Paul Blaisdell, Monster Maker: A Biography of the B Movie Makeup and Special Effects Artist

by Randy Palmer

  Paul eventually provided two full-length, black-and-white drawings of the Tabanga: a close-up of the head, a reverse view, and sketches of the hands and feet. Anchoring his design on the brief descriptions given in the film’s script by Richard Bernstein, Paul gave the far-out concept an unexpected, nightmarish quality. According to Bob Burns, one of the few people who ever saw the sketches, Paul’s Tabanga turned out to be one of his best designs.

  The story told of a Pacific island native wrongfully executed for the murder of a fellow tribesman. His spirit survives in a weird-looking tree that begins growing out of the grave. A team of American scientists conducting research into localized effects of atomic testing by the U.S. government pry up the thing by its roots and take it back to their laboratory, where they discover it has developed a heart and circulatory system. Later, the creature escapes from the lab and begins a systematic search for the culprits who were really responsible for the native’s death. The monster is finally stopped when it falls into a pool of quicksand.

  After reading through the script, Blaisdell decided the Tabanga monster should have a rough, hard-edged, spidery appearance. It had to look like a tree, but an intelligent tree. It also had to look as if it could really hurt somebody. Paul envisioned the limbs as elongated branches tapering to twiglike “fingers” and “toes.” After completing front and back sketches of the design, he showed them to Bob Burns, who figured that the tree-creature would have to be brought to cinematic life as a marionette. “Either that, or it would have to be played by the world’s skinniest human being inside a suit,” Burns quipped.

  Blaisdell wasn’t concerned with how to bring the sketches to life; he was only being paid to provide a design on paper. Since the surface of the monster was supposed to resemble tree bark, Blaisdell prepared a 3-D sample fashioned from a thin sheet of block foam coated with latex. Using standard sculpting tools, he was able to “trench” the foam rubber and paint it in such a way that it looked remarkably like actual bark.

  The Milner brothers became concerned about the cost of reproducing Blaisdell’s two-dimensional design in three dimensions. Had the Tabanga been constructed using the sketches as exact blueprints, it would have had to be made as a stop-motion model, rod puppet, or marionette. There was clearly no way it would have been able to interact with the cast to the extent required by the script—at least not in 1957 and not without a more substantial special effects budget—so the Milners took Blaisdell’s illustrations to Hollywood’s Don Post Studios and had a standard rubber and latex monster costume made. Since Paul’s original design was so thin and spidery, the basic visual concept needed to be altered. The dimensions were enlarged so that a normal actor or stunt specialist could play the part as Paul had played the monsters in his own pictures. The end result was nowhere near as nightmarish as Blaisdell’s original concept, but there was no mistaking it for anything that might have wandered over from the Disney studios either.

  Although the acting is substandard and the production exudes an air of artificiality, From Hell It Came turned out to be nowhere near as ridiculous as it might have sounded. The Tabanga monster was effective, although it was shown a little too often to seem properly intimidating. Still, it looked like what it was supposed to look like: an ambulatory tree sporting the famous “Blaisdell scowl.” Michael Weldon, reviewing the film in his landmark Psychotronic Encyclopedia of Film, summed it up nicely when he called the Tabanga monster “the star of a six-year-old’s bad dream.”

  Blaisdell never got a chance to see his tree-creature go through its paces, at least not until the picture was finished and in the can. While the costume was under construction at Don Post Studios, Blaisdell and the Milner brothers suffered a falling out, so Paul wasn’t invited to the film set. When he caught up with From Hell It Came years later, he didn’t disparage the film too much: “I designed the Tabanga the way I thought it should look in terms of the script, and the people that built it did a damn good job of reproducing a prop that was a nice concept and certainly an original one, but one that was very awkward. My hat goes off to the guy who had to act the part of the walking tree [Chester Hayes]. I think he did a helluva good job under the circumstances.”

  Allied Artists brought out From Hell It Came a few weeks prior to AIP’s double-feature release of The Amazing Colossal Man and Cat Girl. They were up against The Unearthly, Enemy from Space, The Cyclops, Beginning of the End, X the Unknown, and The Unknown Terror, all released during the summer of 1957. None of the films lost money because monsters were bigger than ever.

  Blaisdell barely had time to catch his breath before American International was ringing his doorbell again, this time with an offer to work on a new science-fiction picture which happened to be a pet project of Jim Nicholson’s. For years, Nicholson had wanted to bring the classic concept of the Martian monster to the movie screen—“the little green guys with the big brainy heads,” as he put it.

  Blaisdell knew immediately what Nicholson was talking about. Over the years the concept of the little green man from Mars who was super-intelligent had cropped up repeatedly, usually in science-fiction and fantasy pulps of the 1920s, 1930s and 1940s. The pulp illustrators often depicted Martians as diminutive creatures with scrawny bodies and bulbous, oversized craniums. They almost always gripped a ray gun in one hand and held a screaming damsel-in-distress in the other.

  Nicholson had come up with another slam-bang film title: Invasion of the Saucer Men. As soon as he uttered those five little words, the AIP elite grew excited. Arkoff thought it was the best title Jim had come up with since I Was a Teenage Werewolf, and everyone was eager to get moving on the picture that would bring the classic Martian monster to cinematic life at long last. Even Blaisdell got caught up in the excitement. Holed up in Nicholson’s office, he and Nick began going over the fine points of the project’s special effects, deciding how many Martians constituted an invasion and whether Paul would play one of the Saucer Men himself (he did).

  The longer Blaisdell and Nicholson talked, the bigger the assignment seemed to get. Blaisdell promised he would have no problem manufacturing an entire army of little green men to take part in the film’s interstellar invasion, but Nicholson reminded him that the low-budget nature of the production precluded anything more than a scaled-down version of an interplanetary attack. They still called it an “invasion,” even though it was really more of a brief visit. (Somehow Visitation of the Saucer Men or Stopover of the Saucer Men or The Saucer Men Drop By Unexpectedly just didn’t carry the same impact.) By the time they finished talking, Blaisdell had agreed to provide a total of four Martian costumes (including a mechanized head and claw which would be used for most of the close-up action) and two miniature flying saucers.

  AIP had purchased the rights to a short story by Paul Fairman called “The Cosmic Frame” which became the basis for the new picture. The fiction piece was a light-hearted spoof, but AIP’s vision was that Invasion of the Saucer Men would be a straightforward monster movie just like its other genre productions, full of creeping shadows, thunder and lightning, screaming teenage girls, and bug-eyed monsters. This was the formula that had been so successful over the years, and no one saw any reason to change it. Accordingly, cowriters Robert J. Gurney, Jr., and Al Martin ignored the light-hearted tone of the Fairman story and fashioned a screenplay around the central idea of an alien race that frames an innocent Earthman for the murder of another human being.

  Teenagers became the heroes in this cinematic take on “The Cosmic Frame” because teenagers had become the focal point of all the latest AIP fantasy films. Most of the company’s earlier genre outings, like Day the World Ended and It Conquered the World, were for the most part populated by young adults (Marla English in The She-Creature) and middle-aged heroic types (Paul Birch in The Beast with a Million Eyes). I Was a Teenage Werewolf (1956) changed all that. Most of the new sci-fi and horror pictures were overwhelmingly teen-oriented. To capitalize on the success of the new image, AIP began adding youth-o
riented catchlines to its advertising. (“See! Teenagers vs. the Saucer-Men!”) If a picture didn’t have many teen elements, AIP simply retitled it to convince audiences otherwise, as happened with Roger Corman’s 1958 film Prehistoric World, which saw release as Teenage Caveman.

  Most of the teenagers in Invasion of the Saucer Men were rebels, not polite, law-abiding, sickly sweet “boys and girls next door.” They drank beer and partied all night in souped-up jalopies, drank beer and made out at Lovers’ Point, drank beer and razzed the resident backwoods farmer. (Doesn’t every American town have at least one?) For the first time, there were blatant sexual references on screen (“Hey, baby, can you tell me how to get to first base with you tonight?”) and characters whose sole occupation seemed to be infiltrating small country towns to “score.” Compared to previous AIP productions, Invasion of the Saucer Men was downright rowdy and randy.

  Eager to oversee production of his brain-child, Jim Nicholson decided to coproduce the film himself. Following Herman Cohen’s lead with Teenage Werewolf, Nicholson populated the cast with fresh, young faces, including Steve Terrell and Gloria Castillo, graduates of a series of juvenile delinquent films with titles like Dragstrip Girl (which featured a Paul Blaisdell cameo) and Runaway Daughters. In Saucer Men, both Terrell and Castillo would portray the boy and girl next door, virginal victims of the ogres from outer space.

  Although the film had been conceived as a straightforward science-fiction-monster movie, according to Paul Blaisdell, “it just sort of collapsed into a comedy” once filming got underway. Ideas central to the plot, such as the monsters’ ability to inject alcohol into their victims’ bodies via hypodermic-like fingers, as well as their physical appearance, seemed more funny than scary, and eventually a decision was made by Nicholson and director Edward L. Cahn to soften the tone of the film. Blaisdell later described the transition:

  We were watching the rushes day by day, and it seemed the further we went, the further the picture was getting fouled up in terms of the original story. Teenagers necking in a cow pasture? The whole thing was just so ludicrous it was natural to change it into a spoof or comedy. When Nick and Eddie made that decision, everybody picked up on it immediately, including our little Saucer Men buddies. We knew it was the right thing to do because it “felt” right. It involved a lot of extra work, especially as we were approaching the end of the filming, and during postproduction Lyn Osborne had to do a lot of extra narration. I also designed the opening titles which gave the film a comedic flavor from the very outset. But despite the turmoil, it turned into a very entertaining picture. And it made money from the first day it hit the box office. How many other films can you think of that changed direction 180 degrees halfway through production without becoming an artistic and financial mess?

  Invasion of the Saucer Men opens with a night shot of a creepy-looking country shack illuminated by flashes of thunder and lightning. Before we get a chance to settle into the macabre mood, a narrator’s voice intrudes, remarking sarcastically, “Spooky, huh?” This sets the tone for the rest of the film, which alternates between light-hearted comedy and dark-hearted grisliness. The narrator is Art Burns (Lyn Osbourne, who died shortly after the film was completed), who confesses to the viewer: “I gotta play it square with ya. Actually a plain old farmer lives in this house, but I learned a long time ago you gotta start your pitch with a bang.” Words of wisdom from the gods of grue at AIP.

  Art’s partner, a hellraising con-artist named Joe Gruen (Frank Gorshin), is convinced that Hicksburg, the town they’ve drifted into, is “a cinch for a quick buck” and intends to hang out for a few days to follow up the action. Art is fed up, though, and wants to return to their boardinghouse, get a good night’s sleep, and pull out of town in the morning. Their disagreement leads indirectly to Joe’s discovery of the film’s title creatures. Cruising alone through the countryside, Joe hears a high-pitched whine and sees a blinding light in the sky. A moment later a strange, manta-shaped UFO descends behind a group of trees. Joe follows the pulsating glow and locates the alien spacecraft parked smack in the middle of a cow pasture in Pelham Woods. He turns on his heel to rush back to the boardinghouse and tell Art all about what he’s discovered.

  A group of teenagers hanging out in front of the local soda shop are discussing the flying saucer phenomenon when they’re confronted by Lt. Wilkins (Douglas Henderson), an army specialist whose silent treatment gives the guys goose pimples. One of the teenagers is Johnny Carter (Steve Terrell), waiting here to meet his girl, Joan Hayden (Gloria Castillo). They plan on eloping that night because Joan’s father, town attorney Mr. Hayden (Don Shelton), won’t consent to their marriage. Hayden believes Johnny is a “roughneck,” but nothing could be further from the truth. He might dig making out with Joan at Lovers’ Point, but he has yet to shotgun his first beer, as we learn later in the picture. (Funny how “juvenile delinquency” and beer-drinking go hand-in-hand in this picture.)

  Joe makes his way back to the boardinghouse and wakes Art to tell him about the UFO. Art thinks Joe is drunk (he is, but that’s beside the point) and blows him off, so Joe takes off again on his own.

  Lt. Wilkins and his army superiors have been tracking the saucer’s movements on their radar. It seems the disk touched down in Pelham Woods, a lonely stretch of land that borders Old Man Larkin’s farm property. The cantankerous Larkin (Raymond Hatton, last seen in Roger Corman’s Day the World Ended) is completely unaware of the weird goings-on; what concerns him is the constant sneaking back and forth of carloads of teenagers who cut across his property to get to Lovers’ Point. He shakes his fist at the latest vehicle that cruises by, promising, “I’ll get the law after ’em!”

  Johnny and Joan, driving without lights so as not to disturb Larkin, nearly plow straight into the army jeep transporting Lt. Wilkins and his crew to the saucer’s landing site. As the jeep disappears around a thicket of trees, Johnny eases past Larkin’s house, reassuring his fiancée, “I could drive this road blindfolded.” Suddenly, out of the darkness scurries a fleeting shape. Johnny slams on the brakes but can’t avoid hitting the thing, whatever it is. There is a sickening crunch as metal and flesh are twisted together by the impact. Joan thinks they’ve run down a child, but a flash of lightning illuminates something utterly inhuman jammed under the car’s fender: a diminutive creature with a glistening, exposed brain. The car’s bumper is smeared with alien ichor. “What is it?” Joan asks, volunteering the obvious: “It’s disgusting!” Hidden from view underneath the bumper, the thing’s gnarled hand detaches itself from its crippled arm and creeps away with a life of its own. Needlelike projections slide out from its fingernails and puncture the car’s tire.

  When he hears the hiss of escaping air, Johnny figures the impact of the collision shoved the car’s fender into the tire. Without a spare, the couple have no recourse but to walk to the closest refuge from the storm, and that happens to be Larkin’s house. When they arrive, Larkin is nowhere to be found, so Johnny uses his telephone to call the police. Naturally, the cops think Johnny is playing a practical joke when he describes running over “a little green man.” As one cop remarks to his partner, “It’s Saturday night, that’s official.”

  A crack of thunder interrupts power to the house just as Larkin returns home. He notices a strong odor of alcohol and figures the youngsters have been drinking. “That’s funny,” says Joan, “I smell it too,” but neither of them has touched a drop. Larkin runs them off and warns them, “You tell your young friends to stay off of my property unless they want a backside full of rock salt.”

  By now Joe Gruen has made it back to Pelham Woods and is searching for something—anything—that will make him and Art a fortune. He pulls over when he sees Johnny’s abandoned car. Spying the crumpled form beneath the fender, Joe puts two and two together and figures this is the body of one of the spaceship’s extraterrestrial occupants. As much dough as he might have made showcasing a flying saucer, it’s a cinch people would pay even more to see an hon
est-to-goodness space man, but before he can pry the body away from the fender, he’s attacked by a gang of three more aliens—live ones—who repeatedly inject him with doses of pure alcohol from their deadly hypodermic fingers. Normally these Martians merely incapacitate their prey by stunning them senseless, but for someone who is soused to begin with, the hypodermic highballs prove to be fatal.

  Johnny and Joan, who have decided to go back to fix the flat, are puzzled when they spot one of the Martians hammering away at the fender of the car with some kind of weird mechanical device. “It’s one of those little things, a live one,” Johnny tells her. He thinks the creature is “punishing” the car for killing its friend, the way native savages might blame one of their rain gods for a thunderstorm, but actually this is all part of the Cosmic Frame.

  The kids decide to hike into town, but it’s not long before they hear the wail of a siren and see the flashing lights of a police car slicing through the trees. Joan figures that means the police decided to believe Johnny after all. Thinking the cops will be able to take care of any ornery alien critters hanging about, Johnny and Joan turn around and head back to the car. When they get there, the place is crawling with cops, but there’s not an alien in sight—including the one that was wedged beneath the fender of Johnny’s car.

  Having discovered Joe Gruen’s lifeless body in the bushes nearby, the cops decide to charge Johnny with manslaughter. At the police station, Joan demands they send for her father, who happens to be the town attorney. When he arrives, Mr. Hayden pooh-poohs the kids’ story about invaders from space but promises to try and contact Gruen’s roommate to talk him out of pressing charges against either of them. Suddenly the sound of an explosion rocks the air and while police attention is diverted, Johnny and Joan escape through an open window. Johnny steals an idling cruiser and heads back to Pelham Woods with Joan. “We’ve got to get some proof, something they’ll believe” Johnny tells her. “If we don’t, I’m going to jail.”