Also known as "The Movie Without An Actor," "The Film Without a Plot," and "The Screenwriter Without a Clue."
Hilariously bad brain-transplant movie. George Coulouris plays a rich scumball who is dying of a brain tumor. He gets wind of some novel experiments being conducted by a brain surgeon, played in mind-numbingly dull fashion by Robert Hutton. After visiting Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum (where the rest of the cast apparently was found), Coulouris hits on the idea of digging up Nostradamus' head and making use of the prognosticator's brain.
Coulouris manages to get the head through customs. If it had been 12 ounces of toothpaste, he would have been wrestled to the ground. Hutton is curious about the head's identity. However, that doesn't seem to deter him, or his two assistants Jean and Lew (their real names are unimportant), from trying to restore the brain to life. This is one of the many flaws (I lost count) in this movie. These medical people are absolutely sane, calm, dedicated, and see nothing odd about what they are doing. They have a monkey's head and a floating eye in their lab. Meanwhile, the audience is screaming, "HEY, ARE ALL YOU PEOPLE NUTS?"
In a typical subplot, Lew takes up with Coulouris' French tart, Odette, who wants to see her sugar daddy offed so she can cash in. Will Lew cave? What do you think?
From here on, the film becomes a collection of badly edited scenes, where people just seem to appear out of nowhere and do crazy things. Meanwhile, Nostradamus' beard is growing, and his head introduces himself to Hutton in perfect English. I suppose if you can buy the idea that Nostradamus' head is alive, then you'll swallow anything that follows (I'd suggest cyanide).
In the finale, Nostradamus' head gets transplanted onto Lew's body and the creature wanders around the streets for a few minutes. The authorities see nothing unusual in this. Eventually, Coulouris catches up with "it." I won't give away the ending, but let's just say Coulouris takes the fall, while Nostradamus and Lew go their "separate" ways.
The only interesting part of this film, besides the French tart, is when Nostradamus' head gets onto Coulouris (figuratively) and decides to wreck his financial empire. Seeing Coulouris in an undershirt also provides some camp value. This could have been a decent piece of schlock, but no.
Why did this film need two directors? Because while one held the megaphone and yelled "Action!" the other held his barf bag.
