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one margarita film

laid back; no clicky for Attack of the Giant Leeches

One of the nice things about these nature-gone-mad films of the late 1950s is that they're so concise. They get in, make their point, and get back out. If you're a slow reader, it might actually take you longer to finish this writeup than watching the movie yourself. As for the downside to films of this era, well, there's no nudity, everyone smokes like it's a contest, and even at its most torrid, the pacing feels kinda slow.

The town drunk (and resident otter poacher) shoots something weird back in the Florida swamp. He tells his buddies about it, goes back into the swamp, is killed. His body shows mysterious markings, more like an octopus or a squid than a crocodile. The game warden can't find anything out of the ordinary. A local man catches his wife fooling around with his best friend. He chases them into the swamp, where they're captured by the giant leeches. Nobody believes his story, and he's imprisoned for murder. Two guys vanish looking for the bodies of the missing (presumed-murdered) couple. The coroner dynamites the river. Three of the missing people turn up, but the autopsy shows that they were alive until just a few hours earlier. The game warden kills a giant leech with a spear gun. The final body is discovered. They dynamite the swamp, just to be sure.

No character development, no psycho-analysis, no real attempt to explain the sudden presence of giant leeches in the local ecosystem (except for a half-hearted reference to Cape Canaveral). Just some guys in some rubber monster suits terrorizing some locals, then getting whacked. A B-movie haiku.