He didn't respond, so I bawled and crawled from the bedroom into the yard and over to the car. I managed enough strength to pull myself and sidekick chest mud and grass stains up into the driver's seat. I turned the ignition key. The engine started, dadgummit. I aimed the wheels due north for Chattanooga.
A giant hand descended from a fluffy cloud over the highway, grabbed my vehicle's roof between a gargantuan index finger and exemplary opposible thumb. With a lightning fast twist of that wrist, the car spun around, now pointed south. The hand gave my trusty coupe a powerful nudge, so I drove towards Atlanta and the Plaza Theatre, host to the "Robot Monster" debacle. I was going to watch the motion picture after all.
Don't believe the hyperbole you saw in the coming attractions trailer (above).
That boast is exaggerated by two-thirds. "Robot Monster" is Underwhelming! Coma Inducing! Baffling!
The exposition descends into less plausibility as it goes along. The epic is set in a desert with nowhere to deep dive, excepting the soapy reservoir of the villain's evil Billion Bubble Machine. The plot is a shambles. Continuity changes inexplicably, and in the middle of this end-of-the-world tale, stock footage of predatory lizards impersonating dinosaurs pop into sight with no reasoning or table manners.
I fingered the shutter button on my camera -- and, unscrewing the bulb, an aisle light socket.
Hmmm. Maybe this flick is electrifying.
Either me or the snapshots got fuzzy. You smell smoldering hair?
The film is known as "Robot Monster," "Monster From Mars," "Monsters From the Moon," and a stultifying, soul-sapping heap.
Over the course of a misspent life, I have had the prickly heat of seeing "Robot Monster" in 3-D, in 2-D, and in this newly-revealed process the Plaza calls "Super HypnoPrismaScope!" Additionally, all showings of the flick were presented in the miracle of 37-Z.
The handsome cardboard-mounted "Magic Glasses" lenses issued to the audience added a dash of rainbow colors to the black-and-white 2-D print projected onto the screen. Multiple identical images dazzled, blurred, and swirled around my migraine.
The effect suggested the point-of-view visions of a housefly. I prayed to flit into an oncoming windshield.
By the end of the millennium (this cinematic sucker is A LONG 66 minutes!), the Robot Monster has fallen smitten to the charms of the 1-D, overacting Earth sweet thang. He babenaps her across an apocalyptic wasteland, grasping the helpless lass in his arm shags. She's hot for creature.
Eventually, the movie concluded. I located my pulse. It was already in the car with the air conditioner on.
In fairness, perhaps there had been a misprint. Maybe the preview trailer was meant to read:
If I ever see "Robot Monster" again, it won't be in 2-D. It won't be in 3-D. It won't be in TV. It will be in Pepto-Bismol.