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.