Following a traumatic accident during the testing of a new deep-sea diving suit which almost costs her life, brilliant but highly strung marine biologist Olive (Anna Dawson) finds herself fired from mildly rapey Dr. Fletcher’s (Zach Lee) research expedition who’s trying to find some sort of protoplasmic life-form in the depths of the ocean that MAY BE RESPONSIBLE FOR ALL LIFE AS WE KNOW IT!

So, discovering some inky black shit in the ruins of her wetsuit, Olive just scoops that inky black shit up with her bare hands, A GENIUS SCIENTIST SCOOPING UP AN EGG THING COVERED IN INKY BLACK UNKNOWN SHIT WITH HER BARE HANDS, hides it in her toolkit AND SMUGGLES IT HOME, fixing up a rudimentary laboratory in the basement of her Hull home unbeknownst to dweeby boyfriend Matt (Paul Thrace) and estranged sister Ellie (Michaela Longden) who seems to have wandered in from an episode of Hollyoaks Later.

Fairly soon, Olive’s got a bouncing baby tentacled thingy on her hands that thrives on human blood. Sharing a symbiotic link with the unnameable tentacle creature after it sneezes INKY BLACK SHIT IN HER EYES, the increasingly unhinged Olive is driven to extremes to satisfy it, starts kidnapping suitably unmissed victims and feeding them to her ‘baby’ in the basement. But just how far will Olive go…?

I am a pedant.


I sweat the small stuff. I’m the kinda stick-in-the-mud for whom God, even your ancient Eldritch Gods, is in the details. You can tell me the biggest lie but as long as you convince me of the smallest, teeny weeny-est, minor-est, seemingly inconsequential detail, you’ve got me! But if you don’t convince me…

Case in point, did you see Mad Max: Fury Road last year? Of course you did, everybody did. And you loved it, right? Right? Of course you did, everybody did. Everybody except me. Fury Road lost me right around the time I realised the basis for it’s post-apocalyptic society was breast milk. And that Charlize was driving around the baking hot desert hauling an unrefrigerated tanker of titty juice. Right there, I’m out. No way that tanker isn’t full of cottage cheese by the end. I don’t care how pretty the explosions and vehicular mayhem on display is, that’s 120 minutes of my life I’m never getting back.

The Creature Below lost me early. The performances are fine, lead actress Anna Dawson is on flinty good form as Olive in her feature debut and I’m fine with the idea of mad scientists searching the depths of the ocean for undiscovered prehistoric lifeforms. And I’m kinda okay with Olive not getting the bends after her rapid ascent to the surface and failure to decompress ‘cause I’m figuring she’d already been infected by the creature by then. And I’m totally on board with feeding the neighbours to the baby Cthulhu in the cellar that you share a psychic link with.

But when Olive who, lets not forget, is supposed to be a brilliant scientist and marine biologist (she must be, after all she tells us herself in the first scene of the film) ignores basic biosafety and SCOOPS UP SOME INKY BLACK UNKNOWN SHIT WITH HER BARE HANDS, no gloves, no face mask, no gown, no sterile surgical scrubs, no shoe covers, no respirator, no face shields, no safety glasses, no goggles, not even a lab coat, HER BARE HANDS, right there I’m out.

A monster movie for the undemanding gorehound, The Creature Below brings Hell to the Humber.

Horror Channel Frightfest review: The Creature Below
2.0Overall Score
Reader Rating: (7 Votes)

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