Editor's Note

Our review of Bug, published September 24th, 2007, is also available.

The Charge

They look like rocks. They have no eyes. They eat ashes…and they kill.

Opening Statement

If you're an insectophobe, then William Castle's 1975 Bug is probably not on your "must-see" list. If you're someone who enjoys a good "nature gone awry" film, then Bug is probably still not on your "must-see" list. But, if you're someone who doesn't mind the frequent indiscretions of 1970s cinema, those exploitative shockers that attempt to ride the coattails of the more successful pictures that established the trends of the time (think Jaws), then this final film from the cigar-chomping Godfather of Gimmicks will probably find its way into your DVD tray.

Then, after seeing it—you'll probably wish you had scratched Bug off your "must-see" list.

Facts of the Case

An earthquake rocks a dusty town in southwestern America, opening a gaping fissure that lets loose the strangest of swarms. Armored bugs, seemingly akin to cockroaches, emerge silently, yet quickly make their presence known. These as-yet unclassified creatures feed on carbon and have the ability to generate flames. Without warning, the locals are terrorized and killed by the fire-breathing Hellspawn. Professor James Parmiter (Bradford Dillman, Escape from the Planet of the Apes), aided by former student Metbaum (Richard Gilliland, thirtysomething) set out to discover how these destructive creatures came into being and how, if at all, they can be stopped before the entire town is reduced to ash.

The Evidence

Yeah, it reads like your typical '70s creature feature, the kind that helped fill the screens during the infancy of multi-screen movie houses. The picture certainly has some potential, beginning with its adapted material from Thomas Page's 1973 novel The Hephaestus Plague. While the book fared reasonably well in recounting the bad bug story, the screenplay by Castle (the producer on this, his final film) and Page simply doesn't fan the flames. While the picture starts with a bang (well, a rumble, anyway), then quickly displays the destructive power of these fire-emitting Pseudophyllodromiinae, it subsequently lags terribly, crawling along about as slowly as the titular terrors. The stalling pace only accentuates the bad acting on display here, the sort that afflicted much of '70s cinema. Although at the time this style of acting was accepted by less sophisticated film audiences, today it is of interest only to connoisseurs of drive-in dreck. Charles Fox's electronic score is annoying and, while probably intended to add an aural dimension to accentuate the skittering of bug legs and swiveling of antennae, it's about as welcome as fingernails scraping across a chalkboard. (Yet the thought of that does give me the shivers.)

In fairness, the bugs themselves, deemed Hephaestus Parmiterus by Dillman's character, are generally well-photographed, with close-ups so tight they'll give the heebie-jeebies to the bug-averse among us. The fire trick is generally well-managed, too, as we see the little exhaust port located somewhere around the critters' taint region, resembling an insect-sized Bunsen burner. If your skin crawls seeing creatures crawling up people's necks, into their hair, or burrowing into their ears, then this picture will likely give you fits of frantic scratching as you flinch and flail at every tiny itch you feel; those you otherwise would have ignored.

Also, I need to recognize the efforts of Bradford Dillman, a personal favorite of mine at the time. (For some reason, I thought he was incredibly cool in the third "Apes" picture.) He's saddled with some real dopey dialogue, but manages to keep a straight face and reasonably consistent conviction regardless. He really cuts loose with the emotional swing during the film's final reel, and is the only redeeming thing we're offered through the downright inane climax. Bradford, you did the best you could, and I appreciate it.

It seems the team at Paramount Home Video certainly bugged out on this one, clearly not doing their best with this new release. The image, an anamorphic widescreen transfer framed at 1.85:1, looks like it's been beset by bug droppings. The picture is generally grainy, often soft, and relatively muted. The mono audio track just lays on its back, legs curled, making absolutely no attempt to widen the sound field and deliver, perhaps, some surround effects of scurrying bugs. Oh, and no extras, not even a trailer. Someone should set off a bug bomb in the mastering room where this disc was authored. Crappy picture or not, try to put forth a little effort, would ya?

The Rebuttal Witnesses

After my curt critique of Bug, you might conclude I have no respect for the late, great William Castle. Can't I just concede that he temporarily lost his powers of Percepto on this one? Shouldn't I grant him pardon for a picture that lacked the requisite Emergo that would have elevated it above other genre films of the decade? Am I too harsh in wanting to send him to the Coward's Corner or subject him to the Punishment Poll for a picture released in the shadow of Spielberg's all-devouring fish story? Or, is it I who is suffering from severe case of Illusion-O in believing that Castle could have achieved the same level of erstwhile ghoulish greatness while not glancing back at us from his director's chair?

Fair enough; and, truth be told, I was attentively seated in one of those 1970s cracker-box auditoriums when the film was originally released, eager to get bugged.

Castle as a director achieved his own level of greatness. A carnival sideshow barker at heart, he piqued filmgoer's curiosities throughout the '50s and '60s, lured them into his freak shows, then scared the bejesus out of them once they had ventured into his darkened auditoriums. He was a fearless pioneer in his experimentation with "interactive cinema," coaxing skeletons off the silver screen and into the audience, conjuring phantasms out of the ether aided by ghostly viewers, and even delivering shocks that emanated not from the flickering screen, but actually from the seats of those brave enough to remain in their chairs. As his showmanship style faltered (largely sabotaged by theater owners who weren't inclined to put in the extra effort needed to pull off the Gimmick Man's gags), Castle tried on the Producer's chair for size. His keen eye detected greatness in one particular Ira Levin work and, in 1968, he plopped Roman Polanski into the director's chair to introduce movie audiences to Rosemary's Baby.

While he continued to produce other material for the big and small screens, he wrapped up his life's work on Bug, passing away in May of 1977. His final work wasn't his best. Yet, despite its flaws, it does not diminish his lasting legacy as one of Hollywood's horror legends.

Closing Statement

If you're a Castle completist, then this picture will no doubt find its way into your film library. If you enjoy bugs-on-the-loose film fare, give this one a look, look past its shortcomings, and don't forget to check your car, check your hair, and check your bed, because the Bug may be coming for you next.

The Verdict

It is this court's opinion that Bug is merely a minor disturbance in the otherwise engaging body of work of an undeniably inventive and creative movie master. While this court cannot condone the content of this particular picture, it finds that no significant crime has been committed and sees no value in handing down a post-mortem punishment that might discredit the good name of William Castle. Paramount Home Video, however, is again found guilty of negligence in its duty to properly represent its catalog titles. This court grows increasingly impatient with the studio's apparent wanton defiance of consumer demands and wonders if the studio is beyond rehabilitation.

Similar Decisions

• Return To Horror High
• She Creature
• Dr. Phibes Rises Again
• Stephen King's Cat's Eye

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