Introduction:

Ah yes, the 1950s. Historically speaking, perhaps not the most positive decade: the Iron Curtain had descended over Europe, Germany was divided, and fear of nuclear war and communism—beautifully reflected in films like Invasion of the Body Snatchers or The Blob—was rampant, especially in the United States, which lived in constant fear of “red infiltration.”

At the movies, however, things were looking much brighter again. After the horrific decade of war, audiences longed for entertaining escapism, increasingly found in movie theaters and the emerging drive-in cinemas. Combined with technological progress and the seemingly boundless potential of atomic power, a flood of science-fiction films poured onto the screens in the following years, presenting audiences with all sorts of creatures that quickly became more and more absurd.

Imagination knew no limits—although the same could not always be said for the special effects—and so giant claws, mole men, giant spiders, towering giants, stone monsters, alligator men, and aliens of every imaginable shape and color appeared on screen. Some of these films became cult classics that are still well known today, such as Jack Arnold’s Tarantula, The Thing from Another World, or the so-called “worst film of all time,” Plan 9 from Outer Space. Countless B-movies and trash films were produced, demand was high, and audiences practically thirsted for this kind of material.

Some of these films earned a permanent place on fans’ lists due to their sheer obscurity, while others sank into obscurity themselves—quite unjustly. One such case is Edgar G. Ulmer’s The Man from Planet X, which recently celebrated its German premiere a full 71 years late, courtesy of the label Ostalgica as part of their Classic Chiller Collection (this time not in the Galerie des Grauens series).

The film’s poster from 1951—right at the dawn of the sci-fi decade—already promises spectacular alien thrills with its beautifully illustrated motif in classic fashion (naturally, the nasty creature threatens a helpless woman). But can the film live up to that promise? After all, the poster for The Giant Claw also presented a monster of epic proportions, and we all know how that turned out.

Plot:

The icy sea crashes in large waves against the rocky coast of the Scottish Highlands—not far from an old castle, where a reporter is lamenting his fate. He claims to be the only survivor who encountered the Man from Planet X, and naturally, the fate of all humanity is at stake.

In flashback, the story begins at an observatory, where our reporter John Lawrence (Robert Clarke, who appeared in various 1950s B-movies) learns of mysterious sightings of unidentified flying objects that have recently been increasing in frequency. But that’s not all: an entire planet is on a collision course with Earth (did Toho take notes here during the production of Gorath?).

Professor Elliott, a friend of Lawrence, is already waiting in his observatory on the Scottish island of Burray, far to the north, where the planet is expected to be closest to Earth in a few days. Lawrence, of course, sets out immediately and is greeted upon arrival by Elliott’s charming daughter Enid (Margaret Field, whose career mostly consisted of supporting TV roles), whom he has known since childhood. During the drive, there’s some kitschy banter—could a romance be blossoming?

Once inside the castle, brief introductions are made, and the shady Dr. Mears is introduced (William Schallert, an extremely prolific actor who appeared in nearly 100 films, including Them!). A mad scientist, perhaps? Lawrence certainly doesn’t trust him, as Mears apparently served time in prison for an unspecified act (which is never mentioned again). Still, since he was once Elliott’s student, the professor has apparently welcomed him back.

Meanwhile, the planet continues to draw closer and appears ever larger through the telescope. Lawrence and Enid spontaneously take a walk through the misty moor and spot flashes of light in the distance. Since no thunder follows, Lawrence assumes it must be “static energy” (?). They head toward the source of the flashes and discover a small rocket, which Lawrence promptly takes with him.

Back in the cozy laboratory, Elliott discovers that the metal is many times lighter than normal. Could it be extraterrestrial?

Mears soon begins to show the first signs of megalomania (yes, he’s definitely a mad scientist now), rambling about the immense power one could gain by reproducing the material.

Since it’s already late and no rooms are available, Lawrence rents one in the village. Enid drives him, but on the way back the car breaks down. Naturally, she heads straight across the moor, where she encounters another rocket—this time a larger (toy-like) model.

She examines it, of course, and when the cute little alien appears at the window, she runs off screaming. Mears, meanwhile, hides in the darkness when Enid returns. Is he up to something sinister?

Enid tells her father about the encounter with the dreadful creature, which she claims was disintegrated by pressure (a description the alien really doesn’t deserve). Elliott dismisses it as imagination, but still sets out himself to investigate the rocket, followed by his daughter. Elliott quickly identifies the craft as a product of science (who would have guessed?). However, the ship begins to rumble, and Elliott is struck by a beam of light that hypnotizes him and sends him staggering home.

The next day, he has recovered, and the now-returned Lawrence cleverly deduces that the nocturnal events might be connected to Planet X, which will be closest in 60 hours.

They head back to the spacecraft once more, and this time its occupant makes his first major appearance. The alien emerges with a drawn weapon but struggles with Earth’s atmosphere and collapses. The kind-hearted Lawrence opens the helmet, whereupon the alien shows gratitude and attempts to shake hands.

An attempt at communication fails (Lawrence somehow signals hunger), and they decide to return to the castle. Upon arrival, Enid suppresses a scream when she realizes the alien has followed them. In no time, it ends up locked in a cell, where Mears attempts to communicate using geometry.

Mears’ megalomania escalates further, and he fantasizes about having the world in his pocket if he can establish contact.

Elliott suddenly falls ill and takes to his bed. Lawrence repairs Enid’s car, giving Mears the opportunity to enact his evil plan. After successfully communicating, he attacks the poor alien (still mute) and wrestles it to the ground—an unfair fight, as the alien has lost its laser weapon. When Enid calls for him, Mears lies to Elliott, claiming he still hasn’t been able to communicate with the creature.

Inevitably, things escalate. Enid goes to the cell, a scream is heard, and when her absence is noticed, Lawrence heads back to the spacecraft with Mears, who is supposed to remain on lookout. Lawrence then returns to the castle, where a villager and the sheriff report further disappearances. Naturally, the local bumpkin blames ghosts and the professor (the mob with torches and pitchforks can’t be far off).

Back at the ship, Mears has also vanished, leaving his binoculars behind. Meanwhile, at the village police station, the handful of residents gather. One claims to have seen the professor and Mears walking into the fog, where a monstrous creature lurked.

Something is happening at the spacecraft: enslaved villagers are digging, the alien has barricaded itself, and the villagers seek help. Since the phone lines are down, they contact a nearby ship and ask for assistance as more people disappear.

Eventually, Scotland Yard arrives. After the story is told—and immediately believed—a military operation is considered (are we in Scotland or the United States?). Lawrence, however, insists on one final peaceful attempt. He sneaks in and manages to free Elliott and the other villagers (the extraterrestrial hypnosis turns out to be rather weak).

Mears then explains that the alien is planning an invasion. Its home planet is frozen, and in search of a new home, its species transformed the planet itself into a spacecraft through degravitation.

After Mears flees as well, the final confrontation ensues. Lawrence prevails by cutting off the alien’s air supply once again—hardly fair tactics. Once Lawrence is clear of the blast zone, the military bombs the spacecraft. Mears runs into the line of fire and dies an unnecessary but well-deserved death.

The alien attempts to flee, but when its ship explodes, Planet X veers away as well, while everyone involved stares wide-eyed into the sky.

And so the audience is rewarded with a classic 1950s happy ending: Enid lies in the arms of humanity’s savior, Lawrence, who decides to fly back to America. Enid and Elliott plan to follow soon. How wonderful.

Review:

The Man from Planet X turns out to be a surprising little gem of 1950s B-movie science fiction. It may seem clichéd at first glance, exactly as one would expect from a film of this kind, but both the poster and the story would have felt far fresher in 1951 than they did a decade later, when similar plots were endlessly recycled.

Director Edgar G. Ulmer, who was of Austrian origin and had worked as a production designer with masters like Fritz Lang and F. W. Murnau, not only directed additional B-movies in the 1950s—such as The Man Who Turned to Stone (1957) with John Agar—but had already made genuine Universal horror with Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff in The Black Cat (1934). Here, he combines that atmosphere with the wonderfully playful naivety of 1950s science fiction.

Despite the severely limited budget of around $40,000, Ulmer stages the film with considerable atmosphere. The dark, foggy moor has real charm and is enhanced by some cute miniature sets, at the center of which the blinking little rocket stands. The alien itself—the Man from Planet X—is also a success. It may not be truly frightening, but it’s delightfully retro and charming, complete with laser gun, helmet, and antenna, offering just the right amount of kitsch.

This creativity stands in contrast to later films that relied on cheaply costumed humans as alien inhabitants (just think of Killers from Space from 1953, which has yet to receive a proper German release).

The screenplay can certainly be accused of utopian naivety, as is common for films of this type. It mixes pseudo-scientific dialogue with delightful gullibility, as the appearance of the alien is quickly accepted without much question. Still, the film feels more grounded and sincere than many later B-productions that merely recycled the formula again and again.

At the same time, the film offers some genuinely intelligent ideas for its era, such as the concept of first contact through mathematics, which allows for comparisons to The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951), even if that aspect is less pronounced here. The final line sums it up nicely by asking what might have happened if Mears hadn’t attacked the alien: the greatest catastrophe—or the greatest blessing?

The actors deliver everything with great seriousness. The German dub produced by Ostalgica is serviceable at best and fails to capture the old charm; the voices lack vitality. Anyone comfortable with English should opt for the original version. It’s no coincidence that Bill Warren lists the film as one of the more entertaining entries of the decade in his comprehensive encyclopedia of 1950s sci-fi cinema, Keep Watching the Skies!

From today’s perspective, the film may appear unintentionally funny and odd in places, but it still conveys a strange and appealing mixture of foggy atmosphere, classic 1950s sci-fi, and unusually thoughtful ideas. All the more reason to be happy that the film can finally be enjoyed in Germany, after previously being available only on DVD in the United States.