La semilla del espacio

No voy a criticar los efectos especiales: en mi opinión, el aspecto de los trífidos en esta película está bien considerando las posibilidades efectistas de 1963, las plantas que andan no parecen ridículas. Sin embargo, lo que resulta ridículo es la trama, que no solo es terriblemente ingenua y carente de interés en muchas escenas, sino que además está dividida en dos narraciones paralelas no relacionadas en absoluto. Todo el argumento con Kieron Moore y Janette Scott se añadió para alargar la película y, por tanto, va en una dirección completamente diferente a la de la novela de John Wyndham y fabrica un final feliz realmente tonto. En términos de fidelidad a la fuente literaria y de calidad en general, la miniserie británica de 1981 es mucho mejor. (16.02.2019)

Poster tagline: BEWARE THE TRIFFIDS... they grow... know... walk... talk... stalk... and KILL!! To bemoan the fact that an old monster-horror film from the naive 'Golden Age of Science Fiction of the 50s and 60s' neutered John Wyndham's novel is like mocking Steven Seagal for never playing Hamlet. It's just completely pointless and counterproductive. Even in modest conditions, when they didn't have a rich studio like Universal behind them, the Brits managed to make a cheap horror film that looks more expensive than it really was, and even though some of the FX scenes have aged a lot (the plane crash), it's not a total bust. The triffids' costumes are quite fine for their time and the ending in the lighthouse tower builds up nicely. Perhaps the assistant directorial supervision of Hammer legend Freddie Francis, whose name did not appear in the credits, also contributed to the quite acceptable result. (09.12.2012)

A total trashing of a brilliant novel that mixes all its wonderful attributes (despair, ideas, action) into the form of a standard monster B-movie, of which there were plenty at the time. Nature's tricks are turned into aliens and the intelligent protagonist into a boring macho guy. I don’t like comparing the printed versions to their audiovisual counterparts, given my sympathies usually lie with the typewriters rather than the camera, and here the result is so barbaric and rapey compared to the book that I simply can't help but make the comparison. Also, if it wasn't for the cult-like nature of the book, no one would care about the film today. It’s paradoxical that it was imprinted in the subconscious of the audience... (02.09.2007)