Eight-Hour Cyclops Movie Marathon

By Christopher Stewardson

“Movie good for Ed!”

Ed, Edd n Eddy (1999-2008) was my favourite childhood cartoon. Its gags and line deliveries live rent-free in my head to this day, most of them involving Ed, the tallest and most loveable of the titular trio. His bedroom mirrored mine as a child: covered with model kits and monster toys, the walls adorned by bizarre movie posters with titles like Space Clam and It Came from France. 

The third episode of the show’s second season, Knock Knock, Who’s Ed?, is one of my favourites, following Ed’s desperate efforts to watch an eight-hour cyclops movie marathon. Memorable bits include the Eds staging a plane crash on the lawn of perennial jerk Kevin – so that Ed can “recover” in his living room with the TV set. Later, when Ed finally gets to watch the marathon (at the home of Rolf, the oddball “son of a shepherd”), Edd and Eddy are disappointed by what they see. “It’s not even in colour!” cries Eddy. “The production values look remarkably cheap” says Edd. “Shut up!” barks Ed in return. We’ve all been there. 

Anyway, the point of this preamble is to establish that a), Ed, Edd n Eddy is a great show, and b), that I’ve always wanted to stage my own eight-hour cyclops movie marathon. So, what I present here is a selection of films to emulate what Ed was desperate to see. For a degree of criteria, we’re choosing from mid-20th century genre movies but also television episodes to add variety. There’s also no order to this selection – again, to mix things up.

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The Cyclops (1957)

Bert I. Gordon is perhaps the most obvious place to start. As has been noted time and again, his initials spelled “BIG” and that’s what he did: big monsters and big people. Despite working across a variety of genres, Gordon is undoubtedly remembered most for his string of 1950s creature features, notable for his recognisable composite effects which blew up real creatures to enormous scale. The Cyclops is typical of both Gordon’s oeuvre and the wider hallmarks of giant monster cinema in the decade. Gloria Talbot plays Susan Winters, a woman looking for her husband who went missing in Mexico. When she finds him – in a radioactive valley, no less – he's grown to titanic proportions and half his face is gone. 

The Cyclops was one of Gordon’s earlier works, and it consolidated the template for his monster movie canon: composited giant creatures accompanied by an Albert Glasser score. Its effects are rough around the edges, with imperfect compositing lending a slight transparent quality to several of the beasts that prowl the valley – giant tarantulas, hawks, and reptiles among them. Nevertheless, the monster we’ve paid to see is satisfyingly striking. 

Indeed, beyond the fact that its title somewhat guarantees the film a place on a list like this, the cyclops in question is rather impactful. Duncan Parkin performs under layers of Jack H. Young’s makeup as the snarling, one-eyed menace. Young’s makeup is certainly memorable, with one eye staring out from the remnants of this man’s face. And though not overtly fleshed out, there are ideas of identity loss that would return in Gordon’s later genre efforts. 

War of the Colossal Beast (1958)

Another from Bert I. Gordon. Following The Cyclops, Gordon directed Beginning of the End (1957) for the short-lived AB-PT Pictures, concerning a swarm of giant locusts descending on Chicago. The film brought Gordon to the attention of American International Pictures (AIP), with whom Gordon would make a string of further creature features. The Amazing Colossal Man (1957) is a high point for both AIP and Gordon, marrying his familiar effects approach with a fairly compelling character drama. The film is about Glenn Manning (Glenn Langan), a US army colonel who barely survives a plutonium bomb test and consequently grows to enormous size, losing himself in the process. At the film’s end, Manning is cornered and falls from a dam in Las Vegas.

In 1958, Gordon made a sequel, War of the Colossal Beast. Its fabulous title alone warrants inspection, and Glenn Manning’s return sees him sporting another Jack H. Young makeup appliance – one very similar to that in The Cyclops. Injuries from Manning’s fall are on full display, with one eye missing and his skull protruding from his face. And much like the creature in The Cyclops, Manning here is played by Duncan Parkin, who also growls instead of speaking.

This sequel continues its predecessor’s look at a person’s life slipping away before their eyes, disconnection growing in tandem with their own body. Where there previously existed scientific curiosity at Manning’s terrible situation, now there’s just inconvenience. Once it’s discovered that Manning is indeed still alive, multiple government branches cyclically pass the responsibility for his care elsewhere. Moreover, despite his sister’s (Sally Fraser) insistence on his humanity, those around her believe he has no semblance of understanding left. This is made particularly poignant when, in a scene likely included for viewers who missed the previous film, we see Manning remembering all that’s happened to him, wincing in evident pain. A subsequent final attempt to reach him sees Manning presented with images from his past – and all he can do is scream. While the film has spectacle aplenty, War of the Colossal Beast offers real pathos for those who give it a chance. 

Ultraman Ace, Episode 22 (1972)

Ultraman Ace (1972-73) is the fourth Ultraman television series (and fifth Ultra show overall) in Tsuburaya Productions’ landmark franchise. Ultraman (1966-67) established the basic template that subsequent series would follow: a scientific defence force protects Japan from alien invasions and giant monsters, with one crew member secretly playing host to a giant alien being. As a last resort in a crisis, they can transform into this alien hero to save the day. Ultra Seven (1967-68) developed this setup in a confident, mature manner, and Return of Ultraman (1971-72) synthesised the best from both series. Ultraman Ace hit television screens just a week after Return of Ultraman’s conclusion, and though the basic setup remains, Ace differentiates itself in several notable ways. 

Unlike the prior Ultra heroes, Ace has (for the first half of the series, at least) two human hosts: Hokuto and Minami of the Terrible-Monster Attacking Crew (TAC). Moreover, while prior series had their share of recurring monsters and aliens (both within and across shows), Ace has overarching series villains via the inter-dimensional Yapool and their legion of Choju (terrible monsters). Episode 22 sees the sinister Alien Mask arrive via meteorite on behalf of the Yapool. Assuming human form as a mysterious sculptor, Mask has a group of children construct a monster model for him: the one-eyed Black Satan. Mask then activates Black Satan, and the cyclops creature gives Ultraman Ace a tough battle, even bashing an entire house over their head. 

Obviously, there’s a cyclops monster here, but Episode 22 is strong in and of itself. Alien Mask is appropriately creepy, emphasised by Toru Fuyuki’s moody soundtrack, and specifically through recycled tracks from his alien-heavy score for Ultra Seven. The audience is similarly grabbed immediately, with Mask’s arrival soon followed by what appears to be the shocking death of Mikawa, one of TAC’s core members. The climactic fight between Ace and Black Satan is, then, a satisfying payoff to a standout episode.

The Atomic Submarine (1959)

Now for a cyclops from the depths. The Atomic Submarine is about a one-eyed alien creature which has destroyed several vessels near the North Pole. The “Tigershark”, an atomic-powered submarine, is sent to investigate, spending most of the film’s short runtime chasing the alien’s undersea flying saucer – nicknamed “cyclops” by the submarine crew for its distinct eye-like turret. 

Arthur Franz (1953’s Invaders from Mars) plays a staunch war hawk at odds with Brett Halsey’s (1959’s Return of the Fly) anti-war pacifist. It’s a promising character conflict that doesn’t get very far. If anything, the film ultimately affirms Franz’s convictions in presenting a firmly antagonistic alien. It’s not an uncommon presentation for the genre or the time, mind you, but it nonetheless serves to vindicate Franz’s pro-military stance, framing his eventual use of force to subdue the creature as necessary. The film similarly ends with Halsey noting that there’s no need to worry about a potential alien return with men like Franz around. And while the idea of an undersea alien scout ship is unique, the film is otherwise stuffy and visually uninspired. 

At least, it’s visually uninspired as far as the submarine interiors are concerned. The special effects were handled by Jack Rabin and Irving Block, whose work on 1957’s Kronos is particularly good. Here, they grant the film an eye-catching flying saucer design, and an even more impressive spaceship interior. Indeed, the lair of the alien antagonist is sparse and eerie, leading to an enormous sphere in which the creature resides. The fantastic being is a tentacled, one-eyed organism that communicates with Franz via synchronised brain frequencies. Although the creature only appears in the film’s final ten minutes, it’s worth seeing.

The Twilight Zone: The Fear (1964)

What is fear? How is it constructed? These are some of the questions Rod Serling poses in this fifth-season entry to his landmark Twilight Zone television series – the last he would write for the show himself. Hazel Court (1957’s The Curse of Frankenstein) plays a former fashion editor who’s sequestered herself in a mountain cabin following a nervous breakdown. Peter Mark Richman is a state trooper dispatched to the area following reports of lights in the sky. As the pair learn more about one another, and of their respective fears and the facades they construct to hide them, strange things unfold: more lights are seen in the woods; the trooper’s car is overturned; enormous fingerprints appear on its side; the phone line is cut; and gigantic footprints are found nearby.

When we eventually glimpse the “being” haunting these people, it is a one-eyed invader – and therefore enough to meet the criteria of this marathon! But is it real? In the suspenseful trappings of a monster film, Serling asks us to consider how fears are constructed, by whom, and for what purpose. In turn, this places the episode (even if only faintly) in conversation with Serling’s wider thematic explorations of fear throughout the series. In episodes like The Shelter or The Monsters are Due on Maple Street, for example, Serling examines fear within suburban America, that under even the lightest pressure or pretense of “fear”, the systemic racism, cruelty, and violent self-interest ingrained in its fabric will leap out. Of course, The Fear is nowhere near as forthright as its predecessors, instead focusing on fear more abstractly via its science-fictional indulgences rather than attempting a more direct depiction of its material and societal manifestations, but it nonetheless has its place among Serling’s thematic concerns.

Here, Serling stresses the unknown as a key ingredient for fear in his opening narration, that the terror of what could be may be more paralysing than what actually is. But even when presented with what actually is, is it really any less manufactured or inflated?  Tonight’s tale of secluded cyclopes and unfounded fears...in the Twilight Zone.

Honourable Mentions:

The films and episodes mentioned above should, give or take, carry you through eight hours of cyclops mayhem. The mix of film and television, monster movie and alien invasion, tokusatsu and Rod Serling, should add variety. However, if you’d like to expand the marathon, other eligible titles include The Green Slime (1968), an underrated Kinji Fukasaku science-fiction epic about a space station infested with cycloptic creatures. The film foreruns Fukasaku’s later SF entries like Message from Space (1978), and its one-eyed aliens are marvelously menacing. Likewise, turning to Italy’s canon of sword and sandal epics, Atlas in the Land of the Cyclops (1961) offers a one-eyed monster, though only glimpsed in its opening and seen properly in its last five minutes. 1954’s Ulysses similarly features an impressive sequence with Polyphemus the cyclops. 

So, pull up a chair, gather your snacks, and be prepared to tell your unimpressed guests to can it. Enjoy your very own Eight-Hour Cyclops Movie Marathon!