



She Demons is a fun little 1950s monster movie with some interesting twists and more than a few pretty girls. This drive-in classic is the type of movie that I enjoy watching, and reviewing, as it knows how to be scary without being pointlessly gory. Did I mention the pretty girls?
On to the show!
We open with a raging hurricane in the...uh, what ocean exactly? The Caribbean, you'd think, but it's never explicitly said and it could just as easily be the South Pacific. Where ever it is, the storm catches a small boat and drives it under, tossing its four occupants up on an uncharted volcanic island (sure, like these exist, even in 1958). The four survivors will be our film's hero, heroine, a comic relief dude, and an expendable Red-Shirt-Ensign.
The hero has some bland, Eisenhower-era name, but I proclaim him to be Lance-Squarejaw, all-American whitebread toast vanilla male. He smokes his Winstons unfiltered, drinks his scotch straight, eats his steaks rare, greases his hair back daily, pulls his pants up a few inches too high, and combs his strategically placed chest hair soul-patch to accentuate his red-blooded, commie-hating, deck shoe-wearing awesomeness.

Lance-SquareJaw.
The heroine has a name also, I'm sure, but let's just call her Polly-Purebred.
She's a typical 1950's rich, spoiled, privileged socialite, who, of course, secretly yearns to be dominated by a man and be chained to an oven, barefoot and pregnant. What's she look like? Let's run down the list...
--Hair moussed as strong as Kevlar? Check.
--Mascara and eyeliner applied with a deck mop? Check.
--Cute but impractical high-heeled pumps? Check.
--High-waisted belted shorts? Check.
--Open-necked starched blouse? Check.
--Buxom Vargas figure that exudes pent-up sexuality? Check effing plus!

Polly-Purebred (she should be on the nose of a B-29).
The comic relief dude is your standard pre-civil rights insultingly offensive ethnic portrayal done with a smile, so let's call him Racial-Stereotype. He's the standing embodiment of White 1950s America's love of the Good Asians, which were the Hawaiians and Polynesians, not the Chinese for obvious reasons (and certainly not the Japanese, except if you were on shore leave in Tokyo, then their women were acceptable). He's got his flowered shirt, his Don Ho haircut, his crisp white pants, his genial comic nature, and his non-threatening occasional Asian accent to put Middle America at ease.

Racial-Stereotype.
The not-long-for-this-world Red-Shirt-Ensign is just some old foreign guy, who might as well be carrying around his last will and testament in his pocket. Let's move on.


Nekkidness! My God! My eyes!

The radio.
Soon afterwards they hear some far-off drums beating in the jungle. Not having ever heard the quote about curiosity killing the cat, they head off to investigate, leaving Red-Shirt-Ensign behind (because he's fat). They find nothing and return to the beach camp, where (shockingly predictably) they find Red-Shirt-Ensign dead with bamboo spears buried in his chest. The radio is also conveniently smashed and footprints are everywhere.

Red-Shirt-Ensign dead.
They also find nearby a island girl lying on the beach, dead with a knife wound. When they flip her over they see she has the face of a monster! Wow, that's a bad mask, sort of like a community center craft hour papier mache art project with buggly eyes, straggly hair, and laughably distended fangs. Oddly, the girl is only a scary killer monster from the jawline up, the rest of her is pure cinnamon-skin Bo Derek-on-the-beach hotness.

The beast!
Our heroes follow the drums again and this time see a gaggle of island girls doing a dance! Right there in the middle of nowhere, in the jungle, just doing a nicely choreographed dance number to the beat of a conga drum, seriously. All the girls are young dark-skinned cuties with perky boobs and stylish hair. They were actually a semi-famous dance troupe, hired by the director to both act and dance, as well as provide some eye candy.

Dancing girls.
Just then the palm fronds part and a squad of Nazi soldiers arrive and round them up! WTF? Nazis? In my beach movie with spooky monsters and raven-haired beauties? Nazis?! The soldiers are mean and rotten, and wear the black uniforms of the dreaded SS, along with coal bucket helmets, knee-high boots, and Garand carbines. Clearly this uncharted island is a hold-out Nazi base, still active a full 13 years after the end of the war.


Discipline for the ladies, Salon Kitty-style.
Anyway, our three heroes sneak into the underground base (why?). There is zero perimeter security (though you'd not really expect any) and they manage to make it all the way down into the labs, where they realize that some evil science is going on. Eventually, the head guard finds them by accident and all hell breaks loose. Lance-SquareJaw and the portly shirt-busting head guard rumble, and much to my surprise, Lance-SquareJaw gets it handed to him, lucky to get away with just bruises and a bloody lip. He does manage to hold off the Nazi long enough to allow his companions to escape into the jungle.


The Colonel (you know he's evil by the way he smokes).
The Colonel is the prototype of the sinister Bond villain, taking this opportunity to tell our heroes about his dastardly plans in full and gory detail, leaving no secrets untold. He describes the layout and construction of the base and why it is still hidden from prying Allied eyes and he brags about his crack troops and their shiney guns. He also flatly tells them that, now that they've seen it all, they can never leave the island alive (Bhuwhahwhawha!). Oddly, our three leads seem to not really be in a hurry to escape and their protestations are more fake bluster than genuine outrage. They seem like they could overpower this old man and make some sort of effort to escape, but they just stand there and banter about history and science.

Chatting.
The Colonel's wife now comes in, excited to meet the visitors (she sees them more as guests than intruders). The woman is wearing a thick cloth mask which completely covers her head and face, though she's polite and pleasant (and speaks fluent New Jersey English, not for nothing). After she's gone, the Colonel explains that his wife's face was horribly disfigured in a lab accident while here on the island.

The wife arrives.
The Colonel goes further and says that he's found a way to suck the life energy out of test subjects (the kidnapped local island girls we saw earlier), insert this stolen chi into his wife's veins and make her sexy again. He claims this is an old Nazi-era secret that they were working on during the war. [Editor Pam: Jeez, no wonder they lost the war, if they wasted funding and personnel doing this. I mean, developing an atomic bomb is trivial in comparison to making Nazi women beautiful.]
In some ill-explained side-effect of this process, the test girls are turned into "she demons", beastly wicked creatures who have regressed to a primeval state of violence and growling. But, fear not, the monster effects are only temporary, in a week or so they return to their normal state (smokin' hot) and can thus be used again. The other side effect is that the subject has total amnesia for life! So, the she-demon who killed the Red-Shirt-Ensign escaped somehow and was out running around in rage? Or do they release them to roam around and then have to catch them again? That seems dumb, as they are obviously extremely violent and dangerous.




Nazi soldiers.
Meanwhile, Lance-SquareJaw and Racial-Stereotype are taken off to be "entertained" by the guards, who must be bored with abusing young native girls and should be tickled pink to take their aggressions out on this smarmy American and his ethnically neutral sidekick. After the gruesome death of the topless lady before, I was fully expecting something nasty, but having to walk around in a circle aimlessly holding a heavy hunk of wood while people laugh at you sounds more like a typical day at my workplace and not Nazi torture.

Monday morning staff meeting.
They escape with the help of Polly-Purebred, who has also managed to slip the oily clutches of the Colonel. But they are captured again and in no time the Colonel has Polly-Purebred strapped down on a table to extract her sexy-serum. Note that she's wearing the same white outfit she had on before, not the black dress she was captured in, so either the Colonel let her change clothes before experimenting on her, or this scene was filmed out of sequence.


Scary skull!
The volcano is exploding now in a collage of stock footage clips! They escape in the nick of time, fighting off the last few surviving guards along the way. Watch as Lance-SquareJaw shoots a Nazi dead from two hundred yards away with a pistol fired from the hip (a true sign of American manliness, aiming is for pansies, and the English). Lance-SquareJaw and Polly-Purebred are sure to get married now, and she'll realize her lifelong dream of mixing martinis for breakfast, cold stares across the table, and unreported spousal abuse. Racial-Stereotype is off to get a job at the Benihanas down in Dulles. Hey, what about the island girls? Apparently they were collateral damage.

