There are bad sci‑fi films, and then there’s The Projected Man, a 1966 British clunker that manages to be both pompous and broke at the same time. It’s like someone tried to remake The Fly after pawning the actual fly for rent money. Directed—well, “started”—by Ian Curteis (who quickly realized he’d rather be anywhere else) and finished by producer John Croydon (uncredited, because no one wanted their fingerprints on the crime scene), the film is a mess of flickering lasers, soggy melodrama, and the kind of budgetary starvation that makes Ed Wood look like James Cameron.
A Scientist With a Death Wish (And No Budget)
Our hero—if you can call him that—is Dr. Paul Steiner (Bryant Haliday), a man whose laboratory teleportation experiments keep turning living things into smoldering toast. Instead of maybe, I don’t know, calling it a day, Steiner decides the only logical step is to put himself into the machine. It’s the classic “mad scientist” arc, except this time the madness is less hubris and more desperation to keep the plot moving.
Of course, the experiment goes wrong (shocking), and Steiner emerges looking like he tried to French‑kiss a waffle iron. Worse, he now kills people by touch, which sounds scary until you see the film’s FX team handle it—it looks less like death and more like the victim got mildly electrocuted by a Woolworth’s lamp.
Murder, But Make It Awkward
Steiner, now “projected” into half‑monster, half‑pathetic rubber makeup, goes on a killing spree. He torches apartments, murders his boss, and even stops by a construction site where some random crooks are trying to rob a bank. He fries them all with his magic death‑hands. Imagine the Grim Reaper, if the Grim Reaper was also a tired electrician who’d had one too many.
Between murders, Steiner skulks around London in a trench coat and rubber gloves, looking less like a terrifying monster and more like an awkward bloke caught shoplifting sausages at Tesco. The police are called in, led by Inspector Davis (Derek Farr), who spends the film smoking, shrugging, and clearly wondering how the hell his career got here.
The “Science” Bit
The film really, really wants us to believe in its “projection” device, a machine with blinking lights and big dials that looks like it was rented from a children’s science fair. We’re told it can transmit matter across miles, but mostly it just sets things on fire. There’s also lots of talk about “electricity” and “energy” like the writers discovered a physics textbook once and immediately got bored.
Whenever Steiner shows up demanding more electricity, it’s less “tragic monster” and more “desperate guy shaking down the landlord for extra fuses.” Mary Peach, playing Dr. Patricia Hill, does her best to keep a straight face, but you can almost see the thought bubble over her head: Dear God, I went to RADA for this.
Production Hell in Real Time
The real horror isn’t on screen—it’s behind the scenes. The movie’s budget was £100,000, which in 1966 was apparently enough to buy some second‑hand lab coats, a rubber mask, and one chicken dinner for the cast. Curteis, a TV director with no feature experience, drowned under the tight four‑week schedule and limited funds. When the money dried up, producer John Croydon had to finish the movie himself, unpaid, like a man forced to carry someone else’s hangover.
And let’s not forget the shameless bit of exploitation thrown in for overseas sales: a random morgue scene with topless actress Norma West. It’s the kind of tacky move that screams, “Please, God, let someone buy this in Germany.”
Déjà Vu All Over Again
If you think this plot sounds familiar, you’re not wrong. Critics at the time called out its resemblance to The Fly (1958) and 4D Man (1959). Producer Richard Gordon denied this, but let’s be honest—when your film is about a scientist mangled by his own experiment who then kills people with science‑juice, you’re not exactly reinventing the wheel. You’re just painting it beige and calling it innovation.
Even Mystery Science Theater 3000 couldn’t resist; they featured it in their ninth season, where it finally found its true destiny: as material for robot puppets to mock.
The Acting: Or, People Staring at Lamps
Bryant Haliday plays Steiner with all the pathos of a man constipated on camera. Mary Peach tries, but the dialogue is so leaden that even she can’t inject life into it. Norman Wooland as the villain Dr. Blanchard mostly scowls over his dinner, and Derek Farr as the inspector looks permanently one cigarette away from resignation.
The only real enthusiasm comes from the special effects team, who clearly loved setting things on fire. Unfortunately, “random electrical sparks” and “smoke machines” don’t quite equal suspense.
Final Projection
The Projected Man is a perfect example of how not to make sci‑fi horror. It’s underwritten, underfunded, and overserious. Instead of tragic horror, we get a man in melted makeup stumbling around London asking for more volts. Instead of thrills, we get long stretches of exposition delivered in tones so dry you could light them on fire with a match.
If you’re looking for a good “scientist gone wrong” story, stick with The Fly. If you want tragic monster melodrama, watch Frankenstein. If you want a film that projects boredom directly into your skull, The Projected Man is waiting, rubber gloves and all.
Rating: 1 out of 10 volts. The only thing truly projected here is the audience’s patience—onto the floor, where it dies.
