Send us a text

In this episode of The Introverted Obelisk, we prowl the drafty halls of The Bat (1959), a murder mystery that promises a terrifying faceless killer but mostly delivers a parade of suspects tripping over blueprints. Agnes Moorehead stars as Cornelia Van Gorder, a sharp-witted mystery novelist renting a sprawling mansion called The Oaks — which comes furnished with hidden rooms, suspicious servants, and a serial killer with a steel claw for a hand. Vincent Price also shows up as Dr. Malcolm Wells, a physician whose hobbies include bats, embezzlers, and sinister monologues.

I walk you through the revolving-door plot: embezzled securities hidden in the house, relatives and witnesses turning up conveniently, and the Bat breaking in every other scene like a home renovation enthusiast with a murder streak. The police prove about as effective as a screen door on a submarine, while Cornelia holds everything together with intelligence, sarcasm, and more initiative than the entire male cast combined.

By the time the Bat is finally unmasked, the only surprise is how long it took anyone to notice. It’s less a horror film than a reminder that sometimes the only thing scarier than a clawed killer is a detective who can’t detect.

Support the show

Send us a text

In this episode of The Introverted Obelisk, we peel back the fur suit on The Ape (1940), a Poverty Row shocker where Boris Karloff proves that even brilliant actors aren’t immune to scripts about monkey costumes and spinal fluid theft. Karloff plays Dr. Bernard Adrian, a kindly small-town physician with a big dream: curing a young woman of paralysis. Admirable, except his method involves breaking the Hippocratic oath in half, stitching it back together with ape hair, and prowling the night in disguise to jab townsfolk with a syringe.

I guide you through this tragic tale of good intentions gone catastrophically wrong: the circus fire that conveniently provides a gorilla corpse, the fashioning of an ape suit that wouldn’t fool a child but somehow terrifies the town, and Adrian’s descent into nightly hunts for “donors.” What could have been schlock is elevated by Karloff, who loads every scene with guilt, tenderness, and the crushing awareness that miracles bought with murder aren’t miracles at all.

Support the show

Send us a text

In this episode of The Introverted Obelisk, we dive into The Gorilla (1939), a film that can’t decide if it wants to be a horror mystery or a comedy routine — so it stumbles into being neither. Starring the Ritz Brothers, who spend most of the runtime mugging for the camera, and poor Bela Lugosi, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, the movie offers a killer gorilla that spends less time on screen than the family butler.

I take you through the paper-thin plot: a wealthy man threatened by a mysterious murderer, a creepy mansion crawling with suspects, and a supposed gorilla lurking in the shadows. The result is a jumble of slapstick gags, wandering comic detours, and the occasional attempt at suspense that dies faster than a punchline at open mic night.

We’ll talk about why Poverty Row studios thought “ape in a suit” was a foolproof horror formula, how Lugosi ended up playing second fiddle to comedians who seem allergic to timing, and why the gorilla deserved top billing for sheer persistence.

It’s a horror comedy without the horror or comedy, but plenty of awkward chuckles along the way.

Support the show

Send us a text

In this episode of The Introverted Obelisk, we wander into the creaky corridors of The Monster Walks (1932), a Poverty Row relic that proves sometimes the scariest thing about a horror movie is its production budget. Promising a terrifying beast on the loose, the film delivers…a chimpanzee in a cage, a thunderstorm soundtrack on repeat, and a script that stumbles more than it walks.

I walk you through the usual “old dark house” playbook: the stormy night, the reading of the will, greedy relatives eyeing the inheritance, and a butler who looks suspicious by contract. The supposed monster rattles his bars for dramatic effect while the humans do all the murdering, which is less “Creature Feature” and more “Family Feud with a Body Count.”

Along the way we talk about the appeal of these cheap Gothic mysteries and how the true monsters are never the apes but the grasping cousins with dollar signs in their eyes.

It’s atmospheric, it’s threadbare, and it’s unintentionally hilarious — a film where the monster barely moves but the clichés sprint past at record speed.

Support the show

Send us a text

In this episode of The Introverted Obelisk, we stumble through the foggy backstreets of Paris with Bela Lugosi’s eyebrows leading the way in Murder in the Rue Morgue (1932). Supposedly adapted from Edgar Allan Poe’s pioneering detective tale, the movie tosses out logic and deduction in favor of mad science, ape costumes, and enough bad biology to make Darwin claw his way out of the grave.

I break down Lugosi’s turn as Dr. Mirakle, a carnival sideshow scientist who kidnaps women to inject them with gorilla blood — not because this makes sense, but because Universal needed another monster movie and Poe didn’t supply one. What should have been a story about a clever detective solving an impossible crime instead becomes a parade of abductions, failed experiments, and a gorilla who alternates between stock footage and a man in a fuzzy suit.

We talk about how Karloff got Frankenstein, Lugosi got gorilla transfusions, and how even in 1932, Universal couldn’t resist wringing atmosphere out of every fog machine on the backlot. The result is less Poe, more pulp — but with Lugosi’s wild eyes and tortured accent, it’s unforgettable in its own lopsided way.

Support the show

Send us a text

In this episode of The Introverted Obelisk, we sink our teeth — or at least pretend to — into I Eat Your Skin (1964, finally released in 1970), the zombie misfire with a title so good it should’ve been arrested for false advertising. Promising cannibalistic horror and flesh-ripping mayhem, the film instead delivers papier-mâché zombies, voodoo rituals filmed on the cheap in Florida, and dialogue so stilted it feels imported from another planet.

I walk you through the decade-long shelf life that ended with Jerry Gross pairing it with I Drink Your Blood in a double bill, because if one movie didn’t deliver, surely two would distract you. Along the way, we meet our heroes: a smarmy novelist, a parade of vacationing bystanders, and a mad scientist whose experiments seem less terrifying than the production values.

I dig into how the film’s real horror isn’t skin consumption but false advertising, and how sometimes the drive-in promised you steak but served you cold Spam. No gore, no terror, but plenty to laugh at.

Support the show

Send us a text

In this episode of The Introverted Obelisk, we pack our thermal underwear, our Geiger counters, and our healthy skepticism as we head north—way north—to a remote Arctic outpost where the coffee’s strong, the tempers are short, and the science is suspiciously well-funded. We’re talking about The Thing From Another World (1951), a Cold War-era creature feature where the invader isn’t just from space—it’s from a garden you should never, ever water.

We follow a crew of square-jawed military men and nervous scientists who dig up a flying saucer, accidentally incinerate it, and then go, “Well hey, at least we saved the alien pilot!” Said pilot turns out to be a humanoid vegetable with a bad attitude and a taste for plasma. Cue the paranoia, ethical debates, and impromptu flamethrower tutorials.

We’ll dissect the film’s themes of science vs. the military, the ever-present Cold War dread, and how this Thing is less about identity theft and more about plant-based homicide. Also, we’ll touch on the wild publishing history of the original novella Who Goes There? and how this film was just the first in a long line of terrifying adaptations.

So, keep watching the skies—and don’t forget the weed killer.

Support the show

Send us a text

In this episode of The Introverted Obelisk, we’re digging deep—literally—into the 1957 cult classic From Hell It Came, a film that dares to ask: “What if your dead enemy came back to life as an angry tree stump?” Set on a fictional South Pacific island where science, superstition, and slow-moving bark monsters collide, this movie features radiation, voodoo, and one of the most unintentionally hilarious creature designs in all of horror history—the infamous Tabanga. Yes, it’s a tree. Yes, it’s possessed. And yes, it walks. Kind of.

We’ll follow the story of a wrongfully accused island prince, a pair of hapless American scientists, and a supporting cast of terrified villagers, all while marveling at how many scenes can be stolen by a foam rubber log with a grudge. Along the way, we’ll unpack Cold War undertones, post-war exoticism, and the cinematic power of growling in stop motion.

So grab your Geiger counter and your gardening shears, because this one’s gonna get root-deep weird.

And remember—if you hear heavy breathing in the jungle and it smells like fresh mulch... run.

Support the show