Following in the stop-motion animation footsteps of Willis O’Brien and Ray Harryhausen for 1967’s Equinox,
visual-effects master Dennis Muren and fellow monster maven David
Allen, both under 21 years old at the time, used a slew of preexisting
models that Allen had created as a teenager, including a towering, King
Kong-like ape creature, a tentacled underwater beast which would fit
right in in a kid-theater knock-off of the latest Pirates of the Caribbean sequel and a skeleton right out of Harryhausen’s The 7th Voyage of Sinbad.
The result was a film that inspired fellow monster-magazine readers,
showcasing the rich fruits of possibility of one’s own backyard
creativity.

Still, properly modulated and/or muted expectation is the key prerequisite for Equinox,
as those who don’t appreciate the craft and skill in adolescent
experimentation’s first tentative steps won’t be able to mine much
reward from this movie. Situated in flashback form, the story centers
around a group of four young, sleuthing, amateur archeologists — Jim (WKRP in Cincinnati’s
Frank Bonner), Susan (Barbara Hewitt), David (Skip Shimer) and Vicki
(Robin Snider) — who uncover horror in a dusty state forest. While
questing for a book of spells containing secrets of a strange,
malevolent world which coexists with that of mankind, they find
themselves under attack by winged beasts, huge apes and Satan.

Equinox is simplistic, yes, and its acting quite stilted, but
Muren and his writer and co-director Mark McGee utilize forced
perspective, in-camera editing and other sleights of hand to remarkable
effect for such a low-budget, DIY feature (the movie was shot over the
course of 1965 and ’66 for under $6,500). One interesting thing is that
the movie, originally inclusive of the subtitled moniker A Journey Into the Supernatural, was bought by legendary producer Jack H. Harris (The Blob)
on the strength of its special effects, and then passed off to unsung
filmmaker Jack Woods (who previously had helped edit John Cassavetes’ Faces) to lengthen and restructure.

Trimmed to just Equinox, but beefed up with ADR and other
bits to give the movie much more of a conventional horror bent, the
movie was released in 1970, and saw considerable success both in normal
distribution and as a reel-to-reel sell-thru item. While Allen and
Muren — the latter now a nine-time Oscar winner — have each gone on to
provide special effects for all sorts of beastly blockbusters, from Star Wars and Honey, I Shrunk the Kids to The Abyss and Jurassic Park,
their cachet in their field has only enhanced the cult status and
youthful charm of their debut creature-feature collaboration.

Both versions of the movie are presented in 1.33:1 full screen with
Dolby digital mono on Criterion’s new double-disc release, along with
the requisite slate of impressive bonus materials. Famous Monsters of Filmland
editor Forrest J. Ackerman provides a self-indulgent, seven-minute
video introduction, and there are two audio commentaries — one for each
version of the movie. On the 82-minute theatrical cut, Harris and Woods
sit together for a genial and exceedingly detailed chat in which they
pay considerable compliments to cinematographer Mike Hoover and offer
forth all manner of minutiae and trivia. (Ed Begley, Jr. on assistant
camera, ladies and gentlemen!) On the 70-minute original feature, Muren
sits for a solo track of reminiscence (on casting: Hewitt “was the
prettiest girl in my high school,” and thusly qualified) that’s nicely
blended with thoughts from McGee and matte artist/cel animator/effects
technician Jim Danforth regarding the amicable handover of the film to
producer Harris.

On the second disc, Muren sits for a seven-minute interview in which
he details his childhood fascination with effects, and urges young
aspirant filmmakers to reach beyond excuses and work with the tools
that they currently have. Interviews with Bonner, Hewitt and James
Duron are also included, along with deleted scenes and outtakes from
the original 1967 version, archival stop-motion test footage and a
short film featuring the same crew, 1972’s Zorgon: The H-Bomb Beast From Hell.
Promotional material and a extensive photo gallery of rare stills
nicely complement the trailer and radio spots that touted the movie’s
theatrical release, and a hearty insert booklet with testimonials from
Harryhausen and George Lucas, and an essay from Brock DeShane, richly
point up this title’s sub-set importance. B- (Movie) A- (Disc)