Editor’s Note, May 2022. This film is currently being restored for an official 2023 release from Gila Films. Information on that release, to follow. Now here’s our review from November of last year as result of our annual, November unpacking of a Mill Creek 50-film pack box set.

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“And they sung a new song, saying, Thou art worthy to take the book, and to open the seals thereof: for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by thy blood out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation.”
— Revelations 5:9, from the film’s ending title card, because mixing aliens with the bible was a hot ticket in the 1970s

Ancient Astronauts on Film

It all began with the 1970 film adaptation of the same name of Erich von Däniken’s 1968 worldwide best-seller Chariots of the Gods? — one that grossed $26 million in U.S. box office alone, and received an Academy Award nomination for best documentary feature.

The documentaries, as well as fictional movies — long before Close Encounters of the Third Kind came on the scene — were thou art loosed.

Rod Serling pulled a narration paycheck with In Search of Ancient Astronauts, In Search of Ancient Mysteries, and The Outer Space Connection (all 1973) for Sunn Classics; he also lamented about all sorts of weirdness with Encounter with the Unknown (1973). American National Enterprises gave us Mysteries from Beyond Planet Earth (1975). G. Brook Stanford, one the world’s earliest UFO journalists (or “saucerians” as they preferred), used his own book, Space-Craft from Beyond Three Dimensions (1959) to make his own Schick-Sunn Classics-styled document with Overlords of the U.F.O (1976). Film Ventures International jumped into the fray with The Force Beyond (1978). Then, Jack Palance and William Shatner, respectively, earned paychecks hosting the films The Unknown Force (1977), which tossed in psychics, miracle healers, and Man’s and the Earth’s untapped energies, while Bill got into the ancient-biblical astronauts game with Mysteries of the Gods (1977).

While it didn’t speak of aliens, Sunn Classics jumped in the deep end of the pool with In Search of Noah’s Ark (1976) and the “science” of Christianity with Beyond and Back (1978). Knowing that, if people were into biblical arks, they’d want a movie about the Son of Man, too, so they gave us In Search of Historic Jesus (1979), as well as movies about the alien-infested The Bermuda Triangle (1979), and the predictions of the end of man by Nostradamus with The Man Who Saw Tomorrow (1981).

Of course, when documentary-reenactment films — which, in a way, UFO: Target Earth is — began to fizzle in the Lucasian ripples, out came the-very-on-the-cheap Star Wars ripoffs from Sunn Classics, by way of the VHS-rental cousin Starship Invasions (1977) starring Robert Vaughn battling Christopher Lee: he in a black Gumby suit as the alien leader of an underwater pyramid base in the Bermuda Triangle. Both actors returned in Hangar 18 (1980) and End of the World (1977), respectively, with Lee in the latter as an alien masquerading as a Catholic Priest lording over a convent of alien-nuns (no, really).

Ed Hunt, the man behind Starship Invasions, previous examined the concepts of the Bible, humans and aliens with Point of No Return (1976), another fictional — “based in fact” — sci-fi thriller about an investigator looking into a series of violent deaths, via suicide and murder, which are “somehow” connected to UFOs and nuclear research. Then Hunt was back with a documentary proper: UFO’s Are Real (1979), featuring insights from respected military and science professionals.

Then, there was producer Robert Emenegger, he who gave a documentary with the same title as the book on which it was based, UFOs: Past, Present, and Future (1974); in the midst of Sunn Classics, with their box office rally of documentaries, Emenegger re-released it as a 1976 cash-in. Then, when Close Encounters of the Third Kind broke box office records, Emenegger brought it back, again, as UFOs: It Has Begun (1979). Emenegger, of course, was also in the live-action business and, with Star Wars dominating between 1977 to 1983, he pumped out ripoffs that made Sunn’s Robert Vaughn’s and Christopher Lee’s romps look like a Lucas opera, with The Killings at Outpost Zeta, PSI Factor, Captive, Beyond the Universe, Warp Speed, Time Warp, Escape from DS-3, and Lifepod — which starred the likes of Cameron Mitchell and Adam West, along with plenty of sets, prop, and stock footage recycling.

Who’s the Director?

Maybe, if Michael A. (Alessandro?) De Gaetano — the “power” behind UFO: Target Earth — secured the services of Cameron Mitchell, Adam West, Christopher Lee, and Robert Vaughn. Maybe if he booked Aldo Ray and Virginia Mayo, as he did for his second feature, Haunted (1977), this documentary-meets-reenactment-meets-live action (well, no action) drama amalgamate wouldn’t be so tragic.

Maybe . . . Ah, but guess what? Comic Phil Erickson, the ex-sidekick to Dick Van Dyke, when Dick was an up-and-coming stage comedian, and Montgomery Clift’s older brother (1953’s From Here to Eternity), Brooks, are in the cast. . . .

Yeah . . . Michael A. De Gaetano, aka Alessandro De Gaetano, whose career I do not know, seems to have made his producing, writing and directing debut with this UFO epic. Then, he did two more: Haunted (1977) and Scoring (1979), neither which I’ve seen or feel the need to search for: by titles alone, we’ll guess they are a ghost-horror and a T&A flick.

Then, our ol’ Uncle Mike, aka, Al, vanished . . . and I am of the opinion that’s where his career, ended. And he went of to sell used cars in Atlanta.

Did he return after a decade? No, I don’t think so.

I never trust the digital content mangers at the IMDb, as they’re constantly splitting resumes, due to film artisans using alternate names and aliases during their careers, or they’re database-merging unrelated artists due to similar names. I always look for a second source. But for Mike-Al, there is no second source.

So, no: I don’t believe the Allessandro deGaetano, the one who emerged ten years later to give us Bloodbath in Psycho Town (1989), is one and the same. And no, I do not want to see that film or dig into it any deeper: by title alone, I’ll guess it’s a slasher ripoff.

Then, our crazy Uncle Al (aka Michael?) — not Brescia, but we wish he was Alfonzo Brescia, for at least Star Odyssey was entertaining with its spunky awfulness — vanished, again, for another six years.

Then he came back, to give us . . .

Something called Project: Metalbeast (1995), then Butch Camp (1996), and wrote another one called, Neowolf (2010). The latter is about a band and a werewolf, well, just like — but admittedly better — than Alice Cooper’s Monster Dog. The first two are self-explanatory: yes, the latter is about gay men and lesbian women at a summer camp. And, if not for us diggin’ up obscurities for our latest “Rock ‘n’ Roll Week,” we wouldn’t have broached that wolf rocker, at all.

So, are they all the same “De Gaetano” auteur? Or two. Or three? Magic Google Ball says, “No” to the 8-Ball. I think we have three different Mike-Als IMDb-jumbled . . . then again, I could be wrong, and probably am, and have been before.

Okay, so that’s the mysterious Michael/Alessandro De Gaetano resume in a nutshell to the best of our knowledge. No patented B&S About Movies “Exploring” career featurette is required. Done and done.

A Bad Case of Star Wars-itis

Yes, I know I sound ridiculously pissy over a forgotten, 40-year old film . . . but Mill Creek box sets have that way about them. Yes, I admit I am acting like a dickhead bully kicking the dorky kid of the twin-plex set in the nuts, in this case: Micheal De Gaetano, who l leave wallowing in pain on the playground, as I hit the 7-11 for a Cherry Slurpie and nuked Bean Burrito with a smile on my face for a bully-job well done. You’d think, with enough American International and Crown International sci-fi flicks under my belt, I’d know better.

So, a long time ago, in twin-plex far, far away . . .

I was infected-beyond-cure by Star Wars Fever and the Boogie-Woogie Battlestar Galactica Flu. So, me, the naive movie goer obsessed with all things Lucasian and Grand Larsony, went to see UFO: Target Earth, as well as Star Pilot (1977), aka the decade-old repack of Mission Hydra: 2+5 (1966), at my local twin plex. And both sucked, not only Dianoga ass, but Wompa balls. I even went to see — in its very-limited, one-week U.S. theatrical run — the sequel-Battlestar Galactica film cut from the series, Mission Galactica: The Cylons Attack (1979), and drove 15 miles to do so.

Yes, it was a space-born sickness.

However, I am still pissed off that Michael-Alessandro “stole” my sweated-my-ass-off yard work money for this UFO biblical-aliens boondogglin’ hornswoggle. So yeah, this review is going to hurt, Mike. You know, like those mike booms that keep popping your actors in the head. What’s the deal, Mike? Did you hire the world’s shortest boom man in the history of film? (The more experienced film critic in me now knows: this was shot-on-video, then blown up for theatrical distribution: thus, the boom mike pulled into the frame. So that settles that, 50 years later.)

The Review . . . with Plot Spoilers

“On the afternoon of March 26, 1974, Alan Grimes, a young teaching fellow at the University of Gainesville, attempted to make a telephone call to a colleague to discuss some academic business. It was a call which was to change his life!”
— More cost-cutting voice overs, leading us to believe we’re to embark on a docu-reenactment flick of the Sunn Classic variety

So, while this all takes place two years before Steven Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind . . . don’t worry. Steve didn’t rip off UFO: Target Earth; the origins of CE3K date to his first full-length indie, Firelight, made in 1964 while still a teenager. However, let’s say we have an ersatz Roy Neary (aka Richard Dreyfuss) in Dr. Alan Grimes (aka the-dryer-than-toast Nick Plakias), and our faux-Jillian Guiler (aka Melinda Dillon) is Vivian, the psychic-abductee (cat-screeched to thespian nauseam by a thankfully one-movie-and-done Cynthia Cline).

Courtesy of poor editing — and the film opening with UFO photographs as its opening title cards role, then cuts into Blair Witch-styled, “eyewitness account” documentary interviews — it may not be perfectly clear to most, so we’ll clear it up. The young boy we meet in the opening of the film — dismissed by his mother when he complains, nightly, about the strange lights in his bedroom (“It was like a big star and it hurt” . . .”Oh, it’s just dreams, dear.”), is our hero-doctor.

Now, about that “strange light”: we don’t see it. Nor any saucers, or aliens, or any special effects: as we shouldn’t, since Michael A. De Gaetano — we come to learn these 50-years later — shoestringed his debut film, sans permits, for $70,000. (But I still won’t cut him a break. I’m celluloid-dicky that way.) So, to that end, and as is the case with any ultra-to-low-budget film, we’re exposition-heavy, as characters spew dialog about what they’ve seen. Yes, instead of seeing saucers that couldn’t escape Earth’s gravity (the “strange lights” in the bedroom) we’re told about them.

So, anyway . . . that kid grew up to become a Dr., or some type of communications specialist at a Georgia University . . . which allows him to accidentally intercept a top-secret government phone call (?) about UFO activity near a power plant that’s near a lake (plot point), with jets scrambled (again, we do not see this event).

So, obsessed with the event (again, young Alan’s been obsessed with UFOs since the bedroom lights, natch), he chats up his old astronomy professor (in an obvious, bad grey wig) — who gives us some exposition-babble via a lecture regarding the appearance of Halley’s Comet in 1066 A.D. coinciding with William the Conqueror’s conquest of England and the rise of the Islamic Empire. Oh, and the comet also caused the Crusades, the Great Black Plague, the Reformation, and the discovery of the New World. Oh, and that, always, after a comet arrives, there’s a flurry of UFO activity.

So the professor leads Doc Al to a UFO skeptic-inclined professor, Dr. Mansfield (another one-and-gone actress in LaVerne Light; her assistant is Tom Arcuragi, from William Girder’s Grizzly), as they discuss the old testament story about Jonah and the whale . . . and that a whale’s throat is too small to swallow a man — so it must have been an underwater UFO. And that leads us to our faux-Melinda Dillon (Cynthia Cline): a UFO abductee left “cursed” with psychic powers that gives her the ability to feel “dimensional energy.” That “feeling,” in a bit that predates Meg Ryan in When Harry Meet Sally: her joke-of-a-psychic-episode-with-the-aliens performance is more “fake orgasm” than alien-psychic episode.

So, with a psychic abductee on his side, Alan now has the “link” to the aliens he needs to track then down — and possibly stop an alien invasion. And he does, since the military officer he met with earlier to discuss linking the university’s and military’s “systems” to research the ongoing UFO sightings plaguing Atlanta, gives him the bum’s rush with a smile and handshake. Meanwhile, the skeptical Dr. Mansfield, who knows a thing or two about psychic abilities, but doesn’t buy Vivian’s gifts, tags along with Alan and Vivian to document the area’s UFO sightings, while also disproving Viv’s abilities, all of which takes them to a mysterious lake that may or may not have an alien craft at its bottom.

So, while at the lake, our trio (well, four, lets not forget Nick’s buddy, Dan Rivers) sets up some electronic equipment . . . and the oscilloscope’s patterns, apparently, indicates “something” is down there — and we know this because Vivian has one of her Meg Ryan faux-orgasms. Only the acting is so awful, it’s more like Elaine Benis, the Seinfeld-ripoff of Meg’s character. You know, the way George Costanza was a ripoff of the great Woody Allen.

Anyway . . . there is something below with “an energy force with a flight pattern,” Alan tells us. . . . So, with that flux of the oscilloscope, Alan is summoned by an alien presence (again, heard, not seen). The alien also calls out “Viv-i-ian” over a walkie talkie, so she can have another Julia Louis-Dreyfuss bad-thespian freakout-moment.

Finally. Plot movement.

The alien tells us the story of his becoming trapped on Earth as “formless energy” over 1000 years ago. And that Alan is one of only four in the history of the human race to “ascend” the human form to understand alien life (it’s not mentioned via dialog, but if you know your bible: the other three would be Enoch, Elijah, and the Virgin Mary). Now, Alan must set aside his fear and die, as a “sacrifice” to give the aliens the energy they need to return home. And while he’s not ripping of CE3K, De Gaetano pinches 2001: A Space Odyssey: for as Alan walks to — and into — the lake, he ages.

As ol’ buddy Dan pulls Alan’s skeletal remains from the lake, Alan’s “energy,” i.e., spirit, departs into space. And we actually do “see” the alien face from the poster: it appears on a TV monitor at the lakeside camp. And yes, we do, finally, get some (not so) special effects: three-minutes worth of a pre-Windows screensaver light show via a TV monitor — which represents Alan’s Dave Bowman-esque “light-spirit” ascending to the stars.

Wrapping It Up

Okay, I’ll give credit to where credit is due.

De Gaetano — as I watch this almost five decades after the twin-cinema fact (he was 36 when he made this) — was certainly Erich von Däniken-ambitious in his debut endeavor. He worked in Halley’s Comet, bible parables, and psychic phenomenon, and is certainly a student of all of those Sunn Classics documentaries we spoke of, earlier. The only thing that is missing are the Pleiadians (but, again, Ed Hunt has you covered with UFO’s Are Real), the Lemurians (the 2007 low-fi document Beyond Lemuria has you covered), and the Shavers (Gene Autry, believe it or not, has you covered with Phantom Empire, aka Men with Steel Faces). No, the Unarius UFO Cult in El Cajon, California, didn’t make this (but they have you covered in 2012’s Children of the Stars): Mr. De Gaetano from Georgia, did. His Spielbergian concept is there: the budget, however, is not.

Sure, now, all these years later, it’s not all that bad, but still: not having any aliens — expect that color-smudgy face that shows up on a TV — or spaceships — all supplanted by awful, exposition-thespians — kills it. The script, however, has its intelligent and insightful moments. The alien(s) abducting Alan as a little boy, for their own, nefarious purposes of getting home, is both creepy and, yet, sad. And some of the locations De Gaetano secured on his $70,000 budget are budget-impressive (the bar scene is well-done), and the outdoor shots are competent, as well. So, it’s not a total Ed Wood-meets-Larry Buchanan loss. No doubt, there’s a lot of volunteer (background) acting and location-donations, afoot, so now: my more knowledgeable film critic-side gives Mike-Al a lot of critical slack that my once film-loving child, did not: I now see this as a more ambitious, intelligent-inversion of a Don Dohler faux-Star Wars joint, such as The Alien Factor.

Where to Watch, Where to Buy, etc.

In Print: According to Howard Hughes, in the pages of his book Outer Limits: The Filmgoers’ Guide to Great Science Fiction Films (2014), god bless him: he dug deeper into Alessandro De Gaetano’s film. Double-H tell us the film shot-on-location in and around Atlanta, Georgia, at the Fernbank Science Center (Wikipage), the historic Manuel’s Tavern (they have a Wikipage!), and Stone Mountain Park (website). We also learned UFO: Target Earth made the rounds in Halloween 1974 on a double-bill with the Vincent Price-narrated documentary, The Devil’s Triangle. In addition, Centrum gave the film a full-court press, earning the film cover stories in two Spring-Summer ’74 issues of Box Office Magazine.

The ’70s Progressive Rock Sidebar: In this writer’s quest to chronicle all things Kim Milford (Song of the Succubus, Rock-a-Die, Baby), Kim Milford’s post-Moon band from those two films — which he formed with remnants from Genya Ravan`s Ten Wheel Drive (recorded for Polydor and Capitol) — called Eclipse, provides a song that’s alternately referred by Milford fans, based on the song’s opening verses, as “Between the Ceiling and the Sky” and “Between the Earth and the Moon.” However, per the film’s opening credits, the song is actually titled “Between the Attic and the Moon.”

However, it’s debated that it’s Kim Milford on lead vocals . . . or if Eclipse even features members of Ten Wheel Drive.

The debate is the result of the song in question being produced by Patrick Colecchio — who managed the ’60s California “sunshine pop” outfit the Association (“Cherish,” “Windy,” “Along Comes Mary”) for eight years from 1966 to 1974 (then on and off until the early ’80s) — many believed the song was written/performed by the Association incognito. By then, the band’s best-known vocalist from those chart-topping hits, Terry Kirkman, left the band and was replaced by Association drummer-background vocalist Ted Bluechel, Jr. from 1974 until 1979.

So, is it Kirkman, Bluechel, or Milford — backed by members of the Association — singing lead vocals?

For a period of time, Kim Milford — who cut late ’60s singles for Decca Records with Ron Dante (the Archies/anything Don Kirshner-connected) was plucked from a production of the hippie musical Hair for an ill-fated, short-lived frontman post in Beck, Bogert & Appice — was managed by Bill Acoin, known for his work with Kiss, Starz, as well as creating solo careers for Billy Squire (out of the ashes of A&M’s Piper) and Billy Idol (out of the ashes of Chrysalis’s Generation X). Prior to his Acoin years: Milford, it seems was managed, or the very least produced, by Patrick Colecchio.

But we could be wrong about that.

As for the (too loud) background music heard at the bar: We’ve been unable to track down the uncredited song that we’re guessing is called “Country Love.” And it doesn’t sound — to these ears — anything like the Association or Milford would produce.

But we could be wrong about that, too.

You can learn more about Kim Milford’s extensive career on the stage, screen, television, and record with my in-depth biography, “Kim Milford: Rocky Horror, Jeff Beck, Corvettes and Lasers,” on Medium.

Promo Stills: I can’t believe all of the black & white promotional stills for this film available for sale online. You can check them out for yourself: Photo 1, Photo 2, Photo 3, Photo 4, Photo 5, Photo 6.

We also found this Centrum Releasing one-sheet (used for one of the ’74 Box Office Magazine covers) courtesy of Imagenes Espanoles and an KRKE/New Mexico radio print-ad courtesy of imgur.

And we found these two DVD covers:

On DVD: As you can tell from the above Star Pilot and Eyes Behind the Stars (unlike UFO: Target Earth, which predates CE3K, Eyes actually is a ripoff of CE3K) two-fer repacks: UFO: Target Earth is easily found on DVD as a standalone film, in multi-packs, and yes, even on Mill Creek Box Sets (in this case, their Nightmare Worlds 50-Film Pack/IMDb track listing). It’s also, very appropriately — if you know your Larry Buchanan’s works — packed with Creature of Destruction (1967) in a two-fer. And beware: all of those presses are copies ripped from either the 1989 VHS (seen above) or grey-marketed off the film’s numerous online rips.

UFO: Target Earth reappears, again, alongside Creature of Destruction, on RetroMedia Entertainment’s Mad Monster Rally 3-disc/box 9-film set issued in 2008 — available both in single discs or one-boxed set. Easily found on Amazon and eBay, the set also features The Blood Seekers (aka 1971’s Blood Thirst), Blood Stalkers (1978), The Cremators (1972), Hobgoblins (1988), House of Blood (aka 1973’s House of Terror), Flying Saucer Mystery (1950; a bogus documentary), and Zombies (aka 1970’s I Eat Your Skin).

Online Streaming: As we go to press, Tubi pulled their upload of the full film — but Mill Creek keeps recycling it on their bargain box sets.

As of Summer 2022, Red Rocket Media returns UFO: Target Earth to Tubi — in an edited form that runs 73 minutes as it cuts the opening credits (we think, via music licensing issues) — to watch on your PC, laptop, or Smart TV. Meanwhile, the Xumo online plaform uploaded an official version of UFO: Target Earth — with its full opening credits — that runs 77 minutes.

In fact, after it’s initial drive-in run that clocked in at 86-minutes, the later Simitar VHS (behind a lot of Jackie Chan and Godzilla films coming to the U.S.) — and copies of those tapes — clock in at 80 and 77 minutes. Over the years, all three versions have come and gone as online rips on various platforms. (You can learn more about that VHS shingle at VHS Collector and Wikipedia.) Two years later (which cut of the film, is unknown), the film made its television debut as a CBS Late Movie on January 9, 1976, then moved to UHF-TV syndication throughout the late ’70s.

The 2023 Restoration: In June 2022, Gila Films announced production began on an authorized, Blu-ray and DVD restoration from original, 1973 camera elements — with the full support of Michael Alessandro de Gaetano. It will include his director’s commentary, as well as a full-color booklet with the full, correct story behind the film . . . which we guessed at via the web-Intel we had at the time of this writing. The release will mark the first time the film’s original aspect ratio has been seen since its theatrical screenings.

Gila is always updating with new info and teasing with various promo materials, so do visit their Facebook page to keep up-to-date with the release.

Bravo to Gila Films, for passionately-made films like UFO: Target Earth by VHS-analog trench warriors like Michael Alessandro de Gaetano deserve that little-extra, special effort-of-affection in preserving them for later film lovers to discover.

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It’s with great regret that we’ve learned Michael Alessandro de Gaetano passed away on a Sunday evening, June 11, 2023, in Arizona at the age of 85. You can read his obituary at Horror News.net, rife with new, uncovered trivia about his films and career.

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About the Author: You can learn more about the writings of R.D Francis on Facebook. He also writes for B&S About Movies.

After reviewing the made-in-Georgia Kubrick-Spielberg amalgamate that is UFO: Target Earth (1974), my mind — thanks to their somewhat similar titles (all of these ’70 UFO doc-titles are interchangeable, anyway) — drifted back to this documentary by Canadian filmmaker Ed Hunt.

Ed Hunt is a guy that carries a lot of respect around the B&S About Movies cubicles. He made eleven films, ten which he wrote. As most writer-directors starting out (Howard Avedis, Norman J. Warren), Ed Hunt made softcore skinflicks, three, in fact: The Freudian Thing, Corrupted, and Diary of a Sinner between 1969 and 1974.

Sam, the bossman who guides the U.S.S B&S About Movies down the Allegheny confluence, always errs to the side of Ed’s John Carpenterian take on the ’60s crazy-kid romp The Bad Seed by the way of Bloody Birthday (1981). For yours truly, always Ed’s the much-ran USA Network ditty, The Brain (1988), hits my VHS-spot. The twain between Sam and myself then meets with Ed’s utterly bonkers contribution to the Star Wars cycle of films with Starship Invasions (1977) — its tale of an intergalactic “League of Races” secluded in an underwater pyramid lorded by Christopher Lee’s Captain Rameses, adorned in a one-piece, black Gumby suit.

Oh, but Ed Hunt’s love of UFOs and extraterrestrials dates to his first film proper, his fourth film that broke away from his softcore skinners.

The impossible-to-find-on-VHS Point of No Return (1976), which served as the warm-up for Starship Invasions, was also cobbled from “actual UFO accounts.” That pre-Lucasian sci-fi thriller concerns an investigator looking into a series of violent deaths, via suicide and murder, which are “somehow” connected to UFOs and nuclear research — a plot device also repurposed in Starship Invasions.

So, with that bit of Lucasian-Spielbergian-inspired hokum of alien-induced suicides and underwater Egyptians out of the way — and after polishing off a paranoia-world plague piece known as Plague (1979) — it was time for Ed to get serious about his obsession with UFOs and aliens.

Sure, for the many exposed to these same teachings by Giorgio A. Tsoukalos of the long-running Ancient Aliens series on The History Channel or A&E’s Mysteries of the Bible, you’ve heard all of this bibilical-aliens stuff before. However, back in the ’70s, with only three major networks and a smattering of local UHF channels to choose from, the only way you got your documentary download on aliens, the world’s and the universe’s unknowns, was to hit a local drive-in or twin-plex to watch theatrical documentaries.

If you need more UFO documentaries/reenactments — but, be warned, these are pretty dry and overly-repetitive cheapjack cash-ins — there’s the ex-“Midnight Movie” romps UFOs: Past, Present, and Future (1974; You Tube), Overlords of the UFO (1976; You Tube), UFO: Top Secret (1978; You Tube), the most psychedelic-tripping of them all: UFO – Exclusive (1979; You Tube), and the forever-lost UFOs: Are We Alone? (1979).

Oh, yes, it was the height of Star Wars-mania.

So, if distributors weren’t repackaging their pre-Lucasian wares produced in a post-Erich von Däniken/Stanley Kubrick world, they made “new” flicks, which, of course, stock-raided their own films for footage. We, the wee-lads of the ’70s, went to see all of these — and Ed Hunt’s UFO’s Are Real — as “Midnight Movies.” Of course, we had weed, fifths of liquor, and radio station swag as incentive to ease us through them.

Radio stations?

Yep. Radio stations sponsored “Midnight Movies” back in the day. I, myself, won a pair of tickets to see Luigi Cozzi’s Starcrash from a radio station giveaway.

But I digress, again.

The plots of all of these UFOuments are are pretty much the same, with the tale of the world’s most famous abductees of the ’60s, Barney and Betty Hill, the Bermuda Triangle, the missing five Avenger planes of Flight 19 from 1945, the Rosewell crash, Bigfoot tie-ins, and submarine technology based on UFOs, documented, ad nauseam. (The Hills had their own movie proper with 1975’s The UFO Incident; starring James Earl Jones as Barney Hill.)

Where Ed Hunt’s document detracts in quality from all of the low-budget knockoffs of the more-skilled Sunn Classics progenitors — which that studio made in the backwash of their own box-office bonanza with 1970’s Chariots of the Gods? — is that Hunt either filmed or secured fresh material. So we hear from never-before-interviewed air force pilots, army officers, eyewitnesses, as well as from the film’s narrator-producer Brandon Chase’s colleges Ted Phillips and Bruce Maccabee, as well as Wendelle Stevens, Marjorie Fish, and Stanton Friedman (who also contributed as a co-screenwriter to Ed Hunt). Now, those names mean nothing today, but back in the ’70s, these “saucerians” were always popping up on TV anytime the subject of aliens and UFOs needed discussing.

The real highlight — which ties back to Hunt’s Gumby-nauts from the Constellation Orion in Starship Invasions — is the appearance of Billy Meier; the infamous Swiss farmer speaks at length with his ongoing, since childhood friendship with the Pleiadians*, itself an oft-read tale among UFOlogists that fueled Georgian filmmaker Micheal De Gaetano developing the lead character in his film, UFO: Target Earth.

While Ed Hunt obviously created this fact-based passion project to prove UFOs are, in fact, real, on a shoestring, it’s still the best of the low-budget alien documentaries of that bygone era when man was desperate for answers as to our part and place in the universe of our post-Lucasian world.

You can watch UFO’s Are Real on You Tube and You Tube.

* Learn more about them with the book Bringers of the Dawn: Teachings from the Pleiadians (1992) and this “Nordic Aliens” entry on Wikipedia.

About the Author: You can learn more about the writings of R.D Francis on Facebook. He also writes for B&S About Movies.

“When you finish watching this, R.D., please let me know if the house ‘vanished,’ and if so, where did it go?” *
— Bill Van Ryn, Drive-In Asylum

To start off this review, I’ve opted to use the Italian theatrical one-sheet — the title translates as the effective and logical, The Shadow of the Murderer — that gives this fourth film by Spanish writer and director José Ramón Larraz a decidedly giallo feel, but it’s not. Yeah, we are back to that ol’ “it’s not a giallo” debate that applies to Larraz’s directorial debut, 1970’s Whirlpool, and his 1971 follow up, Deviation — both considered Hitchcockian erotic thrillers (rife with lesbianism, natch) that lean towards the bloodless psychological. That debate continues with what I believe to be the quintessential Larraz production: his more subtle, restrained sixth production, Symptoms (1974). Courtesy of its lesbian subtext, it was Larraz’s seventh film, the Spanish-British co-produced Vampyres (1974), that became his best known, most successful film.

Originally known in its homeland as Violación y…?, aka Rape and?, the eventual title settled on for the English-speaking, overseas international marketplace was the generic Scream and Die. Meanwhile, in the U.S. and the U.K., The House That Vanished title was marketed. However, before that title appeared on U.S. drive-in screens, it went by two other, sexploitive titles: Don’t Go in the Bedroom and Please! Don’t Go in the Bedroom. Four years gone, the film was still barnstormin’ across American drive-ins as a double-biller under the (idiotic) titles Psycho Sex Fiend and Psycho Sex.

Okay, let’s load her up and figure out where the house, went. . . .

Valerie Jennings (Scotish-born British Playboy and Penthouse model Andrea Allan; she previously appeared in several episodes of the U.S.-imported British series UFO and Space: 1999) takes up with Terry, a photographer who sidelines as a petty jewel thief. While on a trip through the countryside, they become lost in a fog-shrouded darkness. For help and shelter they break into a secluded, what seems abandoned country home — and look for jewels. Instead, they find the passports of multiple women. When another couple enters the home, they hide — and witness a woman’s sex-murder-by-switchblade.

Becoming separated from Terry (an in-his-debut Alex Leppard; lots of British TV) and barely escaping with her life, Valerie returns to London — and discovers Terry never returned (well, his-now-trashed car, does; and a photo from her still-in-the-backseat modeling portfolio is missing). Not wanting to implicate herself in the robbery, she doesn’t report Terry’s disappearance (“You know how he’s always ‘off,’ without telling anyone.”), instead choosing — with her friends (a couple who owns a pet monkey for no particular herring-reason) — to try to find the house on her own.

Oh, yes. True to the title: they can’t find the house**. And true to any smudge-proof make-up cutie of the Spanish and Italian variety (see Paul Naschy’s Panic Beats for more on that horror phenomenon): in the wake a loved one’s murder or disappearance, Valerie finds a new love. But our timid sculptor, Paul (Larraz stock player Karl Lanchbury; four films, up to Vampyres), in addition to bedding Val, has an incestuous affair with his aunt (they make ceramic theatre masks, aka death masks “. . . like the ancient Incas used to make.”). And true to any Spanish or Italian Hitchcockian film noir: Valerie’s model-flat mate is raped and murdered (Judy Matheson of 1971’s Lust for a Vampire). Coincidence? That new, floor-below eccentric neighbor who raises pigeons (Peter Forbes-Robertson; 1966’s Island of Terror with Peter Cushing), is he behind the sudden rash of strange goings on in the building? Do all of those strange events lead Valerie back to the “house that vanished”? Do we see giallo-black gloves-in-POV? Does Valerie find Terry’s body, only to discover Paul and his aunt (Maggie Walker; the 1973 British comic strip adaptation, Tiffany Jones, and fellow 1974 sexploiter, Escort Girls) are behind it all?

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So, to answer the $1.98 Beauty Pageant question for Bill Van Ryn: Was the house really there in the first place? Was it a “ghost house” that only appears so as to swallow the souls of weary travelers? Where did it go?

My take is that Paul and his incestuous aunt are ghosts. When travelers come by, the house appears, spews a fog, the travelers become disoriented, and the house “takes” them; the masks they make are from their victims. Since Valerie got away, Paul and his aunt came to the city to lure her back to the house. So, the house didn’t so much “vanish,” as it was never really there in the first place. You know, like that Scottish village in Brigadoon (1954) with Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse that Herschell Gordon Lewis clipped for Two Thousand Maniacs! (1964). Then, when Paul murdered his pedophilic Aunt Susanna to save Valerie, it “killed” the spirit of house (Paul’s grandparents and parents lived there; his father committed suicide in the house because his “mother was too beautiful,” etc.) — and it couldn’t “vanish” anymore, so the cops found it.

I mean, if Wes Craven can steal from Ingmar Bergman . . . does that makes sense? Larraz, well screenwriter Derek Ford, clipped Brigadoon?

“What the fuck, R.D.? I think the simpler version is that the house never actually vanished and Valerie was just an idiot who couldn’t find the house. As for Aunt Suzanna: She’s one of those sociopathic hagsploitation chicks*˟ you dig so much who used Paul to destroy the youth and beauty of the younger women Paul kept falling for, much to her incestuous dismay.”

“Valarie is a dumb bitch?’ You know what, Bill, you’re right. That’s why you run a magazine and I am just some schmuck in Pittsburgh writing movie reviews down in his mother’s basement as I wait for her to bring me my lunch of raw goat livers and a glass of milk.”

A what-the-fuck glaze permeates Bill’s bearded face. A dismissive puff of cigar billows from his lips.

“Don’t worry. It’s just an obscure reference to Brazilian filmmaker Fauzi Mansur’s Ritual of Death. Just being creative, working in those hyperlinks,” I reply to Bill, full knowing he ain’t buying into my shit. For that liver mommy’s serving is not of goat . . . but human.

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Is The House That Vanished a little slow? Sure, you can see why American International Pictures trimmed 15 minutes from its original 99-minute runtime for U.S. distribution. The trade off is that the noir-cum-giallo proceedings become confusing (and you lose the extended rape scene, the hetro and incestual sex scenes). Are the yellowed frames as good as my cherished Symptoms and Vampyres? Eh, we’re lost between the two. Larraz, as his celluloid modus operandi: everything is artfully framed and shot, there is plenty of mystery (monkeys, pigeons, death masks, taxidermy heads, car junk yards . . . all that is missing is fellow Spaniard Bigas Luna’s snails from Anguish — which also had pigeons . . . mating with snails), the mood lingers and the atmosphere drips. So, you may say, “Boring. Nothing happens.” I say this is still one of Larraz’s finest. One thing is for sure: this is not “Wes Craven” in the least.

“Wes Craven?”

Yeah. The reason this fourth film from José Ramón Larraz is lost, forgotten, and sometimes, hated: its U.S. marketing — of which he had no control.

The U.S. home video prints issued by Home Media Entertainment (1984) and Video Treasures (1988) under The House That Vanished title run at 84 minutes: the same title and length as the American International Pictures cut (1974) issued to drive-ins. Those home video prints are 15 minutes shorter than the 99-minute drive-in version that first screened under the title of Please! Don’t Go in the Bedroom in December of 1973. Almost a year later, after making the rounds at the same 99-minute length as Scream . . . and Die!, AIP acquired the film in October 1974 for a wider, domestic distribution: they cut the film down to 84 minutes and retitled it as an ersatz Craven clone.

As we discussed in our two-fer review of The Last Victim (1975) and Forced Entry (1973), and Death Weekend (1976): the runaway box office of Wes Craven’s The Last House on the Left (1972) — itself a sloppy n’ scuzzy, grindhouse remake of Ingmar Bergman’s tasteful-superior The Virgin Spring (1960) — inspired a slew of copycats. It was never Larraz’s intent to create a “faux” sequel, as was the case with the worsening, revenge-rape sub-genre entries of Roger Watkin’s Last House on a Dead End Street (1977) and Francesco Prosperi’s The Last House on the Beach (1978).

Larraz was — as Canadian William Fruet — a victim of the American International Pictures marketing department. Freut was on a higher road, in his emulating Sam Peckinpaw’s Straw Dogs (1971) from 20th Century Fox and John Boorman’s Deliverance (1972) from Warner Bros. Death Weekend became more wildly known on the U.S. drive-in circuit as an ersatz Wes Craven sequel, The House by the Lake. That marketing, of course, didn’t work: the movie bombed.

In Larraz’s case, the marketing fared even worse because, not only is The House That Vanished not a gory, Italian-styled giallo nor a graphic, rape-revenge exploitation film: it’s a psychological, supernatural ghost story, akin to his previous work, Symptoms. But a buck is a buck, so drive-in audiences were duped by a theatrical one-sheet that mocked Wes Craven’s The Last House on the Left — complete with its infamous “It’s Only a Movie” tagline.

It’s only a crappy marketing plan . . . it’s only a crappy marketing plan . . .

Critical Flotsam, Links, Where to Watch

Oh, yes, the faux “The Last House on the Left” sequels continue . . . with The Horrible House on the Hill, aka The Devil Times Five, which also rips the Last House poster art. Oh, yes. It can happen to you!

A very cool You Tube portal, Belz’s Movies From the Past has done us a solid and uploaded the original, Scream . . . and Die! 99-minute print of the film (an age-restricted account sign-in) — and here’s the original trailer. However, we found an alternate upload on You Tube (it’s five minutes shorter . . . but seem to be the same cut). When you visit Drive-In Asylum Facebook, search for “The House That Vanished” and you’ll discover several U.S. drive-in newsprint ads to enjoy from the film.

To continue your exploration of José Ramón Larraz’s works, visit our reviews for his later (and I feel, weaker), more American-slasher oriented works Estigma (1980), Rest in Pieces (1987), Edge of the Axe (1988), and his final (U.S.) film, Deadly Manor (1990). We also speak of his works in our Spanish horror reviews of León Klimovsky’s The Vampires Night Orgy and Paul Naschy’s Horror Rises from the Tomb, Panic Beats, and The People Who Own the Dark.

We’ve since done a week-long tribute to José Ramón Larraz’s works in July 2022 — including an admittedly less unhinged second take on this film. Yeah, we love him!

As for that name of Derek Ford credited as the screenwriter: No, that’s not a nom de plume for Larraz. Ford’s writing credits include the early sexploitive smutter, Secret Rites (1971), the Peter Cushing vehicle Corruption (1968), and the Christmas-based slasher Don’t Open Till Christmas (1984). Amid his fifteen credits as a director, Ford gave us the “No False Metal” classic (well, it is to us), Blood Tracks (1985), as well as the tech-horror, The Urge to Kill (1989), which he also wrote.

Bill? Where are you? Bill? Bill, you fuck. Figures he’d vanish when there’s all of this monkey and pigeon shit to clean up. Why were there even pigeons and monkeys in the movie?

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* There really is a tale about “The House That Vanished,” as this BBC Radio Four broadcast, explains.

** Other houses that may or not be there: The Bride (1973), which also Craven-aka’d during its drive-in life as Last House on Massacre Street. Warlock Moon (1973) has one as well, but that was more of a health spa than a house. No alternate “street” title for that one, but Joe Spano, later of TV’s Hill Street Blues, stars.

*˟ Mr. Van Ryn speaks truths: We dove down that hagsploitation rabbit hole with our review of The Night God Screamed.

About the Author: You can learn more about the writings of R.D Francis on Facebook. He also writes for B&S About Movies.