Giant chicken movies

The Food of the Gods is the ne plus ultra of of giant chicken movies. Nuff said. Look lady, Marjoe Gortner says, I’ve already seen your chickens. Ida Lupino stares him down with a shotgun. He had seem them too, the rooster attacked him and he killed it with a pitchfork, blood and feathers everywhere. Admittedly it’s not the giant carnivorous chicken extravaganza that Night of the Lepus was a giant carnivorous rabbit extravaganza, but with a giant chicken oeuvre—I’ve waited my whole life to say giant chicken oeuvre—limited to Food of the Gods and Sleeper, I’ll take it, over easy.

OK, maybe I forgot other giant chicken movies. There could be hundreds of them. There could be entire giant chicken film festivals. There could be. I could Google “giant chicken movies” to find out, but the algorithmic possibilities terrify me.

Frogs

I can’t believe all you people are watching Dinocroc vs. Supergator when you could be watching Frogs. Frogs is much scarier. OK, it’s not. There is nothing scary about frogs. Not even a swamp house full of frogs. Ray Milland gets killed by frogs. They never explain how.  They leave it to our imagination. But I never could figure out how those frogs killed him. At least in Night of the Lepus the rabbits, if fluffy, were huge and carnivorous. Sort of adorably floppy thumper deadly. But a frog unhuge is not scary. That’s a big chicken Marjoe Gortner said to Ida Lupino in Food of the Gods and he was right, it was a big chicken. Big and deadly. He escaped, something Joan Collins didn’t in Empire of the Ants. The giant ants snipped her clean through her pretty little thorax. I thought of this as I came face to face with her one night at the bar at the Ricardo Montalban Theatre. She looked up at me, all four feet of her, startled. I looked down at her, surprised, and said Empire of the Ants! Or would have, if I hadn’t had the safety on. Instead I said nothing and smiled. She turned back to her friends, a queen among queens, giggling, whispering. I almost said Empire of the Ants to Joan Collins, I remember thinking. You get one chance in life for a faux pas like that, and I let mine get away. Meanwhile, back in the movie here, Ray Milland is being frogged to death.

Frogs.

Frogs.