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Bert I. Gordon
John David Carson
While the hot rodders and motorcyclists are having a rock-and-roll beach party, a barrel of radioactive material is unloaded from a passing ship, plunges to the bottom and splits against a jagged rock. A black liquid oozes out and covers a shapeless mass on the ocean floor, which suddenly moves and becomes an encrusted vicious monster. Soon there are several monsters and they must have human blood to survive. Tina is the first victim, and football hero Hank Green and airhead Elaine Gavin enlist the aid of her science-professor father, Dr. Gavin, to solve and capture the killer. Not working fast enough to prevent the attack on twenty teen-agers at a slumber party nor the killing of three girl motorists, Dr. Gavin finds an arm lost by one of the monsters and discovers that only sodium will destroy the monsters whose composition is mostly water. Can they gather enough salt in southern California to put an end to this horror? Written by
Les Adams <email@example.com>
In a world of movies where there are followers and there are trend-setters...let me introduce a follower.
No surprise that "The Horror of Party Beach" is the red-headed stepchild of the "Beach Party" flicks Frankie and Annette churned out (albeit with the unique twists of hazardous waste and ambulatory hot dog-eating protozoa) - but how about adding an ineffectual biker gang (been done), some moderately bloody killings (well, that's different) and a stereotypical black maid (bet the NAACP loved that)?
Oh, and let's not forget The Del-Aires! What music! What chops! What talent! Or should I say - WHAT talent? Is anyone still doing "The Zombie Stomp"? Didn't think so, and best they shouldn't. At least they ACT like they're interested in the paycheck.
But there is no real acting in this movie. No one acts here; they just say words, move around, pretend they're doing something that will stand the ravages of time...and fail in the attempt. Unless, of course, you count its success as the world's worst beach party horror musical.
And while we're at it, shouldn't a movie with the word "Beach" physically in the title have more scenes at, say, THE BEACH??? Two. That's it: two (2, 1+1, II) scenes actually at the beach. Better it should be titled "The Horror of the Non-Descript New England Suburb".
Thanks to Mike Nelson and his robo-buds, the true highlights of this film shine through as ripe targets for insidious dissection (why, in fact, ARE there so many shots of young men writhing around in their whitie tighties on the beach - and so few babes?). Gotta agree with them, though, the Romulan girl IS sexy.
Let's face it: Del Tenney wanted to spend a few bucks and make a flick for the beach crowd and the horror crowd. The result: a flick for the bad movie night crowd. You like bad: rent it, gather your friends, make some popcorn and laugh your tuckuses off!
Two stars for THOPB; eight and a half stars for the MST3K version.
Oh, and yay for sodium!
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