The flesh-eaters in The Flesh-Eaters (1964) are miniature marshmallow-sized sparkly organisms in the water that eat your flesh. You don’t need to know where they came from or why human flesh is the only thing that makes their tummies feel all nice ’n happy. All you really need to know is that the handsome pilot of a chartered sea plane and his two hot clients (an alcoholic movie starlet and her tight-sweatered assistant) were forced to land on a barren island whose waters are teeming with said hungry microbes.
Thinking they’ll have to wait out the storm by sleeping in the dirt, a German scientist scuba diver comes out of the surf and lets them sleep in his zelt (tent). Ach du lieber — this man’s a Nazi! Accent aside, he seems nice — AT FIRST. He even acts appropriately sympathetic when a picked-to-the-bone skeleton washes up on shore (Was not aware skeletons were bouyant.). “Must’ve been a shark,” he rationally deduces. There’s German logic for you.
With no coconuts to make a radio out of, the castaways have to wait a few days for a supply boat. But the German — like all zelt-dwelling Germans — has a secret agenda. He figured out a way to stun the microbes. By throwing a positive and negative charge into the water he can immobilize the twerps, then put ’em in jars and eBay™ ’em off to the highest bidding government as a war weapon.
But what the Nazi didn’t count on was that the electricity makes the organisms bond together and grow into an electric shellfish with one eye. Fortified with 10,000 volts, this “electro-crab,” the size of Godzilla’s dining room table, rises out of the ocean, ready to shock and awe. Mostly shock, though.
Can the pilot save the day with his good looks? Will the Nazi get a taste of his own burning flesh? Will the hot assistant find another reason to take off her shirt? Man, they really knew how to make drama-filled sci-fi back in 1964.
Drinkin' & Drive-in 