It was supposed to be Denmark’s contribution to the horror B movie genre but when Reptilicus was released the audience rolled around the aisles with laughter
 
The nuclear and cold war era of the early 1960s was also the golden age of the movie monster. Cinema audiences worldwide thrilled to the sight of Godzilla destroying Tokyo, The Blob wreaking havoc across the USA and the giant dinosaur Gorgo demolishing London. Few domestic movie-goers, however, could have envisaged such a ferocious cinematic beast let loose on the streets of the Danish capital.

All this changed with the 1962 film Reptilicus  - a home-grown monster which launched a full scale assault on such historic sights as Copenhagen’s Langebro Bridge and the City Hall.

In a book entitled ‘Land of a Thousand Balconies’ (Critical Vision / Headpress 2003), author and film enthusiast Jack Stevenson sheds light on the events which led to the monster venting its wrath on Copenhagen. Reptilicus, he writes, was the brainchild of maverick US film producer and distributor Sydney Pink, who fell in love with Copenhagen during a 1959 visit, returning to the USA full of enthusiasm for Danish icons such as Tivoli and mermaids.

Pink’s Danophilia, combined with the latest craze for science fiction, led to his brainchild – a monster movie unifying the low costs of filming in Europe with the ‘beauties of the Danish countryside’. Surprisingly, Pink was able to recruit investors from both sides of the Atlantic, and his powers of persuasion also convinced some of Denmark’s finest classical actors to take part in the project.

With one eye firmly on the US box office, it was agreed that Reptilicus would be filmed in both English and Danish, with the Danish actors doing their best to speak in US accents on a second take.

However, the film’s biggest US investor, Samuel Z. Arkoff, was less than impressed. Arkoff, who had reportedly sunk $100,000 into the film, ‘shut the projector off in horror after viewing the first rough cut. ‘The monster didn’t horrify him nearly as much as the Danish accents,’ writes Stevenson. Over Pink’s protestations, Arkoff insisted the film be dubbed with American voices, prompting an exchange of lawsuits across the Atlantic that was to herald the start of Reptilicus’s woes.

Any behind-the-scenes misgivings of the film’s investors did not affect the hype in Denmark. Reptilicus was touted as the movie event of the year and, in an interview with Berlingske Tidende, Pink even claimed that the film was in line to win an Oscar.

The Danish premiere was held on 20 February 1961 at the Saga Cinema on Vesterbrogade, where the expectant audience was presented with the story of an oil drilling expedition discovering part of a prehistoric dinosaur in Lapland. After the remains are entrusted to a Danish scientist the beast is revived during an electrical storm and escapes to terrorise Copenhagen.

Unfortunately, the cinematic destruction of Copenhagen did not so much terrify the audience as cause large scale amusement. According to one observer, the monster ‘appeared to resemble a string puppet’, while another described it as a ‘tacky Chinese dragon’. The supposedly apocalyptic scene in which Copenhagen’s Town Hall Square (Rådhuspladsen) is demolished by the irate dinosaur was reportedly greeted with roars of laughter, while a scene in which panicking cyclists plummet into Copenhagen harbour from Langebro Bridge caused even greater hilarity. Stevenson writes that extras supposedly fleeing across the bridge in terror ‘seemed to be doing their best to repress grins’.

Not surprisingly, the critics slammed the film mercilessly, describing it as ‘badly acted, appallingly directed, amateurish and implausible in every aspect.’ Few could fathom why an American general had been put in charge of the Danish armed forces, and the special effects were less than convincing. It came as no surprise when the US release was shelved.

It was not until 1963 that the film was finally released across the Atlantic, where it made little impression at the box office. Finally, it was relegated to the drive-in circuit where, Stevenson comments, amorous teenagers ‘couldn’t care less what was on the screen.’

Reptilicus, however, was not so easily subdued. After years in which the prints gathered dust, Copenhagen’s reptilian tormentor made a successful comeback as a kitsch addition to The Monkee’s television show, and was screened in full on US television in the early 1980s, with its small screen debut in Denmark following soon afterwards. With each of its frequent late night television screenings the film’s cult status grew, with many young fans won over by what one enthusiast described as the ‘exceptional awfulness’ of the movie.

Despite the film’s obvious flaws, it is today viewed with a certain amount of affection in Denmark. At least, fans claim, it succeeded in placing their capital city on par with such monster-blighted metropolises as Tokyo, New York and London. Even today, they add, Reptilicus is guaranteed to put a grin on the face of anyone familiar with Copenhagen.