Ironically, brain activity is what you feel dropping the most as you watch "The Brain That Wouldn't Die."
The plot, if anyone would dare call it that, has a doctor losing his fiancée in a car accident - well, most of her anyway. He manages to keep her severed head alive, even though, obviously, this limits her professional, family-planning, and dancing options rather harshly.
From this sound premise, things proceed logically.
Doc then searches for a female body that pleases him to transplant his fiancee's head onto. One ethical foul ball that is skimmed over way too quickly - all these bodies are still attached to live people.
As either a tribute to voyeurism or a need to pad things out, the doc spends way more time looking over numerous options than seems really necessary. He also spends more time trying to look cool smoking cigarettes than seems needed, but by then such a point seems kind of small. After passing on several voluptuous types who saunter around slowly while smoky jazz music plays, he picks a small brunette with a huge chip on her shoulder, another in a long series of points that don't seem to make much sense.
The dialogue seems to have been written by someone very distracted. I would guess the writer owed rent, and the entire time he wrote this his landlord was banging on the door, yelling loudly.
Almost all the acting is just as bad, so there is a special kind of synthesis there.
The fun and games of watching a low-grade turkey come to a screeching halt when a monster in the basement dismembers the doc's helper, who smears his dying blood all over the walls in what seems like a special effort to make the audience feel depressed. It succeeds. When are these mad doctors going to figure things out - you can't keep your severed-head prisoner close to the monster you keep locked up? Egged on by the woman whose wardrobe needs have been reduced to nothing but hats, the monster breaks out and kills the doc, probably mistaking him for the movie's author.
The plot, if anyone would dare call it that, has a doctor losing his fiancée in a car accident - well, most of her anyway. He manages to keep her severed head alive, even though, obviously, this limits her professional, family-planning, and dancing options rather harshly.
From this sound premise, things proceed logically.
Doc then searches for a female body that pleases him to transplant his fiancee's head onto. One ethical foul ball that is skimmed over way too quickly - all these bodies are still attached to live people.
As either a tribute to voyeurism or a need to pad things out, the doc spends way more time looking over numerous options than seems really necessary. He also spends more time trying to look cool smoking cigarettes than seems needed, but by then such a point seems kind of small. After passing on several voluptuous types who saunter around slowly while smoky jazz music plays, he picks a small brunette with a huge chip on her shoulder, another in a long series of points that don't seem to make much sense.
The dialogue seems to have been written by someone very distracted. I would guess the writer owed rent, and the entire time he wrote this his landlord was banging on the door, yelling loudly.
Almost all the acting is just as bad, so there is a special kind of synthesis there.
The fun and games of watching a low-grade turkey come to a screeching halt when a monster in the basement dismembers the doc's helper, who smears his dying blood all over the walls in what seems like a special effort to make the audience feel depressed. It succeeds. When are these mad doctors going to figure things out - you can't keep your severed-head prisoner close to the monster you keep locked up? Egged on by the woman whose wardrobe needs have been reduced to nothing but hats, the monster breaks out and kills the doc, probably mistaking him for the movie's author.