The Horrors of the Black Museum is a diabolical film. I was not more than eleven or twelve when I saw it. Dropped at the curb to enjoy Quarter Saturday at the Movies.It left me so traumatized that I was sitting in the lobby when my mother came, uncharacteristically silent. I had spent most of the time after the "binocular" murder, trembling alone with the thought, " What grown-up dreamed this stuff up for a child to watch? What are grown-ups really like?" I knew some of them didn't care what they exposed kids to to make a quarter! I remember trudging to the lobby as if in a fugue state, afraid to turn my back on that abomination.
I know there are folks who love this genre, and as long as they are grown-ups, they can do the backstroke in ketchup blood and wallow in sadism. Free country. But this movie gave me nightmares into adulthood. It's probably still lurking in my psyche today. It is why I know that children must be sheltered from material adults can handle.
I guess it was effectively gruesome and twisted for the fans of the genre.
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