2017 - March

01-03-2017

Having previously seen and been disappointed by director Jaume Balaguero's debut "The Nameless" I approached "Darkness" with great trepidation. After rereading my review of his previous endeavour I find that it is entirely interchangeable with my review of "Darkness". Both movies suffer from the same problems and annoyed me for the same reasons but while certainly fatally flawed I found "Darkness" to be at least effectively stylish while "The Nameless" was a complete waste of time. I liked the designs here, the cinematography, the music. The atmosphere is extremely good, it's the kind most horror films of today can only dream of. Unfortunately, Balaguero's follow up succumbs to the same pitfalls that destroyed "The Nameless" right down to the nonsensical 'it was all a cult' twist. In a normal review, I'd recount the plot at this point. I'm not sure I can adequately do so here for the simple reason that for the first 70 minutes there isn't much of one. "Darkness" is the kind of horror movie that does not follow a progression from a cause like most normal movies do, but rather presents a series of events connected only by the fact that they occur to the same group of people. In this case, the group is a family recently relocated to Spain kept together by the pecking insistence of the constantly complaining mother (Lena Olin). The father (Iain Glen) is sick and occasionally (read when plot convenient) suffers from mysterious fits that make his convulse and have visions of dying children. He also gets violent which is why the daughter (Anna Paquin), an unhappy teenager of the horror movie kind, suspects that he is hurting the younger brother (Stephan Enquist) who has mysterious bruises on his body. Like in "The Nameless", "Darkness" boasts a 70-minute build-up, this time stolen almost beat for beat from "The Shining". The father is going slowly insane, the son is communicating with some kind of strange force within the house, the most obvious "homage" is the fact that each new day is announced by a title card reading 'Wednesday' or 'Thursday', you know, like in "The Shining", exactly like in "The Shining". Of course, a long build-up is not a bad thing when done right, unfortunately, the disjointed story of "Darkness" is boring and uninvolving and so predictable I could relate to you the ending by the 30-minute mark. Again, like in "The Nameless", Balaguero manages to lose his audience by boring them to disinterest by having his characters recite plot points in self-indulgent monologues, long, slow pans from nothing to nothing over nothing and completely unlikeable characters. Anna Paquin does an OK job, but like all bad horror movie characters she's dull, at time annoying and always predictably stupid. Glen and Olin seem about as bored as the audience and half the time don't even seem to be concentrating on what's going on. The only truly good performance comes from the always reliable Giancarlo Giannini as the suspiciously underused and seemingly pointless character of the mysterious grandfather. I was immediately reminded of Jeff Daniels' inconspicuous character in "Blood Work". Hint, hint. The big finale of "Darkness" is very similar to the big finale of "The Nameless" in that they both consist of characters suspiciously converging at the same place and then being killed off. Also in both the ending is remarkably underwhelming or in a word anticlimactic. Balaguero seemingly loves to end his films on a downbeat note which is not a bad thing. Look at, say, "Burnt Offerings" or, indeed, "The Shining", but his films seemingly just stop without any flashy scare or satisfying conclusion. There is a half-arsed explanation of what happened (which again raises more questions than answers) and then the film just stops. No excitement, no surprise, no climax. Just a cut to black. All in all "Darkness" is extremely underwhelming, tedious and downright stupid, which is sad considering just how well it's made. The first half builds up a genuinely spooky atmosphere with an unnerving score and some suitably dark cinematography but it all descends into an illogical, annoying horror schlock-fest that no one will understand or indeed be scared by.

1.5/4

01-03-2017

It seems like my patience with the films of Jaume Balaguero is finally paying off. His previous two films "The Nameless" and "Darkness" were curious cases. Both wonderfully directed with some stunning cinematography and a truly creepy atmosphere, they had woefully bad scripts that dragged languorously to unsatisfactory conclusions. "Fragile", on the other hand, is an effective little chiller that boasts all of Balaguero's signature visual grace. The reason "Fragile" works much, much, much better than either of Balaguero's previous films is a tight, intriguing and truly creepy story that engrossed and entertained me all the way through the movie despite being somewhat cliched and immensely inconsistent. It follows Amy (Calista Flockhart) who comes to a remote children's hospital on the Isle of Man to replace a recently departed and beloved night nurse, Susan. Soon enough strange things begin occurring around the children, strange noises, a breathing bad and bones breaking on their own. Unlike in "Darkness", though, the film's plot is not simply a collection of events happening to the characters. Amy proves to be quite active and launches an investigation. The bedrock of the mystery is a dying little girl, Maggie (Yasmin Murphy), and her secret friend Charlotte, the mechanical girl, who seems to be the source of all evil. The plot of "Fragile" is certainly recognisable and nothing new happens along the way and yet Balaguero's expertise in atmosphere building makes it work. In the end, I was genuinely creeped out by the long, empty hallways and the mysterious creaks in the night and all the things that I would usually dismiss as silly and cliched. His style of creating horror through imaginative imagery and spooky music truly works and so does the intriguing script populated by likable characters. The performances are top notch as well. Calista Flockhart is an engaging hero, flawed, yet determined. Richard Roxburgh is charming and intelligent and Gemma Jones is her usual distant and mysterious self. My two favourite performances were Colin McFarlane as the jocular and lovable operations manager and Elena Anaya as the other nurse Helen. Anaya brings more gravitas and emotion to the performance than most other actresses would to such a seemingly minor and incosequential character. She truly impressed me. As the film draws to a close, the tension builds and when the climax comes, it (surprisingly for Balaguero) does not disappoint. It is scary, atmospheric and emotional and there's a terrific twist that I actually didn't see coming. My only quibble with it is that it is guilty of showing the villain a little too much in the end and while it certainly looks convincing it loses some of its punch when you see it too clearly. I wouldn't call "Fragile" a classic or even great, but it is certainly the best little horror film I've seen in a while. It doesn't try to be innovative or daring or profound, only to work and it really, really does. Balaguero is a terrific director and for once gets a chance to show it off with an actually good script.

3/4

01-03-2017

Well, I guess we can all go home now. Jaume Balaugero has finally made his masterpiece and I doubt he'll ever top it. This is not so much a criticism of his abilities as a filmmaker but more praise of a terrific, memorable and highly imaginative thriller. A dark, macabre and stylish film that I expected "The Nameless" to be. But when a character as twisted as Cesar (Luis Tosar) is at the heart of your film it can't be anything else but dark and macabre. He is a concierge of an old, gothic apartment house. Well liked by the tenants he seems like a helpful, kind and mild mannered guy. As the film unfolds, however, we find the absolute opposite to be true. He is joyless and will go to any length to make those around him as miserable as he is. At first, we see him poisoning an old lady's dog and getting his co-worker arrested, but all of this is nothing compared to his real obsession. Every night, he sneaks into the apartment of a particularly bubbly and happy woman (Marta Etura), drugs her and rapes her. Meanwhile, he also strives to make her life living hell by creating nasty little sabotages, such as planting bugs in her apartment. As you might have guessed, this is a difficult film to watch, but it's much more difficult to make. It is one of those delicate balancing acts in which you have to make a profoundly awful and horrifying character engaging enough to watch for 100 minutes. To my somewhat unpleasant surprise, I not only enjoyed watching Cesar, I ended up rooting for him. Somewhere in the middle of the film, there's a brilliant sequence in which he is about to be caught by the girl's boyfriend (Alberto San Juan). All three are in the apartment, but the couple is unaware of Cesar's presence. Cesar can't leave as the apartment is locked, but the spare key is in his bag which is in the bedroom. What ensues is a solid 10-minute nailbiting "dance" around the apartment in which Cesar keeps getting almost caught. It is here that I realised I was genuinely concerned for him and wanted him to get out of there and not caught and turned in to the police. Why this is it's hard to say. The character displays absolutely no redeeming features. He is a joyless creep with zero compassion or, as it seems, emotion. He certainly has no decency or empathy. The reason, I suspect, is Tosar's majestic performance which, while genuinely scary, is also charismatic and totally engrossing. A lot of credit also goes to Balaguero who not only makes an uncharacteristically tight, tense and pacy thriller filled with tension Hitchcock would find nerve wracking but also gives it a quiet, introspective atmosphere and offers a fascinating look into the mind of a total psychopath. I found it curiously refreshing to watch a film about such a thoroughly horrific character. He is never whitewashed, he never has that pet the dog moment in which you go "Oh, he may not be as bad as he seems". And yet he is a complex character. His inner monologue heard throughout the film betrays a sad mind destroyed with depression and envious of happiness in others. You won't feel sorry for him, but you will understand him. And that is where I think the film's most surprising twist is to be found. The reason it works so well is that every human being can relate to Cesar on a certain level. I am not implying we all want to hide under people's beds and rape them, of course. What I mean is that we can all relate to his envy, his anger towards the thing he can't seem to acquire. We've all felt it for various things, be it the neighbour's car or his pretty girlfriend. Cesar seems to be the manifestation of our deepest, darkest, nastiest thoughts fueled by envy and exasperation and when you recognise yourself in the eyes of a madman that is when true horror begins and "Sleep Tight" is filled with it.

3.5/4

02-03-2017

When the play of "Loot" was premiered, "The Observer" critic Ronald Bryden called the author Joe Orton "the Oscar Wilde of Welfare State Gentility". Judging by the film version of the same play such a comparison is more than apt, but only in some areas. Orton's comic timing, wittiness, wordplay, and lack of sacred cows are certainly Wildeian. I am sure that Wilde was also once shocking as Orton is still. But the one thing no one dares accused Orton of is subtlety. Not once in the duration of the film can an attempt of masking his true intentions, feelings or dislikes can be seen. And it is glorious. "Loot" is hilarious, intelligent and irreverent. It is also the blackest comedy I've ever seen. I have always said that a good black comedy is a fine balance between levity and tragedy and never has it been more evident than here. The potentially disturbing, absolutely shocking farcical occurrences laid on heavy throughout the plot are played out with such glee and humour that one can't help but laugh. In less skilled hands this could have been a disaster, a horrendous, nasty, unfunny work of sensationalist sociopathy. In Orton's it is brilliant and shameless in being both amusing and utterly depraved. It is also probably the only 70s movie still shocking. I honestly can't see this being made in today's fascistic PC climate. The plot moves from one gasp-inducing set-up to the next after two, sexually charged young men (Hywell Bennett and Roy Holder), successfully rob a bank and hide the loot in the coffin of Holder's mother. The poor woman's body has to be removed of course and what follows is a typically farcical play of hiding the body around the hotel they live in from a corrupt, persistent and bumbling police inspector (Richard Attenborough) posing, unconvincingly, as a water board inspector. Also present are the naive widower (Milo O'Shea), his late wife's scheming nurse (Lee Remick) and a typically stiff upper lip hotel guest (Dick Emery). I was amazed at the virtuosity with which Orton navigates the typical pitfalls of a dark farce. He never winks at the audience, never descends into morality and more importantly never stops. The film moves at a relentless pace and is consistently funny. Director Silvio Narizzano gives the comedy the space it needs and there is a surprisingly small amount of early 70s psychedelia. There are very few nods to the works of John Boorman or god forbid Peter Collinson. The debt to Richard Lester, though, is well owed. "Loot" is gleefully vulgar, depraved and over the top but it is all done so cleverly, wittily and with such fierce intelligence that it is brilliantly enjoyable. It is also unbelievably funny.

3/4

03-03-2017

Two films were made and released, almost back to back in 1970, based on Joe Orton's work. One, released in May was "Loot", an irreverent farce, consistently hilarious and bursting with energy like a live wire. In April, however, there was "Entertaining Mr. Sloane". Based on Orton's earlier, Dennis Potteresque visitation play, it is an enigmatic, surreal satire. Visitation plays are almost a subgenre, popularised and perfected by British writer Dennis Potter. The plot of one such play deals with an unexpected and usually unknown visitor who shakes up the otherwise sad and dull lives of his unsuspecting hosts. In "Entertaining Mr. Sloane" the hosts are a sad, aging woman (Beryl Reid) longing for both a child and a lover, her doddering, bigoted father (Alan Webb) and her gay brother (Harry Andrews) whom the father refuses to speak with. The unexpected guest is the titular Sloane (Peter McEnery), an insidiously charming, bisexual, enigmatic figure who becomes the lover of both causing further disharmony in the already conflicted family. Had I not known, I doubt I would have recognised that both "Loot" and "Sloane" were written by the same man. Sure, both have the surreal atmosphere, the clever and witty wordplay, but the motors of the plays are entirely different. Whereas "Loot" was a lively, shocking farce that races along and to hell with the rest, "Sloane" is slower, more symbolic and more contemplative. I suppose a lot of the difference comes in the way they have been adapted. "Loot" was cinematic, hilarious, grand and "Sloane", at its best, isn't. In fact, screenwriter Clive Exton has turned what is undoubtedly an effective piece of theater into a stagey, stilted, awkward experience more akin to a bad TV play than a film. Confined to a single, dour room "Sloane" moves at a snail's pace to a largely unsurprising conclusion. It lacks the wild energy of "Loot" that sweeps you along for the ride whether you like it or not. However, even if we accept the two as entirely different beasts, which we must for they are, we still find ourselves drawing unfavourable comparisons. "Loot", for instance, was far, far cleverer, wittier and ultimately funnier while "Sloane" feels pretentious, heavy handed and badly aged. Also gone is the cynical, near-sociopathic glee that made "Loot" so disarmingly attractive. This film is definitely a product of its time, and I'm sure it was considered outdated even back then. It's the kind of material Peter Collinson would have had a blast with. Bleak, confusing and uninteresting. I don't know what Orton's play is like, but it must be better than this. As a matter of fact, while I was watching the film I kept thinking that it must work beautifully on stage where these kinds of dialogues feel at home and these kinds of overblown, more symbolic than realistic characters work. On screen they don't, they never have and never will. In the hands of a better screenwriter (Dennis Potter), it could have been terrific on television for sure. On film, it didn't stand a chance. However, I must say that I enjoyed the performances of the four leads who play their roles admirably.

1.5/4

09-03-2017

"All Good Things" is more of an enticement than a movie. Director Andrew Jarecki said that he made it in such a way that its subject, millionaire murder suspect Robert Durst could watch it and have an emotional reaction. I say it is an enticement because Durst of the film, David Marks (Ryan Gosling) is a mystery and it feels as if Jarecki's asking Durst to come forward and explain himself. Fill in the gaps of his movie. Whether by design or luck it worked and Jarecki got Durst to agree to an interview that became the hit TV series "The Jinx". I haven't seen the series yet but from what I gather, "All Good Things" is mostly conjecture in relation to the actual truth. I am, thus, more interested in the film itself than how it portrays the real life events. In that regard, I found "All Good Things" to be a better thriller than a portrait, the problem is that Jarecki places Marks so firmly in the center of the film that it's hard to ignore just how little we know or understand him. At first, this makes sense as we follow Marks' young wife Katie (Kirsten Dunst) as she discovers that David is not quite what he at first seemed. In the beginning, they lived in the countryside, running a health food store, happy and in love. Problems arise when Marks' controlling father Sanford (Frank Langella) basically manipulates him into moving back to the city and working in the family firm. David soon becomes distant than upset than violent. This is the film for the first hour, a very engaging and suspenseful thriller reminiscent of the 90s thrillers like "Sleeping with the Enemy" or "Single White Female" where no one is whom you think they are. It begins as a sweet romantic drama and then slowly and methodically descends into a very atmospheric chiller. The second half of the film is more problematic and the film somewhat falls apart here. It is meant to be the denouement and yet it has no satisfying finale. Marks remains a mystery to us. It concerns itself with what happens after Marks runs away from New York. Perhaps, the big problem here is that Jarecki stuck so close to the Durst case. If he had allowed the film to be simply inspired by it rather than portray it we might have had a better film. One that could have been less ambiguous and more striking and powerful when it mattered. Just as thins become interesting, as David makes the turn to worse, Jarecki starts cutting away. We never get to see him violent, we never get a peek into his mind when he plans or executes the murders. It is as if Forman had never allowed us to see Mozart compose. And ultimately, we never get to know what makes him tick. "All Good Things" builds up suspense, atmosphere and genuine tension but it never pays off on the promise. It, is in the end, something along the lines of what we might read in the local papers. David Marks might have done this, he might have done it for these reasons or not. It is a shame that the last hour is so ambiguous (read frustratingly empty and non commital) because there is a really fascinating story here and a portrait that deserves to be made into an in-depth psychological thriller. This is not a criticism of Gosling's performance, which is terrific and at times spellbinding, but the script gives him precisely nothing to play. There is no depth to Marks, just someone doing something for some reason.

2.5/4

15-03-2017

Watching "The City of the Dead" it's hard not to note the influence it must have had on "The Wicker Man" and all those films in which innocent creatures are lured into occultist traps that followed in Hardy's wake. Here, the prey is a young student, Nan (Venetia Stevenson) who despite (or rather in spite) the disapproval of her scientist brother (Dennis Lotis) and boyfriend (Tom Naylor) and ominous warnings from a gas station attendant (James Dyrenforth) ventures to investigate 16th-century witchcraft and thus walks straight into the hands of a coven run by an immortal witch (Patricia Jessel) and her sinister, disappearing friend Jethrow (Valentine Dyall). The town the coven lives in is your typical fog-enveloped, dilapidated 16th-century relic whose residents lurk in the impenetrable darkness and where pale, boney hands threaten to grab you if you dare look behind corners. Strange sounds of chanting pervade the air and the shrill cold chills you to the bone. Despite its delightful corniness and absolute predictability (who knew Nan's enigmatic professor obsessed with witchcraft and played by Christopher Lee would turn out to be a bad guy) "The City of the Dead" is startlingly effective. Director John Moxey spends most of the film's short runtime building atmosphere and the payoff is an immersive, spooky movie that is both genuinely chilling and highly entertaining. Moxey's honest and successful attempts at more elegant horror as opposed to the exploitative, shock-a-minute extravaganza that this could have become is somewhat impeded by a script that is low on logic and high on cornball lines ("You mean they worship Satan here? Today!") and cardboard characters, but this movie is anything but cartoonish as the atmosphere of dread and impending doom accomplished by haunting visuals (thank cinematographer Desmond Dickinson, a true visionary behind Olivier's "Hamlet" whose opening shot of Elsinore is spellbinding) and a memorable soundtrack made up of typical, spooky horror music (courtesy of Amicus stalwart Douglas Gamley) and some finger-snapping jazz (by British TV composer Ken Jones). But fear not this is not your typical 60s horror movie jazzy score which jarringly clashes with the more traditional visuals, in fact, Moxey elegantly combines the two by having the chanting represent the spooky village Nan ventures to and the jazz the world she left behind. On the whole, I genuinely enjoyed "The City of the Dead" warts and all. Unusually for a horror movie here is one in which the excellent execution lifts the otherwise lacking script.

3/4

15-03-2017

I am and have always been a fan of portmanteau films. In fact, anthologies of all kinds, have always been a personal favourite of mine. I devoured "The Twilight Zone" and "Tales from the Crypt" and their respective movie versions. There's something greatly enjoyable in short form horror. Simple stories lend themselves better to deeper meanings than their longer cousins, they are also more memorable and don't have the opportunity to overstay their welcome. The most influential portmanteau film was the 1945 classic "Dead of Night". All who've seen it remember it either with joy or with trepidation but they certainly remember it. Whether it be the infamous ventriloquist's dummy sequence that captured their imagination or the haunted mirror which sees the past or more rarely the comical segment about a golfing bet gone wrong. For me, it was always the story of the girl who encounters a ghost in a secluded room in a mansion on Christmas. The simplicity of it, unity of action, time and place and the chilling twist all add up to a truly spooky story. However, you remember it, "Dead of Night" certainly, directly influenced writer Milton Subotsky, head writer in the British production company Amicus to write "Dr. Terror's House of Horrors" the first of seven well-remembered, quite uneven but always entertaining portmanteau films the company produced. They left such a mark on the horror genre that whenever you mention such films Amicus comes to mind. I've not seen every anthology film out there but usually, they are as good as the individual stories within them. "Dr. Terror's House of Horrors" is a notable exception as the whole is much better than its parts. The problem is quite simply that none of the stories (bar one) is particularly memorable, they don't have the time to develop nor do most of them have the characteristic ironic sting that made "Twilight Zone" a staple of the genre. They are very ambitious but aren't given time to build characters you'd care for or tell their tales in a proper, dramatic way. There are five of them in this 95-minute film. The longest one is 19 minutes and the shortest (and coincidentally the most ambitious) a meagre 11. However, the overall film has a certain elegance, pace and style that makes it distinctive and a genuinely creepy atmosphere. I believe this is due to its exquisite cast and Freddie Francis, the director extraordinaire at its helm. Now, let us take a look at the stories individually. First of all there is the frame story and ironically the one I looked forward the most. In it, five strangers find themselves in a single train carriage with a fortune teller calling himself Dr. Schreck (Peter Cushing). He has with himself a deck of tarot cards and as the long ride progresses he tells each of the men's fortunes. These are the five stories in the film. I quite enjoyed Cushing as the titular doctor (Schreck means terror in German) and his interplay with Christopher Lee as the sceptical and arrogant art critic is invaluable. It is a clever way to tell the stories and one that will be reused (with variations) in most Amicus productions. Its ending though confused me as it produces a gaping plot hole as to whether any of the things Schreck prophesied actually happened, but hey-ho. As in most portmanteau films, the worst comes first and the first two stories are most displeasing. First up are Neil McCallum and his woefully unconvincing Scottish accent in a tale of werewolves and old creaky manors. He plays an architect sent to supervise reconstructions on a house his family used to own. There he uncovers the tomb of an ancient werewolf that carries with itself an equally ancient curse. As if the plot itself isn't unpromising enough, all of it is crammed into 17 minutes with a lot of 'as you know' dialogue (that's people telling other people things they already know) and lots of leaps in logic (that architect sure bought the werewolf story quick). It generates no interest to speak of, the big twist makes little sense and the whole thing smacks of amateurism and rushed production. If there was one to cut it was this one. The second story is the most surprising. Not in a good way, though. The story of a mysterious, intelligent vine (as in it will cut your phone lines intelligent) growing around the house of a man back from holiday (Alan Freeman). It's a very interesting (if not exactly original) plot, I quite liked the man and his family and there is a fine support provided by Bernard Lee and Jeremy Kemp as the two scientists investigating the vine. Also present is a wonderfully cacophonic soundtrack by Elisabeth Lutyens and good vine effects. Sadly the story has no climax. It just stops. Dissolves back to the frame story. It was so jarring I was convinced the projectionist had mislaid a reel. It's sad, really, as I was really enjoying it. Had they given it the 17 minutes they wasted on the werewolf nonsense it could have been a real classic. As it stands it's a dud. The third story is a delightful change of pace. All anthologies have a comedy segment and here is a very strong one. A slapsticky, jazzy story about a musician (Roy Castle) who goes to the West Indies and witnesses a voodoo ceremony where he hears a catchy tune. When he goes back to London he steals it and markets it as his own. Soon he learns that voodoo gods have strict copyright laws and don't take kindly to thieves. It is the longest story and it does feel padded out with a lot of musical numbers, but the comedy is stellar (not as hilarious as the golfing story in "Dead of Night", though) and the lead character very likable. The thing I enjoyed most about it, however, is just how simple it was. A straightforward, non-complex storyline that moves from A to B with a nice startling conclusion. With Francis' energetic direction it is a real winner and a step way up from the previous two. The main character of the frame story other than Peter Cushing is definitely Christopher Lee as the aforementioned sceptic. He scoffs at the idea of tarot and has a wise-ass explanation to every one of Dr. Schreck's tricks. After Schreck goads him with the usual chicken line he accepts to be next up in the tarot line-up. What follows is easily the most memorable and the best story of the five, a neat play on "The Beast with Five Fingers" in which Lee's snobbish critic is haunted by a disembodied hand of an artist he ran over in his car on purpose. The poor man was a painter who publically embarrassed the arrogant art critic. The strongest point of the story are the two performances. Lee is hugely engaging as the art critic, one of those snobs we enjoy to laugh at and yet can feel a strange sympathy to. The unfortunate painter is played wonderfully by Michael Gough. He is energetic, likable and a lot of fun to watch in his short but entertaining turn. As always, he makes a lot out of little. The second part of the story in which Lee is haunted by a hand is at times laughable, the hand has a tendency to show up at the most unexpected moments, usually creeping behind Lee, with sometimes comical effects, but it is still very entertaining and a little disquieting. After all, this story, like the rest (other than the first two, of course), doesn't take itself to seriously and has a tongue well placed in its cheek. The final tale stars a young Donald Sutherland as a small town doctor who suspects his wife (Jennifer Jayne) is a vampire. Aided by his colleague (Max Adrian) he decides to stake her. This is also a very comical one and has a nice stinger in the end. I could comfortably see this being an episode of "Twilight Zone" akin to "Mr Dingle, the Strong". I quite enjoyed it and with the disembodied hand story it provides a terrific finale to what began as a fairly disappointing film. In the end, I really enjoyed "Dr. Terror's House of Horrors". Despite the slow beginning I was charmed, entertained and spooked out by it. Freddie Francis' capable direction is a feast for the eyes and the performances are a real treat. The final three stories are very enjoyable and the second story had a lot of potential. The first story was dead at arrival, though, and should have been cut with its time portions given over to the killer vine. A very enjoyable, if flawed portmanteau film. A pioneer of sorts in its field.

3/4

16-03-2017

With its second horror feature, Amicus continues to delight with stylish and atmospheric chillers. While their portmanteau films are fondly and reverentially remembered, their traditional horror films are often dismissed as simple Hammer imitations, however, they contain a lot more innovation and charm than they are given credit for. "The Skull", in particular, is delightful. A horror film that comes very close to pure cinema. Comprised of long, striking sequences that contain little to no dialogue it is a classy tale of a collector (Peter Cushing) who comes into possession of a rare and strange item. The skull of the man whose name, as Cushing's roguish and surprisingly well-informed trader (Patrick Wymark) puts it, has become the symbol of the cruelty and savagery that is in all of us, Marquise de Sade. What the poor collector doesn't know is that de Sade wasn't insane, as is often claimed, but possessed by demons and his skull continues to do their evil bidding. Cushing, slowly, but surely, falls under their influence that leads to insanity and murder. The plot is thin and the film does drag a little, but it is hard not to enjoy "The Skull" as a piece of true film art. The slow, stylish, atmospheric sequences leading up to horrific acts are mesmerisingly terrorising. This is Freddie Fisher's directorial zenith. His elegant visual flair lifts the typical horror story and turns it into an etheric, sublime experience of what can only be termed the taste of horror itself. What makes it so delicious is that he achieves it through suggestion and atmosphere. He never descends into exploitation, gore or sex. The terror is purely psychological and highly effective. The performances work greatly in the film's favour. Cushing is typically excellent as he slips between curiosity and obsession almost seamlessly. Wymark is a lot of fun to watch, he is an energetic, soulful actor with a sense for high dramatics. Also in the film, albeit in small roles are Nigel Greene as a police inspector, Jill Bennett as Cushing's wife and a small, but enjoyable turn from Christopher Lee uncharacteristically as neither the victim nor the hero but a victim. There are also two surprising and welcome cameos from Patrick Magee as a police surgeon and Michael Gough as an auctioneer. Neither have much to do, but they do it so well. Even with all my admiration for it, I must confess "The Skull" is heavily padded and a tad too slow, but Francis' work makes the material work way better than it reasonably should have or in anyone else's hands could have. Also notable is the exceptional soundtrack by Elisabeth Lutyens who left a wonderful impression on me with her work on the vine story in "Dr. Terror's House of Horrors". Her unusual and cacophonic music punctuates the action on the screen in such a way that it makes the terror come alive and leap off the screen. With all its flaws, "The Skull" is an undeniable and atypical pleasure. A horror film of unusual elegance and grace.

3/4

16-03-2017

After a couple of elegant Hammeresque horror films ("Dr. Terror's House of Horrors" and "The Skull") and the two sci-fi Dr. Who films, Amicus productions decided to go after the at the time increasingly popular giallo genre. Released just two years after Mario Bava's "Blood and Black Lace", "The Psychopath", possibly the first bona fide British giallo, misses the mark but manages to be just interesting enough to provide an engaging 80 minutes. A successful giallo is a highly-stylised, sexualised mixture of horror and mystery, relying heavily on outlandish colour schemes (usually dominated by a strong red) and imaginative kills. "Blood and Black Lace" had both most notably in the scene in which Ariana Gorini gets stabbed in the face by a masked killer wearing a spiked glove to the memorable jazzy score by Carlo Rustichelli. In stark contrast, "The Psychopath" is a plodding thriller with only occasional moments of inspiration and even though it is clearly influenced by the Italian giallo masters it owes more to "Psycho". In fact, both "Psycho" and "The Psychopath" are written by Robert Bloch. Also unusual for a giallo-inspired film is the fact that the film's direction is fairly subdued and workmanlike. This is unusual for two reasons, first being that giallo is possibly the most director friendly genre out there, arguably built solely on directorial indulgences and second being the fact that the director here is none other than Freddie Francis who with his imaginative and elegantly stylised work made out of the fairly generic horror script such a thoroughly innovative and enjoyable film that is "The Skull". What is unmistakably gialloesque in "The Psychopath", however, is the creepy atmosphere and the mystery plot which follows a rugged policeman (Patrick Wymark) on the trail of a mysterious serial killer who leaves wax dolls made in the likeness of his victims next to their dead bodies. The whole case hinges around an eccentric, wheelchair-bound old woman (Margaret Johnston), her long dead husband and her overprotective son (John Standing). What follows is a fairly typical plotline of the detective interviewing suspects intercut with well-executed if not too imaginative murder sequences. Like most Amicus films, "The Psychopath" is filled with recognisable faces which include beside the aforementioned trio Alexander Knox, Judy Huxtable, Robert Crewdson and Colin Gordon. Despite the caliber of the cast none of the performances are remarkable merely reliable. The creepy atmosphere which is indeed there owes more to the wonderful soundtrack by Amicus regular Elisabeth Lutyens and some well-done, moody cinematography by John Wilcox than the story which I found to be predictable and often dull. Like I said there are things to enjoy in "The Psychopath" and it is by no means an unpleasant watch, but the whole thing just doesn't hang together. It feels like an uncomfortable misunderstanding of the giallo genre rather than a thriller all of its own.

2/4

17-03-2017

"The Deadly Bees" is the Amicus horror film with by far the worst reputation. Not helping it is the fact that writer Robert Bloch hated it and called it a movie with no inner consistency or logical story-line also noting that while the bees were menacing, the characters were not. The film is based on a Sherlock Holmes homage novel by Gerald Heard but it is a far cry from that elegant mystery. Director Freddie Francis, usually a competent pair of hands, had Bloch's faithful script rewritten beyond recognition by Anthony Marriott, a sub-par farceur with no background in either horror or mystery. The resulting film is a mishmash of genres and atmosphere that isn't much of a mystery nor much of a scary movie. Its fine cast is hindered by laughable characterisation and banal, mostly expository, dialogue and Francis' uncaring, workmanlike approach to the material doesn't help either. The biggest problem is, of course, the painfully unconvincing bee attack sequences accomplished by gluing fake flies (yes flies, not bees) to the actors' faces and then superimposing footage of swarming bees over them. The result is actors wildly flapping their arms around trying to swat oversized bees that are both perspectively wrong (they are sometimes bigger than the actors' eyes) and obviously lit differently. It is ridiculous, to say the least. However, the film is not as horrible as its reputation would suggest. It is still a fairly classy affair that nicely avoids being either exploitative or offensive in any way. Everyone involved seems to be trying their best (except for Guy Doleman whose performance consists entirely of shouting a lot). Frank Finlay is always fun to watch and the lead actress Suzanna Leigh is a likable and engaging screen presence. Francis' direction is workmanlike and unimaginative but he knows his trade well enough that he manages to pull it off. He does an acceptable job and makes no mistakes. The worst thing one can say about "The Deadly Bees" is that it is deadly boring. The pace is uneven and plodding as it moves from one inane dialogue to the next, usually Doleman and his wife bickering. There is no atmosphere to speak of and everything and everyone are so dull and uninteresting it is hard, very, very hard to get involved with the film. The plot is promising and genuinely intriguing and concerns a young singer (Leigh) who is sent to a small British island to recuperate after having a nervous breakdown. Her hosts (Doleman and Catherine Finn), however, are not as genial as at first they appear to be and she and a local resident beekeeper (Frank Finlay) suspect Doleman is behind mysterious killer bee attacks plaguing the island. Sadly the plot is never allowed to gain momentum due to the horrible script and the laughably silly attack sequences.

1.5/4

17-03-2017

After the failure of "The Deadly Bees", Amicus returned to what they do best, portmanteau films. And it's as though they read my review of it and listened to my advice. Instead of 5 stories in a 95-minute film, now we get 4 stories in a 100-minute film. This allows them to develop and gain momentum without the need to cram it all in in short 15-minute bursts. Now, all the stories have the space they need and director Freddie Francis, back on artistic form, the time to build atmosphere and style. It is sad, then, that none of the four stories contained within the "Torture Garden" are nearly as entertaining or memorable as the ones in "Dr. Terror's house of Horrors". All four are written by Robert Bloch (of "Psycho" and "The Psychopath" fame) adapted from his own short stories and all are outlandish, silly and dare I say it ludicrous. Now, this would be no problem had the atmosphere been gotten right. After all, in "Dr. Terror's House of Horrors" we had stories about disembodied hands hunting critics and voodoo gods insulted by copyright infringement. The problem here is that they are all played with such grave seriousness that it is hard to indeed take them seriously. Had they been given the gleeful, tongue-in-cheek tone of "House of Horrors" then they might have been terrific, this way they are interesting but never anything more than second class. Even the framing story here isn't as interesting nor as atmospheric as the one in the previous film, though it is obviously imitating it. Instead of a train, our protagonists are lured to a circus tent where an energetic and enigmatic Dr. Diablo (Burgess Meredith) prophecises their future. Again he claims they are warnings and can be avoided. Of course, the sheer presence of Meredith makes the wrap story fun to watch, but the cold, confined train carriage allowed for a much creepier atmosphere and there was a sense of mystery to it. Now it's all so straightforward and the way it blatantly steals from the first film is downright shameless. The first story is based on Bloch's short "Enoch" which is genuinely creepy and interesting. Its adaptation is less so mostly because the unseen evil force of the written tale is here given a physical manifestation of a cat. With all due respect to Milton Subotsky's cat hate, I don't find them particularly scary and most certainly not when I'm supposed to believe they are mind controlling beings capable of possessing a human mind. This is precisely what happens here to a young man (Michael Bryant) who goes to visit his rich uncle (Maurice Denham) and then kills him only to be hypnotised by the uncle's cat who demands he kill people and bring their corpse to it so it can eat them in return for gold coins. As silly as it sounds it kind of works, barely and almost entirely due to a valiant effort from Freddie Francis. Like "The Skull" it is almost dialogue-free and that's what Francis does best. He generates a creepy, menacing feel within the confines of the old manor house and manages to make the cat look malicious if not exactly scary. However, the story does drone on for a bit too much stretching its already thin premise only to finish on a rushed and seemingly tacked on ending. Bryant is good as the possessed man but it's hard to feel sorry for someone who cold-bloodedly murdered a helpless old man only minutes ago. The next story is "Terror Over Hollywood" and focuses on a ruthless, up-and-coming actress (Beverly Adams) who sabotages her roommate's (Nicole Shelby) date with a powerful Hollywood producer (David Bauer) in order to snatch him up for herself. While on the date she meets a real life, seemingly ageless Hollywood star (Robert Hutton) and gets a large role in his next film. However, something mysterious is going on and when the producer turns up dead the actress might be in more trouble than she knows. This story is pretty good if fairly televisual. I could see this comfortably as one of those mediocre episodes of "Twilight Zone" sprinkled between the brilliant ones. It's mostly set in dull, sixties-style rooms and it consists of wall-to-wall dialogue. There's no room for Francis to show off. Still it's much better written than almost any of the rest. I must say I enjoyed it with certain reservations. It's not memorable in the least, nor particularly original, but it was a very pleasent 23 minute sit. The third story is the shortest but also by far the dullest. The 14 minute adaptation of "Mr. Steinway" is unbelievably boring. When I asked for longer runtimes this is not what I meant. Here is a story that if told in 9 minutes could have been an amusing throwaway, but it is far too long and too talky and too uninteresting to bear. All four of our leads are meant to be bad people. Killers, possessives and machiavelians. It's an interesting idea but nothing particularly interesting is done with it. However, the result is that none of the characters in the stories are in the least bit likeable. This is problem but can be ignored when the story is interesting like "Terror Over Hollywood" or stylish like the cat segment but when a story is as outlandish, silly and talky as this it's hard to ignore. Our lead here is Dorothy (Barbara Ewing), the girlfriend of a world renowned pianist (John Standing) whose career is beginning to suffer due to her hogging all of his practice time. But don't worry, he will be saved by a piano his mother bought him. No joke. This is a killer piano story. Never seen one? Well, that's because it can't be done well. It can't and it isn't done here. When you see a piano move on its own to kill someone you laugh. It's nonsense, utter nonsense and can't be taken seriously. And yet Francis thinks it's very serious business as he shoots it as if it's a Bergmanesque philosophical study. Draped in somber colours and starring a downbeat, depressed John Standing it is a laughable and utterly uninteresting tale. Happily, we exit on a positive note as the final story of the four is also by far the best. But when you have Peter Cushing in it what else can you hope for? The lead here is a fanatic collector (Jack Palance) of Edgar Allan Poe memorabilia envious of the wonderfully named Lancelot Canning (Peter Cushing), the man who owns the largest Poe collection in the world. He goes to visit Canning and the two engage in at first friendly banter before things turn sinister. I won't reveal any more since the final twist is a good one, implausible and a tad silly but for once played right. The air of fun and tongue-in-cheek is present here and the story is immensely entertaining to watch. The two men play off of each other beautifully and their dialogue sparks off the screen. Jack Palance is incredible as the fanatic. He has such unbelievable energy here that it leaps right at you and makes you uncomfortable in his presence. Freddie Francis does a great job as we're back in his natural habitat, an old, Victorian-style manor house. This is the only story nearly as good as anything in "Dr. Terror's House of Horrors" barring that werewolf nonsense. I enjoyed it immensely. "The Torture Garden" is a different matter altogether. Unlike in previous Amicus productions, here I found my mind wandering at times. None of the stories are imaginative nor captivating enough and the cast is nowhere near as stellar as in their other films. Burgess Meredith is a great host but he is given only the usual nonsense to work with, ominous warnings and unintelligible claptrap. Jack Palance and Peter Cushing are the only ones given something meaty and they play it for all its worth. The others are merely adequate. One only needs to see the poor John Standing, a usually great actor, sulking and mumbling his awful lines to know how bad material can crush even the most honest acting effort. Nothing new to be found here at all.

2/4

17-03-2017

For some reason, Amicus seemed to try to move heaven and earth to escape the horror genre. Perhaps it was due to producer Max Rosenberg's distaste for the genre. When asked by Roger Ebert in a 1972 interview if he was a fan of horror he said "Not really. That's Milton's obsession." After "Torture Garden" Amicus spent four years making anything but horror resulting in five box office flops in a row. First up was a dullish, routine cold war thriller "Danger Route", followed by a laughably horrible sci-fi double bill of unworthy schlock that was "The Terrornauts" and "They Came from Beyond Space". If these didn't please Rosenberg then the following two certainly did. In fact, he said that "A Touch of Love" was the best film Amicus ever made. I'm not sure I agree as it is a fairly by the numbers kitchen sink drama. The fifth flop was the meek and fantastically boring melodrama "The Mind of Mr. Soames". Eventually, as if they learned their lesson, Subotsky and Rosenberg sheepishly returned to their safe haven, horror never to rebel again. And like with "Torture Garden" which came after the failure of "The Deadly Bees", when in doubt, do a portmanteau film. And what a portmanteau film they made! Certainly, their best 'til then. After the hugely entertaining but rushed "Dr. Terror's House of Horrors" and the better paced but dull "Torture Garden" comes "The House That Dripped Blood", a wonderfully (if wrongly) named anthology that takes the best of both films and combines it into a hugely satisfying and fun movie. It consists of four, well told and well-developed stories with arguably the best cast Amicus ever assembled for one of these. All four all terrific, atmospheric and have a wonderfully twisted sense of humour. Surprisingly, they all based on Robert Bloch stories and all but one adapted by him ("Waxworks" was adapted for unknown reasons by Russ Jones). Directorial duties, for the first time, go to someone other than Freddie Francis. I was worried at first but first-time film director Peter Duffell soon put me at ease. His work here easily parallels Francis' best with its ease and visual flair. He is the sort of director Peter Collinson could have been if he wasn't a pretentious bore. He knows how to tell a story using those artsy interludes Collinson awkwardly injects into all of his films. Duffell seamlessly and elegantly binds them into the stories. The first sign that we're getting something innovative is the fact that this is the only Amicus portmanteau with a different frame story than usual. All the other ones have a group of strangers assembled in one place (be it a train, a circus or a crypt) and a mysterious figure foretelling their horrible future (or in one case a doctor listening to the stories of how they wound up in an asylum). Here the frame story is neatly tied into the final segment. This tying the stories together is evident throughout the film as the horror library hinted at in the first story becomes relevant in the third as does the picturesque lake also featured in the first story in the second one. Here we have a police inspector from Scotland Yard (John Bennett) investigating the mysterious disappearance of a movie star arrive in the small town the star disappeared in. He goes to the local sergeant who tells him the star vanished because the house he was living in was evil. What follows are four stories of people who lived in the same house and met their horrid fates there. First up is a writer (Denholm Elliott) and his wife (Joanna Dunham) who retreat to the town so that he can finish his latest horror novel. Soon, though, he begins seeing its villain Dominick (Tom Adams) lurking around the house. When Dominick starts attacking people though the writer will have to figure out whether Dominick's real or he's going insane. Elliott is terrific in the lead role and the whole story moves at a brisk and engaging pace. There are fantastic moody sequences in which the writer walks around the house looking for sources of weird noises etc. It's real classic horror fare played beautifully by everyone involved. I have to confess I was delighted not to guess the big twist even if it has been used in countless movies over the years. Such was my conviction in the plot as presented. Strong stuff. The second story is probably the creepiest and concerns two former rivals in love (Peter Cushing and Joss Ackland) who become entranced by a waxwork in a local museum that reminds them of the woman they fought over. This is real Freddie Francis material here. Mostly dialogue free, Duffell manages beautifuly to convey the sadness of the story but also to induce a wonderful, creeping atmopshere. I was swept along with it. Cushing is terrific in the lead, as he always is as is Ackland and they bounce off each other wonderfully. I just wish they had more scenes together. But in a way this story is a perfect work of minimalism. It says just as much as it absolutely needs to. The rest is told through images. The third story is by far the most sinister and most frightening, but also the only one that drags slightly. Still, it's a terrifically involving mystery in which a nanny (Nyree Dawn Porter) is hired to take care of a sweet and troubled little girl (Chloe Franks) by her draconian father (Christopher Lee) who doesn't let her near other children or own dolls. But soon the nanny will learn there's something wrong with the little girl and that the father might not be overly strict but afraid. This story is yet another bullseye from Duffell and Bloch. The atmosphere is so thick you could cut it with a knife and the performances from all three leads are excellent. Chloe Franks is a marvelously creepy child in an unassuming way (there are no temper tantrums or Kubrick stares like with Damien in "The Omen") and Nyree Dawn Porter is as engaging and likable as Deborah Kerr in "The Innocents". Though I saw the ending a mile off I hugely enjoyed this slow but entertaining and creepy story. The final segment is without a doubt, by far and large the best. In fact, it's the best of all thirteen stories Amicus put to screen in their three portmanteaus thus far. A perfect blend of comedy and horror, a tale that is both hilarious and chilling. It relates the fate of the movie star the police inspector is there to find. Arrogant and hilariously vain he is played in the same grand comedic tradition as say Jack Lemmon played professor Fate in "The Great Race". His scenery chewing is delicious and truly makes the whole film a worthwhile watch. No one, but no one could have done it better. Vincent Price could have done it just as well, perhaps. Pertwee's grandiose appearance alone suggests the character wonderfully. His quiffed hair and arch delivery alone give him more colour than any other character in any other portmanteau film. The story begins when he and his co-star (Ingrid Pitt) arrive in the town to begin shooting the latest horror film wonderfully entitled "The Curse of the Bloodsuckers". After a hilarious tirade on how awful and unrealistic horror films of today are he ventures out to buy a lived-in looking vampire cloak. However, what he gets from an aged costumer (Geoffrey Bayldon) is truly the real deal. A real vampire's cloak which turns the actor into a vampire whenever he wears it. What follows is 18 minutes of hilarity especially in a scene when he unwittingly transforms into a bat. And still the story is sufficiently scary to be called horror, mostly due to a clever ending, lovable main character and real gothic atmosphere achieved by Duffell who again excels himself. Kudos must also be given to Bayldon whose hilarious portrayal of the old costumer almost blows Pertwee himself off the screen. All in all "The House That Dripped Blood" is a real delight. A portmanteau of four terrific stories, atmospheric and clever, told with the right dose of good humour and wit under the caring, inventive and imaginative baton of its talented director.

3/4

17-03-2017

Almost every production company (horror based or not) has in some way had a hand in an adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson's classic "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde". Most notably there were the two classics by Universal, a straight forward 1960 adaptation by Hammer as well as the gender-reversing "Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde" released in 1971. More recently there has been a slew of straight-to-video ones, a passable TV adaptation starring Dougray Scott and an unusual Steven Moffat penned conspiracy thriller version for the BBC. So, of course, Amicus would have its own. It would be incredible if it didn't. I'd like to think that Jekyll & Hyde is so popular because of the interesting philosophical questions about humanity posed by the story, or because of the opportunity it provides for the lead actor to show his range. Unfortunately, the reason for its popularity is far simpler. It is a simple, straightforward, timeless and recognisable story that offers room for changes and lends itself easily to exploitation. It is also in public domain which means it's free of charge for anyone who wants to try their hand at it. The result is a series of mediocre, dull and unimaginative movies based on the Stevenson story and a handful of truly interesting, valuable attempts. I find it interesting that even after several dozen adaptations there remain so many possibilities, unfulfilled ideas and untried variations on the tale. "I, Monster" is a fairly faithful adaptation of the novel, retaining all of the detective work by Jekyll's friend Utterson. For some strange and unexplained reason, the name of the lead is changed but no one else's is. So we still have the lawyer Utterson, doctor Lanyon and butler Poole, but instead of Jekyll we get Marlowe and instead of Hyde we get Blake. Playing them is Christopher Lee. Marlowe's friend and Blake's arch nemesis, the indefatigable Utterson is, of course, played by Peter Cushing. Has there ever in cinema history been a better villain-hero pairing? I think not. Both of them are in fine form. Christopher Lee, in particular, gives a brilliant performance. In fact, I'd say this is probably his best horror acting performance. Of course, Dracula is the most memorable, but where acting is concerned Lee's performance in "I, Monster" beats it easily. It is an amazing feat he accomplishes here playing both parts with almost no make-up and suggesting the change from Marlowe to Blake using only his body language. The film's best scene is the first transformation. Marlowe injects the drug, the camera pans up and we are now unmistakably in the presence of Mr. Blake. There is no additional make-up on Lee's face (except for a new set of teeth), there is no change in lighting or camera angles, and yet it is a completely different person. It feels almost like another actor took over. Blake, childlike but not naive in the slightest, joyfully rummages through Marlowe's laboratory examining every vile and bottle with the curiousity of a toddler seeing the world for the first time. Compare his glee in this scene to the scene near the very end when Marlowe unwillingly becomes Blake and realises that he can no longer control the changes. Gone is the glee, gone is the curiousity. The man is now crushed, desperate and in the haste to reach his home he drops the front door key in some leaves. He falls to the ground and in vein searches the ground. The savage desperation visible on Lee's face is soul-crushing, his hopelessness almost tangible. Sadly, the most fascinating and challenging (acting wise) part of the story is missing from the film and that is the battle of wills between Jekyll & Hyde. In "I, Monster", once the transformation has occurred we see things mostly through the eyes of bystanders and Utterson. We never get to experience Marlowe's inner struggles with the demon taking control until the very end and it is a shame as a more nuanced, slow development of the relationship between Marlowe and Blake could have made the film brilliant. However, the film compensates this lacking in other ways. I found Marlowe's character refreshingly interesting. Almost universally Jekyll is portrayed as a good man, a dull character before the arrival of Hyde which I find to be implausible. Hyde is supposed to represent the manifestations of Jekyll's evil side and yet they never show it. In the Universal films he was almost a saint, running a children's hospital and marrying an angelic girl. Here, however, Marlowe is a more sinister character. He remorselessly murders a dog and experiments on animals and even his patients without hesitation or moral dilemma. There is also suggestion of sexual deviancy when he gives a female patient (Susan Jameson) of his the drug and she comes onto him. The result of her seduction is left vague and it is almost implied Marlowe took advantage of her. Another interesting idea introduced into the film is the use of Freud's theories. Marlowe is not a physician like Jekyll, but a psychiatrist and his ideas of the duality of human nature, in fact, come from his reading of Freud. Namely, Marlowe believes that the impulsive id can be freed of the rational ego and the moralising super-ego, with this he believes he can reveal his patient's suppressed desires and thus cure their problems that stem from this suppression. It is an interesting idea, well developed in the film. Another great idea is to have create Blake with no make-up at first but as he commits worse and worse atrocities and crimes have him become uglier and uglier so that his physique reflects the rotting of his soul. What works against the film is its runtime. Rather than allow everything to develop and progress in its natural way, everything is somewhat awkwardly crammed into 75 minutes. The way it is done is strange, because rather than speed up the plot, they seemingly simply removed two reels from the middle. The result is a strangely paced film which slowly and methodically builds up everything in the first 40 minutes and then quickly jumps to the finale. Perhaps the thinking was that everyone knows the story, but Lee's performance in those missing parts (Marlowe's inner battle with Blake) would have been fascinating. I also mourn the loss of more chance to view Stephen Weeks' excellent direction. His artful command of the camera and skilled building of atmosphere evoke the best works of Freddie Francis and Terence Fisher. Also helpful in this endeavour is an unusual but undoubtedly brilliant score by Carl Davis. The piece that plays over the aforementioned first transformation is an absolute masterclass in film scoring. The cinematography is by Hammer's regular director of photography Moray Grant and it's aptly moody and atmospheric. This is an all 'round beautifully made film betrayed only by its runtime. A small problem I also had is why can't anyone recognise that Blake is Marlowe as there is almost no physical difference between the two men. One of Marlowe's friends has a lengthy interaction with Blake and still fails to recognise him. A larger problem is the actor playing the said friend. His name is Mike Raven and his performance is a disaster of epic proportions. If this film were more widely seen I think it could have become a piece of popular culture much in the same way a similar acting endeavour by a gentleman named Tommy Wiseau has. He is wooden beyond belief, but so awful it becomes fun to watch. It is a testament to "I, Monster" that even with so many flaws it manages to be a good film. Lee's incredible performance and the eye-catching visuals certainly help, but it is also full of ideas and innovations within the story that will certainly satisfy both those who've seen all the other adaptations of Jekyll and Hyde and those who are coming to the story fresh, though it's improbable that anyone will be both young enough to come into the story fresh and old enough to appreciate the film's finer, subtler points against some of its cruder failings.

3/4

18-03-2017

The history of Amicus Productions gets more and more interesting the deeper you dwell into it. They were certainly makers of cash-in movies catering to every popular trend out there be it gothic horror, brainy sci-fi, campy sci-fi or kitchen sink realism. But, unlike other such companies like the cheap, cheesy Tigon they almost always made movies just as good, and sometimes even better than the ones they were imitating. OK, sure "The Mind of Mr. Soames" is nowhere near as good "The Wild Child", nor was "A Touch of Love" "A Taste of Honey", but their gothic Hammer imitations are just as good as your average Hammer product and in some cases less cynical. Even though horror was their bread and butter, Amicus always kept trying to branch out into other trends (always failing). In 1970 they perceived the ever rising popularity of sleazy exploitation flicks in grindhouse cinemas and decided to make one of their own. The result was a film that is neither sleazy nor exploitative and all the better for it. With all its flaws I found "What Became of Jack and Jill" much better than any of the movies whose popularity it tried to capture. But what it lacks in gore, sex and sleaze it more than makes up in ruthlessness. One only needs to take a peek at the plot to be horrified and the movie itself is not any easier on the viewer. It is a story of a pair of misguided, self-centered, drugged up youths, Johnnie (Paul Nicholas) and Jill (Vanessa Howard) who plan to marry, be rich and indulge in excess and carnal desires. One person stands in their way, though. Johnnie's loving, caring, naive and rich granny (Mona Washbourne). She genuinely loves him and thinks the best of him and remains largely oblivious to his horrific plan to murder her. The plan is as atrocious and disgusting as can be. He wants to convince her that there's a group of youth activists out there who are going around murdering old people and they're coming to get her. The desired effect is that she'll get a heart attack and die. This movie is, for obvious reasons, impossible to enjoy or even like. It is bleak, it's characters sadistic and deeply depressing. However, I admire it hugely because despite its plot and aim it is never cheap or exploitative in the slightest. It is genuinely shocking and horrifying but it achieves this not through gore, violence or glorification of sadism but through a well-written script, good performances, and smart, moody direction. It is an elegant piece of work. I found the three central performances exquisite in their own ways. Mona Washbourne is sweet and lovable without being cartoonish and Paul Nicholas does a terrific job of portraying a soulless lecher. It is, however, Vanessa Howard who dominated the film for me. She is utterly convincing and frightening as Nicholas' Lady Macbeth. It is a performance with real impact. And speaking of impact I loved the brilliantly ironic and crushing ending which provides the film poetic justice without ever being preachy or farfetched. "Jack and Jill's" unfortunate major problem is a lack of genuine substance. I admired its restraint and was horrified by its content but I never felt like it was trying to tell me anything. What was the point of this grueling 90 minute sit? I couldn't begin to tell you. It needed more rounded characters, it needed to explore them, their greed and lack of morality. Where did it come from? What fuels it? It needed a more analytical, intelligent approach. When it works, it works startlingly well. The first half is excellent and harrowing, but the second half lets it down. Rather than insight we get 40 minutes of filler before an admittedly memorable and satisfying climax. An admirably restrained (I suppose that we have our lucky stars to thank that "What Became of Jack and Jill" wasn't directed by Peter Collinson), stylish and shocking film that needed more depth and inspiration to make it a worthwhile watch.

2.5/4

18-03-2017

Amicus' filmography has a nice sort of inner rhythm. After each portmanteau film comes an attempt or few to branch out into new things and after those fail a new portmanteau film comes. After the delayed release and ultimate flop of "What Became of Jack and Jill" Amicus returned to safe territory in yet another Robert Bloch penned portmanteau. I have to say I don't like films written by Bloch, especially if he's adapting his own work. His short stories are based on flimsy, ludicrous and often laughable premises, feature insult-to-cardboard characters and are badly padded out. Or at least that's how they play out on screen. On paper, they are clever and brief and to the point. You can get away with a lot more on paper. When you describe how dismembered remains of a man's murdered wife return to haunt him wrapped up in paper it sounds terrifying. On screen, however, you are left with unconvincing fake limbs flapping around awkwardly on wires. Or when he describes how a tiny figure made out of clay stabs a man in the neck it all sounds fiendishly clever. On screen, again, it looks feeble and I didn't buy it for a second. The sole exception to this is the previous Bloch based portmanteau, "The House That Dripped Blood" which was in a word terrific. However, the reason for its success didn't lie in the scripts but in the execution. Peter Duffell worked his damndest (and succeed) to give the stories artsy, intriguing visuals and the cast was simply sensational. However, the main reason it all worked because it was played with good humour and knowledge it was all just silliness. Duffell embraced a more ambiguous tone dancing on the tightrope of occasionally winking at the audience while at the same time giving us atmospheric, creepy sequences. He pulled it off masterfully, but I gather Bloch was not too pleased with the more comical approach. This is obvious in "Asylum" which is played so deadly straight you'd think it was directed by Bergman. Not a wink, smile or laugh in sight. This grave seriousness buries the film before it even begins. Taking the directorial reins is Roy Ward Baker, an able Hammer stalwart. His work here, unfortunately, is less than adequate. His over reliance on dutch angles and nausea-inducing camera movements drains all the atmosphere out of the already boring stories. Other than these tricks he makes no other attempts at style so the rest of the film is workmanlike and fairly dull. The cast is assembled mostly from horror regulars, but not even these reliable professionals seem to care much for "Asylum". Most of them were hired for one or two days only and it shows as they deliver standard, uninspired performances (it would be truer to call them line readings) and not even Peter Cushing is memorable. Some of the other actors' work is just plain weird with Barry Morse playing his part with some sort of vocal affectations he's hoping we'll mistake for an accent that he obviously can't control because it gets more and more ludicrous as the film progresses. The best part of the film is Geoffrey Bayldon who seems like the only person on set with a sense of humour. None of the four stories are in the least bit memorable and I had to remind myself of their plots immediately after finishing the film. Not one of them has enough content to fill out the 15-minute slots they were allotted and they are all painfully padded either with inane dialouge or long shots of the main characters performing some sort of an action (there's a four-minute sequence of Richard Todd washing a floor). All of them are tied together through interviews conducted by a new doctor (Robert Powell) at an asylum. He is posed a task by his boss (Patrick Magee) to guess which one of four patients presented to him is Dr. Starr, the hospital's former director, recently gone insane. When you do find out who Starr is it makes this plot even more insane and unbelievable. The first patient he interviews is Bonnie (Barbara Parkins) who plotted with her lover (Richard Todd) to kill his overbearing wife (Sylvia Sims). When he eventually hacks up her body the pieces come back to avenge her. Through voodoo. This is a four-minute story stretched uncomfortably and languorously into the most awkward 15 minutes of the film. I enjoyed the interplay between Todd and Sims but their expository as-you-know dialogue was grating. Parkins gets nothing to do at all. The second patient is Bruno (Barry Morse), a tailor who tells a tale of an unusual commission he got from a mysterious man (Peter Cushing). In short, he was commissioned to make a suit that can reanimate the dead. This is the best story of the lot, faint praise considering it's quite slow and uninteresting. But it's not boring and Morse and Cushing are always fun to watch even when giving flat performances. Morse's accent is unbelievably annoying as is Ann Firbank's who plays his on-screen wife. Next up is the film's most derivative story. An unoriginal and predictable tale of a woman (Charlotte Rampling) newly released from an asylum and her "mischievous" (read murderous) friend (Britt Ekland) who comes to visit out of the blue. Neither Rampling nor Ekland commit to their parts. Rampling walks through the film with a dazed look on her face while the latter gives completely flat line readings in a role that seems like it was shot in a day. The final story is the most inventive thing in the movie as it actually takes place at the same time as the frame story. The fourth patient is doctor Byron (Herbert Lom) and Robert Powell dismisses him immediately after he starts rambling about his clay figures coming to life. He leaves the room without allowing Byron to finish his story though it's no less crazy than any of the other three. As Patrick Magee and Powell converse downstairs, upstairs his figures really do come to life and start attacking people. Actually, one figure comes to life and shuffles downstairs to attack Patrick Magee before Powell simply stomps on it. Story over. The anticlimactic execution of an exciting idea (making the fourth tale part of the wrap story) is the final nail in the coffin of the movie. Herbert Lom filmed his scene in a half-a-day and presumably in one take. Based on what I saw on the screen I think he was told they were shooting another Pink Panther sequel. He does that wild-eyed arm flailing thing he does in those films and with the same results. It was too late into this dull film to say I was amused, but I was certainly not scared. "Asylum" is a huge disappointment but I can't say I wasn't expecting it. The moment Robert Bloch's name came up in the titles I knew what I was in for. Out of the four previous films he wrote for Amicus, three were disappointments. Had "Asylum" been done with the same level of humour, style, and imagination as "The House That Dripped Blood" it could have worked. But with Bloch's deadly serious approach and Roy Ward Baker's "Battlefield Earth"-esque directing, "Asylum" is a dull, tired, uninspired, languorous wreck of a movie.

1.5/4

19-03-2017

After a series of Robert Bloch penned movies, Milton Subotsky is back in the writing chair and I squealed with delight when I saw his name on the credits. No more drawn out, unoriginal, unimaginative stories, no more dull settings and laughable premises. Subotsky hadn't written a portmanteau since the first one, "Dr. Terror's House of Horrors" and his stories, though often too ambitious to really develop in the short time they were allotted were much smarter and more stylish than Bloch's. Also back is Amicus stalwart Freddie Francis. As the title indicates the five stories featured here are all adapted from the old EC comics (though not all from "Tales from the Crypt") and you can tell. Not that they're goofy or particularly colourful, but they are all imaginative, short, to-the-point and deliciously ironic. "Tales from the Crypt" is the best portmanteau film out there simply by the virtue of all of its stories lasting exactly as long as they should. Some are 10 minutes long, others 20, but not one too long or too short. Consequently, they are all beautifully crafted, well written and have time enough to build atmosphere and develop without stretching their premises thin. It also helps that all five are excellent, creepy and clever as well as frightening in that elegant Amicus way. The cast is packed with great British actors all of who treat the material seriously and with the same amount effort they would a Shakespeare play. That is not to say it's an all 'round serious affair. After all, like I said, Bloch didn't write any of them. That old sense of good, sardonic humour that graced "Dr. Terror's House of Horrors" and "The House That Dripped Blood" is back in full force. If I didn't know, I could have guessed Milton Subotsky had written the movie. The wrap story is the classic Amicus one with five people trapped in a mysterious place, this time the titular crypt, with a genial but sinister man (Ralph Richardson) predicting their future. It's a classy, simple and unintrusive way to introduce each of the stories and even though it's still not as spooky and involving as the wrap story in "Dr. Terror's House of Horrors" it's quite pleasing and enjoyable. Richardson is excellent as the old crypt keeper and makes for a terrific host. For the first time, the first story is the best of the lot. "All Through the House" is a scary, intense and smart story of a woman (Joan Collins) being terrorised on Christmas eve by a madman dressed as Santa (Oliver MacGreevy). Unfortunately for her, she can't call the police because the body of her husband (the aptly named Martin Boddey) whom she's just murdered is lying on the living room floor. The short, mostly dialouge free segment is perfect for Francis whose specialty are long, spooky sequences. He injects so much atmosphere into the story that even the scenes of Joan Collins cleaning up the crime scene are tense and creepy. Long sequences of concentrated activity interrupted by bursts of sudden and startling violence to the aptly jarring and jolly Christmas music make for the most enjoyable and best-made story of them all. That is not to say the rest are bad. In fact, there's not a bad egg in this bunch. The terrific material provides a good basis for the movie but it's all down to the excellent execution. The second story proves it as it's easily the most predictable one but its short runtime, good lead performance, and the startling way the expected reveal is handled make it shocking and memorable. It's a tale focusing on a man (Ian Hendry) who leaves his wife and while driving to his new home with the mistress (Angela Grant) gets into a car crash. He is thrown clear from the burning car but wherever he goes he is met with shock and screams. The twist is easy to see a mile away, but the atmospheric visuals, Hendry's terrific performance and the to-the-point script (it's only 10 minutes long) make it a delightful excursion. Next up is the aptly titled "Poetic Justice" about a vile, snobbish man (Robin Phillips) who is disgusted by his neighbour, an affable, lonely garbageman (Peter Cushing), friend of the local children who gives them toys and sweets. Phillips believes Cushing is too low class for their rich neighbourhood and decides to make his life so miserable he will have no option but to move. First, he has his dogs impounded, then he gets the parents of the children to ban them from visiting him, but then he goes too far. "Poetic Justice" is a heartbreaking and entertaining story. Certainly the weakest of the five but in an anthology this good that's faint criticism. Phillips and Cushing are terrific in their roles. Cushing, in particular, gives such a natural performance you'd think you were watching the man himself. The ending is powerful and memorable and it's great to see this louse get his comeuppance. He is easily the most despicable character Amicus has ever put on screen. The fourth story is the most frightening in that 'Ooooh, I hope that never happens to me' kind of way. It's a very imaginative retelling of the old "Monkey's Paw" story about an artifact that fulfills wishes but for grave prices. The couple who exploit the artifact with tragic results are an embezzler (Richard Greene) and his wife (Barbara Murray) whose first wish is, of course, for money and it gets worse from there. This is a grim but darkly humorous tale of the be-careful-what-you-wish-for variety with a singularly memorable and shocking finale. It's worth watching just for the way Freddie Francis shoots the sequence involving a group of morticians. The fog machine must have been paid overtime. Finally, we have the brilliant finale to a great anthology movie. As breathtaking and startling a climax as possible. The fifth, longest, but most atmospheric and imaginative story is the tale of a brilliantly macabre revenge residents of a home for the blind execute over their brutal and nasty superintendent (Nigel Patrick). If there's anything to have nightmares about in this movie it's the way the superintendent meets his grisly end. It's a fitting and unforgettable final story to a nearly flawless batch of five. "Tales from the Crypt" is the strongest of all Amicus produced films. A classy, startling and inventive horror film stylishly directed by Freddie Francis from an effective script from Milton Subotsky finally delivering on the substantial promise of "Dr. Terror's House of Horrors". In many ways it even surpasses the legendary "Dead of Night" on which all Amicus portmanteau films were based. I guess this is a hugely enjoyable case of the student bettering the teacher.

3.5/4

19-03-2017

After the success of "Tales from the Crypt", another EC adaptation was made. It's a shame that it was the last one as the short, inventive and deliciously ironic stories worked great in Amicus portmanteaus. Unlike Robert Bloch stories they had simple premises, clever twists, and colourful gore and fitted seamlessly into 10-20 minute segments. Back in the director's chair is Roy Ward Baker. After his messy, distracting directing on "Asylum" I was worried but he did a very good job here. This is the Roy Ward Baker I remember from "Quatermass and the Pit" and "The Anniversary". Stylish but unobtrusive he gives the whole proceeding a creeping, nightmarish atmosphere. He is not as good at it as Freddie Francis, but his work here is very satisfactory. The first thing you'll notice watching "The Vault of Horror" is that the tone is more openly comedic. I was reminded of "The House That Dripped Blood" which nicely moved between comedy and horror. Here the similar darkly comedic sense of humour is amped up and all but two stories could easily be considered black comedies. This is a genre that is hard to pull off so I glad to see it done so well not once but three times. And indeed all five stories within "The Vault of Horror" are terrific. They are perhaps not as smart or memorable as the ones in "Tales from the Crypt" but I often found myself enjoying them more. The premises were more outlandish and daring even though most of them were quite predictable. I think it must be the more macabre, entertaining tone at work as this type of levity has a wonderful effect in horror films giving them a classy, old-timey feel. Like in "Dr. Terror's House of Horrors" while the stories themselves aren't always great (in fact I would go so far as to say only two of them were above par) the execution is flawless and I loved this movie to bits. It begins in a very visually inventive scene in which the main men, one by one, walk into a lift. The lift, however, gets stuck in a mysterious basement and while waiting for help the men retell their recurring nightmares. It's something of a contrived idea but it can be handwaved after you learn the twist. The first story is a very, very simple affair and enjoyable because of it. It's a story about a greedy man (Daniel Massey) who comes to a small town to murder his sister (Anna Massey) only to find himself in a big (supernatural) mess. At 12 minutes it is just right, a nice bite sized intro that gives you the taste of things to come. While the story itself isn't hugely memorable the final shot is and if there's one thing you'll remember from this movie that's it. The Masseys (real siblings) do a fine job even if she doesn't get to do much and all he does is grin viciously. The second story is the best of them all though only by a hair and that hair is called Terry-Thomas. Had he been in "Asylum" I'm sure it would have been a much more enjoyable meal. The man is a maverick and it's a shame this is his last notable film (other than a voice-over job in Disney's "Robin Hood"). He breezes through this film with such ease and grace I found myself laughing at every twitch of his moustache. He was an incredible screen presence. Here, he plays a neat freak, probably well over the border of OCD who drives his new trophy wife (Glynis Johns) mad with his constant pestering "Why can't you do anything NEATLY!". One day, however, he pushes her too far. The story is a fantastic example of pitch-black comedy, a seemingly effortless balancing act of humour and horror without a safety net. So easily the whole thing could have tipped over either way but mostly because of excellent writing and the two marvelous stars it stays on course. Perfect in every way, length, content, and execution wise. In story number three Curd Jurgens and Dawn Addams play a condescending magician and his assistant wife who kill a young Indian girl (Jasmina Hilton) for her trick that then turns on them. Jurgens is terrific in the role and a lot of fun to watch but the story somewhat falls apart in the end. First off, I didn't find the trick itself impressive enough to warrant murder. I've actually seen other people do it on stage and without actually being able to see it up close it looks fake and staged. The ending is also not that great with Jurgens ducking and diving around a hotel room like a poor man's version of Jackie Chan, but I enjoyed the set-up of the story, Baker's direction gives an eery air of mysticism to the whole story which is quite creepy for it. Jurgens and Addams are very good as is the mostly quiet Jasmina Hilton. The fourth story is the shortest ever featured in an Amicus portmanteau but surprisingly doesn't feel crammed in at all. If there's anything awkward about it it's the way it's told. Namely, it begins with a man (Michael Craig) waking up buried in a coffin and then narrating how he got there, so it's a flashback within a flashback, or even better it's a man narrating narrating how he got somewhere. The story is so short and simple to say anything past this would be spoilerific, so I'll just leave it at it's not bad. It's too short to be really bad but not inventive enough to be great. I enjoyed it and the ending is rather good in that ironically funny way. But like in the Terry-Thomas story I think it's the wrong character narrating it, but never mind. The only notable thing about this one is that it features the comedic double act of Robin Nedwell and Geoffrey Davies notable for playing two bumbling medical students in "Doctor in the House" and it's subsequent sequels. Here they play... well, bumbling medical students. It's very much in the vein of Naunton Wayne and Basil Radford sort of playing Caldicott and Charters in "Dead of Night" only not as funny. The final story is the scariest and best-written but doesn't feature Terry-Thomas so it can't be the best. It's a tale of a painter (Tom Baker) who through some mumbo jumbo acquires voodoo and gains the powers to harm people by painting and then destroying their portraits in the ways he wants them to suffer. His targets are the three men who conspired to wrong him. The conspiracy is quite clever actually. Namely, Diltant (Denholm Elliott), some sort of rich man, paid a notable art critic (Terrence Alexander) to trash the painter's work after which he bought all of it at a bargain price. Then the art critic would change his mind, make the painter very famous so that Diltant can sell the works for Scrooge McDuck amounts of money through a shady art dealer (John Witty). Watching Baker execute his revenge is fun in the same macabre fun as the "Final Destination" series. The ways the "accidents" occur are well thought out if not quite Rube Goldbergian as the ones in "Final Destination". It also has a striking, if predictable ending. Baker's directing is at its most atmospheric here and Baker's performance is suitably creepy in the same way it was in "Nicholas and Alexandra" where he played Rasputin. He does the same mad eyes thing here. I really enjoyed it and it's a memorable way of ending a terrific portmanteau film. It's Amicus' most modern anthology entirely set in apartments and houses with loud (and very amusing) 70s decor. The musical score is still quite classical and effective. It's by Amicus stalwart Douglas Gamley and while Elisabeth Lutyens is sorely missed he does a great job here. Other than Freddie Francis and the gothic style, another thing missing from this anthology is Peter Cushing (who was presumably busy shooting "The Creeping Flesh" with Francis). It's the only one of seven Amicus portmanteaus not to feature him and while his presence would have undoubtedly made the film even better it's so perfectly cast I can't imagine him anywhere. There's not a weak actor in it. In fact, other than slightly weak storylines I can't see much wrong with "The Vault of Horror" in general. It's entertaining, quick, clever and funny with that ironic edge that makes anthologies work. A wonderful sequel to a horror anthology classic.

3.5/4

20-03-2017

Oh, what a glorious title this movie has. "And Now the Screaming Starts" is such a melodramatic, inviting and catchy title that no movie can fully live up to it. Sadly "And Now the Screaming Starts" doesn't come even close. If there's anything in movies I hate, that makes my blood boil and eyes pop out its repetition and screaming. And true to the title there sure is lots of both. Sadly none of the screaming is done by the audience as the film itself is mind numbingly dull, slow and uninteresting. It follows the old pattern, much the same as "Shock", the 1977 Mario Bava stinker, would in the future of people talking, then something "scary" happens, then a woman screams, rinse and repeat for 90 minutes. That's the whole plot of "And Now the Screaming Starts" summed up if you were to remove the details of the curse and characters' names. It's as repetitive as a movie can be. Unlike "Shock" though it stretches this repetition over about 20-minute segments filling the rest of the time with endless pans over nothing, intrusive, would-be-horror music and our heroine (a flat, uninteresting insult to cardboard) going around asking everyone in sight what's happening. Other than ominous warnings no one tells her anything and if they do a severed hand appears and kills them off. Yes, you read that right and no, this is not "Dr. Terror's House of Horrors" I know because I was entertained watching the Christopher Lee segment of that movie and I was deadly bored of "And Now the Screaming Starts". Deadly, deadly bored. The film follows the newlywed married couple Fengriffen in 1795 as they arrive in Fengriffen Hall your typical gothic castle full of ghosts and disembodied hands. However, the young wife Catherine (Stephanie Beacham) starts seeing apparitions and yet no one calls her insane, they all sort of stare at her with that 'Oh, damn' look on their faces people get when old curses come to fruition. She decides to find out what's going but like I said before whenever anyone tries to tell her, they are killed. When you eventually do find out it's not worth the wait, you could have probably guessed it by then and even if you didn't it's not much of a twist. The whole reveal could easily have been cut and it wouldn't have made much of a difference. It's so unimportant that the film doesn't follow it either, it's own backstory. Apparently, if anyone tries to stop the curse from happening they die and yet Peter Cushing, basically playing Van Helsing just with a more ridiculous wig, can snoop into everything without so much as a scratch from the nearby thorn bush. Another inconsistency occurs when the local doctor (Patrick Magee) is killed while trying to tell Cushing what's happening and yet when Catherine's husband Charles (Ian Ogilvy) tells Cushing the whole story nothing happens to him. There's more but that would be going into full-on spoiler territory and as there's literally only one reveal in the whole film it would be very unsporting of me to reveal it. The film is directed by Roy Ward Baker and his work here is unacceptable. The film is ingloriously padded out with aforementioned long pans and musical interludes, Douglas Gamely is back scoring the film and his score is so badly used here it almost gave me a headache. I don't think there's a quiet moment in the whole film. Gamely's classical, orchestral horror music plays over every conversation, pan and ghostly appearance in the movie. If it were used sparingly it would have been fine, like this it's intrusive and annoying. Baker's unusual choice of shooting the whole film without a single shadow is a misjudgment and results in a film that looks precisely like it was shot on a sound stage in 1972. It's also important to note that the cast list is a total lie. Peter Cushing doesn't appear until the halfway mark, Herbert Lom appears for about five minutes in a flashback which explains the curse and is by far the best part of the film and Patrick Magee dies when Cushing shows up and even before that he only appears in about two scenes. The real star of the film is Stephanie Beacham and she's perfectly fine but the characters in this film are so thin and are given no backstory that she has nothing to do but scream and scream she does. It's not as atrociously painful as the person who dubs Daria Nicolodi in "Shock"'s is but it is annoying as all screams are. Ian Ogilvy is absolutely forgettable as the husband and the rest of the characters are barely in the movie. At one point Beacham's aunt tries to get her to move back to London. I swear this is the first time the aunt shows up, if she had earlier I can't remember it. I was more surprised by the aunt than by anything else in the movie. The aunt syndrome affects pretty much the entire cast of the film because as I scroll through the cast list I can't really remember anyone. The only memorable people in it are Stephanie Beacham (due to her screaming), Patrick Magee (because he's Patrick Magee) and Peter Cushing (because he's Peter Cushing). I've said it before but the best part of the film is the flashback which is the only notable scene in the film mostly because of the fine performances from Herbert Lom as Ogilvy's sadistic grandfather and Geoffrey Whitehead as the woodsman. I don't really fault the actors here, they all really, really try it's the script that's awful and Roy Ward Baker's slow as molasses directing doesn't help either. The first half of the film plays like the gothic version of "Shock", pretty much 45 minutes of the same sequence playing over and over and over again. The second half is "Rosemary's Baby" with Peter Cushing thrown in probably told he's playing Van Helsing again. There's some nice set design and good acting in "And Now the Screaming Starts" but the film is too slow, uninteresting and on the whole incredibly dull to recommend. I found myself nodding off watching this film only roused from my daze by Beacham's ear piercing screams.

1.5/4

20-03-2017

I guess it was inevitable that someone would try to cash-in on the popularity of the Amicus portmanteaus. But it wasn't until the big success of "Asylum" that eventually someone did. World Film Services (no, me neither) made "Tales That Witness Madness", a blatant rip-off of "Asylum" complete with unimaginative and predictable stories and boredom galore. WFS even went as far as to hire Amicus' default go-to-guy for portmanteaus, Freddie Francis. It's telling of the quality (or lack of it) that not even Francis' inspired direction managed to save this nonsense. I have to say that if these tales indeed did witness madness then the screen must have had eyes because I was mad as hell at this movie. It's dreadful. Absolutely dreadful. Not one thing about it worked, it failed to amuse, frighten or even bemuse me. It's dull, confusing and plain stupid. It was so bad it made me nostalgic for the time I watched "Asylum". It actually made me miss Robert Bloch's writing. The person who wrote this is Jennifer Jayne. A would-be horror starlet whose sole claim to fame was a small part in the first Amicus portmanteau, "Dr Terror's House of Horrors". She played the vampire Donald Sutherland had to kill. She had very few lines and for the rest of her role stood there looking sexy which seems to be the only thing she can do properly. Her writing reminded me of something a nine-year-old might write with a crayon on a particularly inspired day. Stories with ridiculous premises (such nonsense would make Robert Bloch blush) that start from nowhere and go nowhere excruciatingly slowly. Nothing in the movie makes sense and I didn't care to make sense of anything. Every second of this film was excruciatingly painful, every line overwritten, every performance phoned in. I couldn't wait for it all to end and it never seemed to. It's a long, long, long walk towards the light and I recommend you avoid it. If you see it in a store near your home, move, if you see it on Netflix, cancel your subscription. Don't watch it! The film's framing story is almost a shot-for-shot rip-off of "Asylum" just without the guessing game. In both a new doctor (Jack Hawkins) arrives at an asylum where he is shown four patients who tell him the stories of how they got there. This is Hawkins' last film role and what a way to go. Badly dubbed by Charles Gray (who obviously couldn't give a monkey's toss for the film) while aimlessly wondering 70s-modern sets. Each of the stories gets worse and worse every time I thought they couldn't get any worse. First off is "Mr Tiger", a story so predictable I thought I was being intentionally led on. I was convinced they were going to pull a twist on me. I was convinced. They didn't. It was exactly as I predicted from the first minute. Just like all the other stories, it's so predictable you don't even need to watch it. Just read the premise and you'll know. It's about a small child (Russell Lewis) whose parents (Georgia Brown & Donald Houston) constantly bicker. He finds solace in his imaginary friend, the titular tiger who is getting angry at mommy and daddy. I wonder what's going to happen? I really, really, really don't. The first problem is the young master Lewis who speaks every line as if he's speed reading. The biggest problem, however. is that it's 13 minutes long and 10 minutes of that are the parents bickering. I feel like I've lived through their entire marriage in the duration of this short story. To make matters worse the characters are your typical, uninteresting bores with annoying voices and terrible delivery. Mr Houston's bombastic overacting is so bad it's actually sort of enjoyable. I say sort of because all of his shouting made my ears bleed. A truly awful experience and it'll only get worse. "Penny Farthing" is totally incomprehensible. I wish I could adequately explain it but I can't. I'm sure Ms Jayne knows what's it all about. I don't. What I think happened is that Timothy (Peter McEnry), your generic horror film boyfriend, inherits a portrait and a penny farthing. The portrait comes to life, makes Timothy fly up into the air and onto the penny farthing and then Timothy is sent back through time. Why? I don't know. How? I don't know. Nothing is ever explained as the story just ends. I don't know what the motivation was, I don't know whether there was a villain or not and to tell you the truth I didn't care. What I certainly didn't know was that this is the best story of them all. Or should I say least awful? Let's settle for it didn't give me a headache. The third story, entitled "Mel" actually made me feel insulted. I cannot believe anyone thought I, or any other audience member, would be so stupid, so drunk or so high as to mistake this nonsense for a premise. If you've ever desired to watch tree softcore movies, this is the film for you. It's an excruciatingly long story of a man (Michael Jayston) who finds a tree trunk in a forest, carves breasts into it and then falls in love with it and his wife (Joan Collins) who gets jealous. I kid you not, that's the plot, the whole plot and nothing but the plot. I couldn't believe it either. I don't know where to begin with this one. To say that the characters were complete enigmas to me would be doing Jayston and Collins a disservice. I knew more about them before the story began. I don't know who they are, what they are or why they constantly bicker, but they do. I suspect Ms Jayne's parents bickered a lot since all married couples in this would-be movie do. This is horrible, this is stuff film critic nightmares are made of. I'm still in shock, I refuse to believe that a sentient human being came up with this premise. There's no hope for humanity. The fourth story was the only one that actually made sense but it's also horrifically boring. The thin plot of a man (Michael Petrovich) seducing a young lady (Mary Tamm) so he can sacrifice her is stretched to whopping 26 minutes. Most of the runtime is padding about Kim Novak preparing a luau because of course it is. If you like to watch once notable actresses cut pineapples while spouting inane filler dialogue with your tree softcore films then this is a dream come true for you. I don't know what I witnessed but I'm certainly mad. This movie is unbelievably bad, it's horrendous, rotten from the inside, unimaginative and exploitative to the worst degree. It's guaranteed to kill off your brain cells one by one during its excrutiating 90 minute runtime. I hope to forget "Tales That Witnessed Madness" as soon as I can, I hope every memory of this horror evaporates from my mind, I can't stand the memory of it. I can't stand the fact that something this bad actually exists. You'll enjoy it only if you like idiotic writing, headache inducing plots and have an acute allergy to characterisation. It's empty, hollow, worthless. It's awful in every way imaginable.

1/4

20-03-2017

"From Beyond the Grave" is the last official Amicus portmanteau. I say official because Milton Subotsky, horrorist-in-chief at Amicus films went on to produce "The Uncanny" and "The Monster Club" as well as have an unidentified part in the production of Stephen King's clever anthology "Cat's Eye". But "From Beyond the Grave" is the last to carry the proud name of Amicus and it's a good exit. I wouldn't rank it quite shoulder to shoulder with the best but it's heads and shoulders above "Asylum" and "Torture Garden". It lacks the stylish inventiveness of "Dr Terror's House of Horrors" and it's not as consistently enjoyable as "The House That Dripped Blood" but it contains a few very efficient, well-written and enjoyable stories. as well as a very, very stellar cast. The directing is in the hands of first-time director (ex-editor) Kevin Connor and while it's obvious he's still looking for his feet he does a fine, stylish job of enveloping the stories in good, thick atmosphere as well as dosing them with healthy helpings of humour. Yes, the old Amicus good humour is present here though not in the first and the last story making this anthology singularly uneven. The first story is a very serious, very bleak horror film while the third is an out-and-out comedy complete with mad psychics and Ian Carmichael. Honestly, it all felt like it was comprised of previously rejected stories as some of them feel like they belong in "The Vault of Horror" and some would find a better home in "Torture Garden". Tonewise, of course. They are also very loosely bound together but for once there's an attempt to intertwine the wrap story into the tales themselves. You see, each of the stories is kickstarted by one of the main characters cheating an affable old salesman (Peter Cushing). Some lie to him about the value of his stock and others downright steal from him, but they all meet bad luck when they do so. The first customer is Edward Charlton (David Warner), an affluent man with a taste for antiques who buys a mirror from the old man. The mirror is, however, possessed and starts ordering him to kill. The more he kills the more the ghost in the mirror (Marcel Steiner) gains straight. This one is played very straight with a strong sense of impending dread and lots and lots of blood. Warner is excellent in the lead displaying real anguish as he struggles for control with the mirror. As well done is it is the story does fall apart at the seams. It's never explained where the mirror came from, nor what it's ultimate goal is. The ending is somewhat anticlimactic as well as unsatisfying. Very well made but from a decidedly weak story. The second customer is a mousy clerk (Ian Bannen) who pretends to be a war hero. He steals a medal from the shop after he befriends a former soldier (Donald Pleasence) who is now selling shoelaces and matches in the street. The two become uneasy friends but it becomes clear something is wrong after the clerk is introduced to the soldier's awkward and obviously unbalanced daughter (Angela Pleasence). This is a terrific story. It's bleakly humorous and has a very strong satiric edge something never before attempted in an Amicus film. The performances are marvellous, especially from Ian Bannen. He is always awkward and slightly hunched down giving an impression of a put-upon nobody. The Pleasence father-daughter team give memorable performances as a couple of characters who wouldn't feel out of place in a Dennis Potter play. The dialogue between the trio is brilliant and they perform it to perfection. The nightmarish, awkward atmosphere that engulfs the segment makes it singularly creepy. The only slight disappointment is that the ending never pays off the promised satire and the whole thing loses some of its edge (but not its weirdness) when the endgame is revealed. The third story feels through-and-through as though it was originally submitted for "The Vault of Horror" but "The Neat Job" took its place. It's a comedy with almost no pretensions at seriousness, a goofy, silly and utterly hilarious story of a man (Ian Carmichael) with a weight on his shoulders. The weight is an elemental, a nasty creature with homicidal intentions and a desire to possess you. Kooky psychic (Margaret Leighton) to the rescue. Madame Orloff, as she is named, owes more than a debt of gratitude to Margaret Rutherford's performance in "Blithe Spirit" as she prances around the room uttering weird and wonderful nonsense. They are both having so much fun playing the material for all its comedic worth that we can't help but have fun with them. It's not as clever, or funny, or macabre as "The Neat Job" but it's just as enjoyable. A fun time and Carmichael and Leighton are great as usual. The fourth story is decidedly the worst. A slow, uninvolving and somewhat confusing tale of a mysterious room that shows up when a young writer (Ian Ogilvy) puts an ancient door on his cupboard. It's vaguely reminiscent on the mirror story from "Dead of Night" where an ancient mirror displayed an 18th-century room in a modern apartment. Here it's a door and it's dull. The lack of characterisation, a flimsy explanation to the events and an uninvolving storyline make this a more fitting entry to "Tales That Witness Madness" than a full-fledged Amicus film. Ogilvy had no luck with Amicus at all, did he? On the whole "From Beyond the Grave" is entirely uneven but almost always entertaining. All four stories occupy different genres and seemingly worlds of their own, but the middle two stories can stand eye to eye with anything Amicus made if for no other reason than for the sheer pleasure one can get out of watching them. Cushing is, of course, terrific as the old shopkeeper with a mischievous grin and a skull-like face. An enjoyable final kick from Amicus.

3/4

20-03-2017

"This film is a detective story in which you are the detective. The question is not "Who is the murderer?" but "Who is the werewolf?" After all the clues have been shown you will get a chance to give your answer." This is the opening narration for "The Beast Must Die", a horror-mystery from Amicus films shot in their usual classy but campy style and the film more than lives up to it. It presents a lively if predictable guessing game akin to those you would find in Agatha Christie novels and then when all the clues are presented, it gives you a werewolf break. A 30-second interlude in which the faces of all the characters are shown superimposed over a giant, ticking clock. It's just as much fun as it sounds. This is one of Amicus' simpler films, a straightforward plot with no complications or pretentions at style. An A to B affair that never-the-less manages to be entertaining and memorable. This is largely due to some effectively shot action sequences (the film opens with a corker) and a lively, committed cast who despite an undoubted temptation play the whole thing deadpan. The plot concerns a rich hunter (Calvin Lockhart) with a lifelong ambition to hunt a werewolf. So, he gathers 'round five possible suspects for an unforgettable weekend. The guests are: an arrogant and sardonic politician (Charles Gray), an artist with a penchant for strange behaviour (Tom Chadbon), a sickly pianist (Michael Gambon) and his ex-student/wife (Ciaran Madden) and of course an archaeologist (Peter Cushing) whose hobby are werewolves with a strange accent that ranges from German to Scottish but I believe should be Swedish. There's also the hunter's wife (Marlene Clark) and Pavel (Anton Diffring), his tech-wizard supervisor but they're above suspicion, right? They all give fun performances and do a lot with the little they're given. There are almost no lines in the film that aren't pure exposition but the cast colours them with all tones of irony and sarcasm and makes them fun to listen to in the way only the British actors can. The best of the lot is Calvin Lockhart as the sadistically overenthusiastic hunter. He chews so much scenery I was surprised there was a werewolf to be unmasked in the end. Every line out of his mouth is golden and he (as well as the rest of the cast) seems to be having a ball in this film. And so did I have watching it. I won't say it's smart or startling or unpredictable but it's entertaining. It packs a lot into its 90 minutes run time and it's never once boring. It's fluff, escapism at its barest. I found that quite a lot during the movie I'd just forget myself and go along for the ride. And trying to guess who the werewolf is adds a whole new gimmicky dimension to this horror film that makes for even more cheesy goodness.

2.5/4

21-03-2017

"Madhouse" is the end of many eras rolled into one, unfortunate film. It was the penultimate Amicus horror film, but certainly the last that homaged their long gothic tradition (their next effort, "The Beast Must Die" was a more modern, dare I say it, hip film). But it was certainly a fortunate exit considering that Amicus had tried to get Vincent Price to star in their films many times before (most notably for the role that went to Jon Pertwee in "The House That Dripped Blood") but couldn't due to his contractual commitment to AIP with whom Amicus co-produced this film. Ironically, this would be Price's last film with AIP, the end of a 14-year collaboration that proved to be the most fruitful one for both the horror star and the horror studio. Together they made the legendary Poe adaptations directed by Roger Corman such as "House of Usher", "The Masque of the Red Death" and "The Tomb of Ligeia". The failure of "Madhouse" at the box office convinced AIP to stop making stylish, gothic horror films and turn their heads to more popular, modern fair such as Jeff Lieberman's shlock classic "Squirm". Price had no place in such films and was released from the contract he wasn't all too pleased about anyway. Consequently, this would also be Vincent Price's last starring role. Afterwards, he was relegated to guest appearances in movies by appreciative directors such as Mark Goldblatt's "Dead Heat" and Tim Burton's "Edward Scissorhands" or host parts in portmanteau films attempting fruitlessly to recapture the old glory such as "The Monster Club" and "From a Whisper to a Scream". Either way you look at it "Madhouse" is a somewhat sad affair. Still, it is joyfully notable for being the first on-screen pairing of horror legends Vincent Price and Peter Cushing. They had previously both appeared in "Scream and Scream Again" and "Dr Phibes Rises Again" but never shared any scenes together. It's also, if nothing else, certainly a loving tribute to the horror films of old, a nostalgic look back at how it used to be. There's a lovely scene in which Price and Cushing watch old horror films and muse about "Basil" (Rathbone, of course, not mouse detective). But, despite significant promise "Madhouse" just doesn't deliver. I'm not sure whether to blame its director, Jim Clark, or the writers, but the film is a meandering mishmash of styles and plotlines that combine into a singularly unexciting and predictable film. In it, Price plays a has-been horror star, Paul Toombes, who is returning to his once successful part as a homicidal maniac going under the name of Dr Death after a long stint at an insane asylum. He had lost his reason twelve years earlier when he found his bride-to-be (Julie Crosthwaite) decapitated in their bedroom. Everyone blamed him but couldn't prove it. He, himself, couldn't be sure of his innocence and it drove him insane leading to him losing the sense of whether he was Paul Toombes or Dr Death. However, upon his arrival to London, where the new Dr Death TV series will be shot, strange murders start occurring. Paul finds himself again questioning his sanity. Vincent Price was no stranger to playing potentially insane actors having done it only a year earlier in the biting satire "Theatre of Blood". I don't think it was done deliberately but the fact the two films came out one after another makes "Madhouse" even less likeable. While "Theatre of Blood" was a smart, original, hilarious film that proved to be unforgettable, "Madhouse" was forgotten almost as soon as it came out. Faults were many and apparent. From the uneven tone to the illogical and uninvolving storyline it is as messy as a film can be. It never seems able to decide whether it wants to be serious or have a comedic edge nor can it decide in what key to play. Consequently, some scenes have a naturalistic, shrill tone to them like the opening sequence in which Paul's fiancee is murdered and some have a surreal, almost supernatural quality like the scenes involving Paul's former co-star Faye (Adrienne Corri) who is now a disfigured lunatic living in a basement of a manor house growing flesh eating spiders and spouting nonsense about ghosts and the old times. Speaking of old times, Peter Cushing plays Paul's writer best-friend and Faye's husband to whom the manor house belongs. Scenes between Price and Cushing have a gentle, nostalgic quality about them that clashes jarringly with the scenes with Corri that usually follow them. There are also several highly inappropriate comedic interludes involving an almost Pythonesque farce in which a dead girl's parents (Ellis Dale and Catherine Wilmer) stalk around Cushing's manor house and pounce on Price whenever he shows up. They play it like they're in Jonathan Miller's adaptation of "Alice in Wonderland". Finally, but perhaps most jarringly the film can't decide what sort of a horror film it wants to be. Sometimes it plays heavily on the nostalgia card, homaging the horror films of old, but mostly it is a knife-wielding slasher with a disappointingly low body count and no real gore to speak of. Either way, it's entirely unsatisfying and feels like a relic masquerading as something new like when your grandfather tries to quote a rap song. It's woefully out of touch and difficult to follow. Furthermore, it's not like I was even that interested in following it anyway. If you don't realise who the killer is in the first 10 minutes then you should turn in your horror-fan card. It's so obvious they might as well had told us. The ending is the most ridiculous thing in the movie. I can almost picture the director saying: "Never mind, no one's going to stick 'round 'till the end. We can do anything we want." In its largest mood change yet it channels a bad Hammer imitation and stages the ending like a fight scene between Dracula and Van Helsing in one of those 70s German imitations of the Hammer classic. All shadows and wooden stairs and of course lots of spiders so discreetly foreshadowed several times in the film. It's a sadly boring end of a horror era that is only memorable because of its stars. It's a curiously dour, boring and uninteresting affair, one of those films that you just lose investment it. I didn't care about how it ended, to be fair I'd lost interest by the thirty-minute mark. The only good part of the film are the interactions between Price and Cushing which are only interesting because of the novelty of seeing the two of them play off each other and Price's biting and sardonic comments to a young up and coming starlet (Jenny Lee Wright). Those put a smile on my face, but that's only about 10 minutes of the film (Cushing is ridiculously underused), the other 85 are better left forgotten as they were when the film first came out to an indifferent audience.

1.5/4

21-03-2018

After the most decidedly unfriendly split of Amicus, its owners went their own way. Neither found anything close to the success they had together. Despite his aversion for the genre Max Rosenberg went on to produce the schlock classic "The Incredible Melting Man" and have some unclear role in the making of Paul Schrader's "Cat People". Milton Subotsky formed his own company, "Sword & Sorcery" (curiously titled because neither of their films belongs to that not so well-regarded genre) and later acquired the rights to certain, lesser Stephen King novels. However, between the breakup of Amicus and the formation of "Sword & Sorcery", he went on to make "The Uncanny", an Amicus-like portmanteau film based on the premise of cats actually being vicious, evil killers. Amicus' anthologies, in the best of times, were loosely tied together. This was usually because of the fact that the stories were often taken from different sources. "The Uncanny", however, features three very tightly bound stories, all with cats as villains and all logically tied into the wrap story consisting of a writer (Peter Cushing) retelling the facts of his non-fiction book on the evil that cats do to his disbelieving editor (Ray Milland). It is my belief that "The Uncanny" was meant to be an Amicus film that due to the company's split never got made until a French-Canadian low-budget film company acquired the rights and made it. Sadly, they put neither the care nor the money in their film like Amicus did and "The Uncanny" is a less classy affair. One only has to look at the cast list filled with has-beens and television actors to realise that we're no longer in Amicus land where horror legends grow on trees and Freddie Francis pours his little artistic heart out at every opportunity. Watching this film I was nostalgic of Amicus but found myself quaintly enjoying because, despite its not so promising set-up, it proved to be a lot better than expected. It's not good but it's no "Tales That Witness Madness". Actually, that's singularly faint praise. Let me put it this way: It's a lot more entertaining and enjoyable than I ever thought it could be. Still, the fact that all of the stories are your typical, predictable horror fare and that none of them is particularly memorable can't be avoided. Also unavoidable is the fact that you can see the price tags hanging off most of the set and it's not very high. Before I dwell into each of the stories I have to address Milton Subotsky's fear of cats. I don't get it. I never found cats sinister or anything more than distinctly bad natured and grumpy. His case is not helped by the fact that the filmmakers seem to have gotten most of their "scary felines" from the local beauty pageant. They all look cuddly and surprisingly nice. I also have to say I wasn't too keen on the frame story. Presenting your film as ravings of a paranoid nutter is not very flattering. Unfortunately for the film, Cushing delivers the role pitch perfect. He's the sort of man you'd expect to encounter in the asylum from "Amadeus" shouting about being Napoleon. There are several supposedly scary moments of cats loitering around Cushing's feet but like with the rest of the film, the budget is too low to make it work. It all looks like the opening credits of a soon-to-be-cancelled TV series on your local cable channel. The film's premise of cats being evil is further debunked by the fact that in all three cases the cats are the good guys and all the people they kill are absolutely vile creatures who've either already killed someone themselves or most definitely would one day. In all three stories, I firmly rooted for the cats. The first segment is set in 1912 and concerns an old woman (Joan Greenwood) who leaves her significant fortune to her numerous cats. Her nephew (Simon Williams) is not pleased and woos the old lady's maid (Susan Penhaligon) and persuades her to kill his aunt. The cats don't like this and decide to avenge her by killing the conniving duo. This is actually a surprisingly strong (if somewhat drawn out) opening for the film. It's not too ambitious as it's mostly set in two rooms and consists almost entirely of dialogue and Susan Penhaligon looking scared. It's a one event story and the event is handled with suitable urgency and drama. It's somewhat inconsequential but enjoyable. The next story jumps ahead 63 years and is easily the least of the three. One problem with "The Uncanny" is the fact that it has three stories in a 90-minute film. Surprisingly I didn't have a problem with the length of the first or the last story. Perhaps fittingly then the second part is torturously languorous. It's the sad orphan story with a feline twist as we follow Lucy (Katrina Holen) who, after the death of her parents, moves in with her snobbish aunt (Alexandra Stewart) and uncle (Donald Pilon) whose annoying little brat (Chloe Franks) takes great pleasure in torturing Lucy mostly because she's envious of Lucy's cat. What she doesn't know is that Lucy has a penchance for black magic. This is sadly the longest of the three and is consisted almost entirely of Franks badgering the poor orphan (and the audience). The witchcraft is brought into the story too late to save it and the murderous cat almost doesn't get its shining moment. It's an all 'round tawdry affair, a slow, uninteresting rehash of better films populated with flat characters. All the way through I was reminded of Franks' much better performance in "The House That Dripped Blood" where she was actually quite scary. Here, she just got on my nerves making me root for the cat once more. The third story is the best of the lot, but it still has its fair share of problems. It's another tale of revenge of the good cat against the bad humans. Set in 1936 Hollywood we follow a vein, philandering actor (Donald Pleasence) who kills his wife (Catherine Begin) in favour of his much younger mistress (Samantha Eggar) only to find himself hunted by the wife's devoted cat. This story is a clumsy attempt at comedy which works only because Pleasence is having such devilish, good, campy fun. I say clumsy because the humour kicks in about five minutes in and consists almost entirely of Pleasence falling over and Eggar playing dumb. And yet it stands as a monument to Pleasence's ginormous talent because he makes it work. He is so energetic, entertaining and genuinely funny I was taken in for the ride. Badly written and unconvincing as it is it's also a lot of fun to watch. In the end "The Uncanny" wasn't a chore but it's also easily forgettable. Nothing in it stands out in the slightest and it's a distinctively cheap attempt at Amicus style portmanteau lacking both their style and class. It's a very poor man's replacement that works almost entirely in spite of itself. The cast and the director put enough fate and belief in the project to sell it and they do as well as humanly possible. Had these guys made "Tales That Witness Madness" I might have been turned on by that tree. On second thought, no one is that good. Not even Donald Pleasence.

2/4

22-03-2017

There's a twilight zone in film criticism that is occupied entirely by films known as guilty pleasures. I never quite agreed with the term as I find that when I enjoy something I never feel guilty about it. It may be as bad as humanly possible but if I enjoyed it it must have something fun in there. Films like that tend to be either good because of how bad they are (think Ed Wood films) or good despite how bad they are. Either way, they entertain, engage and attain that coveted cult classic status that means this is not good but there's a great time to be had with it. I find that "Evil Toons" occupies that zone dominantly. One in a series of exploitative, erotic horror films made on the extreme cheap by schlockmeister Fred Olen Ray it has bucketloads of cheese crammed into it, enjoyably bad performances and several actually good moments. What makes it work is that it is self-aware in a way horror movies wouldn't become until after "Scream". In blatantly ripping off "Evil Dead 2" it stumbled upon a genre trope that wouldn't be popularised until four years later. Knowingly stupid and not above poking jokes at itself it has several moments of disarmingly funny self-deprecating humour and knowing nods at horror conventions. It also has a notably light tone with winks to the camera, no care for logic, story or characters and moments of delicious eye-rolling nonsense. It's hard to be snooty about a movie that doesn't take itself seriously one tiniest little bit. Even the plot is mercilessly ripped into as it's the most stereotypical horror movie contrivance. Four unrealistically good looking co-eds go to a spooky mansion for a summer job and are handed a sinister looking book made out of a human face (direct rip-off from "The Evil Dead") by a mysterious man in a hat (David Carradine). They read it out loud, one of the drawings from the book comes to life and the indiscriminate killing, sexual innuendoes and running around in thin nighties begins. The female cast is mostly comprised of porn stars (the only non-porn actress is the director's girlfriend) because, in the words of Fred Olen Ray himself, "They were willing to get naked" and their acting reflects this. Every line is delivered woefully badly but they all have a playful energy and are having such an obvious good time hamming it up it's hard not to laugh. The effects are fairly primitive but surprisingly effective, especially the seldom seen but well-done cartoon. There's also a catchy soundtrack and some fine support from Dick Miller and Arte Johnson. "Evil Toons" is a criticism nightmare because the star system wasn't made for these kinds of movies. Objectively speaking it's awful, illogical and dumb, but I loved it's playfulness, self-deprecation and feather lightness. I had fun watching it and so I suspect will anyone with a taste for silliness and schlock. Objectively I couldn't give it more than half a star for effort but in my heart of hearts I really had a good time watching it so we'll settle for a...

2/4

22-03-2017

After the breakup of Amicus, its horror maestro Milton Subotsky formed his own company with Frank Duggan oddly titled "Sword & Sorcery". This is, apparently, because they were keen on producing films based on Robert E. Howard' Conan series but failed to secure the rights. If they had I suppose we would have had a cheap film series akin to the "Deathstalker" films with all the bad acting and shoestring special effects that go with the territory instead of the fondly remembered John Milius film. We would have also missed out on Arnold Schwarzenegger, whose might have drifted into obscurity or even infamy without playing the famed barbarian. After several false starts, Subotsky managed to get one project off the ground. A decidedly unambitious film in his favourite genre, horror. I am not familiar with Harold Lawlor's novel "What Beckoning Ghost" upon which "Dominique" is based, but I can't imagine this story stretching farther than a somewhat bloated novella. There's not much material here as most of the film time is spent with long shots of people slowly stalking down hallways or ghostly apparitions in nightgowns sinisterly appearing to an unrealistically well-lit backdrop. The first half of the plot is "Ghostlight" with David Ballard (Cliff Robertson) trying to make his housebound wife Dominique (Jean Simmons) think she's insane and the second half plays out like "Diabolique" with her ghost out for revenge, or is it? Unlike "Diabolique", however, there's not much beyond this. Most of the film focuses entirely on Robertson with the rest of the cast barely showing up more than three times each. His sister (Jenny Agutter) supposedly lives on the estate as well but she disappears about 30 minutes in and doesn't show up again until the very end. The Ballard's new chauffeur (Simon Ward) is somewhat better represented but only because the film needs someone to look at David disbelievingly once in a while. If you can remember anyone else in the film I salute you, I can't. So for 80% of the film, we're left with David as he looks scared than determined than scared again. Robertson plays the part with a lot of conviction and sells it successfully but is not an energetic or engaging enough presence to carry a 90-minute film all on his own. I suppose someone like James Woods could do it and even for him it would be a Herculean task. When Jeff Daniels was asked to do a similar job in "Chasing Sleep" he was at least aided by a fast-paced, twisty plot. "Dominique" is, comparatively, rather stilted as most of the runtime is spent repeating the same set of sequences. Able director Michael Anderson does a good job of keeping our attention, barely, but never activates our adrenalin. I was never once scared or excited for anything in the film. There is a suitably creepy atmosphere in the film from time to time but this is mostly down to cinematographer Ted Moore's moody lighting and a wonderful piano score by David Whitaker, not because the script is particularly interesting. That is another problem. The plot is too predictable to generate any suspense. Even when it occasionally kicks into gear it is still dulled down by considerable dead air. The most memorable sequence in the film is a kill scene obviously inspired by Dario Argento in which a black gloved killer stalks an unsuspecting victim. It feels out of place and surprisingly out of touch as it has neither the style nor the gore of even the worst giallo films and is uninspired as only a bad imitation can be. Now, "Dominique" is not terrible. I was never bored nor annoyed at anything it did and it is an enjoyable classy affair with its moody cinematography and talented cast, but it is too slow, predictable and inconsequential to be good. By failing to generate interest it fails to engage the audience in any way and its lack of style makes it a very forgettable affair.

2/4

26-03-2017

Jim Wynorski is sort of like Orson Welles of the B-movies. An icon of the genre, an enfant terrible who never bettered his big breakthrough film. Known for making over 150 various films, all on the cheap and often in record-breaking time, he made his name in schlock and cheap imitations of blockbusters. Nowadays he is still busy at work, but instead of slashers or "Jurassic Park" rip-offs he is making softcore movies like the gloriously titled "The Bare Wench Project" or "The Witches of Breastwick" whose making the documentary follows. I am a huge fan of B-movies from Roger Corman onwards. There's something delightfully enjoyable and light about them, especially when they embrace the fact that they are schlocky nonsense and yet I never found myself liking a Wynorsky film. I found his breakthrough movie, the cult classic "Chopping Mall" to be too stiff and stereotypical to be enjoyed and lacking either edge or a tongue in its cheek. Its only saving grace is a surprise cameo from Paul Bartel and Mary Woronov which only made me think of a superior schlock film, "Death Race 2000". His other famous exploits such as "Not of This Earth" and "The Return of the Swamp Thing" also failed to engage me with their nonsensical premises, lack of imagination and laughs. His one film I enjoyed the most was "Deathstalker II" and that is very far from a good movie. I think he is unfairly held in higher regard than his much more talented and interesting counterpart, Fred Olen Ray. And still, Wynorski is a fascinating figure if for no other reason than for his quick, no-nonsense work ethic. "Popatopolis", the first (and hopefully not the last) documentary on him, nominally attempts to be exactly about that. It follows Wynorski as he undertakes the challenge to film "The Witches of Breastwick" in three days. No mean feat, as we'll see. During the tense shoot, Wynorski often loses his cool, shouting at his actresses, looking like he's about to break something and being a general grouch. His frequent collaborator, Julie K. Smith informs us this is typical Wynorski behaviour. Despite it being a lot of fun to watch others squirm in discomfort around him, I found it very difficult to like Wynorski. He is like one of those obnoxious comedy characters but sort of like John Belushi he is very enjoyable to watch, as long as I don't have to work for him that is. This part of the documentary is great. It's interesting to get a peek behind such a small and intimate shoot where everyone knows everyone's name and pet peeves. The fights between Wynorski and Smith are particularly engaging as they clash over everything from her lines to her knickers. Unfortunately, this 75-minute film attempts to be three documentaries at once and as is typical of overly ambitious films made by incompetent people it never gives the proper time to any of them. The second documentary it undertakes is a wide-ranging history of B-movies and several noted figures from the movement are interviewed including Andy Sidaris, Lloyd Kaufman and, of course, Roger Corman. All this does serve as the contextualisation for the film's third undertaking, but it takes up so much of the already short runtime it feels like a documentary squeezed into a film within a film. The most of the film is dedicated to a biography on Wynorski but with two-thirds of the runtime already taken up, we learn absolutely nothing about the man beyond what his mother and house look like. There are also several nice clips from his films. The most interesting story in the film is the shooting of "The Witches of Breastwick" of which we don't get enough. I wish all of the 75-minutes were dedicated to it. Quite honestly, I could watch Wynorski and Smith go at it for twice as long. The other two topics didn't capture my interest, at least not in the superficial way director Clay Westervelt handled them. I learned nothing new, all the stories have already been told, all the clips were already featured and all the notable directors have already been interviewed in better films and books. The only person to generate any interest in these portions of "Popatopolis" is Wynorski's mother Theresa, who believes her son may still be a director. She loved "Chopping Mall", but didn't like all the nudity. Her interview is contrasted with a long sequence in which Wynorski shoots a sex scene and attempts to persuade Julie K. Smith to remove her knickers. In the end, I have to conclude there's a fun insightful film somewhere in "Popatoplis" but it's been cut in favour of dull retellings of old stories. I found the whole film to be a disappointingly rushed and uncomfortably squeezed experience of little merit. It feels more like a DVD extra than a real documentary and I hope someone makes a better film on Wynorski because he and his films are such fascinating subjects.

2/4

31-03-2017

"The Monster Club" is the most Milton Subotsky-esque of all the Milton Subotsky films. First of all it's a portmanteau, a film genre he didn't invent but certainly popularised through his marvelous work at Amicus. If that is not enough the wrap story is intercut with pointless performances by various pop groups. If you are not clear as to how this relates to Subotsky than you must not be aware of his background as a rock songwriter and the fact that the first films he produced were essentially music videos loosely connected through some thin plotting. The first official Amicus product, "It's Trad Dad" was such a film and it gave rise to the career of that stylish maestro, the father of MTV and absurdist extraordinaire, Richard Lester. "The Monster Club" is a textbook example of a portmanteau film with a star studded wrap story and three segments the first of which is featherlight and forgettable, the second of which is a comedy and best of the lot and the third of which ends on a (supposedly) horrifying twist. Then it all wraps up with yet another twist in the framing story and the film is over. As you might have gathered from that description "The Monster Club" is not a great film, nor is it particularly good, but it's stylish, occasionally quite clever and enjoyable to sit through. Unlike Subotsky's previous portmanteau venture, "The Uncanny", here we have a film that looks like something you would enjoy seeing in a theatre. Colourful cinematography, a wonderful soundtrack (not the pop stuff) and some semblances of ambition. Sadly the film barely got a cinematic release in the UK and was bunged straight to television in the US where it was critically panned and ignored by the audiences. While the film is not entirely successful, there's enough here to entertain an audience and it's sad it never reached it's intended one. Due to the failure of both "Dominique" and this, Subotsky's film company "Sword & Sorcery" went under and "The Monster Club" proved to be his last film. Later in his career he acquired the rights to several Stephen King novels which were adapted but as far as I know he didn't have any hand in those films despite getting the suspiciously irrelevant title of co-producer even if one of these films was "Cat's Eye" which, being a portmanteau framed by a menacing looking cat, sounds precisely like a Subotsky product. The three stories featured here are based on the work of R. Chetwynd-Hayes whom Subotsky adapted previously in the final Amicus portmanteau "From Beyond the Grave" which was entirely uneven but hugely entertaining. "The Monster Club" is style-wise almost unified with the weird, darkly humorous atmosphere pervading every shot, but the quality varies wildly among the three tales. The wrap story is, however, the most consistently enjoyable thing in the film and it, interestingly, features the author himself played by horror legend John Carradine. While walking down the street one night, he is ambushed by a suave vampire (Vincent Price) who drinks some of his blood, enough to satisfy his thirst, but not enough to turn Hayes into one. It turns out that the vampire is a fan of Hayes' and as an apology of sorts takes him to the titular club where monsters of all sorts mix. Some may have problems with the look of the monsters. No, they are not horrifically gruesome and unfathomably ugly. Quite the opposite. The masks they wear are horrible and look like nothing else but cheap, penny-each, Halloween, rubber masks. Bug-eyed monsters, greyish vampires with painted on blood tears, you know the routine. To some, this may be a problem revealing the film's lack of budget, but to me, it was the first hint of the film's goofy, tongue-in-cheek approach. Like "Vault of Horror" it takes a generally comedic approach but takes it much farther than any other Amicus film, almost into the realms of self-parody. I enjoyed this aspect as previous portmanteau films which took themselves too seriously (mostly Robert Bloch efforts) failed miserably. The atmosphere doesn't always work, as director Roy Ward Baker has neither the sense of humour nor style of a Freddie Francis or a Peter Duffell, but in the occasions when the material prevails it works quite nicely. The vampire explains "the monster family tree" at whose top are such traditional creatures as vampires, werewolves and ghouls, but they then tend to mate ("with unfortunate results") and produce such creatures as werevamps, humghouls and shadmocks. It's an interesting idea, sadly not explored as well as it could have been. The first story the vampire tells Hayes concerns the shadmock (James Laurenson), a mixture of two mongrels, whose sole monster power is a whistle that melts anything it's directed at. In this case, it should be directed at a young woman (Barbara Kellerman) who, under the guise of his new secretary, comes to thieve his valuables, but the shadmock falls in love with her. Before I dwell into the review of this story I'd like to point out another Subotsky trademark present here, an evil-looking cat which kills one of the shadmock's pet pigeons and becomes the target of his deadly whistle. This is your typical portmanteau opener, thin on story, thick on atmosphere, and almost entirely forgettable. It could have been better had it not been 20 minutes long. It was always a plague of portmanteaus to have too few stories as it means that most of them end up stretched thin. With fine, arch performances from the two actors it managed to hold my attention, but on the whole, it is neither atmospheric nor interesting enough to stretch to this length. The second tale is framed by a vampire film producer (Anthony Steel) presenting the club his autobiographic film. This reframing is introduced beautifully with a witty bit of dialogue between Price and Carradine. "Vampire film producer?" asks Carradine, in total bewilderment. "Aren't they all?" answers Price sardonically. It also works wonderfully to prepare the audience for the all-out absurdism of this tale. It is a story of the producer when he was a boy (Warren Saire), but told in present times ("No budget" quips Price) and his vampire father (Richard Johnson) who is hunted by a Sweeney-like outfit called the B-Squad which kills vamps. I really was delighted by this quirky, imaginative and utterly hilarious family comedy with a delightful twist ending. I enjoyed it through and through (although the scenes of the kid being bullied at school feel somewhat tediously like padding) and laughed at its witty spoofs of everything from "The Sweeney" to Amicus' classy horror ventures. It is a delightful bit of absurdism. I particularly enjoyed the interplay between the two vampire slayers: the head of the section (Donald Pleasence), a legend in his own right and his right-hand man (Anthony Valentine). I also loved the violin score performed by John Georgiadis which is quirky and lovely despite the fact that Georgiadis seemingly doesn't know that vampires don't come from Hungary (the entire thing is a pastiche of old Hungarian melodies). The confusion certainly stems from Bela Lugosi, who is Hungarian and is the go-to vampire impression, but Transylvania whence Dracula comes is in the neighbour country, Romania. Finally, one has to note that the name of the vampire film producer is nudge nudge, wink wink Lintom Busotsky. The final tale is also a not-so-subtle nod towards Subotsky as it is, in some ways, a curious remake of "The City of the Dead". It is also set in a small town where the weird population is out to kill a newcomer, in this case, a location scouting film director (Stuart Whitman). The layout of the town is near identical to that of Whitewood in the previous film right down to the old church where evil dare not dwell. It also ends similarly with our lead waving an old church cross, but then there's a twist in the end. I can't say I particularly enjoyed this tale. It's derivative not only of "The City of the Dead", but of almost every horror film in which a traveller finds himself in a curious place at night. It's the horror tale as old as time and "The Monster Club"'s take on it is not new in any way. It's predictable, not very involving and certainly never scary. After the story ends, the vampire gives a speech about how the human race is the biggest monster of all. Although certainly true it feels out-of-place in such a light and silly film, it is a curious, preachy note to end on even though Price delivers his lines to perfection. He is the best thing about the film with his sharp, sardonic delivery and suitably vampiric elegance. This is the only time in his career he's played a vampire on film and that becomes a sad fact when you see how well he does. Compared to Subotsky's previous portmanteaus, "The Monster Club" hasn't a chance. It's not stylish, memorable or creepy enough to rank up with "The House That Dripped Blood" or "Tales from the Crypt". But on its own, it has a certain charm, inventiveness and goofiness to it that is certainly enjoyable. The stories themselves are mostly miss, with the second story being the only truly good one, but the whole thing is better than the sum of its parts. There's enough nostalgia and fun to be found in the club to sustain your attention for 90 minutes and it's clever enough to even manage to get your creative juices flowing.

2.5/4