Sometimes you stumble onto a movie so strange, so desperate, and so unintentionally hilarious that you wonder if the filmmakers made it on a dare. It! (1967), also known as Anger of the Golem or Curse of the Golem depending on how charitable the distributor felt that week, is one such film. Directed, written, and produced by Herbert J. Leder—a man clearly allergic to second opinions—this is a British horror flick that attempts to blend folklore, Norman Bates cosplay, Cold War panic, and Roddy McDowall hamming it up like a one-man deli counter.
The result? Ninety minutes that feel like a Hammer knockoff shot in a broom closet and padded with Roddy McDowall yelling at a giant rock statue like it owed him rent.
Norman Bates Goes to the Museum
Roddy McDowall plays Arthur Pimm, a museum assistant who gives us a crash course in how not to handle grief. He keeps his dead mother’s corpse around the apartment, dresses her in borrowed museum jewelry, and whispers sweet nothings at her while stroking her skeletal hand. Norman Bates at least had some class; Pimm looks like he would fail the audition for “creepy guy on the bus.”
It’s supposed to be tragic, but McDowall’s bug-eyed earnestness pushes it into unintentional comedy. He’s got the wild intensity of a man who drank twelve espressos and then decided to recite his grocery list to a corpse. Somewhere in this mess is a character study about loneliness, but mostly it feels like Psycho run through a bad Xerox machine.
The Golem Who Wouldn’t Die
The plot, if you can call it that, revolves around a statue unearthed after a warehouse fire. Surprise: it’s the Golem of Prague, which Pimm brings to life by sticking a scroll in its mouth. Normally this would lead to some exciting chaos, but Leder’s direction makes the Golem’s rampages feel about as threatening as an Easter Island statue on Ambien.
The Golem lumbers around, topples some props, and is suspected of bringing down the Hammersmith Bridge—which is the film’s way of saying “we ran out of budget, so let’s just say he did it off-screen.” The military, in their infinite wisdom, eventually try to stop it with a nuclear warhead. And yes, the Golem shrugs off the blast and wanders into the ocean like Godzilla’s depressed cousin.
You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a giant clay man survive Armageddon only to retreat into the sea as if muttering, “Sod this, I’m off.”
Jill Haworth Deserves Better
Caught in this circus is Ellen Grove (Jill Haworth), the daughter of the first curator who died mysteriously. She’s stalked by Pimm, lusted after by a visiting New York curator (Paul Maxwell, playing the token American with all the charisma of a damp sandwich), and occasionally menaced by the Golem. Haworth does her best, but the film treats her like luggage being tossed between two very bad tour guides: one creepy, one dull.
By the climax, she’s kidnapped, dragged into a Gothic annex called “the Cloisters,” and nearly blown up by that aforementioned nuclear blast. You almost root for the bomb.
Nuclear Tantrums and Biblical Clunkiness
The script plays like it was written by someone who skimmed a Cliff’s Notes on Jewish folklore, watched Psycho once, and then panicked. The Golem is supposed to be a protector of its people, but here it’s reduced to a monster-of-the-week that kills because Pimm tells it to. Except when it doesn’t. Sometimes it kills randomly. Sometimes it just stands there. And sometimes it strolls into the sea like it forgot where it parked.
Then there’s the nuclear weapon subplot, which feels like Leder looked around in 1967 and thought, “Well, everyone’s scared of nukes—let’s toss one in.” It’s not tension; it’s narrative indigestion.
Roddy McDowall: Too Good for This
Let’s be clear: Roddy McDowall is the only reason this film is watchable. He throws himself into the role with the manic gusto of a man trying to win an Oscar in a movie destined for the late-night graveyard slot. He cries, he rants, he caresses jewelry on a corpse. It’s not good, but it’s fascinating—like watching a Shakespearean actor wrestle a piñata for rent money.
Everyone else looks vaguely embarrassed. Paul Maxwell phones it in. Jill Haworth looks like she’s already planning her next career move. The Golem itself—played by Alan Seller under several tons of papier-mâché—moves like a man regretting every life choice that led him to stand in a rubber suit while Roddy McDowall screamed about his mother.
Final Judgment
It! (1967) is the cinematic equivalent of a half-deflated Halloween decoration: vaguely spooky from a distance, ridiculous up close, and destined to collapse before the party ends. It tries to be folklore horror, psychological thriller, and Cold War parable, but ends up being none of the above.
If you want to see a Golem story done well, watch Paul Wegener’s silent The Golem (1920). If you want to see Roddy McDowall lose his mind while shouting at a statue and dragging around a taxidermied mom, well—this is the only game in town.
Rating: 3 out of 10 nuclear-proof clay monsters. Worth watching only if you enjoy Roddy McDowall chewing scenery like it’s the last meal before the bomb drops.
