The Undead

Shot over roughly one week in a converted supermarket decked out with makeshift forest foliage and an overload of (toxic) fake fog for about $75,000 of Roger Corman’s own money, The Undead is no doubt a bare-bones quickie, even by Corman standards. Still, this lesser-known early film of his holds up shockingly well nearly 70 years later. Of the insane count of nine features released in 1957 that were directed by Corman—a year’s burst of creative virility perhaps rivaled only by Jess Franco in his prime—just Not of This Earth and Attack of the Crab Monsters have held traction, but The Undead should stand alongside them.

Despite the implications of the film’s title—originally conceived as The Trance of Diana Love—there are no zombies, ghosts, or vampires in sight. Instead, we get a strange story of time-travel reincarnation, in which sex worker Diana (Pamela Duncan) willingly takes part in a parapsychologist’s hypnosis experiment that will bring her back to the Middle Ages and into the form of Helene, a “witch” awaiting public execution. This wrongly accused victim is apparently a past incarnation of Diana—women don’t have it easy in any time period!—and the present-day Diana is able to communicate telepathically with the medieval one, helping to guide her escape. Pendragon (Richard Garland), Helene’s beloved knight in shining armor, also seeks her salvation, while the wickedly jealous actual witch Livia (a gorgeous Allison Hayes, best known today as the 50-Foot Woman) and her imp sidekick (Billy Barty) are determined to throw him off track.

The action moves at a brisk clip, with barely a dull moment in the film’s 71 minutes. How could there be, with all the shape-shifting involving iguanas, cats, spiders, birds, and bats, each transformation enacted in a sparky puff? Or the random dance by a trio of cool-looking women summoned from the grave—the lone presence of the undead?—by their master, a cackling, pitchfork-wielding Satan (Richard Devon), who also narrates the film? Or with Dick Miller making a brief appearance as a leper who sells him his soul for a cure?

 As absolutely bonkers as it all sounds—it was one of the many movies bearing Corman’s name to become a Mystery Science Theater 3000 target—the film’s script by Corman regulars Charles B. Griffith and Mark Hanna is sharp and imaginative enough that audiences can safely approach it with more than perverse curiosity. As with any time-travel story, it’s best not to think too hard—or at all—about the details of its plot, and instead just flow with it. So with the proper stance, you can enjoy The Undead as much as Joe Dante apparently does. And it must be mentioned: the out-of-this-world poster art from preeminent B-movie designer Albert Kallis seriously ups the game.