Dave and Anne Brewster move to California to start a good, new life after he gets a job at an Air Force Base. But after an odd light points down from the sky onto a beach, their kids, Bud and Ken, succumb to aliens’ powerful telepathic orders.
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MST3K can go and ridicule their own diapers, mistaking low budget and artistic simplicity for bad quality. This is great cinema, a composed sci-fi where the main monster is the narrow-mindedness and partisanship of adults, their relationship to childeren consisting of alienating commands and "Don't ask". At his best, Jack Arnold is a modest master, making sparing images with conscience.
Lovely little Jack Arnold cheapie with aseptic indoors and slabby severe outdoor compositions aided by the unvaried sound of the sea and lots of animus against the nodes of authority in the 50s, both public (the cold war hawks) and private (paternalism)