Viking Night: Little Shop of Horrors
By Bruce Hall
June 14, 2011
BoxOfficeProphets.com
What’s definitely true is that he’s actually one of the more prolific film makers in history and I have to admit, he holds a special place in my heart. This is because in addition to his many considerable achievements, Corman was the first man to make a film about street racers on the run from the law called The Fast and the Furious (look it up). Less significantly but far more useful to me on a day when I needed something to write about, he is the part creator of The Little Shop of Horrors. But if you’re expecting to see Steve Martin riding a plastic Harley, singing about pulling teeth, think again. The original Little Shop seamlessly combines horror and humor into something that’s more enjoyable than you’d expect. It doesn’t have Steve Martin, but it doesn’t have Steve Martin singing, either. I call that a win.
It does have Jonathan Haze, who is to Roger Corman as Harvey Keitel is to Quentin Tarantino, or Leonardo DiCaprio is to Martin Scorsese these days. Haze lights the torch he will one day hand to Rick Moranis, originating the role of Seymour Krelboyne. Seymour is a bumbling, nebbishy flower shop assistant who adores plants, but has no talent whatsoever for their care. He spends long, dull days at Mushnik’s Flowers, kept company by the store’s overbearing namesake (Mel Welles) and their ditsy secretary, Audrey (Jackie Joseph). At night, Seymour goes home to a half insane, hypochondriac mother who feeds him things like cod liver oil and Epsom salts for dinner. His only true friend in the world is an unusual, pod shaped plant he purchased from a mysterious Japanese trader. All in all it’s not a bad life. Unless you consider all of that bad.
On top of this, Mushnik has grown tired of not selling flowers. The store’s only patrons are running gags. There’s an amusing little old lady who stops by every day to buy flowers for yet another dead relative, and a weirdo in a leisure suit who drops by to pick up a bouquet of carnations, which he then eats. He even carries around a salt shaker. Trust me, it’s funny; you have to be there. And sadly, despite his zeal, Seymour’s incompetence tends to drive customers away. Mushkin warns the lad that if he doesn’t come up with a way to sell more flowers in 24 hours, both he and Audrey (for whom Seymour has a secret crush) will be fired. Dark times are upon him, and though he may be an idiot, Seymour is a very resourceful idiot. It doesn’t take him long to devise a plan. He will bring the strange plant from home, and its exotic nature will draw in customers, saving the store and his job.
That’s probably not an effective business plan in real life, but it works in the movie. Soon the strange plant (which Seymour has named "Audrey Jr.") is drawing crowds. People are coming to see Audrey Jr. and they’re bringing vast amounts of money with them. Everything seems to be going according to plan, which of course is right when suddenly they aren’t. The plant becomes ill, and nothing Seymour tries can rescue it. Mushnik again gives him a warning - save the plant and save your job. It’s as he sits up all night nursing the bizarro bloom that Seymour discovers what it needs to survive - human blood. Don’t ask how. He just does. You might think this is where the movie stops being funny, because up to this point it is in fact highly amusing. Things do get a little macabre, as you can imagine they do when you’re talking about a plant that dines on human flesh. But they also go from "highly amusing" to "mostly hilarious."
The remainder of the film has to do with Seymour’s attempts to reconcile the plant’s needs with his own sense of morality. And for the most part, it’s effective on many levels other than as humor. He feels obligated to provide for his nutball mother, and his sudden success has drawn Audrey to him. They’re the most boring, idiotic couple in Los Angeles but her fate is connected to his and he isn’t about to let her go. Add to this the fact that as it grows, the plant develops the ability to speak, and it turns out to be smarter than its master. It also has a sense of humor, which it uses to manipulate its bumbling caretaker into some highly depraved things. Seymour tries to resist but in addition to being incredibly stupid, he’s also accident prone - in a way that tends to end badly for others. This ends up being both a blessing and a curse, depending on how you look at it.
The movie is a creature of its time, shot (in under three days) and scored like a television show of the period. In fact, it’s kind of an amusing cross between an episode of The Twilight Zone and the Dick Van Dyke show, whose subject matter is just too disturbing for the small screen. Speaking of disturbing, Jack Nicholson appears in a small, relatively insignificant role. The most efficient description I can give of his performance is that I now believe him to be Crispin Glover’s father. There’s also an occasional narrative provided by an off screen police detective who is clearly meant to be a send up of Dragnet’s Joe Friday. It’s period humor, though, and the reference will be lost on most modern viewers, making it feel tacked on. Not only that, it weakens the film in the same way noir voice-overs usually do. They act as de facto spoilers, often allowing you to divine plot points in advance, depending on who’s speaking and what they say.
I hate to point out that this movie is "not for everyone," partially because nothing is for everyone, It just sounds stupid to say. But if you’re the kind of person who wouldn’t dream of watching a movie more than 120 days old, this film is not for you. If you don’t like black and white films, this is not for you. And if your pop culture radar only extends back two months, I’d suggest you avoid this one. But if you were that kind of person, you wouldn’t be one of my over half-dozen readers. So if you happen to dig this movie, check out other Corman classics like The Fall of the House of Usher (1960) and A Bucket of Blood (1959). Or perhaps The Intruder (1962) is more your taste, especially if you want to see William Shatner channel Archie Bunker. Trust me, you do. I’m telling you, once upon a time Admiral Kirk wasn’t half bad in front of the camera.
Like the musical version a quarter century later, The Little Shop of Horrors is largely a crowd pleaser. But this version is an altogether different beast than its descendant. It has a darker tone, a more sophisticated sense of humor and of course, no singing. And once you’ve seen it, the next time someone asks you if you’ve seen Little Shop of Horrors you can say “Yes! And I loved it!” And when they ask you what your favorite song was, you can proudly say: “Songs? What songs?” Every time you do, Roger Corman gets a pair of wings.