Most yeti pictures are fatally undermined by a grave paucity of energy and enthusiasm. Not so this gloriously bent, batty and berserk over-the-top Italian-made shot-in-Canada kitsch gut-buster: It's a wildly ripe and vigorously moronic ghastly marvel which reaches a stunning apotheosis of righteously over-baked "what the hell's going on?" crackpot excess and inanity.
A freighter ship crew discovers the body of a 30-foot yeti that resembles a hirsute 70's disco stud (complete with jumbo wavy afro) perfectly preserved in a large chunk of ice. They dethaw the beast, jolt him back to life with electric charges, grossly mistreat him, and keep the poor hairy Goliath in an enormous glass booth. Before you can say "Hey, the filmmakers are obviously ripping off 'King Kong'," our titanic abominable snowdude breaks free of his cage, grabs the first luscious nubile blonde Euro vixen (the gorgeous Pheonix Grant) he lays lustful eyes on, and storms away with his new lady love. The yeti gets recaptured and flown to Toronto to be showed off to a gawking audience. Of course, he breaks free again, nabs the vixen, and goes on the expected stomping around the city rampage.
The sublimely stupid dialogue (sample line: "Philosophy has no place in science, professor"), cheesy (far from) special effects (the horrendous transparent blue screen work and cruddy Tonka toy miniatures are especially uproarious in their very jaw-dropping awfulness), clunky (mis)direction, and a heavy-handed script that even attempts a clumsily sincere "Is the yeti a man or a beast?" ethical debate all combine together to create one of the single most delightfully ridiculous giant monster flicks to ever roar its absurd way across the big screen. Better still, we also have a few funky offbeat touches to add extra shoddy spice to the already succulently schlocky cinematic brew: the vixen accidentally brushes against one of the yeti's nipples, which causes it to harden and elicits a big, leering grin of approval from the lecherous behemoth (!); the vixen nurses the yeti's wounded hand while he makes goo-goo eyes at her, the yeti smashes windows with his feet while climbing a towering office building, and the furry fellow even breaks a man's neck with his toes (!!). Overall, this singularly screwball and shamefully unheralded should-be camp classic stands tall as a remarkable monolith of infectiously asinine celluloid lunacy that's eminently worthy of a substantial hardcore underground cult following.
A freighter ship crew discovers the body of a 30-foot yeti that resembles a hirsute 70's disco stud (complete with jumbo wavy afro) perfectly preserved in a large chunk of ice. They dethaw the beast, jolt him back to life with electric charges, grossly mistreat him, and keep the poor hairy Goliath in an enormous glass booth. Before you can say "Hey, the filmmakers are obviously ripping off 'King Kong'," our titanic abominable snowdude breaks free of his cage, grabs the first luscious nubile blonde Euro vixen (the gorgeous Pheonix Grant) he lays lustful eyes on, and storms away with his new lady love. The yeti gets recaptured and flown to Toronto to be showed off to a gawking audience. Of course, he breaks free again, nabs the vixen, and goes on the expected stomping around the city rampage.
The sublimely stupid dialogue (sample line: "Philosophy has no place in science, professor"), cheesy (far from) special effects (the horrendous transparent blue screen work and cruddy Tonka toy miniatures are especially uproarious in their very jaw-dropping awfulness), clunky (mis)direction, and a heavy-handed script that even attempts a clumsily sincere "Is the yeti a man or a beast?" ethical debate all combine together to create one of the single most delightfully ridiculous giant monster flicks to ever roar its absurd way across the big screen. Better still, we also have a few funky offbeat touches to add extra shoddy spice to the already succulently schlocky cinematic brew: the vixen accidentally brushes against one of the yeti's nipples, which causes it to harden and elicits a big, leering grin of approval from the lecherous behemoth (!); the vixen nurses the yeti's wounded hand while he makes goo-goo eyes at her, the yeti smashes windows with his feet while climbing a towering office building, and the furry fellow even breaks a man's neck with his toes (!!). Overall, this singularly screwball and shamefully unheralded should-be camp classic stands tall as a remarkable monolith of infectiously asinine celluloid lunacy that's eminently worthy of a substantial hardcore underground cult following.