room? Was there any whizing in Gone with the Wind? I think not. To grasp the significance and depth of a masterpiece such as Eegah, one need only ponder the phrase: "You oughta see. Her. Swim."
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