Most people think of a singing plant. They think of Rick Moranis, Motown-inspired backup singers, and a big-budget Hollywood ending where the hero gets the girl. But that isn't where this started. If you go back to 1960, the Little Shop of Horrors original film is a completely different beast. It’s a scrappy, black-and-white, ultra-low-budget masterpiece of the bizarre that was reportedly shot in just two days. Seriously. Two days.
Roger Corman, the king of the "B" movies, had a standing set left over from A Bucket of Blood. He didn't want to waste the wood and plaster. So, he challenged himself to shoot a whole new movie before the sets were torn down. The result is a film that feels less like a Broadway musical and more like a fever dream fueled by Jewish humor, beatnik culture, and a very hungry vegetable.
The 1960 Reality vs. The Musical Myth
You’ve gotta understand the vibe of 1960 to get why this movie is so strange. This wasn't a "horror" movie in the sense that it was trying to terrify you. It was a "dark comedy" before people really used that term regularly. The Little Shop of Horrors original follows Seymour Krelboined (played by Jonathan Haze), a clumsy, well-meaning kid working at Gravis Mushnick’s flower shop in a run-down part of town.
Unlike the 1986 musical, Seymour isn't exactly a hero. He’s more of a victim of circumstance who keeps making terrible, bloody decisions because he’s desperate for approval. And the plant? It’s not called Audrey II because of some intergalactic origin story. In the 1960 version, its origins are much more grounded in botanical weirdness—it’s just a "crossbreed" of a butterwort and a Venus flytrap.
One of the biggest shocks for modern viewers is the ending. If you’ve only seen the theatrical cut of the musical, you’re used to Seymour and Audrey living happily ever after in a house with a white picket fence. The 1960 original? Not so much. It is bleak. It is nihilistic. And it’s honestly much funnier because of it.
Jack Nicholson’s First Big Weird Moment
You can’t talk about the Little Shop of Horrors original without mentioning the dental scene. It’s legendary. A very young, very unknown Jack Nicholson shows up as Wilbur Force. He’s a masochist. He loves pain. He heads into a dentist's office hoping for a long, grueling root canal without any anesthesia.
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"No novocaine! It dulls the senses!"
Nicholson is on screen for maybe five minutes, but he steals the entire movie. He brings this manic, giggling energy that would eventually become his trademark in films like The Shining. It’s a fascinating piece of cinema history to see a future A-lister cutting his teeth (literally) on a set that was probably held together by duct tape and prayer.
Corman’s directing style was basically "run and gun." There wasn't time for twenty takes. If the actor didn't trip over the furniture, they moved on to the next scene. This gives the film a frantic, stage-play energy that you just don't see in modern cinema. Everything feels a little bit loose, a little bit improvised, and totally authentic to the "Skid Row" setting.
Why the Dialogue Sounds So Different
The script was written by Charles B. Griffith. He was a master of a specific kind of fast-talking, rhythmic dialogue that felt rooted in the Yiddish-influenced slang of the era. Characters don't just talk; they complain, they negotiate, and they lament their lives.
Take Mushnick, the shop owner. He’s not a villain, but he’s definitely not a good guy. He’s a man who sees a man-eating plant as a business opportunity. His interactions with Seymour are full of "Oy vey" energy. It’s a specific cultural flavor that got somewhat smoothed over when the story was adapted for the global stage of musical theater.
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The plant itself, voiced by Griffith, has a much more grating, demanding presence than the smooth Levi Stubbs version. When it yells "FEED ME!" it sounds like a petulant child who might also rip your arm off. It’s less "cool monster" and more "unfortunate burden."
The Incredible Speed of Production
Let’s get into the technicalities of how this thing actually got made. Corman had about $27,000 to spend. For context, that wouldn't even cover the catering budget on a Marvel movie today.
- Rehearsals: The actors rehearsed for three days. That’s it.
- Filming: Two days and one night of actual shooting.
- The Sets: Everything was recycled.
- The Plant: The puppets were basic, operated by people hiding under tables and behind curtains.
Because the production was so rushed, the film entered the public domain fairly early due to a failure to copyright it properly. This is actually why the Little Shop of Horrors original became such a cult classic. Television stations in the 70s and 80s could play it for free. It became a staple of late-night "Creature Feature" slots, embedding itself in the brains of kids who would eventually grow up to be the directors and writers of the next generation.
It’s Actually a Satire of Capitalism
Underneath the jokes about eating people, the Little Shop of Horrors original is a pretty sharp critique of "success at any cost." Seymour is a nobody. He’s invisible. The moment he has something "special"—the plant—he becomes a local celebrity. The neighborhood residents, the press, and even his crush Audrey only care about him because of what he can provide.
But the cost of that fame is literally human life. Every time Seymour wants to keep his status, he has to find someone else to feed to the plant. It’s a dark metaphor for how the "grind" can eat you alive. The movie doesn't judge Seymour too harshly, but it doesn't let him off the hook either. It shows a world where everyone is hungry for something—money, fame, blood, or just a decent meal.
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What Most People Get Wrong About the Original
A common misconception is that the 1960 film is a "bad" movie that’s only fun to watch ironically. That’s just not true. While it’s cheap, it’s incredibly well-paced. The comedic timing is sharp. Corman knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't trying to make Citizen Kane; he was trying to make a fast, funny, weird movie that would turn a profit.
Another mistake is thinking the musical is "better" because it has songs. They are just two different things. The musical is a tribute to the era, but the original is the era. It’s a time capsule of 1950s counter-culture bleeding into the 60s.
How to Experience the Original Today
If you want to dive into the Little Shop of Horrors original, don't go looking for a high-definition, pristine 4K restoration. This movie is meant to be seen with a little bit of grain and some pops in the audio. It’s part of the charm.
Many versions available on streaming services are colorized. Avoid those if you can. The black-and-white cinematography (as basic as it is) helps hide the seams of the low-budget effects and keeps the "noir" comedy vibe intact. Watching it in color makes the plant look like a spray-painted sock, which, to be fair, it kind of was.
Actionable Steps for the True Cinephile
- Watch the 1960 version and the 1986 Director’s Cut back-to-back. Seeing the "unhappy" ending of the musical alongside the original film shows you exactly what Howard Ashman was trying to preserve from the source material.
- Look for the Charles B. Griffith cameos. The writer didn't just write the script; he voiced the plant and played several small roles. It’s a fun "Where’s Waldo" for B-movie fans.
- Research the "Corman School" of filmmaking. This movie is the ultimate proof that you don't need millions of dollars to create something that lasts for 60+ years. It’s about the idea, the characters, and the sheer audacity to film something in 48 hours.
- Pay attention to the background characters. The 1960 film is filled with oddball customers and neighbors who don't appear in the musical. They flesh out the world of Skid Row in a way that feels more like a real, albeit strange, community.
The Little Shop of Horrors original remains a foundational text for independent filmmaking. It proved that horror and comedy could be blended into something surreal and commercially viable without needing a massive studio's permission. It’s messy, it’s fast, and it’s unapologetically weird.
Whether you're a fan of Jack Nicholson's early work or just curious about where Audrey II came from, the 1960 film is worth the 72 minutes of your time. Just don't get too close to the foliage.
Next Steps: Find a public domain copy of the 1960 film on YouTube or Archive.org. Watch for the specific scene where Seymour accidentally kills a man with a rock at the train tracks—it’s the turning point that defines his character's descent from clumsy florist to unintentional serial killer. Compare this "accident" to the more deliberate choices he makes later in the film to see the subtle character arc Corman managed to squeeze into a two-day shoot.