God, what a mess.

Four lost balloonists make their way to a seemingly deserted island. Some mysterious force seems to be at work on the island, as every time one of the castaways mentions a place in the outside world they get a shooting pain in the left arm (believe it or not, this looks even dumber than it sounds). They are soon greeted by a tribe of caucasian jungle women wearing animal skin bikinis. They perform a ridiculous looking tribal dance and smoke something from a bong made from a human skull. The island is also home to some shipwrecked sailors, a descendent of Dr. Frankenstein, and some zombified lab assistants. For a deserted island the place can get pretty crowded.

Dr. Shiela Frankenstein, wife of Dr. Frankenstein's assistant Dr. Van Helsing (don't ask), is carrying on her ancestor's work. Vital to her work are the jungle women who are actually the decedents of an alien civilization. The original Dr. Frankenstein (Carradine) manages to make contact from beyond the grave on a regular basis, but all he manages to do is float around as a disembodied head uttering inanities. A lame, Karloff-inspired Frankenstein monster shows up for the climax, but by then you'll be begging for the end credits to roll.

One might think that with this buckshot approach to plotting there would be at least something worthwhile, but it's all nonsense. Not even a fine lineup of B movie vets like Clarke (Hideous Sun Demon), Brodie (Beast From 20,000 Fathoms, Donovan's Brain), and Mitchell (Blood and Black Lace, The Toolbox Murders, and literally dozens of other films) can pull this piece of dreck out of the toilet. Carradine looks like he didn't even have to leave the house to film his part.

Utterly torturous.