The Revenge of Frankenstein (1958)

 

 

Campy, energetic, colourful, and gleefully gruesome, The Revenge of Frankenstein is top quality Hammer Horror from the golden years of the studio.

The story picks up from where the first film in the series ended. While we were led to believe that Baron Frankenstein had been executed for the crimes committed by hid monster, it turns out he has bribed his way to freedom. Moving to a new town he sets himself up as a doctor, using fees from the wealthy to treat the less fortunate. But behind the scenes, the Baron's attempts to build a human being continue, with the poor providing a steady flow of body parts.

Frankenstein is a character open to different interpretations. He can be a well-meaning scientist, haunted by the unforeseen consequences of his actions. Jimmy Sangster's script gives us a psychopath, who seems able to charm or bribe his way out of anything.

The title of the film is not an emptying marketing ploy. Frankenstein is driven by a need to get back at the world, particularly the medical establishment, and everyone in his life, whether his assistant or his patients, are a means to achieve this end. The emphasis is very much on the creator rather than the monster.

The lush Hammer Gothic production design is in full effect, and the cast is superb. Cushing has the uncanny ability to make difficult characters likeable to some extent. Revenge of Frankenstein is no exception, and his sinister charm, coupled with an intelligent, gruesome script makes this a high point in the history of Hammer Horror.

 

 

The Uncanny (1977)

I have watched horror films for over 25 years, and I have had cats all my life. Despite this, I had somehow missed the existence of a Milton Subotsky anthology film starring Peter Cushing as a paranoid writer, who believes felines have a plan to topple mankind as the dominant species on planet Earth.

Cushing is Wilbur Gray, a writer trying to convince his publisher of his conspiracy theory. To illustrate it, he tells three tales. 

The first is set in 1912 London. A wealthy woman changes her will to leave all her money to her cats rather than her wastrel nephew. Said nephew (played by Simon Williams) is also having an affair with her maid. The cats are having none of it.

The second story involves an orphan girl in contemporary Canada. Sent to live with her aunt, uncle and their bratty child, Lucy brings her only friend, a black cat called Wellington. Bratty child hates Wellington, but the cat has the last laugh, thanks to some awful camera trickery.

The third sees Donald Pleasance as 1930s Hollywood star Valentine De'ath. He does away with his wife by "accidentally" having a film set use a real blade in a Pit and the Pendulum scene. De'ath then bullies his producer Pomeroy (John Vernon) into handing over the role to his halfwit girlfriend Edina (Samantha Eggar). Again, the late wife's cats are having none of it.

Don't get me wrong, this is badly written, filmed, and directed. However, the cast alone makes it essential viewing for trash fiends. Peter Cushing made his fair share of stinkers, but I cannot think of any of them where he is anything less compelling, as well as playing it straight no matter how ludicrous the premise. Pleasance had a comparable mix of duds and dandies, but again, he always brought a compelling intensity, and with this film, a campy sense of humour. In addition, there is the always watchable Ray Milland as Cushing's understandably cynical publisher. He is right to be cynical, as the stories only seem to illustrate that the cats are justified in their behaviour.

Dr Who #8: Planet of Giants

A TARDIS malfunction leaves the ship and crew back on Earth but shrunk to miniature size. The Doctor, Susan, Ian, and Barbara are thrust into a conspiracy involving a murder, a shady businessman and a deadly pesticide that could threaten all life on the planet. (The "genius" inventor of this only seemed to realise once it was ready for production)

Like The Edge of Destruction, this starts off with a suitably gripping "what the hell" moment as the TARDIS doors open before the ship has landed. What follows is a pacey murder mystery fused with elements of Gulliver's Travels and fears of a looming eco-disaster. 

Considering the non-existent budget, the production design is excellent, especially the models of the giant laboratory, the ant eggs, and the fly that attacks Barbara.

The reason for the shrinking of the TARDIS is explained away with some technobabble and is not really the focus of the plot. 

As Barbara becomes infected by the DN6 pesticide, the race is on to get her back to the safety of the TARDIS. The ending does feel rushed. Initially a four-part serial, the last two episodes were edited together into one. While this does bring the pace up, for one thing, it is never properly explained how Barbara gets better.

Interestingly, this is one of the only times that the main cast have no direct interaction with the supporting characters. 

The First Rebel (1939) (aka Allegheny Uprising)

A time waster I only watched for the cast; it is an interesting look at how not to make a John Wayne film.

Wayne plays the real-life frontiersman James Smith. He clashes with a group of underhanded traders who start selling arms to the Natives in 18th century colonial America.

The star has bags of charisma, but the script has far too much clunky expositional dialogue, and he works better with less to say. The John Wayne character is already coming into shape. A loner, a leader, brave, intelligent, always does the right thing. No ambiguities. Does not answer to anyone

The two main co-stars are suitably slimy. George Sanders is an incompetent martinet colonial soldier, while Brian Donlevy is the businessman so unscrupulous, he will even trade with the British AND the Indians. When I say Indians, I mean white guys in Mohican wigs. Smith and his posse black up for a revenge attack on the Indians, but this is historically accurate.

The supporting characters are forgettable. Claire Trevor as Janie MacDougall is the never-going-to-happen love interest of Smith, and the best thing about Wilfrid Lawson as "Mac" MacDougall is his "och aye" Scottish accent.

Competently but unimaginatively filmed, The First Rebel suffers from a lack of action, and peeters out into a stiff courtroom drama.

Interestingly, it was banned at first in the UK by the Ministry of Information for portraying the British in a bad light.

The Mummy (1959)

The Mummy comes from that first flush of Hammer studio's late 1950s horror success that also included Dracula and Frankenstein. It has many of the classic elements, such as the stars, the director, the writer, luscious cinematography, rich dramatic score. It has also has some of the problematic elements, that nowadays are fascinating to examine.

The story starts in the 1890s with a team of British archaeologists in Egypt, led by John Banning (Peter Cushing) and his father Stephen (Felix Aylmer). They uncover the sealed tomb of one Princess Ananka, but Stephen inadvertently brings the mummified body of her High Priest Kharis (Christopher Lee) back to life. Years later, back in England, Mehemet Bey (George Pastell), a modern-day worshipper of Ananka unleashes the undead Kharis to take gruesome revenge on the them.

Cushing's role is different to that Frankenstein or Van Helsing. Those are more authoritative people, they have answers, they drive the story. Banning has no knowledge of, or part in the creation of the mummy. He is learning as he goes, which does give the character a chance to develop.

Even covered head to toe in layers of muddy bandages, Lee is still recognisable, through his eyes and stature. His mummy is a relentless killing machine, immune to bullets and knives, a precursor to the Terminator.

Some elements do look dated. In an accurate depiction of the time the film is set in, archaeology is shown as going to a faraway country to loot artifacts and interpret them through the prism of the colonial English.

None of the Egyptian characters are played by Egyptians. Pastell (who is Cypriot born) is suitably slimy as Bey. He says his magic spells in a mix of gibberish and English. With brown skin and a permanent bright red fez, he sticks out and is easy to spot as the bad guy.

There is mileage in the symbolism of the story. At the heart of it is pesky foreigners and their backwards superstitions. By coming "over here" they can be seen as foreign agents invading the country. However, the English characters are all brought down by their arrogance, and English exceptionalism.

Prophesies of Nostradamus (1974)

The legendary Toho studio in Japan, home of Godzilla, made a name for itself internationally with apocalyptic films that show cities being ravaged and destroyed. In this respect, Prophesies of Nostradamus is no different from that strand of their output. Except that in this case, the monster is.... MANKIND.

The central character is a biologist / paediatrician (it is a bit vague) Ryogen Nishiyama. His family heirloom is a book of prophecies from noted 16th century French crackpot / charlatan Nostradamus, prophecies that Dr Nishiyama starts to see coming true in 1970s Japan.

This film combines two genres that had a brief bloom of popularity in the 1970s, those of eco-horror and apocalyptic disaster. In the West this meant films as diverse as Phase IV, The Late Great Planet Earth and the UK TV show and movie spinoff Doomwatch.

The lead character is a prototype Eco-warrior who preaches against overpopulation. Being a middle-class hypocrite, he of course wants his daughter to have children. He also is a big believer in the bunkum nonsense of Nostradamus, but that does not emerge as a massive driver of the plot, which is surprising, given the film's title.

The first 45 minutes or so are talky but a lot of energy comes from passionate anger of Nishiyama. By an hour in the gross Eco-horror starts. Nishiyama leads a trip to New Guinea to find what happened to a group of scientists. While there his party is attacked by giant bats and leeches. The natives have turned into cannibals, and when one scientist is attacked, he also turns into a cannibal, albeit a rabid one.

Elsewhere the apocalypse ramps up as children are born with amazing physical and mental powers which will prove horribly fatal in later life. In more shocking scenes HIPPIES STOP CARING, as demonstrated in a scene that feels like somebody trying to a Rowan and Martin style montage.

The film builds an air of pessimism and gloom. Riots are replaced with volcanoes, earthquakes, and nuclear apocalypse. By the climax, only a couple of mutants survive. But do not worry - THERE'S A TWIST ENDING.

Recommended for fans of goofy, gross, tasteless oddball cinema.

Doctor Who #6: The Aztecs

The second surviving historical rather than sci-fi story has some excellent suspense, some terrible acting, and some interesting character development.

The TARDIS lands in 15th century Mexico and Barbara is instantly mistaken for the reincarnation of a high priest. Along with Ian, Susan, and The Doctor she quickly sees two sides of Aztec culture: a thirst for knowledge and thirst for blood, in the form of human sacrifice. Barbara wants to put a stop to the latter, but the Doctor has other ideas.

At its worst The Aztecs is like a pantomime, with obviously painted on cardboard sets, badly choreographed fight scenes and a "he's behind you" villain in the gurning High Priest of Sacrifice, Tlotoxl (familiar face character actor John Ringham).

The drama itself is well constructed though. The "why don't they just take off" problem is solved by trapping the TARDIS in a tomb, and out of reach. And both Ian and Barbara have close calls with death. Susan seems to disappear for a couple of episodes. As with William Hartnell in the Keys of Marinus, she took a two-week holiday so was written out of the script.

Most interesting is the continuing development of the character of the Doctor. After his rather passive start to the series, letting Ian take charge, he is now much more proactive. He reprimands both Ian and Barbara against interfering in history when they both want to turn the Aztecs away from bloodshed. He also ends up in a cheeky flirtation with and accidental engagement to a woman, Cameca. It pays off, as Cameca comes through with some vital knowledge at a key time.

Animal Crackers (1930)

A straightforward adaptation of their hit stage play of the same name, Animal Crackers is flatly filmed but propelled along by the manic energy of the stars.

The slim plot revolves around society matron Mrs Rittenhouse (played by regular Marx brother foil Margaret Dumont) holding a lavish party to celebrate the return of Captain Spaulding (Groucho) and his secretary Horatio Jameson (Zeppo) from his latest jaunt to Africa. The Professor (Harpo) and Signor Emanuel Ravelli (Chico) have been hired to provide musical entertainment but spend most of the time wreaking havoc. There is a side plot involving Rittenhouse's daughter, her boyfriend, and a valuable work of art, but who cares?

Like many films of that era, the direction is a little flat with the camera barely moving. Luckily, the stars are on top form, with a mix of one liners and superb physical comedy, all shot through with surreal anarchy. Even Zeppo manages to keep pace, especially in a classic scene with Spaulding dictating a letter in gibberish legalese.

The film also gives us two songs that would go on to define Groucho. "Hooray for Captain Spaulding" became the theme of Groucho's radio and TV game show You Bet Your Life. "Hello I must be Going" was the opening number of his famous Carnegie Hall concert in 1972

There also a few topical jokes from the time that are fascinating to read about nowadays. The controversial Eugene O'Neill play Strange Interlude was still in the news in 1930. It sees characters regularly stopping what they are doing to give soliloquies to the audience. At several points Groucho spoofs this by turning to the camera and intoning a nonsense monologue in a deep sombre voice.

In addition, the character of Captain Spaulding shares a name with a real-life person, a US Army captain arrested for selling cocaine to movie stars of the day.

Strangers on a Train (1951)

Strangers on a Train kicked off a golden era of work that would go on to include Dial M for Murder, Rear Window, North by Northwest, and Psycho. The subject matter is perfect for Hitchcock's mix of suspense and jet-black humour. The director packs the film with imagery, themes and great set pieces.

Bruno Antony (Robert Walker) reckons he has devised the perfect crime. While traveling on a train, he meets tennis player Guy Haines (Farley Granger). Bruno suggests the two strangers each agree to kill someone the other person wants gone. For Bruno, this means his hated father, and for Guy his wife Miriam, who will not grant him the divorce he craves to marry Anne Morton (Ruth Roman), the beautiful daughter of a U.S. Senator. Guy balks, but Bruno goes ahead and bumps off Miriam anyway. When Guy refuses to carry out his half of the bargain anyway, Bruno decides to frame Guy for the murder.

Strangers on a Train had a bumpy conception. Hitchcock fell out with the original screenwriter Raymond Chandler after a clash over their working styles. Hitch liked brainstorming sessions; Chandler preferred to be left alone to get on with the writing. Also, Hitchcock was not happy with being forced to cast the rather staid Granger and Roman, which was the price he paid for getting Walker.

It was a price worth paying because Walker creates one of my favourite screen villains. Intense, manipulative, but also vulnerable. Bruno starts off seeming to be in total control of the relationship between Haines and himself. This focus on his target is summed up in one image. Bruno sits in a crowd of people watching Guy play tennis. The heads of the crowd move from left to right as they follow the ball, but Bruno stays locked onto his target.

But the cracks start to show in his facade, and events being to spiral out of his control. A lighter stolen from Haines forms part of a plot to frame the tennis star for murder. But when Bruno loses the lighter down a drain, it becomes symbolic of his increasing desperation. The lighter almost feels like a magical object. If Bruno has it, he has some form of control over Guy.

The main recurring theme throughout the film is that of mirror images. This occurs in the main characters, as Bruno can be read as a Jungian shadow of Guy. It is in the editing, with the opening montage showing the two main characters heading to the train. They walk in opposite directions, but are otherwise indistinguishable. And the final scene mirrors the opening one, with a stranger inquiring "Aren't you Guy Haynes"? In this case, it is a harmless vicar. There are many more which reveal themselves with repeated viewings.

There are also other standard Hitchcock tropes. The police are portrayed as pig headed, stupid and unhelpful. It is left for Anne to do the bulk of the legwork to try and prove Guy's innocence.

The film also has a streak of jet-black comedy running through it. There is the knowing easy banter between Guy and the cop sent to tail him. And Pat (daughter of Alfred) Hitchcock plays Anne's sister, a character hilariously obsessed with the gory details of crime. In yet another mirror image reference, she becomes the focus of Bruno's unsavoury attention, as she bears an uncanny resemblance to Guy's late wife.

Doctor Who #5 The Keys of Marinus

The fourth story, Marco Polo, is missing in its entirety so it is straight onto the fifth. Writer Terry Nation makes a return after his triumph with the Daleks. It is a disjointed but enjoyable affair, even if the patchwork nature of the story is both a blessing and a curse.

The TARDIS arrive on a small island on the planet Marinus. The Doctor, his granddaughter Susan, and her former teachers Ian and Barbara meet Arbitan. He is the keeper of the Conscience of Marinus, a computer designed to keep law and order across the entire planet. It is under attack by humanoid beings called the Voord, who want to control the conscience. As a security device, the Conscience requires five keys. By blocking their access to the TARDIS, Arbitan forces the Doctor and his friends to go and look for them.

The first episode sets up an intriguing mystery. Creepy beings in diving suits and spiked helmets prowl around, while the cast disappear one by one. It feels like an Agatha Christie story.

After a quick bit of exposition, the story is up and away. A quest is set up, giving us one key per episode. The question of "why don't you just leave?" is also settled by having an invisible force field thrown around the TARDIS.

There is a mix of the established story format (they are separated from the TARDIS) with a new one (different worlds in each episode). This gives us a new world to explore each time, which means that while there is always something fresh, there is no chance to explore or develop the worlds or characters we meet. Which is a shame, as there are some interesting ideas here. I liked the decadent, Roman style planet. This is a place where life is devoted to leisure and people can have anything they want. Barbara can see that there is something sinister going on under the surface. There is a creepy atmosphere to that episode, with POV camera shots, and brains with eye stalks in a jar giving it the feel of a horror film. 

Later episodes are not as successful. One that sees everybody trapped in a mountainous region of the planet has a bewildering array of characters jammed into twenty minutes. The Doctor disappears for two of these episodes without a decent on-screen explanation. Off screen, there was no great drama, William Hartnell took a fortnight's holiday.

We also see them land in the middle of a classic locked room mystery. This turns into a courtroom drama, with Ian accused of murder.

The character development is a mixed bag, highlighting the problem that having too many companions poses to the story format. The Doctor continues to be more assertive despite being absent for two thirds of the story. Ian is still an unlikely but willing action man. Barbara also takes a more proactive role. This leaves poor Susan who just seems to scream and scream again. I am starting to understand Carole Anne Ford's frustrations with the role.

Doctor Who #3 - The Edge of Destruction

The Edge of Destruction is a two part story, conjured up at the last minute due to an episode shortfall. It is an unsettling, claustrophobic tale that also provides important character development.

The story sees the TARDIS seeming taken over by an alien force. The Doctor, his granddaughter Susan, and her teachers Ian Chesterton and Barbara Wright start acting strangely and even turn on each other.

The main character in this is the TARDIS itself. By presenting the ship as an enigmatic, seemingly conscious entity make the epsiodes feel like a haunted house story. It's definitely unsettling to see characters at each others throats. In particular the sight of Susan trying to attack people with a pair of Scissors, or the Doctor drugging Ian and Barbara after he suspects them of sabotage.

Compared to The Daleks there is less action, which means that the Doctor can take a bigger role. We also start to see a thaw in his icy character at the end. He even apologises to the others for not trusting them. This sees an end to the adversarial relationships the character enjoyed, and the start of them working together as a team.

The Giant Claw (1957)

Standard issue 1950s Sci-fi, with little to recommend beyond the hilariously goofy godawful puppet used for the titular character.

The plot is about a giant bird attacking cities around the world. There's no point trying to describe it, so I'll just show you a picture:

As usual with this genre, there is far too much talking and padding out the running time with stock footage. There's some gobbledygook about antimatter to explain the creature, but trying to understand it is a waste of time.

There is a doom laden apocalyptic tone at the end as the bird smashes up New York, but by then it's too little too late.

Doctor Who #2 - The Daleks

The Daleks is as important and ground-breaking as the previous serial An Unearthly Child. It also has some of the same issues with pacing.

The story starts with the Doctor, his granddaughter Susan, and their two fellow travellers Ian Chesterton and Barbara Wright landing the TARDIS in a petrified jungle. From there, they get caught up in a war between the Daleks, unseen creatures encased in distinctive mechanical shells and the Thals, an Aryan-like race of humanoids.

This incarnation of the Doctor has yet to settle down into the proactive heroic do-gooder we know and love. In the Daleks he sabotages the TARDIS to force everyone to explore the Dalek city. Ian remarks that the Doctor "has a knack for getting himself into trouble". Of course, that means it's not himself, but also his companions, two of whom are there against their will. Of course, if he had not, the Thals would have been eliminated by the Daleks. The Doctor remains a passive character in this story, with Ian leading the attempts to escape from the Daleks, and the later attack on their city.

There is some silly and frustrating padding, such as the scene with a Food making machine, and the pace of the story is at times glacial. It also soon becomes clear that too much inter-Dalek dialogue is grating and unlistenable. And why are the female Thals dressed like they're trying to be Playboy bunnies?

These minor quibbles aside, it is still a fantastic story. There is tension and a weird creepy atmosphere that runs throughout. The script has some undertones of racial intolerance and Nazis that would be explored further in later stories.

It's also fascinating to two things about both the Doctor and the Daleks. Firstly, at this stage, neither are encumbered by their own mythology. Secondly, how both have a very analogue 1960s version of advanced technology, with everything working from dials and printouts. And of course, the MacGuffin for the story is the mercury filled fluid link that, without which, the TARDIS is rendered completely immobile.

The Thing from Another World (1951)

The Thing from Another World is an entertaining mix of Cold War paranoia and Howard Hawks machismo.

The plot is based on "Who Goes There?", a short story by John W. Campbell. A group of scientists and US Air Force crew unearth a frozen flying saucer and its pilot near to their Arctic base. Unfortunately for them, the pilot has thawed out, is on the hunt for blood, and is impervious to their bullets.

There has been some confusion over who directed this film. Christian Nyby is the man on the credits, but. Howard Hawks, whose production company made the film, has often been mentioned as being the real talent behind the lens. Regardless of how true any claim is, there are some Hawks-like tropes, most noticeably in the rapid and overlapping dialogue.

In the original short story, the alien is a shape-shifter, imitating the characters, and causing tension and paranoia. In this version, it becomes a vegetable-based humanoid (memorably described as "an intellectual carrot"), immune to bullets and needing blood to regenerate. But there is still tension in the conflict between scientists and the military. The character of Dr Carrington in particular is shown as, if not an enemy, then at least a threat by wanting to reason with the creature rather than set it on fire. This makes a change from other sci-fi films of the era. Scientists are usually portrayed as the only people with the answers, working with or trying to keep the military in check.

It Came From Beneath The Sea (1955)

Alternating between grinding boredom and thrilling monster packed action, It Came from Beneath the Sea is worth the slog for the special effects genius of Ray Harryhausen.

A start-of-the-art submarine goes out of action in mysterious circumstances. Fishing boats disappear in Japan and Siberia. The evidence starts to point to a massive creature, disturbed from it's deep sea slumber by atomic testing. Can it be stopped before it destroys San Francisco?

There is far too much talking, whether is exposition, or typical 1950s sexist leering. There's a subplot of a relationship between the submarine commander Pete Mathews (Kenneth Tobey, largely reprising his turn in The Thing From Outer Space) and the lead scientist Professor Lesley Joyce. According to her colleague, Joyce is one of those new breed of women "who feel they're just as smart and courageous as men".

But these quibbles are soon forgotten once the creature itself appears. Harryhausen shows his usual attention to detail and fluidity of movement. His creations are as lifelike as the humans on screen.

Galaxy of Terror (1981)

Galaxy of Terror is a cheap, sleazy and goofy attempt by Roger Corman to cash in on the Sci-fi boom of the era.

The plot sees a spacecraft off to a distant planet to rescue the crew of another ship. But, the mission goes wrong when the rescue ship itself crashes. Then, the crew start to come under attack from what appear to be demons from their own minds.

Any right thinking trash hound will immediately be attracted by the cast. There is Robert "Freddy Krueger" Englund. The captain of the rescue ship is Grace Zabriskie aka Laura Palmer's mom in Twin Peaks. And one of the crew members is Erin Moran, otherwise known as Joanie Cunningham from Happy Days.

The film is often described as an Alien rip off. This hinges on one particularly unpleasant scene of a female crew member being raped by a slimy tentacle creature. The other deaths revolve around hallucinations linked to their subconscious.

Galaxy of Terror feels like it was shot in a weekend. But, there is a good grungy, Dark Star feel to the production design and special effects, partly due to a young James Cameron.

Unfortunately, a jumbled baffling narrative and too many slow dull patches make the film hard work and less fun than it should be.

Doctor Who #1 - An Unearthly Child

 

An Unearthly Child is essential viewing for anyone interested in Dr Who, even if it is something of a Curate's Egg. Barbara Wright and Ian Chesterton are two school teachers in early 1960s London. They share the same gifted but bizarre pupil, Susan Foreman. They decide to team up to confront her mysterious guardian, known only as the Doctor, who seemingly lives in a junkyard, inside a Police Box.

The first episode is brilliant, and establishes the main characters quickly. Especially interesting is the title character. As the show is yet to get bogged down with its own mythology, the Doctor we see here is a genuine enigma. He has unclear motives and an abrasive streak in his character.

The story sets the template for a type of story that will recur throughout the show, even into the modern era. The Doctor and crew get separated from the TARDIS, and battle to fight their way back. In this case it is against hostile factions of a Stone Age tribe who have lost the power to make fire. This means, whatever else is going on, the stakes can be raised a certain amount, and solves the "why don't you simply take off again" problem. But, in An Unearthly Child there is very little else, and could have lost one of the four episodes to tighten the pace. There is plenty of creepy ambience, and the climax in the Cave of Skulls is far more gruesome than I would have expected for a children's show of that era.

The Doctor actually takes a back seat as the story progresses, with Ian being the proactive character who shows the cave people how to make fire again. This is a show that is, finding it's feet, but the basic elements are there. Oh, and for anyone who thinks the show is only nowadays a bastion of bleeding heart liberalism, at one point Ian and Barbara try to teach the cave dwellers about democracy and compassion with the phrase "a tyrant is not as strong as the whole tribe acting collectively".

 

 

Dracula's Daughter (1936)

As a sequel, Dracula's Daughter is overlooked and overshadowed by the Bela Lugosi original. Today it feels like a brave attempt to bring something fresh to the vampire mythology. The pace of the story and editing is snappier than the sometimes sluggish original. It is also loaded with fascinating symbolism and a great performance from Gloria Holden as the title character.

With a quick recap, the plot picks up at the end of the first film. Professor Van Helsing has been arrested (by Yorkshire policemen talking with "gor blimey guvnor" accents) for murder after destroying Count Dracula. He enlists the help of a psychiatrist friend Dr Jeffrey Garth (Otto Kruger) to try and prove his innocence. Meanwhile, Dracula's daughter, Countess Marya Zaleska has stolen and burnt the Count's body hoping to break free of the curse of vampirism. After a chance meeting with Dr Garth, she enlists him in her efforts. But Zaleska seems unable to curb her blood cravings, and takes to kidnapping young girls from the streets of London 

As much as I love the Universal monsters films, they are a boys club. (The obvious other exception is the Bride of Frankenstein, although the time the title character is on screen is minimal). So, to see a strong female protagonist who is the main focus of the film makes a refreshing change. Dracula's daughter has the same seductive power over both men and women as her father. Of course this raises the question, how did she become a vampire? Through her father? Is this child abuse?

This is very much a film of it's time, not least with it's fascination with psychoanalysis. Zaleska tries to enlist the help of Dr. Jeffrey Garth to cure what she thinks is a mental illness. This is a man who believes addicts should simply use their willpower, without examining the underlying causes. When new victims of the vampire appear the initial assumption is that is Dracula. I mean, God forbid that a woman should have the competence and initiative to stalk their own victims. This is, after all, a psychiatrist who spends his spare time shooting birds with his big gun. He also stumbles over tying a tie. Only Janet, his long suffering secretary, can finish him off.

S is for Stanley (2016)

In life Stanley Kubrick threw a wall of secrecy around himself, his family and his creative process. Since his death the myth of Kubrick as an eccentric loner has ebbed away. In it's place we have a picture of a man who loved family, friends, and pets as much as the movies.

S is for Stanley is a puts another piece of the puzzle into place, telling the story of Kubrick's chauffeur, assistant and friend Emilio D’Alessandro. Born in Italy, he moved to the UK, working as a taxi driver in London. One fateful day, he got a call to move a giant phallus to the set of a film called A Clockwork Orange. Kubrick took a shine to him and his driving skills, and thus began a thirty year adventure. Emilio spent his days ferrying around the director, his props, and other aspects of his professional and private life.

I was concerned that this might be a cheap cash-in, someone on the periphery of Kubrick's life, vying for their fifteen minutes. It soon becomes clear that this is not the case. As unlikely as the anecdotes might sound, they are all backed up by photographic and documentary evidence, from the garage full of memories in D’Alessandro's home. The subject could easily have been self aggrandizing but he comes across as humble and sincere.

The running time is brief but it doesn't feel rushed, only focusing on an intense but relatively brief time in the whole of both men's lives.

The seemingly mismatched pair, had some things in common, both immigrants, both family men. It was also the differences between the men that bonded them. D’Alessandro, with his aspirations of being a Formula One driver, had no connections to the film industry. Indeed, he never actually saw one of his Kubrick's films until after his death.

Kubrick was a demanding boss. When a film was in production, he could pile one job after another onto D’Alessandro, who seemed to accept it all with good grace.

It may have been recorded elsewhere, but this was the first time that I had seen details of how frail Kubrick was at the end of his life, relying on oxygen tanks. There is a heartbreaking anecdote of him  being too frail to break up a tablet to feed to one of his cats. This was the great director with the fearsome reputation, who had driven the likes of Malcolm McDowell and Shelley Duvall to tears. Now, he was too weak to tend to one of his beloved pets.

This is a must for fans of Kubrick, and for everyone else there is an unlikely but warm and touching story about two unlikely friends.

Dracula (1974)

1974 was a bumper year for vampire films in quantity, if not always quality. Andy Warhol was bring the sleaze and gore in Blood for Dracula. Hammer Studios were looking for new twists, with Captain Kronos, Vampire Hunter and the martial arts cash-in Legend of the Seven Golden Vampires. Meanwhile, David Niven was embarrassing himself in Old Dracula. Elsewhere, Dan Curtis, the producer of legendary Gothic soap opera Dark Shadows brought us a TV take on the tale.

The screenplay is by genre legend Richard Matheson, and the plot hits all the major beats of the source novel. But, like the Hammer and Universal versions, it pares back the sprawling plot and cast of characters. One original element it does introduce is the idea of Dracula being a tragic, lovesick character, doomed to spend eternity pining for a lost love. This is something that Francis Ford Coppola will use twenty years later by in his risible take on the story.

In the title role is Jack Palance, someone who has no problem being evil, menacing, and imposing. In fact he's almost like the Terminator, acting alone, breaking into houses, and refusing to lie down when shot, Palance also brings a secondary layer to the character. His Dracula is someone who is occasionally vulnerable to, and not quite in control of their lusts. This offers a reading of the character as a metaphor for addiction.

Opposing Dracula as his arch rival Dr Van Helsing is Nigel Davenport. He is best known, to me at least, as the cantankerous scientist Hubbs in the apocalyptic classic Phase IV. As Van Helsing he brings the necessary stolid reassurance of the character. But he lacks the eccentricity and energy that someone like Peter Cushing being to the role.

The cinematography makes it look like an episode of Hammer House of Horror. This is not a criticism, as a I am big of fan of this show, but it means it might be an acquired taste. Regardless, it's a pacy, creepy and often overlooked version of a familiar tale.

 

 

Casque d'Or (1952)

Despite being set in La Belle Époque, Casque d'Or is not a stuffy period drama. Director Jacques Becker creates a rich and believable world that is also vibrant and contemporary.

The story centres around Marie (Simone Signoret), the girlfriend of Roland, a gangster in a small French town. After a chance meeting, Marie she falls for Georges, a humble carpenter, and her boyfriend's jealousy leads to a fatal showdown.

The subdued tone means little or no histrionics or melodrama, even in the confrontation scene between Georges and Roland. There is no explicit violence, but the coldness and the closeup shots are chilling and uncomfortable. There is no music and glamorization of what is happening.

When Georges goes on the run there is also an interesting contrast between the dark, dense city, full of crime and death and the wide expansive and peaceful countryside.

The haunting finale mirrors the opening. This is a film with a bleak worldview. Georges is an honourable man in a dishonest world. Everyone does the decent thing, and nobody is happy.