Oh, the seventies. Were we really so bland, so naive, so lacking in irony? Would we just accept any stupid commercial pitchman that ambled down the pike?
I love how utterly whitebread the housewife is (no career outside the home for this proper suburban gal!), and how calmly she accepts the Lovecraftian manifestation of sinister forces from worlds beyond casually appearing in her kitchen.
Mostly, I love imagining the animation tests that must have been done to get out cheerful li'l hand guy to do that finger snap. There must have been footage of him smashing in his face with his own fingers. Couldn't have been any more disturbing than what we got, though.
