Horror and Sci-Fi films old and new, weirdo trash, arthouse, forgotten gems, well loved classics, and I'm watching the original Dr Who from the beginning.
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 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.
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.
An energetic and atmospheric take on the Sherlock Holmes tale, the Hammer Studios version of The Hound of the Baskervilles works as both an exciting detective story and an atmospheric Gothic chiller.
Although some changes are made to the source material, the basic plot remains the same, with Holmes (Peter Cushing) and Watson (Andre Morell) called on to investigate the mythical supernatural beast that has been haunting and killing members of the Baskerville family for hundreds of years. After his uncle Charles Baskerville is found dead, nephew Henry, the last of the line, finds himself left with the family estate – but does this have an unwanted extra, namely, the fatal family curse?
Cushing makes an excellent Holmes, a keen and energetic man with a razor-sharp brain and tongue to match, while Morell plays Watson closer to the literary version of the character, the heart to Holmes' brain, rather than the affable duffer that Nigel Bruce went for in the Basil Rathbone era films. Christopher Lee acquits himself well, playing a good guy for a change, but with enough charisma and haughty aristocratic manner to make Sir Henry convincing. The script rattles along at a good pace, and the changes from the novel merely help make the story pacey and visual without dumbing it down.
What really makes this a unique take on the story is the way director Terence Fisher seamlessly blends Holmes and his world into that of Hammer Horror. The Baskerville house could just as easily be the Frankenstein residence, and the lush colours, bold music, and spooky atmosphere could be right out of any of their genuinely more supernatural efforts.
The Curse of Frankenstein is the film that launched Hammer Horror on to the world, and there is a deliberate attempt to distance this film from both the Mary Shelley book and James Whale's iconic Universal version and create something unique. There are no pursuits to the North Pole, no fairy-tale castles, and no hunchback assistants, but the basic premise of the precociously talented scientist obsessed with creating a fully formed human being, and then being forced to deal with the consequences of achieving this remains intact.
Jimmy Sangster's script makes Victor Frankenstein the focus of the story but makes no attempt to portray him in a sympathetic light. This is a man who does not think in terms of good and evil, only in terms of getting his work done, and as a scientist who has no concept of the consequences of his actions. Peter Cushing brings a mix of charm, coldness, and nervous energy, to the role, creating a character who is determined, dangerous and unpredictable. While courting his cousin Elizabeth he carries on an affair with his maid, and when the latter finds she is pregnant, it is fascinating to watch the difference in his attitude to creating life in the laboratory and creating life with a human being.
Christopher Lee gives a similarly distinctive performance as the Monster. When he is discovered chained to a wall by his creator, his first instinct is to cover his face, still showing traces of vanity and humanity. The end result is a complex creature who is both a mindless killer, and a slightly pathetic pawn of somebody else's ambitions.
With two such dominating characters (and actors), it is difficult for the supporting cast to get a look in. Hazel Court does her best with the underwritten part of Elizabeth, but Frankenstein's increasingly moral and self-righteous mentor Paul Krempe (Robert Urquhart) is just irritating.
When placed in the context of the Hammer Horror story, what amazes in retrospect is how fully formed the style seems already, with so many of the tropes, such as the colour, the gore, the actors, the urgent, dramatic music, and the Gothic European settings already in place.
Hammer Horror is perhaps mostly closely associated with the Dracula and Frankenstein films, but the studio first explored the horror genre with The Quatermass Xperiment. Although somewhat hampered by the odd choice of leading man, director Val Guest gives both a tense, fast moving adaption of the hit BBC TV serial (the “Xperiment” was presumably changed by Hammer to sell it as an "X" rated film), while keeping the themes of the original intact. The film can also be counted as a very early example of the subgenre known as Body Horror.
Professor Bernard Quatermass, the head of the British Rocket Group, has just sent the country’s first manned rocket into space. However, disaster strikes as all contact with the three crew members is lost, and the rocket crashes back to earth. Two of the crew have disappeared, and the one remaining survivor, Victor Carroon, is in shock, unable to speak, only mouth the words “Help me”. While in hospital, Caroon starts to undergo horrifying changes, and finds he needs to absorb living things in order to survive. Quatermass soon realises that Caroon, or whatever it is that he has become, will not stop growing, and the next stage of his transformation will threaten the entire planet.
Like many low budget European films, The Quatermass Xperiment was given a Hollywood star whose career had hit a lull, brought in for cheap to help sell the film to the American market. This leaves The Quatermass Xperiment with it's only serious flaw, Irish born Brian Donlevy, who had made a name for himself playing tough guys and gangsters, particularly in groundbreaking examples of Film Noir such as Kiss of Death and The Big Combo. Given this background, it is perhaps not surprising that he seems a little bit out of place in an English Sci-Fi movie. That said, while he lacks credibility playing a man of science, his tough guy persona gives the movie Quatermass a headstrong decisiveness and a refusal to be bullied or brushed aside. This Quatermass is a leader, a man of action, coupled with an almost reckless arrogance, a character that is tough to like, not least because he seems unwilling to take responsibility for the consequences of his actions, but who is always unpredictable and interesting.
Far more sympathetic is Richard Wordsworth as the tragic surviving astronaut Carroon. The character stays mute throughout so the anger and despair we see him go through as he loses control of his mind and body is portrayed largely through facial expressions and inarticulate grunts, something that puts him in the same realm as the Boris Karloff’s heartrending take on Frankenstein’s monster. There is also a more overt echo of this, whether it is a conscious one or not, in the scene where Carroon encounters a small girl out playing by herself. Although there is a different outcome here, both scenes are symbolic of the monster's struggle with their intrinsic humanity, and like Frankenstein's monster, Carroon's anguish is not self inflicted, being the victim of a scientists, albeit well meaning, plans gone wrong. This sort of approach would come to be termed Body Horror, and explored many years later by the likes of David Cronenberg, with films such as Shivers, Rabid, and his reworking of The Fly.
The Quatermass Xperiment was the first attempt at a sci-fi / horror film by director Val Guest. He would go on to helm other genre classics such as this film's sequel, Quatermass 2, and The Day The Earth Caught Fire (as well as a long and eclectic career taking in everything from thrillers, comedies and numerous TV shows). If there is a common thread to his approach with these three films, it is to keep the fantastic story rooted in reality, helped by an unflashy, almost documentary approach to shooting scenes, as well as frequent use of actual locations rather than studio backdrops. The screenplay (co-written by Guest, based on Nigel Kneale's original TV scripts) also shows the effects of the events on ordinary people as much as the scientists, military men and government officials.
The film is also fascinating when placed into a historical context, being released at a time when Britain was still wrestling with the mix of World War Two euphoria, Cold War feelings of potential apocalyptic doom, and the realisation that with the collapse of the British Empire, the country was no longer the global colossus that it had been. This was coupled with the clash of the old and new, that Quatermass with his relentless charge to the future and insistence on blasting rockets into outer space represents the latter half of. This insistence is not dulled by the events of the film however, and in the final scenes, we see Quatermass walking off alone into the distance, followed, without any dramatic music, by the final shot of another rocket being launched. Progress, it seems, will not be stopped.
A lesser-known entry in the Hammer studios back catalogue, Sword of Sherwood Forest is a slight and only sporadically entertaining take on the Robin Hood legend. The plot sees the Sheriff of Nottingham (Peter Cushing) trying to get control of the estate of a nobleman who has been killed fight in the Crusades. When the Archbishop of Canterbury intervenes, the Sheriff plots to have him assassinated. Meanwhile Robin finds himself falling for the mysterious Marion - despite her links to the Sheriff.
Unfortunately, the story is part of the problem, not being substantial enough to sustain a whole film, instead feeling more suited to an episode of the Robin Hood TV show of which Green was the star. Green himself is another part of the problem, seeming a little long in the tooth, lacking the exuberant energy of Errol Flynn.
Thankfully his co-stars pick up some of the slack, with Peter Cushing oily but charismatic as the evil Sheriff and Niall MacGinnis (who played the creepy Julian Karswell in Night of the Demon) as a fun and funny Friar Tuck. Look fast for Desmond “Q” Llewelyn and a virtually unrecognizable Oliver Reed, although as the former has no lines and the latter is dubbed, neither of them make much of an impact
The other asset the film has is legendary Hammer director Terence Fisher who makes the most of the beautiful Irish countryside locations and ensures the sword fights and horse chases are fast and exciting, even if the script is not. Sword of Sherwood Forest was not the only time Hammer adapted a TV show, but unlike with the other examples such as the Quatermass series, here they failed to develop it into something cinematic.
A raucous but affectionate spoof of Hammer and Universal horror films, Carry On Screaming is one of the funniest and best crafted of the long running British comedy series. Despite lacking some of the regular faces commonly associated with Carry On Films, their replacements more than rise to the occasion, and are joined by a few regulars, a script that doesn't abandon story for corny gags and an eye for detail in the production design.
The plot sees two Edwardian London policemen, Sergeant Sidney Bung (Harry H. Corbett of Steptoe and Son fame) and Constable Slobotham (Peter Butterworth) investigating the disappearance of several young women in a local wood. Could the disappearances have anything to with sinister scientist Dr Watt (Kenneth Williams), who has a lab full of mysterious equipment – and a lucrative sideline selling female mannequins to local department stores?
This is the twelfth entry in the series, so by now many of the tropes had been established, both the with characters (the henpecked lech Sid James, his harridan wife, his dopey sidekick, and an object of his lust and the script (innuendos, puns, and broad slapstick). There is no actual Sid James the actor, so the Sid James character is represented by Corbett, and he gives Bung a stoutness and sympathy that you might not have got from James the actor. Most of the back and forth banter between him and Butterworth feels like two men doing a music hall routine, but they know to milk the lines for laughs.
In the world of Carry On the usual object of the lust of Sid James is Barbara Windsor, but here it is the stunning Fenella Fielding, in a low cut red dress, the epitome of saucy goth beauty, her subtly naughty style making a good contrast to the histrionics of Kenneth Williams. Sadly Joan Sims, is rather wasted in the role of nagging wife Emily Bung, given little to do other than verbally and physically attack Sidney.
Aside from the people, Carry on Screaming, often looks and sounds as good as the films it is spoofing. It has the lush eerie score, cob web strewn haunted houses, and portentous dialogue. What is also noticeable and unexpected, at least for a Carry On film, is that it is often, if not scary, then at least creepy, with weird and almost unpleasant undertones that crop up from time to time. Williams actually makes Watt feel, at times, genuinely salacious and unsavoury, with a hint of incestous flirting in the banter between him and Valeria.
The other thing that I had not properly appreciated is the energy, intensity and swashbuckling demeanour of Peter Cushing. His version of Van Helsing is a world away from the elderly, more academic characterisation by Edward Van Sloan in the Browning film, and the final battle between him and the Count could almost have come right out of an Errol Flynn film.
Although not a
big commercial success on its release, The Devil Rides Out is one of the best
horror films produced by the Hammer studio. This is despite it being in many
ways the antithesis of everything that Hammer was supposed to represent, in
that there were no gloomy castles or other Gothic trappings, no vampires or
other such monsters, and Christopher Lee was playing the good guy. The
reactionary undertones of the source material remain intact, something quite
fascinating to consider, given the year in which the film was released.
In 1920s England,
the Duc de Richleau (Christopher Lee) is concerned that Simon Aron (Patrick
Mower), the son of a late friend has been brainwashed by a satanic cult. The
leader of the cult, Mocata, (Charles Gray) wants to induct Simon and his friend
Tanith Carlisle into a satanic baptism - and he has some powerful allies,
including the Angel of Death and the Devil himself
The punchy
well-structured script by Richard Matheson sticks to the plot of the original
Dennis Wheatley novel. We are plunged straight into the action from the
beginning, and there is barely a wasted line or scene as the action drives
relentlessly forward, through manor houses, countryside car chases, and
frenzied Black Magic rituals. The 1920s setting also means that in many
respects it does not look dated – although the effects do
Unsurprisingly,
the main star of the film is Lee, who manages to be an almost mirror image of
the villains he is perhaps more well known for. His Richleau is every inch the
aristocratic charmer that his Dracula is, but this is now mixed with elements
of Van Helsing, particularly the arcane knowledge, which he can handily explain
to the audience, and the traditional Christian moral view. When Richleau is
admonishing Simon at the beginning, he sounds like a concerned parent horrified
at what their children are getting into. It is not too much of a stretch of the
imagination to picture a real life parent in 1968 similarly horrified at their
offspring and their long hair and interest in the occult, something that would
be crystallised in the mainstream with the release the following year of the
hit single Age of Aquarius.
There is often a
reactionary or Puritan streak underpinning the horror genre, such as in the
sight of sexually active teens being knifed by masked killers. This is often
paired with situations that show or imply a pro-Christian message, such as the
crucifix dispatching the vampire, or the Roman Catholic exorcism rituals
succeeding where medicine and science fails.
On the surface,
The Devil Rides Out is no exception, with the crosses, the depiction of
Satanists as evil, (with no real discussion as to why), and the subtext of the
Christian (and in this case, sexually and emotionally repressed) way of life is
good, while the Satanic (and, again, as represented in the film, uninhibited)
life is bad. There is a small hint of irony in this, given that a film could
not have been made without the rise of more permissive attitudes in cinema goers, and perhaps this is the key as to why there is no heavy handed
lecturing in the film, which would have turned audiences off. Instead, the two
sides are presented as no more than opposing forces for dramatic purposes for
us to cheer or boo as appropriate.
Although they
have their place as influential science fiction, ground breaking television,
and a vital part of the Hammer Film Studio story, to me the Quatermass stories
are also a kind of 20th century English mythology, an attempt to examine and
explore the post-World War Two English identity, politically and socially. The
first, the Quatermass Experiment showed a country trying to maintain its status
as a world superpower through space exploration. The third, Quatermass and the Pit, looked at issues of race and identity. Sandwiched between those is
Quatermass 2, a paranoid tale of Government cover-ups, colonisation, attitudes
to authority, and mob mentality. The end result is tense, fast paced, and even
more thought provoking than the original.
Professor Quatermass and his team of scientists have been tracing mysterious
objects that have been falling to earth from outer space. Tracking them to
their landing place, Quatermass finds a town that has been almost completely
destroyed, some rocks filled with a mysterious, ammonia-based gas that infects
his assistant, and a shadowy refinery that bears a striking resemblance to his
rejected plans for a Moon colony. Officially, it is producing a new synthetic
food, but it actually harbours a terrifying secret with deadly implications for
the future of humanity.
Like the other two Quatermass films made by the Hammer Studios, this started
life as a six part BBC TV serial, which was condensed into a 85 minute film,
and as with the other two, the original story stays largely the same, but moves
along at a much quicker pace. The only significant change is in the climax,
where instead of Quatermass piloting his experimental rocket to destroy the
invaders, an unmanned craft is sent up instead.
Director Val Guest had a long and varied career, and although he never settled
on a particular style or genre, when faced with subject matter of a fantastic
nature, such as here or The Day the Earth Caught Fire, he would often mix this
with a low key, more realistic filming style. Events are presented in a matter
of fact style, and many of the scenes set in everyday locations, such as pubs,
or out in the countryside. In addition, Guest employed cinema verite
techniques, such as hand-held cameras, to give something of a documentary feel
and by having the dialogue delivered at a rapid pace, sometimes overlapping, he
stops it feeling too staged and stilted
A standard practise in British films at the time was to cast an American actor
(usually one whose services could be obtained cheaply) in order to maximise box
office potential in the US. Hence, Brian Donlevy reprises his role as Professor
Quatermass from the first film, and, as before, he is both a liability and an
asset.The character was originally
conceived as a thoughtful, somewhat reserved scientist, a world away from Buck
Rogers-style action heroes, and Donlevy rarely seems convincing when having to
play that role. However, plenty of fictional characters, from Hamlet to Dr Who,
have been played in plenty of different ways, so why not Quatermass? His real
strength comes when events call for, if not aggressive, then at least assertive
action, as this Quatermass is no shrinking violet.
As a film, although not overly gory, Quatermass 2 manages to be gruesome and
quite shockingly violent at times. The brainwashed refinery guards
cold-bloodedly gun down their fellow citizens, who respond in kind when they
get chance, while at one point the aliens use pulped human corpses to block
pipes pumping out deadly (to them) oxygen. There are also more subtle nods to
the horror genre, particularly the sight of the townsfolk forming themselves
into that classic horror archetype, the lynch mob, to attack the
refinery.
It is fascinating to consider some of the historical context in which
Quatermass 2 would have been seen originally, and the picture of 1950s Britain
that it presents. Identity is one of the key themes of the film, both national
and personal, and the big influence on both would undoubtedly have been World
War 2. With Britain under threat of invasion, whether fighting overseas or
keeping the home fires burning, it was something that everyone was involved
with and affected by, and something that they would still be reminded of some
years after, in the landscape of bombed out buildings and craters, in the
continued rationing of food, and in the dead and injured soldiers and
civilians.
The Britain shown on screen is not a "green and pleasant land" but a
grey, frightened, paranoid country, coming back down to earth from the giddy
euphoria of victory over Hitler, to face the harsh and potentially apocalyptic
realities of the Cold War. Writer Nigel Kneale cleverly combines this with
drawing on contemporary fears and events such as the Chemical Warfare plant at
Porton Down, and the (nowadays, largely forgotten) state of emergency that the
British Government declared in 1955, and these are reflected in some of the
images and situations in the film.
Yet there is
still possible to see something relevant to modern life in Quatermass 2. The
idea of aliens infiltrating the government predates the X-Files by several
decades, along with the general air of paranoia, and cover-ups. That
infiltration could also be read as commentary on creeping corporate influence
on government, while fears over loss of identity, both national and personal,
are perennial.
Ultimately, what
I love about the Quatermass stories, and Quatermass 2 in particular is how it
almost sums up my love/hate relationship with both England and being English.
It has elements and themes that are everything I dislike about this country:
New towns, deference to authority (at one point, we see a sign behind a bar saying,
"Secrets mean sealed lips"), small-minded pettiness, Government
secrecy, and the lynch mob mentality.
However, Quatermass 2 also represent plenty of things I like about England: It
is a Hammer film; the script is full of a thoroughly English dry satirical wit
and a streak of paranoia, and understatement; and, in a sign of the obvious
influence on that other English sci-fi icon Dr Who, the calm logic of science
and the decency and heroism of the individual cools the raging heat of the mob
and saves the day.
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