Both Kent Johnson and Marie Windsor must have concluded that their careers were now on the skids and that they had household bills to pay before signing on to this turkey. With no real production value to speak of, this B-movie cheapie was a lame excuse to develop a single borrowed idea: that hostile Martians exist as pure energy (whatever that means) and have come to earth to replicate humans and destroy the prototypes (the concept cribbed from the exciting 1956 hit, "Invasion of the Body Snatchers").
As earlier commentators have noticed, their is no action at all in this execrable script, unless you give credit to people walking aimlessly -- sometimes running, even -- around the grounds of a mansion, or lighting up and puffing on cigarettes, or engaging each other in trivial conversation. Nothing much to engage the audience's emotions or attention.
Consequently, it was impossible not to doze off for about 20 minutes during the middle of this stinker, awaking only to witness the unsatisfactory, arthritic ending. When the words, "The End," finally appeared, I discovered that I was 70 minutes closer to death.
As earlier commentators have noticed, their is no action at all in this execrable script, unless you give credit to people walking aimlessly -- sometimes running, even -- around the grounds of a mansion, or lighting up and puffing on cigarettes, or engaging each other in trivial conversation. Nothing much to engage the audience's emotions or attention.
Consequently, it was impossible not to doze off for about 20 minutes during the middle of this stinker, awaking only to witness the unsatisfactory, arthritic ending. When the words, "The End," finally appeared, I discovered that I was 70 minutes closer to death.