ATTACK OF THE 50 FOOT WOMAN (1958)

She’s Loose And She’s Ready For Vengeance

The 1950s was undeniably the decade for giant creature-features. From irradiated arthropods and octopus to crab monsters, the low-budget cinematic money maker was kaiju. But as the scintillating trailer promises, the “most grotesque monstrosity of all” is woman—all 50 feet of her.

ATTACK OF THE 50 FOOT WOMAN (1958) opens with a special, if not skeptical, news report from KRKR-TV about repeated sitings of a fireball in the sky and a mysterious satellite startling spectators the world over. And BAM. Just like that, our larger-than-life protagonist is driving along an otherwise deserted road only to nearly crash right into one. Mrs. Nancy Archer (Allison Hayes) is a highly publicized socialite, an heiress to a $50 million estate, and something of a lush. So when she runs from the desert road to the center of Anytown, USA in hysterics, the bumbling local police aren’t exactly convinced of any threat. And neither are the townsfolk.

After all, who could blame them? Mrs. Archer was only recently released from a private sanitarium for treatment of her “violent headaches.” I suppose a century prior women were committed for far less than migraines—but I digress.

Nancy Archer’s biggest problem isn’t her indulgence of alcohol, or even the giant humanoid she saw descend from the mysterious spacecraft. Mrs. Archer’s central conflict is Mr. Archer (William Hudson) and his mistress, Honey-husband stealing-Parker (Yvette Vickers). Harry Archer is a serial two-timer, you see. And this time his second lady is a conniving gal-about-town who has money in mind—Mrs. Archer’s money. And she’s ready to dispose of Mrs. Archer by gaslighting her back to the looney bin…or worse.

So when Mrs. Archer confronts Harry about his philandering ways and his disbelief in her encounter of the gigantic kind, she offers to voluntarily return to the sanitarium if she can’t prove her story true. Naturally Harry is more than agreeable to the suggestion. But when they venture out to that same desert road, lo and behold they find the “satellite” (which is apparently an interchangeable term with spacecraft or UFO). Out pops a humungous hand looking like a foam appendage from a ‘90s Nickelodeon gameshow. And it’s clawing at Mrs. Archer’s prized diamond necklace! Harry does what any dutiful and loving husband would do: He brandishes a gun, fires wildly to no avail, and flees the scene leaving his wailing wife behind.

When Mrs. Archer is later found inexplicably on the roof of their mansion’s pool house, the police become embroiled in something of a mystery for a small town. Then they spot the footprints—unmissable kaiju-sized footprints, mind you. When they follow the footprints they find the satellite they’re looking for, the stolen diamond necklace, and the craft’s oversized operator. What follows, ladies and gentlemen, is a translucent double-exposure of a rather annoyed looking fellow of epic proportions wearing what could only be described as cheap Roman gladiator hand-me-downs recycled from a previous film. It’s just one of many charms the film has to offer. Trust me.

In listening to the 2022 Blu-Ray release commentary track with film historian Tom Weaver, it’s noted that Nathan Juran, the director of ATTACK OF THE 50 FOOT WOMAN, begged for just $10,000 more for a better special effects budget. But the studio wouldn’t budge. Once the distributor Allied Artists got a glimpse of the cornball effects, they realized the error in judgment and wanted reshoots for the climax. But the cost to reassemble the cast and crew would’ve been too great. I guess Juran was right.

Or was he? ATTACK OF THE FIFTY FOOT WOMAN is cherished for its drive-in style sci-fi shrieks and comically shoddy effects. And to be fair, the shaking camera, the few miniaturized set pieces, and booming “giant” vocals on our enlarged protagonist are effective…for the last ten minutes of the 66-minute film when we actually see the advertised attack on the town.

“She’s loose!”

All things considered, it’s honestly a pretty subdued rampage. I mean, if the local news had broadcast an alert that insinuated I was a crazy rich bitch, I might be pretty pissed.

If the entire town was privy to my husband’s affairs and lied to accommodate he and his mistress, I’d be none too pleased.

If my philandering husband was plotting to:

a)  Have me committed to inherit my fortune.

b)  Overdose me with morphine while under sedation for my suddenly kaiju-sized body.

c)  Dismissively and quite casually dance the night away at the local honky-tonk with the town floozy, all the while underestimating what I’m capable of doing at 50 feet tall…

Well, let’s just say I’d be big mad.

So Honey Homewrecker gets crushed by falling debris. And Harry gets carried away and dies in Mrs. Archer’s hand when she’s taken down by a blown electricity transformer. But here’s the deal. The town that thought so little of a lush and a presumed lunatic, thought so little of this woman as they would any atypical wife by a 1950s standard. Any woman that was too loud. Too demanding of her husband’s time and attention. Just…too much.

This town was as dismissive of a satellite from space just as much as a woman who occupied too much space. And that was just as true before Nancy Archer’s kaiju glow up. Case in point? After chaining Mrs. Archer’s long limbs and sedating her into a coma, the two treating doctors pontificated on the situation as follows:

Doctor Cushing regrets suggesting Nancy and her husband reconcile after learning of Harry’s true duplicitous nature. His colleague suggests something else entirely. “When women reach the age of maturity, Mother Nature sometimes overworks their frustrations to the point of irrationalism,” says Dr. Heinrich. He further goes on to explain that this is exactly why married men stray toward twenty-something women. Oh. Okay. I thought maybe her being fifty feet tall would be the scenario that needs discussion, not scapegoating her husband’s wayward gaze. Why is that tradwife trend a thing again?

At the time this article was being written, there have been unconfirmed reports that Margot Robbie will be the lead in an upcoming remake of ATTACK OF THE FIFTY FOOT WOMAN, long rumored to be directed by Tim Burton. Truth be told, I was hoping for a female director like Karyn Kusama or maybe Mary Harron—someone with a sharp sense of satirical humor who isn’t afraid to go big and bold and brash with the material. I want the aesthetics of atomic age science fiction. But I want it with a side of body horror. Hold the 1950s sentimentality. And attack, attack, attack. Run riot. Break loose looking as showstoppincgly glamorous as Allison Hayes in her makeshift bed sheet sarong and just kaiju stomp that small town right into the desert sand.

That’s my hopes for any new iteration of ATTACK OF THE 50 FOOT WOMAN. But I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what the future brings for this beloved b-movie. Until then, a toast! Cheers to all the women who are too loud, too demanding, and just too much to contain.